Summary: A team of five young anthropologists are recruited by the notorious Romafeller Foundation to investigate something long lost; instead, they find each other and much more than they had bargained for. 1x2, 3x4, 5xS, other. AU. WIP.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters; however, the concept and the plot are of my devising. No profit has been made or will be made from this venture, and no infringement of rights is intended.
Note: All coincidences are purely coincidental; this short story is not meant to infringe or insult any anthropologist anywhere. As I am not acquainted with ethnographers and I have just begun my first anthropology course, all of the anthropological activities are my creation and any passing similarity to established protocol is just that, passing and no more. It is my sincere hope that true anthropologists are more diligent and less self-centered that the characters portrayed.
Chapter 8: Participant Observation
The next day, Quatre and Trowa rose early, and ate with a bunch of young laughing hunters by the fire. Some women—sisters and mothers, mainly—served the young men a communal breakfast and scolded the men after every feminine fun-poking jibe. Heero drank some of Wufei's tea, and sat down outside to recharge his laptop's battery even as he set to writing the transcripts of yesterday's recordings.
When it was still early and the mist was heavy and hot against the waxy jungle leaves, Wufei and the shaman disappeared into the shadowy depths of the forest to collect magical items.
Heero kept on working, his fingers flying over the keyboard with phenomenal speed and particular precision. Sounds reoccurring were imbedded within his synapses, and the language was surely and certainly installed within his brain. He was reviewing the transcribed records for typos—unlikely, but possible—when Duo finally woke.
Somehow, Duo stumbled to his feet and made himself a cup of cowboy's coffee.
That day, he and Duo talked to the women—well, Duo did the talking, but this time Heero was able to understand the majority of the conversation—and helped them weed gardens. Some of the food was clearly from another area, such as the corn, but others, like the potato-like tubers, and the heavy squashes and melons, were definitely native to the area.
In the afternoon, they went to explore the river with the boys and to check the fish traps. Duo described the traps, such as he had described the gardening methods of the women, in remarkably clear and concise terms. Heero took pictures. One of the traps had caught a swimming snake, and the boys killed it with sticks. The boy who had struck the death blow hung the lank trophy around his neck like a scarf.
As the sun went down that night, Heero helped some of the women made dinner, carefully following the instructions on how to cut the fish and gut the fish, while Duo sat to the side with an old grandmother and listened to her stories, while he patiently let her teach him the fine art of weaving reed baskets.
Wufei came back later, and told them that he had seen the hunters moving south along one of the rivers. Apparently, they had been pursuing a band of monkeys, but a jaguar had been in the area, and scared them off. Some of the men had decided to go after a feral pig, who had escaped from a white port on the northern coast. It been living in the area for a few months, and a couple of weeks ago, had killed one of the village boys.
His mother shrugged, where she was pounding a root into mush, and told them that her son had been the worst sort of idiot. It had been his way to go.
Some of the other village women murmured worriedly amongst each other, not quite as blasé about the prospect of their loved ones facing the pig. But, the hunters were going to do what they were going to do, and so the women kept on making dinner.
Wufei handed his record of the shaman's words and went to meditate. Heero built up the fire, made himself some jasmine tea, and transcribed the record. Of course, Duo came in when it was late, exhausted and slumping. He gulped down the tea, complained about the taste, got into his hammock, and fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, when Heero had sixty percent of his REM cycle completed, something woke him. There it was again. The sound of muffled choking, a strangled shriek. Duo fell out of his hummock with a thump, twisted up and writhing in his sleeping bag. Heero stood up and touched Duo. The whimpered stopped. So, Heero straightened out the twists in the sleeping bag, carefully untangled the braid from the zipper without breaking a single hair, and then set Duo back in the hammock. After that, he was able to complete his REM cycle without incident.