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 11: Story Time
Women had labored, and men had put a callous hand into the production. A fire dominated the village center, as tall as a man, and that meant all than all five of the anthropologists. A veritable feast was laid out on heavy leaves, and spread throughout the entire village, steaming with the smell of roasted everything, baked somethings, boiled this and that, and fried other things. Shells from nuts had been stringed on knotted bits of colorful twine and were festooned about the village, flowers and ripe fruits hung from every imaginable place, and the men and women were like tropical birds, in their beautiful woven clothing and their bright bird feathers.
Even Mi'a couldn't complain about this, and everyone else was positively beaming. Ni'loko was latched onto her husband, eyes sparkling, and her heavily pregnant pair friend was leaning against her, a tired smile playing about her lips. The wisewoman's apprentice, Ni'an, was nearly, Heero believed the cliché was, jumping with joy. All of the dramatic dancing, the spontaneous song, the casual contests and other entertainments had died down of their own accord as the food had come out, spread on broad leaves if it was messy, or in baskets if it was not.
Duo was staring at the food, intensely, as if he halfway expected the flatcakes to pick up their platters and make for the woods.
Once the shaman came out of his house, followed by Rashid, Quatre, Trowa and a few of the hunters, the happy jabber quieted, and then silence fell over the village. In the distance, the monkeys were hooting.
"We pray to whomever deigns to listen," the shaman began, his English heavily accented but clear for having learned the words by wrote, "that we are grateful for our friends and our food. We are grateful to have this chance to live. Amen."
"Amen." The villagers echoed reverently. Duo and Quatre echoed the sentiment.
Then, they dug in. It was nutritional fare, and it felt…good to eat.
When all were sated, and picking at the food reluctantly, the wisewoman dragged her apprentice to an open area at the edge of the village's center. Sighing, Ni'an put a heavy drum across her legs and began thrumming a dark rhythmic beat. After a few measures, the wisewoman began chanting lowly and monotonously. A respectful quiet overcame the village, and everyone carefully shifted their bodies, and scooted closer.
"We crept through the woods until our feet panged and our stomachs were clinging to our bones; we could hear only the sound of the animals crying, mocking us for our failures and fearing any success. We followed the sound of air and water, and came to the place where the river is white and rough, and we were at the place of Where the River Eats Stone and the earth holds up her belly away from the cold hungry waters and arches up into stone bridges."
Trowa, Quatre, and the hunters were acting out the story. The hunters held spears at the ready, and were approaching an imaginary gap with caution as the two anthropologists trailed behind casually and curiously.
"We could see the man-eating-pig, we could smell his harem rooting in the luscious ground of the land bridges. So, we crept slowly, fanning out across the turf, our spears hungry and ready, across the land bridge. He, ugly animal, was far enough from his sows that we could take him with our spears. But, that was not to be! Suddenly, the river ate the land! And, he, on the edge of our crumbling world, grabbed it."
Quatre dropped to the ground, stabbing his spear into the earth. The hunters were clinging to him, and one was "writhing" in the "river" a few feet away. Trowa was still standing, fumbling in his pockets to retrieve something and looking worriedly down over the bank.
"He, yes, he, he held onto the spear, his arms tight, and we were close enough to grab him, and cling like new borne babes cling to life. Unwrapping a rope from in his vest, he knotted it one-handed to the spear."
Neatly, Quatre tossed Trowa the rope looped around spear, and Trowa braced himself heavily, hauling the rope up. Quatre let go, and Trowa cried out. The rope skidded through his hands for a moment, but then he caught hold of it, and started pulling the hunters to their feet again.
"He was grabbing us, forcing our hands to the rope, pulling us to safety, and letting us clabber over him, using his own legs, arms and shoulders as a stair to safety; but his sacrifice went beyond this. We were dry on shore, and he was the last clinging to the rope, when he heard the scream of the drowning men down the bend. He let go of the rope, and one by one, he swam against the white water to bring them back to land."
In dipping steps, which were obviously meant to mimic swimming, Quatre slunk over to the flailing hunter and pulled him out of the water. Gasping, Quatre reached up and Trowa pulled them both to the bank.
"This other, here, was our anchor. He pulled us from the water one by one, and held the rope that saved us in his hands and kept the spear that braced us firm between his feet. He was a stone in the midst of a storm, and when the blond one who saved us was weeping with weariness, and his hands were slack on the rope, this one, here pulled him up and held him into life. Thus, we were saved from the whim of the war between water and earth."
Happily, the hunters clasped Trowa and Quatre with earnest hands, and dropped to their knees with their heads against the compacted earth. They were prostrate with gratitude.
"But, the danger was not over yet, not for all of the people. A few were standing on the far, crumbling bank that was but a barren slide of mud, and they were cornered by the ravenous beast. The pig was mad. Of that, there was no doubt. His eyes were dark but red with blood, and slaver dripped off his broken tusks and pustulant hide. I was bleeding, and the bank was weak beneath my feet.
"This tall one here, he looped up the rope in the branches of the trees, and then the blonde one led the hunters across the waters to where the pig had cornered us. He led them to victory! The pig squealed with anger as well placed blows caused blood to pour from its skin and its eyes. The men shot down the sows, and even as the bank began to give, we hitched up the corpses on our backs and swung to the safe side of the bank."
A few of the hunters picked up the children, who squealed like little piglets with unabashed joy, and writhed where they were slung across their father's backs. The hunters mimicked the journey across the river, and then there was a small victory dance on the far side, which Trowa and Quatre happily partook in. Some hunters made wild pig calls, and to the delight of the children being carried, tossed them triumphantly into the air, and caught them again.
"And, so it is, that this food we eat is the fruits of our labors, and the result of an honored debt. Our people rely on our hunters, and our hunters live because of this thing, and so all of our people will follow when the hunters are called and our debt is asked to be paid. We thank you. And now, it is, that this one here is Sandrock, for he came to us when all of the rocks became sand beneath the heavy water, and this here is Heavyarms, for his arms are heavy with our weight and his exacting strength."
A handful of dust was thrown into the fire, and blue sparks bloomed in the fire and spiraled upward, dancing in the thick dark smoke. There were some oohs and aahs and some of the little children shrieked.
"But, mom! I didn't inhale!" Duo whispered to Heero, stifling laughter.
It seemed like a cultural thing.
"Welcome!" Rashid grinned at two anthropologists, and slapped them heartily on the backs. Quatre didn't stagger beneath the heavy blow; instead, his smile grew a trifle wider. "Now, go sit with your friends! You may be the heroes of the day, but we have better storytellers!"
Genuine laughter rippled through the crowd. Several anxious wives and happy children shouted out thanks and congratulations to the two anthropologists, while many loving families gathered in closely together, and some of the older wives and mothers scolded and harangued the men for being stupid.
"You know, they could have died." Duo whispered, grinning.
That was probably true. "Hn."
All of them sat down, in fairly close proximity, to listen to the other stories of the various game hunts that had happened on the way back to the village, and the various famous hunts, from legend and memory, that had happened before this. All was orchestrated magnificently. And, the pig, cooked in a multitude of spices, was split up equally amongst the families and savored.
"You did well." Wufei nodded at the heroic pair curtly.
"I am just glad that we've got names." Quatre laughed. "I mean, being called the white puny one was just starting to get a bit…wearing. I know how I look, but I am glad that I did get a chance to prove my competency."
All of the anthropologists stayed up late into the night, talking, laughing, and listening to all of the stories these people had to tell. A lot of rambunctious dancing took place, as did animated discussions and a few small wrestling matches. Heero mainly video recorded the event. He did not dance. Surprisingly, Duo had a great singing voice, and he crooned the villagers a melancholy song in a language no one knew.
The gathering waned as children fell asleep, young couples wanders off hand in hand, and the anxious wives got the chance to reaffirm their husbands' lives. The anthropologists, weary from all of the action during the day, walked to King's Cot very slowly. And heavily.
Wufei sat down, built up the fire, and began making his nightly cup of tea. "They boil water here." He commented. "They say that fire purges the evil spirits from water, that fire makes evil flee."
"Sounds like a tradition from the techs." Duo yawned, sliding off his hammock partway and then wriggling back on. His eyelids were drooping conspicuously.
"Yes." Wufei put the leaves in, and let them steep. "Also, the shaman showed me some processes of distilling and developing medicine. Some does seem fold based, but there is a great deal that seems to be build on variations of Western medicine."
"Oh?" Quatre queried, staring at the fire. He was fiddling with the shell buttons on his grimy, pale pink shirt nervously.
"Yes. He keeps…immaculate oral journals, many of which seem to follow the scientific method. Observations of patient reactions to various treatments are memorized and transmitted from shaman to apprentice over time."
Cool." Duo thoughtfully chewed on his lips, one arm dangling down and trailing onto the floor. "I wish that I had something like that, you know, like a big tradition to follow or something. I mean, dude, to be pour into something you can like hear, you know, your fathers father talking about how he saw this one girl die because of that, and know…I mean, that must be really cool. Hey, has anyone figured out the hierarchy thing yet? It's really starting to bother me. I can't figure out how wealth is distributed, or how leaders and shamans are chosen."
Heero reflected on it, and decided he did not know either. From what he had seen, everyone collected everything they could from the various gardens, foraging expeditions, and hunts, and cooked what they could at the large central fire, and split up the rest equally. Yet, it was in the nature of social animals to wish to assume leadership and powerful positions, and any society tended to have a set pattern of selection…
"Huh." Quatre blinked.
"Stop it." Trowa said, suddenly. "No one will care."
It startled everyone.
One of Quatre's buttons snapped off between his fingers, plinged against a rock, and skittered into the fire. He stared at Trowa.
"No one will think you are weak." Trowa reiterated, and he reached over to unbutton Quatre's shirt. A broad span of violet bruises and various contusions covered Quatre's chest, and Heero wondered what they weren't seeing beneath the grime and sweat and paint on his face. Some of the bruises were hand shaped.
Apparently, some of the men, in their panic, had grasped Quatre as their life line and held a bit too tightly.
"Damn, Q-man?" Duo breathed. "Why didn't ya speak up?"
"I didn't want to…" Quatre fidgeted. "Worry you?"
A good bit of Wufei's tea and one of Duo's clean priest shirts went to cleaning Quatre's cuts. Heero applied his medical antiseptic. Some wounds seemed indicative of larger injuries—the blood filled bubbles on Quatre's side, the lumps across one of his arms, the deep color of the bruises across his ribs. Duo's shirt was ripped up and made into bandages to wrap around the abused ribs, and to bind Quatre's sprang ankle.
"It was a rock." Quatre insisted, staring at his foot. "If that had got my head…"
"Someone know how to fix dislocations?" Trowa queried, wincing and rubbing at his stiff shoulder.
"He does!" Duo jerked his thumb at Heero, effectively volunteering him. "I mean, Stone Face is like a fucking veteran with that shit! Hell, man, I saw him pop how own arm back into place, like it was freaking quotidian. I mean, shit!"
Sighing silently, Heero stood up, paced around the circle, sat behind Trowa, and popped the offending joint back in.
Wincing, Trowa muffled an undignified squeak.
Quatre giggled slightly, and shook his head. Smiling, he delicately picked up one of Trowa's long fingers hands and put it in his lap. A makeshift bandage was glued onto the skin with blood and the fluid of popped blisters. Carefully, Quatre tugged the scraps of linen off, and washed Trowa's lacerated hands, and then gingerly applied the antibiotic cream. Trowa was absolutely still, staring at Quatre with a strange intensity.
"Fuck! Here I am. Duo Maxwell." Duo grinned. "And, in the middle of the jungle in a hut filled with psychotic heroes! And, a psychotic Heero!"
Heero grunted.
As if burned, Quatre dropped Trowa's hands and stared at Duo.
"I do not have a mental disturbance." Wufei said stiffly. "Now, the remainder of the tea is finished steeping." And so, he gave everyone what he could.