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 13: The Mirror
Waking oddly unsettled at the uneven time of four in the morning, Heero left King's Cot and walked down the curving paths of the village. Some of the villagers snored, one couple was up arguing, a mother was nursing a baby, and a sister was comforting a little brother recovering from a nightmare. Timik and Marika were at the eastern edge of the forest, rustling rhythmically, and Heero wondered about how the villagers dealt with adultery. And, he left the eastern side of the village, determined not to know, not yet. So, he wandered down the trail to the river, and sat down on a flat rock.
The patterns in the river repeated.
A soft splash interrupted the moment of silence and contemplation. And, so Heero stood up and walked curiously downstream. The river narrowed, and rushed through the rocks like a jumble of foamy silk and silver filigree.
A sleek silver shape twisted playfully, and slipped through the surface. Slightly dark hair, like tainted gold, twists and curls and sticks to his soft pale skin. Heero could see the pale protrusion of bones through the milky skin, the water droplets glimmering, sliding down the bluish tracery of pale veins. So pale, he is a watery naiad, an alluring corpse ready to pull the unwary into his cold arms with the barest pressure of his fingertips. Only, Heero knew that if he pressed his hands into those arms, made hand shaped imprints on that flesh, he would press into warmth.
Heero Yuy knew Duo Maxwell's secret, and he feels, irrationally, like he has sinned. Pinned beneath the heavy weight of shadow, the enclosing embrace of the looming trees, Heero Yuy feels like a transgression.
So strongly, the lithe muscles shifted in the light, and Duo swayed with the scintillating stir of the river, like a river reed. It was like he was dancing, imagining that he was insignificant, dancing dead. Slippery, he sank sleekly into the sway. He kept his eyes open and wrapped his arms around his chest tightly. Silver bubbles bloomed on the surface, as Duo squeezed the air out of his lungs. His hair was golden water weed, floating up to the light and his eyes were polished beneath the water. The cross was gleaming, glowing. He looked like the moment before watcher was victim.
His heart was beating in his throat, and he was gone from that place. He could see Duo's indigo eyes searching the dark, pupils wide, questioning, open.
Suddenly, he was back at King's Cot, wakeful. He couldn't even remember walking back there, but he knew that he had. So, he set up his laptop and started transcribing. The flow of his fingers across the keys was relaxing, and he did not have to think, to wonder, as he typed in a trance.
Duo wandered into King's Cot, with shadowlike silence. "Heero!" He whispered, surprised, and his lips drew down into a pout. "What are you doing up?"
"Hn." Heero commented, and continued typing.
Sighing, Duo self-consciously finished up braiding his wet hair, and tied it off with a black thong. His cross was gleaming, glowing in the luminescence of the laptop screen, and his priest's shirt was gaping open.
Quickly, Heero turned away and continued typing. He could hear the sound of Duo slipping into bed, as if he was making a conscious effort to make noise for Heero to grasp at, a rustle of cloth, the creak of the hammock as it swayed. It did not feel like Duo had gone to sleep.
Heero couldn't sleep, and he stayed up typing until the light was lemony on the horizon, and the monkeys had begun making calls while the birds warbled.
"Hey, Heero?"
Ah. He had thought so.
"Maxwell. Shut up." Wufei snapped. He had pulled the fire poking stick out from a tangle of Duo's dirty clothes, and was picking through the ashes with it. A coal sparked, and glowed brightly within the Cot's gloom. Wufei fed it some tinder and set up some logs above the delicate flame.
"That is so cute, Woofy! It's like you're a boy scout or something!"
Wufei snorted. "I'm Chinese."
"A commi scout, then?"
"Hmph. We survived the nuclear war better than you capitalists." Wufei shook his head, and began to change into a relatively clean set of clothing. The loose cotton pants looked almost as space efficient as Heero's own preference. Pouring some water onto his comb, Wufei slicked his hair back into the customary tail. Frowning, he felt around his head and then re-did his hair. Heero couldn't tell the difference.
"Ha! That is sooo just because you've got like a billion million more people than us Americannies!" Duo tried to bounce on his hammock, and fell off onto Heero. "Ouch, ouch, ouch! Fuck, that hurt! Anyway, we are sooo kicking Chinese ass at the world stock exchange! Whoo!"
"Oh, Allah." Quatre rolled over, and good-naturedly rolled his eyes at Duo. "Bickering, on a fine morning like this? As it is, I'll have you know that my father is grating iboth/i of your countries into Kraft cheddar."
"Riiiiiiiiight." Duo rolled his i's strangely, and snickered. He was still half-stuck on the hammock, and his struggling was starting to interfere with Heero's typing.
"Oh, hey! Right-o! I remember! I was going to ask something and everything, and I got side-tracked and all."
"Hm." Quatre squirmed over to the tin and peered it. "The water's not ready yet."
"But, oh! I haveta say it or I'll loose it."
Already done, Maxwell, already done."
Making a small sound, Trowa sighed and rubbed his eyes. His fingers stopped, touched a bruise on his cheek, and then he finished rubbing his eyes. "Go on."
"Well…." Duo grinned slyly. "Where's the lineage?"
"Hm." Quatre blinked and stood up. He located the leftovers basket—they had taken to doing as the natives did, and eating dinner for breakfast—and dug it out from a migratory flock of Duo's socks and coffee filters.
Pulling out several of his favored boiled buns, he offered them around. Trowa accepted. Wufei was eating rice that he had made yesterday morning, and Duo had crammed one of his twinkies into his face. It was getting crumbs in Heero's hair. Irritably, Heero opted for a nutrition packet and tried to shake the greasy twinkie bits off his head.
"You're right." Trowa said.
"Huh?" Duo blinked. A piece of chewed twinkie fell out.
"Oh, yes. I see." Quatre sighed. "I think I spent too much time in the U.S. really, and had…well. I guess I got used to bilineal nuclear families. I didn't even think! So, now, what do we know?"
"Marriage is monogamous. No instances of divorce. Division of labor is gender-based, but relatively egalitarian. No known protocol for establishing marriage. Sex before marriage is culturally feasible. No known protocol for establishing parentage, or importance of doing so. Children are raised by mothers until puberty, at which point the pair selections are made, if at all possible. Male children then begin to work separately from females. Gardens seem interchangeable, and empty houses seem to be communal property. There are no inheritable positions." Heero recited.
"Ni'loko, next door, is relatively young. And, she has her own house." Duo pointed out. "It is close to her pair's house, and her husband's pair's house, but not at all related to their parents' houses. One of her middle brothers, who does live closer to the parent's house, takes care of them." "The shaman, the wisewoman, the hunt leader, and the storyteller are the only ones in the village without pairs; however, they do have apprentices." Wufei sighed. "The incest taboo includes all members of one's nuclear families and of one's pair's nuclear family. However, exogamy is preferred."
"I thought that they were, you know…." Duo shrugged. "Bigoted?"
"Yes." Trowa said, deep in contemplation. "But, there is a method."
"A method?" Duo asked, skeptically.
Trowa nodded.
"Well?" Quatre pressed. "What kind of method to do what?"
"I believe that…" Here, Trowa frowned. "It determines the pairs, excludes the unwanted, includes the marriageable."
"That would make sense. We just have to figure out what it all means, and how all of this has to do with…with what that Zechs wanted us to look into." Quatre sighed.
"You've seen the tattoos?" Trowa asked.
There was a shocked silence.
Of course, Duo broke it. "Knew there was a reason to have a spy around, boys, just knew it! So, Tro, what tats have they got?"
"A double line of dots, at the nape of the neck around the atlas vertebrae." Trowa said, reluctantly. "Wine red. Symmetrical."
"Huh." Duo blinked. That really spoke for them all.
"So," Quatre smiled brightly. "Who wants to ask them?"
"I will." Wufei nodded. "The shaman has been kind to me."
With that consensus, they moved out into the day. The villagers seemed more excited than usual—they were talking more quickly, laughing more often, and moving with exaggerated gestures. Still, when Duo asked, there was always the mysterious, "you'll see; do you want to help me with this?" They kept the anthropologists very busy.
At midday, everyone slowed down. Small groups formed, with Quatre, Trowa and the storyteller entertaining the children, and the older boys. A group of girls was watching them, and Rashid and his hunters were watching both of the gatherings. Most of the married women had gone to visit Ni'loko's pair, who was due soon. Of course, Wufei was with the shaman, hopefully to ask about the tattoos. Heero had followed Duo, and they were sitting amidst the meandering conversation of the older crowd. Some crone was teaching Duo a song.
"No, no no!" She shook her head firmly. "Iya! It is not like…like that! It goes to the sound of the heartbeat! How else would one sing?"
"Ahem. Well." Duo shrugged and laughed. "We all have our different traditions, lady! So, could you repeat that last bit?"
"Sure, Shi'gami'." She rolled her eyes, and the other women snickered.
"Oh, so I have a name now?" Duo grinned, and bounced where he sat. "So, what does it mean, huh? What oh what?"
Some of the women looked distinctly uncomfortable. Mi'a, of course, being the least tactful, spoke up, "Spirit of Death. The Possessor that harvests the sparks and takes the brilliance to--"
The other women hushed her.
"What?" Heero asked.
"Thank you." Duo smiled, his eyes teary. "It means so much to me. It is fitting."
"Ah…" The women exchanged glances. "You're…welcome?"
"So, so very fitting."