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 14: A Touch of the Edge
"God of Death, eh? God of Death." Duo whispered, his voice so quiet it was nearly consumed by the fire. His hands worked blindly over the brace of birds he caught, sawing of their heads, gutting them, putting the bloody feathers in a brightly hued pile.
"Heh, I like that. I like it a lot." His eyes were fever bright. "You know, they always say in prayers, that it's because of God. Like that's supposed mean something. Sure, everything was because of God, but that doesn't tell me what the hell to do with it all! Shit, Heero."
Heero blinked, and looked up. He then realized that Duo was "soliloquizing" and required no verbal input. So, he turned his attention back to the weaving, carefully tightening up the bands of leaf fibers until they made diamond shaped knots. It was a task set by the wisewoman, but he had yet to determine the meaning.
"Shit. Like death is a mercy. I ain't never seen no one happy about dying, unless they were hopped up in la-dee-da land, and even then, it sure ain't a fucking ball in the park, you know what I mean? Shit. God of Death. Damn straight! That's all there ever was, you know. I just need to figure out the fucking answer. I want just one. Is that too much to ask? Just one, Heero? Just one?" He slapped out some of the guts onto a leaf, so the boys could use it as fish bait later.
"Hn."
If Duo was a gorilla, his family group would have expelled him from the territory.
Softly, Duo leaned over him, like a spiderweb caught in a breeze. He touched Heero's cheek. His hand was slick was blood. Warm.
Slowly, Heero leaned forward. He tried to see his reflection in Duo's eyes.
"Hey, guys!" Quatre burst in. "Oh, ahem, sorry. Um…I'll be back in five, okay?"
"No, no!" Duo pinched Heero's nose, and bounced up. "I'm almost done with the birds. So, 'sup, Q-ball?"
Heero glared. He wanted to kill that idiot.
"I figured out what's going on!" He paused, and fiddled with his shirt, smearing dirt down one edge. "Actually, I don't think that I exactly figured it out, because the Hunt Hunter told me. But, he only told me because it's not going on now."
"Oookay." Duo blinked, plucked some more feathers. "Hey, Heero, could you get me some water over here? The blood's sort of crust underneath my nails."
"Hn." Heero handed him a canteen, and then took it back when Duo had a hard time opening it. He opened it, and poured water over Duo's hands.
"Ah, thanks man. You rock." Duo grinned, and grasped some more feathers.
Quatre was watching them with a very strange look in his face, and a small half-smile lighting his pale eyes. Oh, right. That.
"Recording?" Heero asked, and at Quatre's nod, added, "Report."
"Right, then. Apparently, all of this preparation has been for a harvest festival. I was told that it was supposed to be very wonderful—religious re-enactments, ritualized harvesting, a birth feast for the new baby, feasting in general, dancing, singing, and, of course, as it is a harvest festival, a great deal of harvesting within the small gardens."
"Okay." Duo grinned, bouncing back on his heels. His handful of bird guts sloshed partway onto his shirt, and then he pulled them stickily back. "Huh. Damn fine thing that I wear black, huh? Ne way, sounds just like piles of people having people like fun. Harvest, and all that. Giving thanks. What's more?"
"Remember how we were talking about lineage?" Quatre offered, brightly.
"Yeesss." Duo said slowly, his bright eyes narrowing. "Yo, man! Get on with it!"
"Well, they told me that there are approximately three tribes that are nearby—but, it's likely that the numbers fluctuate, as do the subgroups. And, every few years, each tribe makes an appearance at the harvest festival, at which point the exogamous marriages occur, apprentices are chosen, children birthed are inducted into the Piop'l, and some few young adults are outcast." Quatre grinned.
"The selection process…" Duo nodded, thoughtfully, and then frowned. "But…"
"Hm. Oh." Quatre sighed. "There's a problem. The Sanq' have not arrived."
"Yes. That is the problem." Wufei said quietly from the door. He stepped in, looking stiff and ill-at-ease. Slowly, he eased himself down beside his things. "The Shaman is organizing a meeting by the CPU."
"The wisewoman wants her birds." Trowa said. "The meeting starts soon."
"Woah! You don't mean the Sanq' the Sanq', do you?" Duo crowed, shaking one of the decapitated birds in front of himself. "Boy, did Mi'a ever had a mouthful to say about them, and the way the other women were staring at her, man, did they agree or what about it all! Damn."
"Duo." Quatre shook his head.
"Oh, fine. Ruin my fun." He grinned, despite proclaiming his disappointment, and then continued on. "Said they were a bunch of layabout sucks ups that uselessly drape themselves around the old colony. And that they're rather, er, passive-aggressive."
"Social hierarchy. Economics…" Quatre mused, his eyes going soft and dreamy, like a love-struck girl. It was his thinking look. "What do you think?"
"No." Trowa said.
How Trowa had derived a single-syllable negative from such nebulous beginnings of a supposition, Heero had not the hypothesis. He felt vaguely uncomfortable, as if the seams on his clothing had changed, but he was aware that there was no variation. Covert, he surveyed Duo, and determined that he was not the only one.
"You're right." Quatre sighed despondently. "There's trade, but…"
Duo seemed to catch on. "And, it's not a gift-giving society. Even the most egalitarian societies I have read studies about have had some sort of…system of acquisition, I guess. I mean, not to sound like a pessimist or something, but everyone likes claiming a place, and I just don't see that, or anything like that here. Yet, they do have an element of possession. I mean, we all know Mi'a is a complete shrew, but she's not about to go rummaging around Ni'loko's things. So, why isn't anyone just claiming the methods of production, or harnessing it, or something?"
"No disparity." Trowa commented.
Quatre started, and blinked. "You're right. Rashid owns no more wives, no more land, no larger house than any of the hunters. His wife works the same as all of the other wives do, and even though she is rather good at picking woven designs….it's not because she's married to Rashid. It's just…happenstance."
"We're missing something." Wufei said, his voice sure and even.
Sharp cracks rang.
There was utter silence.
Gunfire. Gunfire. Guns.
"Oh, hells." Duo whispered.