I LIIIIIVE! Yes, I have returned from my long absence in the fanfiction realm. Ugh, I just didn't feel like writing and I was preoccupied by grad. It took almost a month to write this, so you'd better appreciate it! Remember to check my page for character bios!
Ooh, I think I forgot this before but: I own nothing but Matt, Celia and the personalities of my characters. Steal those and die.
Rangertough: My characters always have enhanced emotions. They don't always hide their true feelings well if they aren't well developed. I haven't had a huge amount of experiance with boyfriends and such, but I have seen teenage guys get really pissed over teeny little things.
Olgite the squidgal: I'm working on a long one-shot about their music! It was inspired by a well-drawn piece called 'Demon drums' on elfwood. I don't remember the artist's name though.
K: I probly won't, although, you never know.
Golden Wind: You'll just have to see! (evil grin)
Bastet1023: Living hell for Matt! Ooh I torture him so horribly in this story! Poor him, he needs a restraining order against the crazed authoress.
Lord Azrael: I would sooo love to beat the crap out of everysingle erson that bullied me in elementary! Matt's kind of living my dream for me. I've not had much of a problem with bullies in High school, probly because I hang out with the Goths, hippies and art freaks now. Maybe they're scared of my friends…'Course, I am an art freak, so maybe they leave me alone cuz I'm weird.
Chapter five
Matt nervously began cutting his steak, moving a little awkwardly since he had not used any sort of cutlery besides a knife in over four years. The Yautja didn't really have table manners except for during the banquets. That only consisted of letting the Elders and high ranked warriors grab their food first, not throwing food and not getting too overly pissed and acting like an idiot. Now he had to re-remember all the complicated human table manners. He felt Celia's foster father's gaze burning into the top of his head. Celia's foster father had the blocky build of an ex-football player, graying brown hair and piercingly pale gray eyes. Mr. Stirling was not someone to mess with, as Matt was quickly learning. Mrs. Stirling was fashionable, blonde and slim, despite her age. She had a fake n' bake tan, was motherly and nervous. Celia's stepbrother, Tomas, was a typical teenager; baggy jeans, baggy t-shirt, unkempt, shaggy brown hair and a slouch. Jessica took after her mother. She too was slim, but short and a natural blonde. She and Celia had similar clothes; jeans and a t-shirt. Though they had many similarities, Matt was quite convinced that she was much stupider.
"So," said Mr. Stirling as he stabbed a bite with his fork and impaled Matt with his gaze. "Where have you been the last four years? It's like you just vanished off the face of the Earth." Matt nearly choked on a carrot. Forcing himself to finish chewing and swallow down the right tube, he frantically tried to find a plausible explanation for his absence that didn't involve spaceships or seven foot aliens.
"I, um, went on a class for… university, to this really remote location in South America, to, erm, study the culture of a native tribe. Yeah."
Mr. Stirling grunted and scowled. "If it's for school than why haven't you phoned? E-mailed? Written? Hmm?"
"It was really isolated and we weren't allowed to bring outside technology in there because they wanted to keep the natives as natural as possible." He didn't look convinced. "They were newly discovered and knew hardly anything about the outside world."
"What is the name of this tribe?"
Matt blurted out "Yautja." before he had a chance to think of anything else. Lee glanced sharply at him.
"Yowtja?" said Mrs. Stirling. "That's a strange name."
"It's not Yowtja, its Yautja. Th-"
"So you speak those savage's language? Let's hear some." Matt flinched at the insult, but sighed and complied with the order. It was a better idea to be submissive in this situation.
"Hmm… Thin'de le'hasuan 'aloun'myin-del bpi-de gke-de hasou-de paya."
"That sounded soo cool!" exclaimed Tomas, revealing his age to be much less than he previously thought. "Say something else!"
Mr. Stirling frowned. "What does it mean?"
"Learn the gifts of all sights or finish in the dance of the fallen gods."
"Sounds like a damn riddle, or a bloody bunch of gibberish."
"George! Watch your language!" commanded his wife. Ooh, Matt thought, she'd just die if she could hear how often the Yautja curse.
"It is an old saying among their warrior caste." He grunted again and eating resumed in silence. Matt finished his steak and started to finish his veggies. He missed proper Earth vegetables. Sure, the ones that the Yautja ate were exotic and usually tasty, but many didn't agree with him. It was quite a trial for Guan-Thwei and him in his first few weeks to discover what he could eat. Their attempts resulted in stomach cramps, vomiting and other less pleasant side effects from the alien plants.
He started calming down and feeling less threatened by Mr. Stirling, when: "Are you in a gang? Is that why you've been missing? Is that why you have so many scars and that big one on your forehead? It looks like a gang sign to me, and I won't have my kids exposed to that kind of crap. Even though Celia is your sister she lives in my house, under my rules." Matt glanced at Lee, who gave a tiny shrug. Oomans asked so pauk-de many questions! He felt sorry for his Yautja friends and what they had to put up with for such a long time. Tomas's eyes, which before held only boredom and teenage hostility, now held a seed of interest. So only when there was talk of organized crime and warriors did Tomas perk up and stop stewing in his own angst. He knew without looking that Jessica was staring at him in adoration and Mrs. Stirling was glaring at him coldly and suspiciously. He could also feel the aggression and anger coming off Mr. Stirling. He'd never noticed that he could smell rage on humans. He wished they would stop being prejudiced bastards. He'd have to tread carefully and be political.
"It isn't a gang marking."
"Than what the hell is it? You sure as hell didn't get it by accident."
"It is the sign of a warrior and an adult. I joined the warriors because it helped them accept us better. I received it during the manhood ritual. I'm considered an adult and a blooded warrior among them now." Matt couldn't read Mr. Stirling's emotion now.
"So what does a blooded warrior do then?"
"We hunt, conquer and defend the rest."
Tomas sat bolt upright and said excitedly, "Did you ever fight in a war?"
Matt blinked. "No. They weren't having any conflicts then."
"How'd you get all those scars then?"
"Tomas!" exclaimed Mrs. Stirling. "That's very rude!"
"Sorry Mum." Tomas said sullenly.
"No, no, it's fine. I got them on hunts."
"What kind of animals did you hunt?" rumbled Mr. Stirling. Matt began to hope he was just a protective good ol' boy.
"Dangerous ones."
"What for?"
"Trophies, mostly."
"We despise hunting. It is barbaric and unnecessary." Mrs. Stirling said loftily. Matt took a deep breath. She was getting on his nerves with all her high and mighty-ness.
"They do not know better. They do it for status." Speaking like that about the Yautja grated on his nerves. "
They ought to be civilized and converted. We don't believe in destructive religions like that." Matt rolled his eyes. As if Christianity didn't cause almost every single war in the past two thousand years. At least among the Yautja, they didn't war about slightly different beliefs. He was glad he hadn't been uber-religious before and now followed the Yautja's religion.
"Bloody savages." growled Mr. Stirling.
"The Yautja are noble and honorable! They are not savages!" Matt snarled. Celia looked uncomfortable and shifted from side to side. Mr. Stirling glared, nostrils flared, face blotchy red, a vein throbbing in his forehead. Matt glared right back. He had been taught to glare by the masters. No one could glare like a Yautja. He knew this wouldn't lead to anything productive, but he was beyond caring and too proud to step down. Instead Celia stepped in. Mr. Stirling broke gaze first.
"Umm, you know that you just insulted the people that Matt has been living with for the past four years, right? Maybe he doesn't share the same views as you. He is the one that has gotten to know them." Her foster father closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He seemed to be mentally counting to ten, or maybe three hundred.
Without opening them, he said slowly, "It wasn't polite of me to say that. Now let's not go back to this." Matt gave Celia a thoughtful look and returned to his forgotten food. It seemed Mr. Stirling had an anger problem when his personal views were challenged.
…..
After dessert, ice cream, Matt was sent into the living room while they cleaned up the kitchen. Tomas was sent in with him, supposedly because he helped earlier, though Matt knew the real reason was because Mr. and Mrs. Stirling still didn't believe he wasn't in a gang. He sat on the couch, twiddling his thumbs nervously. Tomas sat in an over stuffed green chair staring intently at him.
"So."
"So what?"
"So are you really in a gang? That's what my parents believe."
"No." sighed Matt. "I have been staying with a foreign culture."
He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "It's alright to tell me. I won't say anything."
"Pauk! Why won't anyone believe me?"
"Sorry. Tell me about this tribe thinger." Matt thought for a couple minutes and decided to tell him a highly edited version since he seemed harmless and wouldn't blab.
"The Yautja are hunters and warriors naturally. Almost every… Man becomes one, unless he's crippled, inferior or it is by personal choice. The women run all the tribes."
"Why do they hunt all the time?"
"It is for status and trophies and to impress the females because unless the males prove they are vigorous and strong, they don't get anything from the females, if you know what I mean." Tomas laughed loudly.
"Why do you hunt then? You aren't living with them permanently, are you?" Tomas smiled wickedly. "You're trying to impress one of their women, aren't you?" Matt blanched at the thought of having any sort of intimate relationship with a female Yautja.
"No, I'm really not trying to do that! It's for the status and I like it."
"How do you get into this school program thing? It sounds like it would be fun. I want to be a warrior." Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed the scar. It was a movement very similar to Guan-Thwei's. He saw himself in the younger boy. Over eager, bored with normal life and naïve.
"Trust me on this, Tomas. You don't want to be a warrior. It is one of the most difficult and dangerous things you could be. I'm not going to tell you more because you don't need to know." Tomas scowled and threw himself into the chair, arms crossed on his chest. In the sudden silence, Matt caught stray words and phrases from Mr. and Mrs. Stirling through the closed kitchen door.
Mr. Stirling: "Gang… Dangerous… Hair like a damned hippie… Celia…"
Mrs. Stirling: "Pagan… False… Two-faced… All lies…" He growled.
…..
"Are you sure you don't need to stay the night?" Mrs. Stirling asked, even though she clearly didn't want him there. She was being the good hostess.
"No, no. I'm staying with a friend from the tribe who's coming here on a short visit."
"Oh."
"He doesn't speak much English."
"That's nice." she said, though she didn't think it was nice at all. She laughed, loudly and falsely. "Well don't let me keep you from your friend! Goodbye!"
"Bye." muttered Matt. He knew a new word likely to be added to Mrs. Stirling's list of descriptive words about Matt; homosexual. Yeah, right.
"I'll see you later, Matt!" yelled Celia.
"Bye, Sis!" he called back before the door shut. He dropped the cheerful face and stalked away, immediately becoming the hunter. His eyes flicked towards every sound and identified it, evaluated it and discarded it. His footsteps were smooth, long and silent. He patted the brace of throwing daggers around his waist, hidden beneath the coat. They were specially made, elegant weapons. The blades were long and thin and very, very sharp. The hilts were decorated in twisting designs, like rope. The pommels were forged in the shape of complicated knots. Each knife was perfectly balanced. They daggers had not come cheap from Thwei-Tjau'ke. He still owed him a lot of work still. Matt grinned coldly and laughed, a low cruel sound as he entered the park. Oh, it was going to feel so good to vent his frustrations on these stupid oomans who crossed him.