This will be a mature story due to strong language, blood/gore, and suggestive material.
Hope you enjoy it and feel free to comment or fave.
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Needless to say, Raph didn't accept the pipe again. The men were understanding and blew smoke rings into the air, twirling them around their fingers and sometimes blowing it into each other's faces and then saying a chant in their native tongue. Raphael didn't understand what they were doing and busied himself with watching Claire and the child with what they were doing.
Claire had taken an array of colorful berries and separated them by color then proceeded to mash them in a bowl with a rock before adding what appeared to be seasoning from several different little begs made of some sort of animal skins, possibly a Peccary or pig. The mash didn't look particularly appetizing, but he would hate to say so to her face.
Then, she began to speak, "Salt to preserve our culture and way of life," she dropped a pinch of fine white crystals into the blue mashed up berries, "Allspice for luck and healing and good fortune," Claire sprinkled a powdery brown substance on the concoction. She repeated this process with several other spices; heather for rain making, aspen for eloquence, a few drops of a lemon for success, belladonna for astral projection and even pieces of an avocado for beauty. This along with several other ingredients that were too many to count ended up being a dark red color that reminded the turtle of clay.
Claire stood, carrying the bowl stacked high with the new slimy substance that wobbled like jello, and went to Raph, kneeling behind him. The turtle turned to her, confused, "What are ya doing?" Claire responded with shushing him sharply, dipping her hand into the dark mash. She then began painting on his shell, which Raph figured was part of this little ceremony, so he said nothing more.
Claire wanted to make the turtle look especially beautiful so she drew patterns that swirled and flowed with how his shell naturally flowed. She was sure to not use too much, to save some for the other four men, but she couldn't resist using a bit extra on him. Once she finished with his shell, she gave an approving nod and moved onto his arms. She failed to notice just how massive Raphael was for his size- his muscles seemed to bulge even when relaxing and his thighs were the size of tree trunks. She delicately traced the outlining of his flesh with her fingers, painting them red with patterns that looked like animals when she finished. On his right arm she painted a wolf looking towards the moon and on his left arm she painted a bear attempting to catch fish on the top of a waterfall the barley trickled with water. She painted his legs, too and his feet, and she sensed Raphael becoming uncomfortable, stiffening up and tapping his fingers on the ground. She worked more quickly and painted rain and lightning bolts emitting from the clouds near his hips onto the thirsty earth. Claire couldn't even look at his face when she took the pain and splattered it with her fingers onto his upper and lower plastron. She could feel her face heat up beneath her fur, but she couldn't quite tell why she suddenly felt so embarrassed all of a sudden. Finally, she moved onto his face, which she made simple, putting a handprint on both his cheeks as if someone was holding his face and then making a crown of dots circle around his bald head.
The tigress looked at her new creation, satisfied with her work, proud she had the opportunity to make him so beautiful. She didn't have too much time to marvel as she also had to paint on the other men, which she did quickly because she had already painted them so many times before. It only took about twenty minutes total to finish the four men. She then stood before the men, holding the bowl mostly empty between her claws, and spoke, "I thank you, men and boy for allowing me to take part in the hunt." She then bowed low and disappeared into the darkness of the forest, as if she was never there from the start, the smaller tigress running at her heals to keep up.
Raphael could barley register what happened. He was now covered in patters and smelt like different spices, fruity even. He looked at his arms, at the bear and the wolf. His skin felt like it was on fire, not from the goopy substance, but from Claire's touch. She made him feel strange, comfortable even. He felt like he was safe with the tigress. The turtle could feel his heart beating rapidly as his stomach danced to the beat and made his extremities tingle with some sort of sensation he wasn't sure of. He couldn't put his finger on what the feeling was, it was almost as if he was at peace with himself, as if he felt whole as he does when he's by himself, sure of his own character's strengths and flaws.
"Claire gave you very strong patterns." One of the old men, a skunk, although he didn't smell, commented, inhaling the pipe fumes deeply, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils.
"She did?" Raph sounded almost hopeful, looking back down to his arms and legs. He couldn't see his shell, but he remembered the tantalizing fingers that traced the grooves and scars and cracks, slowly, "What do they mean?" he rose his arms slightly to show the men.
They analyzed for merely a moment before coming up with an answer, "Ah," another man, a ferret-like creature leaned closer to Raph, looking at his markings, "The bear hunting fish in the dry riverbed means that you are strong, but you are looking in a place that does not utilize your potential," he pointed next to the wolf, "This wolf is called 'Oro'. It means gold in Spanish, but in our ancestor's language, it means 'He Who Moves like a Shadow'-"
"What does that mean?" Raph interrupted, hungry to know more about what Claire thinks of him.
The old ferret continued, clearing his throat, "It means you are cunning, but you tend to dwell too much in the past. The tracing of your shell means that you are a brave fighter and the hands on your cheeks means that you are cared for." he nodded as if asking the turtle for his approval.
Raph understood the cunning and strong and a brave fighter part all right. Yes, he's been training his entire life for the purpose of fighting and kicking ass, but surly there must be more to him than just being good for fighting. Sure, he could be hot headed at times, or most of the time, but truly, he was more. How could she not see that? He could feel himself becoming frustrated. Well then again, he hadn't been there for more than three days, but he thought he made an okay impression on her. Sure, he whined about being hungry and ripped up one of their tents, but he could start hunting his own food, or fix the tent himself, "What about the dots on my head?" he pointed.
This question seemed to make the old men smile, "She is comparing you to a king." The skunk man said simply, "Whether it is good or bad in not mentioned, although." He wrapped his lips around the pipe and clapped his hands twice, looking at one of the smaller tents make to resemble a teepee. The little tigress poked her head out of the entrance then emerged with a large net over her shoulder. She wobbled slightly from the weight of the items in the net, but she managed.
When she reached the fire, the little tigress reached into the net and began to fish out its contents-instruments. She then handed one to each of the men, handing out what looked like drum made of wood, a gong type instrument made of, ironically, a large turtle shell accompanied by a thick stick with rags tied around the end, and what appeared to be a small pot with animal skin stretch tightly across the opening, held in place with thin strips of leather.
Without a cue, they began to play. The music began softly then grew in intensity. The men's faces were contorted with deep concentration, then the ferret-man sang softly in a foreign tongue that Raphael could only guess was the native language of the mutants, although he hadn't heard them speak this in his time being there.
Raphael could feel himself being moved by the music. Personally, he preferred hard rock or even dubstep if he was in the mood for it, but something about the way they played, the way he sang so softly made the turtle feel at home, as if he could grasp onto a time when nothing mattered, when he had the freedom to do anything at any time. He began to tap his foot to the beat of the gong, the steady, low rhythm that the jaguar-man tapped slowly with the cloth end of the stick.
In the corner of his eye, the turtle could see the little tigress begin to dance with her eyes half closed. She put the palms of her hands against her ears at the top of her head, which must have meant something, and she danced sideways for a short while, then backwards, her tail swishing behind her. She did a graceful movement with her hips. The girl went up on her toes and made a slow turn and danced through the smoke and the fire, the flames and hot coals seemingly not affecting her. Her face had a dreamy look, quiet and composed.
The little thing reminded Raphael of Claire, not only being a mutant tiger, but the sheer grace and beauty seemed to reflect her in every way. The ninja turtle couldn't help but watch her intensely, not wanting to even blink and miss a moment of the dance, her shadow casting on the trees in all directions
"She is drawing out the spirits of the forest," the jaguar-man explained, leaning toward Raphael while still beating on the gong, "to scare the animals out of their hiding. It is especially good luck to have a visitor, such as yourself."
Now he understood. This was a hunting ceremony meant to spook the animals out of hiding and he was a part of it. Suddenly, whooping a yelling could be heard from the forest, coming closer. Raphael's hand instinctively went to his belt, but found no Sais. However, the men continued to play even faster than before, if at all possible.
What the fuck? Raphael stood, ready to fight, even as his leg tingled beneath him and sent shivers down his spine. Then a pack of the mutants emerged from the tree line. They held spears and knives above their heads; cheering and howling like, well, wild animals. Two of the largest men, which appeared to be oxen, carried a thick branch on their shoulders, supporting the weight of two head small bears, a doe, and six or so rabbits, all tied upside down using strips of flexible bark.
It had been a good hunt and now they could reap the rewards. Everyone now came out of their tents, cheering for the men and the spirits, who were generous tonight. Claire sprinted over to Raphael, taking his hands in hers, "Thank you, Raphael, your presence has made the yield of the hunt great."
The ninja couldn't help but turn the same shade of his mask, "It was nothin." He acted like it was no big deal.
"But it is, turtle, it is." Claire bounced on the balls of her feet, "We haven't had a good supply of meat for weeks and now there is enough to feed everyone for some time." She couldn't contain herself now. She was giddy and happy as Raphael had ever seen her.
Maybe being here isn't so bad after all. I guess I should thank the Purple Dragons, or the Suits or whatever attacked me.