[Flashback] Bones are more than chew toys (Rage)

[Naama]

60th day of Summer 493AV

“Janja, stop pulling my hair!”

An adolescent girl pulled a strand of her jet black locks away from the beak of a feisty kestrel perched on her lifted arm. Her coppery hand was covered in a worn gauntlet that was two sizes too large for her, and her raptor wore two small jesses around her talons. The leash was wrapped around her glove, but with enough leverage for the bird to flap enthusiastically around her head.

Naama had been training her imprinted kestral for many weeks after hatching it at her aunt’s mews, but today was only the third day the bird had been out of the mews altogether, and the excitement was clawing at it’s senses. The raptor chirped and screeched and flapped and jumped up and down her arm, and Naama had to pause every few seconds to adjust her back into the right position.

“Janja, I swear by the Goddess-queen I will feed you to the Dhani if you don’t quit it!” She barked, as the bird jerked and pulled at her braids. But it seemed futile. Naama released an exaggerated sigh as she walked through the bustling streets of Taloba, avoiding both men and women out for the day on errands or missions or simply to shop. None of them took much notice of the half-breed, who nearly tripped over two boys playing with wooden weapons in a muddy puddle.

“Watch it, snakebait!” She barked, sending the kestrel into a flapping frenzy.

“You watch it, tar-eyes!” Screamed the younger Myrian boy.

Naama would have kicked him had Janja not suddenly taken to the air and pulled the girl so forcefully she nearly fell flat on her face. She bit back a yelp and followed bird through stalls and training centers, until she’d been led into a more sodden looking section of Taloba.

The roar of a tiger penetrated the air, and Naama felt her heart jump to her throat. Myrian tiger? She thought incredulously. No, couldn’t be. But her curiosity got the best of her, and her steps soon led her around a corner to face what appeared to be…

Another girl.

Naama blinked, tossing a stray strand of black hair across her shoulder, and held Janja close. She seemed no older than she was, but in her hand she held something peculiar. “What was that?”

“My new tiger roarer.”

“Where did you get it from?”

The girl pointed at the seemingly dilapidated hut, but before Naama could ask any questions, the girl had run off. The half-breed was now intrigued! She approached the wooden door, careful to stay clear of the animals that have made their homes grazing around it, and knocked once. “Hello? Is anyone here? I’d like one of those tiger roarers, I can trade this dumb bird for one!” She waited.

[Rage]

Sounds of booted feet shuffling on the floor and a healthy dose of unintelligible grumbling could be heard from inside the run-down hut. After a few moments, the door opened to reveal perhaps the shortest and roundest Myrian living in Taloba. With a grumpy face and a shock of blue-black hair that twisted just about everywhere, he looked like a fat little lion. He was speaking but had his eye on something inside his house. "...told ye to get goin' a'fore ye start scarin' off me chick-" The man's eyes widened as he caught sight of Naama and, quick as a cat, he moved behind his door and closed it down to a crack until it only showed one of his eyes. It stared back at the girl's onyx orbs unblinkingly. "What in Dira's beard are ye s'posed to be?" he asked, his tone somewhat panicked. His one visible eye suddenly narrowing, he peered closer at the girl. Rapid-fire questions soon followed, and Naama had no chance of ever getting a word in to answer any of them. "Ye a 'breed', girlie? I ain't lookin' to adopt, if that's what yer here fer. Not interested in any cookies yer sellin' either. Unless them be cinnamon ones. Yer not sellin' those, are ye? Wait, did Scarface send ye?" Naama must have shown some sign of recognition at the last part, for the girl she had run across did indeed have a scar running down her left eye. A disgruntled sigh left the rotund Myrian's lips. "Goddess, the girl brought me another 'un," he muttered under his breath. "Stupid girl never knew to shut up, told another o' her kind and bringed her to me doorstep... "What you want, girlie?" he demanded. "I ain't sellin' no damn tiger-roarer!" Then, before Naama could answer, he pulled the door open an inch wider and eyed the raptor on her arm. "That chicken fer eatin'?"

[Naama]

Naama stood there with a quizzical look on her face both when Baba opened the door assuming he was the other girl and when he slammed it in her face and proceeded to speak to her through his peephole. She blinked once, then put a fisted hand on her hip in irritation.

“Haven’t you ever seen a Myrian before?” She said, then barely had a chance to open her mouth a second time before Baba went loose with his words. She kicked the door. “Open the door or I’ll make Janja poke out your eye!” Naama raised the kestrel on her arm toward his visible eye threateningly. Then she paused when he mentioned the girl named “Scarface”, the one with the tiger-roarer. She licked her lips thoughtfully.

“Yeah, she told me about her tiger-roarer. I want one of those! Did you make it for her?” Then opportunity reared itself when Baba opened the door as she spoke, if only an inch, it was enough. She shoved her kestral in his face as Janja squawked. “It’s not a chicken, it’s a kestrel, and she would bite your fingers off if you tried to eat her. But if you want a chicken, she can get one for you!”

[Rage]

"That right?" Even with only his eyes visible, Naama would be able to imagine the incredulous look on the older Myrian's face just from the tone of his voice. "Ye ain't pullin' ol' Baba's leg? Show that li'l birdie here." The door opened and Baba revealed himself once more, approaching the mixed blooded child unabashedly this time. His interest in the kestrel seemed genuine and, to Naama's surprise, he reached out a gnarled hand to stroke its head, all without the raptor even making a move to nip at his fingers with its sharp beak. "Good birdie," he grunted with approval. He turned to Naama as if just realizing that the girl was still there (which was strange, considering the kestrel was sitting on her arm). "What was it ye wanted? Tiger ro...I AIN"T NO PEDDLER O' MERE TRINKETS!" He bellowed loudly, startling the kestrel that it flapped its wings in agitation. It was not difficult to picture steam coming out of his ears. Several chickens in the immediate surroundings turned to their direction, probably imagining just that. One standing on top of a pile of chopped wood even clucked at them. "If ye wanted them noise-makers ye go get 'em at the market! Ol' Baba may have carved some in his time but he never selled them! I teached that stupid git girl t'carve her own item o' malediction. Never thought she could turn it into somethin' that would'a make her scream like a fat cat!" Baba was huffing at the end of his tirade and he eyed Naama wearily. "Bah! Go make yer chicken catch me 'nudder chicken a'fore ye talk to ol' Baba 'gain. All this yappin' be makin' me belly grumblin'..." He turned around and went back inside his hut, slamming the door before Naama could follow him in. "And cook the damn chicken 'fore ye come knockin' on me door again!" A used firepit near a tree stump used for chopping wood a short distance away seemed to be where outdoor cooking could be done. If Naama inspected it, she would see that it was clumsily made, as if by another child. Story Secret : Unknown to Naama, Baba has a maledicted item that attracts animals to him as long as he makes no aggressive move against them. This explains why his hut is flocked by all sorts of creatures.

[Naama]

Naama cocked her head at Baba. She wasn’t sure what the old, chubby Myrian was getting at but she was nearly startled at the abrupt door opening. She stepped back a second, then watched with wide eyes as his hand stroke Janja’s head, and she didn’t even snap at him!

“How did you do that? She usually bites everyone that isn’t me!” Naama demanded with a stomp of her foot. The halfbreed quickly quieted down at his outburst, and Janja shifted closer up her arm and chirped disapprovingly. “Well if you taught her then you can teach me. I learn good, and I can work hard!” She wasn’t sure he was even listening as he turned his back to her.

“Wait, Baba--!” The door slammed shut, and Naama’s nose was an inch from its surface. She released an irritated sigh. “Making someone else do the dirty work will just make you fatter,” She grumbled, but the halfbreed relented, and she glanced about at the chickens that seemed to make their homes on the fat Myrian’s property. “Okay, Janja, this shouldn’t be too hard.” She touched her finger to the raptor’s breast feathers and pet her affectionately, “You can do this, they’re just chickens! Silly, weak, fat chickens. Tasty too.”

Naama loosened the knot on her leash and lifted her arm up, and almost immediately, Janja took off with a powerful push from her legs. The bird soared above the old ruins and circled the group of chickens below. Clearly agitating them. Naama moved to the other side, and when the raptor dived, the chickens scattered. Clucking in a chorus of chaos the girl chased one hen after the other, slipping twice in the dirt and scraping her knee.

“Come. Back. Here. Stupid chickens!” Naama shouted, her arm a hair’s length away from the tail feathers of one hen. “I need to cook you up!” Not a second later, Janja had swooped down and startled the hen right into Naama’s hands. She had raced back to her longhouse for a small bowl and returned in less than five chimes, and now fumbling with her bone knife, the girl slit the chickens throat, and waited as the blood poured into the bowl in a macabre pool. She’d seen her aunt and uncle prepare chickens before, but in terms of execution, she was still a child. She knew she had to dunk the thing in water to get the feathers out, but from where she could see, there wasn’t a bowl big enough to stick it in, and she wasn't about to run back a second time.

“You better be a good teacher, fossil”, Naama barked, as she squatted over her slaughtered chicken and began plucking it’s feathers one handful at a time. Janja settled on a branch nearby with her own kill, a large mouse she was now contentedly picking at. Once the hen was defeathered, Naama carried it over to the fire pit, laid it out along the ash strewn ground and sliced open the belly, digging out the guts and organs and tossing it over to Janja, “Dessert!”

The young halfbreed then searched for two sticks and began the tedious process of rubbing them together. She stacked twigs and leaves in the center, and forced the friction until an abundance of smoke began to rise, with which she nursed with puffs of air. The fire immediately sparked, and Naama hurried to skewer the chicken on a sturdy stick and placed it over the fire pit. She waited for a good long while as the tantalizing scent of roasting poultry permeated the air. She sat on the log, occasionally turning the roast, an elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm with such drowsiness the girl nearly fell into the pit herself. Burnt flesh soon tinged the air, and Naama snapped awake at the sight of her chicken’s darkened legs.

“Ah!” She swore aloud and pulled the skewer off the fire pit, inspecting it firmly with her knife. The lower half of the chicken was burned to a crisp, but the upper half didn’t seem to suffer much overcooking. It was brown, and the flesh underneath was pink and juicy. She bent to pick up the bowl of blood in one and held the roast chicken in the other and knocked on Baba’s door using her foot. “Here’s your dinner, old man. Can you teach me now?”

[Rage]

"What, just like that?" Baba snorted derisively. He snatched the still-steaming chicken from the girl's grasp, eying her suspiciously as if she had taken a piece from it that he was not aware of, even though the roasted avian remained whole, at least as whole as it could be after Naama gutted and beheaded it. The stout Myrian fell on it with his teeth, tearing off a generous bite. His eyes widened as the hot juices of his meal scalded his tongue. "Blaghwdii gheeet, ye cul teh dhaamm tighnngk fruth!" he screamed at her through half-opened lips, unwilling to spit out the meat burning the inside of his mouth. In the end, he settled to fishing it out with his fingers and blowing it until it was cool enough for him to chew once more. "Idjitgurrl," Naama heard him mutter as he went about his meal. Despite the initial bite, it only took Baba minutes to finish the roasted bird, punctuating his satisfaction with a shameless belch. Smacking his thick lips, he upended a half-filled cup of water over his mouth and water dribbled down his chin and beard. He peered at Naama as soon as he was done. "You still 'ere? Bah!" His face scrunched up when he realized he couldn't get rid of the girl easily. With a resigned sigh, the rotund Myrian began to look around in his messy hut. Blocks of different sorts of wood littered the floor, some of them half-carved to resemble some type of canine sitting on it haunches and howling at the sky. On the lone table were more blocks but there were undamaged however. Picking a light, cream-colored one, Baba tossed it to Naama. "Here," he said. "Ought to be good enough for ye to pick somethin' up from it. Go carve me yer birdie from 'at." He turned around and headed to his room, chuckling as he did so. When he returned, he brought with him a pouch full of all sorts of carving tools and he laid them each on the table, calling out each tool's name and giving Naama a brief description of what each did. Chisels of all sizes, gougers, files, picks and even a drill was pulled out from the bag. If Naama took time to inspect their craftsmanship, she would notice even with her inexperienced eyes that each were made from metal and were of top-grade quality. "Ye want to learn we do it ol' Baba's way. So carve. I'll inspect what ye've done later. I be wantin' that piece o' wood t'at least look like yer bird thing, hear?" And with that Baba stomped off to his room,banging the door shut behind him. Naama was left to wonder how she would even begin to transform a block of wood into the shape of her kestrel. Storyteller Secret : Baba purposely gave Naama a block of maple wood - something that is very hard to carve.

[Naama]

Naama crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the ground. This Baba inhaled his food like a fat tiger, but at least he didn’t complain about the quality of the chicken. Every bark he made startled her, but she only glared back with a child’s stubbornness. “Of course I’m still here!” She exclaimed with a huff. Her black eyes roamed the home of the plump Myrian, intrigued, and nearly flinched when he tossed her a block of wood. Naama quirked a brow. “Why do I need to carve my bir-- Oh never mind.” The girl shook her head, realizing Baba had a way with skirting questions. She bent over the tools, scratching her head. Metal for tools! Maybe she could even skewer a boar with one! But Baba, of course, was impatient, and Naama was only a child. She grabbed whatever looked the sharpest in the pile and sat down the minute the old Myrian retired to his private area. Kestrel. He wants me to carve a kestrel. Is he mad? I don’t know how to do this. With puckering lips, the girl inspected her block of wood and tapped it once with her chisel. With a piercing whistle, Janja fluttered down from her perch onto the ground beside Naama and with painstakingly bad precision, the girl began chipping away at the block. Every incision she made was rough. The wood was stubborn, and she hardly had the handling to keep the block still, and on more than one occasion she had to call back a wandering Janja, who was beginning to grow bored with modeling. Naama didn’t know how long she’d sat with her ass glued to the dirt floor, but she clawed at that block for a better part of the time. On more than one occasion she nicked her fingers, forcing her to pause and reanalyze her technique. But through her tribulations, she managed to whittle down what looked like two lopsided eggs placed on top of the other with a carrot for a beak. But for what it was worth, Naama beamed like an idiot. She ran to Baba’s door, pounding on it with a tiny fist, “Look Baba! I did it!“ She proclaimed, and presented to the round Myrian her crude carving.

[Rage]

It took several long moments before Baba opened the door and when he did, it was obvious that Naama's knocking had disturbed him from a most favored pastime, one he was not used to cutting short. The rotund Myrian's wild hair covered half of his face and there was still sand in the corners of his red-rimmed eyes. He stared at the girl without recognition. "Wha-heeeh...?" he asked, or at least it sounded like a question to the little Naama. The man's eyes, one smaller than the other as of he had fallen asleep with it pressed against the pillow, tried to focus on her and the object she held before under his nose. "Petch d'ye want, munchk'n?" Baba's eyes zeroed in on the dark orbs that were the young girl's eyes and his own eyes widened into clarity, shifting between Naama's beaming face and the crude carving she eagerly held before her. His brow knotted into storm clouds and an ugly beet-red color flooded his face. "What is wrong with ye, girlie?!" he exploded, raising his short stubby arms over his head in agitation. "Ye waked me up fer this crummy... stinkin'...crummy...turd-shaped...Bah! Can't even tell what it is!" Baba stomped out of his room and marched back into the worktable where his carving tools lay, carrying Naama's carving with only his thumb and index finger, as if he was loathe to touch the offending object with more than those two digits. He stopped to rummage through the many objects that littered his floor to pick up a block of wood before climbing over a chair and ordering Naama to sit opposite him. The figurine she had carved was set to the side of the table unceremoniously while Baba picked up the chisel. The block of wood he had picked up was placed between him and the girl. If Naama had been paying attention, she would notice that it was different from the wood she had carved on. It seemed smoother and looked much lighter. it had a faintly aromatic scent as well. With a snap of his fingers, Baba called Naama's kestrel, pointing for it to stand beside the girl's carving. The bird obediently obeyed, standing to mimic the orientation of the figurine with hardly a quiver in its feathered frame. Baba snapped his fingers again to gain Naama's attention this time. "Those two look the same to ye?" he asked, shifting the carving several times. Each time, Janja would reposition herself to face in the same direction without even being told to do so. When the girl tried to answer him, Baba beat her to the punch. "O' course it dain't! "D'ye see any flyin' pigs 'round 'ere? Tha's what it looks like! An' yer birdie seems to agree with Ol' Baba!" As if on cue, the kestrel hopped over to the carving and butted it with her head. The figurine toppled to the table top with a dull thud, dashing the elation Naama had felt earlier as it fell. Janja turned to her owner with her head cocked and offered what looked suspiciously like a shrug. "Disappointed, Tar Eyes?" Baba asked. He was in a foul mood for being disturbed from his sleep and he intended to take it out on poor Naama. While it may seemed mean-spirited, an adult picking on a child, unknown to the girl, it was also the man's way of testing her resolve in learning what he had to teach. "Ye gon' cry now, girlie?" he continued. His voice took on a higher pitch as he imitated the voice of a young child. he even motioned with his gnarled fists as if he meant to rub tear-stained eyes. "'Boo-hoo, Ol' Baba's bein' a mean ol' doodie head, I'll go sit in the corner now an' cry me a bucket o' ink! Boo-hoo!' "When ye're done feelin' sorry fer yerself, ye come back here an' go stare at this for a good five chimes or so." Baba pointed at the block of wood he place between them. "An' then tell Ol' Baba if ye can see ye li'l birdie in it!" He harrumphed and jumped off the stool, clucking at Janja to follow him as he returned to his room. The raptor hopped and nudged the block of wood this time, eying Naama as she did so, before taking wing to settle on the round Myrian's shoulder.