Other Fan Fiction ❯ Tiger, Burning Bright ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: YoukaiFate 
Miscellaneous: Other Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Romance / Drama / Adventure | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.25.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 203 | Status: Completed
Miscellaneous: Other Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Romance / Drama / Adventure | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.25.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 203 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, etc., of Avatar. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.
Tiger, Burning Bright
A/N: This is rather rough, as I wanted to hurry and post, and more general than I first intended when I sat down to write. Contrary characters. Trudy is a lot of fun, though, and damn stubborn. I had to grudgingly give in after the next five attempts to flesh out the chapter ended in several head-sized dents into my desk. (Fate)
Chapter Four
Living in a land of blue giants could drive a human crazy. Everything was made for their size, from chairs to spoons to sleeping hammocks. She could have retreated to the human-sized comforts of the relocated mobile link tank each night, like Norm and Dr. Patel, but Trudy had always been an all-or-nothing kind of gal. If she wanted to learn about the Na’vi, really learn, than she had to immerse herself in their culture.
Having thrown her lot in with them so recklessly, she was now literally stuck with her decision. She’d always championed the underdog, and had hated how the corporation was treating the Pandoran natives. Human history was full of crap like that, and whole cultures had been needlessly destroyed because of the ruthless greed of a few bad apples. She’d be damned if she let that happen here, on this beautiful moon with these beautiful, simple people.
Not that they were that simple. Na’vi society was complex, built on their enduring faith and pragmatic acceptance of the circle of life. Protected and nurtured by their Eywa, an intelligent entity somehow tied to the whole planet, they lived a hard life without the benefits of modern technology. Something they had little use for, and something which she, surprising, hardly found herself missing.
She’d grown up in the ugly mining camps that dotted the asteroids belts. Her mother had died before she could remember, and her father had flown cargo between various camps when he wasn’t drinking his meager pay away in some bar. She’d gone into the Marines as soon as she could, and then met and lost Brady, her first love and fellow Marine. Disillusioned, she’d quit and joined RDA, hoping for the chance to fly skies never seen before. And she’d had that wish granted, landing here on Pandora. And the rest was history, as it were.
There was an interconnection between the Na’vi she almost envied. She’d never known that kind of closeness and acceptance. They welcomed her and the other humans as if they had always been a part of this world. Oh, there were the exceptions---especially when other clans started trickling in to meet the famous Toruk Makto, Jake Sully, and gawk at the “aliens.” She hated being stared at like that, like some exotic bird, though Norm and Dr. Patel didn’t seem to mind.
Norm was in his element, chattering away with the visitors and learning all he could. He’d even started teaching the kids again in Dr. Augustine’s school. Dr. Patel was too much of a scientist to let anything bother him. Rather, he was delighted when the visitors brought specimens for him as word got out that he was on the look-out. He had a lifetime’s worth of work ahead of him, and his only regret was that he might not be able to show off his incredible research to his fellow colleagues.
Both men were carving out a niche for themselves on this new world, and Trudy was determined to do the same. She didn’t know anything, though, but flying and soldiering. That was okay, though. The Na’vi were pretty open-minded, as it was taken for granted each individual was suited to the task he or she was best at, whether it be warrior, hunter, gatherer or craftsman---which were rather simplistic human definitions for what amounted to a unique mastery of very specialized fields.
They let her use a child’s bow and arrow, a weapon better suited to her size, and taught her to use a spear and other things. Tse’yan was a patient teacher, and had become her companion by default. She knew he was not of Neytiri’s people, the Omaticaya clan, but when they moved to their new Hometree, he followed with no one arguing about it.
Tse’yan was an enigma to her. He seemed to have appointed himself her guide, for he spent as much time with her as he could, patiently teaching her the ways of a Na’vi scout and even taking her up with him on his Banshee---or ikran, as the People called the strange, shrieking bird-lizards. He knew how she missed flying, and it was great he was so willing to let her ride with him, but it wasn’t the same as having her own Samson. He indulged her whims, teaching her the techniques of fighting and hunting, but never let her go on anything dangerous, afraid, perhaps, of how weak she must seem to him. Being a good three and a half feet shorter than anyone else around her certainly had its drawbacks, as the Na’vi were always absently patting her on the head and telling her what a good job she had done.
Trudy scowled. The fact was, she wasn’t a child, although they treated her like one. Oh, not all the time---she had learned enough of their language by now to converse easily with any of them, and they treated her with grave respect when all they were doing was talking or doing something non-dangerous, like when she tried to learn to weave the beautiful cloth the Omaticaya were so famous for. She’d done a terrible job---she hadn’t the patience for it, but that was okay, as they had all shared a good laugh over the result. She was better at other things, like gutting the kills the hunters brought in, drying the skin and braiding the fibrous, leather-like roots of the fan-tree, as she called it, into the numerous uses it could be put to.
But all of that was make-work, and she itched for some real action to get her blood boiling. She craved adventure, something real to do. Something that would make her useful, rather than just some oddity to be indulged. She wasn’t a peaceful person by nature, and she chaffed at the restrictions put on her just because she was smaller than they.
Not that she didn’t force herself to become just as strong as they. She worked her body hard, sculpting and strengthening her muscles so that she could move as easily through the tangled jungles of Pandora as any of the blue-skinned Na’vi. She could shimmy up a vine as fast as any of them, and could manage to keep pace with the longer-legged warriors for a good five miles before she began to falter, as she had to run three steps to their one.
She was in the best shape of her life, and her arms had never looked this good. She flexed a muscle, grinning at the hard definition along her tanned bicep. Her skin had darkened to a rich golden brown under the Alpha Centauri sun, and she had discarded her standard shipsuit for the less cumbersome apparel worn by the Na’vi, though she would never be able to just wear a set of beads and a knotted bikini like the other women. She’d bobble around too much, and she couldn’t let go of all her human inhibitions, as Jake so easily could. But then, he was now one of them, his big, blue body mixing easily with the others so that he didn’t stand out so much like a sore thumb.
Still, the brief wrap she wore around her breasts and hips was more practical for the steamy jungles of Na’vi than her sturdy shipsuits. She had made a pair of sandals, as her feet could not toughen as hard as the Na’vi’s, and there were too many poisonous plants hiding beneath the thick undergrowth just ready to stab the unwary. She would be unrecognizable to any of her former coworkers, with her hair grown so long and her gun traded for a short bow and spear. She’d certainly gone “native” in a way that would have horrified her old drill sergeant.
But not native enough to be accepted as an equal by the Na’vi. They were too conscious of her slighter strength, especially Tse’yan. He did all he could to pretend as if he were not going out of his way to shield her from danger, but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew damn well what he was doing. She thought it came from a sense of responsibility, as their friendship had grown over the past months as they learned more about each other and what made them tick.
He was a strong, proud warrior, certain of his strength and his place in the world. She often wished she had just a little of that same certainty and calm acceptance. He could be a little rigid at times, a bit black and white in his thinking, but he was willing to listen, if not always agree, when she argued a point. He was as quick to anger as he was to laugh, but that seemed the norm with most Na’vi. He was a little arrogant and stubborn, but so was she, so that didn’t bother her as much as his over-protectiveness. Just because he could easily win a wrestling match without breaking a sweat didn’t mean she was less than he. If anything, the ways she adapted to survive in this harsh environment and keep up with the big blue ape just showed how much better she was.
She smirked, knowing he would have argued that point---saying humans were too restless, desiring change over tradition just for the sake of it. He had a point, but she’d never admit that. Without change, one would stagnate. Not that the Na’vi spurned change, they just took a longer view of the world than her species typically did.
But sometimes you just had to push the bar, and go with your gut. Or nothing would ever change, and she wasn’t willing to sit around waiting for the Na’vi to accept her on their terms in their own good time. And while Tse’yan would have been horrified by the stunt she was about to pull---and the very real danger it would put her in---she wasn’t going to waste time trying to argue him into agreeing.
Every child of the Na’vi who trained to become a warrior---at least of the Omaticaya and Wentacaleyah clans---was given a form of ritual testing to prove they were worthy of being accepted as an adult. It involved a lot of paint and nonsense that basically came down to a child going out to claim his own Banshee, a bond that was created with the ikran for life, unless one of them died. And not a few did in the attempt, for the ikran didn’t come along willingly. In fact, the one you knew was your perfect partner was the one trying its hardest to kill your ass before you locked ganglia with it, establishing the mental link known to the People as Tsahaylu, which made the two as one.
Under normal circumstances, there was no chance a human could try and tame a wild Banshee, unless, perhaps, they caught one young and raised it from a hatchling. But Trudy didn’t have the time for that, and she wasn’t one to wait around for opportunity to come knocking. And she had the strange body modifications Eywa had given her to help let her breathe the poisonous air of Pandora, as well as better adapt to the harsh new environment. Not only had her lungs been adapted to the moon’s air, and her insides twisted around somehow to accept the caustic make-up of Pandora’s food, but she had a sort of patch at the back of her head, just above her neck, where Eywa’s fibrous webbing had rooted right inside her brain.Those holes in her head---as Dr. Patel had so jokingly put it---had stayed, though they were so small she couldn’t even feel them but as a slightly rougher patch along the base of her scalp. She had a theory about those holes, and had gone into one of the People’s sacred places, the Tree of Song, to test it.
And crazily enough, it had worked. Brushing one of the shimmering white tendrils that hung down from the beautiful tree, she had felt feathery fibers tickling along her neck, slithering up and somehow under her skin. Suddenly her world had been turned into one giant song that went on and on as that Presence had welcomed her as it had before. She dwelt in, and with, Eywa for a long time---the memory of that oneness could still bring tears to her eyes, and she smiled softly at the memory.
She had awakened hours later, face down on the ground and aching, as if she had lain there a long time. The day had passed into night, and a worried Tse’yan and Jake had come looking for her, a thoughtful Neytiri in tow. Trudy had been wary of the Na’vi woman, who had searched her eyes for a long time. Neytiri would one day step into her mother’s shoes, and become shaman to the Omatacaya. But Neytiri kept her suspicions to herself, and Trudy had been grateful, for she didn’t want anyone---especially Tse’yan---to guess what she was about to do.
Adjusting her goggles, which she had swiped from Stores, she was careful of the white line she’d smeared across her forehead in a rather foolish nod to the Na’vi ritual of decorating the young hopefuls for this important rite of passage. The white V dipped between her brows and itched like crazy. She grinned, excitement filling her as she carefully set her weapons aside and wrapped her long braid around her head, pinning it in place. She touched the rough patch at the base of her skull, more to reassure herself it was still there, and shook her limbs, loosening her muscles. She could do this, she knew it. She was ready, more than ready, to fly again. She welcomed the stiff breeze that blew along the Hallelujah Mountains, and hefted herself up into the Banshee’s rocky nesting grounds, a knife stuck in her belt her only protection against a species that might see her as dinner.
But she was ready for that, too. For as multiple heads came up, angry screeches rising as wings beat the air, she bared her teeth, snarling like the Tiger she had once painted on her Samson hovercraft. To show fear was to die, and she challenged the Banshees as they tried to scare her with ululating cries and hooked wing-claws. They retreated before her, scrambling away at the last minute until the whole area was empty.
Except---Trudy whirled around, and confronted the sly little bitch who had stealthily crept up behind her. Crest flattening to its head in anger, the Banshee screamed, its wicked beak snapping shut only two inches from her face. Smaller than its fellows, its back was covered in brilliant yellow and blue markings, purple veining its way up along its gleaming hide. The antenna-like appendages on either side of its head whipped around like writhing snakes and it hissed viciously, its eyes glowing with rage.
“Ah, yes, baby,” Trudy purred as they circled one another in a predatory dance as old as time itself. “Come to Mama, that’s it. Come and get me, baby. I’m right here. You see me. You know what I want---”
With a blood-curdling scream, the Banshee sprang.
Tiger, Burning Bright
A/N: This is rather rough, as I wanted to hurry and post, and more general than I first intended when I sat down to write. Contrary characters. Trudy is a lot of fun, though, and damn stubborn. I had to grudgingly give in after the next five attempts to flesh out the chapter ended in several head-sized dents into my desk. (Fate)
Chapter Four
Living in a land of blue giants could drive a human crazy. Everything was made for their size, from chairs to spoons to sleeping hammocks. She could have retreated to the human-sized comforts of the relocated mobile link tank each night, like Norm and Dr. Patel, but Trudy had always been an all-or-nothing kind of gal. If she wanted to learn about the Na’vi, really learn, than she had to immerse herself in their culture.
Having thrown her lot in with them so recklessly, she was now literally stuck with her decision. She’d always championed the underdog, and had hated how the corporation was treating the Pandoran natives. Human history was full of crap like that, and whole cultures had been needlessly destroyed because of the ruthless greed of a few bad apples. She’d be damned if she let that happen here, on this beautiful moon with these beautiful, simple people.
Not that they were that simple. Na’vi society was complex, built on their enduring faith and pragmatic acceptance of the circle of life. Protected and nurtured by their Eywa, an intelligent entity somehow tied to the whole planet, they lived a hard life without the benefits of modern technology. Something they had little use for, and something which she, surprising, hardly found herself missing.
She’d grown up in the ugly mining camps that dotted the asteroids belts. Her mother had died before she could remember, and her father had flown cargo between various camps when he wasn’t drinking his meager pay away in some bar. She’d gone into the Marines as soon as she could, and then met and lost Brady, her first love and fellow Marine. Disillusioned, she’d quit and joined RDA, hoping for the chance to fly skies never seen before. And she’d had that wish granted, landing here on Pandora. And the rest was history, as it were.
There was an interconnection between the Na’vi she almost envied. She’d never known that kind of closeness and acceptance. They welcomed her and the other humans as if they had always been a part of this world. Oh, there were the exceptions---especially when other clans started trickling in to meet the famous Toruk Makto, Jake Sully, and gawk at the “aliens.” She hated being stared at like that, like some exotic bird, though Norm and Dr. Patel didn’t seem to mind.
Norm was in his element, chattering away with the visitors and learning all he could. He’d even started teaching the kids again in Dr. Augustine’s school. Dr. Patel was too much of a scientist to let anything bother him. Rather, he was delighted when the visitors brought specimens for him as word got out that he was on the look-out. He had a lifetime’s worth of work ahead of him, and his only regret was that he might not be able to show off his incredible research to his fellow colleagues.
Both men were carving out a niche for themselves on this new world, and Trudy was determined to do the same. She didn’t know anything, though, but flying and soldiering. That was okay, though. The Na’vi were pretty open-minded, as it was taken for granted each individual was suited to the task he or she was best at, whether it be warrior, hunter, gatherer or craftsman---which were rather simplistic human definitions for what amounted to a unique mastery of very specialized fields.
They let her use a child’s bow and arrow, a weapon better suited to her size, and taught her to use a spear and other things. Tse’yan was a patient teacher, and had become her companion by default. She knew he was not of Neytiri’s people, the Omaticaya clan, but when they moved to their new Hometree, he followed with no one arguing about it.
Tse’yan was an enigma to her. He seemed to have appointed himself her guide, for he spent as much time with her as he could, patiently teaching her the ways of a Na’vi scout and even taking her up with him on his Banshee---or ikran, as the People called the strange, shrieking bird-lizards. He knew how she missed flying, and it was great he was so willing to let her ride with him, but it wasn’t the same as having her own Samson. He indulged her whims, teaching her the techniques of fighting and hunting, but never let her go on anything dangerous, afraid, perhaps, of how weak she must seem to him. Being a good three and a half feet shorter than anyone else around her certainly had its drawbacks, as the Na’vi were always absently patting her on the head and telling her what a good job she had done.
Trudy scowled. The fact was, she wasn’t a child, although they treated her like one. Oh, not all the time---she had learned enough of their language by now to converse easily with any of them, and they treated her with grave respect when all they were doing was talking or doing something non-dangerous, like when she tried to learn to weave the beautiful cloth the Omaticaya were so famous for. She’d done a terrible job---she hadn’t the patience for it, but that was okay, as they had all shared a good laugh over the result. She was better at other things, like gutting the kills the hunters brought in, drying the skin and braiding the fibrous, leather-like roots of the fan-tree, as she called it, into the numerous uses it could be put to.
But all of that was make-work, and she itched for some real action to get her blood boiling. She craved adventure, something real to do. Something that would make her useful, rather than just some oddity to be indulged. She wasn’t a peaceful person by nature, and she chaffed at the restrictions put on her just because she was smaller than they.
Not that she didn’t force herself to become just as strong as they. She worked her body hard, sculpting and strengthening her muscles so that she could move as easily through the tangled jungles of Pandora as any of the blue-skinned Na’vi. She could shimmy up a vine as fast as any of them, and could manage to keep pace with the longer-legged warriors for a good five miles before she began to falter, as she had to run three steps to their one.
She was in the best shape of her life, and her arms had never looked this good. She flexed a muscle, grinning at the hard definition along her tanned bicep. Her skin had darkened to a rich golden brown under the Alpha Centauri sun, and she had discarded her standard shipsuit for the less cumbersome apparel worn by the Na’vi, though she would never be able to just wear a set of beads and a knotted bikini like the other women. She’d bobble around too much, and she couldn’t let go of all her human inhibitions, as Jake so easily could. But then, he was now one of them, his big, blue body mixing easily with the others so that he didn’t stand out so much like a sore thumb.
Still, the brief wrap she wore around her breasts and hips was more practical for the steamy jungles of Na’vi than her sturdy shipsuits. She had made a pair of sandals, as her feet could not toughen as hard as the Na’vi’s, and there were too many poisonous plants hiding beneath the thick undergrowth just ready to stab the unwary. She would be unrecognizable to any of her former coworkers, with her hair grown so long and her gun traded for a short bow and spear. She’d certainly gone “native” in a way that would have horrified her old drill sergeant.
But not native enough to be accepted as an equal by the Na’vi. They were too conscious of her slighter strength, especially Tse’yan. He did all he could to pretend as if he were not going out of his way to shield her from danger, but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew damn well what he was doing. She thought it came from a sense of responsibility, as their friendship had grown over the past months as they learned more about each other and what made them tick.
He was a strong, proud warrior, certain of his strength and his place in the world. She often wished she had just a little of that same certainty and calm acceptance. He could be a little rigid at times, a bit black and white in his thinking, but he was willing to listen, if not always agree, when she argued a point. He was as quick to anger as he was to laugh, but that seemed the norm with most Na’vi. He was a little arrogant and stubborn, but so was she, so that didn’t bother her as much as his over-protectiveness. Just because he could easily win a wrestling match without breaking a sweat didn’t mean she was less than he. If anything, the ways she adapted to survive in this harsh environment and keep up with the big blue ape just showed how much better she was.
She smirked, knowing he would have argued that point---saying humans were too restless, desiring change over tradition just for the sake of it. He had a point, but she’d never admit that. Without change, one would stagnate. Not that the Na’vi spurned change, they just took a longer view of the world than her species typically did.
But sometimes you just had to push the bar, and go with your gut. Or nothing would ever change, and she wasn’t willing to sit around waiting for the Na’vi to accept her on their terms in their own good time. And while Tse’yan would have been horrified by the stunt she was about to pull---and the very real danger it would put her in---she wasn’t going to waste time trying to argue him into agreeing.
Every child of the Na’vi who trained to become a warrior---at least of the Omaticaya and Wentacaleyah clans---was given a form of ritual testing to prove they were worthy of being accepted as an adult. It involved a lot of paint and nonsense that basically came down to a child going out to claim his own Banshee, a bond that was created with the ikran for life, unless one of them died. And not a few did in the attempt, for the ikran didn’t come along willingly. In fact, the one you knew was your perfect partner was the one trying its hardest to kill your ass before you locked ganglia with it, establishing the mental link known to the People as Tsahaylu, which made the two as one.
Under normal circumstances, there was no chance a human could try and tame a wild Banshee, unless, perhaps, they caught one young and raised it from a hatchling. But Trudy didn’t have the time for that, and she wasn’t one to wait around for opportunity to come knocking. And she had the strange body modifications Eywa had given her to help let her breathe the poisonous air of Pandora, as well as better adapt to the harsh new environment. Not only had her lungs been adapted to the moon’s air, and her insides twisted around somehow to accept the caustic make-up of Pandora’s food, but she had a sort of patch at the back of her head, just above her neck, where Eywa’s fibrous webbing had rooted right inside her brain.Those holes in her head---as Dr. Patel had so jokingly put it---had stayed, though they were so small she couldn’t even feel them but as a slightly rougher patch along the base of her scalp. She had a theory about those holes, and had gone into one of the People’s sacred places, the Tree of Song, to test it.
And crazily enough, it had worked. Brushing one of the shimmering white tendrils that hung down from the beautiful tree, she had felt feathery fibers tickling along her neck, slithering up and somehow under her skin. Suddenly her world had been turned into one giant song that went on and on as that Presence had welcomed her as it had before. She dwelt in, and with, Eywa for a long time---the memory of that oneness could still bring tears to her eyes, and she smiled softly at the memory.
She had awakened hours later, face down on the ground and aching, as if she had lain there a long time. The day had passed into night, and a worried Tse’yan and Jake had come looking for her, a thoughtful Neytiri in tow. Trudy had been wary of the Na’vi woman, who had searched her eyes for a long time. Neytiri would one day step into her mother’s shoes, and become shaman to the Omatacaya. But Neytiri kept her suspicions to herself, and Trudy had been grateful, for she didn’t want anyone---especially Tse’yan---to guess what she was about to do.
Adjusting her goggles, which she had swiped from Stores, she was careful of the white line she’d smeared across her forehead in a rather foolish nod to the Na’vi ritual of decorating the young hopefuls for this important rite of passage. The white V dipped between her brows and itched like crazy. She grinned, excitement filling her as she carefully set her weapons aside and wrapped her long braid around her head, pinning it in place. She touched the rough patch at the base of her skull, more to reassure herself it was still there, and shook her limbs, loosening her muscles. She could do this, she knew it. She was ready, more than ready, to fly again. She welcomed the stiff breeze that blew along the Hallelujah Mountains, and hefted herself up into the Banshee’s rocky nesting grounds, a knife stuck in her belt her only protection against a species that might see her as dinner.
But she was ready for that, too. For as multiple heads came up, angry screeches rising as wings beat the air, she bared her teeth, snarling like the Tiger she had once painted on her Samson hovercraft. To show fear was to die, and she challenged the Banshees as they tried to scare her with ululating cries and hooked wing-claws. They retreated before her, scrambling away at the last minute until the whole area was empty.
Except---Trudy whirled around, and confronted the sly little bitch who had stealthily crept up behind her. Crest flattening to its head in anger, the Banshee screamed, its wicked beak snapping shut only two inches from her face. Smaller than its fellows, its back was covered in brilliant yellow and blue markings, purple veining its way up along its gleaming hide. The antenna-like appendages on either side of its head whipped around like writhing snakes and it hissed viciously, its eyes glowing with rage.
“Ah, yes, baby,” Trudy purred as they circled one another in a predatory dance as old as time itself. “Come to Mama, that’s it. Come and get me, baby. I’m right here. You see me. You know what I want---”
With a blood-curdling scream, the Banshee sprang.