CaptainRayesSketches

So we know the yautja do have their own songs (Thanks Dan!). Their low growled voices producing chants and retelling stories of bloody hunts and violent conquests and defeat. But Human songs are complicated in a different way, both with the vast veriaty of stories and emotions, not only that, but their vocal patterns flow, rising and falling in strength and pitch. The yautja wouldn't be used to hearing human songs, they might not even know what it is at first, nothing more than birdsong with weird nonsensical tales, but it can be beautiful and the emotion conveyed would get to them all in the same.

Yautja can mimmic, but to i'd imagine they're like when corvids mimmic speech, the tone and pitch is always just a bit off. But luckily, humans have a habbit of singing and humming to themselves at odd hours, so if so it isnt long before they get to hear it again.

idk here is the image this ask gave me

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The yautja could hear the voice echoing through the ship. The rise and fall of the voice cutting through the low din of the ships equipment. He only one other onboard, a human being ferried along, nothing more. He wasn't bothing them, hoping they wouldn't brother him, but this drew his curiosity.

It wasn't a conversation, more so a story. He followed the sound with quiet footsteps.

The human was sat in the pilot chair, oversized for their smaller frame. Their shoes were propped against the side of the control board, rocking the seat side to side. They stared out into the dark of space expanding out forever. They sang to themself, softly and sweetly. Almost mindlessly but still each note was hit purposfully. He leaned against the door frame and just watched, staying unseen in case the human stopped.

Lex has been on the ship for a few months now. Most yautja don’t fully trust the humans, but this one keeps pushing herself and shows so much promise. When the suspicions start to die down, it draws interest. Scar notices this. How could he not? He was by her side ever since she joined the ship. He used to be the only one to sit near her during meals, but others started to get closer. He hears the little subvocal sounds deep in a hunter’s throat as their eyes drag over her form. Lex can’t hear this, doesn’t even notice their eyes as she stays focused on him, explaining strategy, practising her signs, and her knowledge.

He wanted to protect her, but more than that, he wanted to be the one she talked to the most. That she ate lunch with. That she trusted to teach her.

Scar shifted closer to her, arms brushing as she signed. He waited for her to look at her food before he made eye contact with the hunter who moved too close, glaring as he rumbled a warning aggressive enough to make them shift back. Lex goes right back to talking, none the wiser.

But he can’t keep her isolated. As her life continued on this ship, he wanted her to see it as a home, and Oomans are social creatures. She goes off on her own to meet with the women and unblooded. Their scents linger on her skin when she returns. Some of the unblooded take a shine to her. They’re no threat, but he wants to ensure they never get any ideas ever to be.

They share a room after all. He is new to Ooman behaviour, but he knows they are getting closer than strictly friends. So in his mind, he was justified in running his hand over the clothes she left, folded on her shelf. Piles his bedding fur on her side of their shared bed. They touched and pressed against each other as they slept side by side. Their relationship hasn’t developed to the point where he can mark her properly as his, but it sends the message of his intentions pretty clearly.

After all, she touched him back. She welcomed his advances, she initiated touch between them too, and he took her scent upon him with pride. They all should know what they are becoming to each other.

But some don’t learn. It’s hard to teach Lex their customs when he can’t find the words in their language yet. She accepted his gifts and gave him some in return. He doesn’t blame her for not knowing how to reject the gifts of another when he finds her in their room, playing with the large tooth of an impressive kill. But she smiles at him. “One of your friends who sits on the sidelines of our training session to jeer gave me this. No clue why.”

He holds his hand out, and she gives it to him freely. Giving it away as she should.

A warning played in his throat at the idea someone would dare to try and take favour away from him. “Threat.” He told her.

To that, she looks surprised and then a little saddened. “He threatened me?”

“No.” It wasn’t a threat to her.

“Ugh, you guys are confusing.” She drops her head against his arm, and he gently rubs her back.

Oomans sleep longer than yautja, though she has trained her endurance to almost match theirs. She is impressive; he knows why she gained another suitor. But she takes her sleep where she can. He lies at her side until her breathing evens out, and he is certain he can leave without her noticing.

He tracks down the scent to the hunter who gave her a courting gift, not even giving him a chance to get away before Scar grabbed him by the armour and issued a challenge. There was no doubt among the hunters about why he issued the challenge. He was stronger, more skilled, and more deserving of the affection from this human. The fight is short, and he is brutal. His fists collide until the bones of his face cave in, and his body stops moving. The message was clear to all hunters: “This Ooman is his.”

He washes the blood from his hands and face before returning to their bed, slipping in beside her, not tired but wanting to feel her comforting warmth. Only he could.

He does eventually sleep, and when he wakes up, Scar feels her fingertips moving over his knuckles. Her thin finger feels the rough, split skin. “Didn’t notice you were hurt. What happened?”

“Accident.”