„If we can't raise the dead, we're gonna raise hell instead“

Dun.

Plunk, plunk.

Dun.

Plunk, plunk.

Each pluck of the ivory keys, every grasping motion is executed with precision honed with years of practice under the belt. Palms faced flat down, fingers grazing over notes and sliding down towards the palm of your hand. Every cord struck raises your wrists, infinetly controlling your sound like a well-oiled machine.

Dun.

Plink, Plunk...

Plink, Dun...

A wince tugs at your facial expression at the crass, almost jarring sounds of a poorly coordinated force bearing down on the keys. Her fingers thrusting down on two keys by accident far too often. It's not her fault. Her fingers are twice the size of your own.

Her figure is nestled beside you, her thigh barely kissing yours with how close she was. She had insisted on joining you, and you certainly weren't one to reject her. Hardly anyone was. So, when she placed herself to your side, it left hardly any personal space. Personal space seemed like a foreign concept to these large predators, a luxury you sullenly kissed farewell ever since you began living amongst these warriors.

Yautja. They call themselves.

The one beside you was young, old enough to be Blooded by now. An honour that she had earned by undergoing the Trial, butchering those serpents...

The sight of those parasites still leave you waking in fits of cold sweat.

Despite being Blooded, she lacked the patience and discipline of the elder warriors you had encountered. Even her brutish peers looked like saints next to her. Headstrong and self-assured. She had the skills to back up that rugged attitude of hers as well.

Yet, no matter how many trophies she earns, no matter how her prestige grows with each successful hunt...

There's still a lot left to be desired when it comes to being a student.

"Slower." She commands. Her head still facing the piano, cautiously eyeing her own fingers as if they'd turn on her.

Dun...

...

Plunk...

...

Plunk...

She growls as she turns her head slightly, finally looking at you. "Not that slow." She hissed, her mandibles clacking behind the skull she fashioned into a helmet.

Dun...

Plunk... Plunk...

Dun...

Plunk... Plunk...

A deep rumble is pulled from her chest as she glowered at the instrument as if it only existed to undermine her. She doesn't even attempt this time. Her own stubborn refusal was her worst enemy.

She takes your hand, her scaled hands enveloping the entirety of yours as she stares down. Her scales, calloused in texture yet coloured like polished dark spruce, gently grinding against your own as a clicking growl erupts from her throat.

"It is unfair. Foolish even. My hands are not as tiny as yours. I was not built for this." She grumbles as a heaving breath of air is forced from her lungs in frustration, clearly trying to diminish her own shortcomings by saying the piano was too small.

She shoves your hand away. Her movement shockingly gentle for a change.

You have half a mind to tell her that she's throwing a tantrum like some undisciplined whelp... and you will literally have half a mind if you voice that opinion.

With a soft breath departing from your lips, you stand. The yautja female hardly noticing as she growls at the instrument that personally wronged her.

It's a stretch to wrap your arms around her from behind, the warrior stiffens as she redirects her attention to you, who has now placed your hands on top of her own. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to place your head on her shoulder to watch what you are doing. You guide her arms into the correct position, pressing your fingers down on hers. She allows you to.

She catches on quick as her arms relax to become more pliable as you play the piano through her fingers. A deep trilling purrs from within, pride in her newfound abilities to pluck the keys, to tickle the ivory.

Dun.

Plunk, plunk.

Dun.

Plunk, plunk.

When the song finishes, her mandibles click together rapidly in a chuckle, flexing her muscles to encourage you to get off. You comply, moving to her side to look at her. She remains sitting down, still relatively bigger than you despite this.

She is in a significantly better mood than she was before.

"I suppose I will have to practice." She nods as she looks down at the piano, animosity nowhere to be seen in her body language anymore.

Only anticipation.

All you know now is that you've been dragged out to the back of the pub, behind the dumpsters in the car park. You count at least five men. Despite being drunk, these are still dangerous people. People who had ill intentions with a vulnerable looking woman.

And he had something to say about it.

Now here you are.

Flung over this beast's shoulder like a sack of rice.

He— you assume it's a he— carries you with the ease of someone holding a bag of grapes. No matter how many times you jab at his neck, scratch at his back, or try to bite those weird alien dreadlocks... he always tosses you to the ground like a ragdoll, throwing you against trees to wind you until you're too sore and exhausted to fight back before picking you up again.

You hear his garbled words speaking to another, from where you are unsure, but he does speak one word you understand perfectly.

"-Mate--".

Do these things mate? Like animals? You aren't about to fuck around and find out. In more ways than one.

Maybe you could talk him down?

"Uh– wait, we can't be mates." You hiss lowly, your bruised ribs still aching from the thrashing earlier.

Trying to reason with an alien while dressed in drag. That's certainly a first.

Probably the first in human history. If you would be so bold as to declare that.

There's a stutter in his step. Yet a short growl is huffed out of him. Grinding his mandibles together as if to ask why.

"Well, first of all, I'm wearing hair extensions." You wince as you chew your lip, tearing some dead skin off between your teeth as you anxiously think of shallow reasons why a man wouldn't date a "woman" like you.

At least, that is assuming that he cares about superficial perceived flaws such as that.

He tilted his head to the side as he hauled you further up his shoulder, making more room for you as he contemplated your translated speech. Something about fur... are you referring to the longer locks on your scalp?

Why would he care about that?

A deep grumbling growl rises from his chest and into his throat. A warning.

Sure, longer dreadlocks are considered sexy in his culture, but there was nothing wrong with shorter ones.

And many other yautja add extensions to their own dreadlocks, too, typically tying and knotting up the dreads of deceased enemies in their own. He's at a loss as to what your point was.

He kept walking.

"I... I, I, I smoke! All the time." You place your hands on his back to try lift your torso to look at him. He only places his hand on your shoulders to push you back down.

Smoke...

Smoking is bad for humans.

Smoke is bad for all animals, this he knows. No matter. He can remedy this by taking this addiction of yours away. It wasn't like he was planning on giving you cigarettes when he brings you back home with him anyway.

Hardly a deal breaker.

You sniffle as you prepare another superficial reason.

Your window of opportunity is fading as you're taken deeper and deeper inside of the large forest behind the town.

You can barely recognise the landmarks, but you know that even if you escaped, you wouldn't get far.

"I can never have children..." You make a dramatic show of wiping away imaginary tears, not like he's watching anyway.

Ve'theal digs his claws into your midsection. His growling getting even lower and more impatient. He has sired several whelps of his own over the centuries he's been alive for.

He's an older yautja. An Elite.

Why in Paya's name would he ever breed a human?

It's forbidden anyhow.

Sure. He's taking you as a lifemate, but that doesn't mean he wants to ruin his bloodline with a human. No matter how strong or impressive you are. No matter how much he likes you.

An engine loudly purrs to life, blinding lights surrounding the clearing as Ve'theal prepares to load his cargo onto the ship and leave the planet. He's already taken what he's desired. Leaving you to panic on his back as you mentally prepare yourself for whatever cosmic horrors await you.

You start pushing on his back and struggling again. But one flex of his forearm around your waist has you groaning in pain as he presses down on your bruised ribs.

You let out a heaving sigh. Finding it utterly unbelievable that you didn't think to pull this card out yet.

"Oh, for the love of--" You grip your wig and rip it off, the net covering your real hair still in place on your head, "I'm a man!" You grunt, your nails digging into his shoulder.

He barely glances over his shoulder to look at you. Weaveless in all your glory.

While it is true that he can't tell the difference in gender between humans with just a glance, he can't see what all the fuss is about. You're such a dramatic man. His kids— who are grown— will certainly like you.

A thought he finds irritating.

"Irrelevant." He grumbles as he steps onto the ship, his voice deep and scratchy, trying to mimic something human.

Maybe it's good that he can't see your face right now.

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Such as now, laying in a pond of cooling water, the freezing liquid lapping at your skin. Scaring the wildlife off when you approached. You were usually far more stealthy, but this had been partially intentional. You didn't want to get attacked while trying to relax.

This was an annual tradition for you.

But the clan, who had never paid attention to you before, were only now just becoming acquainted with how vulnerable to the weather you were.

Auhta's friends had certainly mocked you for this weakness. Not out of maliciousness, though.

Ever since that stunt Auhta pulled, every last one of his friends had started to call you their friend as well. Whether you wanted them to or not.

Speaking of the devil...

You've learned to memorise the sounds of his footsteps in particular. Seeing how he'd drop by to force you to hang out on a daily basis. It was tiring.

The light behind your eyelids darkens. You already know who it is.

"Why are you in a puddle?" That familiar voice questions, you can practically see the familiar tilt of his head whenever he asks a question.

"... it's not a puddle. It's a pond."

"Same difference."

You suppose it would be for someone of his size...

You groan as you open your eyes. You see him crouched down at your left, his hulking figure blocking out most of the light. Only to clamp your eyes shut again as water was splashed into your face.

Your silence was deafening as his hearty chuckle surrounded the general area, mandibles clicking in rapid succession. You sit up straight, flicking away the water lingering on your eyelashes before you stare at him. Unamused.

His laughter dies down, head averting from your gaze as if he was checking the surrounding area, but you knew better. A gargling rumble rises from his throat, almost as if he was clearing his throat. It felt almost human of him. Like he was mimicking you without even realising it.

"My question remains unanswered." He murmured, leaning his head forward as if to study you. An indignant alien squeal escapes him as you exact your revenge, returning the favour of splashing ice cold pond water. It's a noise he quickly attempts to cover up with a growl, trying to save face.

You snort in amusement, one side of your lips quirking up as you lay back down.

"It's too hot for me." You finally respond, intertwining your fingers on your stomach as your eyes flutter shut again.

Rare silence is what you receive in response.

It's so quiet that you briefly question if he left...

"... I have heard that you are going off planet tomorrow." He rumbles, a deep trill rumbling from his chest. Yet the sound seemed different. No longer content as usual, trilling in a more solemn manner. But the noise stops before you can analyse any further.

Oh, so he heard? You supposed that was to be expected. The clan's Witch Doctor leaving with her human apprentice annually was going to garner attention. The only difference was that no one had cared at the time.

It was different now.

...

You don't know why, but you almost instinctively go to reassure him. To comfort him. It's odd. Yautja aren't known to comfort or coddle, and you are one of them, are you not?

But even as your mind races, your mouth opens to do the thing that your mind tells you not to.

However, he beats you to the punch.

"Return to me– with a trophy." He adds the last part quickly, amber eyes averting for only a split second before they're back on you.

That was...

Unexpected.

It's your turn to laugh this time. Your body shuddering and shaking as you gasp for air, hand flying to cover your mouth as you hold your aching stomach.

And now it's Auhta's turn to look unimpressed.

Oh, how the tables turn.

A loud sigh heaves from you as you recollect yourself.

"You sound like a female during Season."

He gruffly rumbles at that.

"You owe me." He snaps his jaws at you, but certainly not out of aggression, there's a smugness to his gaze.

Oh?

"I do?"

"Indeed," Auhta puffs out his chest, his two right mandibles grinding together in a cocky smirk, "I pulled you from the marsh when we were facing against the Quatza-Rij. You would've suffocated otherwise."

"You didn't even know I was there! Besides, shouldn't you owe me for distracting it after you got your ass handed to you?" You rebuttal, but you can already feel yourself giving in.

He was stubborn. Everyone in your clan was.

You exhale slowly.

"Fine. I'll get you a souvenir."

He trills at that, a soft clicking purr erupting from his chest.

You thought that was the end of it... until you heard the noise getting closer.

"There's not enough room in this pond for the both of us!"

"Then make room."

"I'm gonna be busy this week! I won't have time to write or upload!" I say as I write another fic about Auhta...

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You were certainly unprepared for the change in behaviour the yautja showed you after bringing home your kill. No longer did they stare at you like you were the weakest link, keeping their distance and eyeing you like a tragedy waiting to occur.

Even the looks given to your master had changed. She had always been considered odd, true, but you absolutely noticed how her chest would puff up in pride when her peers would glance her way. They had called her foolish for taking in a human to mentor. Looked at her as if she was mad.

Now, their eyes held respect.

She saw something they couldn't see in you.

The respect given to you was now becoming embedded within your master.

You weren't exactly treated like royalty, but you were now seen as an equal. Your fast thinking had secured you a spot within the clan. As an honourable Youngblood, just as worthy as the rest of your peers.

However, that didn't change your habits.

Growing up in this clan had felt borderline isolating. Growing up with other yautja whelps left you feeling like an outcast.

The whelps had always played rough and tumble, but any attempt to join in would leave you injured. Their claws and jaws not made to play with soft meat.

You still have some scars from your childhood.

You knew that they never meant it.

They would always give you such strange looks when you would instinctively yelp and cower away. It didn't get any better as you got older. Eventually, they would begin leaving you out. The influence from the adults bleeding into their pups.

You were different.

Smaller.

Weaker.

You were prey being raised amongst predators.

You eventually learned to occupy yourself. Reading books, learning to craft tapestries, helping your master manage medicinal herbs, and even hunt for small rodents to practice your pelt crafting.

And old habits die hard, apparently.

Even as you had proven yourself, you still kept to yourself.

Others would be more open to approaching you whenever you were in the camp, a fact that nearly had your heart beating into overdrive, but for the most part they didn't make an effort to become your friend.

Except for...

"Human."

You pricked yourself with your sewing needle as you flinched hard at the sudden voice directly next to your ear. You hiss as you place your index finger in your mouth, soothing the wound as you turn your head.

Not by much, though, or else you'd risk brushing your face directly against his.

Auhta chuckles heartily, his eyes crinkling as his upper tusks click together. He had been sitting directly behind you, angled so that he could look over your body to observe what you were doing.

You didn't even hear him enter your master's cave. Let alone sit down that close to you and watch you for an unprecedented amount of time.

You should've played closer attention to your surroundings instead of allowing yourself to be so absorbed in your task that you left yourself vulnerable.

Perhaps that was the feeling of safety you had associated with this cave. Feeling so safe in your master's company that you tuned the world out, trusting your master with your vulnerability.

Now that you think about it, she wasn't even here anymore. She must have left before Auhta arrived, or else she would've chased the Youngblood off before you even noticed him.

Auhta had something of a mischievous reputation.

His entire pack of friends did.

You often saw them manhandling each other around in the mud. A few sudden tackles always seemed to catch you off guard whenever you walked by. Auhta being the most physically involved out of them all.

"It's polite to announce your presence when you're in someone's home." You sighed, their eyelids drooping in exasperation. You watched as he tilted his head, his amber eyes holding a curiosity that not many his age would dare to indulge in.

Out of self-respect, of course.

Auhta seemed content by the amount of respect he had already garnered.

"I did. You were not listening." He chuffed in response, leaning his shoulders back as he adjusted to a more comfortable position. Before ultimately deciding that slouching forward was better. "What are you focusing on?"

You turned your head back down towards the fur draped over your lap. You placed your forearms under it, lifting it up for his appraisal. Once you heard his rumble of approval, you let the pelt flop back down on your lap.

"Do you need something?" You respond, looking over to see if he had any injuries that needed attention. None.

Though, he definitely seems to require attention of some sort.

You didn't know how to politely tell him to leave you alone.

It was just so foreign to have a yautja pay such rapt attention to you. To willingly choose to spend his time by your side.

"You are going to the contest, yes?" He tilted his head, dreadlocks swaying with his movements.

You were tempted to refuse on the spot.

Your clan enjoyed hosting small contests within the heart of the camp. Many use them as opportunities to display their raw strength to the rest of the spectators. The wrestling was separated by experience, not by weight class. A smaller opponent might outsmart a bigger one, but an Elite and a Youngblood would be unfair. Many Youngbloods did attempt to challenge an Elite or a Blooded, but oftentimes, they would be knocked on their asses faster than they could think. Leaving them with more than just a bruised pride.

Once upon a time, you once wanted to be part of these competitions... but you learned rather quickly that trying to beat a yautja in a battle of brute force would spell more than just a few bruises. You can't even count on one hand how many times a yautja had broken your bones.

Leaving you to almost loathe these contests out of envy.

"No—"

"Yes." Your master's voice echoed in the cave as she hauled a giant fish over her shoulder, dragging it deeper into the cave. She snapped her jaws at Auhta, who took his time in getting up. His hand enveloping your shoulder in a silent promise to see you later.

You get up once he leaves, the pelt falling to the floor before you approach her workbench, frowning at the smoke coloured Elder who snorted back at your defiant look.

"You have avoided these contests long enough. I did not teach you to avoid your problems." She utters bluntly as she grabs a cleaver, pulling the blade down the fish's belly to gut it. She didn't allow you to argue any further, only stabbing a small carving knife on your side of the workbench.

.

.

.

Despite your best efforts to slow down the process of gutting the fish to prolong the inevitable, your master still managed to drag you out of the cave towards the camp. The twin suns having long since disappeared over the horizon, shrouding the forest in a cool darkness that had you gripping your fur cloak tighter.

The heat was unbearable during the day, but nights were not that much better.

There was a large gathering of your clan, all circled around the heart of the camp to watch. Roars and rumbling laughter echoed everywhere, almost making your eardrums bleed with the intensity of it all. It had been a great many cycles since you last attended one of these competitions.

You had forgotten how loud it was.

You were practically shoved out of your thoughts as a group of young whelps pushed past you to see the contest. Despite them being young, they were still around your height.

But before you could get trampled any further, you felt a hand on the back of your tunic, lifting you up like a small cat to sit on top of a large rock. Your master pulling her hand away once you had adjusted yourself properly, not even looking at you.

You followed her stormy coloured gaze, witnessing the final fight of the competition.

Between a Blooded and... was that Auhta?!

You snorted in amusement at the thought of the cocky Youngblood getting his ass handed to him. Then again, he did have good reasons to be cocky. He was on the bigger side for a yautja, not just height wise, but his thicker mass and muscles were certainly something to be desired.

However, to your utter shock, Auhta appeared to be winning?

It was nothing short of impressive to see him take on a Blooded warrior and win. Everyone else seemed to think so as well. Though, the Blooded seemed less than thrilled to be humiliated in front of the entire clan.

Auhta roared as he beated his chest with his fist, the rest of the clan following suit to cheer on his victory. The Blooded yautja weakly limping away from the crowd in defeat.

Your master had been the only one not to bellow in celebration, her eyes trained on Auhta. Assessing him the same way she assessed you once.

"I have no doubt that he shall be an Elite one day." She commented in a prediction, leaving you reeling at the compliment. This was the highest form of praise coming from her.

Heavy footsteps snapped you out of your stupor as you saw Auhta approach, his chest puffed out to display the long, deep claw marks along his torso and arms. Proud to display each and every cut like badges of honour. He looked up at you, his mandibles clicking together softly as he reached his hand to you.

...

Did he want something? You didn't have anything right now... other than a few small bones you kept on your person for decoration. Did he want one of those?

You remember, as a child, that you would read books about monarch's offering their knights a handkerchief to display their favour.

This line of thinking seemed logical enough for you as you broke off a string around your neck, offering the tooth of a great serpent you had taken down with the help of your master. You reached down to place it in his hand...

Only for him to simply grab your hand instead. Ignoring the offered trophy.

He pulled your limb down, his touch gentle yet firm as he placed the back of your hand down between his brows. His eyes closed as a deep purr rumbled from his chest.

Your other hand held onto the edge of the rock, keeping yourself from tumbling down face first.

All these eyes watching your public display of affection, watching you and Auhta with intense scrutiny. Yet the Youngblood had no shame. Outwardly displaying his close bond to the human. You felt an unpleasant heat rise to your cheeks as you pointedly avoided looking at any other yautja.

A small breathless laugh escaping you.

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