Post by iola on Oct 2, 2008 23:48:41 GMT -5
Iola loved everything about the jungle: she loved the chattering hog-monkeys who she would often play with and imitate, usually in the form of hanging upside-down in the trees while munching on sweet jungle peaches; she loved the babbling creeks and churning rivers, the chuckling ponds and roaring waterfalls; she loved the exotic but tricky flowers in gorgeous pastel colors that often decorated the Chief's hut (or so she had been told, as she would never in a million years be allowed anywhere near his home) and which had been drained of their poisonous pollen; but what she loved the most, what she felt she had the greatest connection with above all else, was the sun.
The sun. It mercifully warmed her flesh on cool mornings and mercilessly burned it on too-hot afternoons. It gave her the power to start fires, gave her the power to stop them, and gave her the power to make them worse should she so choose. It made the dew on palm fronds glisten and turned the luxurious sand along the beach strips to scalding-hot bits of rock. The sun giveth, and the sun giveth more than what was asked for.
Today, however, the sun had decided to be a total sour-puss and hide out behind the gunmetal gray clouds that plagued the sky.
"Iola, dear," Kala crooned from the kitchen, huddled over the burning coal pit with one thick hand placed at the small of her back. Her mother was a big woman, a big, big woman, with thick hips and thick thighs and quite the impressive bosom...or, well, that was what the men around the village had agreed on. Iola herself never understood their obsession with "Kala's enormous bazookas".
Iola had completely shut down with the absence of her good friend, Mister Sun. As far as she was concerned, this wasn't even a proper day if her great ball of light, energy, and inspiration wasn't going to show up . Still in bed, she rolled over on her back, threw an arm over her eyes, and grunted. Perhaps she would stay in today...perhaps she would help her mother with chores...perhaps she would learn how to sew today.
As if reading her mind, Kala poked her face into Iola's room, which was more like a small cot positioned in the corner of a hut that was separate yet attached to the main one, and smiled a cheery, toothy grin. "How about joo 'elp me with th'cookin today? Joo could run out to sea, catch joor mudder a mighty big fish, n'be back in time for me to cook it! Don't that sound fun?"
Hell no it didn't.
"Hell no it doesn't," Iola snapped, leaping out of bed and hastily pulling her clothes on over her customary wraps. She was not too young to understand the embarrassment of dressing and undressing in front of her parents but simply did not care...in fact, she was not too young to understand the inappropriateness of peeling off your clothes in town square, throwing them into a nearby bonfire, and running down the streets naked as the day you were born and shrieking with laughter. Basic social etiquette, even as skewered as Igni etiquette, was completely lost on the young girl.
Kala frowned in distaste. "Where did joo learn that language?" she questioned, standing herself in the empty door frame with crossed arms and a tilted head. There was no way she was going to let her child speak to her in that tone and get away with it.
"Nowhere," Iola lied, absently twirling the extra bit of twine from her shorts around her finger. A pause. "I wanna go outside."
Kala scoffed and flipped a braided lock of hair off her shoulder. "Joo lie like a rug, child! Tell de truth! Who taught joo that 'orrible language?" She glared with hawkish eyes at Iola, who only shrugged. Kala then positioned herself completely in the way of Iola's exist, locking her knees in place and crouching low like a tiger-wolf ready to spring.
Once she had finished dressing herself, Iola puckered her lips into a determined snarl and dropped into a sloppy horse stance, fingers hooked into claws and teeth bared like the vicious little animal she was.
Kala grinned devilishly, shook her head as if to say "you poor, foolish beast".
Ah, but it appeared her mother had forgotten one crucial element: Iola was a crafty creature. She placed the bait by faking a jolt to the left, which her mother followed, effectively allowing Iola to escape. She dashed forward and used the momentum to drop to her knees and slide through her mother's open legs, where she ended up a foot from the door. Climbing to her feet and ignoring the screaming pain in her knees (inspection of her wounds later on would reveal she had erased the first few layers of skin all down the front of her legs; these hideous marks, of course, she would wear with immense pride, like battle scars), Iola darted out the hut and ran down the crooked, winding path to the jungle, her mother's cries of disbelief at being bested by a bratty nine-year-old carrying her farther then her legs ever could.
[To be continued!]
The sun. It mercifully warmed her flesh on cool mornings and mercilessly burned it on too-hot afternoons. It gave her the power to start fires, gave her the power to stop them, and gave her the power to make them worse should she so choose. It made the dew on palm fronds glisten and turned the luxurious sand along the beach strips to scalding-hot bits of rock. The sun giveth, and the sun giveth more than what was asked for.
Today, however, the sun had decided to be a total sour-puss and hide out behind the gunmetal gray clouds that plagued the sky.
"Iola, dear," Kala crooned from the kitchen, huddled over the burning coal pit with one thick hand placed at the small of her back. Her mother was a big woman, a big, big woman, with thick hips and thick thighs and quite the impressive bosom...or, well, that was what the men around the village had agreed on. Iola herself never understood their obsession with "Kala's enormous bazookas".
Iola had completely shut down with the absence of her good friend, Mister Sun. As far as she was concerned, this wasn't even a proper day if her great ball of light, energy, and inspiration wasn't going to show up . Still in bed, she rolled over on her back, threw an arm over her eyes, and grunted. Perhaps she would stay in today...perhaps she would help her mother with chores...perhaps she would learn how to sew today.
As if reading her mind, Kala poked her face into Iola's room, which was more like a small cot positioned in the corner of a hut that was separate yet attached to the main one, and smiled a cheery, toothy grin. "How about joo 'elp me with th'cookin today? Joo could run out to sea, catch joor mudder a mighty big fish, n'be back in time for me to cook it! Don't that sound fun?"
Hell no it didn't.
"Hell no it doesn't," Iola snapped, leaping out of bed and hastily pulling her clothes on over her customary wraps. She was not too young to understand the embarrassment of dressing and undressing in front of her parents but simply did not care...in fact, she was not too young to understand the inappropriateness of peeling off your clothes in town square, throwing them into a nearby bonfire, and running down the streets naked as the day you were born and shrieking with laughter. Basic social etiquette, even as skewered as Igni etiquette, was completely lost on the young girl.
Kala frowned in distaste. "Where did joo learn that language?" she questioned, standing herself in the empty door frame with crossed arms and a tilted head. There was no way she was going to let her child speak to her in that tone and get away with it.
"Nowhere," Iola lied, absently twirling the extra bit of twine from her shorts around her finger. A pause. "I wanna go outside."
Kala scoffed and flipped a braided lock of hair off her shoulder. "Joo lie like a rug, child! Tell de truth! Who taught joo that 'orrible language?" She glared with hawkish eyes at Iola, who only shrugged. Kala then positioned herself completely in the way of Iola's exist, locking her knees in place and crouching low like a tiger-wolf ready to spring.
Once she had finished dressing herself, Iola puckered her lips into a determined snarl and dropped into a sloppy horse stance, fingers hooked into claws and teeth bared like the vicious little animal she was.
Kala grinned devilishly, shook her head as if to say "you poor, foolish beast".
Ah, but it appeared her mother had forgotten one crucial element: Iola was a crafty creature. She placed the bait by faking a jolt to the left, which her mother followed, effectively allowing Iola to escape. She dashed forward and used the momentum to drop to her knees and slide through her mother's open legs, where she ended up a foot from the door. Climbing to her feet and ignoring the screaming pain in her knees (inspection of her wounds later on would reveal she had erased the first few layers of skin all down the front of her legs; these hideous marks, of course, she would wear with immense pride, like battle scars), Iola darted out the hut and ran down the crooked, winding path to the jungle, her mother's cries of disbelief at being bested by a bratty nine-year-old carrying her farther then her legs ever could.
[To be continued!]