NaNo excerpt - Nulu Tchaoshou
(Note: Nulu had to go to town to get a few things. He's still pointedly ignoring the local fishermen who hang out at the general store. They're having trouble containing their curiosity about him, but he manages to keep his temper. They've given him the nickname 'Hot Peppers'.)
Nulu then places the order he had come to place. He gathers up the provisions Gotau has laid out for him and puts them in his sack. They again include one pouch of warsh. Nulu is trying to ease off the booze slowly. It helps that he's too proud to develop a taste for the bland, dishwatery local hooch. As he's leaving, one of the locals stands up and takes a few steps toward him.
Local 2: "Hey, Hot Peppers, if yeh be needing some help, din't be slow ta ask. Ser'ous. We be glad, all."
Nulu pauses, hesitates, and almost but doesn't quite look the guy in the eye.
Nulu: "I'm set. Thank you."
Nulu leaves.
It's still a long trek from the village to his home base, and his body aches from all the abuse he's been giving it lately. He trudges on silently, head bowed, watching his toes land between pebbles and tufts of grass. The sun is going down behind the line of scraggly trees to the west, and animal noises can be heard from the distant brush. Nulu has no thoughts of hunting. He has lived in a culture where hunting is illegal all his life and was never particularly enamoured with the idea. Safari parks generally don't encourage Dshagu patronage, and Nulu's upbringing tended to focus heavily on warriorship, to the detriment of skills relevant to wilderness survival.
He stops on a hill slope and sits down, letting his pack slip onto the grass beside him. He is hungry and thirsty and tired, and he sates those needs in that order. First he pulls out a bundle of rotarians wrapped in oil cloth. They are already cooked and probably a day or two old; their odor is already starting to sharpen.
He gulps down a few, spits out the shells into the dirt beside him, and pulls out the pouch of warsh. He looks at it thoughtfully, fingering its latch with one extended claw.
[I promised the Captain I would dry out.]
[I promised myself I would dry out after I completed the house.]
[My problem is that I plunged too deeply into self destruction too quickly. The best way to clean myself up before I get the call to ship out again is to alter my habits just as quickly. Strenuous exercise and strict moderation of foodstuffs – that should be my method.]
[The strenuous exercise is already accounted for.]
[There is no point, then, in fretting over it.]
Nulu takes a guzzle from the pouch. He closes it again, licks his lips, and frowns.
[Its taste is still lacking.]
He returns it to his sack and leans back in the grass.
[The fresh air is sweet and salty. I never thought to stop and appreciate it until now; I've been so wrapped up in my problems.]
[I ought to take more time to enjoy my surroundings.]
Nulu struggles to his feet, hefts his pack over his shoulder, and continues on. When he gets to the building site, Fanwy is there working alone at smoothing the pit. She grins toothily at him, her tail waving in slow figure eights behind her. Nulu drops his pack on the hill near the entrance to his tent and opens it. He turns and watches Fanwy, wondering whether to offer her refreshments. She's slaving away like the little powerhouse she is, and he's torn. Show her too much friendship and she's likely to latch onto him even more. Push her away and he'd be doing her and himself a disservice, and possibly sabotaging a friendship he'll really need in the future. She is not at all the kind of person he'd prefer to seek help from, but she's the only one offering.
Except, of course, that local guy back at the general store. Nulu isn't certain the guy was serious. He's afraid the locals plan to set him up, humiliate him somehow, and leave him in an even more difficult position than he is in now. That seems much more likely than genuine concern. No one shows generosity to a Dshag but another Dshag. No one.
He'd level the same suspicion on Fanwy, but she's doing a marvelous job with the construction of his house. She obviously has the skills he lacks. He feels fortunate that he has any skill at all; otherwise she'd make a fool out of him in no time. Her intentions seem pure, though, and Nulu can't explain how that could be. What does she want out of him? He has nothing she could want. Maybe she thinks he's rich. He is, by rural standards, and if she tried to convince him to buy things for her, her motives would make sense. Instead, she gives and gives and never asks for anything. All of her questions are of a highly personal nature.
She could be trying to seduce him, but if so, her approach is all wrong. No sexual advances, no touching at all, just that grating personality of hers and a lot of hard physical labor. Maybe, he thought, that was how seduction was done in these backwards parts. A mate who could pull her weight in hard work might be their idea of the best mate of all. A strange concept, but it made more sense than anything Nulu had thought up so far.
Eventually she hops out of the pit and helps herself to his provisions. She says nothing about them, fails to indicate whether or not his choices please her, and instead starts rambling about the foundation.
The sun is nearly gone by now, leaving a dim haze on the horizon. Fanwy, visibly exhausted, says goodbye and heads off down the road. Nulu watches her go until she's out of scent range. Then he gets down on all fours and crawls into the tent, dragging his pack in with him.
He curls up on the tent floor. It gets dark. Nulu thinks to himself.
[I miss Ansìl.]
[She would love this place. She would find a way to. Everything around her had the potential to be beautiful; everything and everyone.]
[She was truly an ocean girl. She even tasted like sea salt.]
[I have not been to the beach yet, although I know from the sound and smell of it and from the ocean winds that it is nearby. I can imagine it in my mind's eye, but my imagined beach has Ansìl on it.]
[I have no desire to see a beach without her on it.]
Nulu then places the order he had come to place. He gathers up the provisions Gotau has laid out for him and puts them in his sack. They again include one pouch of warsh. Nulu is trying to ease off the booze slowly. It helps that he's too proud to develop a taste for the bland, dishwatery local hooch. As he's leaving, one of the locals stands up and takes a few steps toward him.
Local 2: "Hey, Hot Peppers, if yeh be needing some help, din't be slow ta ask. Ser'ous. We be glad, all."
Nulu pauses, hesitates, and almost but doesn't quite look the guy in the eye.
Nulu: "I'm set. Thank you."
Nulu leaves.
It's still a long trek from the village to his home base, and his body aches from all the abuse he's been giving it lately. He trudges on silently, head bowed, watching his toes land between pebbles and tufts of grass. The sun is going down behind the line of scraggly trees to the west, and animal noises can be heard from the distant brush. Nulu has no thoughts of hunting. He has lived in a culture where hunting is illegal all his life and was never particularly enamoured with the idea. Safari parks generally don't encourage Dshagu patronage, and Nulu's upbringing tended to focus heavily on warriorship, to the detriment of skills relevant to wilderness survival.
He stops on a hill slope and sits down, letting his pack slip onto the grass beside him. He is hungry and thirsty and tired, and he sates those needs in that order. First he pulls out a bundle of rotarians wrapped in oil cloth. They are already cooked and probably a day or two old; their odor is already starting to sharpen.
He gulps down a few, spits out the shells into the dirt beside him, and pulls out the pouch of warsh. He looks at it thoughtfully, fingering its latch with one extended claw.
[I promised the Captain I would dry out.]
[I promised myself I would dry out after I completed the house.]
[My problem is that I plunged too deeply into self destruction too quickly. The best way to clean myself up before I get the call to ship out again is to alter my habits just as quickly. Strenuous exercise and strict moderation of foodstuffs – that should be my method.]
[The strenuous exercise is already accounted for.]
[There is no point, then, in fretting over it.]
Nulu takes a guzzle from the pouch. He closes it again, licks his lips, and frowns.
[Its taste is still lacking.]
He returns it to his sack and leans back in the grass.
[The fresh air is sweet and salty. I never thought to stop and appreciate it until now; I've been so wrapped up in my problems.]
[I ought to take more time to enjoy my surroundings.]
Nulu struggles to his feet, hefts his pack over his shoulder, and continues on. When he gets to the building site, Fanwy is there working alone at smoothing the pit. She grins toothily at him, her tail waving in slow figure eights behind her. Nulu drops his pack on the hill near the entrance to his tent and opens it. He turns and watches Fanwy, wondering whether to offer her refreshments. She's slaving away like the little powerhouse she is, and he's torn. Show her too much friendship and she's likely to latch onto him even more. Push her away and he'd be doing her and himself a disservice, and possibly sabotaging a friendship he'll really need in the future. She is not at all the kind of person he'd prefer to seek help from, but she's the only one offering.
Except, of course, that local guy back at the general store. Nulu isn't certain the guy was serious. He's afraid the locals plan to set him up, humiliate him somehow, and leave him in an even more difficult position than he is in now. That seems much more likely than genuine concern. No one shows generosity to a Dshag but another Dshag. No one.
He'd level the same suspicion on Fanwy, but she's doing a marvelous job with the construction of his house. She obviously has the skills he lacks. He feels fortunate that he has any skill at all; otherwise she'd make a fool out of him in no time. Her intentions seem pure, though, and Nulu can't explain how that could be. What does she want out of him? He has nothing she could want. Maybe she thinks he's rich. He is, by rural standards, and if she tried to convince him to buy things for her, her motives would make sense. Instead, she gives and gives and never asks for anything. All of her questions are of a highly personal nature.
She could be trying to seduce him, but if so, her approach is all wrong. No sexual advances, no touching at all, just that grating personality of hers and a lot of hard physical labor. Maybe, he thought, that was how seduction was done in these backwards parts. A mate who could pull her weight in hard work might be their idea of the best mate of all. A strange concept, but it made more sense than anything Nulu had thought up so far.
Eventually she hops out of the pit and helps herself to his provisions. She says nothing about them, fails to indicate whether or not his choices please her, and instead starts rambling about the foundation.
The sun is nearly gone by now, leaving a dim haze on the horizon. Fanwy, visibly exhausted, says goodbye and heads off down the road. Nulu watches her go until she's out of scent range. Then he gets down on all fours and crawls into the tent, dragging his pack in with him.
He curls up on the tent floor. It gets dark. Nulu thinks to himself.
[I miss Ansìl.]
[She would love this place. She would find a way to. Everything around her had the potential to be beautiful; everything and everyone.]
[She was truly an ocean girl. She even tasted like sea salt.]
[I have not been to the beach yet, although I know from the sound and smell of it and from the ocean winds that it is nearby. I can imagine it in my mind's eye, but my imagined beach has Ansìl on it.]
[I have no desire to see a beach without her on it.]