7:49, Rotation 264 / 365, 232 AE, -67.529230, -68.001392, Reath
The junk was magnificent. Gleaming pearly white, with a sleek aluminum hatch over the helm, with woodlined decks, it housed a monstrously powerful octane engine, and had all the accouterments to delight any orcan – it had a hot tub! – it was still dwarfed by the massive Defiant. Chief Raigo still thought it was truly incredible that Zahul had managed to rig an ancient container ship hull – from the Lost Age! – to be capable of being sailed by a crew of only three. The appearance of a humble algae trawler was just to deceive. It certainly did not look like a ship that could run a dragon blockade, but it had, many times. Sometimes, Chief Raigo wondered how he would have fared if he had been on the frontlines of the Exodus.
Chief Raigo emerged from the stern, to greet Lawrah and Githarie as they climbed up the stern ladder.
“Father,” Lawrah nodded politely, the salinity and microplastics dripping from her body.
“Lawrince-”, immediately realizing his mistake the Chief tried to cut himself off, “I mean, Lawrah.” He tried to give her a hug, but it became more of an awkward pat on the back as it was attempted mid faux pas.
Lawrah squeezed her dad back, because deadnaming her was a mistake he often made, still. It had just become a habit too difficult for him to break. She understood. After all it was the name he chose for her himself. But it was a quick squeeze.
She paused, because while Githarie would surely be welcomed aboard, she wasn’t sure how he would react if he knew that the entire Thraxes household would be joining them, “I, uh… I invited Githarie’s… entire family to eat with us.” She said that last bit quickly as if it would somehow breeze by him. “-I hope that’s ghash?” -I hope that’s cool?
The Chief did not react, but he thought- these orc whippersnappers will be the death of me.
Chief Raigo wore long dreadlocks, which had long turned from green to jet black, for he ate well, and had no need for extra photosynthesis. He was tall and thin, much thinner than most orcans, for he was a magickian, accountant, and arms dealer by trade and rarely had to work with his hands. He wore a puffy vest downed with synthetic fiber balls, colored bright red, to insulate his core, for his thin limbs meant that he could not shield himself from the elements as well as other orcans, as well as simple straight trousers. Compared to the clothing of other orcans, it was immaculately clean.
The Chief was a strait-laced, no nonsense orcan. He was elected Chief of the village for a reason: he got shit done. He wasn’t completely humorless, he had quite the dry wit, but the duties of his post very rarely gave him the opportunity to show it.
Githarie grinned widely, “Hi Chief!” she said, in the same singsong lilt that she inherited from her mother. She opened her arms wide for a hug.
The Chief smiled very warmly, “Have a Happy Birth-rote, Githarie.” If the orcans were huggers, then Chief Raigo was the exception to the rule, though of course he was trying with his own daughter. Too many a time had too many villagers tried to suck up and brownnose him for favors, only to betray his trust. While he was a merciful Chief who rarely banished, and deep behind the stony exterior he could be compassionate, and indeed if he had spotted only Githarie paddling over he might have indeed returned an embrace, instead he leered suspiciously at the gurls.
“Lawrah, didn’t we agree-”
Lawrah interrupted her father with her best cheeky grin, though her crinkled brow gave away her uncertainty, “-Ai-sha, well I also invited the rest of her family, I thought it’d be rude not to. I don’t think atul’s that hungry, we’ve already eaten a bit of-”, she gulped “-kelp stew.”
And with that Zholl and Zhon clambered aboard, “Eh! Durban!” Eh! Chief! The twins both slapped an arm over his shoulders, and before Raigo had a chance to speak began to profusely thank him for his supposed generosity-
“Terima kasih! Really admire your durb-” Really admire your governing-
The twins often finished each other’s sentences, “-A great job you’re doin’, can’t complain. Damn that smells good!”
Raigo sighed, rolled his eyes upwards, but then had to smirk. Oh well. These things happen. “Sama sama, bois.” You’re welcome, bois.
And then Zahul ascended, carrying Zhak on his shoulders – their weight tipped the junk ever so slightly to the side as they climbed up but once upon the stern it righted itself again – followed by Gnosta.
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“Chief.” Zahul bowed politely.
“War Master Thraxes,” responded Raigo. For Zahul was no mere veteran, but truly a war hero, his smuggling efforts, especially his deliverance of many orcans across the Drake Passage in the exodus, had earned him the honorific of War Master.
“Hullo, Chief!”
“Zhakkathan. Welcome!” Raigo, much like all the Rotherans, could not help but admire Zhak’s brightness. It took after Raigo himself. He reached up to ruffle Zhak’s hair, for the boi still sat straddled upon his father’s shoulder.
And before Raigo could protest, Gnosta wrapped her arms lightly around the Chief’s waist, “Thank you for having us, Chief.”
And it was impossible for Raigo not to finally break out into a grin, “Of course, Gnosta. It would be magosh.” – It would be my blessing. It was he who bargained to his daughter to invite Gnosta, the only reason why he would host the nakaz zug’s birth-rote brunch in the first place.
Raigo’s wife, Uruyeh, had given her life during the Exodus, and so Raigo had to raise his only daughter Lawrah as a single parent.
Uruyeh’s death was seen as a great tragedy in the village of Rothera. And yet there was certainly a practical mindedness of their election of Raigo as Chief - if he didn’t have a large family to manage then surely he had all the time for the duties that kept the water and sewer pipes running and whatnot - but the Chief had only accepted his role with nothing but the utmost grace.
Though Raigo had no small number of potential suitors, his busy schedule prevented him from fully exploring the potential depths of these relationships. Nonetheless, as it ever was the case, nothing softened the lonely orcan androus heart than the embrace of a lady. But Zahul had to look away with a pang of mild jealousy.
Raigo and Gnosta were both first generation trueborn orcans, borne of an orcan mother, and not originally a mutant dipped in the vats by the Horde Master himself as Zahul was. As such, Gnosta’s round, cherubic cheeks – inherited by Githarie – and full lips matched Raigo’s chiseled features, high cheekbones, though severe, and neatly filed sharp tusks.
Zahul, on the other hand, was cursed with the ungainly sight of a too large forehead, bulbous beard-hidden chin, almost molar looking thick, blunt tusks – artifacts of his old mutant form that was used as a scaffold for his new body – that he couldn’t transmogrified away no matter how many fortrotes he sat still, closed his eyes, minded his breathing. It was the same ugly mug he saw himself his whole life, how could he imagine a more beautiful version? No golden ratios and perfect averages, just the flaws that made him him.
Still, he had full trust in Gnosta. He trusted that there was no orcan for her heart but him.
As Githarie loitered by her father, who was trying his damnedest best to not possessively dart his eyes towards his wife and Chief embracing, Lawrah stealthily hushed and ushered the rest of pham into the dining cabin.
Gnosta twirled away from the Chief suddenly to hold her palms in front of Githarie’s eyes. It was time for Lawrah and Gnosta’s surprise for Githarie.
“Wha! Mummy?! Whatsha-”
“Hushie hush, Githie,” she led her into the cabin.
She lifted the organic blindfold, “Surprise!”
They had all gathered around the dining cabin, her pham, where Raigo’s servants had prepared, as Lawrah said, quite the spread. And in the very center, the tallest true wheat flour cake she had ever seen in her life, with sixteen flickering candles plunged upon it. Slathered all over it was a spirulina frosting and foamy whipped coconut cream- coconut cream! Foamy whipped! Lux. It was all spread to resemble the crumbling whitewater of a wave, and at the very center of the ring of wish-fulfilling flames, a little crude figure made of bamboo twine that had to be her, on a long, smooth, flat pebble. Her surfboard.
Atul’s cheeky grin betrayed their intentions.
Githarie threw her arms out, palms splayed, “Atul sha, no, we already did this tw-”
But paying no heed, her choir launched into the chorus, “HAPPY-” etc.
Orcans who wore hair that was not green was often a sign of privilege. Githarie’s blonde hair and Zhak’s brown hair was in part due to their short stature and slight build, meaning they did not need as many calories as other orcans.
Raigo made explosives, which he sold to mining villages. Or sometimes, villages caught up in a village war.
‘Durban’ orcish for Chief, prescriptively ‘ruler’.
‘Durb’ orcish for ‘to rule’, ‘order’, in this case meaning Raigo’s chieftainship of Rothera.
‘Sama sama’, orcish for ‘you’re welcome’, the proper response to terima kasih, again taken directly from Bahasa Melayu.
‘Magosh’, orcish for ‘blessing’ - ‘magosh sha’, ‘bless you’.
Of course, it would be naive to think that the Chief did not line his own pockets with the powers that his station gave. He had to make the most out of it, it made up for how much he hated being Chief sometimes. But yeah, it was worth it. But - the opportunity cost. Rothera’s markets were dinky compared to those of McMurdo. The Chief wanted to make it in the Big City, he didn’t want to be the big jelly in a small pool.
He tried to think of his mind as a cave, and each thought an emerging cryptid, until the cryptid whose form he sought was found.
‘Hushie hush, Githie’, it was what Gnosta would say whenever she wanted Githarie to shut up.
But unlike a fellow complainant, everyone in Githarie’s family absolutely adored her for her cheeky spunk, agreeability, and kind heart, so of course they did not fucking forget her birth-rote.
