Curate, connect, and discover
Been writing an AU fanfic for Avatar, where the recoms go rogue. This is the Mansk chapter, the second chapter, I’ve been working on. It’s not fully complete but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out
Mansk wasn't entirely sure how this happened, sure he was there the entire time, but it still made no sense.
Mansk watched as the strange na'vi woman seemed to be engaged in a tense looking discussion with the squad's leader, Quaritch.
Oare seemed completely unbothered, as she has been since she arrived. Quaritch however, had that distinct expression he got when he was given orders.
Before Mansk could try and decipher what was being said, Quaritch turned to the rest of the group.
"Alright, listen up! Our new friend here is gonna teach us to ride like the enemy." Quaritch said, gesturing for her to continue.
"We will be going to the Ikran Rookery and Eywa willing, you all will be bonding with Ikrans today. I will teach you everything you will need to know, starting with getting to the Rookery." Oare said, pointing up to the massive cluster of floating mountains above them.
Mansk tried his best to not think about how screwed he'd be if he lost his footing. Him and the rest of the recoms were ridiculous high up, scaling the floating mountains and vines that lead up to the Rookery.
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The group had stopped for a brief break on a spacious ledge, giving them a beautiful view of the sprawling forest below them.
"So, what are you gonna name your ban-ikran?" Z-Dog asked as she climbed up next to Mansk. Oare had insisted that if they are to understand their enemy, they needed to understand the language.
"Tomahawk." Mansk answered, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Like the steak cut?"
"Yeah and apparently it's a type of weapon too, like a hand axe. What are you going to name yours?"
"Ink, our colors will match." Z-Dog says, gesturing to her many tattoos.
“You sound so sure.”
“Call it a gut feeling.”
Eventually it was time to keep moving. Mansk continued to try his best to not look down as he and the others continued their climb.
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Finally they reached the Rookery. Ikran were everywhere, basking on ledges, interacting, flying around, and hanging onto cliff sides. The recoms followed the na’vi woman, she led them to a cave next to the main area of the Rookery. It was connected to the main area by a thin ledge behind a waterfall.
“Who wishes to go first?” Oare asks.
“I’ll do it.” Quaritch says. Oare hands the lasso like tool she had made earlier, to him.
For a brief moment, Quaritch looked a little nervous, but the look was quickly replaced by a focused determination. He entered the main area of the Rookery, catching the attention of several ikran. Many flew off as Quaritch got close, but one whipped around and snapped at him. The beast was beautiful, as all ikran were. It was blue and gold, with splashes of faded red.
Mansk watched in awe as Quaritch dodged around the ikran’s jaws and wings, before seamlessly lassoing the creature’s jaws shut. He lunged, managing to wrestle with the ikran and getting on its back. He grabbed the kuru and was about to connect to it, but the ikran bucked, throwing itself off the ledge.
Behind Mansk, Lyle jumped up but was stopped by Oare. After a few tense moments that felt like hours, a loud shriek echoed through the air and the ikran suddenly appeared, Quaritch on its back with a massive grin on his face. Mansk and the other recoms cheered and whooped.
“What’s their name?!” Z-Dog called out.
“Her name’s Cupcake.” Quaritch called back, petting the ikran’s neck.
Lyle went up next. The ikran that chose him was a beautiful mix of blue and green with patches of yellow and crackles of black across its wings and body. The ikran lunged, trying to sink its teeth into Lyle. He dodged, though only narrowly missing the sharp teeth. Following both Oare’s instructions and Quaritch’s example, Lyle lassoed the ikran’s jaws shut and managed to clamber onto its back. He managed to make the connection much faster and much easier than Quaritch. Lyle was beaming, proudly naming him Eagle.
Z-Dog went next, her ikran was a wondrous splash of color. The ikran’s scales were shifting shades of blue, green, red, and swirls of yellow. Z-Dog named him Ink.
Then Mansk stepped up. His palms were sweaty, his stomach twisted itself in knots. It sounds easy on paper, but the actual act of getting an ikran was incredibly nerve wracking, despite how easy the others made it look. Mansk began to move through the Rookery, seemingly every ikran was disinterested in him. Out of nowhere, an ikran slammed down in front of him. It was stunning, colors making it look like a giant peacock. It shrieked, reared and flapped its large wings at him. Mansk’s eyes met the eyes of the ikran and his nervousness washed away, his heart steadied, and his breath evened. In a fluid motion, he lassoed the ikran’s mouth shut. It swung its head, narrowly missing hitting Mansk square in his face. Mansk dodged to the side, all but throwing himself onto its back. The ikran bucked and flailed, trying its best to throw him from its back. It somehow, in the confusion managed to pull the yìmkxa from its mouth. Its head swung to the side, sinking its teeth into Mansk’s shoulder and yanking him from its back. Mansk could hear the other recoms’ surprise and worry but he paid them no mind, currently focusing on not being torn apart. Mansk hissed, both in challenge and in pain. He lunged once more, managing to grab onto the kuru of the creature. He yanked his braid, managing to connect to the ikran’s kuru after a bit of struggle.
“Easy, boy.” Mansk said, brushing his hand along the ikran’s neck. “Easy Tomahawk.”
Mansk and his ikran settled near the others, giving the remaining recoms room. Oare and Ja appeared at Mansk’s side, carrying a few medical supplies. The two of them tended to the bite wound, Oare even slathered a pale paste on the wound as she said it would naturally speed up the healing process.
The other recoms, one by one, bonded with an ikran. Prager’s ikran was a subtle green mottled with darker green, black, and gold. He named him Malachite. Lopez’s ikran was a soft pastel yellow and purple, he named her Dahlia. Ja was next, his ikran was shades of green and marked with pink and soft purple, he named him Asclepius. Zhang’s ikran was a gleaming gold, striped by dark purple and vibrant blue. Zhang named her Ming. Brown’s was a beautiful mix of purples and pinks, speckled by white, he named him Lollipop. Walker’s was soft browns, highlighted by brilliant golden, her face and chest was pale, almost white. Walker named her Athena. Fike’s was soft yellow, striped by black and bright orange, with cyan wing tips. Fike named him Goldrush. Finally, Warren went. His Ikran was a vibrant red with swirls of teal. He named her Rose.
“Now, the final act to seal the bond. Fly.” Oare said, falling backwards off the ledge, only to suddenly reappear on the back of a ikran, a night ikran.
Without hesitation the recoms took off, following Oare’s lead.
Around Mansk the other recoms cheered, excitement palpable as they all took to the air. Mansk was captivated by the beauty of the forest, the sky, and the floating mountains. But most of all he was captivated by the feeling of flying, of feeling Tomahawk’s heartbeat like he felt his own, of feeling the wind flow around them.