Chapter Text
“Do you enjoy it when they bleed, brother?”
The lone yautja folded his arms as he stood outside the tattered, stained tent that had gathered its fair share of a group. From behind his bio-mask, his eyes glanced from each hunter: elite, blooded, unblooded. It puzzled him why they were all so eager to be here; a part of him felt disgusted that they would even want to be here at all. It would be hypocritical of him, if he had not been forced to.
A soft, almost inaudible sigh escaped him, a deep rumbling from his chest as he did so. He was beginning to feel like a fool for coming, but he owed Ban’tu in more ways than one. A little shopping trip didn’t hurt.
Among the gathering, a youngblood hunter glanced in his direction; their gaze lingered longer than the older one liked. He already knew just from standing here, just from being here, he would be stared at – and commented about too. U'kah wasn't the type to be discouraged from a few stares, or snidey comments. And then another young yautja male, a bit more confident, foolhardier than the other, approached with a biting remark, “Didn’t think you would want to be here.”
Turning his head slightly, the hunter offered the youngblood a brief, but piercing sidelong glance. He was barely experienced, a few small skulls, standard gear and barely a reputation. U'kah wondered what possessed him to have such courage, or ignorance, to speak that way to him. Still, he kept his reply short and as polite as he could muster, “It is none of your business. You will step back if you know what is good for you, youngblood.”
A huff from the youngblood, and then a quiet growl, but he backed off eventually. He wisely knew he was outmatched, even without a fist being thrown. A few onlookers glanced in the direction of the commotion, some excited for a fight and quickly disappointed when there was none.
“I know they are prey, U’kah, but your obsessive urge to hunt them is extreme. Know what you are here for, or do I need to remind you again?”
And there Ban’tu was, stepping through the crowd with ease, as he approached his comrade. The youngbloods knew to step aside for an older, seasoned warrior. He couldn’t specify how long he had known Ban’tu, but long enough to feel like he almost was like a brother.
Almost.
Splashes of creams and greys, Ban’tu was slightly shorter than him, but still just as a fearsome warrior and formidable hunter. As he closed in till he was right by him, U'kah picked up the smell of meat exhaling from the male. He must have been eating before meeting up with him. Ban’tu slapped him on the shoulder roughly, a tone of surprise laced in his words, “I did not think you would actually show.”
U’kah could not help but huff, turning his head with a dismissive growl as his mandibles twitched from behind his bio-mask, “Your sharpest weapon is your tongue, Ban’tu. And not for your wit, but by your persuasive wording.”
A chuckle from behind Ban’tu’s mask as he replied, “And it took a great deal of it to break through your stubbornness.”
U’kah didn’t show any sign of amusement to Ban’tu’s casual, and frequent, jesting. It was a little surprising that Ban’tu stayed friends with him, with how little humor U’kah seemed to express. Perhaps it was their long lasting friendship that had kept it going for so long, a unspoken vow that they felt had to be kept. It was rare for yautja to call another a friend, and maybe they found comfort that they had the honor of calling each other a "friend". With signs of the crowd moving, U'kah turned his head as other yautja began to make their way inside the tent. It seemed the auction had begun.
“You can not possibly want one for yourself, Ban’tu,” U’kah muttered, walking beside Ban’tu as they followed the other hunters inside. Inside, there was a stage, arranged and built to display the prey that would be shown. It was rickety, not too presentable, and if U’kah didn’t know Ban’tu as an honorable yautja, he would have thought it was illegal at first glance.
“It is against yautja within our clan to mate with an undomesticated ooman. Let alone have relations with one. Why would he do it? Why throw away his honor like that?”
“Not for me. For my sons. They seem to be obsessed with them,” Ban’tu said, then side glanced at U’kah, “They remind me of you.”
In response, U’kah's massive form shifted, their muscles tensing as they emitted a very low growl, a warning reverberating in the air, “Mine was different.”
Ban’tu didn't look directly at U’kah, choosing instead to gaze at the stage as they stood at the back of the crowd. "Bloodlust," they mused quietly, "is not so different from desire. Revenge might be a more suitable word."
“It wasn’t revenge I was looking for; it was justice”.
And then the hollers started, the competitive snarls and growls followed from the crowd too. The raising of fists, the heated arguments and a few brawls started. Oomans, one by one, male and female, were dragged onto the stage in chains. None fought back; obviously they knew their place in yautja society and U’kah’s fingers dug into his arms instinctively at the sight of each of them. All this for oomans.
He knew the purposes for oomans. Slaves to do labor, personal servants that aimed to please or pets to flaunt to other yautja. To U’kah, they were prey and only prey. What other purpose did they serve? What was their value besides that?
“Is it the squirming? The life fading from their eyes? The way they scream? U’kah, there are better prey than them. You’ll get too caught up and it’ll be your own downfall. Your own fault.”
U’kah glanced at Ban’tu, who seemed to be joining on the shouting and roaring but didn’t seem to be throwing out numbers too high. At least, he knew the worth of oomans. The jangling of chains once more, but U'kah was too far into his mind to properly pay attention - too deep in his own hate.
And then it caught his eye, the awful, vibrant shade of tussled red emerging to lift higher onto the stage. It was a wicked color, and U'kah found himself looking nowhere else. He acted without thinking, pushing forward into the crowd which earned him snarls and huffs from other hunters, and Ban’tu called out for him – but he paid them no attention.
His eyes were too caught on the sight before him. Skin as pale as snow, scar streaks across the white planes of skin, with a face tucked away behind the color that had caught his eye. His chest met the stage as he stared upward. U’kah didn’t speak but she looked at him. Colors of a dying star gazed down at him, and he spoke without thinking, “A million.”
Maybe it is the way they bleed, brother. Maybe it’s the color.