Citizen 381 Io

Something thick and rich bubbles over the fire. The air infuses with smells of cooking wine, vegetables, and whatever cuts of meat were sold at market that morning. Rabbit today, she thinks. The smell fills the home and her heart alike, though it leaves her stomach emptier than ever. Furious growls ripple from her belly that may only be satiated by the source of this aroma. Io scribbles the last line of her homework with a drooping flourish, buzzing with enough excitement for the rest of her day to take a harsh toll on her usually pristine penmanship.

In the kitchen, she stands beside her uncle. He looms over the stew pot and stirs the contents slowly. Io nestles close to him with her bowl held up to the ladle. She can already taste the vibrant flavors even without lifting the food to her mouth. Closer now to the source, the savory smell wafting through the air offers all the assurance she needs of its quality. The aroma carried in the air seems to scoop her up as well, drifting between the fibers of her memories to reach deep into her youngest years of childhood. The warmth of the fire remains, casting her memory in a haze of golden light.

She is smaller here. Her scales rounded soft by youth and the armor on her throat is only a little developed. She wobbles on the floor towards the rexal standing by the hearth. Her legs threaten to betray her, knees and elbows quivering, but she is determined to cross the distance. Tiny claws scrabble for purchase against the packed dirt floor. The space between them stretches with a dusky horizon, multiplying with each step as she journeys, until at last she almost drunkenly stumbles into his, Momus’, calf. Though dwarfed by her uncle as always, now she scarcely manages to grasp on to one of his fingers; an unfortunate victim of an arm hanging idle. The tiny pup squeals with delight when he lowers to the floor beside her, a wooden bowl in his other hand. Steam wafts from the meal inside while the broth sloshes about. Io is quick to abandon his fingers to grasp the crude spoon offered to her; a small sample of the broth sits inside, tickling her nostrils. Momus’ words come quick and sharp. He wavers, the spoon hovers just before her gaping mouth.

“Our good neighbor lent me this recipe. I’m no chef, but it’s nothing that can’t fill a hungry belly.”

Not one single moment before this has she ever been so slighted. So cruelly denied the basic needs of all creatures.  Her mind reaches out for his, lacking complex language but still surging with feeling. Small, violet lights glow on her throat as the apertures flare to life. WANT. WANT. WANT. GIVE. WANT. GIVE NOW. WANT NOW. GIVE.  Her hands, pudgy as they are purple–grasp for the spoon along a drawn-out whimper. Her uncle swipes the spoon from her reach.

“...Careful! It’s hot! Like this, Io.” he exaggerates as he blows on the spoon until steam no longer rises. “Sooo-uu-p-uh. See? Now you can try. Biiiig soup. Can you say sssouu-?!”

Finally! She lunges at the utensil, biting at the spoon with a ferocity truly unmet. Her viciousness knocks much of the liquid away and she uses her baby teeth to gnaw at the wood. Tiny growls escape her as she fights the mighty wooden beast. Momus snorts, stealing it away from her to wipe her mouth with a small cloth. He dabs her face, soaking up the spilled food with a tender hand. Before she can mourn the loss of the spoon, it returns with a fresh helping of stew. This time, she manages to fit the spoon and its contents into her mouth as her uncle delicately guides it in. Flavors wash over her tongue in a spray of herbs and spices, unlike anything she’s ever had. She’s overcome with wonder in a way babbling can no longer express. Magic buzzes through her body, flaring her apertures a bright purple once more as her tiny mind blossoms with questions. Is? Is? What? MORE? MORE IS? AAAUGGHH!!  She squeals with glee when Momus blinks, reeling from the mental volume. Io giggles as he rubs his ears, even if the projected thoughts technically had no sound. He’s too slow to recover his senses to stop her crawling past his seated position and straight into his lap. She lunges for the bowl of stew with mouth open wide. Her uncle whisks it away just in time with a masterful show of skill; not a single drop lost. She clambers up his scales, reaching for the bowl with a soft “gah, gah! Mmmoh!” …WANT! WANT! “Mmoh-oh!” Tiny fingers find purchase on the prongs of his throat armor, earning a strained grunt from the man as they give slightly under her weight. Her little legs are too weak to carry her very high, but the bowl is still out of reach.

“I can’t- Io! Io, stop climbing m-” he gasps, crying out. “Wait- that tick.. That ticklees! It’s hot! Hot soup!”

Her hind-end soars as a burly arm scoops up her bum and tail, raising up as Momus stands. He cradles her in one hand, grunting a touch with the effort of hoisting a baby single-handed. Face-to-face with her provider and withholder of the liquid gold, her round, brown eyes widen with a pout. She delivers a firm smack to the tip of his snout, “Ba..bahba… u..ouhp! ‘Oouuup!” she cries, earning a defeated sigh from the older rex. He blows across the whole bowl before offering it up to her grasping paws. Soup! Soup!

~ lovelytortoises