Andro was only seven years young when his father left, though it would not be the st time he would see him again. His earliest memories of his parents were when he was younger than seven, traveling in the caravan. Wagons drawn by horses, cattle and sometimes mules would trudge along poorly paved country roads and sometimes on no roads at all. The people were nomadic by nature and often carried very little as far as items of monetary value go. They were often dirty and smelled natural, too natural for some. They called themselves the Boken, but outsiders called them what they were: gypsies. Nomadic peoples with an affinity to the nd and no real aspirations for financial successes. They often lived a tribal lifestyle, taking only what they needed from the earth around them; this lifestyle was merely a fa?ade as Andro would come to find.
The peoples that made up this caravan were anything but uniform. Peoples of all different races and backgrounds would join the caravan as it travelled, most of which were very poor if not completely. For many of them, this was their only real chance at survival. Andro’s mother was one such person. She and her husband (they were never married through ceremony or legality but they accepted the terms regardless) made their way into the caravan one day as a st ditch effort. The husband, Malcolm by name, was tall, gaunt and a wanted criminal in two cities. Petty crimes and poor affiliations were the real culprits.
He met Donna, his “wife”, while working some dismissable lift jobs (these were jobs that required theft of something of value, often more sentimental than financial). She was hanging clothes per her duties as a housemaid for a crooked tax collector when Malcolm fell into one of the long robes hanging from the wires. He tumbled to the ground, taking the clothesline with him. Donna’s immediate reaction was to reach for the washboard and begin beating the daylight outs of the man, but when their eyes met she froze. Stricken by a sense that they were destined to be, or perhaps had been together once before in a past life, she watched him go. The next night, he came to her with some plucked flowers (the kind that grow from weeds) and a bottle of wine (lifted from the very kitchen he had ran through before tumbling into a clothesline). It wasn’t long after that Malcom was found and wanted for petty theft.
With no other options, Malcolm retreated to the caravan of traveling Boken who were set to leave that very night. He came to Donna and pleaded with her to leave with him and start a life together. She didn’t have to think twice about it and together they disappeared into the night with a caravan of gypsies and the clothes on their back. Shortly after this, Andro came into their lives.
Andro was a very quiet infant, he hardly ever fussed and when he did, his cries would come out as soft coos that were almost melodious. He did not speak his first words until he was two years old and was considered a mute until that time. Donna would keep him swaddled in a carrying sling on her back as they traveled from vilge to town to city. She kept occupied with the travels and the increasing gripes of her presumed destined lover Malcolm. Unlike Donna, Malcom wanted very little to do with the boy and on some less than sober occasions would announce it to both Donna and the child.
“—because FUCK him that’s why! I don’t *hic* have time or patience to deal with that brain dead *hic* bastard…” Malcolm would often stagger off into the dark shadows cast by the tall wagons in the evenings as a rge fire crackled on the opposite side. He had no issues airing his dirty undry to the members of the Boken, often speaking of his ventures as a sub-par thief as if they were anecdotal in any way. Most often they were met with silence if not completely ignored. The only ones who acknowledged these pathetic stories were a group of four to five men who were in the same line of business. They, however, did not see his stories as romanticized or anecdotal as Malcolm perceived it. They would ugh at the sheer stupidity of a man who would revel in such failures that led him to become a drunken ingrate. Malcolm failed to pick up on this and instead saw it as an effort of acceptance through their part. He saw himself as a wizened bard. They saw him as the vilge idiot (and soon enough, as easy prey for their biddings).
It wasn’t long then that the group (five men total whom ranged from tall and muscur to short and squatty, not a one of which who had a decent smell or thought of manners about them) took Malcolm in as “one of their own.” They would emascute him publicly for their own entertainment, and Malcolm would ignorantly accept it. The clueless dolt would even suggest to them ideas from time to time that offered a punchline at his expense. “Oh! I gots it, I do. We should make me stand in the middle of the square next to all them preachy fels and then I’d pull my pants down and moon the whole lot!!” The men would ugh hysterically, but not at his idea directly, rather at the concept that a man could be so deprived of self-worth that he would amount to suggesting such childish antics for attention. “Or no! Better yet, I gets myself on top of the fountain there, the big one you know? You guys seen the big one before, yea? Right, well I be pullin’ myself up to the top of ‘at and whens I get to the top…” he pauses for effect, perhaps the only time he has pulled such attention from this band of ruffians he deemed his friends. “I pulls down me knickers and starts a whizzin’ all in the fountain!” A generous uproar of ughter and appuse for Malcolm as even he joined in their celebration of such a pathetic idea, though it never once crossed his mind to be an idea less than perfect. “I be pissin’ all in their fountain and on passerbys I would. Makin’ ‘em all smelly and yellow.”
For years, the boy would see this as the man that was intended to be his father figure. Donna could only do so much as a woman with so little support to provide enough attention and knowledge with such a nincompoop as Malcolm as her faux-betrothed. Donna would normally not be within range of Malcolm and his “mates’” childish antics, but on this night she was cold and sat by the fire where they were congregated. In front of the entire company there, Malcolm dropped his pants and began to urinate directly into the fire. The other men howled in ughter, some folks just grimaced in disgust and adjusted their seating. Donna spoke up, “Malcolm, you fuckin’ halfwit. We needs that fire to stays warm and you up in here pissin’ all o’er it. What this baby gon’ do if it gets a cold somethin’ fierce?” Her eyes flickered with a fire from beyond the mere reflection of the now soiled bonfire. The other men stopped their howling and widened their eyes. They made “O” shapes with their mouths to canvas the smile that was bleeding through the corners of their mouths and turned from Donna to Malcolm.
Malcolm noticed their expressions of anticipation for his next grand gesture and quickly solidified himself in decision right then and there. Turning quickly away from the fire and towards Donna, spraying a few droplets of smelly yellow on some innocent bystanders, Malcolm fumbled to pull his pants back up properly. As he did so he spoke, “Oi? Fuck you say to me then?” He gave another gnce toward his even more bemused mates who were making nearly inaudible reactions towards each other now, none of which seemed discouraging in the least. A crooked smile found the corner of his mouth as he looked back to Donna, pants finally around his waist but improperly coiled at the rear (he couldn’t have looked more a drunken fool if he actively tried). He staggered over towards Donna, each step more pronounced and off-banced than the st. Donna sat silently as he finally got over to her. His pelvis nearly brushing against her nose as he slightly swayed back and forth standing in front of her as she stay seated. His breathing was loud and through an open mouth that started forming some signs of drool at one side.
He bent down and put his face close to hers. She could see clearly his beard was scraggy and patchy, but what burned her eyes was the smell of this rancid man. His face swayed back and forth in silence as he stared at her with that god-awful breathing, and then he leaned over her shoulder near the carrier sling. He hovered over the sleeping babe with that same awful breathing, gave another crooked smile and leaned back to face Donna once again. He closed his mouth and gave a loud, squeaky breath in through his nose. She did not hear him exhale as the temple of her head began to throb in immeasurable pain. Through a kaleidoscope of vision she could see Malcolm rearing his arm back to strike her again. She fell backwards as he swung, causing him to miss and stumble over onto his face in the dirt.
The muffled sounds of ughter and jeers and gasps coming from the congregation around the fire were drowned out by an incessant ringing noise in Donna’s ears. She tried to get herself back up but she had no bance whatsoever. She tilted to the side and fell to the ground again, right next to the drunken oaf who was groaning as he too tried to collect bance to get back up. She managed to grab him by his colr and bring him down to her as she used him to hoist herself up. She had no real bance or feeling in her legs, but was just able to pull herself slightly on to Malcolm. His hands grasped at hers, but her grip was firm and unwavering. She could not make out what he was saying due to the ringing (“You bitch. Fuck—get off of—-fuck you—bitch when I get up— “), but it didn’t matter for long. She bcked out.
When she came back to reality, she could not tell how much time had passed. She was bringing her fists down on some wet, lumpy canvas. *thmplsh* *thmplsh* *thmplsh* Her fists continued coming down like meteors. Each contact making a muffled thump and splish as the firm, wet canvas continued to be pelted. Multiple hands grabbed her from behind and pulled her back by her arms and shoulders. Her vision became singur for a moment as she noticed what she was hitting was now a cavity of where Malcolm’s face once was. Desperate clicking and moaning and gurgling sounds emanated from the bloody cavity. His hands were twisted and frozen up by his shoulders. His leg slightly twitching as the blood spurt and pooled by his neck and chest on the ground. One of his eyes bulged out while the other tucked itself away behind severely swollen lids. His nose disappeared further into his skull under a smaller puddle of blood collecting in the middle of his face. His lips were split and gnarled showing what remaining teeth he had. His tongue was making worm-like convulsions behind a clearly dislocated jaw, which was the cause of the clicking and gurgling sounds. Upon seeing this sight, Donna felt her hands stinging in pain. She could feel the open wounds all over her knuckles from where his misshaped teeth had cut and sliced. She let out an exhausted and terrified gasp of a cry as she fell unconscious. Before she completely bcked out again, the st thing she heard was the baby in her carrier cry.
Andro was ten when he discovered he could create and shape water at will. There weren’t many other children in the caravan, so he had to find ways to entertain himself. One such way was by filling an old pitcher made up of a few holes and cracks, with water (often river water which was too unsanitary to drink unless properly boiled) and seeing how much he could collect in his cupped hands and dump back into the pitcher. He would do this over and over for hours in a day always trying to do better than what he deemed was his best.
He would cup his hands and pce them at a certain spot high on the pitcher where the water leaked out the heaviest. He would collect it in his hands until it almost overflowed, and then quickly but carefully drop the water in the top of the pitcher. He would repeat this process until the water line was lower than the streaming crack in the pitcher. From there he would split his hands into two separate cups and collect from two trickling sections, taking off-tempo turns pcing the water back into the pitcher mouth.
As he did this one day, he noticed Donna was being surrounded by a couple of the men that used to affiliate with Malcolm, who had since disappeared from the caravan completely some years back. The men were pulling at her clothes as she held ropes that directed two of the mules with the caravan. He could not hear them speaking, but he knew what they were doing was disturbing her. He had seen it before. Once a few years ago, shortly after Malcolm had left. He wasn’t sure what they were doing, but they had their hand over her mouth and her arms pinned back. One was on top doing some strange hop on her. After he hopped for a little bit, he would get up and trade pces with another holding her mouth or arms down. Andro turned and went back to his sleeping bnket when her eyes met his. They were filled with tears and he knew better than to bother Mama Donna when she was like that. Last time he asked her what was wrong, she got upset and hit him upside the head real good with a rolling pin. “You don’t need to know nothin’ about that. Worry about youself, y’hear me child?”
The second time it looked like they were pying some strange version of tag (Andro only knew of tag from one time he pyed it with some local children at a vilge they were passing through). One man would run by her and tag her while ughing and she would try to catch their hands before they could. They kept going for the same spots like her bottom and chest, but Andro figured that’s just the way the adults pyed it. He noticed she must have been losing the game seeing as how she got so angry she stomped and spit on one. He wiped his face as the others ughed and ran off. He followed them behind and the game was over. Mama Donna didn’t see Andro watching that time though.
This time, Andro was fixed on the men bothering Mama Donna. They began to py tag again, like they had the one time, and she was starting to get upset. Andro watched as one tag pulled free a section of her top, revealing her rge bosom to the world. The men cackled and continued to tug at her clothes. Andro felt something inside him he had never felt before: rage. Pure, unbridled rage. He ran over to the men and began to yell at them to stop, but they had not heard him. The men continued to py their twisted game of tag as Mama Donna shouted obscenities and cursed their names. Finally, one man snuck behind Mama Donna and crouched down on all fours as another man pushed her back. She toppled over the man on all fours as one of the others sprang towards her and grabbed at her arms to pin them back.
All at one moment, Andro felt a sort of flow come up from his stomach into his arms and hands. He allowed it to flow directly out of his palms as his arms moved in a fluid-like scooping motion. Then his arms and hands would drop down after reaching some height. It was the same motions as he did with his cracked pitcher, only his whole body danced the movements. As he did this, streams of water pelted the men in the faces and chests, knocking some back entirely on to the ground. Scoop His arms went wide. LiftHis arms went high. Drop His arms came crashing down. The streams of water following his patterns at the locations of each man that surrounded Mama Donna. Mama Donna watched on in horror as the men went flying about the pce, thrown about by floating streams of water. The men finally managed to run off one-by-one as Andro finally ceased his motions.
Andro was breathing heavily and felt very lightheaded. Mama Donna wanted to say something to the boy in that moment but couldn’t find the words. Instead, she lifted herself up off the ground and dusted herself off. She took a moment to adjust her top which was stretched beyond its limits and managed to pull it just enough to cover the exposed breast. Andro looked up at Donna and then at his hands. He turned them over and inspected each one thoroughly. Not a drop of water was on them. The ground was riddled with puddles and mud. He looked up at Mama Donna with tears in his eyes and ran to her. He swung his arms around her and quietly wept as she held him close and pet his head. “You a good child. Shhhh. You a good child.”
Two years after the water-bending debacle, the Boken caravan made its way to Amhull’s Market District. Mama Donna was doing her best to walk through the crowded streets lined with canopied vendors and not spend any of her sparce coin. It was going well until she spotted a beautiful new gown-apron piece. “Ooh child,” she spoke to herself without taking her eyes off the pocketed gown swaying from a loose hanger at the top of the stall. “I think I needs to get me that.” Andro had tuned in the moment she began to speak. She reached in one of the deep pockets of her apron, folded over at her waist on such a hot day. She rummaged around and pulled out a small, square cotton bifold. She flipped it open muttering, “Ok now let’s see here…” She had a possessed smile as she fingered through the contents of the bifold, quietly counting.
“Not enough for it Mama Donna. Look.” Andro spoke to her now with his eyes never leaving the tag hanging just off the shoulder of the gown. Donna clicked her teeth and pouted her lips, “Now child, I ain’t go and ask you nothin’ about how much it cost. You ain’t need be lecturin’ me about no finances. I gets by just fine.” She had a scold in her tone but she was also very defensive at the same time. She huffed once, and began to finger through her bifold again. Andro went silent until he heard Mama Donna let out a very dramatic sigh. Clicking her teeth once more, she looked straight up, “See child, now you done made me lose my countin’ and I needs to focus. We gon’ be leavin’ here soon and I don’t needs ya distractin’ me further, yeah?” Andro rolled his eyes with a cautious subtilty, but Donna still somehow knew. She closed her eyes, still looking straight up, pouting her lips tightly and speaking through her clenched teeth. “Child, I know you didn’t just give me no attitude. Boy, go on and get to them wagons. I’m fixin’ to finish up here anyway. Done ruined my day…”
She pointed with her thumb like she was hitching for a ride, towards the direction of the caravan’s wagons. She continued to mumble and grumble under her breath as Andro shook his head and walked back towards the wagons. He dragged his feet along as he did, leaving Mama Donna to rifle through the contents of her cotton bifold which assuredly held too little coin to afford the new apron-gown. He made it past a few stalls before hearing what sounded like a child giggling. He looked around, but only saw adults of all shapes, sizes and races hustling around the market area. He continued walking at a more normal pace when he heard the giggling again. This time, he noticed two golden eyes that seemed to glow for a moment, staring at him from behind a board under one of the stalls. He bent down a little to get a better look, to notice a strange child turn heel and flee, giggling as it did. It was not common for Andro to get to interact with children on his travels, but this was a clear invitation to py, and he was in no pce to refuse his natural urges to give pyful chase.
So, he did, following behind the stranger as best he could. Bobbing and weaving between peoples and carts, pushing off from their legs, sliding under boards and crawling under dresses. He could pick up little details about the stranger he was chasing, aside from the obvious notion that it was in fact a child and not a smaller adult like a dwarf or halfling. He noticed the long, scraggly hair that hadn’t looked brushed in weeks. He noticed the golden eyes were more of a yellow-amber. He noticed the thin lips and musty hands and knees. The child finally got to the side edge of the market district and turned briefly to look back at Andro who was falling behind. It smiled at him, and he noticed the child’s dirty face dispying the friendly, toothy grin. The child turned back and leapt down a small flight of stairs into a dark alleyway.
Andro made it to the top of the steps but caught himself before continuing. He looked down the steps into the dark alley for a moment with caution and analyzed the area. It was then that he noticed the child was peeking from around a corner just further down the alley. The child gave a giggle and sprinted off. Andro leapt down the small set of stairs and gave chase with a smile. He followed the child down the next turn of the alley and then through a door that the child burst through and left open. They scurried through the interior, Andro taking no note of anyone or anything around him. He simply avoided any obstacles immediately in his way. He chased for some time, until the scenery became foreign to him. Andro was catching up now.
He was just within arm’s reach of the child, when the child slid under a rge, rounded obstacle, held by some thick netting. Andro stopped in his tracks then, realizing that the obstacle was a person. A very rge person with multiple arms and a full-body metal armor carapace. The glowing blue eyes seemed to smile at him as it bent forward over its rge pot-belly figure.
“Well, now my little pirate. I see you are making new friends.” Andro jumped back at the voice of this creature. It was dark and raspy. “There, there little one. There isn’t anything to be afraid of. This is a pce where you can feel safe.” The creature leaned back and gestured with a few of its arms around the room which was rge and cavernous from the looks of it. Andro stood speechless and panting heavily. The child that slid under this creature, finally reemerged walking around from behind it. It was a girl. She had her hands behind her back. Her curly, knotted hair was tussled over most of her dirtied face. She was smiling shyly at Andro. Andro still stood frozen in pce, panting heavier than when he was running.
The creature put an arm around the little girl. He looked at Andro and spoke to the girl, “Now Charlie, won’t you tell me the name of our new friend?”
