Okay so you've all seen Pocahontas, and you've all heard of thanksgiving (if you haven't please get out of your basement you agoraphobic trekkie) so this is my version of the first thanksgiving. Bear with me I know that things might be a little weird, and the natives couldn't have had that, but I'm on a limited source supply! Unless you want to lend me you fancy time machine so I can write something elegant and historically proper.
I don't own Teen Titans or a socials textbook.
Logan was increasingly uncomfortable. However, it was quite understandable seeing the position he was in. He was currently down on one knee on the forest floor, the damp from the soil seeping in to chill his leg. His other leg had lost all feeling, numb from being in such a position for so long. Twigs and branches were jabbing at him from odd angles, and the few rocks scattered on the ground dug into his palms.
He was far from complaining. All feelings were shunned if only to keep watching what was going on in front of him.
It was a woman, one of the natives. A single piece of dark animal skin was tied at the shoulder, ending in a jagged line halfway to her knee. Her dark ebony hair was ornamented with exotic purple feathers, the longer ones places at the front. Her skin was most shocking about her. Unlike the rest of her people, her skin was abnormally pale; sometimes it even looked a deathly grey. But with everything she did she had an air of knowledge.
Who knew that smashing rocks together could be so graceful? Logan had watched as she carefully selected rocks from near the water and crushed them until she used water from the stream and made paint.
A single finger was dipped in it and she began to trace intricate symbols down her arm. In her fingers wake she left gleaming trails of bright red that positively glowed in the sunlight. She worked her was down the other arm, using a thin twig for the smaller details. Her legs were worked on next, stretched out to their full extent so the pads of her feet made ripples in the water. When she was done she submerged her finger in the stream and positioned herself so that she was lying in the sun, allowing her delicate finger paintings to dry.
She looked beautiful, lying there. The sun illuminating her porcelain skin, her hair fanned behind her.
A rather large bird interrupted his musings. A cloud of black feathers knocked him back, causing him to yelp in surprise. His flailing arms snapped twigs and rustled the undergrowth, eliminating any possibility he hadn't been heard.
The flat rock in the middle of the stream was bare; the only sign of her left was a ripple in the water.
After a sharp twig had come close to blinding him, he crawled out from his hiding place making sure nothing else impaled him. He couldn't see anything of her. He couldn't exactly listen for her, the forest wasn't familiar to him, and every sound was foreign. He looked up. Logan himself had never been able to climb trees with ease or agility, but he wouldn't be surprised if someone who lived in the area would know how.
He heard a twig snap before he was roughly shoved up against a tree. An ornate bone knife was pointed at his neck, promising nothing less that a large pool of blood lest he move more than an inch.
"Hey we ayah meh toh."
Judging from the way she said it (whatever she said), she was angry… and somewhere along the lines of 'who the hell are you' or 'why the hell are you here.' She looked rather cute when she was angry, but being as this was the first time he'd seen her up close to him she'd look rather cute when she was any emotion.
For the first time Logan noticed a gleam below her hairline. Suspended between the front most feathers, in the centre of her forehead, was a miniscule ruby, gleaming in the afternoon sun. The knifes pressure lessened slightly, allowing him to breath again.
"Who are you?"
The words had not come from his mouth, and he thought she couldn't speak his language.
"How do you know to speak English?"
"Surprised that a savage knows more than you?" she was still angry. Such pretty eyes hold so much hate.
"Don't flatter yourself, there is a whole boatload of people who are smarter than me."
"Are you calling me stupid?" there was that knife again, where did it come from?
"Rather, I'm insulting myself."
She continued to glare at him, sizing him up. When it seemed he wasn't anything to worry about she stepped back, sliding the knife between her skin and a leather strap around her thigh. She was still suspicious of him, but she wasn't saying a word. Her back was never turned to him once. He had a feeling that even without that knife out, she was a danger all in herself.
"My name is Logan." After that he didn't know what to say. What would you say to someone who had just seen you, but you had seen them days ago.
She was pointing. In the tangle of bushed he had come from, a mass of black feathers was gathered on a low branch. Crow? It launched itself across the sky in favour of a higher limb. No, it wasn't a crow.
They hadn't said a word since. Everything seemed to be communicated through their eyes. She had stopped glaring at him, waiting for his attack, and had gone back to the flat rock in the middle of the stream.
He was content in leaning against a tree watching her. At least this time he was comfortable. He amused himself in pondering the use of the current paint she was mixing. Perhaps she was an artist, famous in her village for her masterpieces. But how could you paint a masterpiece with only your fingers?
A dancer maybe? She certainly was light on her feet. Logan had seen her leap her way across a stream, from rock to rock, each one no bigger than his hand. Or that time she had practically flew up a tree, spooked by a bear.
Sometimes he couldn't guess what she was doing. She would come into the forest, humming a nameless tune, carrying a basket and pick berries and leaves, sometimes uprooting entire plants.
Her eyes were on him. Off the rock and padding silently over. Carried in her hands was a stone, the middle worn down so it dipped like a bowl. Inside the bowl was a green substance. More paint? He shifted to his knees as she got closer, she herself kneeling in front of him.
Not a word was spoken. They just … stared at each other. Well at least she's not glaring at me. Finally she tugged at the hem of his shirt.
"Take it off," she murmured.
As shocked as he was, an argument with a woman hiding a dagger under her clothing wasn't exactly appealing. When the garment was removed she tossed in onto an overhanging branch, and there it was forgotten. After dipping a finger in the paint she leaned dangerously close to him. The paint made him shiver, but it was a welcome chill in the heat of the season. He looked down.
There was a small green dot on the right of his chest that she was gradually making larger. Now Logan was hardly one to shy away from a beautiful woman, but seeing as he was halfway across the world from his home, and she was a different race than he was, seemed to complicate things. He had never been shirtless in front of a girl before, so naturally his mind was ablaze with questions. Did she do this often? What if this was part of a ceremony, and she was expecting something of him? Or maybe, beneath that serious expression, she was laughing at how pitiful he looked with his shirt off.
She stopped. The dot had become roughly the size of him palm, and around the same shape as it too. Her four fingers in green, and then lightly placed over the existing shape. Points were added, making them look like round arrows. She lowered her hand to the bowl and let it skim the paint. Then she quickly pressed her hand on the side of his chest that had been paint free.
Taking advantage of their proximity Logan got a good look at her eyes. Surprisingly they were blue. A dark ocean blue that flashed something else in the light … and in the dark … and they were looking right at him.
Everyone in Ravens village knew to stay away from the travelers, unless they approached the village as a whole. Seeking one out was forbidden, for although they were building friendships with these men, it was instinct to be wary. It was these reasons that caused Raven to feel no guilt in which she was doing. Logan had found her, and she was quite capable of handling herself, or rather, handling him if her tried to attack her.
He was so … curious. He wasn't exactly big and handsome like some of the unmarried men in the village, or the other white men that had come the other day. And he wasn't exactly sly. She could count the days that she had seen him, lurking in the trees. But something about him was distinctly animal-like. Half and half. A bear paw and a human hand.
Speaking of which she had yet to remove from his chest. His heart was beating so fast. Was he sick? … or maybe it was her. But surely there must have been women back home. Maybe green wasn't a popular eye colour over there…
She took her hand back and swiftly stood, walking over to the stream. She hopped to the flat rock in the middle, then bent, to wash her hands in the stream. He had followed her. He leaned over to examine his reflection, but couldn't see his chest. He leaned over a little more. He was beginning to see it. A little more. He lost his balance. His arms flailing in the air, he would have promptly fallen into the water.
His butt in the air, he held himself inches above the water.
He looked up. She had barely showed a hint of anything less than sombre and now she was making fun of his situation. He was in a rather ridiculous position though. He looked at her, smiling softly, trying to capture her giggles in her palm. He grinned. How was he going to get out of this one? He chuckled, but it only made it harder to stay above the water.
She was laughing now, how could she be so cruel? He was trying to stay serious but seeing her happy was so delightful, not to mentions giggles are contagious.
He clamoured onto the rock and joined, her still laughing, at himself and nothing in particular. She abandoned her attempt to hide her laughter and clutched her stomach, her feet tapping the ground. As her legs shifted her clothing rode up, the knife glinting sharply. He stopped laughing for a moment and tried to remember why exactly she hadn't killed him yet.
Raven froze, the smile melting from her face. Then suddenly she was up flying across the stream and up the tree, his shirt hurtling towards him. He found the sleeves and yanked it over his head.
Three of his shipmates had come looking for him, wondering where he would disappear to, slacking on his part of the work. He decided not to tell them that by looking for him, they were dodging work themselves.
"Oi, what's this?"
One of the men plucked a purple feather from inside the sleeve of his shirt.
"Found it. By the stream."
"Wha' is that?" one of the men peered over his shoulder and eyed the bowl of paint. Unnoticed by the men, a rock soared over their heads and landed in the bushes to their right.
"Lets go, there's animal that could eat you alive in these parts."
Logan tagged behind obediently but looked over his shoulder to see Raven, high in the tree. A strand of hair that had once been fastened by a purple feather hung in her face. She tucked it behind her ear, the other hand occupied with holding a rather large rock.
so as you can see, ravens purple hair in the show, is like the the feathers in my fanfic, and the symbols that appear on her in 'birthmark' is what she is painting on herself. i wanted the clothing she was wearing to be like her suit, so i couldn't show her stomach and her back, so the symbols that appear there don't show up. cyborg is probly going to show up later as well as starfire and robin and trigon. but trigon won't be all take over this land, destroy the world. i was going to say more, but it will probly come to me when i'm lying in bed, away from the screen.