Chapter 4: Attack On Toothpaste

Fierce-Heart peered at the square room around her with a deep scowl. All life had been washed from the walls and floor. There was a thin, plush and soft looking piece of furniture pushed into the corner of the room. Ginger called it a bed, but Fierce-Heart had no idea how so many layers and fabrics could be used for sleeping. It seemed impractical. She would just end up twisted into a knot. Above the cream bed, a small square was cut out of the wall and filled with the same invisible material she had seen so many times. The fluffy beige flooring was rough and scratchy beneath her feet. The white walls were barren and bland. Even the air felt limp and dead. The room was small, probably only a little longer than her height.

Ginger opened a tall wooden door that was nestled into the right side of the room by the top of the bed. It seemed to be total black beyond. She reached her hand in, there was a click and light filled the room. Fierce-Heart's brows pulled down into an aggressively confused frown. Leaving the door she was stood by, she crept closer to the strange light. Ginger slipped into the room beyond, but Fierce-Heart lingered.

The space past the door was just as deathly pale as the last, but significantly smaller. Cold stone had been cut into slabs and laid on the floor. Beside the door, a short stone seat rose from the ground, but it didn't look very functional. There was a gaping hole in its centre that seemed to be filled with water. On the other side of the room was a white, solid basin that was shielded by a grey sheet of waxy fabric that hung beside it. "This is a bathroom," Ginger explained, seeing her confusion. Fierce-Heart scrunched up her nose. The most peculiar thing about the room was the tiny little dome of invisible material that hung from the ceiling. A little ball of fire burned brightly within it. It amazed her they had managed to harvest such a volatile element.

Ginger went on to explain all the objects in the room and listed off their uses. Toilet, sink, shower, light switch, cabinet, drawers, mirror. There were so many new words and so many weird ways to use these objects. Her gut sank as reality set in. She was very far from home, and she could never return. It seemed like she was going to be stuck with metal tubes that spat water instead of being able to take a dip in the river. Upset bubbled within her and heat blushed her eyes.

Ginger sent her a warm smile and slipped out of the bedroom, leaving Fierce-Heart to her thoughts. Collapsing to the floor, she leaned her back against the bed. Tears brimmed her eyes. A cold reality was settling in. Her father was gone, his bones had probably crumbled to dust by now. Her clan was gone, their corpses sharing the same fate. Life as she knew it, was gone. With a whimpering sigh she pushed her face into her hands. Images of the burning forest and her Old-Mind's blood-streaked torso tormented her. Fierce-Heart was on her own. Everything she loved had become buried in the decay of time. An ache so profound it left her breathless consumed her from within. More than anything, she just wanted to go home. Every inch of her just kept begging that this was nothing more than a terrible dream. Any minute she would wake up and be back at the village. A sob wracked her body and tears began streaming down her cheeks.

Fierce-Heart sat curled in a ball crying for so long that her muscles and joints began begging for a release. A bubble of pressure formed behind her dry, itchy eyes. No longer able to shed more tears, her breathing was ragged and sharp. Eventually, she found the will to unfurl herself and find her way shakily to her feet. The room around her was dark. The last few greyed streaks of daylight seeped in through the invisible material in the wall. It was cold like she had never experienced before. Goosebumps prickled her skin.

Sniffling and swiping the tears from her puffy face, she lumbered into the bathroom. Using the knowledge Ginger gave her, she found the little 'light switch' by the door’s frame and pressed down on it hard. A tiny flame ignited in the see-through dome above her head, filling the room with a sickly yellow light. Stepping onto the cold floor, she jolted as she caught movement in the corner of her eye. With a yelp she spun around. Fierce-Heart had forgotten about the magical object called a mirror. It somehow perfectly reflected everything in front of it. Catching sight of herself, she leaned a little closer. Her heart skipped a beat. It was startling, how similar she looked to her father. Lifting a hand, she brushed her fingers over her red, swollen eyes. Those were her father’s brilliant, green irises that were still pooling with tears. Beads of twinkly liquid rolled down the curve of her cheek. A mane of curly hair fell around her caramel shoulders. Is this what she looked like to everyone else? A grimace warped her features.

Tearing herself away from the mirror, she turned back towards the shower. This was something she was keen to try. It baffled her, the idea that the spotted cone that protruded from the wall could spit out water. Reaching behind the hanging fabric that she'd forgotten the name of, she twisted the little knob attached to the wall. Within seconds several tiny streams of water started raining down, making her flinch once again. Fierce-Heart stared down at her clothes. All the fur and bones would take hours to dry if she got them wet, and Ginger had said that you were supposed to use the shower undressed. In Fierce-Heart's time, if one were to bathe in the nude it came with a great risk of being seen but she supposed that wasn't an issue in this tiny little space.

Her clothing dropped to the ground with a distinct thud. The only thing she hadn't removed was her father's leather cuff. Slipping behind the curtain, she stepped into the spray. Her eyes widened a fraction when she felt the heat of the water. Lifting her gaze to the stream's source, she cocked her head to one side. The only explanation she could think of was that a fire-nature and a water-nature had teamed up to supply the pipes with the hot spray. Muttering a thanks to them, she closed her eyes over and dipped her head beneath the water. Long plumes of warm steam curled around her skin. Some of the heaviness in her muscles was lifted. Any tears she shed were quickly washed away. Minuscule rivers ran over her skin, sticking to the curves of her body. For a long while, she swayed under the shower and relished the heat it gave her.

Eventually, she grew tired of standing. Her body began to overheat, sweat beaded her forehead. The tips of her fingers were wrinkly and pale. Reaching out, she fiddled with the knob to stop the flow. It took her a few wrong guesses to find the right techniques. She was assaulted with freezing water that left her shivering, boiling water that burned her skin and a jet so powerful she feared it would leave behind a bruise. Cursing the people producing the water, she clambered out of the tub. Water splashed onto the cold floor, pooling at her feet. Grumbling, she peered down at her wet skin. She was going to have to wait until she was dry before she could put any form of clothing back on, there was nothing worse than wet fur clinging to you for hours on end. It could go mouldy or start to smell.

In the meantime, she raked her fingers through her hair and squeezed the water out. Every time she caught a tug, she winced and delicately pulled it apart with her fingers. By the time she was satisfied, her scalp was aching and raw. With a sigh, she pulled back her mane into one of the tight braids the older tribes’ women had taught her. Nimbly folding pieces together, her arms groaned at being held up for so long. When she finished, she had one, dripping wet, long braid that trailed down to her mid back. Patting her hands over the top, she grimaced when she felt all the loose strands and large bumps, but she didn't have the energy to care and she most certainly was not redoing it.

Sucking in a deep breath, she glanced down at the clothes scattered across the floor and her heart sank. Fierce-Heart had worn those clothes with pride. They were hand crafted for her and had hours of intricate work sewed into them. A lump developed in her throat. She wasn't Fierce-Heart anymore. Fierce-Heart was a fearless warrior who would lay down her life to protect her tribe. Fierce-Heart was always looking for the next hunt with childlike enthusiasm. Fierce-Heart wouldn't have left her family for dead.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she stared angrily into the mirror. The person that stared back, she didn't recognise. There was someone new walking around in her skin. A coward. Running a finger along the curve of her jawline, she realised that she was Soul. A mockery of her proud tribe. A failure that was going to have to adapt to the world around her, lest she is dragged under.

Turning away from her clothes, she squatted down in front of the cabinets and pried them open. Within was several of those whole-body suits Ginger had been wearing. Ginger had been kind enough to point them out earlier. They were all different sizes and instead of a colourful trim, their lining was black. The first one she picked up was large enough that she could fit both legs into one the leg hole. The second was so small she couldn't fit her arm any of the holes. After a few failed attempts, she found one that hung from her frame. Its sleeves dangled down past her arms and flapped whenever she moved, but it fit a lot better than her previous attempts.

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Soul tried to emulate the way Ginger had worn it with the line of metal to the front. As far as she could see, she had put it on correctly and nothing felt too badly out of position. Collecting her old clothes into her arms, she strode out of the bathroom. Immediately she noted how much colder and crisper the air was in her bedroom. Her lungs cried out in relief even although she hadn't known they were suffering.

Soul jolted. Ginger was perched on the bed. When her golden eyes flicked up to see her, her brows lifted in shock. "You look like a completely different person," she chuckled, lifting herself to her feet. Staring at her sleeves, a feint frown tugged at her features. "If you put the clothes down, I can help you with your sleeves." Soul nodded, placing her little bundle of clothes on the bed. Ginger grasped the edges of her sleeves and scrunched them up beyond Soul's wrists. Soul herself watched with curious amazement. Once released, the fabric became tight around her wrists and held itself up.

"Thank you," Soul murmured, running a hand along the now bumpy material on her arms.

"Don't mention it," she chirped with a smile. Soul cocked her head to one side. Was it bad to express gratitude in this time? Ginger hadn't sounded annoyed. “Oh, here,” she leant down and pulled out a pair of chunky shoes. They were made of thick leather and were identical to Ginger’s. After a few minutes, Soul managed to fumble and put them on. Ginger did up the laces tightly. Soul’s feet squealed at their sudden imprisonment.

"Are you hungry?" she asked cocking her head to one side. Soul hadn't eaten in a while, but she felt sick to her core. Even the thought of food revolted her. "The canteen is serving dinner right now." Before Soul could object, Ginger bounced over to the door and flung it open.

With a sigh, Soul opted to follow her. A little adventure would be better than being stuck with her own thoughts. The halls they walked through were tall and stone. Huge, jewelled, cone shaped constructions hung from the ceiling. They too had the bulbs that contained a burning flame. Noises echoed loudly around them. With every room they passed, Ginger gave a short snippet of its function. The room that stood out to her the most was the assignment room. Lines of enforcers were waiting in front of a long desk to be given an assignment, and that was all she had seen as they powered by. She found herself tripping up over the chunky shoes that weighed her down.

After a short walk and a trek down a set of stairs, they arrived at what Soul assumed was the canteen. A huge, arching doorway peered into a room filled with hundreds of round tables that were surrounded by a ring of seat. Several sweet aromas blended harmoniously. If Soul hadn't felt sick, she would have been drooling. The room was lit from above by more of those hanging jewelled contraptions. They gave out a deceptively warm, orange glow. A distinct murmur of laughter and colloquial chatter buzzed around. A few people were milling about the tables in small groups. Some were by themselves, and others hopped between tables. The majority of them wore the same whole-body suit as Ginger and Soul, except they wore a variety of coloured trims. From far away, Soul could pick out green, orange, and blue.

"Come on," Ginger beckoned her into the maze of tables with the tilt of her hand. Soul followed her closely, her eyes scanned all the tables they passed by. Most of the people she saw were eating a golden liquid with lumps in it, but others were munching on other varieties of food she had never seen before that was covered in a brown gunk. It made her stomach churn. Ginger slumped down into a seat at a table that already had a familiar face. Remy looked up from his food that was covered in the muddy liquid with a wide smile. Soul followed their lead and lowered herself into one the seats, equidistant from them both. They were sitting opposite one another, leaving their table slightly lopsided.

"How bad?" Ginger grimaced at the circular object holding his food. There was a watery mess of white, chunky mush and slabs of what she knew was over cooked meat. Remy lifted his eyes to meet her. The expression fell from his face. Picking up a tiny, metal trident that had an extra prong, he rammed it into the white mush with a thunk. The trident remained standing, perfectly still. "Soup it is," Ginger chuckled dryly, pushing herself to a stand. Turning to Soul, she added, "I'm going to get food. Wait here," she threw a thumb over her shoulder and walked away from the table. Soul watched as her fiery hair dipped into a small, open doorway. Beyond was where Soul assumed TAPS's great fires were, where the cooks made their food.

"So, how has you first day in our time been?" Remy asked her, leaning down onto the table and pushing away his plate. Soul scrunched up her features. It had been interesting, but also the worst day of her life. "I don't blame you," he pressed his already lips into an even thinner line. "It can't be easy to have everything you know change so drastically, so quickly." Soul's shoulders fell and she slumped back into her seat. She didn't understand how a heart that felt as hollow as hers could ache so badly. With a sigh, he dropped his head into his hands. "Just a warning, I think Professor Bastille will want to pick at your knowledge of the past. He is awfully enthusiastic about the ancient tribes of animal-natured humans. It's his specialty."

Soul lifted a hand and clenched it around the leather band that was secured over her curse mark. There was no way she could allow the legacy of her people to be forgotten. Her memory wouldn't last forever, so others needed to know about the true wonder of the beast folk. Despite the emotion swirling within her, she was too worn out to cry. “I will speak about my tribe," she told him.

Remy’s brows shot up. "You will?" he squeaked. Straightening up, he stared at her with intense hazel eyes. "You know you don't have to. We'll understand if you need time to process your loss." A sad smile curled his lips.

Soul shook her head. The jungle was no easy place to survive in. She had lost many who were dear to her, and she knew the best way to move on was to hold them close to your heart and remember. "No. I’m fine," she responded gently. The concern was appreciated, especially considering they had just met that day. People of this time were strange.

Ginger returned to the table with a whole bundle of objects clasped in her hands. Remy’s eyes twinkled with delight upon seeing her and he straightened himself up as she sat down. The fiery haired girl sat a half sphere filled with the golden liquid in front of Soul alongside a metallic, flat utensil. Seeing the confusion on Soul's face, she picked up the utensil and pointed to it, "spoon," she explained and then pointed to the trident still poking out of Remmy's white mush, "fork." Flicking her finger against the half sphere, she added "bowl." Pointing into the bowl, she gave one last word, "soup." Soul nodded slowly, trying to absorb the information.

Soul watched closely as Ginger dipped the curved end of the spoon into the golden liquid and lifted it to her mouth. After observing for a short while, she turned her eyes down to her own food. The surface was spotted with oil and the outline of several colourful vegetables could be seen through the yellow murk. Hot, sweet-smelling steam rose up from the bowl, blanching her skin in delicious fragrance. Dipping her spoon into the liquid, she gave it a gentle stir. The glossy surface became a swirling galaxy of colour and shine.

Despite her queasiness, Soul collected a spoonful of the soup. It would be disrespectful not to eat it after someone had spent time cooking it and Ginger had gone through all the effort of collecting it. Not to mention, it would insult the hunter that provided the carcass that this soup was cooked in. Lifting the spoon to her lips, she tenderly sipped. Warmth seeped through her lips and an explosion of flavour erupted on her tongue. It was a harmonious balance of sweet and salty with the overlaying taste of perfectly cooked poultry. Soul’s eyes fluttered shut as she savoured the flavours.

"That bad?" Remy’s voice cut through her enjoyment. Pulling her eyes open she noticed both he and Ginger were staring at her apologetically. How could they think she wouldn't like something so divine?

"Good," she grunted in response, dipping her spoon back and collecting more.

A smile curled Ginger’s lips. "I'm glad you like it," she laughed. Remy and Ginger picked up a quiet, colloquial chatter between themselves, but Soul has stopped trying to listen and allowed the noise to wash over her. She found herself in a cycle of enjoyment. Dip, eat, enjoy, repeat. With every new mouthful she detected another flavour. The spicy aftertaste lingered on her tongue. The chunks of vegetable were like little surprise gifts every time she bit into one. They all tasted like something different. Some were sweet, some were nippy, some had no flavour but were great fun to crunch. Before long, she found herself with an empty bowl and sagging shoulders.

Ginger had finished her own food long before Soul because she hadn't savoured every bite. Peered down at Soul's empty bowl, she quirked a brow. "Would you like more?" Soul couldn't contain the excitement that sprung to her eyes.

A few bowls later, Soul found herself back in her bathroom. It had demisted, leaving the air with a cold touch. Her stomach groaned a sloshed with the sheer quantity of soup she had eaten, but she didn't regret a single bite. Ginger stood with her in front of the cabinets and over the sink. In her hands where two colourful, what she called, toothbrushes. She was also gripping onto a tube of toothpaste. Both were entirely foreign concepts to Soul. Ginger had said they were used to aid hygiene in the mouth and stop your teeth decaying, so Soul was willing to give it a shot. Too many times she had seen elder villagers in agony because of their teeth.

Ginger unscrewed the toothpaste lid and squeezed out a roll of red and blue paste onto the white bristles and passed one to Soul. "Okay, now, you just brush them," Ginger shrugged and began scrapping at her teeth with the bristles. Soul reluctantly followed suit, aggressively hitting her teeth with the paste. "No, no, no," Ginger's spoke in a rush, reaching out and grasping Soul's arm to stop her attack on her teeth. A smile curled her lips and she grabbed Soul's wrist, gently manoeuvring the brush along the surface of her teeth. "Like that. Soft but steady and you should try to cover every tooth."

Soul nodded her head and Ginger dropped her wrist. Once again, although with significantly less pressure, Soul began scrubbing her way at her teeth. A painful minty taste nipped at her mouth, but Ginger didn't seem fazed by it, so Soul continued brushing. This was perhaps one of the strangest things she had done since entering this time, but it left her feeling just a fraction more refreshed.