Many Happy Returns

Lately I have been thinking about how much better I can understand the food, and how it may be possible to reach some sort of common understanding and communication in the future. It is a scary thought.

What prompted this line of thought was the return of my “followers.” I can only assume it took them this long to find their way back due to the limited capacity of their minuscule brains. The fact that they came back at all made me second-guess what I mentioned previously about understanding and communication.

Think about it. They came back. If I had a head, I would be shaking it now (I’m getting better at these food-language expressions, aren’t I?).

Their return was interesting, from the point of view of a superior intelligence trying to understand their pack habits and social behavior. The first one to approach me was the so called “Head Priest,” he did so slowly and with loud proclamations about myself and their unyielding faith and loyalty. The real message here was “please don’t eat me.”

I didn’t. Yes, I understand this may be surprising, but I was planning for the future of course: this could end up with a reliable source of food, after all.

Never underestimate the potential of a fanatical horde of “followers.”

Slowly, the bolder ones followed the Priest, then others, and so on until my home was completely surrounded by them, chanting and calling my name. It was such a touching moment… I even played with the first sacrifice they offered, throwing it high into the air and catching it before it hit the ground a few times, for their viewing amusement. The food followed my antics with high pitched squeals of what I assume was great pleasure.

All was good in the Sarlacc’s kingdom. I didn’t hear anyone questioning my status either.

However, if there is a lesson to be had from interacting with the food, it is this: Never underestimate the food’s capacity to surprise you. Typically unpleasantly so.

A few days after their return, and during one of their chanting spells, I felt the familiar rumble of a slow-moving ground box. It stopped nearby, dislodged its contents, and instants later the familiar yipping of my favourite foodstuffs reached my tendrils.

Jawas. A horde of them, rooting through the junk near my home, but a bit too far for me to reach more than one, maybe two.

The Head Priest noticed my excitement (I think the trashing of the tentacles gave me away), and stopped the chants and supplications.

“The almighty Sarlacc is angry! Oh almighty Sarlacc, please illuminate your humble servants, please tell us of the wrong you want us to set right and we will not rest until we make it happen!”

I had an idea. A tiny voice inside me told me immediately it was a stupid idea, but I quickly suppressed it. There were Jawas to be eaten.

I grabbed a couple of my followers and, without hesitation, threw them in the general direction of the Jawas. One of them did hit (these little things move around too quick to aim properly, though I’m getting better). I snapped with my beak and made a loud noise.

“The Jawas!” The Head Priest shouted.

I roared again and trashed some more. Why, these foods may actually be useful for once! I congratulated myself on my idea of using them to catch me some Jawas, this was going to be the best…

“The Jawas must be exterminated! Destroy them! They defile the temple of the almighty Sarlacc!”

Wait, what?

At this point the tiny voice inside me said I told you so, in a most unpleasant, sarcastic voice I would never use myself.

Shut up

But that was the result, my “followers” descended upon the Jawas and eliminated them with the ferocity of a Kath Hound. None of them was bright enough to think of sacrificing a few of them to the Sarlacc.

“We will cleanse this land of the blight of the Jawas, mighty Sarlacc! Your followers will not let you down!”

There were some cheers and shouts, and the food started to move out. They were going to get rid of the Jawas. My favourite food. Well, not if I can help it; never get between the Sarlacc and his prey.

Actually, never get near a Sarlacc. I can give this advice because I know the food’s stupid enough not to follow it.

So, while they were out for the night, I set to work.

Morning came, and with it the return of my followers. It was probably the highest attendance I had seen since the early days of their worship, they had obviously gathered all they could and come to get my blessing before they set out to kill the Jawas. The border of my home hole was crowded with them all over.

Perfect.

You see, simply lashing out with the tentacles would not have done me much good, I would be able to catch a few, maybe some of the pack leaders, but it was bound to be imperfect and they would surely interpret it in some other Jawa-killing way, solving nothing. At this point, my faith on the food’s intelligence was at an all-time low.

But there are other ways. While they crowded and chanted, none of them noticed that the bottom of the Sarlacc’s hole was noticeably wider, almost as if the Sarlacc had purposely expanded it and was holding fast against the sides, and the walls were at the steepest they could be without collapsing, with the sand looking particularly loose.

If they had noticed, they wouldn’t have been surprised about what happened when the Sarlacc stopped holding the walls of the hole and contracted in the middle of it: The obvious collapse, the subsequent trapping sandslide… Some of them would undoubtedly have been smart enough to stay away. Sadly for them, and deliciously for me, they weren’t.

By night, the whole cult of the “Prophets of the Sarlacc” had followed its way into my stomach.

Now to get me some delicious Jawas…

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Desert Life and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s