I have returned!
Having acquired replacement parts for this communications device, I am now back to share my daily trials and tribulations with the food. I expect this… thing to go up in a puff of smoke again, but that is life. The Sarlacc has no time for creating these pointless devices, there is food to be eaten.
This is very a propos (learned that particular phrase from a particular food I came across not two weeks ago, it smelled more delicious than it tasted though), because of the latest visitor that has come to my home.
I am used to arousing the curiosity of the food. It is part of my being; it is what puts food in my maw. Well, that, and surprise; but curiosity is a powerful tool. But this particular curious piece of talking food had a special kind of curiosity: The kind of curiosity that comes with a reasonable dose of intelligence and caution. It was a researcher.
I have mentioned before how not many things are known about myself, at least as far as the food’s knowledge is concerned. That is because these researchers are, ultimately, curious food, and curious food always finds its way into my stomach.
This particular researching food was quite cautious indeed. It first tempted me with a variety of tasty morsels, a rather interesting experiment I was only too happy to help with, but what I didn’t see coming was the underlying plan the food had hatched. Each morsel was thrown at me at different distances, until the food correctly gauged the maximum distance my tentacles could reach.
It then proceeded to put down some markers in the sand, drawing a perimeter around me, marking the very limits of my reach.
You may think I was somewhat hurt in my pride, or enraged that I had been outsmarted by the food. Far from it, I found the surprise absolutely delightful. How creative! I let it study me for several days, it would bribe me with some treat, and then maybe touch my tentacle or give it a little prick, something rather minor and not very inconvenient. I gave ample evidence for my liking or disliking of the food it offered (none of which, by the way, were talking foods; slightly disappointing, that), and to my satisfaction it learned and soon was feeding me only the choicest of menus.
Essentially, the food was bribing me to be able to look at me. What an interesting concept.
One day, the food showed up with some complicated piece of machinery I had never felt before. The vibrations made it feel like it was a rather big one, though. It was positioned some distance away and, without any warning, suddenly a tremendously loud explosion came though the sand.
Yes, it hurt like crazy. I am capable of sensing the most minute vibrations happening in the vicinity. An extremely loud explosion directed at the sand feels quite intense for me, sensory overload if you will.
I roared loudly, trashing with my tentacles. The Sarlacc was not pleased. And you know what the food, the dim-witted bottom of the evolutionary ladder said in response to my expression of displeasure?
I have heard the food use an interesting expression, “draw the line.” They also draw water from wells, so I am still unsure as to what the real meaning of this phrase is, but if one can cross a line, and the Sarlacc is a line, I was indeed quite cross myself at that point. If you displease the Sarlacc, your response should always be tailored with one thought in mind (and I say one, because more than that would probably overload the little food brain): There is a fine line between the Sarlacc tolerating you, and the Sarlacc digesting you over one thousand years. Finer than frog’s hair, if one leaps as such into my maw, physical or metaphorically.
There was a sandstorm shortly after. It wasn’t a new occurrence, sandstorms are common in the desert. The food doesn’t like them because it can erase all tracks and cannot keep track of things…
This language is ridiculous.
Yes, displeased Sarlacc.
After the sandstorm, the food would come back, dig the markers out of the sand, and restart its experiments. Time and time again.
As I said, the Sarlacc was displeased. A sandstorm can erase many things. Tracks, marks, it can bury markers, and it can hide the markings on the sand of a Sarlacc that pushes itself slightly out of the pit to increase his reach a tiny bit, and the markings that an stretched out tentacle would leave on the sand as it reached for one of the safety markers.
And, by some cosmic coincidence, the markers would find themselves, sandstorm after sandstorm, imperceptibly closer to the Sarlacc’s pit.
Until, after the twelfth sandstorm, the researched discovered that one of the markers was close enough to the pit for the Sarlacc not only to touch it, but to wrap the tip of his tentacle around its foot.
I wonder if the food is still making observations from the inside of my stomach. It’s going to have a lot of time to make them.