Word count: 1,043
The sun was shining and the birds were singing -- at least until Gordell's slimy tongue snapped the branch they were perched on in half. He munched obnoxiously on his reward of leaves and twigs. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
The other animals at the waterhole glowered at him, but Gordell couldn't care less if he ruined their afternoon meal. Or their lives. Or the lives of their children, for that matter.
Of all Africa's creatures, Renzi would come to find no one was as much an unsung jerkass as the majestic giraffe; and, no one was as much a giraffe as Gordell and his best buddy, Hurgorf. They had been friends for as long as Gordell could remember. Admittedly, that wasn't all that long, for giraffes were also the unsung imbeciles of the Savannah.
"Hurgorf, watch," said Gordell, and his tongue flicked out and right up his nostril.
Hurgorf chortled and replicated the disgusting act.
The elephants beside them exchanged exasperated looks and rolled their eyes at one another.
The communal waterhole saw a fair amount of traffic, but at least half were regulars. They were too old to move around anymore, or had young with them, or simply lived near by. The locals were often outcasts or had voluntarily fled their homes. Some had only migrated away from droughts and didn't dare return.
Of all the familiar faces, three were the most talked about. The first two were, you guessed it, Gordell and Hurgorf. They could never go a visit without offending somebody. The second was a lioness named Renzi, notorious for striking deals with the prey beasts rather than eating them. They were not sure what or where she did eat, but no one wanted to ask.
Having a lioness loitering around was enough to cause trouble for those rightly suspicious of her intentions. Yet the majority would rather be eaten than listen to another one of Gordell's or Hurgorf's monologues. So far, by chance alone, the giraffes and the lioness had not crossed paths. For this the other visitors were very grateful.
But today...
Renzi appeared from the underbrush and started toward the water. She'd struck gold that morning. Edible gold. Packaged in the form of an old wildebeest corpse. For someone so quick to slander hyenas, she didn't hesitate to scavenge like one. The hypocrisy was not lost on her. She just didn't care.
A lioness who cared about public opinion didn't employ the help of prey beasts. Any illusion she was not on good terms with those around these parts would be shattered quickly, when a zebra she often worked with snorted to acknowledge her. The others looked too anxious -- or was it aggravated?
"What's wrong with them?" Renzi asked.
"You'll see," said the zebra, and sure enough --
"WELL, well... WELL. What do we have here, Hurgorf?"
"Looks like a lioness," Hurgorf replied.
"Sure does," said Gordell. "And no one's running for their lives?"
"Might be that she's so tiny," Hurgorf observed.
"I wonder if she's one of those leftover Mistweaver lions?"
"Or a cannibal."
Renzi tuned out the jeering easy as counting one. Just one. With her head dipped to drink, she could see many reflections. Hers was neutral, but most ranged from troubled to disappointed. Again, Renzi could quietly overlook her surroundings.
When a nudge to the side got involved, it was a bit harder.
"Isn't your grandfather a Mistweaver?" the zebra pondered.
Renzi licked the drops off water from her muzzle. "He was, when there were Mistweavers to be one of. He's a rogue now."
"But he was a Mistweaver?"
The fur above Renzi's eyes dropped, drawn together by the inquisitive expression that planted itself on her face and stayed there. It didn't take her long thereafter to catch on. "They're not shaming me," she said. What did she care if they mocked a pride she'd never seen? Any pride? They were giraffes. No one cared what they thought.
The next mouthful of water ended up as a face full. Renzi was stunned still by the rush of liquid all around her. She swam to the surface and clawed her way onto the shore, her mind working frantically to decide the most logical explanation.
Hurgorf and Gordell were laughing up a storm, you might say. Their fits of laughter didn't just sound screechy and unpleasant, they also caused salvia to be sputtered out and onto the cringing herd of varied animals.
Renzi shook herself dry as the humidity in the air permitted. So, she'd been pushed. Back in the prime of her youth (not the prime of her life; for her, that was everlasting), she would taken this challenge. Better things to worry about now than giving some stupid giraffes the satisfaction of getting her riled.
"Clever," she drawled.
"Good one, good one!" Gordell crowed. "But I can make it go farther!"
To the degree a mortal was capable of, Renzi understood the complexities of the world and its many ins and outs, the many questions and answers. The times she struggled were when things just made no sense. To her, a giraffe pushing her in the water was not some great mystery to be decoded. They had done it for a laugh. But making a game out of tormenting a lion, well, that did not make sense. She couldn't believe her ears, and as she opened her mouth to suggest maybe it was best they stop this before it got out of hand, she was struck a second time and toppled back into the water.
The rowdy response to her dilemma she could hear before she breached the surface.
Renzi did not do them the honor of drying off in their presence. She took instead to keeping dignified, soaking wet or not. "Gentlemen," she began. "Might I suggest --"
The giraffes bickered with each other instead of listening. Their long legs took step by step away from Renzi. Probably going to bother another poor soul elsewhere.
Happy to be left behind, the zebra shook his head. "You've got more patience than I do."
"Don't be so sure," Renzi groused.
Having her grandfather indirectly insulted was one thing.
Being ignored was another.
