Eighth Chapter — Aolani and Kapono

A warm tropical night breeze ruffled the palm trees. Seven Eleven arrived at the hut from which the puff of smoke emanated. To be precise, it was coming from the crooked little chimney. To be precisely precise, it was coming from the burning logs in the fire, inside of the hut with the crooked little chimney on top, but don’t trouble yourself with details.

Seven Eleven cautiously approached the edifice, and peeked between the bamboo poles that constituted the wall. There, cooking meat over the fire, crouched a fat little woodchuck. At a bamboo table sat two young islanders playing whist.

“Come in and eat, why not?”

Seven Eleven was startled by the corpulent rodent’s Fozzyish voice inviting her in. Her instincts told her to turn and melt silently into the jungle, but then she remembered the unscathed spectre, and circled the hut looking for a bamboo door.

“Where’s the door?” she asked in consternation.

“No door there is,” the creature answered. “Use the Force you must, wooooo…”

Seven Eleven, cynical secret agent that she was, opted to grab a shovel and dig her way under the obstructing wall. This she did with feverish haste, as she was sure that the spectre may or may not be upon her at any moment. Finally, sweating and breathing hard, she wiggled her way under the blasted bamboo poles, and found herself inside the hut. The supposed woodchuck turned around, and she found herself looking into the pointy face of a corpulent chipmunk.

“Always with you, it cannot be done,” the rodent sighed, shaking its head.

“I used force,” Seven Eleven panted, wiping dirt from her forehead.

“Not the Force,” one of the native children spoke up.

“Force shmorce,” Seven Eleven muttered. “Can any of you tell me where I am?”

“In my hut, you are,” the chipmunk told her.

Seven Eleven rolled her eyes and said, “Hut schmut. I’m talking about this island. Is it Tahiti? Fiji? Oahu? Pitcairn? Easter? Rat?”

“Talking to me, you are? Chipmunk it is that I am, not a rat,” the small furry creature told her.

The male Padawan rose up to defend his master, with a dark look in his eyes. “Who are you calling a rat, dirt girl?”

Seven Eleven was about to whip out her ACME Padawan Disintegrator, but the chubby chuck raised his paw and held both hotheaded humans apart. The disintegrator fell from Seven Eleven’s hands and disintegrated. “Always the dark look, it is with you,” he said, shaking his head at the boy.

“Braid boy.” Seven Eleven spat.

“But I want to kill her, Master Chippie,” the boy said petulantly.

“Learn patience, you must,” Chippie said reprovingly.

While this was going on, the girl had slunk underneath the table and covered her head with an umbrella.

“Sit down, young Cloudstalker,” Chippie said, waving his paw. The sulky youth plopped back down into his chair and amazed Seven Eleven by knocking the cards off the table with nothing more than a dark, stormy look.

“Whoa,” she said.

“Wooooo,” Chippie replied.

“Stop doing that,” Seven Eleven objected. “It makes me nervous.”

“Yes, I sense much stress in you, young one,” the obese chipmunk said.

“I’m hungry,” Seven Eleven said, changing the subject. “Could I trouble you for a banana?”

“Yes, we have no bananas today.”

“Why not?”

“Because everyone knows you can’t have bananas without strawberries,” the girl said, crawling out from under the table. Seven Eleven’s jaw dropped as she watched the girl pick up the cards and place them in a neat pile on the table, without using her hands, feet, or other appendages.

“How did you do that without making use of your appendages?” the befuddled agent inquired.

“Appendages? We don’t need no stinkin’ appendages,” Cloudstalker snapped.

“Wooooooo,” Chippie said.

The girl made a dive for the underside of the table, and Seven Eleven cursed under her breath. “Bananas,” she said, gritting her teeth. “I need bananas.”

“Eat meat, you must,” Chippie offered her a monkey paw skewered on the end of a stick.

“Monkeys eat bananas,” the girl said timidly, peeking around the umbrella.

Seven Eleven snatched the paw away and tore into it ravenously. “I haven’t had anything but rotten squid for as long as I can remember,” she choked.

A diabolical thoughtfulness o’erspread Cloudstalker’s countenance. But Chippie frowned at him, and lifted his paw before the youth could say anything. “Pardon my rudeness, you must,” he addressed Seven Eleven. “Master Chippie, I am, and Kapono Cloudstalker, that is. Aolani Organic, cowering under the table, is.

“Pleased to meet you,” Aolani said.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Seven Eleven replied.

“May I kill her now?” Kapono begged, seeing as the introductions were out of the way.

“In good time, wooooo,” Chippie told him.

Seven Eleven wasn’t quite sure she liked the sound of that, and the monkey paw caught in her throat. She debated going back out into the night, but the prospect of the spectre stopped her. She heard an evil laugh, and felt herself sinking down. She turned back to look at the braid boy, and saw that he was glaring at her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

“Why not?”

“It makes me nervous,” Seven Eleven spat. “It also gives me a sinking feeling.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Kapono, you’re not being nice,” Aolani whimpered. “You know I don’t like confrontation.”

“Being rude to our guest, you are,” Chippie told him.

Kapono’s lower lip jutted out, and he released his mental hold on Seven Eleven. She popped up and tried to think of something nasty to say, but couldn’t. So she burst into tears.

Next Chapter:
Voice of the Celtic Heart

Tags: 711, Aolani, Kapono, Mr. Chippie