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To Date a Yautja	By : Sonsasu Category: M through R > Predator Views: 5141 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Predator movies, books or comics. Nor do I make a profit from the writing of this story.

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To Date a Yautja
By, Sonsasu
Chapter Two
"The Cave"

The next morning
The static blare of my alarm clock startled me into what felt like a miniature heart attack.
Frigid fingers, clumsy and stiff, shot out to the bedside table on my left, searching blindly for the accursed off button, or at least the snooze switch. When they continued without success, I fumbled with then seized the clock's plug and gave it a savage yank. This effectively shut off the screeching noise, giving me the freedom of scant, torpid seconds for a sleep-depraved brain to function. Struggling to suck in a shallow breath though stuffy nostrils, I wearily lifted an arm and pried one eye open.
Six, mother, fucking, A.M. the make you-go-crossed-eyed-as-a-bat numbers on my digital watch read. It was time to get up.
Letting the bloodshot eye fall shut again, I untangled from the blankets and rose like a zombie, grunting, groaning, and ultimately slouching as though my back were broken. I dragged reluctant feet to the door, not precisely feeling a requirement to rush beyond my capabilities of current movement�
It took sixty minutes for me to depart the pleasantly warm shower, thirty to dress, and another thirty to shake off the sluggish sensation of waking at dawn. Coming alive two hours before actually going into work might perhaps sound frivolous, but I was never one to move swiftly under the happening of any less-than-desperate events.
As neither someone who was in no way an epitome for a morning person, nor someone who enjoyed working for six long hours, standing on aching feet in a very busy store, I still had to get up at the ass crack of dawn.
Ordinarily overlooking a cash register and catering to irritating people, I only tolerated my job because the pay was remarkably good. Besides answering random questions of an absurd nature, pointing occasionally lost customers in the correct direction to desired items, selling essentials along with useless junk and trinkets, it was reasonably fair.
During closing time, whoever possessed the late shift would refold clothing, print new shirt decals, put things away, or rest them once again in their original places. Unfortunately, I was often mystified on how my so-called friends got me stuck with said unwanted shift�
Shady Oasis, the close to home store for all your needs; we have a delightful staff who are always willing to help and offer a friendly smile. For your convenience, we are open late on weekdays, including weekends and holidays. We pride ourselves in offering only the highest quality items at lowest prices. We invite you to come to view our selections and judge for yourself. For at Shady Oasis, we guarantee prices below all competitors because customer satisfaction is our number one goal.
Oh, and on a side note, no, I never included myself in that ridiculous statement of servitude with a smile.
Walking down the dimly lit hall either leading to my single bedchamber, the bathroom, or the living room, I passed a window on my left. As I went by it, I brushed a damp lock of hair behind my ear. Despite the humid morning of seventy-six degrees outside, the air conditioner constantly kept it at a rather uncomfortable temperature of sixty, and so, say hello to my tiny, inexpensive, Popsicle Condominium.
I came prepared, however, with a preferred style of clothing.
My fashion consisted of a baggy pair of desert camouflage shorts that hung comfortably on my hips with a belt, and a snug, sleeveless, bright orange shirt. Yes, I liked standing out with my trademark of extremely gaudy and mismatched clothing.
Exiting the hall from there, I went and fetched my things that I had tossed on the small, beat-up blue couch the previous day. What I picked up was my old, ugly green book bag filled to the zipper with needed junk, and my black boots sitting against said piece of butt parking furniture.
Equipping my two accessories, I considered snagging a water bottle from my not-so-pristine kitchen, and then chucked the ideal, choosing rather to head on out to begin my day.
It was on the falling hour of evening I finally escaped to liberation.
Instead of leaving at my normal two PM release, I had put in a few extra hours to cover my under the weather friend Zola's shift.
As the sliding doors hissed shut behind me and the calls of farewell from Mitch and Anna cut off, I inhaled the warm, dense air of a dying summer day. Bliss, an absolute relief, repaired my chilled frame with the remaining hot rays of sunlight.
Upon tilting my head back to remove a few kinks from my neck, I peered skyward, admiring the fat, white puffs of lazily drifting cumulus. A gradual recollection brought on by what I was observing dredged up the unwanted, but distant thought of Predy. His promise of locating me this evening did rattle my sense of ease and make it depart like passing gas.
Thankfully, in that streak of time from morn to dusk, I had erased the brunt of the concern. More like the badgering of an endless stream of customers constantly plaguing me had did it.
No matter, I reflected. It was Friday evening and I was free. Even better, there were unexecuted plans to fulfill. Thus, I gave the headache of Predy a pair of cement boots and kicked it out of my mind.
In a striding gait that my stiff legs wailed over, I crossed the strangely inactive street, basking in the waves of heat rising off the asphalt. Leaving the town's business section and its large, safe, squat brick buildings, for the harsh, rocky ravine shrouded thickly with trees, to some, appeared a peculiar sight.
Dangerous footing with uneven, loose rocks, and steep inclines, made it near impossible to appeal for idle wonderers who did not know where they were going. I on the other hand, had an exact destination in mind. One where no one, save for an expert mountaineer, could follow.
Glancing for a fleeting moment over my shoulder to the chain of man made structures lining the street, and then to the descending sun behind them, I came close to reconsidering my intended path.
Confidence, however, helped to shrug my worry.
Two years of tracking my shadowy route had instilled a fine memory of where I needed to seek my bearings, even when in the onset of semidarkness enclosing on the outside world. It was also the bloodied knees, scuffed, calloused hands, bruises and brutal cuts I suffered during my toils of climbing that had helped to veil the perception of unfamiliarity on evenings.
Tightening the straps and securing my book bag until I was certain it would not bump me nor sway with movement, I went so far as to ready myself by kneeling, untying, then retying my boots, least they fail me for whatever reason. Yet as I laced the shoestrings together, on some unidentified impulse, I suddenly gazed up and out past the small clearing of gnarled trunks to where the barely visible path started.
Divided at the lower portions of their twisted, bent bodies and rough, skin-stealing bark, down to their protruding roots riving the dry, dirt ground like knobbed arches of serpents, to the first beginning slope, I frowned.
Had I just heard the breathy rattle of clicking?
I shook my head. No, it had to be my nerves. At least that is what I told myself before my fingers and limbs, practiced with time and memory, carried me ahead then downward.
Several rather unforeseen incidents later, where my heart constricted on every narrow evasion of disaster, I had scarcely made it to the bottom cliff level that ended by leading to the calm, but incredibly treacherous river below. With just enough broken ledge so that the toes of my boots rested on it, I maintained a death grip on a dry, dead vine, one of many that layered the ridges of the vertical crag's surface.
An angel must have been watching, because just as I had reached this point, using the spindly ropes of nature to help steady my way across, the one in my hand had snapped, causing terror to poison my veins in an instant. Somehow, on a merciful miracle, it had apparently snagged on something, halting my struggling advance to the crumbling fringe of rock I now stood on.
Cheek pressed tightly to the crude, bumpy stone, I shut my eyes to avoid the hail of pebbles bouncing off my head, and fought not to sneeze with the stirred clouds of dirt tickling my nose. Unthinking to the abused the side of my face endured, I forced myself to open an eye and look up.
Nothing, nothing was there holding it in place. Unless the empty grasp of air counted for something.
As I gawked stupidly at the browned corpse arrested in my hands, firm and creaking in protest that hung taut with the burden of my weight, I then sputtered and spit out a pellet that unceremoniously dropped into my mouth. Yum, a person just has to adore the gritty taste of dirt and the trill of pure terror.
Taste testing soil and fear aside, what bothered me was that something was keeping the vine suspended in thin air.
My breath emerged as a shaky exhale. Well, I did not wish to press the flickering character of luck. To each grip I therefore discovered, my pace, from that past occurrence on, was slower and thrice more cautious.
Eventually, with the pace of a snail, I attained the first end of my journey.
A cave mouth, a wide orifice hole concealed in an unraveled blanket of deceased, hanging plant life is what I sought. I slowly snuck a foot lightly onto its curled lip, timid towards the snarled teeth of various stalagmite sizes concealed from my view, and restrained my weary muscles begging for rest as I crept over the areas bathed with slippery moss.
In a few minutes spent carefully slinking deeper, I passed into the throat-like tunnel with its stale breath heavily suspended with a moist chill. Employing delicate maneuvers to keep my balance, I traveled further within.
Unaware that another trailed closely behind�
The darkness, lurking ahead like a famished fiend, swallowed my form in its inky blackness as I continued. My chosen course always left me victim to the influence of blindness and caged in the embrace of utter silence.
Tempted, for naught but a quivering moment to assure myself there was a glimmer of light behind me, I physically snuffed this desire by setting my hand against the bowed, cold, smooth rock beside me. It did not make sense to have to seek the dim glow of illumination on a frightened urge for restoring self-serenity. Actually, I welcomed the quiet and its stillness, if only on an unconscious level.
Obtaining a deeper progress in my sightless trail gleaned from the crop of remembrance, I mused over why I experienced relief in this secluded solitude, mostly to take my mind off the claustrophobic feeling steadily squeezing my ribs.
Ah, it was because I was not hassled here, I realized, and that no one could demand anything that I was reluctant to surrender. It was also the miraculous fact I did not have to deal with snappy individuals in dour moods hoping to infect others with their aggravations. Yes, that concept alone gave me an elated sense of joy. In short, I was riding cloud nine when in the belly of my secret underground sanctuary.
Unfortunately, I had a ways to go still.
On I went through the undulating, individual tunnel with my hand there to impart its guidance, welcoming the slither of apprehension that infected the passage of time. It merely mounted higher as I proceeded, affecting my once easy locomotion of walking on faith of touch and memory. In the acknowledgment of this, I began to use my sense of touch more acutely, waiting for a certain point necessitated for my safety.
Sure enough, my fingers, in a sharp dip that they vanished into, delved in a jagged crack dissecting the otherwise sleek wall.
Immediately I paused and began counting my steps in measured movements. Five paces ahead, my stomach gently encountered the barrier of a thin wire. Once I had decided to make this place my own, I had set up these special reminders to both help me determine my headings and to serve as a warning system. A wide side step away from my inanimate usher and I went to my knees, making sure to keep contact with the thread on a palm.
Crawling until my shoulder and the bottom of my neck brushed another, I stopped.
Twelve wires, each from a superfine fishing line, kept the naked eye unaware of their presence, as it was barely possible to see them even if in the cast of light. I had personally seen to pegging their ends like a spinning clock hand, every one elaborately placed to mark an independent hour. All were intentionality spaced apart by the length of my arm, and so I could recall their placements easier, I deliberately ran into them, counting these silent watchdogs, using them like an escort as my body lightly struck them. This acted as a harmless security, so to speak.
If anyone came in after me, or discovered this setting, they of course would undo their unwelcome presence into my trap, thus announcing the intrusion.
In no time flat, I hit the last string that distinguished the ambiance of midnight and vertically cleft the cave's passage. I still had to count my strides, though, for there sat one more ambush for the unwary.
My scooting feet felt and found what I was waiting for with a small bloom of comforting solace.
It was a grievous maw that my hands had not influenced, a natural pitfall fogged by shadows and ebon colored stone. The pit was not very deep in the way of falling. In fact, anyone could climb right out. It was in the surprise crash that hid the real danger. It only takes one broken neck to kill you.
I skimmed the hollow's brim until my searching hand found the right side of the curving wall. No longer requiring caution now that I felt the ledge, I went with as much swiftness as one could muster in the darkness. Light, soft as a flickering candle dancing in the darkness of an empty room, was the reward for my straining eyes. I abandoned my worries of tripping and jogged over the remnant of the distance.
A faint, pleased noise tore itself past my lips once I entered the shining depths of my cave.
Say hello to Paradise, as I had dubbed it some time ago.
Indeed, I speculated, it was a fine paradise, one massive indoor pool included. Over the sleek floor, made glossy from perhaps liquid erosion, I bent down and removed my boots along with my socks. "Oh man that feels good�hot floor plus icy toes equals' goosebumps of pleasure."
Expressing my compliments through a throaty groan, I quietly squandered the heat flowing around me, chasing the earlier pall of coldness to memory. Still crouched and warming my feet, I regarded the brilliant magnificence of the sight that existed before my roaming gaze. No matter how many sojourns I devoted to this place, it never failed to entrance me with its outstanding example of beauty.
Occupied mainly with a modest lake extending to the far reaches of the domed cavern, I marveled over the source of its vivid luminance. Ornamenting the lofty sable walls in a soft bluish tinge, the radiance originated from an unknown reef variation of aquatic plant life. The comforting glow, for whatever reason, also came packaged with a sweltering heat carrying the oppressing weight of humidity.
Such an odd temperature seemed to rise from the stone, not the water.
Oh hell, the frigging ground was hot like pool tiles under the sun! In other words, and for all I knew, I could have been standing in an inactive volcano, and could have cared less, seeing as that the seasons had no say in this wonderful asylum.
Best of all, I was alone!
A low, but loud hiss, like superheated alloy introduced to the frigid body of snow, exploded from my private sleeping alcove. The explosive noise made me put an unwilling staunch on the start of a partial stretch.
Okay, I guess I did have a roomie, erm, the word roommate being a rather loose term.

"Don't go and be hissing at me, King."
I stood with my arms held above my head and commenced a twisting roll to different angles.
A few joints creaked during the wiggle, followed by the pop of rigid bones loosening themselves with a mild complaint, but after finishing the motions, I crossed the short fragment of space separating me from King and my invaded sleeping cot.
Heaped upon coils thicker than an adult, wild boar's torso, a gigantic mountain of a snake rested. His head, equal in size to a matured Australian crocodile's skull, pursued my approach.
I received the usual flipping of his black forked tongue for a greeting as I went behind him. Finding legroom a precious thing, I perched my palm against the nearest spiral of his body for an equalizer. Under my splayed fingers, I felt muscles contract and shrink away. I removed my hand.
He hated my cold fingers, dispite the thick, prominent overlapping plates of ivory scales layering his body. King, as I had named him two years ago, pivoted his head so that the flushed pink eyes of an albino met with mine, and at the same time, did not.
He gave another dull, slow hiss.
"If that was a question relating to what I think you're asking, then the answer is no. I'm going for a swim first, not napping. Alternatively, if you're hissing at ghosts, please tell them to vanish. I've had a long day and don't want to socialize right now."
Even if he did not entirely comprehend my delivered speech, I knew he understood me on some shade of his reptilian intellect.
Speaking of reptiles, I had no idea what kind of ophidian he was.
At first, I had believed him to be a mutated anaconda. Thing is, he lacked too many of the characteristics for the breed. One of those absent features being that his eyes sat within the sides of his head. Said tools of observation came shielded by bone, and beneath those fascinating aspects, the eye itself existed surrounded by a softer gray flesh around the beady, lidless shells.
What was disturbing, at least to me, were the jutting angles of his teeth. Comprise that with the striking argent quills that decorated his neck like a mane of steel and it simply added to his foreign design. In addition, he was too big and much too long for even an anaconda, and way too docile to be an untamed creature. Such a brooding had originally piloted my thoughts to lead me to think of him as a mutation, or perhaps an undiscovered species all together.
Eventually, however, I decided not to try to classify him.
I was no scientist or greedy person looking for a quick buck. Far from it, I was content with having King as my undefined company and more or less bodyguard. Most of the time, he tolerated me, that or ignored my invasion of his realm, take your pick. The other half, he spent quietly with me relaxing on him. Yes, literally on him like a living sofa.
You are all probably thinking monster snakes would not do that without prior human training and meddling, yada, yada.
Believe me; I had entertained the same damn impression in my head for the longest time too. When I first stumbled on this home away from home, I had also bumbled in on him as well. Uh, all right, all right, he found me instead.
Having explored some of my new refuge for two weeks, I, on the perception of not meeting anything that wanted to munch on me, determined it safe enough to take a nap one day. When I awoke, much to my horror, I was in the loops of his elongated body. Curled around and wrapped up as his hostage, with a pink eye watching me, I abruptly gained the insightful perspective of what it felt like to be overwhelmed with numbing terror.
To this day, I will admit to breaking down in a mute fit of crying for a minor period. By being too scared to allow myself even to shift a hand to wipe away the tickling tears, I had to struggle with my fear while in the clasp of a serpent.
King, bless him, did nothing to increase that panic, not even the wiggle of a tongue.
An hour, maybe longer, passed before I attempted to evade what I thought was to be my death. He let me, going as far as subtly to ease his grip when I stirred. Finally, after freeing my limbs, I had come to his head resting on my belly. In an act that disclosed a sagacious intelligence, it was not I who removed it, but him. With my reeling mind ensnared in confusion, I watched him slip away, using the controlled grace only his kind possessed.
Moreover, as you can guess, I virtually avoided that place for month. Yet mortal curiosity won in the end, and I was very glad it did succeed over common sense.
Anyway, history lesson cut short, King and I were friends.
I chucked my book bag to the edge of the spongy cot, and started to strip. With my apparel gone, intimate undergarments included, I grabbed my bag again, unzipped it, and then kidnapped the stored towel buried beneath two day's worth of clean clothes. I did not want to put on anything wet again, and preferred to keep my selected garments untouched until I needed them. Tossing my beach towel on my shoulders, I crept around King, and happily went to the tranquil water.
Clear as a glass sheet, it surrendered an extraordinarily lit view of the cave's other inhabitants.
These serene dwellers, an unfathomed number of unique fish, glided peacefully before me. Some swam to where I stood, curious if I had any of my treats for them. It brought a smile to shine on my face. Bigger then I, counting the billowing sheet-like fins that ghosted in their wake, they looked like huge, multicolored guppies peeking up at me.
I knelt and gingerly trailed my fingers along their slick foreheads before they drifted off like clouds of fluttering smoke. With my view cleared, I saw the smaller schools comprised of silvery waves of piscine that darted around like currents of restless wind. There were more of course, blending in with the glowing coral like reeds and plants far below, but they were unsocial and less interesting to me.
I shrugged off my plush towel and leapt in, scattering a few nearby aquatic denizens from their shoals.
If I bothered to think about it, the quantities of these creatures did explain the incredible size of King. He appeared to be the only serious carnivore around, and with the internal climate of this untouched shelter, it was a perfect habitat for him and the fish.
My pitiful doggie paddle carried me onward, being as it was the only method I knew how to use when atop the water. Not as warm as a Jacuzzi, but not as cool as a tropical ocean, I pitched over on my back and allowed myself to float for a time in the lukewarm liquid.
Not paying attention in my oblivious bliss, after shutting my eyes and weightlessly drifting, I had accidently yielded to the unseen pull of the water and had gone a bit further then I normally would. Reopening them a time later, I righted myself, startled when my eyes centered on the unfamiliar segment of ceiling.
A moment of consideration, and I determined it was no real problem as I stole a deep breath and dashed beneath the surface. Since I had not gone this far on previous ventures, I saw no cause to dismiss the chance of seeing the unidentified area.
I bobbed there in buoyancy, blinking eyelids that wanted to keep themselves shut.
That was another peculiar thing about this place. The water did not sting my eyes, and although my vision was blurred, the monolithic grotto presented a novel sight I had not seen before. Like a wide bowl aglow with a diluted, pale sapphire hue, and honeycombed with lit caves leading to somewhere unknown, I gazed upon this for as long as I was able.
Breathing could be such a pain.
I resurfaced, blowing the stinging fluid out of my nose. Whipping my head to banish the droplets of moisture, I returned to my back, flexing my arms in an upside-down breaststroke to move me back to the beach of glossy rock. Having seen multiple parts of my secret haven before, the scenes above the water still gave me a sensation of awe.
Ornamenting the dark domain of realm below the domed horizon of a stone column flooded sky, massive saucers dwelt strung together by low, rippling dunes of soot hued stone. Filled to their brims with independent, silvery ponds, those disks actually contained a deadly, superheated, semi liquid compound.
"Beautiful to behold and terrible to touch," I muttered.
I pinched my nostrils shut and went under again, not bothering to flip to leave the perspective of the undulating surface above me.
After kicking for a certain amount of unnoted time, that or needing to renew my borrowed oxygen, I would ensure myself of the distance between a painful collision to my skull and my goal of land. Midway there and still underwater with my legs pumping to propel me, the sudden sinuous, weaving shadow of King dividing the unbroken surface startled me enough to release a small swarm of bubbles. As I watched the fluxing wake of his leisured retreat, I, without premeditation, reached my fingertips up and drifted them along the remaining section of his tail before he went beyond my complete reach.
My head emerged from the mass of water, causing my hair to drape on my face like a second skin. No longer wanting to stay submersed, my fingers abandoned their stations of crimping my nose closed. I doggie paddled blindly ahead, knowing my outstretched hands would strike anything solid first. In perhaps several swipes and kicks forward, my fingers scraped on the irregular face of a traveling limitation. Perching my hands on the edge, I pulled myself up and onto my knees, not altogether welcoming the reintroduction of weight to my formerly buoyant frame.
With a black curtain of hair still covering my entire head and stealing my sight, I ran my hands down my body, flicking off the excess dampness rolling down my skin to lessen the sopping duty of my towel.
Just as I lifted my arms to compress the water out of my hair, something unexpected happened. Warmth encircled my lower torso, a wonderfully dry, fluffy envelopment coming to rest above my breasts. The sheer surprise made me suck in a breath and jerk away violently. Although, registering on a dim level of genius, I felt the outline of large hands splayed wide over my back.
Unable to use a visual confirmation in my panic, I shoved apart my blinds made from hair. Shock, plain and simple, stole my ability to inhale refreshing air, it stopped the mental processing factory called my brain, and ultimately it froze my frantic heart. Using a mouth that refused to function, I managed to utter little noises related to a choking frog.
"I win, Winterborn."
Rumbled the towering creature I had previously thought of as a fabricated being.

-Claimer-
� 2007-Sonsasu owns Winterborn, the plot, and Predy
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To Date a Yautja