(Inspired by one of your older works)
A “What, Ho!” scene.
[AN: For those unfamiliar with the topic, check out my fanfic Misfits]
The cogniscent tree people of Kumonjagotabijokin had a very peculiar life cycle. For a start, they planted the fruit of the Elder Trees and raised the resulting sproutlings as their own.
And, unfortunately for Aerin, crash landings did not come with tourist pamphlets. The world was pre-industrial and definitely pre-spaceflight, so common etiquette decreed the entire world be left alone.
Also unfortunately, the fruits of the Elder Trees registered on her scanners as edible. She’d accidentally committed four acts of hostile abortion when the natives found her.
It had taken some time, extensive pantomime, and headaches worth of learning to explain that she hadn’t known at the time. And further - she hadn’t intended any harm.
And further good news, a virulent species of pest animal was also edible. And delicious. The tree people - they called themselves Sideroxylon - began to count Aerin’s predations as community service.
Which was why she was now in the nursery fields, tilling their soil. And entertaining herself.
The ultimate goal of Discovery Scouting was to land a plush job as an ambassador in some previously undiscovered locale. Which was why Discovery Scouts were the sorts who could spend immense amounts of time on their own.
Aerin’s gift was voices. She could invent one-person plays of intensely populated dramatisations. Right now, though, she was having an entire conversation revolving around the over-use of the word ‘what’ and 'hoe’.
The gathering Muggas (Aerin could not wrap her mouth around Sideroxylon and had found a shorter synonym) watched in confusion as she talked in two voices.
“Hoe, hoe, hoe, hoho, hoe hoe, hoho, hoe hoe - ho,” she sang to the tune of the Anvil chorus.
In her gruffer voice, she said, “What, 'ho?”
Back to her chipper voice, “Hoe, what?”
“What?” said Gruff.
“Hoe,” explained Chipper.
“Hoe, ho!”
“HO-oooooo…”
“Hohoho, 'ho.”
“What-what? Hoe!”
They had a bountiful harvest, that year. A population explosion. Aerin did try to explain it was because she used the vermin guts as fertiliser, but the Muggas insisted on ritualising the 'what ho’ nonsense as well.
If the Society for the Prevention of Cultural Infection ever found out, they’d have *her* guts for fertiliser.
Maybe it’d be better if she never left here…
[Muse food remaining: 23. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]