Joe
Joe loved the name Average. His dad always smiled and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder to give an affectionate squeeze when he called him “my little average Joe.” Outsiders might take offense at being called average, but not Joe. He knew the outsiders were taking the name literally, but Joe and the hunters knew Solani meant it in the same way a big man is called tiny. His dad only used the descriptor ‘average’ after Joe did something unusually above average. Like leading this last hunt. Youngest hunt leader in memory, his dad had proudly proclaimed to the hunters both before and after, beaming with pride.
Joe also liked the name because it might make his enemies underestimate him. He knew many who thought having a name to inspire fear or respect was the best way to go. Names like “the Desert Fox” or “The Sand Spider” might sound exciting and may terrify your opponent. Those names might even help one avoid fighting altogether if your opponents were afraid enough. But this desert wasteland was harsh, and more often than not one had to fight no matter how afraid one might be.
“If you’re going to fight anyway, might as well have the opponent not think you are a serious threat.” Joe thought to himself. “Someone called the Sand Spider is going to get attacked differently than Average Joe. You don’t plan all that much for Average Joe. You might not rest before you attack. You may not send all your forces or your best forces. It’s just Average Joe, no need to worry…” Joe smiled as his thoughts changed from imaginary battles to the most recent hunt.
Joe liked to imagine his prey for the next meal underestimating him. When he had crept close on this last hunt he had reached out with his mind to listen to the prey. It had been just starting to fall asleep, of that he was sure. And so Joe had begun talking, ever so low. “That’s right Mr. Gopher, keep sleeping. Nothing to see here, just the stars and the wind.” Joe moved closer and closer, muttering lowly, so low no one could actually hear him, lest they think him crazy. “Oh, that’s a big yawn, whose a tired little guy? Sweat dreams buddy.”
Moments later the prey was dead and Joe was being congratulated for a job well done.
“To be feared? No. To be respected? Nah.” Joe wanted something different. “You know what’s underrated? Being underrated.”
And with that he looked over at Oni. Oni was underrated, at least in Solani’s eyes. Joe felt badly for Oni, Dad wouldn’t cut him a break. “I guess being underrated isn’t always a great thing.” He said softly to himself. While Joe loved the admiration that flowed freely from his father, he couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t shared equally. To Solani the hunt was everything. Those that could hunt got Solani’s attention and affection. Those that could not, did not.
But Oni could play his drums, and Joe loved it. Sometimes Oni would play and Joe could just relax. Other times Oni would play words would come to Joe, wanting to sang or rhymed. And sometimes when Oni played, if the sounds were right, and if there no one was looking at Joe….sometimes the sound of Oni playing made the tattoos that covered Joe from the neck down…Well, sometimes those tattoos…they moved.
