Saga - OT Before the Saga [Mod Time Trial Challenge] Hondo Ohnaka & the Quest for the Aurodium Quadduck | Hondo, Rebels Humor

Title: Hondo Ohnaka and the Quest for the Aurodium Quadduck
Author: Raissa Baiard
Characters: Hondo Ohnaka, Ezra Bridger, Zeb Orrelios
Genre: Humor
Timeframe: OT, Rebels Season 2, Before the Saga
Synopsis: Hondo relates the story of his search for the fabulous Aurodium Quadduck of Anatadavia.

Notes: this story was written for the 24 hr. Tier of the Mods’ Time Trial Challenge. My prompts were:

Spoiler

1. Your TV trope is: Screams Like a Little Girl
2. Your recycled challenge quote is: " . . . and then they made me their chief." - from the Pirates of the Caribbean Quote Challenge
3. Your picture is:

With so many pirate-y possibilities, there was only one character I could write about, the one and only magnificent space pirate himself--Hondo Ohnaka!

Thank you to @Findswoman for beta-reading on short notice

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The Lame Quadduck cantina in Garel City was a cut above many of the establishments that Hondo Ohnaka had been to in his days. It was only slightly rundown. The glasses were clean, the booths still had some padding left in their seats and the lights, though dim, weren’t shorting out the way they did in many an Outer Rim bar. The Rodian bartender made a decent Dagobah Slug Slinger—he did not, Hondo noted appreciatively, stint on the quetila. All in all it was a rather pleasant place to have a post-caper celebratory drink with his friends from the Spectres, Ezra Bridger and Zeb Orrelios.

Well, friends might have been putting too fine a point on it in the Lasat’s case. Hondo suspected that the big purple lug was nursing a grudge against him as well as nursing a large tankard of Corellian spiced ale. So Hondo had forgotten to mention that there might be stormtroopers patrolling that Imperial weapons depot...That was why they’d brought some muscle, wasn’t it? Zeb and Ezra had dispatched the bucket heads quite efficiently, the Rebels got their blaster rifles—minus Hondo’s ten percent finder’s fee, of course—everyone came out ahead. Little things like running into a squad of troopers were just part of doing business. Zeb really needed to relax and be like his young associate, Ezra. Now that boy had initiative, spontaneity, a certain recklessness! He really would have made an excellent pirate, if not for his rather inconvenient moral code, Hondo reflected as he sipped his drink.

He watched the neon quadduck on the sign over the bar waddle in circles, and it reminded him… “Ezra, my friend, did I ever tell you about my adventure with the Aurodium Quadduck idol from Anatadavia?”

“Aw, no…” Zeb scowled and thunked his tankard onto the table with enough force that the dish of warra nuts in the middle jumped. “Not another one of your scruffy canid stories. Quit fillin’ the boy’s head with space gas.”

“Space gas?! Do you question my honor as a space pirate?” The answer to that was quite obviously “yes” and “what honor”, so Hondo didn’t give Zeb a chance to open his mouth, instead leaning towards Ezra, who sat in the booth next to him. “Have I ever lied to you?”

The boy’s eyes flicked between Zeb and Hondo and he took a long sip of FizzyGlug before answering. “Well, there was the time you said…”

Hondo waved an impatient hand. “Except for that...And that…” he said as Ezra opened his mouth again. “No, the important thing is that all of my stories have an underlying core of truthish-ness. A moral, if you will, and that moral is of course: Hondo Ohnaka is the greatest pirate in the history of piracy! You want to hear the story, don’t you?”

“Uh, sure…”

“Here we go again…” Zeb muttered, picking up his ale again. He took a determined, “I’m going to need this” sort of pull from his tankard.

Hondo ignored the Lasat’s surliness. Some beings had no sense of the dramatic, the epic, the entertaining—and what could be more epically entertaining than the daring exploits of Hondo Ohnaka? At least he had an appreciative audience in Ezra. Hondo wet his whistle with another swallow of Slug Slinger and began his tale, “It all started many, many years ago when I was just a young pirate, before I became the leader of Ohnaka’s Gang and achieved the Galaxy-wide fame that I have now. I was a mere treasure-hunter at the time, seeking adventure and excitement but mostly fortune. I had, through a series of unfortunate events involving a crate of gizka, an automated hydrospanner, a jar of tok-nut butter and a Republic customs agent, been most unfairly asked not to return to the shipping consortium which employed me.”

Zeb snorted over the rim of his tankard. “You were fired from a smuggling ring.”

It was not an incorrect wording, per se, but Zeb had much to learn about storytelling and the importance of underlying truthish-ness rather than absolute truth. Hondo shook his head. “Ah, Zebulon, dear Zebulon…”

“Garazeb,” he growled.

“Whatever. You say to-pay-to, I say to-pah-to. You say smuggler, I say independent contractor. As I was saying—I was stranded on the planet Ziera Madra, a regular Hutt’s armpit of a place—humid, fetid and all those other nasty sorts of -id words. Not at all like the beautifully dry plains of my dear Florrum. And so uncivilized…”

“I thought you liked uncivilized,” Ezra commented. He was leaning forward, elbows propped on the table, his carbonated drink fizzing forgotten on the table next to him. However the terminally cranky Zeb felt, the boy was clearly getting interested.

“Well, yes, generally speaking, I have nothing against a little lawlessness,” Hondo allowed. “It’s good for business. But this place was such a backrocket nowhere that the spaceport only had one cantina! Can you imagine? As I was sitting there, drinking the decidedly inferior local brew that passed for ale, I was surprised to see another Weequay, an ancient-looking duffer whose frills were nearly down to his shoulders. He spotted me and hobbled over to my table. ‘Help a fellow Weequay who’s down on his luck?’ he rasped. He, too, was an adventurer, and he had been stuck on this wretched planet for years. The only thing he had to show for it was a stained and tattered map. And of course, being the generous and benevolent being that I am, I agreed to buy it from him so that he could purchase a ticket offworld.”

“You?” Zeb’s left brow ridge rose several millimeters. “Did a good deed for an old man?”

Hondo spread his hands modestly. “Of course, I am exceptionally kind...when there’s a good reason for it. And in this case, the reason was excellent, for I knew what the old codger did not—this map showed the location of the fabulous Lost City of Anatadavia!” He paused dramatically to let his listeners exclaim over this stunning revelation.

Neither of them did.

“The fabulous Lost City of Anatadavia!” he repeated, this time sweeping a hand dramatically for emphasis. Still no reaction. “You know—home of the lost tribe of the Anatadavians? Treasure? The Aurodium Quadduck idol? No?” Hondo sighed, “What are they teaching in schools these days…?”

Ezra shrugged, looking abashed. “Sorry, I never went to school.”

“Good. They only fill your head with educational nonsense about mathematics and grammar...and who needs that, yes? Where was I? Ah, yes...with the map in my hand I, intrepid explorer that I am, set off to blaze a path through the impenetrable Ziera Madran jungle.”

There was another emphatic snort from Zeb. “You cut a trail through the jungle? Yeah, right. You’re allergic to physical labor. I’ve seen you throw away a bag of schroom chips that was too hard for you to open.”

It was a fair criticism, Hondo conceded. Labor was, generally speaking, hard and uncomfortable and he tried to avoid it whenever possible. Being a pirate was much easier than having an actual job. However, he was getting just a teensy bit tired of the Lasat’s continued attempts to derail his story. “Ah, my dear doubting Zebulon….”

“Garazeb!” It was a snarl this time.

“Whatever.” Hondo hid a smirk. He knew that, of course, but watching the big Lasat puff up like a poked goozim was quite entertaining. “You mistake my meaning. When I say that I blazed a trail, I mean that I bought a cheap flame thrower and blazed a trail in front of my rented speeder bike. So much faster than all that tedious vine chopping. Plants are very nice in small quantities, but a jungle full of them is excessive, if you know what I mean.

“So, thanks to my innovative method of jungle clearance I soon reached my objective—the Fabulous…”

“Lost City of Anatadavia,” Zeb interjected. “Yeah, we got it.”

“Yes, well, do me the favor of not stepping on my lines; you’re ruining the drama. Some beings…” Hondo took a large drink and let the buzz of the quetila help him recapture the proper spirit. “There it was, the lost city in all its primitive glory!” He waved a hand in front of him, as if gesturing to the grand panorama of the city. “Pyramids and temples and...all those other ancient, fabulous buildings you find in lost cities! And there, in the middle of it all, atop the highest pyramid and gleaming in the sunlight like something really shiny was the Aurodium Quadduck idol! Ahhh...the sight of it took my breath away! I leapt off my speeder bike and vaulted over a nearby log… Unfortunately, it was not a log. It was a ten-meter-long serpent with a gaping maw full curved fangs like vibro-shivs! But was the great Hondo Ohnaka afraid?”

“Screamed like a little girl, didn’tcha?” Zeb suggested, with a toothy grin.

“Ah, Zeb! Zeb, Zeb, Zebby Zebulon! You wound me, deeply! The great Hondo Ohnaka may have cried out in a moment of startlement, but certainly not like a little girl-child. It was more like a teenage girl. With a very deep voice.

“Fortunately, I still had my trusty flame thrower and whoooosh, I turned it onto the fearsome monster until all that was left was a lightly flame-grilled snake—which is actually quite tasty when served with a spicy Gacho sauce!

“And as I stood over the still-smoking body of my vanquished foe, I realized that I was not alone!”

Ezra gasped, his eyes widening. “No!”

“Yes! For the Fabulous Lost City of of Anatadavia might have been lost, but it was not uninhabited! Around me were a dozen avian natives, each with a broad bill, large flappy wings and four appendages, the front two of which held primitive projectile weapons!”

“You were surrounded by quadducks with bow and arrows,” Zeb said, offering another succinct but boring translation.

“Yes!” Hondo cried. “No!” Really, did this annoyingly literal Lasat exist just to suck the fun out of everything? “I was surrounded by fierce, sentient, meter and a half-high quadducks with extremely sharp, pointy arrows which were pointed directly at my person. And they scowled at me—at least I think they were scowling, it is rather hard to tell with ducks, you know—and they looked down at the snake and conversed among themselves in the scariest quacking I had ever heard, and then…” Hondo stopped. He’d learned a long time ago that there was nothing like a good dramatic pause to work up an audience.

This time it achieved the desired result. Ezra leaned farther towards him. “Yeah???”

“... And then they made me their chief!” Hondo announced triumphantly.

“What?! Pfft…” Zeb expressed his disbelief with a spectacularly loud zoochberry.

“No, it is true! I swear on my mother’s grave! Except she’s not dead...I don’t think. I haven’t seen her since she kicked me out. But, yes, the primitive Anatadavians believed I was a god who could summon fire to smite my enemies, and who was I to correct them, for hadn’t I just summoned fire and smitten the serpent most mightily? Ah, and Ezra, my boy,” he said, putting an arm around the Human’s shoulders, “If you can ever convince a tribe of barbarian ducks that you are a god, I highly recommend it! They bring you the best of everything—food, wine, down-filled blankets, feathered headdresses. You never have to lift the smallest finger!”

“Sounds like a great life,” Ezra said. “Why’d you leave?

“Well, as it turns out, there’s only so much crustacean-and-duck weed soup a man can eat. Besides, Hondo Ohnaka is a great adventurer who was never meant to stay in one place. And what good is discovering a fabulous lost city full of fabulous lost treasure if you can’t spend it? So late one night, I loaded as much jewelry and coins as I could in the panniers of my speeder bike.

“Ah, but the Aurodium Quadduck called to me, and I was determined not to leave without at least a single feather from it. I scaled the temple to where it sat like...a sitting duck, and I had nearly chipped loose the largest of its golden tail feather when the guard on patrol saw me and raised the alarm. I fled with the Anatadavians hot on my tail, shooting their long pointy arrows at my speeder, and….What?! Why are you laughing?” Hondo demanded as Zeb broke into a gale of guffaws. The snorts and eyerolls and pointed comments had been bad enough, but laughter? This was not meant to be a funny story. If he’d wanted his audience to laugh, they’d have been under the table howling by now, because among his other exceptional traits, Hondo Ohnaka was a very amusing being.

“Because I don’t believe a single word you’re sayin’, Ohnaka,” Zeb shot back. He fixed Hondo with a baleful green stare. “Aurodium quadduck. Pfft. Duck natives made you chief—ha! Faaaabulous Lost City of Anatadavia—yeah, right.” He leaned across the table, over the bowl of warra nuts, and jabbed a claw-tipped finger into the center of Hondo’s chest. “Got any proof?”

“Zeb!”

“No, no, it is all right,” Hondo assured Ezra, holding up a magnanimous hand. He’d been expecting this. There were always those beings who lost sight of what made a good story, which was of course that it featured him. “The great Hondo Ohnaka is used to having lesser beings doubt him. Of course I can prove it, and I shall be more than happy to do so, once I return from the ’fresher.”

———-

Ezra and Zeb waited for Hondo to return.

And waited.

And waited.

They’d finished their drinks and Ezra was stirring the melting ice in his glass idly with his straw while Zeb muttered darkly about karking pirates who stiffed you for drinks, when a waiter approached with a folded piece of flimsi and slid it in front of Zeb. “F-for you s-sir,” he stammered. “F-from the other gentleman who was with you.” And he scrambled away as quickly as he could, which was, generally speaking, a wise course of action when confronted with an irate Lasat.

Ezra claimed the flimsi before Zeb could. He unfolded it, and a small, round piece of metal dropped out onto the table—a tarnished bronzium coin with irregular edges and the crude image of a bird stamped on it, a quadduck. Ezra turned it over in his hands as he read the note that was written on the flimsi in scrawling handwriting:

“My dear Ezra and not-so-dear Zeb,
I am sorry to have to leave like this—well, no, actually I am not. I have a strong moral objection to paying my own bar tab. Thank you as always for a highly diverting evening. For you, Ezra, I leave this Anatadavian coin, one of the few left from my stash (sadly not aurodium and therefore only valuable as a historical curiosity, but it’s the thought that counts, yes?). And to you, Zebulon, I leave the receipt for the exceptional bottle of Toniray wine I bought on the way out. I will toast your honor when I drink it.

Your most excellent friend—
Hondo Ohnaka”

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THIS! What a treat this was, Raissa! And I am shocked; SHOCKED that I am the first to review it. This is the kind of Zeb, Ezra, and...Hondo silliness that makes my heart leap. Though Hondo was the an excellent teller of tales and Ezra seems rapt by his artful presentation, it's Zeb who takes the cake as the naysaying, disbelieving, interrupter. I love his voice and it matches his sarcastic teasing perfectly.

Space gas, indeed. Hondo, the semi-competent Space Pirate who will not hesitate to spin stories in half truthishes. Does that make it only 1/3 true?

This was the best, my favorite of the fic. Well played!

 

Hondo's story is definitely full of space gas!! Zeb had every right to be ... skeptical. Wonderfully snarky back and forth.

 

Oh God! Hondo! Zeb! Ezra! You write their dynamic so well! You have Hondo's flair perfectly matched with Zeb's deadpan scepticism!

I love this imagery. I could see it in my mind.

Oh, poor Zeb, but I think the feeling is mutual.

THIS is one of the greatest Condo moments ever!

 

I'd like to start out by saying that "truthish-ness" is my new favorite word.

This story was awesome. Hondo seems like he would be a blast to write as a POV character. It was very easy to picture and hear him, Zeb, and Ezra. A lot of Hondo's lines had me laughing, like "humid, fetid and all those other nasty sorts of -id words."

I think my favorite part was this:
He paused dramatically to let his listeners exclaim over this stunning revelation.
Neither of them did.

Gold. Perfect timing with it. Perfect timing on a lot of Hondo's quips and lines and actions.

Like others have mentioned, Zeb is a great character for Hondo to play off of, and their interactions were really fun.

Great job developing such an amusing and well-put-together story in such a short timespan!

 

This could actually have been part of an episode of SW: Rebels. The voices of the characters were spot on: Hondo with his exaggerations and turns of speech, Zeb's cynicism, Ezra's faith in someone he considers a friend. Legendary treasure! Lost civilizations! Riches beyond belief! And Hondo gets someone else to pick up the tab!

I enjoyed every word of this, and have added it to my "Watched Threads" list so I can find it whenever I want to read it again.