Why Planning is Important
Yondu groans his way back into consciousness, every part of him aching. He’s only approaching forty, but feels about a hundred. “Flark,” he mutters, raising an arm to hit the hydraulic lift and get the door of the life pod open. It disengages with a hiss, allowing him to stumble out into a humid, green jungle.
If he becomes momentarily nostalgic, no one’s around to witness it.
He strips off his leather coat and does a sitrep; the pod’s communications system is damaged, but he may be able to fix it with some time and attention. The transmitter’s shot; his fuel and power cells are down to fifteen percent lifespan. But it looks like the nav-system’s operational, and he should be able to take off. Though he won’t make it far.
Shit.
On the positive side, the life pod is Yondu’s personal shuttle and he stocked it himself. When he goes through his gear, he’s grateful for his neurotic attention to detail at such a time. The seven by three pod is stocked with his yaka, a few dozen knives, two guns, a shit-ton of ammo, two canteens of water and water purifiers, dried jerky, matches, and a couple sets of clothes. He’s going to rough it, but he’s not going to die. He looks around, finds two suns, and examines the terrain as much as he can. He sees a rise in the jungle a few miles away, and decides to head towards it for a look at his temporary home.
Even without his coat, the temperature’s wickedly hot. He strips down to pants and boots, straps his yaka across his chest, and slides knives into his pants and belt. With weapons in place, he picks up a canteen and sets off towards the rise.
Thick undergrowth makes the trek slow and difficult, but Yondu doesn’t let it deter him from making his way towards the high point. He ambles along, climbs over brush and under logs, moving as quietly as he can despite the tough terrain.
He hears the scrambling sounds before he sees it.
He pushes through a patch of ferns and fronds to find himself in an open space, where he sees a tiny, striped ball of fur yowling at a much larger animal. The larger animal grunts in annoyance and digs a hooved foot at the ground. It lowers its head, bringing dangerous tusks within range of the… tiger? Yondu’s seen them in pictures, but never in reality.
And he may never see a tiger again as the porcine-creature charges. Without thinking, he whistles, sending his yaka hurling towards the larger animal. The tiger’s frozen in shock, and almost gets squashed when Yondu’s arrow spears the bigger animal through its skull. “For flark’s sake, move!” he shouts, and the noise spurs the cub to yowl and scamper to the side.
Yondu rushes towards the fallen animal, knife out, but it’s dead. The tiger’s caught in a bunch of twisting vines a foot away, crying pitifully. “For flark’s sake,” Yondu repeats. He slowly approaches the tiger, noting that – though it may be young – it’s got huge incisors of its own. “Don’t be thinkin’ ‘bout bitin’ me,” he scolds it.
The cub, as though it understands, quits mewling and stares up at Yondu with huge green eyes. Yondu bends, catches it by the scruff, and hauls it back to the flat floor of the jungle. “Whassa little thing like you doin’ out here by yer lonesome?” he asks it.
The cub huffs and licks its paw. Yondu chuckles. “Well. Since we’re stuck here together, whaddya say we eat that nasty bastard I just killed?”
The tiger blinks at Yondu twice. Yondu takes it as an affirmative and scoops up his new friend. “C’mon then,” he says, then laughs out loud when the animal nuzzles its furry little face into his neck. “You know you’re adorable, doncha.”
“Mew!”
“Uh-huh, I see how it is,” Yondu replies. He sets the tiger down on the ground and draws a larger knife from its sheath. “Stay out the way or ya could get hurt,” he warns it, then starts stripping the skin away from the dead animal.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s got a small fire going with a huge hunk of whatever-it-is roasting on a spit. The cub’s chewing on a piece of the heart and letting out the most adorable roar-growls that Yondu’s ever heard. “I ain’t never heard anything like ya,” he tells it, poking its skinny ribs. “Ya better slow down there or you’ll get a bellyache.”
“Mew!”
Yondu shakes his head and turns the spit, using his knife to strip away some of the cooked outer layer and shove it in his mouth. “Meat’s good too,” he says, holding out a piece of the animal to his furry companion. He sits down so not to loom over the tiny creature. “Here, try it.”
The cub scrunches up its nose but opens its mouth obediently. Yondu gives it a piece of the meat and it chews, then opens its mouth for another bite. “Like it?”
“Mew.”
Yondu takes his own bite, then feeds the cub, trading bites between them until the little animal can’t eat anymore. When it’s full, it stretches and meanders closer to Yondu’s lap, giving him big green eyes again. “Aww, cub. You wanna climb up here, doncha.”
“Mew?”
Yondu’s glad none of his crew can see him as he pats his lap. The tiger, accepting the invitation, immediately gets a paw in Yondu’s balls, stepping on them so he can hoist his body into Yondu’s lap. Yondu isn’t sure which one of them makes a more shrill sound… and he grabs the cub by its scruff again, hauling the tiny body away from his most tender bits. “Honestly, cat,” he grumbles. “Ya tryin’ ta kill me?”
No reply, not that Yondu’s really expecting one. He gathers the cub into the crook of his arm, turning it so it’s stomach remains exposed. He rubs the tiny tummy soothingly until the little animal curls up and falls asleep.
Yondu doesn’t mean to do the same, but somehow, he does. That’s the only reason the larger, angrier tiger ever manages to catch him by surprise.