Chapter Text
Eleanor Sully was born in early October, 2127. A mere year and two months after her older cousins, Jacob and Thomas — twins. When she first met them at a whopping two years old, she could tell them apart immediately. It was an instinctual thing, to realize that Jake had the wavier hair and Tommy had that one dimple that his (slightly) older brother didn't. That Tommy smiled a certain way while Jake smiled another.
It was also instinctual the way the three children drew close to each other as they grew up. When Ellie reached ten years old, her mother died from the same lung cancer she'd had since her daughter was born. That, along with the following death of her father’s brother — the twins’ dad — led to the cousins spending a lot more time together in their youth than most families those days.
Ellie always considered the boys more as older brothers than the cousins they technically were, and up into high school the trio remained close. Then the boys’ dad died and Jake began to drift away. At the same time, she and Tommy got a lot closer, both of their interests aligning. She began to pour hours of research into the far-away planet of Pandora every free moment she had. She'd always enjoyed looking into geology on earth, but the idea of studying a whole other planet’s tectonic plates, their landforms, and no-doubt countless rock types — it was her dream from the moment she discovered Pandora existed.
Coincidentally, it turned out that Tommy was looking into Pandora as well. His field of study was different from the get-go — the pair had always loved science, but different aspects of it. For Tommy, it was xenobiology. It was the life on the moon. For Ellie, it was what made up the moon itself. (Not to say that she wasn't amazed and in awe of the Na’vi and the countless species of native wildlife.)
By the time Tommy and Jake graduated, Ellie already knew that Pandora was where she would someday end up. Tommy did too. But Jake. . . Jake didn't think like that. Didn't have dreams like that. When Jake graduated, he went straight to the Marines, and neither of the other Sullys were surprised. In fact, Ellie had almost been expecting it. After their dad died, Jake started to drift away and never really stopped. It wasn't a surprise that the moment he was able to, he fled the damn country. She graduated the next year, and it was because of Tommy that they both found themselves recruited by the RDA themselves.
She knew that Jake knew their plans – knew that Tommy had to be keeping him updated from where he fought in a war halfway across the world. But to Ellie, she'd lost Jake a long time ago. Tommy was there, a steady presence in her life and the brother she'd never asked for but always had. Jake. . . Jake was her cousin. He was someone she used to know, whom she was pretty sure didn't care to know her anymore.
And then Tommy got the call. That Jake had been shot, almost killed. But he had survived, paralyzed from a bullet to the spine. Ellie almost hoped that this would give her a chance to get to know him again (and she felt awful about that, in hindsight), but even after he moved in with Tommy, her oldest cousin remained distant. By the time she and Tommy were mere weeks from being shipped out 4.4 light-years away from their home planet, Ellie had gotten used to the fact that Jake just wasn't one of her people anymore.
And then —
She was visiting her father one last time before they left when she got the call. Not from Jake, but from the RDA. Not an apology either, no condolences. Just, “He's gone.”
Which seemed impossible, because just the day before, she'd talked to him. Just the day before, Tommy had laughed at her over the phone when she'd tripped over a curb and nearly faceplanted. They were planning to see each other at the start of the next week. That was when they were supposed to be preparing to set out. That was when Pandora became real.
But for Tom Sully, Pandora would never be more than a dream. Tom would never get to open his eyes in the avatar body made for him.
After all, it no longer belonged to him. The very last thing Ellie expected to see when they brought her to see her cousin's body was Jake, accompanied by two other RDA employees. Numb, and probably in shock, Ellie barely found it in herself to lift her head when her cousin finally saw her. It was with a churning feeling in her stomach that she realized just what they wanted from Tommy’s brother. And it was as his corpse burned that they asked Jake to take over Tommy’s contract.
Like that was all that Tommy stood for. (All that was left of him.) And she knew, like she had always known Jake, that he would say yes.
So, Ellie got what she wanted. She got to leave Earth and travel across the stars to a whole new world. It was just the wrong twin she found herself making the trip with. Before they were placed in cryo, Ellie caught Jake’s gaze. She saw the way his eyes were glazed over – the way his jaw was clenched — the way he held himself, so different from the man who shared his face.
And she wondered what could possibly be waiting on Pandora for him.
Eleanor Sully opened her eyes in 2154, and had no idea that she would never see the Earth again.
Owangì te Wawaso Kafyu’ite was born to an artisan and a hunter of the Omatikaya, halfway through the year 2135. (Not that the Na’vi had such a redundant way to measure the time passed.) Her childhood began like many others’ — she wandered the forest around their home eagerly, swinging from tree to vine. Owangì collected pretty stones and old bones — she collected anything that caught her eye.
Even as a mere child, she had known that it was her calling to spread her wings. To explore the world around her, to gather together the trinkets and tools and herbs Eywa’eveng provided for her. When her mother, Kafyu asked her child of her dreams, hoping that her child would one day follow in her footsteps, or those of her father’s, Owangì had smiled up at the woman dutifully braiding her dark brown hair around her kuru.
“I want to be a gatherer, ma Sa’nu. I want to find things for us!”
“Oh? You don't want to become a weaver like your grandmother? Nor a hunter like Sempul?” Kafyu raised a finger to brush against her daughter’s cheek. “What about an artisan like me, hmm?”
Owangì’s nose twitched at the touch, and she shook her head. Her mother scolded her softly, grip tightening around the braid she was currently working on. “Ngaytxoa,” the child murmured. Her eyes remained alit, though, as she stared at the exit of their marui, into the darkening sky in front of them. “I am sure, ma Sa’nu.”
Kafyu hummed softly, but did not speak again for a long moment. Long enough that Owangì’s golden eyes began to drift shut, relaxing into the feeling of her mother’s gentle fingers brushing through her hair. “You will be our clan’s finest gatherer, then, yes?”
“Of course,” Owangì declared, her fangs peeking through her lips once a wild smile spread across her face. “I'll be the best gatherer ever, Sa’nu.”
Kafyu tied off the last braid and settled her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I hope to see you prove this one day, maite.”
Owangì turned to look up at her mother, and found a strange expression on her face. Unbidden, her eyes drifted downward to Kafyu’s swollen belly. “Maybe the prrnen will like to make srok with you, ma Sa’nu.”
Kafyu only hummed, and climbed to her feet. She held out a hand for her daughter, and Owangì took it. She let her mother lead her further inside, but her gaze remained on the trees in the distance. One day, she vowed.
Owangì could not remember a time where the tawtute were not there. The adults spoke of times before their arrival, but it seemed so far away to her. Because she had grown up knowing that there was a whole new species on their planet. A new species that wanted to learn, and to teach.
When Grace Augustine opened her school for the Omatikaya youth, Owangì desperately wanted to attend. She'd watched as her friends were allowed to take part in the tawtute school, and watched as even the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk’s daughters were encouraged to attend.
She longed for it deeply, almost as much as she longed to fly. But, Kafyu denied her the chance. She had tried, at first, to argue, to beg and to plead — but it got her nowhere. It never did with her mother. She didn't bother even attempting to ask her father, because if there was one thing Owangì knew, it was that when it came to anything important — anything real, Itu deferred to his mate.
That was the way it had always been, and the way that it would always be. So, instead of getting to learn from the Grace Augustine, she learned from her friends.
From Sylwanin and Neytiri, the daughters of their leaders. From Peyral, the daughter of some of the best hunters of the Omatikaya. And from Peì, the first friend she'd ever made, the daughter of a weaver and a warrior. Just like Owangì always knew what future she planned for, her friends did as well.
Mere weeks before she reached age nine, her younger sister was born, Ìpia. By then, Owangì spent most of her time exploring, hedging further and further from hometree each time she went out. And when she wasn't wandering, wasn't getting lost in the treasures she could find — she was learning.
Never from the school, never how she wanted to. But from the other children who attended. From Neytiri and Peì, the most. When they came home speaking stilted words in the human language, Owangì was afraid her jealousy was visible from the stars.
It was Peyral, in the end, who asked her if she wanted to be taught. And when Owangì's eyes widened in delight, Grace Augustine’s students began to teach her the same way they'd been taught. She wasn't the only one — There were other children whose parents forbid them from attending the school. Other parents that were far too wary of the tawtute.
Owangì spent many of her younger years learning how to speak like a human, learning to read their stories and attempt to see them. Coincidentally — or not — this meant that the girl spent most of her time away from her family's marui, away from her parents who only drifted further away the older that she grew.
And sadly, away from her younger sister. At night, or during evening meal, Owangì did her best to engage Ìpia, to bond with her and let her know that despite her distance, Ìpia was loved.
For a long time, that was how Owangì's life went — that was how she spent her days and nights.
And then everything changed once again, with the death of not just one but three Na’vi. Grace Augustine was made to leave in the wake of the tsakarem’s death, and Owangì could do nothing but listen as her parents hissed to themselves that they were right.
At nineteen, Owangì, despite everything, remained curious about the tawtute, remained curious of the people that came from the stars. Because surely, surely, they weren't all like those who had slayed her friends.
Right?