Chapter Text
In the golden dusk of Xooberon, a single figure can be seen traversing slowly over the alien planet's desert horizon. Waves of heat curl up from the sand to the air and purple clouds of iodine gas hang low in the sky, hiding dizzying peaks of sunbleached dunes, ancient and mountainous. As the figure approaches, it is revealed to be nothing other than a Xooberonian Pygmy Clawed Groveback, named for it's coincidental similarities to the much larger and more temperate climate adapted Groveback's of Darwin IV, two organisms seperated by lightyears of space but made nearly identical by the guiding hands of convergent evolution.
Or maybe it was God. Who's to say?
It seemed a bit lazy, if you asked Naboo, who can now be seen perched on the Groveback's considerable haunches, to use the same design over and over again and then expect no one to notice it just because you put them all really far away from each other.
Naboo holds up one hand in order to sheild his eyes from the sun and looks out over the sand. It shouldn't be far away now.
There is something else tied onto the beast's back, like a wicker snake basket, but one big enough to hold a rather large man. A small gem can be seen dangling down from it's lid, and a blue haze hangs around the basket like a dark snow cloud. A low, gravelly and perhaps slightly nauseous moan can be heard emanating from it's depths.
"Naboo... I got a bad feeling about dis."
At this momentous announcement of doom, Naboo elbows the basket behind him with a sharp 'thwack!' and the thing in the basket falls silent once more.
The muslin getup and goggles might be good for avoiding the ravaging effects of a sandstorm, but it was really starting to itch, Naboo thinks while readjusting the mouthpiece of his rather irritating beige head wrap. Something magenta glints suddely in the field of sands ahead, and Naboo leaps from the groveback to take off after it in a sprint.
This male fatty tailed dwarf skink, which boasts a bright magenta tail to attract a mate in what is altogether inappropriately named the wet season, has now found itself the victim of a very short man in a turban and is currently running for his life. He doesn't get far, however, for in his haste he's run into a desert sand crab's web trap, disguised as it is as a dry shrub, and now wriggles fruitlessly against his bonds. The desert sand crab, sensing a disturbance, scuttles out of its hidey hole under the brush to inspect it's prey. Naboo winds up and kicks the shocked crustacean as far as he can and watches as it sails over a nearby dune. No crab is going to get in the way of Naboo the Enigma. Not again.
After pulling on a pair of yellow dishwashing gloves, Naboo fishes an empty jam jar and a pair of spindly three-pronged pliers out of his robes, crouching in front of the brush before taking the lid off of the jar and placing it on the ground. He tightens the fabric around his mouth and nose and takes a deep breath. With one gloved hand he holds the wriggling skink down, and with the other he lowers the prongs to tighten around its bulbous tail. The skink struggles for a moment, and then its tail pops off at the base to spew a noxious magenta cloud into the air. Naboo squeezes his eyes shut to avoid the blast, and holds his breath as long he can. When he's pretty sure it's over, he opens his eyes once more and drops the tail into the open jar before screwing it shut. He extricates what's left of the wriggling skink from it's trap and releases it to scuttle away into a nearby hole. Taking off the gloves, Naboo watches as the angry desert sand crab scrambles back towards him over a distant hill. It's probably time to go.
He wistles for the groveback and it trundles forward slowly on it's two truncated legs, blindly following the direction of the sound. The crab is within a few meters of him now, and has most definitely noticed his empty trap. It's high pitched squeal of rage cam be heard more clearly now. Naboo kicks sand towards it before running in the direction of the groveback, which is of course a stupid idea because the thing probably loves sand. After all, it lives in the stuff.
Finally reaching the slow beast, Naboo clambers onto it's back and pulls his feet up quickly behind him to avoid getting snipped at. The crab, not to be stopped, scampers up the groveback's leg and under the lid of the large snake basket. There is the muffled sound of a claw biting down into a thick patch of fur, and the thing in the basket lets out a deep wail of agony.
"Sorry, Bollo!"
Wincing, Naboo reaches back to fasten the latch closed on the basket and snaps the groveback's reigns with a sharp whistle. If Bollo getting aquainted with a crab is the price he has to pay in order to get back to the fountain in peace, then so be it.