eachdraidh | o1. spider | audio; both courts.

I keep thinking of this story.

[ There's nothing particularly guarded about the way Natasha sounds. Lazy, maybe; a little mildly amused. ]

Once upon a time, there was a proud and warlike tsar— [ A short pause, then a correction. ] —a ruler. His name was Dadon. When he was young, he invaded and destroyed neighboring lands, taking them for his own. When he grew older Dadon wanted peace, but now his enemies sensed his weakness and it was their turn to wage war on him. He asked for help from his court magician, who gave him a golden cockerel. If any enemies approached, the bird would crow, and because the tsar was pleased he promised that he would give the magician anything he asked for.

Dadon's people lived peacefully for two years. The bird did its job whenever there was danger. One day, the golden bird cried out louder than ever before, so the man sent a great army under the command of his eldest son. Eight days passed. When the bird crowed again, his son and their army weren't back, so he sent out his younger son and another army. There was no news again for eight more days.

He was worried. The bird crowed again, so he went to go investigate this personally, with an army of his best warriors. After several days, he came across a battlefield where both armies and his two sons lay dead. At the edge of the field, he saw a tent with a woman of stunning beauty inside. Her name was—

[ A beat. ]

—you know, I don't think I remember. Her title, though, was the Queen of Shamakha. She invited him inside his tent and Dadon fell in love with her. He took her home, back to his kingdom.

When he did, the magician was waiting for him at the gates. He asked the tsar to pay for the golden bird by giving him the Queen of Shamakha. Angry with the request, Dadon hit the magician with his sword, wounding him fatally. At that moment the bird swooped down and pecked Tsar Dadon to death. And the Queen of Shamakha disappeared, as if she had never been there.

[ Natasha huffs out a laugh. ]

Sorry. Maybe that was too obvious a moral. [ And just like that, the audio abruptly ends. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ There's a smile in her voice. ]

Yes, please.

There is an island in the middle of the sea where men cut their women. Freggio, they call the scars. The thinking is that first, a man possesses a woman, in her unscarred unmarred state; and then he ruins her beauty, makes her unconquestable, makes her permanently his as the only man who will have her.

Once, a young prince from this island was taken in a pirate raid. He was tossed to and from ships and sea-calamaties. Seamonsters and starvation. The usual privations. Whatever, it's not important. What is important is that he came to some approximation of safe harbour and he met a woman. Tall as the day is long, and young, wide-eyed...she was beautiful, too, if one likes that kind of...ingenue appeal.

They warmed to each other. Two ugly, pretty things, chirping their flirtation; engineering their touches. She led and he followed. Eventually she took him to her bed. I don't know if he was her first, or if she was his. But they fucked, and he rolled off her, and he reached for his knife, and, giddy with the joy of possession, he cut her face. A long, deep cut across her tea-coloured skin, a curved line from eye to the corner of her mouth.

She didn't move or cry out. They looked at each other, breath coming fast; he with lust, her with something more terrible. Not anger, but understanding. She reached out, and took his knife from his unresisting hand. And she cut him back.

In later days they forgot their own godsdamn names, so twinned were they, so close-twined.

[A note of grim disgust hardens his voice, makes it weirdly wry, though it's hard to tell what exactly he's trying to mock within the story. Perhaps he's only trying to distance himself from the tale. He regrets picking it.]

[ At length: ]

I didn't know you were a romantic.

[ The way she gives voice to those words, it sounds like she is too. ]

Ah...well. It happens, to old sailors.

But if that story sounds romantic...well. Each to their own. I've better love stories.

I get that a lot.

[ And it'd be easy to talk about the nuances of the story. Why they strike her as they do. How it makes her think of Clint, just that little bit. But that's not the point, and it's not what she wants out of this. ]

Did you know the girl?

I knew them both.

And?

They just kept slicing.

[ A pause. (She wonders, briefly, whether it would be worth it to ask if they died.) ]

You know, I like mine better.

So do I. Where did you hear it?

In my childhood home.

[ Not technically inaccurate. She edits, mildly, ]

A facility.

[Just as mildly;]

Facility for what?

Killers.

If you want to be melodramatic about it.

Is that what you think of me? Inclined to melodrama?

[There's a grin audible in his voice; unspoken, a teasing note of perhaps, but don't say it!]

I don't think you want to know what I think of you, kotik.

Ah, and did they teach you to assume so much at this facility?

Mmhm.

That's where I earned my title.

I didn't know you had a title.

We don't know each other very well, do we?

No. But why would we? We've met once, face to face.

I think that makes me sad.

[ As if it's a joke that only she knows the punchline to. ]

So get off your arse and meet me again. You know where I am.

[Hard and cheerful.]

o1. spider | audio; both courts.

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