Hey since TERFs buried the original, higher quality recording, here’s the only surviving recording of trans activist Sylvia Rivera’s infamous “Y'all Better Quiet Down” speech, along with full transcription, now free and open on Archive.org. The transphobic fucks can try their best to scrub us from history, but we’re not going anywhere.
and if you can, go and see The Death and Life of Marsha P Johnson, which includes this footage as part of a fuller segment on Sylvia Rivera’s life right up until her death. what an amazing person who the world was not ready for.
Sylvia Rivera: Y'all better quiet down. I’ve been trying to get up here all day for your gay brothers and your gay sisters in jail that write me every motherfucking week and ask for your help and you all don’t do a goddamn thing for them.
Have you ever been beaten up and raped and jailed? Now think about it. They’ve been beaten up and raped after they’ve had to spend much of their money in jail to get their [inaudible], and try to get their sex changes. The women have tried to fight for their sex changes or to become women. On the women’s liberation and they write ‘STAR,’ not to the women’s groups, they do not write women, they do not write men, they write ‘STAR’ because we’re trying to do something for them.
I have been to jail. I have been raped. And beaten. Many times! By men, heterosexual men that do not belong in the homosexual shelter. But, do you do anything for me? No. You tell me to go and hide my tail between my legs. I will not put up with this shit. I have been beaten. I have had my nose broken. I have been thrown in jail. I have lost my job. I have lost my apartment for gay liberation and you all treat me this way? What the fuck’s wrong with you all? Think about that!
I do not believe in a revolution, but you all do. I believe in the gay power. I believe in us getting our rights, or else I would not be out there fighting for our rights. That’s all I wanted to say to you people. If you all want to know about the people in jail and do not forget Bambi L'amour, and Dora Mark, Kenny Metzner, and other gay people in jail, come and see the people at Star House on Twelfth Street on 640 East Twelfth Street between B and C apartment 14.
The people are trying to do something for all of us, and not men and women that belong to a white middle class white club. And that’s what you all belong to!
REVOLUTION NOW! Gimme a ‘G’! Gimme an ‘A’! Gimme a ‘Y’! Gimme a ‘P’! Gimme an ‘O’! Gimme a ‘W’! Gimme an ‘E! Gimme an ‘R’! [crying] Gay power! Louder! GAY POWER!
There’s some really important commentary on this event by several trans women on the previous upload of the video. I’m going to quote it here so it’s not lost; unfortunately the original commenters have deleted their blogs or gone private so I can’t provide full attribution.
lilacbootlaces said:
[[Trigger warning: suicide]]
Sylvia went home that night and attempted suicide.
Marsha Johnson came home and found her in time to save her life.
Sylvia left the movement after that day and didn’t come back for twenty years.
@ourcatastrophe said:
this is incredible, she is incredible, I highly recommend watching it
but I think the addendum re: the effect of this day on sylvia is really important
so often we valorise decontextualised moments of tough, articulate resistance and rage
and the suffering of the people who embodied them is not acknowledged, it’s uncomfortable, it’s not inspiring, we want them to stay tough and cool and stylish forever
which is particularly terrible when I think about how sylvia felt like that because of women like me — women who are now watching this video and feeling inspired and impressed and maybe a bit pleased with ourselves for finally having watched a speech by the famous and really cool to name-drop sylvia rivera
girl-assassin said:
rebloggin for the true as fuck commentary (bolding mine)
n like, on one hand this moment is decontextualized as fuck, but on the other hand a lot of ppl try to hyper-contextualize it to make it “history” and a very specific historical moment, so we (cis women) can be like “oh so sad that’s how it was in the 1970s, radfems were so awful, but it was only the whole second-wave scene that was the problem, glad that’s over.”
Like have we forgotten the fact that Sylvia only died in 2002? And she died young, if she were still alive she wouldn’t even be 65 yet. I know hella older ppl in NYC who knew her personally, and hella “leaders” of the NYC queer scene pulled horrific shit on her constantly in the 80s, 90s, and 2000s, like literally until the day she died (ppl from Empire State Pride agenda literally went to St. Vincents to beef with her on her death bed) Where are the video tapes/memorializing of that shit?
N now the Manhattan LGBT center on 13th st has a room dedicated to her memory, despite the fact that very center permanently banned her in 1995 for daring to suggest they should let homeless QTPOC sleep there in sub-zero weather.
N now there’s a whole homeless trans youth shelter on 36th st named after her, Sylvia’s Place, that kicked my TWOC friend out on the streets for testing positive for marijuana; failing to recognize how fucked up that is in a shelter named after a woman who struggled with addiction all her life, and was very vocal about the relationship between drug use and the stress of living under constant threats of violence.
N from the late 90s onward rich gays and lesbians openly fought against Sylvia to try to shut down 24/7 access to the piers that she n hella other QTPOC cruised and lived on bc they were bringing down the property values of their multi-million west village apartments.
N like 90% of the individual people who perpetuated fucked up violence against Sylvia are still alive and high-profile leaders in the NYC LGBT “community” today.
So like yes, good, remember the oppressive weight of our history of transmisogyny…but also remember that this shit specifically ain’t even history, it’s the current reality of the NYC queer/trans hierarchy today—like not even figuratively, literally the same people who pulled shit like this on Sylvia are still alive n well n all over NYC cutting the ribbons to the newest Sylvia Rivera memorial n eulogizing her like they never tried to fucking kill her themselves.
And all y’all transphobic fucks fucking dare say that we did not fight for your rights. We were there to help you get your rights every step of the way, now fucking do the same for us.
Dedicated to the terf who reblogged with something like “Ooooh woe is me, I guess it’s not enough to control our language, they want to control our thought too oooh I’m but a poor little transphobe” and then blocked me.
Our trans elders fought for your rights and when they turned around you stabbed them in the back.
May you never forget and may you suffer for the evil shit you spout at our sisters and us.
this one kinda hurts when i see it every pride month. im glad to see an art piece of mine still circulating, and with nearly 100,000 notes too! it just hurts that im separated from it. everyone in the notes thinks im gone. im still here, but my potential community and connection is lost because im forgotten in place of the art. yeah, my deactivated profile does add to the profoundness of what i was saying, but i am still removed.
There's a plentiful supply of nature and ecology writers that criticize "Anthropocentrism" and tell readers that we shouldn't consider ourselves more important than other life forms, and then they write things that are like "We evolved to live in Nature in a Natural environment...Long ago humans lived as hunter-gatherers instead of farming and domesticating animals...But when civilization was created, man unnaturally subjugated and modified plants and animals...Bringing them under human control for his own benefit...Man replaces natural ecosystems with artificially created "post-natural" environments...Now humans live in an unnatural environment that is separated from Nature...and i'm like buddy. do you even hear yourself
Since I have access to a bigger library now, I've explored "deep ecology" and "green anarchism" and "Biocentrism" a bit more and what i've seen is still kinda silly. The writers have very thoughtful theory and philosophy of diverse subjects relating to morality, society, power, and liberation, but...they just don't know very much about Nature.
I mean several things by that: first, they're not clear on the boring, practical details of things like food systems and the way construction alters ecosystems, second, they don't try to clearly define what "nature" is, and third, they act like "nature" has a clear definition anyway.
Now nature is pretty much undefinable anyway, a couple possible definitions are "all things that exist, have existed, or are possible in the universe" and "the thing that a forest has that a parking lot doesn't." You can say "biodiversity," but every space has biodiversity, and it's not clear how much biodiversity a space is "supposed" to have, we're just going on vibes. And the vibes are right, in a way; I visited an old-growth forest and it was DIFFERENT than any place i'd ever been in a way that is hard to describe. A flourishing, biodiverse ecosystem is different than a parking lot, a lawn, a monoculture field of corn. They say it's good for your health to be "in nature." What does that mean? At what point does a place become "nature?" How many trees does it have to have?
Something that is so painful to me is when people write "Human activities" as a cause of biodiversity loss. This is an act of cowardice. WHICH human activities? Name them.
A lot of nature and ecology writings treat humans like they have an anti-biodiversity force field that emanates from them. They write like lands on Earth are each contested between two inversely proportional forces, "Nature" and "Humans."
Without any more information, this is ethereal bullshit on par with crystals having energies. I am totally perplexed at the lack of curiosity about the specific causes and details of "human impacts." The division of habitats by so many roads and relentless speeding of cars with no way for wildlife to cross...the dumping of massive amounts of poison into soils and water...the wounding and disturbance of topsoil...these are the "human activities," but we can imagine a world without such destruction, and we can create that world.
Too many essays and papers talking about Nature non-specifically, an Idea of Nature, a Concept that everyone just intuitively knows. Nature is...you know...wildness! and trees! and...well, you know, NATURE!
And we do know! When we step out into the parking lot surrounded by low, squarish buildings and blaring signs and the stink of car exhaust, we know that something is very wrong with this place! Even we find these horrible un-places harsh and unwelcoming.
But it is very hard to imagine something different, because the other type of place, the place that is beautiful and soothes the spirit and is full of life, is by definition the place where humans only go to visit, the complete opposite and inverse of a place where humans work and live! Wherever humans live, shop, eat, fulfill their daily needs, that place is Not Nature.
The huge mistake, is that we believe that it is necessary to have places that are Not Nature. We believe that for humans to exist, areas must be set aside where the very concept of Nature is utterly obliterated.
From this imaginary and dismal point of view, we have to carefully confine our own lives to places that are utterly poisoned, sterilized, made into a hostile wasteland, and leave all the rest of the living biosphere to itself in pristine preserves.
And in this imaginary and dismal point of view, the one that divides Earth into Nature and Humans, it is okay to poison and to sterilize and to destroy, because humans must live SOMEWHERE, therefore Nature must be utterly excluded from at least SOME of Earth.
BUT...WHAT IF EVERYWHERE IS NATURE? What if the dandelions in the cracks of the pavement, the lichens growing on the park bench, the wildflowers on the side of the road, the sparrows in the parking lot—what if they are all Nature just as much as anything else? What if they too are sacred? What if it is our responsibility to see the connectedness of all life and to care for all ecosystems, however broken and hurt they may be?
What if Nature is not distant and abstract, untouched in some pristine place, but always reaching out, digging into the crumbled concrete and gravel and compacted ground, clawing to return to us and bring us back home?
It does not take away from the value of the old-growth forest or the unplowed prairie if we open our eyes and see even the scraggliest patch of overgrown weeds for the powerful manifestation of Nature it truly is.
Nature is not a place or a thing. Nature is the Movement, the Endless Happening, constantly alive throughout all life, the way of all things being family, the way of all things taking care of each other, the way of all life being constantly transformed through one another. You breathe the breath of the trees of your home, you drink the water of the streams of your home, you eat the sunlight that falls on your home, grown in the soil where all things go to be transformed through death into a new form of life, fed by the mycorrhizal network, pollinated by the bees, wasps, flies, and moths, nourished by the bone, blood and manure of beasts, and ultimately the fertile river valleys where agriculture first began, were replenished by the rich silt that washed down the river, which came from the forests in the mountains that shed their leaves to make a feast for a million decomposing critters, which is how the rich soil is made.
In this way they all take care of you, and in return you are asked to Live—to take care of them in return, to live as part of the great family of everything alive, to live, to live
What are human activities...? Deforestation? Mining? Spraying pesticides? Building housing developments? But is that all? Are we inherently a "bad" and "destructive" species, or is our ability to acquire and pass down knowledge, use tools and novel behaviors, alter our surroundings, shape ecosystems, adapt our lifestyles almost infinitely, and persist in almost any environment, simply incredibly powerful for good or for evil?
First of all, what better way to demonstrate a contrast to anthropocentrism...than to compare the impact of humans alone to the impact of an ENTIRE KINGDOM OF LIFE, the fungi????? Of course all of Fungi are more important than one single species??? Wtf?!?!?
But also, we should not convince ourselves of our own insignificance and worthlessness to the biosphere, because in the same way that individual self-loathing can be a way to avoid the hard work of loving oneself and advocating for the love one deserves, collective self-loathing as a species is a way of avoiding the responsibility we have to other life forms.
How can this author not think of a single role Humans play in the ecosystem?? What species plants trees, saves seeds, documents rare plants, rescues injured animals and heals them, raises orphaned chicks, manages controlled burns, digs ponds, thoughtfully harvests in anticipation of future seasons, mercifully culls in understanding of suffering that cannot be fixed? What species writes a new chapter in the genome of the American Chestnut so it can be saved from extinction? What species mends the broken kakapo egg with sticky tape? What species addresses their own habitat with that fondest name of Home?
My mom likes to tell me about how when I was a little kid riding public transport with her I'd always smile and giggle and chat with weird old ladies who smelled like cat pee and homeless folks and strangers dressed in bizarre outfits but any time a tidy and respectable businessman in a suit and tie waved at me I'd immediately clam up, and she takes a great deal of pride in my supposed inherentability to clock personalities but the truth is I do vaguely remember those bus rides, and it was never about the clothes or the hair or the smell, but more because everyone "strange" asked interesting questions and listened to what I had to say and seemed to think about what I said while the neat and tidy and rigid folks only ever acted like they were going through the motions, which was boring as hell and also pretty annoying
Thanks @slightlylightly founded by Sunny Somrat, This is SSFood Challenge
The players in and around Bangladesh play and are rewarded with food even losers get food. The combination of colorful games and the feel-good factor of nobody going home empty-handed has given Somrat a genuine hit.
I’ve been very frustrated by the gender discourse in this fandom, which often seems far too rigid. But these passages reminded me of why I loved these books so much when I read them, so many years ago, and why they still remain important. The show is also playing with gender, and I’d love to see more of that play in the fandom.
That was part of what bled into the characterization of Claudia, the idea of being less worthy of respect just because of your body or how you are perceived by society.
“I saw Claudia as a woman in a child’s body,” says Rice. “There are women who are eternally called girls - cute, sweet, adorable pinchable, and soft- when in fact they have a strong mind that’s very threatening” - The Vampire Companion
‘Let tears gather in your eyes. You haven’t tears enough for what you’ve done to me. (...) Monsters! To give me immortality in this hopeless guise. - Claudia, Interview with the Vampire
Claudia is brilliant and dangerous. Yet her fathers treat her as a "doll", a child. Part of her character arc is fueled by rage, caused by this constant paternalism.
Of course, Lestat gave me a doll as usual, the replica of me, which as always wears a duplicate of my newest dress. (...) And what should I do with it? Play with it as if I were really a child? "Is there a message here, my beloved father?" I asked him this evening. "That I shall be a doll forever myself?" - Claudia's Diary, The Queen of the Damned
There is a great interview in which Anne talks about the rage in the character of Claudia, I'll try to make a gifset of it for this week ^^.
Still, it is wild to see some interviews (old interviews) of a bestselling author, in which the host asks things like: "what does your husband think about you writing "x"?".
Which, you know, sometimes can be pertinent (e.g. what does your husband think of you featuring his poems in your books), but in some other cases...
Something I think gets lost in the discussion of gender in Anne's work/her view of self is the context of the time in which IWTV was written and published.
IWTV wasn't published until 1976.
Women in the United States were not legally allowed to have a credit card or get a home loan in their own name, without their husband's approval, until 1974. Laws were just being put into place regarding discriminating against women in hiring and discriminating in pay for women. Most women still couldn't get birth control without their husband's approval. There was no such thing as no fault divorce, or even the concept of marital rape.
While there was no law against a woman getting a driver's license on her own, in the 60s and 70s it could still depend on where you lived and who was working the DMV that day. Anne herself did not have a driver's license and did not drive because Stan would not permit her to drive.
I wish I could remember the exact interview, because she did talk extensively about how in her early days of writing their mutual friends would just refer to her as 'Stan's wife'. 'Stan's wife' wrote a book. 'Stan's wife' is getting published. 'Stan, how is your wife getting on with her book?' being asked while she's in the room. No matter how libertine we view the 1970s, socially women still weren't really looked at outside their roles as wives.
Interview with the Vampire was published right on the cusp of women getting important financial rights, labor rights and marital rights (many of which didn't even come until decades later). So I think Claudia's pent up rage at being a woman trapped in a child's body and Anne's desire to make vampires something that are not male or female but something other is so, so timely and we don't really consider that context enough.
lot of terfs have been reblogging this so I may as well publicly state that the woman on the right is modeled with permission after my transfemme friend. if you relate to it as strongly as many of you claim in the tags I urge you to reflect upon that with empathy and compassion about the depth of experiences you truly do share with trans women.
otherwise fuck off I guess. my art is not fuel for your hatred.
The midday sun warmed the orangerie, bringing Idun back to life. Parched, she clawed after her hip flask. Her arms barely complied. It felt like someone had hit her over the head with a hammer. She curled up, tiny sips of water between labored breaths.
Last night came back to her, first as an ache in her body, then as flickering memory, until it finally crystallized as regret.
She dug into her temples. No wine stains, no vomit in her immediate vicinity. She hobbled across the dewy lawn. Daylight pricked her eyes, yet she managed to drag herself into the main hall.
”Quite a night, huh?” An older man said. A small group sat by the table, nursing drinks and sharing sweets between themselves. They spoke without harshness. Smiled, even. Big, toothy smiles. Their dimly lit silhouettes tangled together, coming to resemble a terrible monolith in which human faces occasionally flickered. Empty bottles on the floor, muskets on the wall.
Idun lurched towards them, placing herself on a stool with her spine straight.
“Nobody died, no?” She asked. They chuckled.
”Not as far as we can tell. You certainly have a way with words after a drink or three,”
Iduns eyes widened.
”What do you mean?” She stuttered.
“Happens to the best of us,” Paal said, now a distinct entity from the mass, “have you thought more about the offer?”
“Not now. Not here.”
“Let me know in due time,”
Idun nodded. She ached with each breath, cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
”I better-” she mumbled, -“I should go back to sleep,“
She walked out onto the veranda. The morning breeze soothed. She clutched her belongings, strolling down the daunting walkway. And she kept strolling. Paal might have shouted something after her, or perhaps he was too jarred to react. Either way, Idun’s mind would have been too clouded to notice. She slipped past the gate, and once more she was the only person in the world. Just putting one foot ahead of the other. The stillness of morning heightened the ringing in her ear.
As she entered town she tried retracing the evening. Hour by hour. She reclined into memory, not only of this regretful night, but of all the times she had stumbled down the boardwalk.
Salty sea did wonders to revive a drunk. Twenty years on, the blackbird still called out, diligently separating late nights from early mornings. Kittiwakes flew overhead, claiming the town until workers scared them away. Idun sat facing the fjord. Eyes closed, sun on her face. She reached her palm out, feeling dead wood where her friends hand should have been. A tiny gap in the mountains revealed the Atlantic. She lingered on it.
A sickening realization jolted her back. She rushed home.
Breakfast was a pear and some water with pickle brine. She barely had time to change into boots and grab hold of her sleigh, and with that she flew out the door. She kept an eye on the sun, as if hoping to outrun it on its way past the mountain. Easier said than done when each step felt like walking on molasses.
Unexpected delays happened, surely he could show some grace.
She continued her trek towards the Depths, a lethargic march through the late summer landscape. She switched between shivering through layers of wool and wiping sweat. The crisp mountain air provided somewhat of a remedy for her nausea. A barrage of worries brought it back.
She sat down on a rock, heaving for air.
What should have been a hike stretched into an odyssey, by the time she was at his door what little daylight penetrated the forest had all but vanished. Just as she was about to knock she gleaned a massive shadow over her. Hadn’t she known what to look for it would have blended seamlessly in with the thick vegetation. A single eye shone. Idun froze in place as the silhouette came to life, crouching towards her.
”You tend to come earlier,” Dravad remarked.
“Things happened,” she said.
”I see,” he lowered himself, grazing the edge of her dress with his claw. ”You seem frazzled, did the journey go well?”
Idun held her hands together.
“Do I? how so?”
”Stained clothing, messy hair, did you get into a brawl?”
”Oh, I’m fine, just a little wear is all-“ she bowed. On the way up her knees buckled. With her palms firmly planted on the ground she threw up.
”That’s not… do you need help?” Dravad said. Idun groaned.
”It’s not contagious,”
“What happened?” he insisted. Idun buried her head in her hands.
”Alcohol is but a blight,”
“Can humans drink? Did you drink?”
”It’s a cherished pastime, I’m afraid. Don’t mind how filthy I look, lets just get on with the trade,”
”Sure…” Dravad turned around, “let me carry you somewhere more sheltered,”
”I’ll stay right here if you don’t mind,”
”We’ll be sitting ducks,” he said. “how will you get home anyways? Did you walk here all by yourself?”
“Don’t concern yourself with that. It’s my fault for losing control last night, I’ll manage, ”
Dravad picked up the sleigh, giving her a concerned look. He began to tie the bags of produce to it.
“…You’re free to spend the evening here, I don’t feel good leaving you in this condition,”
He placed the underside of his tail over her back, Idun stroked his velvety fur.
”Oh, I wouldn’t want to disturb your peace,”
”You’ve already done so, I won’t sleep knowing I might have sent my guest to their death,”
Idun dug her nails into his skin.
“You know your botanicals, don’t you?”
”Of course, why?” He huffed.
”Do you happen to have something to treat this… ailment?”
”I do. In fact I have a honed recipe,” he smiled. He dug into his sachet, bringing out a small vial. “Let me list the ingredients, and let me know if something in it is poison,” he said.
Idun groaned.
”Do.. you keep that on you at all times?”
”Would be stupid not to,”
He listed each ingredient. Each one was one she had heard of, and something humans ingested on the regular. He poured a shot into the lid, which had a bunch of notches in it.
“There we go,” he said. She took a sip.
The concoction jolted her senses. Spiced, herbal, tangy. It singed her throat, licorice and peppermint lingered. “You must consume the whole thing,” he added.
Idun shuddered, but proceeded to down the rest. Burning ginger woke her right up. The tincture moved like a wildfire through her. Sinuses cleared, her muscles warmed. She moved towards Dravad.
”Done,”
”Wonderful, your aches should dull after a short while,”
”You came up with this all on your own?”
”It’s part of a legacy. We’ve spent centuries refining our cures. My contribution was to go from sixty to ninety five.”
”….Ninety five.. what exactly?”
”Percent. Impurities lead to headaches. This makes sure only the cleanest ingredients remain,”
“Oh my.” Idun whimpered.
“Is it working?”
“I change my mind. Lets go somewhere private. We can’t risk being seen,”
Dravad curled his fingers around her, ever so slowly. He kept his index and middle finger extended, making sure her head laid stable and level. Idun took a deep breath, Dravad placed careful steps, mindful not to sway too much. They arrived at an idyllic patch. A wall went all the way up to his navel, covered by thick rosebush and rhododendron.
He pushed aside a rock, entering the hidden tea garden.
He was about to lay down when he froze. He moved his hand behind his back. Idun raised her head. All she could see were the huge spines jutting out of his spine. Dravad growled, leaning over. He spoke something in Norse, Idun could only guess at the words, but his tone told her more than enough. Her thoughts raced as he placed her on the mossy top of the wall. He crouched over, Idun managed to glean the threat.
Atop a large stump sat a small troll. About a meter in height. Most of his body was covered by woolen garb. His eyes were huge and catlike. He raved and raged, causing his thick, embroidered coat to dance around.
Dravad kept his voice calm, a low rumble resonated through her as he spoke, she hid away.
Their argument escalated, until he casually leaned in, picking the troll up in his jaws. Idun gasped. The troll remained calm, pushing at his gums in a lethargic fashion.
”Don’t!” Idun shouted. Both froze, looking down at her. The troll flinched, clinging to Dravads lip.
“Stay away from our Jotun,” he sneered in Latin.
”I’ll take care of her, you leave now,” Dravad said, getting up. He sauntered over into the brushes. Several minutes passed. Idun paced, staring at the patch of shrub he had disappeared into. After some time they began to rustle. Dravad reemerged.
“What..happened?” Idun asked as he walked up to her.
”claims I owe him a keg of beer.”
Idun sat there dumbstruck.
”well… do you?”
“I didn’t lose any bet, he played foul,’ he said, grabbing hold of her as he moved towards a tree root carved into a chair.
”Right…” Idun said, “did you..” she slurred her words, still reeling from the shot.
”Hm?” He glanced at her, lazily flicking his ear.
”…kill him?”
Dravad took a step back, unable to conceal the perplexed look on his face.
”I ushered him away, I don’t want his prying eyes on us,”
“So he's fine?”
”no, he's still convinced I lost,”
Idun breathed out with relief. His gargantuan frame hung over her. She leaned in.
”Now, how are you going to deal with me?” Idun said, grabbing at his hand with a coy smile.
“How’s the medicine working?”
“I could probably use some more,” she said.
“I’d suggest waiting a bit. It’s potent,”
Idun grumbled to herself. She leaned back, feeling her head sway like a dinghy at sea. The world grew pleasantly distant as she traced her arm up his finger.
“You’re scary when mad, what if I stole from you? Would you kill me?” She asked, rubbing up against his thumb. Dravad stared at her.
”I don’t wanna think about that,”
”But you would punish me, no?”
”I'd have to uphold the bargain, but why are you asking?” He said, cupping his hand around her. He lifted her up to his chest. Idun trembled. His fangs grazed her shoulders as he playfully nibbled at her, sending tingles through her whole body. “I hope that never happens, we’re friends,” he said.
Idun had ice in her stomach. She felt the side of her back. Dravad’s eyes were bright and kind. Such nauseating earnest. Idun winched. The smile that creased his eyes. The faint freckles in his tan skin. He glowed. She reached out to run her hand over his brow, letting eye contact linger.
“Alcohol is of the Devil, it lifts veils that aren’t to be seen through,” she muttered.
”It’s hard to understand what you mean a lot of the time,”
Idun rested her head on his palm, a supple pillow.
”My father’s words. Don’t pay it any attention,” she said, “you’re such a gentleman, if only the hounds back home knew how to keep their cool like you,”
Dravad pressed her against his chest, letting out a deep breath.
“When was the last time you drank?” he asked.
“Last night,”
“Of course, but-“
“Twenty years ago,”
Dravad chuckled.
“Oh, poor thing,”
“I can handle my liquor,”
“Sure,”
Idun grappled his wrist, a vice grip around his bracelet.
“Do you want to bet?” she said, staring him down. Dravad grinned sheepishly.
“What do you mean?”
“I can outdrink you,”
Dravad squinted.
“Well…”
“You don’t think so? Do you want to try?”
“Do you want to?”
“Fill up a bucket.”
Dravad hesitated, but didn’t refuse. He brought fourth a gilded chalice, roughly the size of a bathtub. He handed her a pint of wine in what one could easily mistake for his thimble. Idun began to chug as she stared him down. In less than a minute she had downed most of it. His eyes widened. He suspended his hand, as if ready to snatch the cup away from her.
“Stop! You don’t need to do this,”
“Your turn,”
“Be careful,”
“You be careful,”
Dravad glanced at his glass for a small second before tossing his head back. With a smug grin he showed off the empty bottom.
“Fine, beat this,”
“Ah, crap. You’re good. Top off my glass just once more though, in case,” she said, stretching her hand out. He filled it to the brim.
“Next time you’ll just have to ask. I’ve got plenty of mead, ales and spirits too,” He winked.
Idun blushed. Dravad placed his hand over her back, she leaned in, basking in his warmth.
“Do I come across as drunk?” she asked, weak in her voice as she hugged his pinkie tightly.
“You’re different than usual,”
He moved his head in her direction. Idun glanced back, his face distorted, his outline blurred, two nostrils became four, features faded into one another.
“But I’m polite no, I maintain decorum, don’t I?”
Dravad purred softly, pinning her with his finger. She tried wrestling it, impotent as she was inebriated.
“Sure,”
“If I don’t, you must set me straight,”
“Do you care to explain why your kind is so.. strange?”
“Wouldn’t be able to,”
Dravad blew air through his nose, he crouched over, studying her, proceeding to pinch her between two talons, lifting her up to his face. Her stomach filled with butterflies as she dangled across from him. She bent her legs, lost in his golden eyes. To think that he held her whole being in the palm of his hand. An action too mundane for him to even question. He dissected her, she needed more time to take all of him in.
Alcohol continued to wreck havoc on her mind. Still. it was a gentle surrender, less like a torrent upon her, more so a dulling of all her senses, let alone worries. It was as if all pretense dissipated. She could only focus on the way soft light illuminated his cheekbones, his intense yet calm eyes. The grey speckle in his hair became delicate silver threads, and what was once a monster resembled art before her.
“You’re funny creatures,” he remarked, placing her back.
“Would it be weird for a human to consider you handsome?”
Dravad pulled back.
”I doubt that's whats on their mind as they load their guns,” he sized her up. “Besides, I’m not sure if the practicalities would be in their favor,” He shuddered.
”What do you mean by that?”
He glanced downwards, then back at her. He did a quick measurement up his wrist.
“Implausible,” he muttered to himself.
”Well, I was just asking. I heard rumors that a creep in the village has a thing for your kind. That’s so strange, no?”
”I’ve seen weirder, so long as he stays away from me,”
Idun went quiet.
“So… you drink, you joke, you feel attraction,” He unwrapped a sheet of waxed paper, rubbing dried leaves between his fingers, -“you’re almost making humans seem cute,”
He brought out a pipe, intricately carved to resemble a songbird.
“What else would we be?”
“Trouble,” With that he dragged a rigid bundle of straw against the stone, causing it to light ablaze with a harrowing screech. Idun cowered.
“What the-“
“How impolite of me, are you bothered by fumes?” He said, bringing the pipe to his face.
“Just keep that far from my face,”
Dravad nodded before taking a long drag. She couldn’t help but stare as his lips pushed against the mouthpiece. Ribbons of smoke escaped his mouth, forming dancing rings in the air. He readjusted, cradling her between his index and thumb. Absentminded fingers fondled her torso.
“Did you ever trade in the ring?” he asked.
“Oh, I must have forgotten. Time flies,”
“Have you done some other fun things lately? Where did you find all the liquor?”
“Some gathering. My attendance was required,”
“But did you enjoy it?”
Idun grimaced, holding onto his fingertip.
“A herd of drunk men in one place? I’m not too sure..”
“I see your point,”
“I did go look for salamanders the other day..” Idun remarked.
“Whats that?”
“Little creatures in the water,”
Dravad furrowed his brows. He rummaged through his hip bag, bringing out a bound journal.
“I’m not sure if I’ve heard of them…” he said, etching a symbol before putting it away, “remind me to ask you again when I’m sober,”
“They’re not that big of a deal,”
“But you still told me about it,”
“Well, it’s something fun that happened,”
He let out a sigh, purring softly as he observed undulating smoke through half shut eyes.
“Right,”
“Right.”
“If you could have anything in the world, what would make you happy?” he asked.
Idun took another sip of wine.
“Why do you keep asking?”
“something tells me I should be worried about you,”
“And that means?- never mind,”
“What’s the answer?”
“People like me don’t get to indulge,”
“I can help you with that,” he said in a silky voice. Idun backed down, crawling out from under his palm.
“No you can’t. I mean. What are you implying?”
“You seem so stressed all the time, I wonder what it would take for you to relax.”
Idun's knees buckled, she tried to comprehend him through muddled senses. The booze numbed her lips and her judgment. He put his hand down again, she clutched it.
“You don’t need to save me,” she said, playing with the down on his finger.
“Would you at least answer the question?”
“It’s too broad,”
”Well then, if you could have anything within my territory, what would it be?”
Idun went quiet, slowly turning to face him. She stroked his claw, a knot in her stomach as her face warmed.
“I could use more liquor,”
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