elistra

[elistra]

kyree​:

She frowned, the point of the story wasn’t that God was attentive. “It’s just a story Elistra, in fact, that’s what the Torah is, our holy book, it’s just a collection of stories. God doesn’t actually speak to us directly.” Kyree paused, voice lowering, going soft. “I don’t know if I even really believe in God in the traditional sense.” She smiled at Elistra. “Don’t tell my dad, he would have a heart attack.”

Elistra had looked sad earlier, when Kyree had assumed that Mazu had not felt lost in herself. Maybe she had miss-stepped, the other woman was obviously dealing with her own shit that Kyree didn’t understand, and it would be unfair of her to project her own stuff onto the other girl. She offered Elistra a fidget spinner as a peace offering.

Her expression turned soft, and she reached her hand out to take one of Elistra’s. “I don’t think any sort of faith is foolish.” She said softly, kindly. She didn’t know what religion the other woman was a part of, but it sounded harsh and unforgiving. Elistra deserved some kindness in all of that. “There are people in my religion who think people like me should be shunned, that  we shouldn’t exist.” Kyree’s expression turned sad, thinking of the people at her childhood synagogue who had given her family dirty looks when she first transitioned, causing her family to switch synagogues. “I was assigned male at birth, and when I was six years old I told my parents I was a girl, because I was, and I am. But some people in my religion say that God doesn’t make mistakes, and I am denying their creation by being my true self.” Kyree smiled. “And in a way they are right. God doesn’t make mistakes. God made me a girl, set me on a path that made me the woman I am today. And there’s no way in hell I would take back any of it.”

“This character sounds like she is asking her goddess all the questions she should be asking herself. Does the character really, truly believe her species was created from poison? Does the character believe there is a better truth, without assistance from the goddess?” She pondered her next words for a moment. “I think it’s a lot easier to have faith in God once you have faith in yourself first.”

“So if I was this character, I would work on answering those questions for myself before I asked for answers from my God. Does that make any sense?” Kyree let go of Elistra’s hand and raised it in a shrug. “I’m sorry love, I have a feeling I’m not being particularly helpful today.”

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Elistra stared into Kyree’s eyes, searching, and then belatedly looked down at the fidget spinner being placed in her hand. She flicked it until it spun around the tip of her pointer finger and watched it swirl, taking a deep breath to try and calm the rush of her own anxious emotions. Maybe Kyree didn’t believe in her God in a traditional sense, but neither did Elistra believe in hers in any traditional way. Who would willingly decide to worship a goddess who had been rumored to advise the death and destruction of her people? Some days, when she prayed without answer, all she felt like was a naive child, shouting into the wind.

Then Kyree’s hand was taking hers and it drew Elistra’s gaze back up and away from the slowing toy, which fell down to sit like a large gaudy ring at the base of her finger. She listened to Kyree speak again, and this time felt more empathy in her words, perhaps because it was not bordered and protected by foreign legends, but built on her own, more personal one. And Elistra knew that gender was different here on land, filled with more stigma and regulation, and that those that defied such arbitrary restrictions were ostracized. She gripped Kyree’s hand with a gentle pressure and smiled, understanding. It was a hopeful thought, to believe that a god or goddess had made you exactly as you were supposed to be. To think there was a path for you to walk, should you wish to take it.

Elistra sighed. “I just wish there was a confirmation of some kind.” Then, clearing her throat, a little panicked. “For the character, I mean. It’s one thing to believe something on your own, but if no one else ever agrees with you, it would be reassuring to know that there’s something greater that has you in mind.” And perhaps that was asking too much, but didn’t the sirens deserve an explanation for the world they’d been born into? Elistra had been trying for so long to call down a goddess whose ears may never have even been attuned towards her voice at all, and if that was true, then she would just have to find another way to catch her attention.

With Kyree’s hand away from hers now, Elistra lifted the fidget spinner up again and spun it between the two of them, looking over it at Kyree with a grateful smile. “You’re always helpful, Kyree. You’re really good at your job, you know? My head always feels less empty after I’ve talked to you. I’m sorry I took up so much of your time though. You probably have a dozen different things to do.”

[elistra]

steph​:

｡･:*:･ﾟ⎈ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Steph was stabbing the food as she talked without really even realizing it, and then gathered a bite of rice together and ate it, as Elistra asked another question about the journal. “It’s– it was mostly normal creatures. Sort of like a log of all the different stuff he encountered on his adventures. He seemed very excitable about everything, as far as I can remember.”

Another couple of stabs and then she took a couple of more bites. “That’s my biggest problem. I remember the broad strokes of it, but I am not even if I am right about the drawing being in that journal or if I remember everything right, you know? I read so many different journals and I remember the contents of them, don’t get me wrong, but things sort of just– bleed together, you know? This is why it’s taking me so long to find what I’m looking for. I remember that the drawing was on a left page, but I can’t remember how the book looked on the outside or even where I left it.”

She remembered this one specifically because of the connection to the mermaid pendant she saw herself, but it’s been a while ago, since she’s found this journal. Another couple of bites - at this point Steph just pulled the container in front of her without really realizing what she was doing. “For the same reasons as before, I can’t remember exactly if they detail mermaids and sirens too, but I think they mention mermaids at least. Probably a sighting or two, or something along those lines.”

She frustratedly stabbed at a piece of sweet potato, smashing it into a mush. “I hate how I can’t find it. Xander is counting on me to figure it out, I bet Mel is counting on me to figure it out too, it could be good for the museum if we had more information on the pendant. I would love to rub it into Renzie’s face that I was right, he thinks I’m just chasing pointless leads. And, you know, I’d love to get more confirmation than my own.”

She shook her head. “So I can tell you about the mermaid sighting and conversation if I find the journal, but I can’t remember it that well. I remember a read a drunken sailor’s recounting of talking to a horse in the ocean, but that was probably a hallucination on his part while being under the influence. Horses don’t swim in the middle of the ocean and certainly don’t talk.”

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Elistra hung on Steph’s every words, nodding along and leaning in closer with her elbow on the table. It had never stopped feeling odd, the way humans talked about the sea, the way their myths and legends of merfolk were spoken of in wondrous tones, barely to be believed. Now though, she understood the instinct to get lost in another, more mysterious world, to imagine a different life. She wondered if Steph would be disappointed if she ever did finally learn the truth, to know that there were wars under the waves just as there were on land, that there were old wounds and prejudices, that the ocean could be just as deadly and cruel as it was kind.

It had been a foolish brief fantasy, to imagine a human who had contacted both mermaids and sirens, turning neither to seafoam in their wake. Surely there would have been legends if it had been true. Elistra deflated a bit as Steph continued to talk, but found more than enough solace in the quickly emptying food container. Leaning over to her satchel, she brought out a water bottle, opened it wordlessly, and slid it beside the container of food, talking over the motion to mask it. Just in case Steph was thirsty from all the talking and eating.

“I’m sure the mayor and Mellora believe in your ability to find the truth,” she said reassuringly. “It’s hard not to when you have this much conviction, which is why I think they trusted you with this task. But I also don’t think they’d like to see bags under your eyes and know you’d been losing sleep over this. And neither would Renzie.” As much as Elistra didn’t understand or trust Renzie, she knew he did care for Steph, and her him. “Think of how much more satisfying it would be to rub the truth in his face and make it look like it had been easy.” She smiled mischievously.

The anecdote about the talking horse made Elistra perk back up again. She should tell that one to Isidore, ask him how many drunken sailors he’d encountered. Elistra was disappointed that she still couldn’t tell her friends and family in Port Vale what she was, couldn’t even begin to consider the consequences of the truth when the danger of dissolving into nothingness still loomed in the back of her mind. But maybe she could continue to be satisfied with her life here, as happy as she was, even knowing that most of the people that knew her could never know her fully. That was, until Steph found the truth.

“I know this is a little more off topic, and I really don’t want to distract you more. You probably want to get back to work. But do you ever wonder why, if mermaids and um- sirens or- or even weird seahorse creatures- why they don’t show themselves? Do you think they’re hiding? Or do you think maybe there’s another reason they can’t come up and just tell us about themselves?”

[elistra]

renzie​:

®

He threw Elistra a thumbs up as she confirmed she’d be back in two hours, not bothering to stop walking.  But by the time Renzie got to his cafe kitchen, he was already regretting this.  Regretting his own petty competitive streak, regretting his insecurity over Elistra piously one-upping him.  Regretting his attempt at chumminess, and calling them ‘super-awesome’.  What a misstep that was. After all, Elistra did things out of the goodness of her godly heart, not for compliments!  Not even genuine compliments; and definitely not compliments from him.

“Stupid.  Estupido,” he muttered as he grabbed the vacuum.  The cafe was empty and Renzie needed release: so he angry-vacuumed the cafe and Inn.  The only person in Port Vale who wept with joy over getting a Dyson v15 cordless for his birthday.  He passed Auntie Letitia, who gave him a look familiar to Steph’s.  ‘You’re pissed off, so you vacuum your heart out, mijito.’

Auntie’s look, and all that sweet sweet suction power, diffused Renzie.

For the next hour he returned to the kitchen, feeling calmed as he started prep.  He hadn’t voluntold his line cooks to help; he’d ostensibly recruited the best partner in Port Vale, after all…if they could work past the tension.

He glanced up at the clock at the knock, and Renzie went to hip-nudge the door open.  “Hola,” he said, turning away before he caught any glare. “Cafe’s closed, so it’s just us, huh?”

Not wanting Elistra to tell him how he could actually just seamlessly run his cafe this way while simultaneously getting the lunches prepped that way,  Renzie quickly kept talking.

“Ahhhh, so I’m making a curry lentil and sweet potato soup, getting the mirepoix ready.  I’m…kinda anal about it,” he said with a slight smile, as he motioned to the piles of finely-chopped vegetables.  “I’m also gonna get a roast beef ready for tomorrow’s sandwiches.  Falafel-hummus for the veggiesauruses, that’s already made.  Oh - and a walnut blondie, sooo.”  He waited for Elistra to chose what to work on.

“Y’know my mom says that anger’s good in any situation; except sleeping and cooking.  It ruins both.”  He smiled down at his hands.  “She says it in Spanish, sounds way cooler. But yeah. I don’t want to ruin things, so I’ve decided not to cook angry.”

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Renzie did not welcome her, he opened the door not even with his hands; he opened the door haphazardly, as if she was an afterthought, as if she was something he did not need even though he had asked- But this was fine. She looked up at him as he spoke, not bothering to let her fill the space with her own words because his were more important. Elistra had been in this kitchen before, but being alone with Renzie was a new experience. She stood by the shut back door as he explained the food he’d prepped and planned, feeling as if this was all some trick he’d lured her into in order to humiliate her. Then she took a breath and tried to let the pent up annoyance flow out of her like a wave receding from a shoreline.

“Your mother must be very wise,” she said slowly, carefully watching Renzie’s back, turned away from her. The food that humans had taught her to make had always been meals made of communion and love, of nourishment and community. As a siren, eating had meant survival first, and any secondary emotion one might attribute to it was an afterthought. She could not imagine cooking with resentment in her heart, and so, even though Renzie clearly thought of her as an invader, she would try to carve out a place for herself here.

Her resolve rebuilt and her anger locked away, Elistra marched up to Renzie’s side and ducked down until she could catch his eyes. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Like on those cooking shows with the various angry men. Chef and sous chef.” But without the fancy hats, and hopefully the yelling. Elistra reached into her bag and took out the apron Clara had gotten her for her last ‘birthday’ that had an extravagant red frill around the edges and a selfie of Clara printed on the front with her posing over a plate of spaghetti and kissing her pinched together fingers. Underneath were the words, ‘Mama Mia!’ in bold, extravagant font. Elistra tied the apron around her neck and back, never breaking eye contact with Renzie.

“I’m good with blondies if that’s where you’d like me to start. I’ve always been better at baking, and it would keep me from interfering in your-” She looked at the vegetables, then up at Renzie again, eyebrow quirked. “Precise methods.”  

[elistra]

Siren, c. 2018 Josh Keyes

[elistra]

valentina​:

—

Val stared at Elistra, for a moment shocked that she would be so direct. But she was used to fighting for respect, so she shrugged it off with a bitter laugh. “You defected,” she said. To Val, all sirens were soldiers, in an unending war not one of them had signed up for, fighting for their right to exist. Elistra was nothing better than a traitor, and a part of Val wanted to kill her right then and there. The larger part of her, the part which loved her people, just wanted to know why.

“This can never be your home. Like it can never be the home of an anchovy or a cod. You can dress up as human all you like, you can imprison yourself in this awful little village, but our kind don’t belong on land. This cannot last. I hope you realize this.” She frowned at Elistra, expression briefly nearing pity. First Isidore and Pietro, now this. They were all mad. At least the hippocampi had good reason to be, with the impending extinction of their kind. A siren pretending to be human, on the other hand, was something she could not understand.

“I would never respect a siren who denies her true nature. But I will give you an answer anyway, because it should be obvious to anyone with more common sense than a mermaid.” She shook her head. “Of course I didn’t. If I had gotten my hands on that pendant, I would never have put it somewhere where the mermaids would be able to retrieve it. I would have used it as leverage against the mermaids, and then I would have crushed it into a billion tiny pieces so that there was no chance of the North Atlantic princess ever being born again.”

She held Elistra’s gaze as she added, “But. The mermaids will not believe that. And if I have to fight, to defend our people against them, I won’t hesitate to. I did not come here intending to make this little human settlement a battleground, but I will do whatever is necessary if it comes to that.”

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It was strange. Elistra had been imagining this conversation in her mind for six years. She’d feared the worst, feared that they’d be right, feared that their words would stab into her and destroy her resolve, killing her sense of self until she fell back into line. She’d feared she’d crumble beneath the chilling might of siren captains, of her own kind who had always looked at her with the edge of pity like Valentina was doing now. Not enough pity for compassion or understanding, but enough to feel superior. And instead of tearing down Elistra’s determination, it only fueled it. Valentia was wrong, plain and simple. The truth was a sword in Elistra’s hand, shining bright through the fog of rain that poured down around them. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” she said calmly, more at ease with herself now than she’d been since her first sandy steps onto the beach of Port Vale. “Traitor, defector, pretender, I don’t really care. My truth is my own and I’d like to thank you sincerely for confirming that for me.” She reached up and placed the pendant back down the front of her shirt. The time for undeserved vulnerability was over. She looked at Valentina, and saw her for what she really was. A woman with a heavy and unwieldy responsibility on her shoulders to protect her people at all cost. A leader who had not been granted the privilege of worrying about her subjects’ individuality when their survival was a constant, unavoidable question. And even though she threatened Elistra’s home, Elistra could not help but feel sympathy for her. 

“I believe you, about the pendant. And I believe you will do whatever you can for your people.” Just like Elistra would do whatever it took to protect her people. A crack of lightning lit up the clouds overhead, striking the ocean with colossal force. Seconds later, the thunder sounded, cacophonous. The storm was close. “But…your choices are your own, Valentina. If you feel this war is predestined, that it’s an inevitability, then that’s all it’s ever going to be. My words might mean nothing to you because you’ve already cast me aside, but I want to remind you that you are standing on new ground here. We’ve never done anything like this before. You have many more choices than you might think, in a place like this.”

[elistra]

reef​:

Reef loved to work with the flowers. Not only caring for them to grow stronger, but also creating beautiful arrangements with them. He didn’t yet understand perfectly the events they were for, even though he had watched quite a few parties and weddings taking place in ships over the centuries to have an idea, but, when asked to do one, he could take inspiration from the coral reefs he got his name from. So far, the humans seemed to be satisfied with what he was doing and it was a good way to distract his mind from the war brewing under the sea. For him, it was a good job overall.

The problem was having to deal with the human clients. He still felt very nervous around them, and he thought that wouldn’t change no matter how much time passed. He tried to be nice towards them, though.

“Miss Elistra… Good afternoon” he said, with a friendly, but a little reserved, smile. This human wasn’t so bad, compared to others. She was very kind and Reef could appreciate that. The two of them also had very similar feelings about the flowers. “Yes… I also quite enjoy the perfumes” he agreed. A few beats passed while he thought about what to say. He chose his words carefully around humans, even when they couldn’t necessarily lead to the sea folk’s secrets. I was always good to be careful. “The flowers seem to have this effect on people. I also forget about… problems when I’m around them.” He had no idea if this was really normal, but if she brought it up first, then it must be, right? Maybe it was best not to dwell on it much. “Can I help you with anything?”

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Reef, in accordance with his name, reminded Elistra of a sea turtle, drifting along, careful with his words, guarded but gentle. She felt herself taking a breath and slowing down in his presence to match his pace and took a step closer, her hands clasped together hopefully. “Well, I was wondering if I could get your advice on something.”

She looked around at the shop again, so colorful and brimming with life. Elistra wanted to bring a bit of that to her little window overlooking the cliffs and the gray-white sea beyond it. It would be a long process, and one she’d have to be patient with, but Elistra had long ago set down roots in Port Vale, and it was time she started decorating the borders of her life here.

“I wanted something for a little window garden I have at home,” she explained. “But I live in the chapel and that’s near the cliffs. There’s usually a lot of wind up there and it’s pretty damp sometimes. I know I probably won’t be able to start planting things until next spring season, but I was wondering if you had any recommendations on especially hardy plants that are also good for beginners? I’ve never really grown anything in the dirt before, so I’m nervous I’ll just kill anything that’s not easy.”

[elistra]

mellora:

☾ ♛ ☽

Mellora could appreciate a woman who spoke like an ominous witch at any opportunity and so, despite the gravitas of her pronouncement about the suicidal bird, Mel giggled. Trash and refuse in the ocean choked even the noblest creature, and the seagull was just one of many victims, but with it’s riotous struggles and operatic shrieks refusing to abate, she suspected that it had enough spite built up in its little body to simply keep living even without air. 

“I’ll avenge you if it gets free,” she promised, earnest to the last. The ratty bird might as well have been a cornered leviathan with how hard both women were struggling with it. Had the goal been to snap its neck Mel would already be back to her leisurely stroll, but with the added pain of keeping it unharmed, the risks and challenge grew. The situation of struggle paired with care was a bit too familiar, but she had no time to compare the saving of a seagull to the taming of an oceanic political landscape because her new ally was bleeding and she grunted in annoyance and sympathy on her behalf. Valiant, though, the stranger comforted the bird, soothing it without success. 

With its beak clamped shut, Mel felt safe to remove one of her hands and fish out the dinky, pearl-handled pocket knife her ancient landlady had given her, popped the blade out, and gingerly positioned it beneath the ring of plastic around the gull’s neck. With the blunt edge against the bird, she positions her fingers on either side of the plastic to keep the pressure off its throat, and dragged it through. All at once the plastic went lax around its neck, and its shriek of surprise eked through the stranger’s fingers like a trod on terrier. “There!” she cried in victory. “Okay, on three we release it, right? One-“

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Elistra felt the relief of the break in the plastic like it had been wrapped around her own throat, and she sucked in a sharp gasp of air at the sight of the unbroken, clean line of the gull’s throat. “You did it!” she whispered, elated, and chanced a glance at the stranger, grinning. It was lucky that the woman had been carrying a pocket knife or else Elistra was sure she’d have wrestled with the bird until they both fell into the oblivion of exhaustion.

As the woman started counting Elistra joined in. “-two… Three!” Her hands flung off the bird as if she had been burned and she fell back into the sand to give the bird it’s desperately requested space. She watched in quiet awe as the bird, now free from their hands, shuddered, righted itself calmly-- as if it hadn’t been screaming in the face of demise seconds earlier-- and took off into the air.

Elistra scrambled to her feet and waved both arms in farewell. “Be safe!” she called after it. “There’s a storm coming so you should find some shelter soon!” Then, realizing that she was still with a woman she’d never met before, Elistra froze. Mechanically, her arms fell to her side and she turned to look at the woman who’d helped her save the gull.

“Oh,” she said, with sudden recognition. “You’re Mellora. From the museum. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize. Here let me help you up.” She offered her hand to Mellora, so embarrassed now by her display upon first meeting the curator that she thought she might never recover.

[elistra]

moray:

You haven’t even shown me your precious light. Moray pauses. Counters, as if on cue, “You’ve never asked!” There’s this subtle, playful indignation to the tone. He wonders how often the thought’s possessed her, as she cranes her neck to look up at the beacon. If, on her regular treks down the bluffs from the chapel, she ever cranes her neck at all. Something tightens in his chest. A thought, that sounds like: you should know that. A thought, like how a person can bring you baskets for months, and you still don’t know how they take their tea?

Honey, she says. Honey, he rehearses beneath his breath. A commitment to memory. Moray retrieves the golden jar from a cabinet. Drizzles a dollop into the mug. Meets Elistra’s searching eyes as she corners him with her words. They’ve held this routine for just around three months now ( he a staunch adherent to it, her presence clicking into the clockwork of his life. ) For the longest time, it took certain shapes: an energy that took some adjusting to. A coexistence at a good hour for tea. Now?

“I—" The kettle begins to whistle. "I,” it pitches to something awful shrill. Moray snatches it from the flame and flicks off the burner. As he fills their cups, his hand trembles slightly. “And if you can’t keep going? Then who does,” She answers the questions before he can even fully ask it. Port Vale. The place that raised him. Shaped him head to heart.

The place that took his father. The place he all but withdrew from a year ago, to watch from two-hundred feet high.

“How did you know—?” he asks. Not an affront, but imploring. How did you know Port Vale was behind you, he means. When was the moment you learned it? In what language did it tell you? Once he might’ve been fluent. Lately, he wonders if he even understands it. Whether, with how his own dialect’s changed— consensus to conspiracy— it understands him.

“You came here six years ago,” he asks softly. “When did it get to feeling like home?”

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When he turns and Elistra sees the expression on his face, hears the tone in his voice, she gets up automatically from the chair she’d just sat down in only moments before and goes to stand beside him near the stove. She’s felt like a satellite ever since entering his home, orbiting around him like the blinking robots that the humans had sent up beyond the clouds. She hadn’t realized she’d been doing it until she was standing next to him, leaning her hip up against the counter near the stove. Her arm came up, but she stopped it just short of reaching out towards his wrist to steady his trembling hand, and placed it flat on the counter instead. It was an old instinct maybe, one she’d repurposed. Her eyes trained to pick out the slightest movement, the very hint of weakness. But she’d never had the talent to go in for the kill.

There’s a sharp stab of sympathy like a shattering ice shard in her chest, but she tries not to let it show on her face. Moray probably wouldn’t want pity. If he did, he wouldn’t have stashed himself away like this since…  I should bring cards next time, she was thinking, expression thoughtful and a little far away. Or maybe the old chess set that Cecil keeps under the television cabinet.

It takes her a few fractions of a moment to realize he’d asked her something. That she’d been so focused on fixing that she hadn’t been listening. Getting too ahead of herself again. She blinks, and finally looks away, embarrassed, takes a half step back to give him space. She smiles softly. She could lie, she could make something up, but Clara had told her numerous times she had a horrible ‘poker face’. And the expression she’d seen on Moray’s face had looked like an open wound he hadn’t wanted anyone to see; that deserved more than a glib remark. Elista could be honest without telling him everything.

“It was a year in,” she said finally, still looking away. “Before that, I thought I’d leave eventually, I didn’t even know where. Every morning I woke up thinking I’d take the small bag I had and disappear that night without saying goodbye.” She laughed, remembering those days and feeling foolish. “But every night Clara or Cecil would cook dinner and keep encouraging me to eat and I’d just be so tired after. I’d never slept like that before.” She didn’t mention that she’d also never slept in a bed before Port Vale either. The laughter was gone but she was still smiling and Elistra felt brave enough to look back at Moray again.

“I’d never been treated with that much kindness in my life. It took me a while to realize, but I don’t think I ever really had a home before I came here.” She hadn’t really been alive since she’d come to Port Vale. Her life as a siren was like a shadow in comparison, stalking her relentlessly with it’s memory.

[elistra]

isidore:

    xx

     Her outburst didn’t solicit a response from Isidore, he stood like a statue even after she turned away from him. This was usual for him; a pinnacle of unbothered silence. But Elistra made too many valid points for him to entirely uphold to his reputation. It’s not like he hadn’t known Assyria would eventually fall into disaster- that was why he had left. That disaster following him to this town, their home… it was an unexpected twist. Isi wanted so badly to hide from it, but the siren in front of him was a reminder that he couldn’t. They couldn’t. 

    “Yes,” Isidore answered her firmly, and it was true. If he could hide forever; never thinking of Port Vale, never having the merfolk come ashore, he would. But it was already happening, and it’s hard to hide when there is nowhere left to try to do so. He could leave… and once, Isi had considered it, but he was settled now. There was nowhere to leave to, and so Elistra was right. “But it’s hard to hide when it’s literally inside your door.” An eyebrow quirked up, insinuating that in this moment, she, too, was part of the problems that knocked his skull, bringing the headaches on. Her and her logic and reasoning; absolutely annoying. 

    Relaxing finally, Isidore sat down on the little couch, gesturing his head for her to do the same, or to choose one of the overstuffed chairs that designated the waiting area in the lobby. “I do not know what to do,” Isi told her honestly, resting his elbows on his knees, hunched forward slightly. “The gem is safe with Mellora, for now… but the sirens, it could start a war. Here. On land. How do you suggest we stop that, or fix the lighthouse?” It was frustration now, clouding his tone. Feeling helpless was not a common emotion for the 700+ year old hippocampi. 

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At Isidore’s resolute affirmation of cowardice, Elistra felt herself bristling, ready to launch into another tirade. But her inhale of breath was quickly exhaled as Dorey conceded slightly and sat down on the couch in the waiting area. Her shoulders deflated, and her eyes widened, surprised that he’d given in so quickly. Elistra had thought she’d have to spend much more energy and time convincing him of the truth.     

She dropped down next to him on the couch, facing him, with her legs folded up beneath herself. Gently, she put a hand on his shoulder to remind him of her presence, to remind him that he wasn’t alone, that she cared, that many people in Port Vale cared. “I don’t have all the answers, Dorey,” she said softly, patting his shoulder a few times. “But we can figure it out together. If…” 

Her hand fluttered away as quickly as it had landed, like an unsure bird on an electrical wire. Now she cradled it in her own lap and looked down at it, remembering the webbing that used to stitch itself between her fingers. “You’re going to call me naïve for what I’m going to suggest and if you do I will punch you.” Now her tone was resolute once more, but defensive as well. 

“What if we could change their minds? Neither sirens or mermaids have ever been on land like this before. This is unprecedented, which means it’s also a chance.” She was speaking quickly so he didn’t have time to interrupt her with reasons why her idea was foolish and impossible. “They’re going to start seeing things in a new light, just like I did when I came here. They’re going to have experiences they could have never had in Assyria. Their status means nothing here. It equalizes them. So if we could just encourage that…” She looked up at Isidore again, hopeful.

[elistra]

kyree:

Kyree had not thought of it like that before. That, to take on some holy aspect, you had to lose a part of yourself, she resented the idea almost. “I wonder if she felt more herself than ever.” She thought aloud. “There’s this idea I’ve discussed with other trans people in my religion.” Pausing, she clasped her hands together. “That to transition is the holiest thing you can do, to partner with God in the act of creation. To become your true self is to become godly.” She unclasped her hands, spreading them wide in a rueful gesture. “Maybe she knew that to become her truest self, she needed to partner with the divine.”

Smiling softly, she placed her hand on top of Elistra’s, guiding her to sit across from her. “Followers of Mazu might accuse you of heresy for questioning their god, as would many other religions.” Kyree shrugged. “But there are lots of religions where questioning God is an important practice.”

“There’s this story I heard growing up, where four Rabbi’s were having an argument over whether or not a new type of oven was ritually impure according to the halakha, which is the official set of Jewish religious laws.” She laughed. “Sounds boring I know, but there’s a point to all this.” She continued. “Rabbi Eli believed the oven was pure, while the other three did not. After much arguing, Rabbi Eli called out, ‘If the halakha is in accordance with my opinion, this carob tree will prove it!’ And the carob tree got up by its roots and walked away, but the three Rabbi’s said the carob tree offered no evidence in a debate over law. So Rabbi Eli said, ‘ If the halakha is in accordance with my opinion, the stream will prove it!” And the stream began to flow backwards, but the three Rabbi’s cited the same reason as before. Finally Rabbi Eli said, ‘If the halakha is in accordance with my opinion, God themself will prove it!’ And God themself cried down from the heavens. But the three Rabbi’s said ‘So what, this argument is now two against three, we still have the majority.’“ Kyree laughed as she remembered her father telling her the story when she was small. “Questioning God is an essential part of my religion.“

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Transition was a concept that had haunted Elistra ever since she’d stepped foot on land and vowed to never return to the life she’d led. With one choice, her life had reshaped itself until it was nearly unrecognizable from the one she’d been born into. In many ways, she was much happier here, and a more fulfilled person. It was why she cared so much for the people here who had accepted her. Kyree’s words should have felt soothing, and yet… 

Something about them tasted bitter on her tongue. Elistra knew that their lived experiences were vastly different, and that Kyree couldn’t possibly know the context in which Elistra spoke, where in her transition had carried an inherent sense of sacrifice to it. A sacrifice she had taken on willingly and without much remorse. But the immediate dismissal of her thoughts and feelings still stung, though she smiled on despite now feeling strangely lonely with a person she considered a friend. 

She let Kyree guide her to a table and sat gratefully, feeling out of depth and slightly overwhelmed. They were hopping so quickly from one religion to another, from one legend to the next. Still, she listened intently, like she had before. Some of the words she didn’t understand, but that was nearly an inevitability when talking to Kyree, so she tried to memorize the words she didn’t know to look up later. She nodded along, even when a strange, anxious feeling started to manifest in her gut. “It must have been nice to have such an attentive god,” she said finally. This was probably not the message Kyree wanted for her to take from her story. It seemed Elistra was very good at badly interpreting stories that Kyree told. 

There was a pause, where she leaned back in her chair and her expression became clouded with apprehension and confusion on how to proceed. Kyree was very knowledgeable in many subjects, and especially this one, but Elistra couldn’t find the words to make her own thoughts make sense in a way that wouldn’t immediately give away her alien nature. “I understand questioning gods,” she said slowly, looking up at Kyree. “If, hypothetically, I worshipped a god though-” She stopped again, her hands flailing just a little. Elistra reached for one of the fidget toys on the table, her hand hovering just over it. “Do you mind if I-?” 

Then she shook her head and clasped her hands together. “Let’s say I’m reading a book.” There it was. That was a good, plausible lie. “And a character within that book worshipped a goddess, but it was a very distant one. And she was even more distant to this character, because this character was born to a group of people that the worshippers of that goddess claimed she hated. They said her species was created from poison. And the goddess never answered any of this character’s prayers that demanded answers, like your God did with the Rabbis. The character keeps telling herself that those worshippers are wrong, and only using the goddess for their own agenda. That there’s a better truth behind the goddess, but she doesn’t have much proof, only faith. Do you think that character is just delusional, or does that go beyond doubt? Do you think it’s foolish of her to devote herself to the goddess at all?”

[elistra]

Location: Castle of the Isle  When: Sometime during Plot Drop 001 Status: @luciafrost​

Mist and condensation clung to the insides of Elistra’s lungs as she climbed the steep hills towards the ruined castle of the isle. For decades upon decades the skeletal frame had remained, outliving those that had built it and watching as the humans flocked towards more residential homes as mother nature reclaimed it for its own. It reminded Elistra of a whale’s carcass at the ocean floor, the rib cage and spine providing shelter for the small schools of fish and bottom feeders. Reams and ribbons of life sprouting forth from the inevitable death all things great and miniscule faced. Moss and vines crawled up the weathered stone walls, seeping beneath the cracks, making their home there. 

Elistra tugged her raincoat tighter against her small frame as the wind howled and pulled at her hair. She didn’t really know why her legs had carried her here, only that there had been an itch in the back of her mind to check on this place as she’d gone through her list of tasks to fulfill before the storm hit land. She climbed the crumbling steps and ducked under a low hanging archway dripping with cobwebs. The spiders would surely retreat soon until next summer. 

As she walked her booted food hit an empty, crumpled beer can and sent it skittering towards a pile of rubble. The place was in need of a good clean-up, but she doubted that would be anywhere on the list of priorities for Mayor Blackmore. Elistra followed the path of the can towards a corner of the ruins, bending down to pick it up and carry it back with her to town to feed to a recycling bin. But then a strip of black material caught her eye, hidden beneath rubble and fallen leaves. Instead of reaching for the can, she crouched down low and swept away the leaves and moved the broken stone aside to reveal what looked to be a relatively new looking gym bag.  

Hesitating for only a moment, fearing only that she’d find stashed away beer or drugs that some local teens had hidden up here instead of in their parents’ homes, she went to unzip the bag. As the bag sprang open though, it was not bottles of cheap vodka that she found waiting inside, but sharpened steel. Weapons big and small lay inside, immaculately kept and unaffected by Elistra’s shock and surprise upon seeing them.  “Oh, I don’t understand teens at all,” she said to herself, reaching inside to take out a small, sharp object that looked like a four-pointed star. “What were they even planning to do with all this?”

[elistra]

Joan of Arc (1865), John Everett Millais / Genesis 30:3, The Mountain Goats

[elistra]

valentina​:

—

Storm clouds made all of Port Vale dark, and the water turned dark and angry with it, crashing into the docks so hard Val wondered if the wood might collapse in on itself. She stood, rain pressing her hair to her face, watching the sky as if she expected to see something. Some sign, perhaps, that this was no natural event but part of the disaster that had been wreaking havoc on her realm. But to her, it just looked like a storm. A particularly bad one, perhaps, but a storm like any other.

A shout made her turn her head. The rain was falling so heavily already that she had to wipe raindrops from her eyes to get a look at the person calling her. No one she recognized. Not a princess nor a fellow siren captain - and yet, she addressed her as a captain. Her brows furrowed, expression immediately suspicious. A hand went to her jacket pocket, where she kept her switchblade. She didn’t pull it out just yet, of course, but she wanted to be ready. Among mermaids and sirens alike, Val had very few friends.

“Nothing scares me,” Val replied evenly. She searched Elistra’s expression in search of some sort of intention, but soon decided that it was easier to simply ask. “Who the fuck are you. What do you want.”

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The moment Valentina spoke was like a riptide, grabbing her like shackles and threatening to drag her under towards subservience, towards respect. She wanted to bow her head in reverence. Sirens had always been democratic in choosing their leaders, but you would be a fool to not feel the rallied spirit among them that backed each captain, a desperate push for survival under any flag that would reliably provide it. The siren captains carried the fragile hopes and dreams of their species, and they guarded them fiercely. Elistra looked on at Captain Valentina and couldn’t help but wonder what weight had been placed on her shoulders. 

Instead of speaking her answer, she tugged at a chain around her neck and pulled up a red, polished sandstone pendant. Her gaze never left Valentina’s. “I am no one important enough for you to have remembered, though I remember you. I was born in the Caribbean Sea, but it is not my home.” Elistra left the necklace out above her soaked-through shirt, and it collected raindrops like a slick mirror on her chest. Valentina could have struck true at any moment and robbed her of her tail, of her fins, of her gills, and kept Elistra a prisoner in this human body. It was a moment of vulnerability that she hoped the captain would take note of. 

“My home is here, in this town.” The rain poured down around them, the wind picking up in a quiet howl. No one would hear them out here, so close to the storm. “Like you carved out a space for yourself and your people in the Mediterranean, I carved out a space for myself here. So, I hope you respect me enough to answer me truthfully when I ask you if you were the one who put the mermaid’s gem on the statue. Do you intend to make my town a place to continue your war, Captain?”

[elistra]

lazarus:

the air wasn’t moving quite right, for an oncoming storm. or it was, but in that it was too accurate, too perfect, smooth and fast, the thick ocean mist dancing through laz’s wide open windows, the curls of fog declaring and shouting and clamouring and worrying. out of it came three sharp knocks, bright against wood, like the storm itself was knocking -

he’s really got to stop getting surprised by these humans. by the air and the attitude of this town, lulling him only to surprise him again.

pushing away from the windowsill, laz quickly ran his hand through his fog-damp hair, double-checking he had his human features on in place, before opening the door as elistra finished.

‘ supplies? oh, the storm supplies, yes. - . no, as in yes i would like some no i don’t have any? i don’t tend to - prepare for storms like this. actually can’t remember the last time i was in a storm. ‘ his smile twists, wry for a moment before righting itself. he’s a human talking to a human, absolutely. he cannot be letting things slip.

₪₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ>

The quick gush of pressure releasing itself blew back Elistra’s hair as she blinked, surprised, when Lazarus opened the door. She recognized the man by the stories he liked to tell, little snippets and tales of mermaids that he knew nothing about in the lobby of the inn, attracting anyone who would listen. Elistra found his stories only slightly amusing, and his demeanor less so. But she would not discriminate amongst those who needed her help. 

“Well, lucky for you that I’ve been in quite a few,” she replied, not looking at him, but glaring at the open window in his room that was seeping in mist and fog like an open wound. She shouldered past him into his room, and quickly shut the window and latched it securely. 

“Rule number one, which I thought would have been obvious, don’t open windows right before or during a storm.” Elistra spun around on her heel and marched back up to him, handing him a small kit. She calmed her voice, because some people panicked at any sign of fear in an authority figure, so she was trying her best to be soothing. 

“It won’t be so bad. Port Vale has faced many storms before. We’re just taking every precaution to make sure everyone is safe. Do you need a list of emergency numbers, mister Lazarus?” 

[elistra]

steph:

｡･:*:･ﾟ⎈ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Maybe if Steph would have been less focused on her own research and the pendant, maybe she would have caught the fear in Elistra’s eyes for a moment as she looked down at her hands, but even though Steph was talking with Elistra, she was paying attention and not missing anything the other woman was saying, she was also partway somewhere else.

She let out a sigh instead. “I’m painfully aware of that.” She technically had another source, but especially after the fight she had with Renzie, she was even more reluctant to share her own memory with others. “But I figured if I find the first source, it will be easier to find more. See what’s in the journal and use it as a jumping point to find more information.”

She flipped a couple of pages over in a diary to her left before she saw the fork offered up to her and she reached for it on autopilot - Elistra knew exactly what to do to get Steph to eat. If she would have kept insisting, Steph would have kept on insisting that she didn’t need it, but the silent offer she didn’t refuse and she popped a piece of sweetpotatoe into her mouth and finally leaned back a bit, shifting her focus more onto Elistra.

“It was a sailor, I remember that much,” she said after swallowing the food and she automatically took another bite. “But I can’t remember the specific name, that would make my life right now so much easier. I remember it talked about different kind of treasures they found and saw over the years - and not necessarily just jewlery, there was a portion right before the pendant where it was talking about a bunch of sea creatures that amazed them or the people they met, so it was among all of these different descriptions, and if only I could find it…”

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The elation Elistra felt upon seeing Steph take the fork and eat some of the meal could have rivaled that of a siren captain winning her first battle. She smiled, satisfied, and let Steph keep the fork in her hand, to use as a pointer or to stab at any of the rest of the meal Elistra had provided however she saw fit. It was only important that it was in her hand now, and that she did not notice consciously that she was eating until her plate was clean. If Elistra could keep her talking for long enough, surely she wouldn’t land upon more of the truth. 

Elistra was listening to her describe a journal of a sailor who had probably hallucinated the image of mermaids or sirens, like so many had before. She was ready to tune the story out as human nonsense. They so often went mad on the sea and yet kept coming back to it, gluttons for punishment amongst the unforgiving waves. It was why she admired them really, their determination. And she was only musing this, nodding along to Steph’s words, when something she said lit up like an ember catching dry, starving wood in her mind. 

“A bunch of sea creatures?” She asked, softly. “Like, normal ones? The ones we know of now or like-” Her hands flapped around her own head for a moment, imagining the fins that used to sprout on the side of her face, imagining the gills slit into the sides of her throat. Her lungs felt so much emptier now that she was on land. “Different creatures from mermaids? I know that’s not really what you’re focused on, but that sounds really interesting. Did they-” She paused again. 

Elistra knew she was being too hopeful, but Steph always seemed to draw that part out of her with her own passion. It was why she’d been so drawn to Steph when she’d first come to Port Vale, even knowing that her curiosity could someday be her downfall. Some small piece of her was hoping that this human could find a truth that Elistra couldn’t, that all the mermaids and sirens couldn’t. “Did they talk to them? Did they communicate, I mean? Or did they just observe?” If there was real proof out there that mermaids and sirens didn’t turn to seafoam upon revealing what they were… Elistra could tell Steph everything.

[elistra]

renzie​:

®

In truth, Renzie had been hoping for a good catty volley between the two of them, some (maybe kind of fun?) frenemy-venting banter.  Considering Elistra and him shared common interests - love of the town, and a dedication to Steph - but also she’d been waging a low-key battle with him that came in waves over the years, after the whole Clara deal.  If she thought he couldn’t feel it, and that it didn’t wear away at him like surf relentlessly crashing against rocks; despite his attempts to kill it with kindness, or let it slide like water off a duck’s back, then…well. She must have known he felt it.  After all these years.  

Then again, maybe part of her simmering animosity included that she considered him willfully clueless dolt.  Entirely possible, what did he know.

But it seemed Elistra was in no mood for snarking, either.  Instead she stopped short, and Renzie took in a breath before turning to face her again.  He didn’t want to meet her gaze; it felt the same way he’d look at the sole of his shoe, after stepping in sidewalk doggie mess.  His attempt at ‘humourous snerky rapport’ fell pathetically short, it seemed. Whatever crime he’d committed, all those years back, still seemed to weigh heavy and cold in Elistra’s mind.  

“Okay, well I consider you super-awesome at what you do for this town, and you really can’t stop me from thinking that, Elistra,”  Renzie said, all-serious now. “Your ‘trying your best’ is my 'super-awesome’. So. Yeah.” So, he supposed his standards - like so many things about him - fell short of her high ones.

He looked at the beverage meant for Father Cecil, but it seemed Elistra’s anger at Renzie was more important that getting the drink back to the priest still-warm.  (Then again, maybe the sweet old man liked his drink medium-hot?  Also, microwaves, duh.)

Renzie waved a hand, then started walking in the opposite direction, away from the chapel and back towards the Cafe.  “Look - yeah, of course I still want your help.  After you get Father Cecil squared away, just come back whenever.  I’ll be in the kitchen, the side-door’s open.  Whenever, no rush dude.”

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The fragile cardboard coffee cups nearly crumpled in Elistra’s hands when Renzie finally stopped walking but, while turning to face her, couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. A noxious, undefinable, and heavy weight started to bubble in her stomach, but it was accompanied with a familiar frustration that she easily latched onto instead. His words seemed vulnerable in the moment, even kind, enough to make her hesitate for a fraction of a second and consider if he had not originally been sarcastic at all and she had misjudged his intent. Elistra dismissed that thought quickly though; that was what he wanted her to think. And now he was trying to use his charms on her. Well, he would see how well that worked. She watched him skulk back to his café, still standing exactly where she had been when he’d first approached her. 

“Two hours!” She called, trying not to put any of her agitation into her voice. He was still practically Steph’s brother after all. “I’ll come by the back door to the kitchen!” And then she turned and walked calmly-- she did not stomp-- towards the long road to the chapel. 

                                              ( --- 1 hour and 50 minutes later --- )

In the hour and a half Elistra had spent at Beacon Chapel, she had hoped she’d banished all thoughts of Renzie’s previous words from her mind. The bubbling toxicity in her stomach had died down to a simmer, though it still made her feel slightly queasy and sick. Talking with Cecil had helped, even if he had suggested she, of all people, apologize, which she was not going to do. Renzie had started it and if he was too insecure to finish it, then that was his own failing. 

Three sharp, sure wraps of her knuckles on the back door to the café, and then she took a step back to wait for a response. She had a satchel on her shoulder that contained the apron Clara had gotten her three birthdays ago, and anything else she might need to cook in a foreign kitchen. Her hair was tied back tightly in a bun and out of her face. Elistra was here for one thing: to help however she could. And maybe Renzie found that, ‘super awesome’ or maybe he didn’t, but the reality of their situation would remain unchanged. 

She took a deep breath. It would do the people of Port Vale no good for her to vent her frustrations on Renzie, it would in fact only hinder them. When he opened the door, she resolved herself to put aside any apprehension and lingering annoyance she might feel, to work together to help the people who needed them. That was what was important, not her own petty emotions. Her expression calmed, and she steeled her will against any sarcastic comments like a warrior readying a shield.

[elistra]

isidore​:

   xx

    The only response that Isidore could offer to her promise to replace the bell was a sigh; he didn’t really mind if she did or didn’t, they were like five bucks at the thrift store. Or Amazon, but he didn’t really like to order online. Material things never mattered too much to him anyway, and no sooner had the broken bell dilemma happened, did it seem to pass. 

   “Oh, here we go…” Isidore groaned, his voice quiet, but just loud enough to be heard. He could feel the headache setting in already; and it didn’t come as a surprise. Honestly, he was shocked she had been the first to bust his door down, tongue wagging about the town drama. But as much as Isidore was prepared to fend off her concern and her call to “fight the power” - or whatever - it was her comment of the humans that gave him pause. 

  She was entirely right, and Isi hated it. Port Vale was caught up in this crossfire between siren and mermaid (and whatever else was lurking in the depths) and his opinion was that neither of the assumed parties were responsible. The war that would come of it? Inevitable. He’d seen it brewing for 15 years and Isi had a sinking sensation this was only one of many catalysts. “Yeah, I know, El.” It was a somber tone that met his voice now, stripped of the annoyance. Leave it to Isidore to find his concern for the humans over anyone from Assyria. 

   “It’s not our fight. El, you know that, we didn’t - we do not…” As much as he wanted to believe that he, and even her in a way, were separate from Assyria… it ran in their veins, was imprinted on their bones. “I am not going to do anything. They will duke it out for themselves.”

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Elistra’s fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically at her sides in time to her quickening heartbeat. Frustration and annoyance grew inside her like a beanstalk in her stomach, leaves unfurling as they climbed up her throat and out of her mouth. “Not our fight?” she said, incredulous. She wanted to take Isidore by his shoulders and shake him until he saw the implications of his words. 

“You know I don’t want anything to do with Assyria as much as you don’t, but this is our home. This is your home! And you’re telling me that you’re fine with sitting by and watching it be turned into a battlefield?” She flung up her arms in frustration and turned away from him, eyes searching the tattoo parlor. He’d built all of this with the people in town, the fingerprints of his time here on every surface. The place breathed with life and now he wanted to hide away and ignore all signs of oncoming danger? She couldn't believe that. But Isidore had always been nearly as stubborn as she was and Elistra had yet to find a way to coax him from his tendency to avoid trouble rather than face it head on. 

She spun around to face him again, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed over her chest. Part of her did feel sorry for him, at the betrayal he’d suffered and the loss. But another, larger part of her needed him to stand up and help her, because he was the only person in Port Vale who knew as much of the truth as she did. “How long are you going to let old wounds drag you down, Isidore? Do you really want to keep hiding for the rest of your life?”