“I did,” Siri agrees. “I was doing my job,” she tries to clarify, because she’s seen the look on the priestess's face before, remembers her own aunt making that face as she considered husbands for her daughters, for Siri, for the other children in her generation--the hazards of being related to the matchmaker. “I would do it for anybody.”
“Good,” the priestess responds. “The world needs more women like you, more doctors, more women with real training.” She extricates herself from Lucinda’s arms, strides over to Siri. She holds out one hand, and Siri carefully takes it. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Siri. Lucinda knows me as Owl-Eagle, and that’s a good enough name.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Owl-Eagle.”
Owl-Eagle laughs.
“Has she taught you about the birds yet?”
“No, ma’am. She’s told me a few things, but she’s never explained in depth.”
“You not trust her?” Owl-Eagle asks Lucinda, who stands with her hands on her hips. Owl-Eagle hasn’t let go of Siri’s hand, and Siri drinks the contact in. Owl-Eagle’s hands are warm, dry, broad, the sort of hands her father had. Making hands, her grandmother would have called them.
“There hasn’t been time,” Lucinda replies. “In between the surviving being shot in the head and the bear trap and the babysitter they assigned me, and now with this job, I haven’t had time.”
“All you have right now is time, girl,” Owl-Eagle responds. “You take your girl home and you tell her about the birds.”
“She’s not my girl,” Lucinda replies. Scowls.
“We’re not--together,” Siri adds. She pulls her hands away, holds them up at her shoulders like she’s surrendering. “We’re friends but we’re not--”
“Not involved,” Lucinda agrees. “Just friends.”
“Just friends, hm?” Owl-Eagle asks. “‘Just friends’ like Old Raven and your mother, or ‘just friends’ like our dear old Vultures were?”
“Like my mother and Old Raven,” Lucinda replies, scowls.
Owl-Eagle laughs.
“If you say so, Raven. Why don’t you go see to your…” she trails off, scrunches her face up. “Team,” she finally says, nods, “And I’ll talk with Siri here for a bit.”
“Of course.” Lucinda nods. “There are a few of them you’d like to meet, I think. Dredge is an Eagle, no questions. Birdy’s another Raven. And we have a fifteen year old, goes by Photo because she found a camera and some film and likes to take pictures of us, she’s a Pigeon.”
“A Pigeon.” Owl-Eagle nods approvingly. “Not so many of those, especially not now.” Owl-Eagle steps back, away from Siri, away from the door. “And what is Siri?” she asks, looking between Lucinda and Siri.
Lucinda considers, for a moment, glances at Siri before looking everywhere else.
“Owl,” she finally says. “She doesn’t know the sky and the ground and the way people are, not the way Runner does, but she does know how to fix a person, knows how all the parts fit together to make a whole person. Knows how to read people, too.” Lucinda pauses again, presses her lips tight. “A quiet Mockingbird, maybe. Not a loud one.”
“I'll keep that in mind. Now shoo. We have things to discuss without a Raven around to listen in on us.”
Lucinda grins, laughs, throws herself into Owl-Eagles arms again. She says something--and Siri hears bastard Spanish, bastard English, bastard Chinese, blended together, hears no words she can quite decipher--and Owl-Eagle says something back in the same language.
“Now go,” Owl-Eagle tells her, pushes her toward the door. “And I expect to meet your bird very soon, Raven. You bring her around and let me tell her embarrassing stories about you.”
“I will,” Lucinda agrees. “She’s just right outside.”
“No, no, you go settle into your house. I’ll meet her tomorrow.” Owl-Eagle waves at the door again, and Lucinda looks back at her, grins as she moves the sheet of metal back over the door.
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (41c/?)
“I did,” Siri agrees. “I was doing my job,” she tries to clarify, because she’s seen the look on the priestess's face before, remembers her own aunt making that face as she considered husbands for her daughters, for Siri, for the other children in her generation--the hazards of being related to the matchmaker. “I would do it for anybody.”
“Good,” the priestess responds. “The world needs more women like you, more doctors, more women with real training.” She extricates herself from Lucinda’s arms, strides over to Siri. She holds out one hand, and Siri carefully takes it. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Siri. Lucinda knows me as Owl-Eagle, and that’s a good enough name.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Owl-Eagle.”
Owl-Eagle laughs.
“Has she taught you about the birds yet?”
“No, ma’am. She’s told me a few things, but she’s never explained in depth.”
“You not trust her?” Owl-Eagle asks Lucinda, who stands with her hands on her hips. Owl-Eagle hasn’t let go of Siri’s hand, and Siri drinks the contact in. Owl-Eagle’s hands are warm, dry, broad, the sort of hands her father had. Making hands, her grandmother would have called them.
“There hasn’t been time,” Lucinda replies. “In between the surviving being shot in the head and the bear trap and the babysitter they assigned me, and now with this job, I haven’t had time.”
“All you have right now is time, girl,” Owl-Eagle responds. “You take your girl home and you tell her about the birds.”
“She’s not my girl,” Lucinda replies. Scowls.
“We’re not--together,” Siri adds. She pulls her hands away, holds them up at her shoulders like she’s surrendering. “We’re friends but we’re not--”
“Not involved,” Lucinda agrees. “Just friends.”
“Just friends, hm?” Owl-Eagle asks. “‘Just friends’ like Old Raven and your mother, or ‘just friends’ like our dear old Vultures were?”
“Like my mother and Old Raven,” Lucinda replies, scowls.
Owl-Eagle laughs.
“If you say so, Raven. Why don’t you go see to your…” she trails off, scrunches her face up. “Team,” she finally says, nods, “And I’ll talk with Siri here for a bit.”
“Of course.” Lucinda nods. “There are a few of them you’d like to meet, I think. Dredge is an Eagle, no questions. Birdy’s another Raven. And we have a fifteen year old, goes by Photo because she found a camera and some film and likes to take pictures of us, she’s a Pigeon.”
“A Pigeon.” Owl-Eagle nods approvingly. “Not so many of those, especially not now.” Owl-Eagle steps back, away from Siri, away from the door. “And what is Siri?” she asks, looking between Lucinda and Siri.
Lucinda considers, for a moment, glances at Siri before looking everywhere else.
“Owl,” she finally says. “She doesn’t know the sky and the ground and the way people are, not the way Runner does, but she does know how to fix a person, knows how all the parts fit together to make a whole person. Knows how to read people, too.” Lucinda pauses again, presses her lips tight. “A quiet Mockingbird, maybe. Not a loud one.”
“I'll keep that in mind. Now shoo. We have things to discuss without a Raven around to listen in on us.”
Lucinda grins, laughs, throws herself into Owl-Eagles arms again. She says something--and Siri hears bastard Spanish, bastard English, bastard Chinese, blended together, hears no words she can quite decipher--and Owl-Eagle says something back in the same language.
“Now go,” Owl-Eagle tells her, pushes her toward the door. “And I expect to meet your bird very soon, Raven. You bring her around and let me tell her embarrassing stories about you.”
“I will,” Lucinda agrees. “She’s just right outside.”
“No, no, you go settle into your house. I’ll meet her tomorrow.” Owl-Eagle waves at the door again, and Lucinda looks back at her, grins as she moves the sheet of metal back over the door.