Black Dove Tavern
It was this body, so much could be blamed on this fucking body. They could appreciate what women went through, how certain things were more difficult, how men treated you differently, the need to take that bloody tea so that you wouldn’t get pregnant and of course, the fucking fact that their body was still trying to get pregnant, preventatives be damned. Somehow, they had forgotten that that would be a thing. When they had taken over Cordelia’s body, she’d still been going through the after-effects of miscarriage so joy of joys, Shae had gotten all of that to add to the general mess of being alive again, having a body and trying to remember how to work it. Oh and the fact that they were a murderer now too, that had also been a wonderful additional burden.
Not that they were ungrateful to be alive again but the cost…
But they hadn’t had a woman’s body before and it came with its pains and its inconveniences. As it turned out, it came with a lot of pains. When menstruation had first hit, the initial spotting had been off-putting and disgusting to them, but they hadn’t expected it to only be the beginning. They hadn’t expected that they would awake to such agony, some wild part of their newly awakened mind fully convinced that Kit had tried to murder them. They’d definitely thought that they were dying that first time, all over again, a less logical cause of death than being run over on the road in the midst of riots.
This time, they’d been better prepared, but it didn’t stop them from being… snappy. Honestly, they could appreciate why some women they’d known had been ready to commit murders over petty things. The former man understood it from a very logical perspective that things hurt and were gross, that it would pass and that Kit making a particular joke about something innocent really, really shouldn’t bother them. However, it didn’t stop the erstwhile wick from vacillating between wanting to cry and wanting to break something as they dealt with their disgust and frustration and the unfairness of it all. Why should they have to go through this every few weeks? Why should any woman have to go through this?
So they'd bitten Kit's head off rather viciously. Things had been rocky over the last few days anyway, ever since he'd caught them burning their fingertips on the hot stove. And he had reacted in a rather hyper manner, strangely terrified for them, even as they tried to brush it off, to explain it away logically. His worry, so strangely out of proportion, so needless had made them scream all sorts of abuse at him for no good reason at all. They'd sobbed in his arms later that night, curled against his chest as they murmured damp apologies but things had been understandably tense. An additional snap today might have been the final straw, or perhaps it was just that the man finally got the message because he'd decided to leave them alone.
Wanting to be left alone at a time like this wasn’t all that strange really, even if it was the tail end of things and they should be more stable. Damn stability! Could they not go off to a bar and mope over a guitar if they wanted to? They weren’t some delicate little fucking flower and they wanted to have some independence, wanted to be capable of doing something for themself. Didn't want to be this soft creature that they'd entered into.
The youth wanted to feel as if they were doing something and working on their own guitar as they tried to whip this body into something they could control.
The guitar was one that they’d gotten very cheap indeed through a mix of begging and bartering, as well as the fact that one or more of the strings seemed liable to snap in a discordant twang at any moment. It wasn’t as if the raen intended to put it to very hard use, having to teach themself anew how to pick out the chords and the right notes as well as how to muster the necessary coordination. Any strumming they did would be light and had been such before, especially as their fingers were without callouses then. They had the beginnings of them now, scar tissue hardening on their fingertips from where they'd purposely scorched the skin but things were still tender, a sensitive ache within the thickened flesh. Pressing down into the strings would have an advantage there, ensuring that the skin really did toughen rather than growing soft again. They were sick of being soft.
So they sat in a corner of the Black Dove, a glass of cheap ale on the table, untouched as they worked away diligently, placing left fingers on the appropriate strings for each chord and pressing down firmly, brow furrowed in concentration. They looked out of place here, even if they had become a common sight. For those who entered, they wouldn't see a wick and they certainly wouldn't see what Shae remembered, a fading, dream-like image that grew more difficult to hold onto with each passing day, especially in this body.
To onlookers, they were galdor: small, lean, soft, delicate. Some might have pegged their looks as Bastian specifically, some might not; more than likely, they saw someone who had been born to privilege, not as healthy now but still clearly well looked after at some point. The hair was chopped haphazardly short, having grown out a bit since they'd arrived in the Harbor and been sliced back into submission. It didn't detract from the femininity in their features though, the softer curves of their jaw and the roundness of their cheeks complemented by the more typically masculine cut. And they were an interesting mix of traits, a hard set to their jaw as they focused, eyes lined with black, braces taut over slim shoulders and highlighting the curve of their chest. An attractive woman to all who saw them and yet internally, they struggled with whether they were man or woman anymore, ultimately wondering if it really mattered.
Shae was largely oblivious to the looks of interest they got, the sniggered comments, the suggestive remarks that were loud enough for them to hear if they'd paid attention. Honestly, they'd heard such talk for much of their life, they just hadn't gotten used to the fact that it was actually about them; it didn't really register with them, something to tune out while they let their right hand strum softly, releasing a mix of correct and choked chords as they hummed softly to themself, unconsciously following a tune of a wick song from their youth.
"Sweet Lady, why can't you just- Press there would you, finger? Come on, I know you're little but you have strength! Circle fucking help me, how did Cordelia ever do anything?" they muttered to themself, trying to make their little finger sit cleanly on the string without inadvertently leaning into any others and then it was a matter of applying enough pressure, the finger feeling weak, wobbly, almost boneless.
"Is it even that finger, Shae? You really should ask Kit." If you can manage not to get distracted, they added, sighing softly, the sound full of melancholy. They weren't paying much attention to their surroundings, clearly plagued by their own thoughts and worries, their own preoccupations. Anyone who approached them wouldn't be noticed until they were upon them.