third day

[aimedforthemoon]

The third day is spent much as the second: in forge.
Nine days," he says. "Nine days you will spend with me, one for each of the nine years my wife and I were together.
She's making a bird, adapted from the model planes Esfir knows so well. The radio part is easy; making it look like a swan is not. Still, she's talented, and has been throwing herself into it, and things are coming together.
You cannot escape
The swan is for not her, not for him, but for the lovely, silent woman Weyland keeps around.
and you cannot ask me to let you go.
(only half of it is because he asked to be surprised)
You will not return to the bar during those nine days
But after so many hours, her heart isn't in it anymore. She looks up, rubs the back of her neck (ignoring the oil and grime on her hands)

(nine days)
and suddenly stares at him, eyes narrowed.

Comments

[mechanicalswans]

"So did I, once," he says. "I've not yet been able to carry it out, but sometimes things take time."

He flicks some ashes at the ground. "You are not happy here."

[aimedforthemoon]

"I do not mind retreats.

It is cages I object to."

[mechanicalswans]

"You are not caged here," he says with a light shrug, "merely... protected, I suppose? There are things out there, and out in the city, that would attack and devour you. Your existence here is unnatural, and that will attract attention. Nine days is not enough time to learn all the ways to defeat them... though I am sure you could learn."

[aimedforthemoon]

"And I would be interested."

Every word is spoken very, very precisely.

"But I gave my word to my friend, that I would fight in his war. To do that I need to train.

And I cannot train here."

[mechanicalswans]

"You could train here, but I imagine the sort of war he has is different than the sort of wars we have here."

It stands to reason. Theirs are part magic, part sheer brutality.

"Still, there are some things that would translate..."

[aimedforthemoon]

"Flying a little plane faster than sound?"

[mechanicalswans]

"Reflexes," he says. "Depth perception, courage--though you certainly have that already. Knowing what risks are acceptable to take and which are not worth it. Mostly what you already have, but tuned and enhanced."

[aimedforthemoon]

"Sounds very useful. Would you care to teach me tomorrow?"

[mechanicalswans]

"Anything you like," he nods. "There is a small private airport near here where I sometimes go to fly more conventional airplanes... we could go there, if you like. Daring maneuvers with Hildegard are different, because she corrects for things and will not allow a crash. Airplanes, it is just you and your own skills. In the end, you are all you have to rely on."

[aimedforthemoon]

"I was in the Soviet airforce for eight years."

Beat.

"Your war sounds interesting."

Beat.

"So, I'll go back to Milliways tonight, practice on the sims there, and tomorrow here, we fly."

[mechanicalswans]

"War is interesting when it is the punctuation between stretches of peace," he says. "Not when it is a constant thing."

He takes a final drag on the cigarette before tossing it at a patch of stones nearby.

"You will have a hard time getting back there on your own, won't you."

[aimedforthemoon]

"Probably impossible," she agrees without losing a beat.

[mechanicalswans]

"Maybe when the nine days are over, I can teach you a thing or two about the building of temporary portals--they are very useful. But for now, we stay here."

He smiles, just shy of patronizing. Perhaps she will be brave enough--

[aimedforthemoon]

Efsir turns to face him, chin up and the swan still cradled in her arms.

"It's not," she says, calmly, "day anymore."

[mechanicalswans]

"It isn't," he agrees. "I imagine Mireille has nearly finished cooking dinner, if you are hungry."

He is careful not to give anything away, not to lead her. He wants to see what she will do.

[aimedforthemoon]

("Nine days," he says. "Nine days you will spend with me.")

"I am. It would be rude of me to leave before having dinner, not to mention wasteful. So. I will go back after dinner."

(and you cannot ask me to let you go)

"And you will take me, as I am unable to go on my own."

(she's not asking)

[mechanicalswans]

"I will take you at the end of the nine days, if you have not displeased me," he says. "This has only been three. You have six days more, and then we will go. Perhaps you would like to go shopping tomorrow also? After the airport. There are lovely little shops downtown."

[aimedforthemoon]

"You never said anything about nights."

[mechanicalswans]

She shows promise. He had suspected, before, but he thinks this may confirm it.

"Nights are included, of course," he says impassively. "Why would they not be? Do ninety-day warranties pause at sunset? They do not. There are still six days."

[aimedforthemoon]

"But you are not selling a used car. You are a god. Are you not bound by the old rules of agreements? Where a day starts at sunrise and ends at sunset? Where the nights are separate, and thus the tales speak of heroes who travel for days and nights.

You said days. Not nine lots of arbitrarily formed twenty-four hours."

[mechanicalswans]

Three approaches, he will allow himself. Only three. If she can withstand them, she will win.

There is a subtle shift, and then he is no longer a god pretending to be human. He seems taller, more imposing; his hands are clearly made of a dull black metal, and there is a feeling of unnaturalness, of being against nature, about him.

He advances toward her as he speaks, eyeing her as though she is prey. "I made the ladder they used to paint the stars, and the sword that Freyr was to carry in the final battle at the end of days, until it was lost. I have dwelled in the halls of the gods and the halls of the dead, and I will still be here at the end of things--and you, a dead mortal, a mere girl, are questioning me in my own domain?"

[aimedforthemoon]

Yesfir Shostakovna is small, thin, dead; she is his prisoner, a plaything with only his word that his word is his bond; she meets his eyes with her chin up, her hands steady, and heart beating faster than it ever did during launch.

But she is also Leytenánt Aviátsii Yazycova. Her nerve was tempered by the Siege of Stalingrad, five months of bombs and fire and cold where the soldiers joked that Hell was just another suburb of the once beautiful city. She took five hours to die in a small metal box, grimly holding onto her sanity until the end, without any hope of rescue - just to spite her murderer.

Here, she has a chance.

She will not let it go, no matter how much the fear is battering at the back of her mind and throat.

"No. I am telling you."

[mechanicalswans]

One.

Of course a woman who has had the training of a fighter, who has been into space when it is still dangerous and not commonplace, would have the courage and self-control to resist that approach. He would have been very disappointed if she had given in to his intimidation... it has been so long since anyone has resisted it.

But he has other tactics. He holds her in his stare for a good long moment, before slouching ever so slightly and looking up at the sky. His mother's ancestors were sea monsters, and he can be just as hard to pin down when he tries. He seems now hollow, empty, every moment of his wife's absence tangible in the air around him.

"You would leave?" he asks softly. "These past few days--it has been so very long, but your strength and vibrance, it has been like someone has lit a lamp in the darkness. It will feel even emptier if you go away."

[aimedforthemoon]

She had been engaged, once, years ago when she'd been young(er) and still uncertain. And she'd loved him, loved Vasya with everything that she could.

But it was not - could never be - with everything that she was.

(he'd called her cold, selfish, and she gone yes, yes I am, and thrown the ring out the window)

"I would not stay for love, let alone pity."

[mechanicalswans]

Two.

His beloved Hervor had not stayed for love either. She had wanted to be free, had wanted to fly, and so she had. He would not have respect for a woman who would be swayed by claims of affection or sadness; such women are too soft, too easily used. Or possibly just full of vanity, to think that only they could be the ones to warm the mechanical heart of the god of the forge.

Many women had tried.

He shakes his head, chuckling quietly as he watches her, not hollow now but confident, calm.

"You're very strong," he says with a genuine smile. "I am impressed. And I could use someone with your courage, your intelligence, your experience... I could make you a goddess, a queen, give you everything you have ever wanted if you would only stay here and help me rule my people. There is nothing I cannot make of metal, very little I could not do... and it would all be at your hand."