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Gideon Nav has done some pretty dumb things in her life, but getting herself on a televised dating show might take the cake.
To be fair, it’s not like she was actually expecting to get selected for The Stag. She’d downloaded the application packet and filled out her name and hometown, at which point she’d gotten bored with the process and thus skipped the extensive personality questionnaire to draw rude doodles in the margins. She’d similarly ignored the intrusive personal survey and instead wrote a screed about how recently-announced contestant Harrowhark Nonagesimus was in fact an awful person that should definitely not be allowed on the show.
And then she’d let her pointer hover over the ‘submit’ button and considered the facts.
One: she was not looking for a last shot at love™, and even if she were, The Stag was the last place she’d look as she was in fact very, very gay. Point against.
Two: even though she’d almost certainly get sent home on the first night, it was still a free vacation in the tropics, and there’d likely be a ton of free alcohol to drink and hot ladies to awkwardly not talk to. Point in favor.
Three: if she got picked, Harrow would be furious. Point so in favor.
Two to one in favor. She’d clicked submit, closed the tab, and had promptly forgotten all about the whole thing until three weeks later, when, on the eve of filming, she’d received a series of increasingly panicked voicemails from the show’s producer, who intimated that one of the other competitors had gotten cold feet and fled the beach house on a yacht chartered by his mother that had promptly sunk, drowning them both, and would Gideon be able to make it to the airport by midnight, please?
***
A little over eight hours later Gideon finds herself in the back of a limo, waiting for her chance to meet her maybe-but-almost-certainly-not future husband, a.k.a. The Necrolord. The man in question has a perfectly ordinary name, and Gideon has by now heard it like eight million times from the harried production assistants that tried to shove her into an evening dress and heels. (The dress had been a no-go; Gideon had taken one look at it and threatened to pile drive the assistant out of the trailer, so they’d compromised on a black jumpsuit). But whatever The Necrolord’s real name is, it’s the sort of waspy white bread nonsense that’s impossible to remember, especially when you’re running on zero hours of sleep and too much overpriced airport coffee. And besides, though the promotional materials wax rhapsodic about how the guy’s a doctor, his LinkedIn says he’s a pathologist. Thus, The Necrolord.
As Gideon is considering that this entire endeavor might have been a huge mistake, her limo stops, and suddenly she’s being bodily shoved out into the blinding haze of the set lights. The limo door slams behind her, followed by the audible click of a lock, and so all she can do is plaster a shitty excuse for a smile on her face and turn to face the music.
“May I present to you: Gideon Nav!”
She blinks a few times, and finally her vision clears enough to see she’s facing both the show’s very creepy host (seriously, how is Teacher a name?) as well as The Necrolord himself. He smiles in a very bland and inoffensive way and goes in for a hug. Except Gideon is not a hugger, and so she ends up awkwardly evading his attempt and meeting his outstretched hand with a fist bump instead (“Jesus,” one of the cameramen whispers).
Mercifully, that’s the end of it, and a production assistant quickly shepherds Gideon off into the mansion. Gideon’s plan is to grab a few drinks, talk to the hot girls, and then steel herself for being kicked out on the first night.
She is well availed of the first (a skeleton-thin server had offered her a try of champagne flutes with a smile that had quickly disappeared when Gideon chugged three in quick succession) and is making hopeful eyes at the second when the hairs on her neck stand up on end. Over the years, she’s developed something of a sixth sense for when she’s about to get clocked in the back of the head. Which, considering where she is, means exactly one thing. Or rather, one person.
“Dark queen!” she says with an expansive flourish of her arms, twirling (okay, maybe stumbling) to face Harrowhark Nonagesimus, first of her name, heinous bitch of the first order and perpetual life-ruiner.
Harrow’s face, already murderous, lights up in nigh-incandescent rage, and everything, from the awkward fist bump with The Necrolord, to the fact that Gideon’s going to be the laughingstock of all the tabloids for the next three months, is finally worth it.
“You,” Harrow hisses.
“Me,” Gideon agrees, and gropes for another flute of champagne from the server’s tray.
“Why are you here?”
Gideon pastes on her smarmiest smile. “Heard you were applying, thought it might be fun.”
Harrow’s eye twitches. One of the veins in her forehead is now visibly throbbing, and Gideon realizes with childish glee that she just might be lucky enough to see Harrow keel over in front of her out of sheer rage.
And then The Necrolord pops up at her side with an incredibly obnoxious “hey there,” and Harrow’s face smooths over into sweet and unimposing cheerfulness. “Hey there, yourself,” she says, and her voice is suddenly high and breathy and disgusting. More disgusting than it usually is, at least.
Gideon stands there watching as the two of them walk away together, exchanging inane small talk and staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Each of Harrow’s tinkling laughs feels like a glass shard to the heart, and Gideon realizes that coming here was actually a horrible, horrible idea.
***
Gideon spends the rest of the party seething about Harrow and imagining how exactly she would like to punch that lovey-dovey mask off her face. In between takes she assesses the other competitors. There’s a roughly even gender split; The Necrolord is apparently bisexual.
Judith and Marta both stalk through the beach house like it’s a battleground, whereas Coronabeth, Ianthe, and Naberius look like the sort of rich kids that take pills in Ibiza on the weekend. Isaac and Jeannemary look way too young to be here, and Abigail and Magnus look way too old to be here. Palamedes and Camilla are very politely stealing The Necrolord whenever he’s talking to someone else, and Dulcinea and Protesilaus are very politely stealing him back. Meanwhile, the two bro-iest bros that ever bro’d, Silas and Colum, are constructing a beer pong table in the corner.
From the way douche-face Necrolord’s gaze lingers on Dulcinea and Harrow, she figures they’re the ones going to the finals, and everyone else is going to be packing their bags. Some sooner rather than later. After her dismal introduction and general lack of traditionally feminine-coded wiles, Gideon’s pretty sure she’s headed home tonight. Not like she cares. She pretty much only applied to fuck with Harrow; her only regret is that she’s not going to get to needle her on national TV for the next three months.
Gideon’s pretty zen about going home by the time the creeptastic host herds them into a line for the key ceremony, although it might just be that she’s roaring drunk by that point. “Sixteen of you will receive keys to The Stag’s heart,” the host trills, waving around the keys with an overeager reverence like he thinks they have the power to cure cancer.
She’s content enough to zone off in the back row as The Necrolord calls up various attractive people to get the keys that will allow them to stay another week in this hellhole. Dulcinea gets a key, and the frat bros, and the children (creepy, dude), and of course Harrow, that bitch. Magnus and Abigail are going home, but they don’t seem to sad about it; Magnus gives a nice speech about how love is all around that’s 100% going to be cut before the show airs.
“Gideon Nav, will you accept this key?”
Gideon Nav. That is her. That is her name, that she has. Shellshocked, and more than a little confused, she totters over to The Necrolord, and takes the key with a bow (it had seemed like the thing to do at the time, even though literally no one else had bowed, fuck, why is she so weird?).
She’s still stuck in a loop of “what the actual fuck” when the ceremony ends, and a long suffering production assistant guides her to a bedroom. She opens the door and is three steps from passing out on top of the glorious king bed when someone steps out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
“Fuck,” Harrow says.
Gideon blinks. Stares at her. Harrow’s skin is still wet from the shower; there are rivulets of water trickling down her neck and shoulders. “You’re in my room.”
Harrow stomps past her and slams the door to the bedroom before turning back to Gideon, every line of her face writ with pure hatred. “It’s two to a room, you absolute idiot.”
“Oh no, no, no.” The possibility of sharing a bed with Harrow fucking Nonagesimus every night for three months hits Gideon like a freight train. “I will sleep on the floor, I will sleep in the hallway, I will sleep on the bloody beach-“
“For fuck’s sake,” Harrow mutters, and grabs Gideon by the collar of her jumpsuit with the hand that’s not holding her towel up. Gideon’s pretty sure she’s about to get punched, but instead Harrow yanks her into the bathroom, and then shoves her into the shower stall.
Gideon watches dumbly as Harrow follows her in and shuts the frosted glass door behind her. “It’s the only place in the suite without cameras,” she snaps when she notices Gideon is staring.
Gideon thinks about that for a second- kinky- and then thinks about the cameras in Dulcinea’s room, and then loses a few seconds thinking about Dulcinea in a nightgown. “Why did I have to be in your room, anyway?”
“The producers love drama, you idiot.”
“Wait- you mean they put us together on purpose?”
Harrow’s glare could wither grass. “I’m pretty sure they only brought you on the show because they know you hate me.”
As much as Gideon hates to admit it, Harrow’s probably right about that. “I did kind of write a whole essay about why I hate you,” she offers.
“This is not a game to me,” Harrow hisses. “The winner's prize money is my last chance to save my family’s funeral home after- after what happened.”
Gideon knows what she’s talking about, of course she does. And for once, there’s nothing she can say. She hates Harrow, but sometimes she hates herself more. When she thinks about what happened to Harrow’s parents is one of those times.
Harrow sighs and looks away. “Why are you even here?”
Gideon considers lying, but decides to go with the truth. She owes Harrow at least that much. “Honestly? To fuck with you.”
Harrow stares at her, and Gideon could drown in the depths of her ice-cold eyes. “God, I hate you.”
Gideon pastes on a smile she doesn’t quite feel. “The feeling’s mutual, princess.”
***
The Stag Season 9 Day 1: Cast interview 1 of Gideon Nav, contestant #16
Producer: Looks like sparks were flying between you and Harrow tonight before the key ceremony! Have you two met before?
Gideon: Yeah, unfortunately.
Producer: Uh oh! Why unfortunately, Gideon?
Gideon: She’s a fucking evil bitch-
-static-
Gideon: She’s an, ah, evil, hmm, witch. Her heart is a blackened lump of coal; and it’s frankly hilarious that you think she’s capable of True Love™, or whatever it is you want to call it.
Producer: Wow! Sounds like you’ve got some big feelings about Harrow!
Gideon: I’ve got some big-
-static-
Producer: So, how do you two know each other?
Gideon: We went to high school together. It was a small town.
Producer: Did you have a good experience in high school?
Gideon: No, who the fuck likes high school?
-static, murmured voices-
Gideon: Okay, fine. It sucked. She bullied me. Her parents hated me.
Producer: Her parents hate you?
Gideon: …No. No, they don’t anymore.
***
The Stag Season 9 Day 1: Cast interview 1 of Harrowhark Nonagesimus, contestant #15
Producer: So, do you know Gideon Nav?
Harrow: Yes.
Producer: Would you like to talk about your relationship with her?
Harrow: No.
***
Gideon claims hell itself will freeze over before she sleeps in the same bed as Harrow, but Harrow rolls her eyes and asks when Gideon became such a fucking coward, and Gideon is smugly ensconced in blankets and drifting off to sleep, thus proving she is not in fact a coward, before she realizes she’s been had.
When Gideon wakes up the next morning she’s smiling. The mattress is soft beneath her, and the blankets form a warm cocoon around her, and resting in the crook of her arms is… Harrow.
Gideon blinks to get the sand out of her eyes. Still Harrow. She’s curled up like she’s trying to protect the soft parts of herself, but her face is smooth and peaceful. Gideon’s never seen it this peaceful, actually. Harrow moves through life like she’s constantly at war with the world, and Gideon hadn’t realized until now how much of that burden she carries in her face. Even when she’d been acting all sweet with The Necrolord, there had been a tightness in her smile. She looks younger like this. Softer.
Gideon leans in for a better look, but the movement pulls on the blankets and suddenly Harrow is shifting out of sleep. Gideon can tell the moment she comes back to herself: her limbs go tense and she jerks back from Gideon, like she’s afraid Gideon might bite. Gideon opens her mouth to say… something, but Harrow’s hopped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom before Gideon can get the words out.
They do not discuss it.
Instead, Harrow gets to work slathering makeup on her face in the bathroom, and stabs Gideon in the bicep with a tube of mascara when she tries to leave the room. “You have to wear makeup.”
“Nope,” Gideon says, and tries to leave again.
Harrow rounds on her with another of those patented Harrow-glares. “It’s either you put it on here yourself or some chipper production assistant makes the burly cameramen hold you down while she puts it on for you.”
Gideon is privately appalled that Harrow thinks the burly cameramen could hold her down. “Why?”
“Patriarchy.”
Yeah, fuck this place.
***
At breakfast, Harrow taps the side of her glass with her knife like they’re at a god damned country club and waits patiently for the rest of the contestants to stop talking. “My roommate asked me to announce that she’s taken a vow of silence,” Harrow says, gesturing at Gideon. “She will not speak until she finds her true love.”
(Harrow had explained the logic of this as they’d walked to breakfast. “Better to stay silent and be suspected a fool than speak and remove all doubt,” she’d said. “That sounds like something a pretentious asswipe would say,” Harrow said. “And this is why it’s better when you don’t talk,” Harrow replied. “Also I won’t make you put on make up anymore.” "Deal.")
Half of the contestants seem impressed by Harrow’s solemn proclamation, and half seem amused.
One of the two children- seriously, why are they even here?- raises her hand like this is some kind of dystopian high school classroom. “Shouldn’t love be based on mutual trust and open communication?”
Though Gideon knows fuck-all about love, the small child sounds like she’s probably correct; the small child should get a gold star.
But Harrow’s having none of it. “True love,” she says primly, “finds a way.”
After breakfast, Gideon makes room in her schedule to sulk on the deck and fantasize about how she’d love to toss Harrow over the edge and into the churning sea below.
As she watches the waves curl and break on the beach, a shadow falls over her shoulder and she tenses, expecting Harrow with another inane demand.
But when she turns around, it’s Dulcinea, with a sad smile on her face. “May I sit with you?” she asks.
Gideon blinks, and it’s lucky she’s not allowed to talk because there’s no way she’d be able to form actual words in the face of Dulcinea’s concentrated loveliness anyway. She nods hesitantly. Smooth.
Dulcinea takes a seat next to her, leaning so that their thighs are pressed together, and the place where there bodies touch is all Gideon can think about.
It could’ve been really awkward, but Dulcinea seems happy enough to chat about this and that in the face of Gideon’s silence. Everything about her is perfect, and at last Gideon turns to her with a helpless question in her eyes: Dulcinea is so perfect, too perfect. Why is she here? Why is she involved in this mess?
Dulcinea sighs, like she understands what Gideon can’t ask her. “You probably think it’s silly of me, to go on a dating show,” she says at last. “But the truth is, I don’t have long to live. It’s stupid, but I thought maybe I could find someone, in the time I have left.
Gideon closes her eyes, once again grateful that she’s not talking, because she has no idea what to say.
***
Doom and gloom aside, Dulcinea is great company, and Gideon’s ends up having a pretty good time hanging out with her every day, until Harrow has to go and ruin it.
They’re about a fourth of the way through the competition when Harrow pauses in the middle of getting ready for bed and turns to Gideon with a weird look on her face. “Stop talking to Dulcinea.”
Gideon rolls her eyes and spits her toothpaste out in the sink. “I haven’t been talking to her, or anyone else, thanks to you.”
“No, I mean it,” Harrow says. There’s an odd tone in her voice that almost makes Gideon take her seriously. Almost. “She’s bad news.”
That’s too fucking rich. “You would fucking know, princess.”
“I mean it,” Harrow hisses. “She’s not here for the right reasons-“
Gideon can’t take it anymore. She flings her toothbrush down and shoves her way out of the bathroom, out of the stifling bedroom they share, and into the hallway. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re here for the money, I’m here because I hate you, and she’s here for the wrong reasons?”
Harrow hesitates, and for a moment of hanging fire Gideon thinks she’s going to apologize. Except this is Harrow, and Harrow never apologizes. And sure enough, as Gideon watches something in her face shutters, and she’s slamming the bedroom door in Gideon’s face.
Fuckwad.
***
StagNationSeason9Episode6.mp3
Glaurica: Hi all, and welcome to Stag Nation! We’re your hosts, Glaurica-
Aisamorta: and Aisamorta-
Lachrimorta: and Lachrimorta!
Glaurica: And we’re here to discuss this week’s episode of the show we all know and love. So, Aisamorta, can you start us off? What do we think of this season so far?
Aisamorta: Well, it’s not the most interesting, is it? I feel like the pacing is out of whack this season: we haven’t had any big fights since whatever that thing was on opening night between Gideon and Harrow, and by now there’s two pretty clear front runners Nick’s spending all his time with.
Lachrimorta: I agree; there’s no drama, you know? And what I really don’t get is why some of the contestants are still here. Like, why is Gideon still here? I’m pretty sure Nick’s never even talked to her?
Glaurica: That’s the beauty of the show, I think. As much as we guess and speculate, at the end of the day we can’t see into the contestant’s hearts. It doesn’t matter that we don’t get it: Nick knows why Gideon is still there, and so does Gideon.
***
Gideon has no idea why she’s still here. The program has hit the two-month mark and she hasn’t spoken to The Necrolord since the first night. She spends most of her time in the gym or running laps on the beach, trying not to go crazy. She barely sees Harrow these days. Gideon’s got the big king bed to herself now; Harrow’s been sleeping somewhere else. Probably with the Necrolord. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t.
Harrow still comes back to do her makeup in the morning, at least. Gideon finally gets over their last fight enough to ask Harrow why she’s still here the morning after yet another key ceremony that Gideon has inexplicably survived (RIP Jeannemary and Isaac).
Harrow doesn’t look away from her compact mirror. “I bribed him.”
Gideon considers this. It’s exactly the kind of underhanded scheming Harrow generally goes for, but… “Why?”
Harrow pauses. “Because he’ll never pick you in the end,” she finally says. “It makes my position safer whenever he picks you over someone else.”
It’s not like Gideon gives a fuck what Harrow thinks of her, but somehow it still hurts, that Harrow assumes no one could ever want her. Probably because she’s right.
She throws a tube of mascara at Harrow’s head. “Fuck off,” she says, and goes to talk to Dulcinea.
***
That night The Necrolord sends Silas and Colum packing, and a week later Camilla and Palamedes are gone as well. There are only three people left in the house: Dulcinea, Harrow, and herself. The house feels empty, and not in a good way. There’s a strange tension in the empty rooms, like the house is holding its breath, like something is going to happen.
And of course, something does.
It happens on the night of the final key ceremony. Gideon is sitting on the deck, watching the stars over the ocean and swigging fireball while Dulcinea sips a cocktail at her side. It’s a lovely evening, from the light on the water to the cries of night birds far overhead. Even despite everything, Gideon feels at peace.
And then Harrow walks out onto the deck and stops short; her face twisting with revulsion as she stares at the two of them sitting side by side.
Gideon meets her eyes like a challenge: so what if she’s hanging out with Dulcinea? Harrow doesn’t own her; Harrow hasn’t shown any interest in her in weeks. How dare Harrow tell her she can’t have this, that she doesn’t deserve this? Because that’s what it always comes down to: no matter what, she’s never good enough in Harrow’s eyes. Something bitter turns over in her stomach at the thought, and it isn’t the fireball. She can’t help it, she drops her eyes to her lap.
“Hey,” Dulcinea murmurs. “Let’s give her something to glare at.” And before Gideon can parse what she’s just said, Dulcinea is taking Gideon’s hand in her own and raising it to her lips for a lingering kiss. Her lips are warm as they drag across the back of Gideon’s hand; she can’t help her own sharply in-drawn breath.
“Get the hell away from her,” Harrow snaps. Her fists are hidden in the folds of her dress, but Gideon can just make out the taut and whitened skin of her knuckles.
Dulcinea turns, but does not let go of Gideon’s hand. “Why, is she your property?”
“More than she is yours,” Harrow snaps.
Laughing, Dulcinea turns back to wink at Gideon. “At least she spends time with me willingly.”
Suddenly Harrow is half a foot away, looking down at Dulcinea like she’d love nothing more than to beat her head into a pulp. “Do you want to fucking go?”
“Oh, you’d fight a dying girl?”
That gets an eye roll. “Yeah, really dying, so dying, you poor thing. How about I help you along?”
Dulcinea cackles with thinly disguised glee. “That’s going to sound great on the highlight reels.”
“Gideon does not deserve you,” Harrow spits, and that’s it, that’s all Gideon needs to hear about how she sucks, how she’s worthless, how she doesn’t deserve love or friendship or a warm body against her own in the night.
She yanks her hand away from Dulcinea and runs off the deck, out of the compound altogether. She has no idea where she’s going but her feet know the way; they carry her down the side of the cliff to the shore. For a moment she stares at the black water licking the sand, and then runs into the surf, until the water is up to her waist. It’s cold but she welcomes the discomfort; it’s something to cling to. The lights of the house are far away, mere specks on the cliff. She wishes she could stay here alone forever, in the quiet of the water and the sand.
From the beach, a voice calls out. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Fuck off,” Gideon mumbles.
There’s a muffled curse, and then Harrow is striding into the water with her. She tries to move further out but Harrow grabs her by the wrists and holds her. “Gideon,” she says again, quieter this time, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Gideon tries to pull away. “You’re missing the key ceremony-“
“Fuck the key ceremony.”
Her anger is unexpected. “No. Get back up there and get your damn key. I can’t have you losing this and blaming it on me, not when you’re only here in the first place because I fucked up.”
Beside her, Harrow stills. “Gideon,” she says at last, “what are you talking about?”
And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the cold of the water, but it’s like a jar has been unscrewed, and it all comes pouring out. “Your parents,” she says, and is horrified when her voice breaks. “If I hadn’t told the teacher you hit me then the principal wouldn’t have asked them to come to the school, and they wouldn’t have been driving that day- they wouldn’t have- you wouldn’t need the money to buy the funeral home.”
There. She’d said it. Her darkest shame, laid bare. She closes her eyes, and waits for Harrow’s condemnation. And waits. And waits.
When she finally opens her eyes, Harrow is staring at her like she’s grown a second head. “That,” says Harrow, “is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“But-“
“It was an accident. I’m here because the universe is fucked up and sometimes terrible things happen that force you to compete for money on televised dating shows. I’m not here because of anything you did.” She sighs. “Gideon,” she says at last, so quiet Gideon can barely hear her over the crash of the waves on the sand. “Why are you here?”
They’re standing closer now, so close that Gideon can see the gleam of Harrow’s teeth when she bites at her lip, and can feel the warmth of her breath. “I told you on the first day, you idiot,” Gideon says.
“Tell me again,” Harrow whispers.
“For you, you dense motherfucker. It’s only ever been for you.”
Even in the dark she can see the sudden heat in Harrow’s eyes and the way she sways forward, her lips parting. Gideon sways forward to meet her, and it’s just Gideon’s luck that right before their lips meet, the house on the cliff above them erupts into screams and broken glass.
***
Dispatch: Officer Lyctor, do you copy? This is dispatch.
Lyctor: I copy, Dispatch, go ahead.
Dispatch: Man down, 9 Canaan Street. Caller reports he's breathing, but unresponsive. EMS is enroute. Armed female on the premises.
Lyctor: Enroute.
***
Re: Big Drama in the Stag house tonight!!
cruXXX: So get this- the stag’s crazy ex-girlfriend assumed a fake identity (Dulce) to get on the show, and when he tried to send her home at the final key ceremony she whipped out a knife and stabbed him in the face!
_aiglamene_: JFC. Is he alive????
cruXXX: Yeah but the scar’s gonna stick #awk
_aiglamene_: That’s fucking nuts. Sooooo… Dulce is definitely disqualified, right?
cruXXX: Lmao I mean I doubt the show’s gonna continue but yeah I feel like this is a pretty clear disqualification??
_aiglamene_: Dude, if you had told me Gideon was going to end up in the final two I never would have believed you.
***
Dawn finds Gideon lying on a beach towel watching the sun rise over the ocean. It’s beautiful: the water is cast in alternating shades of peach and tangerine. In fact life is pretty perfect at the moment, except for the fact that her wine glass is empty, and the Necrolord is currently undergoing trauma surgery.
She hears footsteps in the sand behind her, and then Harrow is plopping herself down on the towel next to her. “Move over lout, I got more.”
“Fireball?” Gideon asks hopefully.
Harrow snorts. “Gin, you heathen.” She grabs Gideon’s glass and pours a healthy swig in before handing it back, and Gideon can’t help the warm glow in her chest. “The police left, and the paramedics. They’ve called off show. We’ve got to clear out by the end of the day.”
Gideon takes a sip of the gin and tries not to wince. “Sorry about the Necrolord. I know you were banking on that working out.”
Harrow takes a swig straight from the bottle and smiles like she actually enjoys the taste. “Mmm.”
Even in light of the previous night’s revelations, there’s something supremely unsettling about seeing Harrow smile. “Why are you so happy?”
Harrow’s smile widens. “Because I’m with you.”
Gideon pauses. Considers this through the haze of the alcohol and lack of sleep. “Ok, but actually.”
Harrow lets out a happy little laugh that’s objectively terrifying and stretches out on the towel, shoving herself against Gideon’s side like she’s an affectionate housecat. “I’m with you, and I just had a lovely talk with the producers.”
“Oh?” Gideon asks, keeping her voice carefully neutral.
“We discussed, among other things, how I have a recording of various members of the production team discussing how they knew Dulcinea was not in fact Dulcinea as early as the third night, and stating that they meant to keep her on the show despite her prior convictions for stalking because the inevitable reveal would be, and I quote, ‘ratings gold.’”
Gideon considers this. “How did they feel about that?”
“They felt like they should perhaps offer an NDA and a settlement to the tune of quite a bit of money.”
“How much money?”
Harrow tells her.
Gideon whistles. “Wow. That’s like, 95% of the funeral home costs, right? You could do a gofundme for the last bit. Or hold a curbside bake sale. All the cookies could be bone shaped.”
“I could do that,” Harrow murmurs, still smiling. “But see, I also told them you had the recordings, and it seems they’re offering you the same payout.” As Gideon watches, a sudden vulnerability dawns in her eyes. “Any interest in purchasing a 5% share in Drearburh Funeral Homes? Unless there’s something else you want to do with the money, I mean, you probably do, I’d understand.”
Gideon thinks about it. She could buy a gym. She could buy a plane ticket to anywhere in the world, and never see the bitter winters of Drearburh again. Harrow is looking at her anxiously, as if this is a choice, as if Gideon hasn’t already made this choice over and over and over again.
“Well,” she says slowly, “it’s… hard.”
Harrow’s wince is almost imperceptible, but Gideon’s known her for a long time.
“It’s hard,” she says again. “I mean, I could buy 64,700 copies of Busty Blondes XVII. Or 2,560 pairs of aviators. Or 367,000 cans of monster. Or-“
Mercifully, Harrow shuts her up with a kiss.
***
StagNationSeason9Episode13.mp3
Glaurica: Hi all, and welcome to Stag Nation! We’re your hosts, Glaurica-
Aisamorta: and Aisamorta-
Lachrimorta: and Lachrimorta!
Glaurica: And we’re here to discuss all the FUCKED UP SHIT that went down on the show we all know and love!
Aisamorta: It was truly some fucked up shit, wasn’t it, ladies?
Lachrimorta: It really was; I think I speak for all of us when I say this is a sad time for the entire Stag family.
Glaurica: That being said, we managed to get an exclusive update on Cytherea’s sentencing! Looks like she’s going away for a while, girls.
Aisamorta: That’s what happens when you stab your ex in the face twelve times.
Lachrimorta: We’ll be discussing the juicy details of the 9-11 calls and the courtroom testimony later in the podcast. But before we get into all that, one other little tidbit for you all: two former season 9 contestants are dating!
Glaurica: And you’re never going to guess who!
Aisamorta: Oh yes: Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus were spotted together smooching in downtown Drearburh yesterday. Reporters attempted an interview but were gently rebuffed.
Lachrimorta: By which we mean that Gideon threatened to shove their cameras so far up their asses they’d never get them out, and Harrow just raised an eyebrow but in like, a really threatening way.
Glaurica: Yikes!
Aisamorta: Vulgarity aside, I just think it’s a really beautiful story: even in the face of tragedy, these brave young women managed to reach out for a last shot at love™. And really, that’s what The Stag is all about.