Work Text:
Aunor settled back into her seat and listened as The Drifter’s voice floated over the radio:
“Way down in the south,” he cleared his throat, “Past the forests, over the mountains, through the valleys of tall grass, near a lake of the cleanest water ya ever done see...there was a massive field of yams.”
Static broke him up for a moment. Receiving a signal from a bug planted on The Derelict didn’t provide the best audio, but it was enough.
“Now, this field of yams was tended by a farmer. He lived all alone in a small hut at the edge of the lake, and every day he would harvest the yams that were ripe and till the ground to grow more. But—”
A dramatic pause.
“He was never allowed to eat any of ‘em. Because the fields belonged to the Gods, and only they were allowed to eat ‘em. One day, a raccoon came into the field—poor thing starvin’ and sickly, and he started stealin’ some of the yams. The farmer saw this and was like, “Hey! Ya ugly cat! Don’t be touchin’ the yams! These are for the Gods!” But the raccoon was so hungry, he started cryin’ and begged the farmer to let him have one yam. “Please!” he was sobbin’, “I haven’t eaten in days! I’m gonna die! Let me have just one!” The farmer felt bad for the poor lil’ guy, so he allowed him to take just one yam, and the raccoon praised the farmer and said, “You da man! Thanks!” and frolicked off.”
“Mmhm.”
Eris Morn’s voice broke through--acknowledging The Drifter’s words, and Aunor narrowed her eyes. Still confused, still dumbfounded. Her agents hadn’t said anything about The Drifter and Eris Morn associating, and when she had heard the truth of it for herself....she had been at a loss. Perhaps she still was.
“Well,” The Drifter’s voice started again, bringing Aunor's focus back, “The raccoon went and told his Bobcat friend, and the next thing ya know, that Bobcat is a walkin’ into the field and pleadin' with the farmer to let her take a few yams to feed her starvin’ babies. Once again, the farmer felt pity, and allowed the Bobcat-mommy to take a few back to her kittens.”
“A noble deed.” Eris Morn acknowledged.
“Ah, but Mama Bobcat told the Squirrel, who went to the farmer and pled his case to take one yam to store for the winter. The farmer obliged, and slowly, but surely, everyday someone new would come to beg for a yam. Right and left, they came outta the woodwork! All of ‘em with a sad sob story to share. “Please! Please, help us!” They would beg, and the farmer was so moved by ‘em all, that he allowed the yams to be taken. Until....there were none left.”
“Hmm...” Eris Morn sounded pensive, and Aunor was surprised to find even she herself was leaning closer to the radio; reaching the edge of her seat.
She was hung upon every word the Rat-Man was speaking. Something in the way he spoke, a captivating gift for the art of storytelling.
“But the day came when the Gods arrived to pick up their harvest,” he lowered his voice, “Only to discover--there was nothin’ left. They. Were. PISSED! They came at the farmer screamin’ “What the hell is wrong with ya?! Ya were supposed to keep our yams protected! Ya gave ‘em all away, ya dumbass!”
There was a pause, and Aunor listened as The Drifter’s voice softened by the slightest iota. Strange...
“The farmer told ‘em the truth. About the animals that were hungry and how he couldn’t just ignore ‘em, ‘cause if he did, he wouldn’t be a human being anymore. This angered the Gods even more, ‘cause they really don’t care about such things. They just wanted their goddamn yams for the dinner party they’d been plannin’ for a millenia! So, they punished the farmer. They reached out with their looooooonnnng arms and snatched him right off the ground---and ate him instead.”
Aunor flinched, and the silence that followed confirmed The Drifter had finished the story.
She felt..strange.
“That was...” Eris Morn was clearly searching for a word, “Disturbing.”
The Drifter chuckled back, “Not all stories end happily ever after, darlin’.”
“I’m not naïve,” she defended herself, “That story...what does it mean?”
“Whadda ya think it means?” He countered.
Silence drew itself out, and Aunor herself wondered at the same question. What was he trying to say? Why was The Drifter telling such a silly story in the first place? It was...childish. Like a fairy tale meant to put children to sleep at night. Such things—she didn’t expect from the man who had infected her Tower.
The lightest chuckle from Eris Morn, so light it was nearly missed, and then she spoke--
“Am I the starving raccoon?”
That took Aunor aback.
She listened as he chuckled in return, “I don’t see ya as a raccoon, darlin'. You’re more like a stray cat that keeps pawin’ at my door, and every night I put a can of tuna out for ya.”
She scoffed, “I’m no beggar.”
“Nah, you’re a porcupine who wants a hug.”
A pause, followed by a gentle snort from the younger woman.
And then--
“Thank you for the story. I enjoyed it.” Eris Morn spoke sincerely, “And thank you for sharing your dinner with me.”
It was his turn to scoff, “I didn’t share it with ya, Moondust. I knew ya were gonna be hungry.”
No more words were needed then.
All was said.
And so, Aunor Mahal reached out, and snapped the radio off. Silence falling upon her.
She didn’t want to hear anymore--she didn't need to, and resigned herself to sit in the dark of her office and retell the story to herself.