hekas | ☥ SALT INBOX

( a letter, written on nautical stationery, slips under isis' door one afternoon. a request for an audience, or something like that. it seemed too informal to simply text her, and he wants to make a good impression. so. the letter reads: )

Lady Isis, Goddess of Magic and Ruler of the Nile, Queen of the Black Lands,

I hope this letter finds you well. Or as well as one can be when displaced from their homeland. Whether it was fate that brought you to this place or something else entirely, I cannot say. What I can say is it has led us, here, to this convergence.

I'm aware my relationship with your brother hasn't escaped your notice. I am also aware of the ... tenuous relationship between the two of you. It is not my place to pass judgement, so I will extend none to you. Whatever you feel for Set is yours alone, and I have no intention of persuading you otherwise.

However, I know what I feel for him is true, and I would ask not for your blessing but your respect. The vows we have made will not be unmade until Set is returned to the desert and I am returned to the sea. Plainly: I love him. Regardless of what he's done, I love him. And it is because of that love that I write to you.

You, his sister. And I, his husband.

It would be my greatest honor to be permitted audience, so that we might see one another eye to eye.

Humbly yours,
Red-Haired Shanks, Emperor of the Sea

( She should not be surprised, truly, when the letter comes. Some things, as the passage of time and the ire she feels, are an inevitability. And while a childish part of her wishes to seethe and make plain that Set's new husband understands nothing, cannot understand what hurts the words brother and sister carry, what family means.

What it was like to hold a cold body and realise the costs, to mourn and feel anger and despair. To hear the stuttering breaths and shattering of her own child's heart.

The reply doesn't come immediately, but it does come. )

Red-Haired Shanks, Emperor of the Seas, This place is one you've made your home and I a stranger still aiming to find my bearings on currents less familiar to me than the ebb and flow of the great Nile. But if nothing else, I am not one to be washed away by tumultuous waters or worn down by the persistent grit of unyielding sand in the winds. I cannot deny that I am curious about the man who calls himself husband and has forged bonds with such a god as my brother. There is a parlor beside cafe, one filled with greenery and warmth that soothes the bite of the winter's cold. In the hour of the Sunset, few spare it a second glance and so serves well enough as neutral ground. I find myself there most afternoons and if it is an audience you seek, I welcome you to join me. Gratiously, Isis, Queen of the Throne and Mistress to the House of Life

( no other reply comes, only the quiet but pervasive presence of shanks entering the parlor the day after receiving isis' letter. and despite being very much mortal, there is something almost divine radiating from him, a power contained within him that could, indeed, rival a god. still, the air about him is gentle, unassuming, even solemn as he approaches isis. )

Lady Isis. ( a small bow of his head as he extends his hand and one of the bottles in it. ) I've read it's customary to offer libations. ( naturally, shanks brought beer. with a somewhat playful smile: ) Seems a shame to waste it, though.

( he takes a moment to gauge her reaction, or perhaps simply to study her face. there's no mistaking the resemblance. no mistaking that set, with his dark hair and feminine shape, had very much been a mirror image of the goddess standing before him now. maybe that would be awkward for anyone else who has been intimate with set in that particular form, but shanks sees it for what it is: set's love manifest, imitation being the sincerest form of flattery. besides, isis feels different than set. they could be standing side by side, identical, and shanks could tell them apart purely by feeling alone.

eventually, he raises his bottle as if he's going to toast to her good health. but what he says instead is: )

Will you drink with me?

I miss your hands on me.

[ attached is an image intended for embry, featuring greer in one of his dress shirts. ]

( oh, well. it would be polite to say nothing at all, truly, to not look. but who is a goddess to deny herself such a thing. )

I fear you would not be able to deny yourself were that true.

[ it takes her only a moment to realize that this isn't embry — no offense, but he'd never text like that. ]

You sound confident in your capabilities.

[ Isis, I don't really have any idea what to do with you here, now. We weren't supposed to meet again. This is awkward and frightening and I'm still so angry with you, but the things I've seen that are consequence of my monstrous actions against you have made me so very, very sorry and I miss you so much — is what he'd like to type.

Instead: ] What the hell is your problem, Isis?

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text; un: g.colchestermoore (misfire)

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@SET — TEXT