Peter O'Toole, Daliah Lavi, Paul Lukas, Tatsuo Saitô and a boy on the set of Lord Jim

Lord Jim (1965) directed by Richard Brooks

Peter O'Toole as Lord Jim

Daliah Lavi as The Girl

Paul Lukas as Stein

Peter O'Toole and Suon on the set of Lord Jim

Lord Jim (1965) directed by Richard Brooks

Peter O'Toole as Lord Jim

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CW: Religious sacrifice, casual un-condoned disapproval of protests

“I’unno how they live up there. I heard they live like beasts and only eat rotten fruit the trees drop,” the older Mirror gossiped with a self assured nod. He wasn’t paying attention to the accountant who was tapping a pencil impatiently against his clip board, his flicking Fae fans the only indication of his annoyance. This old geezer wasn’t even considering that he was part of ‘them’, probably because he wasn’t feral and blathering nonsense about a fruit god, or whatever other image the trader had of the Oasis clan. 

“You’re short this month. This iron isn’t worth the textiles we agreed to trade you.”

The Mirror sniffed dismissively, scratching the chipped scales of his hunched neck. “Well you know, metals’ve gone up ever since that uprising in Fire. S’the price of fair labor, forget the rest of our livelihoods.” 

The Fae grimaced. The prophets wouldn’t like to hear this, but... ah, it wasn’t his fault. Ciavana would likely be irate, but Lucco and Shimyra would be understanding. 

“I’d appreciate if you communicated a change in prices before you wasted my time in the future,” the accountant sighed as he stamped the ledger, approving the trade. The red ink formed a tree whose canopy stretched past the boundaries of the circle it grew up in. 

“I figured you knew. Everyone else does,” the elderly Mirror shrugged as his sons began hauling iron ingots onto the Fae’s cart. His guard, a member of the Hunt, moved to help speed things along. 

“We don’t get much news from the outside,” the accountant muttered and handed the Mirror his copy of the receipt. He had half a mind to invite the Mirror to see the forest himself, but he shook the murderous feeling away. It wasn’t worth the scraps.