The Language of Hate

I'd intended to write a post about what exactly "free speech" means. I started it. I had quotes from the EU Charter, and all sorts of very carefully thought out points and good intentions of sharing knowledge with the world at large. But then I realised: there are more of you than there are of me, and I ran out of steam.

I love information. I love facts and trivia and just knowing things. The most exciting thing in the world is stumbling across a trove of information about a subject I didn't know anything about before, or meeting with someone who holds a completely different perspective who can speak about it rationally and intelligently. My friends and family, at times, get annoyed by this quest for information, the barrage of questions that comes when I'm faced with something I don't understand. New friendships go through a teething period where I have to explain: I just want to understand. Most established friendships have reached the point where they know they have to say: Too much information, Sashi.

I forget that not everyone is like this. Some people are told a particular thing, and they're happy with that explanation. They feel no need to investigate further and break it down to it's smallest parts. That's not a criticism of those people. It's not saying that mentality is less than mine. I don't understand it, but I'm sure there are many out there who don't understand how I can get completely lost in researching the minutiae of the evolution of spiders (as an example).

My first reaction when confronted with an opposing viewpoint is to evaluate it for credibility. Is it stated in a clear manner? Are there facts to back up that position? Are those facts verified by unbiased sources? If the answer to any of those questions is "no", I ask questions. Hell, I ask questions, anyway, but that's besides the point. If I find weaknesses or flaws in the argument, I point them out, and usually have a handful of resources to pass on, because that's my way of being helpful. If I wrote something littered with inaccurate information, I would hope that some kindly person would come along and say so. If they offered resources, all the better. More information for the magpie!

So when things like Julie Burchill's article come along, I find myself profoundly baffled. (You can read my my response to the article in a previous post.) I don't generally understand hate, particularly impersonal hate. (This is another trait that often tests the patience of friends and family; I can't count the number of times I've heard how can you defend that person? - simple: I don't have enough information to judge.) Hate, I think, takes an awful lot of energy. It also doesn't seem particularly productive. So to see so much hatred crammed into so few words temporarily short-circuited the language centres in my brain. I just couldn't process it. So I went back and tried to ferret out the purpose of the article. I tried to find some reason in it.

I couldn't.

Apparently neither could a lot of other people, and the article has since been taken down. Now Twitter is awash with cries of injustice and the infringement of free speech, the oppression of journalists, etc. ad nauseam. Again, I spent several hours watching the Twitter feed throw up claim after claim that Burchill is completely within her right to express her opinion, trying to wrap my head around the fact that a very essential fact was being overlooked: freedom of speech is not a limitless pass to say whatever you please in whatever form you wish. The issues was not in Burchill's opinion, but in her language. There are many, many ways she could have addressed what she felt was an injustice to Suzanne Moore in a composed and dignified manner, without reducing a very wide and diverse community to the cheapest insults. In fact, many of the people targeted by her article addressed her in just such a composed and dignified manner.

Freedom of speech does not protect you against libel, slander or sedition (among other things). Beyond that fact, however, is the matter of personal responsibility. Even if hate-speech were protected under freedom of speech (it's not; countered by the rights to dignity, safety, and protection from discrimination), and even if her article hadn't been littered with factual inaccuracies about the transgendered community, where is the personal responsibility involved in dredging up and perpetuating so many stereotypes that a highly discriminated against minority (and its allies) have fought long and hard to try to correct?

But, enough of that. Burchill is not the only culprit, and the fact is: I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired that I have to fight. I'm tired of scrambling to make my voice heard among the cacophony of anger, hatred and ignorance that just feed each other. I am tired of wanting to shut myself away from the world because everyone is screaming and no one is listening.

I'm an American. I live in the UK. If I criticise the British (though I tend to specify 'English' because those are the people I'm around), I am brushed off, ridiculed, or slapped with the label "insert negative adjective American". Sometimes all I have to do is ask why they do a particular thing here to get the same result. At the same time, I hear a constant barrage of criticisms and derogatory statements about Americans with varying levels of legitimacy. I'm not allowed to contradict these statements, either, though, because again I'm just being a "insert negative adjective American". I have one lecturer who somehow manages to include at least one derogatory statement about Americans per lecture - I'm actually a bit amazed at her ability to slip these in considering the lectures have nothing to do with Americans or the United States. No one speaks up. I don't even speak up. Why? Because I have been taught that pointing out that something is offensive is wrong.

We've all been taught that. If you're offended by someone's statement, you're minimised and illegitimised. You're told that you're just "too sensitive"; others are told that you're "throwing a tantrum" or "having a hissy fit". At best, you are patronised and pandered to, if not out and out attacked.

Back home, guns are a big topic at the moment. Every time there's a school shooting, guns are a big topic. Except. Is anyone talking about the propensity in American society for individuals to take guns into public places and shoot people they don't know for no particularly identifiable reason? No. Everyone is screaming "Don't take my guns away!" because it was mentioned that part of solving this quandary of public shootings might be examining the gun control regulations already in place. The real issue - why this happens so frequently in our country - is completely ignored.

What does that have to do with hate? Well, my dears, it's very simple. It becomes a form of hate. Meme posts depicting liberals as illiterate idiots for wanting stricter gun control laws, sensationalist articles written on both sides to further their agenda, two camps of people screaming bile at each other and no one bothering to listen.

Pick any topic and you'll see it - over and over these cycles of animosity impeding the channels of reasonable discussion, impeding progress and resolution, impeding acceptance and peace.

Don't you ever want it to just stop? Don't you get tired of it?

When are we going to stop reducing each other to impersonal labels and accept that we are all human? We are all vulnerable. We are all flawed. We all want the same things - safety, health, happiness. The rest doesn't matter. Strip us down to the barest principles and we are all the same. Why can't we talk to each other? Why can't we come together and work towards finding practical solutions to the issues - whether it's the issue of a journalist who abuses her role or the vast number of people without food or ensuring everyone has access to adequate health or - dear god there are so many problems to fix in this world, why are we wasting so much time slinging childish insults back and forth?

When are we going to stop hating?

The Power in Meaning

I have this thing about words. I'm very specific about them, and what they mean, and very picky about any sort of ambiguity in their usage. Now, I know, we all have slightly different interpretations of what individual words mean, or what they mean to us in our own perceptions.

For example, I use the word "silly" as a term of endearment, as in 'yeah, that was kinda dumb, but I love you so it's okay'. Or if I say I'm feeling anxious that means I'm about two seconds away from finding the nearest corner to camp out in for a couple hours until the twitchiness passes, whereas someone else might say they're feeling anxious to indicate a small amount of nervousness. ("Twitchiness" is another word that I've adopted to mean "panic attack" because I don't like saying 'I'm having a panic attack'.)

Everyone has those things, and as you get to know them, you learn their individual language and adapt to it. Adopt it, in some cases.

Maybe it's because of this that very often we forget the actual meaning behind those words, and the power that meaning has. So we say things indiscriminately without thinking about the wider ramifications that meaning is going to carry with it to the person receiving them. Think about how many disagreements you've been in with someone where it eventually comes out 'I didn't mean it like that.' I'm sure you've said it yourself. I know I have.

But to come back to me (because, well, it's my blog so why not), my thing about words focuses in on those things. I do account for a slight amount of variation in meaning from person to person, but there are also universal meanings that a majority of people have come to accept - X means Y. And when it comes to the more fuzzily defined words - any emotion springs to mind - those universally accepted definitions are vital for accurately (or as accurately as possible) conveying a singular, individual experience to someone else without really having a common ground to stand on.

An example from a conversation a very long time ago:

He said he was very angry.

Recounting the same incident a day or so later:

He said he was very upset.

Hearing those two phrases, I'll stop you and say, well, which is it? Yes, "angry" is a form of "upset", but "upset" isn't always "angry". So it changes the interpretation. And I will completely halt the conversation with an interrogation about what is actually meant by a particular word until it's explained to my satisfaction. I like specifics. They prevent misunderstandings.

So today I'm thinking about words, and what they mean universally, and what they mean individually. It's fine to have your own set of definitions for words. It's also fine to appropriate words or clusters of words to attempt to describe something that doesn't have its own word. At the same time, though, you need to be aware of the universal definition when you're interacting with other people, especially when your definition isn't the same. You can't just spout off something and expect someone to immediately grab the usage that is particular to you. No. More than likely they will automatically fall into what the collective has decided that word or phrase means. So there's a responsibility there, in the language you use and the words you choose. Every single thing you say leaves an impact, and you need to be aware of what that impact will be. It's not enough to hide behind I didn't mean it that way or That's not the definition I use if it's the definition the majority uses. If you want to be understood, sometimes you have to go with convention a little bit. You have to think about the person you're speaking to and how they're going to interpret what you're saying, how that interpretation is going to affect them, and if they're actually going to understand what you're trying to convey. You may prefer your definition over all others, but if you can't get across what you mean, then what purpose does it serve?

I could use a better example, and you've probably gotten the sense I'm talking around something very specific, but I'm not that much of an attention junkie to slice myself open just now, and not quite so vindictive as to call up the flaming torches. I much prefer setting my own fires, anyway.

Along the same lines comes the topic of not saying things for the seemingly noble reason of protecting someone else's feelings. I will tell you right now: that's bullshit. The only reason for not saying something is because you're afraid to, and that has nothing to do with the other person. The more you don't say something, the more you lie, and lying doesn't protect anyone.

The point is: before you open your mouth, think about what you want to say. Think about the best words to say it. And if you know it isn't taken the right way, try again. At the very least, say that. 

You can't stand on the sidelines forever, kid.

Fuck Chick-fil-a.
Fuck Oreo.
Fuck Christian gay straight liberal conservative male female whatever.

Look me in the eye and tell me I'm not a person.

Tell me I don't deserve respect.
Tell me I don't deserve love.
Tell me I'm not good enough.
Tell me my voice doesn't matter.

Do it.
And then fuck off.

Because what I choose to do with my life has nothing to do with you.

---

I am so... disgusted with humanity right now. I'm sick of the proliferation of blithely stated hatred - the celebration of that hatred, like oppressing another group of people is someone's idea of a good time. I'm sick of my friends and family being treated like what they're asking for - what we're asking for - is completely unreasonable. I'm sick of feeling like I want to go find a fabulously queer hole to crawl into and never leave because they're the only ones who can really be trusted. I'm sick of religion being used as a shield that's meant to conceal a multitude of sins - oh yes, that's right, all you Bible-wielders, because there is nothing even remotely Christian about the things coming out of your mouths these days - when religion shouldn't even be dragged into it.

I'm sick of everyone forgetting that beneath all the names, slander, propaganda are real people who actually aren't all that different when it comes right down to it.

Mostly, though, I'm really sick of being shown exactly how many people I have respect, love and admiration for evidently have none of those things for me.

---

"I try my best to ascribe to the 'live and let live' philosophy when it comes to the increasingly prickly arena of religion, politics, lifestyles, etc., but there are moments while watching people show their support for various opinions by happily clicking 'like' where I wonder if, that in the span of that mouse click, the friends, children, nieces, nephews, and cousins personally affected in their daily lives by that opinion cross their minds, or that by supporting that opinion they are effectively saying those friends, children, nieces, nephews and cousins aren't entitled to certain rights - in fact, deserve to be treated as less than. It's not about abstract concepts or philosophies. It's about a real, living, breathing, thinking, feeling human being that you go on vacations with, celebrate with, grieve with, love and are loved by. Maybe more people should think about that rather than competing for who gets to be the most right." 


"Those same ignorant bigots can stand up and say anything they want about my life... but they do not have a right to make me change the way I live my life to suit them. If the worse thing someone can say about me is that I LOVE someone... well then... I'm doing alright. [...] It comes down to most people never having had to worry about hiding who they are from others. Never having to worry about whether or not they or their significant other will be allowed in a hospital room should something happen to them. Never having to worry about someone trying to deny you the right to see your children when they are hurt. Never having to worry about society suddenly deciding they have the right to rip your family apart. Never having to worry about simply being denied that you exist, that you even have the right to exist. It's a good thing that many people don't know what it's like to worry about being killed, beaten, or raped simply because you were seen holding hands with your loved one. But it's deplorable that ANYONE has to feel this way. These things do happen, they are real, and they are a disgusting part of humanity. It needs to be eradicated which can only happen if people are taught to respect diversity. "The gays" are not out hunting down bigots and vandalizing their homes, screaming hate speech at their children, trying to take their children away from them, killing them or raping them for being who they are. There's nothing about this that I can smile and do nothing about. If anything people need to speak up more. Get louder. Because this is not something I want my kids to grow up and have as part of their world."


"In the case of (god I'm so sick of that fucking company now), they are specifically attacking the LGTB community, and I see everyone wondering, do they have the right? They should have the right to hate us, and voice that opinion all they want to, but no one, I mean no one, should try and mandate who I sleep with, fuck, kiss, and fall in love with, I mean no one. And that's what that company was using their money for, to actually fund organisations that take away our rights. So in the case of LGBT community, are you telling me that us homos, lesbos, bisexuals, and transpeople don't have the right to stand up and protest this? Well, that's is just stupid. Any rights, civil liberties, and laws that give us rights should always be defended and fought for."


"Do you think that "we", as a society, will ever learn that disallowing all people the same rights, regardless of skin color, sexual orientation, gender, what-have-you, will eventually lead to an uprising by those being repressed/oppressed? I mean, is it cliche to say that this is the same thing women went through, that blacks went through? I'm not saying that it's not good to fight. It does make you stronger; it does make you more appreciative of the victories you earn (even though within a generation or two, all of the battles, frustrations, hurt, etc. are completely forgotten by those who enjoy the fruits of your pain and endurance). BUT... If you ask the same people who fight so hard to (for instance) "uphold the traditional definition of marriage" if they believe that black people should still be enslaved, they would be shocked that you could even suggest such a thing. Well, why not?"


"Stop being afraid of things you do not know personally. Stop being afraid of 'them', whomever 'they' are. They are you. Human with a need for love and support and family, whatever that means to each individual. I'm tired of humanity continuing to act like an amoeba scared to death of its own shadow because its 'different' or they don't understand it. Evolve. Think for yourself. Understand what base instincts are and think beyond them. It's really that simple."


"I mean, no one chooses to be gay, straight, bi, or trans. I can't imagine any one of us just woke up one day and said, "oh, I think my life would be easier if I just changed my gender," or "I think my world would be greatly enhanced if I were gay". No!! We already went through that argument back in the 80's and 90's. No, it's not a choice, and it makes your life more difficult, especially because rights are taken away. [...] Our forefathers wanted us to have the freedom to express ourselves individually, and then these fundamentalists are all like "well, you can, just don't do it so loudly", and then they turn around and they are ten times as loud as anyone else. Well, I'm sorry I'm going to scream back "fuck you" with a giant middle finger because I can and I will defend myself and my civil liberties and rights. Right now there are still transgenders being murdered and gays that are being denied any access to healthcare, [...] and believe me there many more things I could list. [...] There are even rural parts of the U.S. where you can kill someone for being gay and probably get away with it. Usually, as well, when you start saying things that people find hard to hear, they chalk it up to [your] anger and not to their own fear."


"You spend your whole life getting kicked in the face and taking it with a smile. Sometimes it's just one kick too many, and you get really fucking tired of turning the other cheek, especially when it doesn't matter how tolerant you are. You're always going to be the one who can't talk about certain things because it's "upsetting", or can't go to a family function with your partner, or have to bite your tongue when a relative cracks a joke about hunting season on liberals because you might hurt his feelings, or another relative cuts you out of her life completely just because you point out that religion and government are supposed to stay separate, or the police won't protect you because you're just the butt of their joke, or you don't get hired for a job you're more than qualified for because who you date makes the employer uncomfortable, or you end up pretending to be this watered-down, superficial copy of yourself because other people apparently find it too much of a strain to do what you do every damn day for a few hours every couple of months and be as tolerant of you as you are of them. So... Yeah. Sometimes, you stop and look at the real double-standard and think: why the hell do I bother? They don't."

Walking the Line

I am wary of activism, largely because the idea of forcing a particular way of thinking on an unwilling person conflicts with my personal morality, even if the particular way of thinking is one I support. Do unto others sticks pretty firmly in my mind in these situations. I want to be able to live my life with the freedom to be who and what I am, and follow my own beliefs and ambitions. I don't expect everyone to agree with me or like me; just let me get on with my life. And I reciprocate.

Well. I hold up my end of the bargain, anyway.

Most of my family is pretty conservative. Extremely conservative. God knows how my little pocket of nuclear liberalism came to be, but the rest are your typical Gods, God and Government. The big shock was how accepting they were when I dropped the bombshell on them ten years ago. I've brought partners to family gatherings, and not much is said about the various tattoos, piercings and hair colours I show up with (I can't speak for what's said afterwards, but while we're there it's not an issue, and a lot of times in families, that's what it all comes down to).

There is the cousin who no longer speaks to me because I pointed out that white, heterosexual Christians actually aren't oppressed and that, if you want to drag the United States' founding documents into the issue, nothing even vaguely religious should be integrated with any government institution (schools, court houses, etc.). And her father who did the same because I, as someone who would be unable to afford insurance if I weren't already uninsurable because of a "pre-existing condition" (nice double whammy there; go me!), made a rather angry post about "conservative assholes" (generalised) who don't have to wonder if they can afford proper healthcare not having a legitimate stance to opposed a medical bill that would benefit an awful lot of people currently lacking adequate healthcare.

But those are the exceptions.

Me as an individual - their grandson, nephew, cousin is accepted even if he dresses weird, doesn't go to church, spouts those crazy liberal ideas about equality and is just as likely to show up with a pretty boy on his arm as a pretty girl - is accepted.

Me as a concept - an anonymous face in the mass of alternative religions, alternative lifestyles, anti-gun, pro-socialised government programs, pro-choice, queer, etc. - is not.

It's a difficult thing to manage. On some level, I realise that in voicing their opinions on issues that I support - specifically the ones that affect me like gay rights - it doesn't occur to them in the slightest that what they're saying has a direct impact on me, both in the grand scheme of whether or not I'll actually ever have all the same rights they do and on the more personal level of having someone who claims to love me say that people like me are sub-human.

I don't agree with a lot of the things my extended family believes. Hell, I don't even always agree with my mother's beliefs. But I accept that they are just as entitled to those beliefs as I am to mine and don't persistently try to sway them to the Sashi Side.

Of course, the thing everyone is talking about these days is Chick-Fil-A. I've actually gotten into arguments with gay friends about it because the media is doing what the media always does and I don't agree with that. It goes back to my initial statement. Forcing someone to follow a way of thinking against their will never works out well. What bothers me the most about everyone flocking to stone the company, though, is the number of (gay) friends and acquaintances who up until this point said "I don't care," about the ethos behind the company but, lo and behold! The media starts publicising boycotts and protests and over night "I don't care," becomes "I'm never eating there again".

It just feels a little too artificial, with a hint of witch hunt about it.

I don't support the company - for more reasons than just their stance on homosexuality - but I don't feel very inclined to join the current fray, either. Dan Cathy can believe whatever he wants to believe - and people who agree with him, or just plain don't care, can continue to go there. I don't personally feel the need to jump  in and try to destroy their business. Dan Cathy is not every employee of that company, and, having known quite a few who've worked for Chick-Fil-A, I feel pretty confident in saying that the majority of their workforce (being the crewpeople actually working in the stores themselves) probably aren't in positions where they can quibble about who exactly is signing their paychecks.

Returning to the subject of my family, while perusing Facebook one of my cousins - one of the newer acquisitions that I get along fairly well with - posted one of those silly meme pictures in support of Dan Cathy, and, I'll be honest, it hurt. This is a woman who said I always have a place in their home, who went out of her way to get to know me once she knew I existed, who is still trying to persuade me to move back to San Antonio, who stood with me at my father's funeral supporting a man who thinks I don't deserve to be treated like every other American citizen. I sat there for awhile trying to wrap my head around the concept. I tried to mimic the thinking in my head, to empathise in a way, and I couldn't. A lot of my friends - gay, liberal, alternative, poor, marginalised left and right - don't have  a lot of nice things to say about Christians in general and even while I know the loudest and most powerful saying indefensible things, when my friends start in I'm always there saying no, no - they're not all bad. You have to respect them if you want respect, because I think of the people in my life who hold those values and know they aren't bad people. Just different. In the end, all I came up with was this:

I try my best to ascribe to the 'live and let live' philosophy when it comes to the increasingly prickly arena of religion, politics, lifestyles, etc., but there are moments while watching people show their support for various opinions by happily clicking 'like' where I wonder if, that in the span of that mouse click, the friends, children, nieces, nephews, and cousins personally affected in their daily lives by that opinion cross their minds, or that by supporting that opinion they are effectively saying those friends, children, nieces, nephews and cousins aren't entitled to certain rights - in fact, deserve to be treated as less than. It's not about abstract concepts or philosophies. It's about a real, living, breathing, thinking, feeling human being that you go on vacations with, celebrate with, grieve with, love and are loved by. Maybe more people should think about that rather than competing for who gets to be the most right. 


Of course, immediately after that, the same cousin posted another picture from an LBGT group. Trying to work out the thinking that led there completely short-circuited my brain. 

Day 12

Beauty crowds me until I die.

          There are moments I can’t even open my eyes for fear the strength of it will consume my bones and burn my soul. My guitar hugs my lap and my fingers spin the strings. I can’t see the people gathering around me, but I can feel the way their hearts turn into butterflies between the chords.

          I play until my finger bleed, and I keep playing. I play until after the children have been tucked into their beds, and long after the lovers have escaped into their own. I play until I am the only one left in the park because I need the music to keep the world at bay.

          When my entire body aches beyond relief, Caspar comes. He never makes a sound and I never see him coming, but he feels different than the day people and I know it’s finally okay to stop.

          But tonight I’m wary. He’s been away longer than usual and I still haven’t answered his question.

          ‘Why do you always come at night?’ I ask.

          ‘“I see thee better in the dark; I do not need a light.”’

          I smile, and wonder how many others he quotes poetry to at night. I imagine him in a room filled with nothing but stacks of books. Dickinson, Yeats, Elliot, Whitman, Keats. Hours and hours spent absorbing every page so he will have just the right line from just the right poem should the need arise.

          ‘Did you bring my present?’

          ‘I admit, you had me stumped,’ he says, producing a cup the size of a small bowl from his peacoat. ‘But then I had an epiphany.’

          The last time we met, I told him to bring me the sunset in a cup and I would give him my answer.

          He places the cup on the pavement at my feet, and wriggles a well-used plastic water bottle from his pocket. ‘No judgement,’ he warns, filling the cup, but I’m too curious for mockery. He cups his hand and dips it into the water, resting it against the hollow of the cup. And then he stares. And stares. Like nothing in the world exists besides that cup.

          The water trembles and glitters with a light that doesn’t exist, and then a warm yellow blossoms in his palm, darkening with reds and oranges until the cup is filled with shimmering rays lighting the night between us.

          It is so beautiful I cannot breathe, but it doesn’t kill me. I can look right through it and not be singed. I reach to touch it but he pulls the light back in and the sunset disappears inside his palm.

          ‘It’s hotter than it looks,’ he says, drying his hand on his jeans. He looks at me, waiting. He will not ask his question again.

          This is my only chance to answer.   

Day 11: Challenge

Challege #5


Incorporate the themes of gender roles and power.

---

He’d started following her over a block ago. She’d felt his eyes crawling over her as she crossed the street by the market. She tightened her grip on her bag, raised her chin and walked faster.

          There were plenty of shadowy alcoves for someone to conceal themselves in. Even more buildings left empty and abandoned. The few streetlights that still worked flickered ambivalently against the night. Anything could be waiting in over a hundred different places.

          He wasn’t in a rush, but he was gaining on her. And the motel was still six blocks away. She had to make a decision.

          At the next corner, she ducked down the side street, her hand already feeling around her bag. Just as her fingers brushed the silver hilt, a hand clamped over her mouth while an arm wrapped around her waist. Her squirmed and clawed at the arms pinning her.

          ‘Don’t,’ hissed into her ear. The sound of her native tongue was enough to stun her. ‘Be still.’

          She hadn’t heard her own language since they’d come to this place. Her brother had happily abandoned all their customs in favour of assimilation. He either didn’t care or didn’t notice how much she still needed the old ways.

          A few moments later, the man who had been following her came into view, and she realised how stupid she’d been. Her captor had pinned her arm with her hand still in her bag. Still holding the knife. She would show them their mistake.

          The man stopped at the corner and turned in a slow circle. He looked right at her and his eyes slid away again. Shrugging, he jogged across the street and went back the way he came.

          She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she didn’t need to find out. The muscles were tensed and ready for the slightest give in her captor’s grip. It’d been so long since she’d had a good fight; she was almost excited.

          And then her back was slammed against the wall, knocking her bag to the ground. Her lungs seized, but she swung her knife through the air anyway. There would be time to breathe later.

          His hand locked around her wrist. The knife fell to the sidewalk. He stood with his face centimetres away from hers. Heat radiated from his skin, fuelled by the dark fires in his eyes.

          He shouldn’t be able to move that fast. He shouldn’t be able to sneak up on her. His eyes shouldn’t burn like that.

          ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ he asked, his voice low in his throat.

          She looked up at him, defiant. Forced herself to meet those eyes. To see him and not just the target points. As his features worked themselves into a familiar pattern, anger surged through her. An attack could have been forgotten; this was unforgivable. ‘I don’t answer to you,’ she said.

          ‘The fuck you don’t.’ He stepped back, pushing a hand through his shaggy hair. ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he muttered, lighting a cigarette. ‘Look. I’m responsible for keeping you safe, so when I tell you something, you damn well better do it.’

          ‘I don’t need a man to defend me,’ she said. ‘Men are weak.’

          ‘Oh, yeah?’ He grinned at her. She hated that look. He was too damn cocky. ‘You didn’t do so well against me, did you?’

          ‘You’re not a man,’ she said tensely. Her face flushed, but she forced herself to stay in control. A queen never lost her composure.

          ‘And you’re no queen,’ he countered. ‘Not anymore.’ He took a drag from his cigarette, then used it to gesture around the street. ‘Here you’re just another dumb little girl in a short skirt about to get herself killed wandering around shitty neighbourhoods after dark.’

          She had personally led her army to victory in thirteen battles by the time of her coronation. She had been the only undefeated champion in the sparring circle. There wasn’t a warrior, alive or dead, who matched her skill. ‘I could have handled him.’

          ‘And made an even bigger mess for me to clean up.’ A few more drags on the cigarette, and he sighed. ‘Look, I get it. And it sucks, but you can’t be you anymore. Not if you want to make it here.’

          ‘And “making it” here is letting men push me around?’

          His smile verged on a laugh that didn’t quite form. ‘Not exactly, but you can’t slit their throats just because they piss you off, either,’ he said. ‘And you do what I tell you.’

          ‘In my kingdom, I could have you killed for even speaking to me. I could even kill you myself, if I chose.’

          ‘Next time we’re in your kingdom, you can kill me as many times as you want,’ he said. ‘Just make my life easy while we’re here.’ He looked up at the derelict buildings and a grin snaked across his mouth. ‘In my kingdom.’

          She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. Even for a man, he made a pathetic warrior. He relied too much on tricks and gimmicks. But he knew this place and she didn’t. ‘Why is it that the women in your kingdom let the men just do as they please?’

          This time, he did laugh. ‘When someone figures that out, I’ll let you know.’