R : Yes, and?
Me : But I'm scared.
R : And you're here in the first place why?
Me : But that's different!
R : "If you want to win, you have to play the game."
Me : You're only a character, you know, I can write your death by giant falling anvil any time I like.
Going out to Camden later for belated hugs, and then mum's decided to take me to the theatre to see the all-male Midsummer Night's Dream, which I'm quite looking forward to. Well, as much as I look forward to anything involving my parents these days. Sigh.
I had strange dreams last night - that I accidentally ran across trishpiglet driving a van through Clapham and ended up going with her to her new place, which was a six-bedroom veritable mansion in Hampstead. A lot of the LondonPolyBis were there, but I couldn't talk to them because my face had frozen up. I tried to explain this to Trish, whose solution was to shut my head in the microwave. Yes, it did work. ~s~
I blame dennyd for this, though it's not about him. I've no idea where this is going.
He learned the right way to do things pretty quickly, it has to be said. One or two of the boys wanted to mess him up a bit, but he gave them no cause and so it was left to fantasies from behind gritted teeth, late at night. There wasn't one of us but wanted to do something to him.
He wasn't so perfect that he attracted attention from above; just good enough that we all noticed. We all knew he could definitely make it. Some resented that, but then, they were the ones that almost certainly couldn't. Most of them would drop out before the end of the year.
He liked taking orders; would answer smartly, never, ever giving anyone who ranked above him any cheek, would follow instructions to the letter where appropriate and use his considerable initiative when it was needed. He liked giving orders; would speak clearly, never, ever giving anyone who ranked below him a hard time, would take on anything he knew he could do well and was prepared to delegate responsibility for the things he thought would best be handled by someone else. In short, he was a model of all that they wanted from us, and it should have been sickening.
But the way he was with us, the boys who ranked alongside him, meant that none of us could really bear any grudges against him. Since we were neither above nor below him, he felt no need to impress us either way, and the brisk definition of his usual self would often break up completely around us. If any of us tried to taunt him or humiliate him while he was down, one look from his impossible brown eyes would soon shut us up. We all learned that lesson.
We were from all walks of life, so some of them would sit up at night and swear, declaiming "I'm not fucking gay, but he's got girl's eyes and a girl's face and I want to fuck him", and some would mutter about dominance and submission and uniforms and orders, and then some, like myself, had read actual books and could think more than a hair's breadth below the surface and our thoughts were silent but eloquent.
Those eyes had inspired poetry worse than rape, believe me.
Anyway, enough rambling for this morning. Must wake up properly and make some token effort towards getting dressed and out of the house...