Enter the Stranger
Jun. 29th, 2012 10:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
strangerverse* * * * * * *
The Colonel entered the bar with the wrinkled appearance of a man who'd gotten undressed for bed, found he couldn't sleep, and jammed his clothes on again to go find some company and a drink. Henry Clarke, seated in the corner with seven identically tuxedo'd friends and their various hangers-on, watched him with the cool disdain of the much better dressed.
“This should prove entertaining,” he said, nudging one of his fellow revellers and nodding toward the bar. Nick squinted, then nodded appreciatively.
“Your old nemesis, the Colonel. I hear you've been trying to unhinge him by signing up for every one of his classes.”
“Trying to further unhinge him,” Henry corrected. “The fellow's already more than halfway unscrewed, believe me. Oho, what have we here?” A not-unattractive older brunette, clad in startlingly non-period street clothes, was making a beeline for the Colonel.
“You know,” said Henry, and threw back a nearly full glass, “I suddenly find myself in need of a fresh drink. Care to join me at the bar?” Grinning widely, Nick followed him. The Colonel, fully absorbed in his argument, didn't even glance back as they took up barstools next to him.
“You misunderstand the situation entirely, Helen,” he was saying, holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I am not in pursuit of that young woman, I swear it. Far from it! Do you know the lengths I had to go to, to convince the steering committee it would be fun to play at masters and servants, just so she'd be forced to stop pursuing me? Ask any one of the organizers, they'll tell you how hard I pushed for it! I'll give you their names and numbers, or look here, I'll take you along to meet them all tomorrow.”
“Do you really think,” she asked him, “I have any interest in meeting more adults who spend their free time and half their money playing dress-up? No, shut up, don't interrupt me. I could just about put up with your Sherlock Holmes friends, in the beginning, before you started imagining yourself as some kind of superstar. And the worst part is, these people believe you. You're like the hero of the zeroes. They take you seriously, as if your whole self-publishing author-education routine is something real, instead of just a selfish, intellectually indulgent midlife crisis.”
She drew a deep breath. “I could forgive you for screwing around. Sex is fun, people make mistakes, whatever. I understand that, I really do. But the part where you're throwing our lives away so you can pretend to be important in front of a bunch of kids and untalented geeks? No thanks.”
Henry and Nick exchanged mortified glances. Thing was, by now the Colonel, shoulders slumped, had turned to face the bar again, so he was no longer back on to them. There was no getting away without being seen, now.
“Is that it, then? You came here to tell me you want a divorce?”
“Frankly, at this point you'd me more use to me dead,” she said bitterly, and walked away.
The Colonel drained his drink with the bitter look of a man whose entire evening has gone to hell, set his glass on the bar, and then saw Henry. “You,” he said.
“Yes, yes, me,” Henry agreed. “Damned thing, these coincidences, don't you find? Except not a coincidence really, I suppose. We do share a fandom and a love of writing, what?”
“You're following me,” the Colonel said. But his shoulders were still slumped, and there didn't appear to be much fight in him.
Henry felt something close to remorseful. “Buy you a drink?” he offered, and it was a mark of how badly the Colonel's night was going that he accepted.
“You know, that last story of yours had real potential,” he said, staring moodily into his G&T. “Weak points, plenty of 'em, but the overall plot was clever, and the characterization not bad at all.”
“Really?” said Henry, blinking in astonishment. “Kind of you to say so, old chap. I suppose these classes of yours have been doing me some good after all.”
“Mmm,” said the Colonel noncommitally. “I'm thinking of handing it over to one of my up-and-comers, see if she can work it up into something publishable.”
“I...wait, what?”
The Colonel's unpleasant chuckle sounded much nearer his regular self. “Oh, yes. It's in the forms you sign when you take my classes, you know. You give up the rights to anything you create for the class assignments.” He glanced at his watch. “It's nearly eleven,” he said in a pleased voice, “and I've just remembered, I've a girl coming to see me.” He slapped Henry jovially on the shoulder and headed off, whistling.
“Of all the obnoxious asses,” Nick said in wonder.
Henry's jaw was set. “Indeed,” he said coldly.
* * * * * * *
The Colonel entered the bar with the wrinkled appearance of a man who'd gotten undressed for bed, found he couldn't sleep, and jammed his clothes on again to go find some company and a drink. Henry Clarke, seated in the corner with seven identically tuxedo'd friends and their various hangers-on, watched him with the cool disdain of the much better dressed.
“This should prove entertaining,” he said, nudging one of his fellow revellers and nodding toward the bar. Nick squinted, then nodded appreciatively.
“Your old nemesis, the Colonel. I hear you've been trying to unhinge him by signing up for every one of his classes.”
“Trying to further unhinge him,” Henry corrected. “The fellow's already more than halfway unscrewed, believe me. Oho, what have we here?” A not-unattractive older brunette, clad in startlingly non-period street clothes, was making a beeline for the Colonel.
“You know,” said Henry, and threw back a nearly full glass, “I suddenly find myself in need of a fresh drink. Care to join me at the bar?” Grinning widely, Nick followed him. The Colonel, fully absorbed in his argument, didn't even glance back as they took up barstools next to him.
“You misunderstand the situation entirely, Helen,” he was saying, holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I am not in pursuit of that young woman, I swear it. Far from it! Do you know the lengths I had to go to, to convince the steering committee it would be fun to play at masters and servants, just so she'd be forced to stop pursuing me? Ask any one of the organizers, they'll tell you how hard I pushed for it! I'll give you their names and numbers, or look here, I'll take you along to meet them all tomorrow.”
“Do you really think,” she asked him, “I have any interest in meeting more adults who spend their free time and half their money playing dress-up? No, shut up, don't interrupt me. I could just about put up with your Sherlock Holmes friends, in the beginning, before you started imagining yourself as some kind of superstar. And the worst part is, these people believe you. You're like the hero of the zeroes. They take you seriously, as if your whole self-publishing author-education routine is something real, instead of just a selfish, intellectually indulgent midlife crisis.”
She drew a deep breath. “I could forgive you for screwing around. Sex is fun, people make mistakes, whatever. I understand that, I really do. But the part where you're throwing our lives away so you can pretend to be important in front of a bunch of kids and untalented geeks? No thanks.”
Henry and Nick exchanged mortified glances. Thing was, by now the Colonel, shoulders slumped, had turned to face the bar again, so he was no longer back on to them. There was no getting away without being seen, now.
“Is that it, then? You came here to tell me you want a divorce?”
“Frankly, at this point you'd me more use to me dead,” she said bitterly, and walked away.
The Colonel drained his drink with the bitter look of a man whose entire evening has gone to hell, set his glass on the bar, and then saw Henry. “You,” he said.
“Yes, yes, me,” Henry agreed. “Damned thing, these coincidences, don't you find? Except not a coincidence really, I suppose. We do share a fandom and a love of writing, what?”
“You're following me,” the Colonel said. But his shoulders were still slumped, and there didn't appear to be much fight in him.
Henry felt something close to remorseful. “Buy you a drink?” he offered, and it was a mark of how badly the Colonel's night was going that he accepted.
“You know, that last story of yours had real potential,” he said, staring moodily into his G&T. “Weak points, plenty of 'em, but the overall plot was clever, and the characterization not bad at all.”
“Really?” said Henry, blinking in astonishment. “Kind of you to say so, old chap. I suppose these classes of yours have been doing me some good after all.”
“Mmm,” said the Colonel noncommitally. “I'm thinking of handing it over to one of my up-and-comers, see if she can work it up into something publishable.”
“I...wait, what?”
The Colonel's unpleasant chuckle sounded much nearer his regular self. “Oh, yes. It's in the forms you sign when you take my classes, you know. You give up the rights to anything you create for the class assignments.” He glanced at his watch. “It's nearly eleven,” he said in a pleased voice, “and I've just remembered, I've a girl coming to see me.” He slapped Henry jovially on the shoulder and headed off, whistling.
“Of all the obnoxious asses,” Nick said in wonder.
Henry's jaw was set. “Indeed,” he said coldly.
* * * * * * *
