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Burr's Legacy
Jul. 23rd, 2001 05:00 pm"Let go of my neck."
"I'm not holding onto your neck, Bobby. Think of it as a hug."
One thirty in the morning, the flat of my arm pressed against someone's juggular. Tighten my grip just a bit, and this becomes a goodbye party in a larger sense than planned.
"Let the fuck go!"
No response from me, either verbally or physically. He chooses to interpret this as aquiescence, probably the safest approach for him -- he can back down without losing face.
"That's good," he rumbles to the onlookers. "If you hadn't let go" (I haven't) "I was fixing to body slam you."
"Sure, Bobby" and I would have shifted my grip just enough to let you snap your own neck in the process.
"Now stop touching me."
"Awwww, but you feel so niiiiiiice!" I'm petting him now, stroking along his shoulderblades.
"Let. The fuck. Go."
"Give me my pen."
"After you let go."
Idiot. If I wanted a weapon, I would have grabbed the fireplace poker. "No. Now."
He makes some asinine attempt to fake away, but I'm smaller, faster, and a hell of a lot scarier. Bluster only takes you so far, Bobby, before you have to back it up with something.
I should back up.
I'm in a podunk town just west of Fort Worth, the sort of town with nameless unpaved roads and more horses than people. Patrick, Val, and several of our friends are seeing Rebecca off - she leaves for Japan in a week and a half, not to return for at least a year. We've all been getting relatively drunk (or rather we've been drinking. Drunk is impossible for me; I get sick before I get drunk. Slightly buzzed is as far as I can go, no matter the number of beers). The whole party's been a real drag for me, even though I'm glad to see everyone; there's fuck-all for entertainment besides some old dinner games I pull out of dusty memory. I knew this would happen, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? They are my friends.
Patrick and I are dozing after sparring until we were too tired to be safe anymore. We have to leave in the morning anyway, so we're curled up in a nest of sleeping bags.
I wake to find a hulking figure looming over Valancy, who kneels on the floor. Mary and Rees making like couch cushions, and Patrick dead to the world. I place the brute after a millisecond's confusion -- Bobby. Rebecca's boyfriend -- I've met him before. Bigoted, homophobic, misogynistic macho man who likes to feel big by giving orders. Every smalltown cliche rolled into one package. He's not usually so bad, it's just that he hates us. Our presence reminds him that Rebecca doesn't love him.
I don't find out until later what he's saying. I still don't know why nobody got Rebecca, why they thought it was a better idea to look at him with big scared eyes. But Val is clearly unable to take care of it; she can't even see with her contacts out.
That's how I find myself joking around with Bobby, smiling ever so politely, prepared to shatter his eardrums if he makes another move toward my Companion. I'd prefer not to kill him, but I've sworn certain alliegances and I don't enter fights halfway unless there's no question I'll win. Bobby is a fool. It's not that I'm a better fighter than him, although I am. It's that I'll always go a step further than he will. I have no morals to stop me. Luckily for him, I do have a strange sense of etiquette, and I can't shake the feeling that it's bad form to murder someone's boyfriend at her going away party. Even if he is threatening my friends.
A few minutes later, Bobby is convinced that he and I are bosom buddies, and moreover that he's won. He didn't, of course. He lost the second I called his bluff -- he's drunk and hopelessly outnumbered. Just by fighting in the first place, he has lost face with Rebecca. By backing down, he has lost face in front of Rebecca's brothers. Deep down, he knows that, but it's enough for now that I'm leaving. I spare a moment to be thankful that I'm the one handling this, and not Patrick -- Bobby can tell himself that he went easy on me because I'm a woman. I hate pride fights; they're so . . . unnecessary.
On the way out the door, Sadie tries to convince me that I'm running away, letting him win. She has it backwards. He's already lost, and there's no reason for us to stay. Besides, I don't relish the idea of keeping watch over Valancy and Patrick all night. I make sure that my people -- Valancy, Patrick, Mary -- are safely in the Jeep before slipping behind the steering wheel. Patrick's vehicle, and I hate SUVs, but I'm the sober one as always. Rebecca's crying, begging us to stay, asking over and over again whether we've signed her address book. I can tell that Valancy wants to slap her for this breach in security, but instead she's soothing, calming. Thanks for inviting us, we'd have left soon anyway, enjoy yourself, we'll call you in the morning and tell you what happened.
Car ride, Mary apologizing, convinced it's her fault. Permanent Cassandra. She could have called Bobby off if she hadn't been so frozen with indecision. Valancy apologizing, furious with herself for not being able to take care of it, amazed by his desire to hurt and even rape her. Me explaining the conscious choice not to kill today. Patrick strangely silent, exhausted and subdued. Valancy worries about the day that I don't stop myself -- not because I ever lose control, but because my control is so perfect. There will be no insanity plea because anger makes me placid, polite, even charming. Of everyone in the car, Val is the only one who has seen enough to intuit my capabilities, (although Patrick is beginning to suspect). She knew me before I decided to be one of the good guys.
We get home, my house, safety. Val stretches out, forces herself to relax. Mary apologizes again -- she knew this was coming before we arrived at the party, knew something bad was on the way. All the omens were there. Says she's spent enough time with me that she should know by now to trust her intuition. Patrick gets me some water, asks repeatedly if I'm okay -- he's never seen me like this. I'm fine, it's just that there's no reason to maintain the facades right now. He's viewing the real me -- detached, coldly efficient, fiercely protective, and unquestionably dominant.
Val and I discuss the other ways she could have handled the situation, her trying to understand, me in full proffessorial splendor. Social engineering, group dynamics, tactics and strategy, key words, body language, an entire dictionary of manipulation. Psychology I understand on an instinctual level, distilled through years of checking out entire library shelves. I joke a little about Roshambo, the evil samurai who killed my family, and this lightens the mood enough that people can sleep.
I stay awake until I know everyone's fine, and then I join them.
"I'm not holding onto your neck, Bobby. Think of it as a hug."
One thirty in the morning, the flat of my arm pressed against someone's juggular. Tighten my grip just a bit, and this becomes a goodbye party in a larger sense than planned.
"Let the fuck go!"
No response from me, either verbally or physically. He chooses to interpret this as aquiescence, probably the safest approach for him -- he can back down without losing face.
"That's good," he rumbles to the onlookers. "If you hadn't let go" (I haven't) "I was fixing to body slam you."
"Sure, Bobby" and I would have shifted my grip just enough to let you snap your own neck in the process.
"Now stop touching me."
"Awwww, but you feel so niiiiiiice!" I'm petting him now, stroking along his shoulderblades.
"Let. The fuck. Go."
"Give me my pen."
"After you let go."
Idiot. If I wanted a weapon, I would have grabbed the fireplace poker. "No. Now."
He makes some asinine attempt to fake away, but I'm smaller, faster, and a hell of a lot scarier. Bluster only takes you so far, Bobby, before you have to back it up with something.
I should back up.
I'm in a podunk town just west of Fort Worth, the sort of town with nameless unpaved roads and more horses than people. Patrick, Val, and several of our friends are seeing Rebecca off - she leaves for Japan in a week and a half, not to return for at least a year. We've all been getting relatively drunk (or rather we've been drinking. Drunk is impossible for me; I get sick before I get drunk. Slightly buzzed is as far as I can go, no matter the number of beers). The whole party's been a real drag for me, even though I'm glad to see everyone; there's fuck-all for entertainment besides some old dinner games I pull out of dusty memory. I knew this would happen, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? They are my friends.
Patrick and I are dozing after sparring until we were too tired to be safe anymore. We have to leave in the morning anyway, so we're curled up in a nest of sleeping bags.
I wake to find a hulking figure looming over Valancy, who kneels on the floor. Mary and Rees making like couch cushions, and Patrick dead to the world. I place the brute after a millisecond's confusion -- Bobby. Rebecca's boyfriend -- I've met him before. Bigoted, homophobic, misogynistic macho man who likes to feel big by giving orders. Every smalltown cliche rolled into one package. He's not usually so bad, it's just that he hates us. Our presence reminds him that Rebecca doesn't love him.
I don't find out until later what he's saying. I still don't know why nobody got Rebecca, why they thought it was a better idea to look at him with big scared eyes. But Val is clearly unable to take care of it; she can't even see with her contacts out.
That's how I find myself joking around with Bobby, smiling ever so politely, prepared to shatter his eardrums if he makes another move toward my Companion. I'd prefer not to kill him, but I've sworn certain alliegances and I don't enter fights halfway unless there's no question I'll win. Bobby is a fool. It's not that I'm a better fighter than him, although I am. It's that I'll always go a step further than he will. I have no morals to stop me. Luckily for him, I do have a strange sense of etiquette, and I can't shake the feeling that it's bad form to murder someone's boyfriend at her going away party. Even if he is threatening my friends.
A few minutes later, Bobby is convinced that he and I are bosom buddies, and moreover that he's won. He didn't, of course. He lost the second I called his bluff -- he's drunk and hopelessly outnumbered. Just by fighting in the first place, he has lost face with Rebecca. By backing down, he has lost face in front of Rebecca's brothers. Deep down, he knows that, but it's enough for now that I'm leaving. I spare a moment to be thankful that I'm the one handling this, and not Patrick -- Bobby can tell himself that he went easy on me because I'm a woman. I hate pride fights; they're so . . . unnecessary.
On the way out the door, Sadie tries to convince me that I'm running away, letting him win. She has it backwards. He's already lost, and there's no reason for us to stay. Besides, I don't relish the idea of keeping watch over Valancy and Patrick all night. I make sure that my people -- Valancy, Patrick, Mary -- are safely in the Jeep before slipping behind the steering wheel. Patrick's vehicle, and I hate SUVs, but I'm the sober one as always. Rebecca's crying, begging us to stay, asking over and over again whether we've signed her address book. I can tell that Valancy wants to slap her for this breach in security, but instead she's soothing, calming. Thanks for inviting us, we'd have left soon anyway, enjoy yourself, we'll call you in the morning and tell you what happened.
Car ride, Mary apologizing, convinced it's her fault. Permanent Cassandra. She could have called Bobby off if she hadn't been so frozen with indecision. Valancy apologizing, furious with herself for not being able to take care of it, amazed by his desire to hurt and even rape her. Me explaining the conscious choice not to kill today. Patrick strangely silent, exhausted and subdued. Valancy worries about the day that I don't stop myself -- not because I ever lose control, but because my control is so perfect. There will be no insanity plea because anger makes me placid, polite, even charming. Of everyone in the car, Val is the only one who has seen enough to intuit my capabilities, (although Patrick is beginning to suspect). She knew me before I decided to be one of the good guys.
We get home, my house, safety. Val stretches out, forces herself to relax. Mary apologizes again -- she knew this was coming before we arrived at the party, knew something bad was on the way. All the omens were there. Says she's spent enough time with me that she should know by now to trust her intuition. Patrick gets me some water, asks repeatedly if I'm okay -- he's never seen me like this. I'm fine, it's just that there's no reason to maintain the facades right now. He's viewing the real me -- detached, coldly efficient, fiercely protective, and unquestionably dominant.
Val and I discuss the other ways she could have handled the situation, her trying to understand, me in full proffessorial splendor. Social engineering, group dynamics, tactics and strategy, key words, body language, an entire dictionary of manipulation. Psychology I understand on an instinctual level, distilled through years of checking out entire library shelves. I joke a little about Roshambo, the evil samurai who killed my family, and this lightens the mood enough that people can sleep.
I stay awake until I know everyone's fine, and then I join them.
