I only update in six-month intervals.
That one where Carl's a soldier and everyone's at war... first part here in case you need reminding.
We are slowly but surely inching to the bits where everyone has sex and there's alot of porn. Also, if you're not up on the spiky "up and coming" indie boys, it's Ben Bailey (Thee Unstrung), Dominic Masters (of The Others) and Tom Paddington (from The Paddingtons).
"What are we going to do with him?"
"We have too many POWs already, we can't keep him here."
"Wolf ain't gonna be happy."
"Shit, here he comes."
Carl opened his eyes and blinked up at the soldiers above him. He was lying in the mud, surrounded by three young men, all with ripped uniforms, messy hair and fresh, innocent faces. All were smiling benevolently. He shuddered. The enemy.
"Hallo," said one young man, squinting down at him. "Alright? Sorry it's cold love, we had to take off your shirt to wrap up your shoulder."
"Masters!" barked a gravelly voice. "Stop flirting with the opposition!"
"Yes sir," said Masters, backing away as a long-haired, unkept man strolled up and nudged Carl's head with a machine gun. He smelled of alcohol and Carl didn't like the way the man's drew his eyes up and down his body.
"I thought I said no POWs!" yelled the unkept man finally. "Who brought him in?"
"I did it, sir," said nervous-looking man (boy, really) with a wiry body and a cute face. "Sir. Sorry sir."
"Bailey!" cried the unkept man. "What have I told you about pitying the enemy?"
"Don't pity the enemy," Bailey recited. "They're evil bastards who are out to destroy our way of life- but sir! I didn't mean too, I mean, he was so sad after Tom shot his friend-"
The man who Carl took to be Tommy nodded, eyes wide. He was skinnier then Bailey and Masters combined and had a dear-in-the-headlights look about him. Bailey continued. "And then when I shot him and he fell in Masters' lap, well, it felt wrong to just toss him back out and so I. . ."
The unkept man groaned. "You're an idiot. All three of you."
"Yes sir," the three men chorused, looking down at their boots.
"Take him to Dotty."
"Dotty, sir?"
"Don't look so surprised Masters, You know Dotty's been needing some fresh blood, all the subjects have gone mad. Take this mess to Dotty and see that this man is cleaned up and kept there."
Bailey extended a hand to Carlos after the unkept man had strode away, hair flowing behind him. "Sorry for shooting you," he said. "But you know how war is."
"It's all right," said Carl, getting up carefully without Bailey's help. "I guess."
Bailey smiled. "Thanks."
Masters nudged Carl's bum with his gun. "Come on, we've got to take him to Dotty, you heard what Wolfman said."
They marched off, Carl between them and shivering in the cold. The soldiers cheered when they saw him being led through camp, a couple of them making catcalls and shaking their bums at him. Carl felt ill. He'd been taught that the men he'd been fighting were sick, immoral men, but he'd always kept the thought to himself that no man could be so bad as to fight them without a real good cause. Now he was seeing it for himself. Men lay passed out, face down in the mud. Their comrades stepped over them without a second thought. No one seemed to have washed in days, most men were in need of a hearty dinner and everyone seemed to live in a completely different world where the war was a dream and nothing was real.
"Dotty!" called Masters as they arrived at a tent in the center of the camp. "Dotty, we've got a new one for you!"
Any preconceptions Carl might have had about what a pretty matronly sort of woman named Dotty would be vanished the instant a tall, skinny body unfolded from the tent. "You've got a what for me?"
Oh god, thought Carl. It's a man. Not even a man, more like a boy who'd grown too much, wrapped up in a lab coat over jeans and red converse, hair sticking out at all angles and eyes wide with energy.
"We've got a POW for you!" said Masters joyfully, looking at Dotty with pure admiration.
"He's wounded!" said Dotty happily and he took Carl's hand and pulled him into the tent. "What happened?"
Carl was shoved into a chair and four underfed, comically serious faces peered down at him. "I shot him," said Bailey at length.
Dotty turned to him, hands clasped together. "Oh Bailey! Did you really? I'm so proud!" Dotty turned back to Carl and began unravel Carl's shoulder. "What a clean shot," he mumbled to himself. "Why, that's very fixable! Masters, pass me the scalpel? Cheers. Now," Dotty stared deep in Carl's eyes. "This will hurt quite a bit. Would you like a hand?"
"Sir?" said Carl, confused and a bit terrified. Was he going to be forced to murder himself? With a scalpel?
"To hold on to! Don't you want something to hold on to?" said Dotty. "You, soldier! What's your name?"
"Tom," said Tom, guiltily dropping the vial of blood he'd been playing with.
"Tom what?"
"We call him Paddington," said Master helpfully. "He was born in Paddington station in London!"
"I was abandoned there as a child," said Tom mildly. "The station conductor adopted me, but gave me Paddington as a last name. I've felt very connected to that station all my life. It's the mother I've never been allowed to have."
"I love London," said Bailey, to no one in particular.
Dotty gazed with Tom dreamily. "Paddington, hold this good man's hand will you?"
"I'll be fine," said Carl, wondering if he'd make it very far if he ran for it.
"Nonsense," said Dotty. Tom picked up Carl's hand and patted it. "Don't worry scenester, it will all be over soon."
"I'm not a scenester!" said Carl. "I am human being! CHRIST!" he shouted as Dotty began to nudge the bullet out of his shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to give me drugs for this sort of this?"
"Haven't got any," said Dotty, avoiding his eye. "Now, this will hurt quite a bit more so if you feel the need to shout, please go ahead. I've always thought a good scream is good for the soul."
"You're mad," said Carl. "All of you. I never wanted any of this you know, I was going to be an poet. And now I'm shot and I'm going to be murdered by a bunch of strung-out addicts with named after tube stops and-"
He paused. There was a funny feeling welling up in his throat and a tearing sort of pain in his shoulder.
"I'm not an addict," said Tom looking very sad.
Carl passed out.
We are slowly but surely inching to the bits where everyone has sex and there's alot of porn. Also, if you're not up on the spiky "up and coming" indie boys, it's Ben Bailey (Thee Unstrung), Dominic Masters (of The Others) and Tom Paddington (from The Paddingtons).
"What are we going to do with him?"
"We have too many POWs already, we can't keep him here."
"Wolf ain't gonna be happy."
"Shit, here he comes."
Carl opened his eyes and blinked up at the soldiers above him. He was lying in the mud, surrounded by three young men, all with ripped uniforms, messy hair and fresh, innocent faces. All were smiling benevolently. He shuddered. The enemy.
"Hallo," said one young man, squinting down at him. "Alright? Sorry it's cold love, we had to take off your shirt to wrap up your shoulder."
"Masters!" barked a gravelly voice. "Stop flirting with the opposition!"
"Yes sir," said Masters, backing away as a long-haired, unkept man strolled up and nudged Carl's head with a machine gun. He smelled of alcohol and Carl didn't like the way the man's drew his eyes up and down his body.
"I thought I said no POWs!" yelled the unkept man finally. "Who brought him in?"
"I did it, sir," said nervous-looking man (boy, really) with a wiry body and a cute face. "Sir. Sorry sir."
"Bailey!" cried the unkept man. "What have I told you about pitying the enemy?"
"Don't pity the enemy," Bailey recited. "They're evil bastards who are out to destroy our way of life- but sir! I didn't mean too, I mean, he was so sad after Tom shot his friend-"
The man who Carl took to be Tommy nodded, eyes wide. He was skinnier then Bailey and Masters combined and had a dear-in-the-headlights look about him. Bailey continued. "And then when I shot him and he fell in Masters' lap, well, it felt wrong to just toss him back out and so I. . ."
The unkept man groaned. "You're an idiot. All three of you."
"Yes sir," the three men chorused, looking down at their boots.
"Take him to Dotty."
"Dotty, sir?"
"Don't look so surprised Masters, You know Dotty's been needing some fresh blood, all the subjects have gone mad. Take this mess to Dotty and see that this man is cleaned up and kept there."
Bailey extended a hand to Carlos after the unkept man had strode away, hair flowing behind him. "Sorry for shooting you," he said. "But you know how war is."
"It's all right," said Carl, getting up carefully without Bailey's help. "I guess."
Bailey smiled. "Thanks."
Masters nudged Carl's bum with his gun. "Come on, we've got to take him to Dotty, you heard what Wolfman said."
They marched off, Carl between them and shivering in the cold. The soldiers cheered when they saw him being led through camp, a couple of them making catcalls and shaking their bums at him. Carl felt ill. He'd been taught that the men he'd been fighting were sick, immoral men, but he'd always kept the thought to himself that no man could be so bad as to fight them without a real good cause. Now he was seeing it for himself. Men lay passed out, face down in the mud. Their comrades stepped over them without a second thought. No one seemed to have washed in days, most men were in need of a hearty dinner and everyone seemed to live in a completely different world where the war was a dream and nothing was real.
"Dotty!" called Masters as they arrived at a tent in the center of the camp. "Dotty, we've got a new one for you!"
Any preconceptions Carl might have had about what a pretty matronly sort of woman named Dotty would be vanished the instant a tall, skinny body unfolded from the tent. "You've got a what for me?"
Oh god, thought Carl. It's a man. Not even a man, more like a boy who'd grown too much, wrapped up in a lab coat over jeans and red converse, hair sticking out at all angles and eyes wide with energy.
"We've got a POW for you!" said Masters joyfully, looking at Dotty with pure admiration.
"He's wounded!" said Dotty happily and he took Carl's hand and pulled him into the tent. "What happened?"
Carl was shoved into a chair and four underfed, comically serious faces peered down at him. "I shot him," said Bailey at length.
Dotty turned to him, hands clasped together. "Oh Bailey! Did you really? I'm so proud!" Dotty turned back to Carl and began unravel Carl's shoulder. "What a clean shot," he mumbled to himself. "Why, that's very fixable! Masters, pass me the scalpel? Cheers. Now," Dotty stared deep in Carl's eyes. "This will hurt quite a bit. Would you like a hand?"
"Sir?" said Carl, confused and a bit terrified. Was he going to be forced to murder himself? With a scalpel?
"To hold on to! Don't you want something to hold on to?" said Dotty. "You, soldier! What's your name?"
"Tom," said Tom, guiltily dropping the vial of blood he'd been playing with.
"Tom what?"
"We call him Paddington," said Master helpfully. "He was born in Paddington station in London!"
"I was abandoned there as a child," said Tom mildly. "The station conductor adopted me, but gave me Paddington as a last name. I've felt very connected to that station all my life. It's the mother I've never been allowed to have."
"I love London," said Bailey, to no one in particular.
Dotty gazed with Tom dreamily. "Paddington, hold this good man's hand will you?"
"I'll be fine," said Carl, wondering if he'd make it very far if he ran for it.
"Nonsense," said Dotty. Tom picked up Carl's hand and patted it. "Don't worry scenester, it will all be over soon."
"I'm not a scenester!" said Carl. "I am human being! CHRIST!" he shouted as Dotty began to nudge the bullet out of his shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to give me drugs for this sort of this?"
"Haven't got any," said Dotty, avoiding his eye. "Now, this will hurt quite a bit more so if you feel the need to shout, please go ahead. I've always thought a good scream is good for the soul."
"You're mad," said Carl. "All of you. I never wanted any of this you know, I was going to be an poet. And now I'm shot and I'm going to be murdered by a bunch of strung-out addicts with named after tube stops and-"
He paused. There was a funny feeling welling up in his throat and a tearing sort of pain in his shoulder.
"I'm not an addict," said Tom looking very sad.
Carl passed out.