“Brian, honestly–you could not and would not be able to handle me at my worst without prior preparation.” They spoke the truth–their BDSM room looked similar enough to their (in-home) torture room that the two would be indistinguishable to the untrained eye.
“Word of the wise? Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. Nobody likes a fuckboy, and nobody likes pricks who assume they’re a pretty decent one-night stand. Half the time it just labels their vagina-having counterparts as sluts, and the other half just don’t speak about it.” They were very, very done with Brian. They just wanted to get in their car and go home–they had too much paperwork to do, and they were running low on Monster energy drink.
“I’ve taken a lot. I could handle it. I’ve got the stamina of a race horse.” Honestly, he’d only been beaten a few times - by redcoats during the Revolution, by his vader, and by a few mob guys when he wouldn’t pay. He broke a few bones and had a lot of blood in each case so anything had to be better than that.
He grew more serious at that. As much as he didn’t like being called a street rat, he also didn’t like being boxed in with a bunch of asshole guys who didn’t know a thing about pleasing anyone but themselves. “I’m not pretending to be wise. I’ve got almost as life experience as you and multiple degrees from Princeton that say otherwise. I’m not assuming anything either. I’m relaying what I’ve been told. Sure, I brag, but it’s hard not to when you know you’re good at something. I’d love to prove you wrong, but you have a finance and I fucking hate cheaters. Ooh morals, I have them too.” He smiles tensely. “If I wanted to be, I’d be the picture of a gentlemen, but where’s the fun in that.”
He grins wide now, letting his persona come back to them in full. “Besides, I don’t just go for pussy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love it. But, I’m a sausage kinda guy as well. It’s 2016! Don’t box me in so quickly.”
They very highly doubted that boastful statement. Guy like him didn’t seem to have very many surprises; he probably hated New York, any other state whom he defined as self-absorbed and uppity, and places where you have to pumo your own gas.
To be fair, they don’t like places like that too.
“That much was obvious.” They don’t state more than that. Either Brian would take it the wrong way, and think they were insulting him, or he’d take it the right way and realize that they have a dick. Some folks just thought they were an a-cup short chubby gal, and while there was nothing wrong with that they tended to end those who called them out on it very brutally.
“Besides, bragging is rude and a waste of oxygen. Try something else, like helping animals get good homes and destroying PETA.”
“If it wasn’t then I’d be surprised at how many guys hit on me.” He thought about some of the guys who had tried to take a bite of them. He thought of the totally creepy ones and shuddered. He felt sympathy for women who had to face that worse than him.
“I ain’t gonna argue with it being rude. But, sometimes you gotta be rude to get any attention. Especially if you’re the ‘armpit of America’.” He huffs. He hated that stupid nickname more than anything else. “I’ll save the animals and leave destroying PETA up to those who care and know more than me.”
“They euthanize perfectly adoptable pets and literally kidnapped people’s dogs to kill them. They’re a nasty, nasty piece of work.” Reese will destroy PETA if they lay a single finger on their own dog. It will not be pretty.
“As for the shitty nickname, there’s not much I can do about it. I, apparently, made a name for my state because of selfish assholes who wanted to own other people.” Reese, why must you bring up free ammo in this hissy fit. Just get your car and get out while your mental health is still somewhat intact.
“No way. Holy shit. Yeah destroy PETA all the way.” He hoped they weren’t founded in his state. Please let that monstrosity go to Florida.
His eyes narrow. “If they were such selfish assholes then why weren’t you trying to stop them? Silence is as good as advocacy in cases like those.” Granted, slavery was a thing in his state as well, but at least he’d abolished it before 1865. Also, he was a Patriot, but only because he felt he had to fight for his state with it being in so many battles. If New York wasn’t gonna take care of the Hudson then someone had to.
“Because the war would still have been fought without my input. Because people other than me would have gotten hurt with or without my participation. Because my state Congress didn’t listen to a word I said until I proved myself right at the end of the war, after I broke myself out of Alfred’s state prison. Because no matter what I did, I would still have been affected by the bullshit going down. Because they would have killed my son without batting an eye. Because you Union states don’t seem to realize that the Confederate state who fought the most and had the highest kill count was the one who hadn’t wanted a fight in the first place. I have a scar from each and every single battle fought on my land during the war, and there were over 2,200 of them; that doesn’t even count the time when my damn Capitol burned down. So, don’t come to me with bullshit like this that you clearly don’t understand.” Their voice got quiet, low, and steady. Their smile dropped, and their grip on their thermos became white-knuckle. They meet his eyes with an unwavering, unbudgeable determination to keep their son safe and out of harm’s way. They were more that willing to get physical to get that point across.
Their thermos shatters. Literally shatters. Their foul-smelling coffee splashed to the ground and killed several plants it came into contact with; they did not seem to care about the shards of glass-like plastic that were embedded in their hand. Jersey may have delt with pain in his life, but Reese had it far, far worse than most others knew.
“Do I make myself clear?” Their voice left little room for argument.
Brian met their eyes without hesitation. “I was thinking more along the lines of the Revolution. Believe me, I don’t bring the Civil War up with southern states. Most of them usually bring it up by their own free will - I’m not including you in that. This was miscommunication.” He sighs and bends down. He picks up the broken plastic and throws it out in the nearest garbage can. “Look, I’m sorry you had to go all through that. Honestly, I was willing to let the lot of you go without a fight. If it was up to me, there would’ve been far less bloodshed. Now wait a sec.”
He runs to his car and back, bring with him a first aid kit. “Sit. Your hands bleeding from all the plastic you got into yourself. Who’s your son?”
They’d feel embarrassed or hurt by the miscommunication, but they can already feel the urge to just give up looming over them. It surrounded their mind like a fog, the only thing piercing it being the pain in their hand. They were a bit irritated–they’d been doing so well, and now they were back in their regular downward spiral. Just peachy.
They waited, lost in their thoughts as Jersey went to get… something. Medical supplies, most likely. They acknowledged his apology, knew that he meant it, but… something deep inside them said he was lying. They tended not to listen to that voice, bit today was not one of those days.
“My son is Winston. He’s a real sweetheart, South Carolina and I raised him pretty well. He’s the embodiment of the Confederacy.” Their face softens as they speak about him, pride and parental love obviously filling their entire being. “Poor kid should’ve had a proper chance…” And there was the regret, plain and simple upon their features. They’re far easier to read while talking about their child than about the war.
He puts the rubbing alcohol on a cotton swab. “This is gonna sting.” He gently pats it on the cuts, picking up the old bottle along the way.” He glances up at Reese every now and then. A pang of sympathy went out to them. Having a kid go into a war so horrible as that one, especially at his young age, had to be tough.
“How’s he doing? He’s still...here right?” He was trying not to be an insensitive jerk to the whole thing. He presses down some gauze on the cuts that were still bleeding hard to try and stop them from doing exactly that.
