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Tales of the Network - Part 4
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: Tales of the Network, ch.1, part 4
Date: Tue, 27 Apr 1993 17:03:20 GMT
SYNOPSIS: "A pre-trial conference in the judge's chambers." Ginnie
negotiates (reluctantly at first) with the principal tops of the Big
Scene. She alludes to a connection between her difficult personality
and her desire to participate in the scene.
PLOT NOTES: No sex, no new characters, a few of the usual sight gags,
but mostly just a little good cop/ bad cop psychology as a vehicle for
character development.
DISCLAIMERS:
(1) This is *satire.* I have never participated in an event on the scale
of the one described in this serial nor do I know anyone who has.
I passed up some chances for gags in order to include basically
valid information about the seriousness with which my friends take
communication and negotiation. However I do *not* mean to suggest
that the preparation in this little story would suffice for a real
scene, especially between people who don't know each other well.
(2) The cast of these stories is modeled after asb itself, in the com-
No actual living persons are intentionally represented here.
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Tales of the Network
Chapter One: The Law of the Land (part four)
The car pulled onto the gravel and a man and a woman got out. The man
appeared anxious.
"Look contrite. You're the accused facing an inquisition. Comb your hair."
"Horseshit. I'm a criminal. The dregs. Get used to it."
Mr. Carruthers wondered whether real public defenders knew how to deal with
this sort of client. Ginnie had done one thing surprisingly well, though:
her top had the pattern of jail garb and the feel of silk. Carruthers hoped
the jury would enjoy the fit. "As your attorney, I advise you to open one
more button," he said sotto voce as they approached the house.
Carruthers rang the bell and someone he didn't recognize opened the door.
The entryway was crowded, not least because some people were sitting on
the floor. This enforced a slowness of progress that allowed the new
arrivals to pick up bits of conversation:
"...need a good medium-weight cat. We used to have one, but it had
more sting and Sir likes more thud."
"Do you know the Chartreuse Cat?"
"Jeremiah's! Yeah, it's incredible. All that doehide makes it heavier
than what I'm looking for though. Sir gets tired and when you get
tired you get clumsy and it's hard to prevent wrapping."
Ginnie whispered to Carruthers. "They talk like perverts but they look like
nerds to me. Well, not *that* one. Jesus, who IS that? He looks like a
cross between an English footman and the guy on the Captain Morgan's Spiced
Rum billboard!"
"That, my dear, is Swish, the man who is going to restrain you if you don't
behave." He hailed the bailiff, who picked his way through to join them.
Swish gave an elaborate bow and was about to introduce himself when Ginnie
cut him off. "What's that you're wearing on your thinger?"
If momentarily nonplussed, Swish was at least pleased at the attention to
his costume. "That's called a codpiece," he grinned. "Follow me please,
there's a room where we can go over some things before the show starts.
You weren't supposed to come in through the non-scene space, you know.
I'm to take you straight to the judge's chambers. You'll like the judge.
Six feet two and strong as a buffalo. That's a lovely outfit. You think
you can impress the judge with it? Worth a try, I suppose."
Ginnie looked at Carruthers. He nodded, and she opened yet another button.
Only because the shirttails were firmly tucked in did the view remain mostly
confined to the inner edges of her breasts. Swish produced his keys and
opened the door to Phouka's study.
Inside, Phouka was seated at a desk and Mombassa paced. Ginnie vamped at
Phouka. "So, yeronner, you gonna make the punishment fit the crime?" She
struck what she hoped was an alluring pose. Swish snickered.
"I believe," said Phouka smoothly, "that you intended your question for
the judge." With a brief eye motion he indicated Mombassa, who was tapping
a riding crop against her tree-trunk-like leg. Ginnie gulped and fell
gracelessly into the chair Carruthers offered her.
Mombassa strode over very close so that Ginnie had to look almost straight
up into her face. "What we are doing today is a mindfuck. You do know what
a mindfuck is?"
"Yeah. In one ear and out the other, right?" Ginnie tried to regain her
habitual sauciness. The downcast looks of Carruthers and the bailiff told
her that it wasn't a good move.
Phouka cleared his throat. "It is best for you to understand that this is
an elaborately prepared scene."
Mombassa snorted. "A fuckin' Cecil B. DeMille scene," she muttered.
"This scene," continued Phouka, "was originally designed for your benefit,
and I have sponsored it on the strength of the recommendation of my friend
Mr. Carruthers. However it has gone beyond its original conception and is
perfectly capable of taking place without you. We are now in a phase called
the negotiation, which we absolutely require that you take seriously."
Ginnie appeared genuinely chastened. "I'm very sorry. Please go on."
Phouka regarded her coolly for a moment. "Communication, you see, is
crucial before, during, and after a scene, even a very theatrical and
entertaining one as this is to be. During the scene, the person best
able to communicate with you will be your attorney. Thus, we require
an extremely experienced and skillful top in that position. To be
frank, your conduct so far leads me to question whether Mr. Carruthers
is entirely up to the job."
Carruthers was impassive. Ginnie reeled. Miserably, she rebuttoned
her blouse.
"I... I... Please. Please. I know I use wisecracks to distance myself.
I want you to know I didn't do that until pretty recently, not this much.
I've just felt removed from everything. Like I don't *feel.* That's a
lot of why I'm here, why I want to be punished. I want something that
will make me feel, something I can't joke my way out of." Her eyes
beseeched each person in the room in turn.
Mombassa's voice was softer now, but no less authoritative. "You need to
remember that this is not therapy, though it might show you some things
about the way your mind and body interact. It will not make everything
suddenly clear. In fact, you'll see some apparently contradictory things,
as some of us have discussed with you in email. You'll see a great deal
of caring behind outwardly hostile behavior. You will also see some
plain stereotypical ego-busting. Other people want to have fun here too,
and you will watch public scenes involving others. Public play is new to
you. We will be watching -- I should say, Mr. Carruthers will be watching,
your reactions to decide how to treat you when your turn comes. Clear so
far?"
"Yes. Clear. May I say something."
"That," observed Phouka, "is what one does, in a negotiation."
Ginnie licked her lips and inhaled deeply. "What I felt just now when you
were saying that -- now, OK, I understood it all, but when you said that
Mr. Carruthers would be watching me -- the relief I felt! I mean, you said
you might not want it to be him, and I didn't know if you were kidding and
I didn't even realize how much it meant to me. I thought maybe I'd gone
too far and now you wouldn't trust him OR me. I was so worried. And then
when you said he'd be with me I was so relieved." She took a few more deep
breaths. "I shouldn't go on like this, I'm sorry."
Mombassa rewarded Ginnie's uncharacteristic sincerity with her own un-
characteristic compassion. "It sounds like you trust your top. That's
good."
Carruthers smiled. "Now you know the safewords for the scene, right?"
"Yes," she said, grateful for the chance to show them what he'd taught her.
"Anyone can say `yellow' and things will stop for the person to say what
the problem is, or just to leave the room. 'Red' means a big problem and
there'll be an immediate recess and we probably won't resume, unless it's
completely worked out."
"Right," approved Swish. "And I'm reserving one of the spare rooms in
case of trouble. It has its own bathroom and a well-stocked first aid kit,
but best of all it's at the quiet end of the house."
Mombassa clapped her hands. "OK. Everybody with the program?"
Ginnie had one more question. "I don't want to upset the others the way
I did you guys." She looked at Swish. "Do you think it would help if
you'd tie me up real visibly when we go in, you know, the prisoner being
led in in irons? I'll keep my eyes down and everything. If I challenge
you during the scene, I'll make sure it's part of the scene, like a criminal
defying the court. OK?"
Phouka stood. "I believe we all understand each other," he stated.
His tone made clear that the meeting was over.
-----
"I've never heard you talk that way, Virginia."
"I know. It's more the way I used to, before I, uh, went bad." She gave
him a wry smile. "I didn't want you getting in trouble after all the
care you've shown me. I mean the tough act is a nervous habit, and I'm
nearly always nervous these days, you know? But I guess they proved I can
get past that for something that's important to me."
"I, uh, was a little surprised that you put me in that category."
Ginnie looked at Carruthers until she was nervous again. "Don't get too
complacent. Even my normal state is somewhere between brat and asshole.
Where's that guy in the pirate getup? Tie me up, tie me down, let's go."
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