Comments | gila_flats: [March 3rd 1971] This is a strange place.

gila_flats

[March 3rd 1971] This is a strange place.

Apr 11, 2009 20:35

Two days ago, the Capitol building in Washington was damaged by a bomb, apparently planted in protest of the invasion of Laos. The president loses patience and decides it is time to use the promised ultimate weapon that won him his election and send me to Vietnam. I am told I will meet with Blake, the Comedian, upon arrival. The government has ( Read more... )

1971, vietnam, blake

Comments 21

finalpunchline April 12 2009, 01:57:49 UTC

God is real, and he is an American. And now he’s going to war. Hilarious. Always wanted to see a vengeful god. Lost his balls around the New Testament. Good to see he’s back to thinking sensibly.

Don’t know what everyone else’s bitching about. Cowards, shaking behind plastic smiles. Can’t fight a war if you’re afraid of your own gun. It’s about time they sent us the heavy artillery.

He’s as blue as I remember him. Everyone knows the Doc’s blue, but just saying the fact can’t express that it’s less of a color and more of an experience. He smells blue. He feels blue. Makes me feel like if I stood next to him too long I’d start pissing blue. What Laurie sees in him, I don’t know.

Everyone in the room shifts back while I move forward when he enters. I hold out my hand, ignoring his ‘handlers’ and whatever technobabble they’re trying to get through.

“Been a while Doc, ‘bout fucking time you showed up.”

gila_flats April 12 2009, 08:59:43 UTC

"Yes. It's good to see you again, Blake," I reply, taking his hand and shaking it in the manner I have practised with countless military men and politicians, firm and decisive. More decisive than I feel.
Blake's pulse quickens almost imperciptibly as my skin makes contact with his- a surprisingly minute reaction considering some of the displays of shock and distrust the statically charged feel of my touch has inspired in the past. I can appreciate his self-control, or perhaps his fearlessness. Whatever the reason, I find it refreshing.

In sharp contrast, my handlers are orbiting me like moons, useless and excitable. I dislike them and the implications of their presence, the arrogance of their assumptions about me and my limitations. I pay them no attention.

"I am told you can explain what it is I'm here to do."

finalpunchline April 12 2009, 17:22:05 UTC

I move to the Doc’s side, slapping him on the back and guiding him out through the back of the structure, shaking off the suddenly nervous girl attached to my arm as we go. Straight to the point. I liked that ( ... )

gila_flats April 12 2009, 18:12:20 UTC

I observe the city dispassionately.
"A playground?"

I dislike this place immediately. It is thick with sounds and smells and misery, the damp heat of it a haze in the air shot through with an unpleasant tang of sulphur. It is unlike any playground I have ever seen.

A small man in uniform is attempting to get my attention, but decides against laying a hand on my arm. I wonder not for the first time why it is that I have become so feared. I am a gentle man.

"We begin tomorrow," I say in a tone midway between a question and a statment, ignoring the efforts of the government aide. "I am glad to see you uninjured, Blake."

Thread 18

finalpunchline April 30 2009, 02:36:26 UTC

An odd tension falls over the bar. Not a silence, there's too many men and music and drugs for that, but there's a shift in the air that I'm starting to think may be as much a part of the Doc's presence as his blue glow whenever he's around people.

"Don't think anybody's gonna be stoppin' you from killin' anything, Doc. Too busy crossin' their fingers you don't turn on them."

I laugh, leading us to the bar.

"Surprised they even sent ya. Thought they might be 'friad you'd get a taste for killin' once ya started."

gila_flats April 30 2009, 02:53:33 UTC

"A taste for it?"
I consider it. Certainly there is a curiosity within me concerning the extent of my abilities, and I have been intrigued about where life ends, exactly. There will come a time where I will feel no remorse for killing, but it is not now. Not while the memory of fear remains.

"No. I am here to complete a task."

finalpunchline April 30 2009, 03:02:43 UTC

"Damn fuckin' straight. Man after my own heart. Just, get in, get the job done, little fun here an' there on the side, and get the fuck out."

The bartender pours me a drink, I don't even have to order anymore. They know better by now.

"Too many goddamn bleein' hearts bitchin' about the how an' why. Fuck it. Just 'complete the task', that's what we're here for."