for Donald

[soldieringlife]

When he clambered up the ladder into his treehouse, Prior was pleased to see that he had left his rifle out, leaning against the wall by the door, and that his army tunic was lying on his bed, preparatory to doing laundry. That was good. He wanted Donald to remember who he was. Not Guy's fucktoy, not some chance acquaintance, but an officer in

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[homerinexile]

Even if Billy had been gasping, Donald wouldn't have noticed. He was taken aback by the rifle leaning there, and wondered just what he'd gotten himself into precisely. He had forgotten that the man had been in the army, he wasn't sure how, or perhaps it had never truly registered, amidst the shock of his arrival onto this island. He almost wants to touch it, to see if it's real, and for a second he reaches towards it before pulling his hand back as if burnt, his eyes on the ceiling not sure of where else to look.

[soldieringlife]

Prior had told Donald when they first met that he'd died in the Great War, but apparently Donald had forgotten. His evident horror at seeing the rifle was very gratifying.

"Haven't spent a lot of time around guns, have you?" he said, with a hint of contempt in his voice. "Don't worry, the safety catch is on. It can't hurt you."

[homerinexile]

"I hunted some when I was younger," He finally looked at Billy, though still didn't meet his eyes. "But no. Not recently."

It wasn't really the gun that he thought might hurt him, again looking away to the floor, when he spoke his words were barely audible. "I'd forgotten. That you were in the war."

[soldieringlife]

Of course, he'd probably gone fox-hunting. The uneatable pursued by the unspeakable, as Oscar Wilde said.

"I died in the war," he said. "Trying to cross a muddy little canal in northern France, a week before the war ended. I woke up here."

He lit another cigarette and looked Donald up and down, a hint of a smile still tugging at his lips. "Take off your clothes," he said abruptly.