p. crumb has strong feelings re: mandatory pudding (godofnofun) wrote in dissentwo, @ 2013-07-06 21:39:00 |
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LOG: The beginning of a beautiful, beautiful series of blackmail photos.
WHO: Jehan Delacour, Booker Munch, Pollo Crumb, and Cor Oakby. (Gay gay gay gay gay gay gay.)
WHEN: Spring 1973.
WHERE: The former HQ of Les Amis.
WHAT: The beginning of several unlikely photos involving Pollo glowering at a piece of parchment while wearing a flower crown. The continuation of the saga of That Time Booker and Jehan Met And Moved In Together Within 24 Hours (the first installation of which you haven't seen). That awkward moment when you introduce your new boyfriend to your revolutionary friends and find out one of them is prone to making mutual puppy eyes at him. The introduction of the French element to Les Amis. What the fuck were they even called before Jehan? Grumpy Blonde, Mouthy Brunette, and the Sane Corner?
It had been approximately 53 hours since Booker met Jehan, and it had been about 3 since they finished moving in together, with the help of Musichetta and a couple other friends. Aside from the build-up to taking Jehan to his (now ex-) flat, the moving itself, and the late shift he’d had to work the night before (and would have to work again tonight), most of the past 53 hours had been spent kissing, cuddling, and/or having sex. For other men, this may have been a disturbing experience. Admittedly, there was a part of Booker that was a little perplexed at this turn of events — for the 27 years and change preceding the past 53 hours, he had never looked twice at another man — but Jehan was sweet, spoke beautifully, was beautiful, and not quite like anyone else Booker had met, so he had, for the moment, elected to accept this as simply the way things had gone (which, of course, it was). Still, life went on, and just as there was work, there were meetings. It seemed only fair to suggest Jehan come along to one of Pollo’s meetings, since Jehan had been the impetus for Booker’s early departure from the rally, and he’d seemed plenty interested when Booker had brought it up. A part of him wondered wryly how Pollo would take the appearance of a beflowered poet in his hallowed offices, and regretted that he’d never bought a camera after the last one had exploded. Jehan was a bit nervous. The feeling hovered over the surface of him, penetrating a little into the haze of love and ecstatic happiness he had been firmly ensconced in for the last few days. He had spent an inordinate amount of time choosing his clothing, donning an even more unusual ensemble to make himself feel better. Jehan did not do things like most people. He fiddled with one of his lockets — it had once belonged to his grandmother, who would be perplexed by its current use — and followed Booker and Chetta into the building, hanging back a little so that he could take in the surroundings. Something was happening in there, he was sure of it. There was an energy — a sort of buzzing, an awaiting — and it made Jehan want to act. He shivered a little, looking around with very wide eyes. The speaker from the day he and Booker had met was inside already, looking vaguely agitated and busy. Jehan took off his hat. It seemed like the thing to do, in that moment. It was entirely possible that Pollo was just as wholeheartedly addicted to doing things as Richard was to drinking. When he was in a good mood, he worked. When he was in a bad mood, he worked. When he was stressed, scared, angry, excited, calm, melancholy, frustrated, hopeful, he found things to do, because excessive leisure agitated Pollo, made him uncomfortable in his skin. This was, in many ways, one of the better vices to have, though between that and his tendency to fury and consternation, a coronary by 30 seemed remarkably likely. Initially, he didn’t notice the newcomer to the offices — he barely processed Booker and Chetta coming in, so taken up was he in reviewing the meeting minutes that he had already memorized — and it was only when Booker approached him, clearing his throat as Chetta went to make coffee and tea, that Pollo looked up from his papers for more than a moment. “New member,” said Booker, and though Jehan hadn’t even seen the start of a meeting yet he already knew it was true. He led Pollo to Jehan, smiling slightly at this latest adjustment to his outfit for the evening. “Pollo, this is Jehan, my boyfriend. We just moved in together. Jehan, this is Pollo. He works with me at the MLES. Pretty much runs the lot of this, most of the time.” Pollo’s eyes widened, his brows raising slightly at Booker’s introduction of the man — whose name he was probably going to need to hear at least once more before feeling confident pronouncing it — but other than that, he made no comment on the matter, offering his hand to Jehan, studying him. “Apollo Crumb,” he said, tone crisp but warm. “Good to have you here.” Jehan took Pollo’s hand in his light grip. “Jean-Luc Delacour. But please, call me Jehan. I found your speaking on Saturday to be rather magnificent, like the blinding world beneath the failing city.” He smiled at Booker, a private, intimate expression, and then looked back at Pollo. “I’m gratified to attend.” Pollo’s grip was, by nature, much more firm than Jehan’s, but it relaxed slightly at the comparative lack of pressure, Pollo still taking the size of the other man as he spoke, releasing after a moment. He’d had people say strange things to him about the way he spoke before, though none quite as symbolically as Jehan. “Good,” he said simply. “I’m glad it reached you.” “It’s always best to fall in love at the end of the world,” said Jehan. He tucked a flower that was becoming loose back into its place in his hair. “Do you wage war on other fronts, as well, or do you devote yourself primarily to the interior line?” Jehan had been reading a lot of Hemingway in the last month, and the war metaphors were seeping into his speech. Pollo raised one eyebrow slightly higher than the other — beside him, Booker was wearing the faintest smile — before attempting to answer Jehan’s question as best he could. “The bulk of us participate in the fight for many other causes,” he said carefully. Granted, there were some among the anti-purist crowd — easily the largest, since the declaration of war — who would not stand beside Pollo in the fight against racism, sexism, homophobia, for sustainable development and the cessation of long-since-dated colonial attitudes, but he barely tolerated that, let alone spoke of it. “Unless you were asking about our contacts in other cities?” “No, I was asking regarding the former, for my energies have been directed towards other causes, in the past,” said Jehan, as if he hadn’t been out of school for all of ten months and going to events for all of five. “Though I am curious also about the latter. Do you have a very large reticulation?” “We have allies in several other cities, mostly across the UK and Ireland,” Pollo said slowly. “No unifying name, but collaboration and cooperation, certainly. What sparked your interest, Jehan?” Jehan looked a little surprised to be asked, but then he paused to consider, folding his hands into his cardigan sleeves as he formulated an answer. “This is the question of our generation. This is the cause we will be remembered for, for ill or for praise depending on how we fight. What the twenties were for the role of government and the forties for Britain on the world stage, this is where our fate lies, now. It’s a recurring question like a nightmare, purism, and I admit that I have been privileged, in the past, to wake untouched. I devoted my energies to the slumbering world, where other futures are being decided, but they don’t see the danger that lurks behind the doorways their eyes pass over. It’s time to acknowledge the magical world. My silences do not protect me, and eventually, all those who are sleeping must wake.” As Jehan spoke, a smile crept over Pollo’s face — a rare one, because Pollo frequently inspired the people around him, but it was somewhat less usual for his friends’ words to inspire him in kind — and he decided (for all that he was trying to remember if Booker had ever mentioned a boyfriend before, or indicated any interest whatsoever in men) that Jehan was one of the best things to happen to them in months. “Good,” he said, radiating approval. “Those are fine reasons.” As he usually did, Cornelius had spent a good chunk of time before and after each meeting handing out pamphlets and having very lengthy conversations with several of the members. He spoke both of the fight and of their lives, always wanting to connect with these men and women at whatever level they’d allow him. Whereas Pollo and Telyn were the headstrong and bold, Cor was much more compassionate, and could probably tell you the trials and troubles of each person in the room. Having run out of pamphlets and just finished up a conversation, Cor make his way over to Pollo, to check in if he needed any help with anything else. “Pollo, I think next time we should make a few dozen more pamphlets,” he informed his friend, turning his head and nodding a greeting over to the two men Pollo was speaking to, doing a quick double take at the very unforgettable face of Jehan, a smile spreading across his face. “Well, well, well. There is a sight for sore eyes.” Jehan gaped. “Cornelius??” he said, a grin blooming over his face. The last time they had seen each other, Jehan had been seventeen and Cor had been the only thing standing between him, Royce David’s fists and an inevitable trip to St Mungo’s. He immediately threw his arms around the taller man’s neck, mindless of his flower crown which was getting a little tenuously tilted. “My life truly has enriched one thousand fold this week, how much more good fortune am I permitted?” Cor wasted no time at all in wrapping his arms gently around Jehan. He was always careful when it came to the delicate boy in his arms, even as kids. His smile never faded as he replied. “And to what do I owe this absolute pleasure? Have you been as captivated by Apollo over here as the rest of us?” “Oh, in part, truly, yes, but the real thanks is due to Booker.” Jehan reached over to entwine his fingers with Booker’s, and beamed up at him, and then at Cor. “Love truly is the unifier, though I have come primarily to lend my voice and what other small aides to the cause.” Jehan straightened his flowers, looking about happy enough to float away. “Mon amour, I have known Cornelius very nearly my entire life, or at least what I remember of it. I’m so happy you know each other; he has been such a comfort to me when there were troubles.” Pollo had begun to tune out by the time love was declared the unifier (truly!), and by the time Jehan was gushing over Booker and Cor’s acquaintance, he was more than ready to leave. “I’ll go duplicate a few more pamphlets,” he addressed to Cor, before pressing a smile to Jehan, less genuine than the one before as his mind was already far ahead on other matters. “Welcome. Thank you for coming.” Booker glanced at Pollo as he strode off, returning his attention to Cor and Jehan, his own smile uncharacteristically hesitant, fingers tight on Jehan’s. He had not, truth be told, anticipated the possibility that anyone but Chetta would already have known him. “Low on pamphlets?” he confirmed, this seeming like the most innocuous possible comment to make to Cor at the moment. Cor gave Booker a nod, checking to make sure Pollo was gone before continuing. “Yes, but there are nights that I may be guilty of ‘losing’ a few of them, so that Pollo thinks that more people are really reading them. Most here are interested in the speeches, but pamphlets aren’t quite as exciting as a well-delivered speech,” he admit, leaving out the part that he personally enjoyed the small satisfied look that Pollo gave when they ran out of pamphlets. “They truly are phenomenally written and very enticing. You should give it a read.” “I certainly will,” promised Jehan, leaning his cheek against Booker’s arm and looking between him and Cor a bit more timidly than before. He covered his and Booker’s clasped hands with his free one, absently stroking the other man’s knuckles, sensing some discomfort but not knowing what for. “Is that what is planned for the meeting? Are their goals in mind and minds to sway?” “We have minds to expand, always,” Cor responded, looking around the room. “I won’t be speaking, I rarely ever do, but these meetings are never dull. Richard isn’t here tonight, otherwise I would warn you to not heckle the heckler, but hopefully this will just be your first of many to come.” Cor looked at Booker and smiled. “We were fortunate enough to win the attendance of Booker, here. Now with you, I feel more excited than ever. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but we are getting closer to starting, and I still have a few tasks to check off my list before we start. Perhaps I will catch you after the meeting? We could grab a tea or something stronger?” “Yes, that sounds lovely,” agreed Jehan, “I don’t want to keep you from your devoir. We mustn’t lose sight of the larger goal, after all, and there will be time to fraternize after the battle.” He smiled. Jehan was looking forward to the meeting, and to the time after that when he would talk to Cornelius and to after that, when he and Booker would be in their beautiful new home with its bare lightbulbs and blank walls that begged for reinvention, and make love again, for a third time that day. But first, the revolution, always. |