Re: Log, Ocean's Eleven: Neil D & Lin A
Male or female, it was still Lin. He should, perhaps, have taken to using the typical feminine pronouns, as might be expected, in his meta when he was transformed, so to speak, but... well, genitals and fourth wall aside, he was a boy. He always would be. He'd tried explaining that as a kid to his classmates, in Buttfuck, OR, and, yeah, so he'd gotten a little shrill when he did his explaining, but he was upset. Like, fifteen kids were teasing him for his stick-on earrings, even though they were fucking amazing (one was a yellow moon 'jewel' and the other, a pink star. Yeah. He mixed and matched days and sets, because he was a cutting edge fashionista. And, yeah, they totally matched his stirrup pants. Like, perf. Like, he made sure. Like, he maybe colored in the moon with a darker crayon to get it just right). They laughed at his nailpolish and when he wore anything pink, anything frilly. But, he told them, that didn't change anything. So what if he liked those things? They were great things! But, it hadn't made a difference. And, he was an angry crier—you know the kind. They get all worked up, and instead of cool-headedly debating or whatever the fuck people did, he would just turn into a fountain and he would sob, like, a lot. And it made it really hard to get his point across. People would just be like, what are you even saying? And he'd just be like, kasdlkjapodhioada;djlasd!!
It was the worst.
But, now he could legit become a girl, or anything else he wanted! But, like I was saying, that didn't change his internal identity, not even a little bit. Lin flipped his hair with an outrageous amount of flamboyance, like he knew the stereotypes and he was going to force them all down your throat like a regurgitated rainbow, and you were going to like it.
"You forgot to say 'this jelly.' It was a specific question. Are you and your fancy-ass, totally straight waistcoat ready for this jelly, Neil? This is an important question, or I wouldn't ask it!" A lie, two-fold, and Lin was grinning glossy. He didn't need to be given permission. He was leading the way, dragging Neil along like he was just an extremely gay accessory (which, look at that waistcoat. He was), and inside that chapel-building-thing, he selected a room at random. The grand, ostentatiously wrought doors (probably made out of chipwood and glue) were still open, so the, um, ceremony hadn't started yet.
Lin tiptoed up the aisle and sat on the red velvet pew, nearest to the wall, about three back from the front, and when Neil joined him, he leaned against him.
"The king," he whispered. "Always likes to make an entrance. We call that 'This Jelly.' It was a proper noun, see?"