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is a spider-child
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Tue Oct 06, 2015 9:51 am GMT 
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Carmen met the comment on his age with a dismissive wave of her hand, the bracelet around her wrist giving a soft rattle and glinting when the gold-coloured metal and jewel-like stones caught the light. "Oh please," she said. "You are younger than Magnus. Is there not a saying about just being as old as you feel?"

Age was something Carmen had never been worried about. Though she had a certain streak of vanity she hadn't even batted an eye at passing 30 years old. She had often been told, usually in very admonishing tones of voices, that she was getting old, that a woman her age ought to be married, have a gaggle of children, etcetera and so on, at her age. When she asked why she could usually never procure an answer more satisfying than a sputtered "because that's how it's supposed to be" which only proved to her that there was no reason for her to care. She didn't need to be married to have any of the things people usually insisted were so essential; sex, security, companionship, even children if she for some reason suddenly wanted them, were all things she could have without a ring on her finger.

She wouldn't completely dismiss the possibility of maintaining a relationship, but as things stood now she couldn't imagine that she would feel an inclination to surrender to a traditional arrangement. In the past she had had both boyfriends and girlfriends, some that lasted longer than others, but those relationships were often sneered at by those looking at them from an outside perspective for their lack of monogamy; as sure of herself and as disinclined to share her deeper emotions with everyone and their uncle as she was Carmen had never bothered to try and explain. Loyalty was one of her stronger traits, and part of that loyalty was an ability to keep things said in confidence to herself which meant that she wouldn't tell just anyone about those long nights spent quietly conversing in bed, the mornings of passion, the slow days of just staying near one another and relishing in each other's presence, or indeed the painful evenings of heartache or comforting.

Since she was so reluctant to share things it was perhaps a bit hypocritical of her to feel so pleased at Denmark's confession. Her smile sat somewhere between amusement and being impressed as she swallowed another much too warm mouthful of tea. "A poet!" she echoed with a brief chuckle. "That is indeed not something I would have guessed."

Carmen wasn't an artist in any way, even if some slightly drunk men had described her body as a work of art when she had danced. Dancing was one thing she appreciated, in just about all its forms, but the can-can didn't quit cut it as being "cultured" and that was the only kind she had dabbled in on stage. As for paintings, poetry, or literature in general, she had been exposed to just about every genre available; Paris was after all rife with just about any artist and artisan you could desire. Poetry in particular had unfortunately been a little bit sullied for her by those that tried too hard.

"Did it go so poorly that you had to give up and become a soldier, or did soldiering give you something to write about?" she asked Denmark with a teasing look in her eyes. "You do not write these days?"

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Egad!
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Tue Oct 06, 2015 1:51 pm GMT 
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He was glad to have surprised her. It wasn't the first time he'd brought up this aspect of his past, particularly when talking to women. It was an amusing disclosure, slightly vulnerable but still relatively safe. Now and then it depressed him--something that had once been so meaningful to him was now, in essence, a cheap joke--but not so much that he ever stopped using it.

He responded to the mention of soldiering with a wry smile. "Of course I wrote about the War. I didn't say anything that hasn't been said already, and more eloquently, by someone else. It was all very terse and minimalistic, the kind of dreadful modern fare that no one reads."

It was easy to dismiss now, now that he was successful, now that he could look back and deem his younger poetic self an impractical egotist. And he had been, hadn't he? When he thought back on his time in New York--the idealistic views he'd espoused, the sentimental trash he'd written--it was hard not to cringe.

"No, I don't write these days. I've been weaned from the illusion that I have something to say."

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is a spider-child
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Mon Oct 26, 2015 12:00 pm GMT 
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"You have nothing to say anymore? I am not sure if that is boring or depressing." Carmen raised her eyebrows lazily at him, that slight twinkle of amusement still lingering in her green eyes despite her words. Leaning forward she set her tea cup down on the coffee table before yet again huddling up comfortably in the borrowed blanket. Again she took the edge out of her own words with a slight smile.

"Is this one of the... side-effects of you growing up and becoming cautious?" she asked. As the conversation progressed she was beginning to relax more and more in Denmark's company. He was indeed living up to his words about being polite, and so far she was even feeling quite pleased to have accepted the invitation even if her agreeing might have been just the tiniest bit helped along by those drinks she had had before; perhaps they were also helping her to feel a little bit more benevolent towards him than she might have otherwise had.

"People have told me I should write, or do something like it at least, because they think I have too much to say," she then admitted with a low chuckle. "But I guess I prefer taking discussions face to face."

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Egad!
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Mon Nov 09, 2015 9:54 pm GMT 
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"Boring and depressing, perhaps?" suggested Denmark, with a half smile. He routinely said such things about himself, but this time it was easier to hear the sarcasm in his voice. It seemed that something about Carmen might have set him at ease, odd though it was, considering how jumpy he'd been around her only an hour before.

It hadn't occurred to him to think of Carmen as a writer, potential or otherwise. He'd known a few female poets and novelists in New York, and they had always seemed like the exception to the rule. His initial reaction was one of skepticism, but when he thought about it a moment longer, he decided he would be eager to read what she had to say. If the philosophy she'd espoused at the speak was genuine, Carmen's personal manifesto would turn a few heads.

"I would be curious to hear face-to-face, then, what it is you would write about." He leaned back, resting his chin in his hand. "Some sort of memoir, I suppose? Or a treatise on the meaningless of marriage, and other bothersome social constructs?"

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is a spider-child
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Sat Nov 21, 2015 3:26 pm GMT 
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"Probably not in such fancy words," Carmen replied with a low laughter. It always felt good to when someone was interested in hearing your opinions or your thoughts, it gave a sense of affirmation after all, and as aggressive as she might come off on occassion she didn't relish having to fight to put her thoughts forward. She was more than prepared to do so, but it was in the hopes of eventually not having to anymore.

"My memoirs would probably not be published. They would not be considered... appropriate for the public," she then added. "People do not listen when can-can dancers, or most women really, talk. I do not think it would be easier to make them listen when they would need to choose to open a book."

At first she moved to take another sip of her tea, but then her hand made a detour to her purse that was laid out next to her huddled form on the couch. She picked it up and brought out her pack of cigarettes and a book of matches without having to rifle through it. She glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question if he would mind.

"Like I said, I do not write. I talk. But my book would be about women being the same as men, about... not being boring and depressing." Here she cracked a smile at him. "I shock people. I shocked you. But I just want to have fun and be happy like everyone else, I just actually do what makes me happy without caring so much about what others think about it."

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Egad!
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Sat Nov 28, 2015 12:22 pm GMT 
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"Oh, certainly. In its current form your theory wouldn't make it past the censors, and something tells me you wouldn't tone down your views." When she glanced up at him, matches in hand, he waved a hand in tacit permission. "Even Alice Paul and the suffragettes would find you a bit extreme for their tastes. The Woman's Party can't afford to touch radical politics with a ten foot pole. They dropped Negro civil rights like a hot iron. I can't imagine they'd look any more favorably on free love."

Denmark couldn't help but entertain a grudging respect for uncompromising believers. He understood people like Carmen, with their consistent view of the universe, far better than smooth-talking politicians with opaque agendas and fickle ways. Still, he'd never been won over by talk of lady governors, lady doctors, or lady engineers. Someone had to take care of the children. Things had always been this way for a reason.

"What do you mean, women are the same as men? It's clear enough--they're not. If you won't attribute it to God, attribute it to nature." His manner was easy enough, even as he argued. There was no reason to get worked up about such things when his was the conventional wisdom. "Surely if there are differences in body, there are differences in mind..."

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is a spider-child
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Sun Nov 29, 2015 12:59 pm GMT 
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((Oh my. Oh me oh my. Dear Mr. Jones, you have not dug a bigger hole for yourself to fall in to since the trenches, I'm sure.))

It was lucky that Carmen had set about lighting her cigarette while Denmark spoke, because it made the tension that entered the line of her mouth near impossible to notice. By the time she shook the life out of the flame on the match and took in a deep breath of smoke she had her face under control again as she looked over her current company under a few seconds of estimative silence. It wasn't the first time someone had disagreed with her, of course, it was more common than the opposite, unsurprisingly. But for some reason she found herself feeling strangely disappointed; he'd seemed like such a sweet man, and while this was likely true still it would always be a thorn in her side when someone would regurgitate the views of all those old men and women she had argued with from her childhood, when she would so vehemently claim to be the equal of her brother. It was true that many women, even female activists, in France, America, or in any part of the world, didn't agree with her, at least not officially. Some might think what she said made sense, but even amongst those that did most agreed that it was too big a leap to make, to claim total equality in all matters in one fell swoop. The right to vote, the right to education, those were reasonable demands. But to ask for more was unthinkable for many, but not for Carmen. She had grown up at the same pace, in the same way, alongside, a man, and resented the idea that he was in some way superior for the simple fact that he did not have breasts. What had started as a subconscious competition, a feeling of being treated unfairly, had slowly grown in to a kind of awareness. She had begun to see all the times when women around her had been pushed back, pushed around, and the more tired she got of having to assert herself the more she started to analyse it all; in the end the only conclusion she had been able to draw was that men and women were no different. They were capable of the same cruelty, the same love, they could both be strong, and they could both be weak.

Doubting herself had never really been in her nature, but if anything had permanently cemented her opinions on this matter it was the war. Women and men died as equals, and should thus live as equals; the nurses didn't see any less death, any less gore or filth than the men, and at least in Carmen's opinion they would all have been equally capable of carrying a gun or kill to defend their country and their countrymen. The image of the angelic nurse with her gentle demeanour and soothing hands was one she had had imposed on herself many times during and after the war, but she wasn't sure that any of the women she had served with could fit that strange mould any more than most men could fit in to the one of the noble poliu; the women she had known knelt in blood while trying to scrub it from floors, waded through mud, watched limbs being severed, and tried to help doctors put together disembowelled men. There was nothing gentle about war, not even young maidens that had perhaps first gone in to it thinking as naively as the young men did that it would be a brief and heroic affair.

"Our bodies are different," she said, her voice a touch drier now, and a great deal less playful. It was an old argument, one which she often grew weary of, but for that simple reason it was one she was too invested in to just let slide. Too many people let too much slide, which they could not be damned for, but that meant she had to be more adamant than they were. "Men can be taller, stronger, and they cannot bear children. But does this mean they cannot watch over them? You have two hands, as well as any woman. We can put them to use for the same things. As I said, I am not my brother's caretaker, or Magnus'. If I cook for them, they can cook for me. If I had a child only I can feed it at first, yes, but there is nothing that would stop its father from cleaning it, making sure it did not get hurt."

Another deep drag of the cigarette, and a plume of smoke then exhaled towards Denmark. The French woman unfurled herself from the blanket as though it was as oppressive as she found society's views on women to be, and there was a renewed keenness to her eyes when she made unrelenting eyecontact.

"What exactly, is it you think makes my mind different than my brother's, or Magnus' or yours? Am I softer? Are you smarter?" She couldn't help that she snorted here. "All humans are equal. You speak of Negro rights... Would you say a man with dark skin is different than one who is white? What our bodies look like do not matter."

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Egad!
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Wed Dec 30, 2015 4:16 am GMT 
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((He had nooo idea what he was getting into. Sorry for the delay, btw, I had trouble with this one!))

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Denmark wished he could stuff them back in again. It wasn’t that he thought he was wrong. Rather, he could see Carmen’s estimation of him dropping like a stone. A couple of minutes ago she had encouraged him to speak his mind, whether the topic in question was controversial or no. Now the completely uncontroversial statement that there was a distinction between the sexes had landed him in the midst of a debate with his business partner and would-be romantic pursuit.
He was tempted to apologize and hastily change the subject. But something told him it was better to explain his views. It was too late to turn back now.

“I see I’ve offended you,” he said, watching the stream of smoke issue from her lips. He did his best to sound neither groveling nor annoyed. “I know what the nurses did in the War. Awful, bloody work, and they were heroes as much as any of us. I have the utmost respect for the fortitude and resourcefulness of women.”

He met her gaze and spread his hands in innocuous gesture. “I suggested that women and men are different—different strengths, different weaknesses. That’s all. To be perfectly frank, I’ve had clever women running circles around me all my life. I could never presume to say that men have some sort of monopoly on intelligence or logic.”

Truth be told, the notion of men caring for infants struck him as absurd, but he tried to suppress his kneejerk reaction and consider the idea as fairly as he could. Unfortunately, Denmark couldn’t help inserting his own father into the picture. And his father was 10th Cavalry Private Jones—a terrifying, scintillating, one-legged tyrant, who would sooner have held a live grenade than a crying baby.
Judiciously, he decided not to remark on that facet of the argument, at least for now.

“All humans should be treated equally, of course. But a black man is not entirely the same as a white man.” Denmark paused, hesitating. But for once he no longer felt like he had everything to lose. “I would see the world quite differently if I were written out of history, out of every scrap of literature, out of every public space.”

Again he fell silent. It was almost as if he were awaiting an accusation. When none came, he mustered a feeble joke. “In my experience, women are far more adept than men at anticipating how a remark might affect their companions. Which might account for my predicament at present…”

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is a spider-child
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Fri Jan 01, 2016 1:30 pm GMT 
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(Hah, that is quite alright, I know how posts can be!)

Perhaps a bit unwittingly Denmark had done quite right in not trying to backtrack and apologize or try to appease her. People who would turn their coats to suit whichever way the wind blew was something Carmen found wildly unattractive as it pointed to a spinelessness that was downright distasteful to her. She wouldn't respect just any opinion, but she also didn't believe that people would change their opinion just because they didn't want to offend her or because they suddenly had an epiphany and actually thought she was right; then it felt better if people were actually honest about not agreeing.

"I think what strengths we have, or weaknesses for that matter, have to do with something other than if we have breasts or not," she said, and though her guard wasn't lowered there was something a little bit less sharp about her when she spoke now. She was feeling a bit less like Denmark was completely on the wrong side of the fence, and more like he could possibly be coaxed in to seeing where he was wrong.

When she took the cigarette from her lips next a small smile was lured on to them, but it was not an especially calming smile, but instead as teasing as the slight chuckle that followed. "They are exactly the same in bed at least," she told him sweetly. "And is that not the best place to compare us? I have found people are terrible liars when they are naked. Nothing to hide behind, just bare skin and instincts."

By now the ash was hanging quite precariously off the end of her cigarette and she asked almost as an afterthought if he didn't happen to have an ash tray before pressing on in her argument.

"You would definitely see the world differently if you were not you. When was the last time you were questioned not because of your opinions but because you had opinions at all? How many times have you had to defend your right to do what you want, how you want? Believe me, after a thousand times you start to think that all is not right in the world. You should not worry though. If you had actually upset me I would have left. But I will not lie, I was a bit... disappointed."

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Egad!
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Sun Jan 03, 2016 4:37 pm GMT 
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Denmark had noticed the gradual lowering of the hackles of his guest. He felt a little bit relieved, although he didn't allow himself to relax just yet. If he had learned anything from his years with Olive, it was that a woman who claimed not to be upset almost certainly was. He was still on thin ice.

It was good he hadn't lowered his guard, because her comment about the sexes' more intimate natures flustered him all over again. For one, it was an unpleasant reminder that the pool of competition for Carmen's attentions, already considerable, was twice as large as predicted. He was still struggling to justify, in his own mind, his profound discomfort over her dalliances with women. And then there was that remark, frank but sly. It gave him the peculiar feeling that he was exposed, too, although his shirt was buttoned up to his throat. He was as terrible a liar now as if he were naked.

Amidst all his anxieties, there was a flicker of curiosity too. Could it possibly be true, that men and women were so similar in bed? His instinct was to say no. She might have said it just to needle him. Besides, all his assumptions and observations suggested that men were more brutal by nature--you didn't see nurses or housewives raping male soldiers in France, after all. He reasoned that Carmen had a biased sample; her female 'associates' were unconventional by definition. As far as firsthand experience, however, Denmark had no basis of comparison. Truth be told, he didn't know many women, at least in the biblical sense.

"Are they?" he said, trying to sound casual. "The same, that is. In that particular sense."

Unfortunately for Denmark, his nonchalance was spoiled by the slight flush on his cheeks.

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Last edited by Fotecp on Mon Jan 18, 2016 8:32 pm GMT, edited 1 time in total.

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is a spider-child
 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Sun Jan 10, 2016 6:11 am GMT 
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She enjoyed making people blush, particularly men for the simple reason that society said that men ought to not get embarrassed. It was rather childish, even if she didn't care to admit it, but some people just looked so sweet when they blushed; on some subconscious level it made it feel as though there might still be some innocence in human kind. Watching Denmark now, a touch of cruelty entered Carmen's lopsided smirk however. It was definitively not the first time a man had asked exactly that question when she had made that statement. Some asked out of naiveté, some out of curiosity, and some because they wanted her to get a bit... explicit. She wasn't quite sure what Denmark wanted out of it, but to her it didn't seem unlikely that he would fall in to the category of men that were genuinely surprised to find out that women could enjoy intimacy as much as men did. The side of Carmen that enjoyed making people blush, that enjoyed being in the right, certainly didn't mind educating men such as that either; it was satisfying to see someone get their image of the world altered, by however little.

"You will not take my word for it? Perhaps I should go in to details," she said in a voice as smooth as the cigarette smoke that travelled in ringlets and gentle curls towards the ceiling. "Of course we all have our different quirks. I am sure you know what I mean, Monsieur. But when you come down to it, we all just want pleasure. Men and women, of whatever colour or origin. We might take different... paths to get to it, but the goal is the same, is it not? That women should want something other than men in that sense is ridiculous. It should be about pleasure for us women too, not just about pleasing, even if some think we should not indulge that side of ourselves as much as our partners do."

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 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Mon Jan 18, 2016 9:48 pm GMT 
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"Of course the goal is the same. But that's not exactly what you said, is it?"

Perhaps he was coming off as pedantic, Denmark worried vaguely. The truth was, he was objecting because he had found her explanation disappointing. He had hoped for some sort of female insight. Instead, as usual, Carmen referenced patterns so broad and overarching that their meaning was lost in generalities. He had never been with a man, of course, and he didn't expect that to change. But he did feel a flicker of curiosity about the matter. Now, as ever, he was left unsatisfied. She hadn't told him anything he didn't already know.

"I had a friend back home in New York," he said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. It was too late now, however. The memory had risen unbidden to the surface and now it wanted out. "We used to go to the pictures together, right after we came home from Paris. This was before I met Olive, and this fellow and I...we spent a lot of time in each other's company. One night...we were walking back from the cinema and he told me--well, he told me he was--he thought he was a homosexual." Denmark sighed, averting his eyes. "He asked if he could kiss me, just to see what it felt like. I must have panicked, because I remember running off. Never saw the poor lad again."

There was an epilogue to the story, too awful to tell. Instead of adding the postscript, he glanced back at Carmen, looking a bit ill. "I never told that to anyone. It's been a while since I've thought of it. You reminded me, I suppose."

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 Post subject: Re: Old Wounds (Northern)
PostPosted: Sun Mar 27, 2016 4:53 am GMT 
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((Wow, completely forgot I had this sitting in my drafts :/ ))

Being called out like that wasn't what Carmen had expected. People who did that usually just wanted to put you in your place, so at first she could feel her hackles rise again and if Denmark hadn't continued to talk it wasn't unlikely that she would have said something a bit terse in response. The story she listened to instead was one she had heard before. If people got personal when discussing homosexuality there was usually some "friend" or other who "was that way" or "well, he was always a bit... you know", because God forbid anyone could admit to being curious themselves. It didn't really make her feel less defensive, especially because of that finishing touch of calling the other man "poor lad"; it grated to hear that the man's curiosity had been something to feel sorry over.

"It's not just about kisses," she said, perhaps a bit sharper than she had meant to before reaching out to grind out her cigarette in the ash tray. "But people should... what is it you say in English? Have broad horizons? I don't understand how people cannot."

There was a slight curl to her lip now that clearly expressed that she had put up her guard again.

"Women are beautiful, men are beautiful, both can be good company, both can be bedded, I do not see why everyone is so afraid of trying, you miss so much." She took no mercy on Denmark this time, despite his rather obvious discomfort. "Running away is a very silly thing to do, but you seem to have understood that already."

Very pointedly she then leaned forward to grind out her cigarette while still watching Denmark and continued, referring back to what he had said first; "Now, please tell me what it was exactly that I said."

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