(no subject)
Jun. 22nd, 2004 05:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tammaiyaTitle: Sibling Rivalry
Rating: PG-13, probably. For... concepts. *cough*
Fandom: Discworld
Genre: There is? I mean... *shifty look*
Notes: Written for a![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schiarire's birthday. (Sorry I'm late, Ji!) X-posted to insaneidiot.
Warnings: Incest, (shut up!) spoilers
Word count: 1423
Summary: Verence thinks. And stuff. Post Wyrd Sisters, so spoilers for that, and such.
Verence used to wonder, as a child, what it would be like to have a twin. A mirror image, someone like him, someone who would understand the way he thought and someone who would help him survive growing up in the misery of the Fools' Guild.
As he got older, he used to look in the mirror and think about all the ways he wished he looked. Still himself, only better.
He thinks it's ironic that these two wishes, that of a child and that of a teenager, have combined to haunt him. Tomjon is like a better version of him, as if he was a faulty original and Tomjon were the perfect final copy. Verence always wanted a brother, but as an only child he had never understood the concept of sibling rivalry. Of jealousy, of wondering why didn't I get the good genes?
In a way, though… in a way, he suspects that maybe there was a difference between this relationship and other sibling relationships, because they hadn't grown up together. He's pretty sure that he's not supposed to think these weird things about Tomjon being his better self, and he's almost positive that he isn't supposed to notice the perfect way the black hair curls around the actor's neck to frame his perfect face. Verence knows that it's wrong to think like that, and despises himself for it, but it's hard to think of someone as your brother when you meet them for the first time as an adult.
When you meet them, and they're ridiculously gorgeous.
It's strange looking into a distorted reflection of what you could have been if you weren't flawed, and it's as if his mind can't decide whether to be jealous or to let him be drawn dangerously close like a moth to the flame. It's a moot point, though; Tomjon isn't going to hang around long enough for it to make a difference, and he's way out of Verence's league anyway.
In both senses of the phrase.
Jealous or no, Verence can't compete with Tomjon for anything except money, and that's the kind of contest he just doesn't want to know about. He grew up poor- he hates people who flash gold around like it's some kind of trinket, and he'd rather jump off the top of his own castle than become one of those snobs. As for the attraction he wishes so hard he could deny? Even if Tomjon weren't to leave and even if it weren't wrong, he knows he's not good enough. He's not brave, or smart, or good-looking. He hasn't got any of the bright and shining qualities his half-brother possesses. All he is is… him. Someone who tries their hardest but somehow always manages to mess everything up anyway.
Sighing, he turns from watching his appearance flicker in the murky pond to find the subject of his musing right behind him. The surprise of seeing Tomjon Vitoller standing so close to him when he was entertaining such thoughts is enough to make him jump back in shock and, slipping on the muddy grass, fall back gracelessly into the shallow pool. He surfaces with water up his nose and a slimy carp swimming around his ankles, giving him the shudders. Coughing and spitting, he rubs a cold dripping hand across his eyes and looks up miserably at his better self, whom he fully expects to burst out with derisive laughter.
Instead he offers a hand and a warm smile, and for that Verence loves and hates him all the more. Of course his better half would have to be a good person on top of everything else. Was it too much to ask that he have a single fault?
"Thanks," he says gratefully, and feels rather pathetic. At least he hasn't thrown up any pond water.
"My pleasure," Tomjon says kindly, grabbing him by the wrist and hauling him back onto the bank. "Granny said I might find you here."
You were looking for me?
"Yes, I thought that we should perhaps try to get to know each other."
He must have said that aloud. Oops. Tomjon is looking at him expectantly, not so much hopeful as patient, and Verence blinks. "Um…"
"That is fine with you, yes?" Tomjon adds.
Verence suddenly wonders if Tomjon is always acting, playing some undefined role appropriate to the situation. Loyal friend, dutiful son, loving brother. Tomjon seems to have the ability to be whoever he wants to be, but does that mean he tries to be what everyone else wants him to be? Is there really a Tomjon, or did he lose himself behind all the masks he plays? Does he even know who he is?
Verence shivers, disturbed by the almost creepy tone of that concept. He had wished briefly that he had that chameleon-like ability, but if it were a choice of essentially not existing inside all the parts you pretended to be and being yourself? He'd prefer to be himself, despite the fact that he didn't even like being himself.
Tomjon is looking at him thoughtfully, and with a thrill of bewilderment and a slight blush, Verence realises Tomjon is still holding onto his wrist. "Er, Tomjon?"
"Yes?" Tomjon asks politely, and follows Verence's glance downwards. "Oh, excuse me."
He doesn't let go though, and Verence is intensely confused. He doesn't understand Tomjon by any stretch of the imagination- doesn't understand how he thinks, or what he is truly like, and most of all he doesn't understand why someone like Tomjon would ever bother to spend time with him, half-brother or not. For that matter… why was Tomjon still holding his arm?
"Tomjon?" Verence says uncertainly. "Why…?"
"Because," Tomjon answers, though that isn't really an answer at all. Before Verence can point that out, though, Tomjon yanks him forward and, grabbing his brother's hair with his free hand, pulls him into a very unexpected kiss.
It is bittersweet like honey laced with cyanide, and it just figures that Tomjon would be a good kisser too. He should have been king and Verence knew it; all thoughts of age aside, he knows that Tomjon would do a better job. Tomjon is good at everything, just as if he is always playing another character. Verence, on the other hand, is quite sure he isn't good at anything. He wasn't even good at being a fool, and he'd done that most of his life. How is he supposed to figure out this kinging business when he has nothing to go on?
When Tomjon finally releases his mouth, he sways on the spot and probably would collapse if the actor hadn't kept a firm hold on both his arm and his neck.
"Huh?" Verence says woozily, shaking his head and staring up with a bemused expression.
"Because I always wondered what it would be like to kiss my mirror image," Tomjon explains, and before Verence can object that they don't look that alike, not really, Tomjon is kissing him again.
"I always wanted an older brother," Tomjon comments when they break away the second time, sounding just a little breathless, and this time Verence's knees give out and he does crash to the damp and squishy ground. He doesn't think now is the time to mention the fact that generally this isn't how brothers ought to behave, however tactfully he puts it.
"That's nice," Verence replies, and was his voice always that high-pitched? "I always wanted a younger brother."
The fact that he had wanted a younger brother so he could have had someone to take his frustration out on is unimportant.
"Would you be happy to see me were I ever to visit again?" Tomjon inquires, and it takes Verence a second to recognise that the subtle unaccustomed change to his brother's voice was a note of uncertainty. He feels oddly reassured by this.
"Of course," Verence answers, and Tomjon's smile is so dazzling that it's as if the sun has come out after a month of rain. Verence doesn't feel jealous this time, though, because he finds he's happy to be around Tomjon but he doesn't want to be him anymore.
Being Verence isn't so bad, not really. He's got Magrat, and he's sure he'll figure out this whole king-thing with time. Maybe he won't do the best job in history, but both he and Lancre will survive it through.
Besides… he has a brother now. And if Tomjon has confidence in him, that's enough for him to find confidence in himself.
Also, a quote: "If a person who indulges in gluttony is a glutton, and a person who commits
a felony is a felon, then God is an iron. Or else He's the dumbest designer
that ever lived." ~Spider Robinson
And something amusing from my parents: once, one of my sister's male friends said that our mother wouldn't approve even if she dated Jesus. Ceilidh told mum; mum said, "Of course not, he has a reputation as a religious fanatic."
I brought it up with my mum recently as a joke, and asked why she wouldn't let either of us date Jesus. Her response? "Your father wouldn't approve either."
So I turn to my Catholic father. "Dad, would YOU let me date Jesus?"
"No, he doesn't have particularly good career prospects."
"He'd leave you high and dry," my mother adds.
So there we go.
Rating: PG-13, probably. For... concepts. *cough*
Fandom: Discworld
Genre: There is? I mean... *shifty look*
Notes: Written for a
schiarire's birthday. (Sorry I'm late, Ji!) X-posted to insaneidiot.Warnings: Incest, (shut up!) spoilers
Word count: 1423
Summary: Verence thinks. And stuff. Post Wyrd Sisters, so spoilers for that, and such.
Verence used to wonder, as a child, what it would be like to have a twin. A mirror image, someone like him, someone who would understand the way he thought and someone who would help him survive growing up in the misery of the Fools' Guild.
As he got older, he used to look in the mirror and think about all the ways he wished he looked. Still himself, only better.
He thinks it's ironic that these two wishes, that of a child and that of a teenager, have combined to haunt him. Tomjon is like a better version of him, as if he was a faulty original and Tomjon were the perfect final copy. Verence always wanted a brother, but as an only child he had never understood the concept of sibling rivalry. Of jealousy, of wondering why didn't I get the good genes?
In a way, though… in a way, he suspects that maybe there was a difference between this relationship and other sibling relationships, because they hadn't grown up together. He's pretty sure that he's not supposed to think these weird things about Tomjon being his better self, and he's almost positive that he isn't supposed to notice the perfect way the black hair curls around the actor's neck to frame his perfect face. Verence knows that it's wrong to think like that, and despises himself for it, but it's hard to think of someone as your brother when you meet them for the first time as an adult.
When you meet them, and they're ridiculously gorgeous.
It's strange looking into a distorted reflection of what you could have been if you weren't flawed, and it's as if his mind can't decide whether to be jealous or to let him be drawn dangerously close like a moth to the flame. It's a moot point, though; Tomjon isn't going to hang around long enough for it to make a difference, and he's way out of Verence's league anyway.
In both senses of the phrase.
Jealous or no, Verence can't compete with Tomjon for anything except money, and that's the kind of contest he just doesn't want to know about. He grew up poor- he hates people who flash gold around like it's some kind of trinket, and he'd rather jump off the top of his own castle than become one of those snobs. As for the attraction he wishes so hard he could deny? Even if Tomjon weren't to leave and even if it weren't wrong, he knows he's not good enough. He's not brave, or smart, or good-looking. He hasn't got any of the bright and shining qualities his half-brother possesses. All he is is… him. Someone who tries their hardest but somehow always manages to mess everything up anyway.
Sighing, he turns from watching his appearance flicker in the murky pond to find the subject of his musing right behind him. The surprise of seeing Tomjon Vitoller standing so close to him when he was entertaining such thoughts is enough to make him jump back in shock and, slipping on the muddy grass, fall back gracelessly into the shallow pool. He surfaces with water up his nose and a slimy carp swimming around his ankles, giving him the shudders. Coughing and spitting, he rubs a cold dripping hand across his eyes and looks up miserably at his better self, whom he fully expects to burst out with derisive laughter.
Instead he offers a hand and a warm smile, and for that Verence loves and hates him all the more. Of course his better half would have to be a good person on top of everything else. Was it too much to ask that he have a single fault?
"Thanks," he says gratefully, and feels rather pathetic. At least he hasn't thrown up any pond water.
"My pleasure," Tomjon says kindly, grabbing him by the wrist and hauling him back onto the bank. "Granny said I might find you here."
You were looking for me?
"Yes, I thought that we should perhaps try to get to know each other."
He must have said that aloud. Oops. Tomjon is looking at him expectantly, not so much hopeful as patient, and Verence blinks. "Um…"
"That is fine with you, yes?" Tomjon adds.
Verence suddenly wonders if Tomjon is always acting, playing some undefined role appropriate to the situation. Loyal friend, dutiful son, loving brother. Tomjon seems to have the ability to be whoever he wants to be, but does that mean he tries to be what everyone else wants him to be? Is there really a Tomjon, or did he lose himself behind all the masks he plays? Does he even know who he is?
Verence shivers, disturbed by the almost creepy tone of that concept. He had wished briefly that he had that chameleon-like ability, but if it were a choice of essentially not existing inside all the parts you pretended to be and being yourself? He'd prefer to be himself, despite the fact that he didn't even like being himself.
Tomjon is looking at him thoughtfully, and with a thrill of bewilderment and a slight blush, Verence realises Tomjon is still holding onto his wrist. "Er, Tomjon?"
"Yes?" Tomjon asks politely, and follows Verence's glance downwards. "Oh, excuse me."
He doesn't let go though, and Verence is intensely confused. He doesn't understand Tomjon by any stretch of the imagination- doesn't understand how he thinks, or what he is truly like, and most of all he doesn't understand why someone like Tomjon would ever bother to spend time with him, half-brother or not. For that matter… why was Tomjon still holding his arm?
"Tomjon?" Verence says uncertainly. "Why…?"
"Because," Tomjon answers, though that isn't really an answer at all. Before Verence can point that out, though, Tomjon yanks him forward and, grabbing his brother's hair with his free hand, pulls him into a very unexpected kiss.
It is bittersweet like honey laced with cyanide, and it just figures that Tomjon would be a good kisser too. He should have been king and Verence knew it; all thoughts of age aside, he knows that Tomjon would do a better job. Tomjon is good at everything, just as if he is always playing another character. Verence, on the other hand, is quite sure he isn't good at anything. He wasn't even good at being a fool, and he'd done that most of his life. How is he supposed to figure out this kinging business when he has nothing to go on?
When Tomjon finally releases his mouth, he sways on the spot and probably would collapse if the actor hadn't kept a firm hold on both his arm and his neck.
"Huh?" Verence says woozily, shaking his head and staring up with a bemused expression.
"Because I always wondered what it would be like to kiss my mirror image," Tomjon explains, and before Verence can object that they don't look that alike, not really, Tomjon is kissing him again.
"I always wanted an older brother," Tomjon comments when they break away the second time, sounding just a little breathless, and this time Verence's knees give out and he does crash to the damp and squishy ground. He doesn't think now is the time to mention the fact that generally this isn't how brothers ought to behave, however tactfully he puts it.
"That's nice," Verence replies, and was his voice always that high-pitched? "I always wanted a younger brother."
The fact that he had wanted a younger brother so he could have had someone to take his frustration out on is unimportant.
"Would you be happy to see me were I ever to visit again?" Tomjon inquires, and it takes Verence a second to recognise that the subtle unaccustomed change to his brother's voice was a note of uncertainty. He feels oddly reassured by this.
"Of course," Verence answers, and Tomjon's smile is so dazzling that it's as if the sun has come out after a month of rain. Verence doesn't feel jealous this time, though, because he finds he's happy to be around Tomjon but he doesn't want to be him anymore.
Being Verence isn't so bad, not really. He's got Magrat, and he's sure he'll figure out this whole king-thing with time. Maybe he won't do the best job in history, but both he and Lancre will survive it through.
Besides… he has a brother now. And if Tomjon has confidence in him, that's enough for him to find confidence in himself.
Also, a quote: "If a person who indulges in gluttony is a glutton, and a person who commits
a felony is a felon, then God is an iron. Or else He's the dumbest designer
that ever lived." ~Spider Robinson
And something amusing from my parents: once, one of my sister's male friends said that our mother wouldn't approve even if she dated Jesus. Ceilidh told mum; mum said, "Of course not, he has a reputation as a religious fanatic."
I brought it up with my mum recently as a joke, and asked why she wouldn't let either of us date Jesus. Her response? "Your father wouldn't approve either."
So I turn to my Catholic father. "Dad, would YOU let me date Jesus?"
"No, he doesn't have particularly good career prospects."
"He'd leave you high and dry," my mother adds.
So there we go.
