Biteing off the hand that keeps me starved
We know this isnt going to be any kind of cathartic, take the power back "fun". This was up against everything 90% of us had been taught and experienced. This was going to hurt and be scary. There wouldn't be any nano to nano programming in the victims. They had to have no idea and be completely convinced we were prepared to accept their ideas about "compromising". Then it hit us as the simplest and best stuff does, like falling arse over tit after walking into an object that you were looking at the whole time you approached it.
What if we told the truth? That is what we have always, if we dont know what to do, if we want to make sure it's self defence. Tell the fucking truth. Give them Julia.
"to be honest Sirs with the things we have done here in the last few days, the rapists that we know will not be raping ourselves or any infants everyone again and the love we have gotten for it we would be happy to cancel the Palermo plans, forgot about our money or anti war crimes work, even out anti slavery work if we get to stay here, or even back to Scotland but not without I.D, healthcare and a little support with at least not stopping us from being able to defend our own and Pabs life."
Not happy faces. Then for a horrible second we thought they might agree, then for an evil horriblier second we realised they weren't. They asked if we were joking we said not all and that we were prepared to share some of the Palermo plans with them to show them how serious we were.
We could feel the witness crouched in behind something his back killing him in the humidity he was never a stoic for literally sweating his balls off head to toe in black "I'm sorry Quine but this as "mediterrain climate suitable" as I'm prepared to make any recon gear." Bound to better than whatever the Brits are in the poor bastards we grabbed a thought as she tried wonder off.
We didnt get too scared when they started the proper horrific triggering and we could feel our guy's body temperature plunge in the increasing distance. We knew long, long ago that fighting the feelings of terror is how you fuck up the fight coz there is no where to run to instincts and training. We were back, there was no spray and the birds were fucking deafening us we lay on the floor getting out breath back so we could breathe in any real chance for any self determinism for the first time.
Outside. Few of our loons are waiting when we probably told them not to be because that way we knew they would be and we are screaming like a banshee and when it clicks for them they start screaming like banshees to. Whatever is in the van with them would have to be secured and processed and figured out where the fuck it would be safe if its all to be kept (it was) would have to be dealt with but not right now. We wanted to see Marco, no other Marco. We had to say sorry for avoiding and ignoring him so much and that we wouldn't have to so much anymore and how much it killed us to have to lie to him each and every time. Babe ran to go tell him and we walked down the track, folks clapping, shouting and hooting from their pitches, us lot all switching and laughing and crying with every part we all had.
We checked back in a while, our plan to been three sheets to the wind by that point hadnt worked out. He was still there. Sitting in the dark. Between the two of them. We could see it in him, his past, everything he every had to forget or shelve was currently flashing past, bouncing around and meandering through his mind. He was fine. We could see when we asked when he was standing around after we got the call that he didnt understand why we had asked him. The guy was highly skilled and we had basically asked him to be the flesh that fills up a camera suit and we were a lot closer to a lot more there that night but we had him positioned so we would ask him. He got it now. Highly skilled. Didnt really know us. Exactly why it had to be him. He did know us anyway but a lot of the work we did with him we hadnt looked like us so its fair enough when people are slow to connect those dots.
He said a name as we turned to leave. He had figured that one out. We were going say more but we could see he didnt need any more information from outside sources he had enough to work with. Walking away we sighed, a wonderful deep Tuscan early autumn night air sigh and were so glad we werent wasted yet. It was lovely little moment to ourselves which the lads had respected stood back from and waited and let us enjoy it as long they could before ultimately succeeding to help get us proper inebriated.
How impressed were the older gen with lads having a scar that is identical ours. Very impressed. Very relieved.
Pretty shitty that we were forced into sharing these stories with her in "therapy sessions" before the vast majority of people we would rather be sharing them with. Or would just not mind sharing them with quite so much, i.e. anyone at all anywhere except people actively trafficking us.
Forze.
"yeah the dude knows the real deal in places like Rwanda and shit like that. Uses machetes a lot on white people.. And works alone a lot." Boyz were quiet.
"Like you."
"Mmm. Machetes are not a weapon of choice for us. We were on the ground."
We remembered the couple that we saw acting out a little "we are going to die" humbleness for us didnt die in a caravan..
Was that the same guy who asked us about violence between ourself and he who we got everyone calling Ceeci short for cheeky cut who had used his aptitude to enlist a look out of us that IDed us to him on the first night when he saw as looking at his scar. We made out like we were Louise and about to answer and then grabbed a fork of his table and stuck through his hand? and said something about that not being the BDSM they were into and how it often worked like that. But only cause people were standing about looking at us expectatly and the girls eyes were begging, begging we give the crowd a line or two.
We didnt think it was that funny. Lots all seemed to disagree but that's maybe just the violence and not wanting us like them buy laughing at our jokes. CC found is all very amusing. We were convinced there. Which meant he got a telling of from his boss who hadn't seen it or us but did as soon as CC pointed us out and his boss remembered he wasn't actually CC's boss .. before CC had..
We ended up having to show CC a couple seconds of Palermo street plans to get him to stop being such a constant shit stirring pain in ass made worse by the language barrier and folk winding him up when we had already arranged for the shit to be being stirred quite sufficiently already. He remembered who is Mum is then.
We remember thinking as everyone went back to pretending that everything is perfectly fine that he had just bolloxed up our whole fucking mission just because his boss was making him clean too many caravan toilets or some shit we would probably completely forgive and cover his ass. Prick.
It is actually quite traumatising for us to when we seem to be physically every at once and don't know where we end and the metal starts. Not as scary as being raped but still pretty scary.
What if we told the truth? That is what we have always, if we dont know what to do, if we want to make sure it's self defence. Tell the fucking truth. Give them Julia.
"to be honest Sirs with the things we have done here in the last few days, the rapists that we know will not be raping ourselves or any infants everyone again and the love we have gotten for it we would be happy to cancel the Palermo plans, forgot about our money or anti war crimes work, even out anti slavery work if we get to stay here, or even back to Scotland but not without I.D, healthcare and a little support with at least not stopping us from being able to defend our own and Pabs life."
Not happy faces. Then for a horrible second we thought they might agree, then for an evil horriblier second we realised they weren't. They asked if we were joking we said not all and that we were prepared to share some of the Palermo plans with them to show them how serious we were.
We could feel the witness crouched in behind something his back killing him in the humidity he was never a stoic for literally sweating his balls off head to toe in black "I'm sorry Quine but this as "mediterrain climate suitable" as I'm prepared to make any recon gear." Bound to better than whatever the Brits are in the poor bastards we grabbed a thought as she tried wonder off.
We didnt get too scared when they started the proper horrific triggering and we could feel our guy's body temperature plunge in the increasing distance. We knew long, long ago that fighting the feelings of terror is how you fuck up the fight coz there is no where to run to instincts and training. We were back, there was no spray and the birds were fucking deafening us we lay on the floor getting out breath back so we could breathe in any real chance for any self determinism for the first time.
Outside. Few of our loons are waiting when we probably told them not to be because that way we knew they would be and we are screaming like a banshee and when it clicks for them they start screaming like banshees to. Whatever is in the van with them would have to be secured and processed and figured out where the fuck it would be safe if its all to be kept (it was) would have to be dealt with but not right now. We wanted to see Marco, no other Marco. We had to say sorry for avoiding and ignoring him so much and that we wouldn't have to so much anymore and how much it killed us to have to lie to him each and every time. Babe ran to go tell him and we walked down the track, folks clapping, shouting and hooting from their pitches, us lot all switching and laughing and crying with every part we all had.
We checked back in a while, our plan to been three sheets to the wind by that point hadnt worked out. He was still there. Sitting in the dark. Between the two of them. We could see it in him, his past, everything he every had to forget or shelve was currently flashing past, bouncing around and meandering through his mind. He was fine. We could see when we asked when he was standing around after we got the call that he didnt understand why we had asked him. The guy was highly skilled and we had basically asked him to be the flesh that fills up a camera suit and we were a lot closer to a lot more there that night but we had him positioned so we would ask him. He got it now. Highly skilled. Didnt really know us. Exactly why it had to be him. He did know us anyway but a lot of the work we did with him we hadnt looked like us so its fair enough when people are slow to connect those dots.
He said a name as we turned to leave. He had figured that one out. We were going say more but we could see he didnt need any more information from outside sources he had enough to work with. Walking away we sighed, a wonderful deep Tuscan early autumn night air sigh and were so glad we werent wasted yet. It was lovely little moment to ourselves which the lads had respected stood back from and waited and let us enjoy it as long they could before ultimately succeeding to help get us proper inebriated.
How impressed were the older gen with lads having a scar that is identical ours. Very impressed. Very relieved.
Pretty shitty that we were forced into sharing these stories with her in "therapy sessions" before the vast majority of people we would rather be sharing them with. Or would just not mind sharing them with quite so much, i.e. anyone at all anywhere except people actively trafficking us.
Forze.
"yeah the dude knows the real deal in places like Rwanda and shit like that. Uses machetes a lot on white people.. And works alone a lot." Boyz were quiet.
"Like you."
"Mmm. Machetes are not a weapon of choice for us. We were on the ground."
We remembered the couple that we saw acting out a little "we are going to die" humbleness for us didnt die in a caravan..
Was that the same guy who asked us about violence between ourself and he who we got everyone calling Ceeci short for cheeky cut who had used his aptitude to enlist a look out of us that IDed us to him on the first night when he saw as looking at his scar. We made out like we were Louise and about to answer and then grabbed a fork of his table and stuck through his hand? and said something about that not being the BDSM they were into and how it often worked like that. But only cause people were standing about looking at us expectatly and the girls eyes were begging, begging we give the crowd a line or two.
We didnt think it was that funny. Lots all seemed to disagree but that's maybe just the violence and not wanting us like them buy laughing at our jokes. CC found is all very amusing. We were convinced there. Which meant he got a telling of from his boss who hadn't seen it or us but did as soon as CC pointed us out and his boss remembered he wasn't actually CC's boss .. before CC had..
We ended up having to show CC a couple seconds of Palermo street plans to get him to stop being such a constant shit stirring pain in ass made worse by the language barrier and folk winding him up when we had already arranged for the shit to be being stirred quite sufficiently already. He remembered who is Mum is then.
We remember thinking as everyone went back to pretending that everything is perfectly fine that he had just bolloxed up our whole fucking mission just because his boss was making him clean too many caravan toilets or some shit we would probably completely forgive and cover his ass. Prick.
It is actually quite traumatising for us to when we seem to be physically every at once and don't know where we end and the metal starts. Not as scary as being raped but still pretty scary.
