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From: [email protected] (Sweet Poly)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Re: psycho (psukhe)
Date: 30 Oct 1995 16:37:51 GMT
Organization: The Rancho Deluxe
Lines: 97
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
References: <[email protected]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: stripe.colorado.edu

In article ,
Sourcerer wrote:
>On 28 Oct 1995, Zeitgeyser wrote:
>
>> In article
>> Sourcerer writes:
>>
>> > On 27 Oct 1995, Zeitgeyser wrote:
>> >
>> > and this thread doesn't exist. Poly's comments are dismissed, having all
>> > been explained by you; Poly's head patted, and that, you asshole, is why
>> > nobody talks about it in public -- at least, fershur, around you.
>>
>> I'm so pissed right now I'm shaking. You completely mistook me. If
>> you were here we'd probably be screaming at each other. NOT what I
>> wanted.
>
>Please accept my apologies for my erroneous characterization of you and
>your article and my inappropriate expression of anger, however the anger
>is genuine. As I indicated early on in my article, I accept
>responsibility for any misunderstanding that may occur in this thread, and
>will not attempt to rationalize my actions to you or the group.

Sigh.

Poly knew it was bad when the apology daemons met her in the road when
she was still out of earshot from the Rancho. "Uh oh..." Resisting the
impulse to turn around and run the other way, she stands for a moment at
the front gate, taking in the tableau before her.

Zeitgeyser is sitting in a dejected-looking heap on the steps, the
first-aid daemons hovering anxiously nearby. He's got a couple of black
eyes, and various other bruises and lacerations -- the point on his head
has a big lump on it, and he's sobbing into his pith helmet, streaking
the dust on his face.

Sourcerer is sitting not too far away, looking pretty miserable himself,
stony and silent, stoically waiting for Poly, and the thrashing he knows
he probably deserves.

The punks on the porch avoid looking at her and one another, shifting
their feet uneasily.

She pauses by Zeitgeyser, pats him cheerfully on his shoulder, and says:
"Get a grip, Zeitgeyser. You wanna play with this bunch, you gotta roll
with the punches. No harm done, no offense taken. Now toddle inside with
the nice daemons -- they won't hurt you -- and get some ice for that
bump..."

Sourcerer doesn't dare look at her, but seems intensely interested in the
floor at his feet.

Poly, without a word, grabs him by an ear, hoists him up out of the
chair, and marches him off the porch and around back, heading for the
woodshed. The punks are all uncomfortable, not really knowing what the
fuss is about, but grin when they hear Poly start in on Sourcerer.

"What's the hell's matter with you? I can't leave you alone here for *two
days* without your getting yourself into a horrible mess! Look what you
did to poor Zeitgeyser! It'll be a week before he can see with those
black eyes. You know I'm moving again at the end of this week, and will
lose my access after tomorrow, for weeks, maybe -- how can I concentrate
on what I need to do around here before I go, when I have to worry about
you going on a rampage? Hmmmmmmm?" (She's already forgiven him, because
of the apology, but doesn't want to let him off the hook right away, either.)
So she scolds him until he's nearly in tears, too.

What the punks don't hear, 'cause she's almost whispering, is what she
says when she's done: "The only thing that's saved your hide this time
around is that you apologized before I got here. You *know* he's a
.edu'er, but he's trying *very* hard, and you have to take that into
account. It wasn't really a fair fight. When he's feeling better, I want
you to go and talk to him, and make up. I can't handle the stress of
worrying about all of you while I'm gone. Meantime, though, take this
switch, and whap the side of this woodshed real loud with it, and scream
and holler -- like you mean it, so the punks think I'm really giving you a
hard time, and haven't turned into a softie.

Sourcerer meekly does as he's told, shrieking believably, while Poly
watches from her perch on a keg of nails, and lights a joint, trying to
snag some relaxation time in a *very* busy day. She's got *packing* to
do...

While Sourcerer screams bloody murder (making the punks shudder), she
ponders the wisdom of her post to Ross (see what you started, Ross?
). She'd had only the best intentions, and look what happened...

Yours,

T---A
C---G Sweet Poly
A-T
C There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
T-A Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
G---C
C---G Hamlet I.v

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