poly_chromatic | ♕ |[101]| She turns and looks a moment in the glass

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dead poets society - neil perry

♕ |[101]| She turns and looks a moment in the glass

[ VOICE ]

[A familiar tone, a rather less familiar voice. Unless you remember the last time this happened. ~~Or you knew him before his voice changed. But that's unfair. He never sounded quite this girly. Mostly.~~]

You know, I'm not sure I've ever seen this happen by itself-- the curse, I mean. I've seen it on the weekends when we have mixed curses-- I've been cursed before, even-- but being this widespread... I can't recall.

[Siiiigh.]

It's not terrible, it's just... uncomfortable, not being myself.

[ooc; open to action at the bookshop if you like. Replies from

girls_at_welton <3]

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It definitely wouldn't.

[He looks down at the counter again, finding any stray piece of paper he can focus on.]

It's kind of odd how many things we can just... accept here, but I don't think I'll ever get used to this. To... not being me.

[Or, especially, to being a girl.]

[Neil smiles-- a pretty smile that's not quite his own, but it's close-- and tilts his head a bit to look at Todd, trying to be objective. It's impossible. Todd is still Todd; he can't quite separate that knowledge from the image of the girl he isn't (but, for the moment, is).

But really, he never looks at anyone anymore, except Todd. And of course Todd would have been a lovely girl, because, well.

None of this will ever be said. These aren't the sorts of things one talks about. And frankly, he doesn't disagree; this is one of the least comfortable curses he's ever experienced. And it's much harder to feel secure in his masculinity.]

I'm trying to look at it as a new perspective,

[he mutters, but from the tone it's clear it's not working all that well, really.]

[There's a little muffled laugh there, somewhere, as Todd lowers his head toward the countertop, too-long strands of blond brushing it as he does. His hair's gotten a little shaggy here, without all the propriety and appearances to worry about, but certainly nothing like this.

He glances back up with a little smirk.]

A perspective that's a few inches lower and a lot less comfortable.

[And there's a little shake of his head.]

That's not exactly right - what I said. We're us, I know we are, just... only inside. It's kind of strange that this is almost more uncomfortable than when the City actually changes who we are. Maybe because we can detach ourselves from it, sometimes...

[The idle wonderings of the young poet. He'll start writing about this, eventually.]

It must be less uncomfortable if you're used to it...

[At least he assumes so. Is it that uncomfortable for women to become men, he wonders? (He tries not to wonder too specifically; it seems prurient.)]