a/n: Still feeling for Low Rimmer. I should stop compiling my Low Rimmer gear and wearing it and then expect to write Blackadder slash. That just doesn't work. So, I'm abusing my right to artistic license. Why? Because I have boobs. That's why. Once again. I think the grammar tense changes. But I can't tell. It just sort happens, I don't notice it. Sorry.
It's hard to admit certain parts of yourself exist.
I find it hard to admit that I exorcise myself from people because of my strange phobia and not because I hate them all. My computer is having problems admitting it likes to restart for no reason. In a fandom far, far away, a young, hot Obi Wan Kenobi is finding it hard to admit that Qui-Gon is gone. Can't blames him, Liam Neison is a sexy old man. But, as I said, there a bit of yourself that you don't want to admit exist.
There isn't anything really wrong with this. Everyone should have some little thing thy don't like about themselves so they can work to better themselves.
However.
Arnold Rimmer didn't like any part of himself. He liked to pretend he did, but he didn't. He couldn't stand himself, and everyone knew it. They just didn't talk about it.
Consequently, the two new Rimmers, High Rimmer and Low Rimmer hated themselves too.
High Rimmer dealt with this by staying with his friends. Despite the fact that he honestly couldn't stand himself and often felt guilty for wasting their time, his presence appeared to make them happy. And he wouldn't fight anything that made them happy.
Low Rimmer dealt with this by being mean and cruel and generally not nice to everyone he encountered. And who he encountered this time? Well. Someone who hated him as much as he hated himself and someone who hated himself as much as Low Rimmer hated him.
Arnold Rimmer.
A cruel smile twisted itself onto the face of the man in stockings and army boots who found a cowering creature in a box.
"Well..." He said slowly, Arnold tentatively looks up, then freezes, his eyes wide with shock. "Aren't you a pretty one?" Getting no response, he reaches out a glove clad hand and strokes his cheek. "I want to hurt you."
Rimmer still doesn't say anything. He can't argue with that. He wants to hurt this Rimmer. In fact, put simply. They want to hurt each other.
"This could be the start of an interesting relationship."
This doesn't make Low Rimmer very happy. You're supposed to Cower In Fear when the psycho in kink lingere says he wants to hurt you. Not mention anything about relationships.
"Stand up." He orders, Rimmer complies, you don't fight with someone when you're in a box. Besides, when standing, you have a better chance of running later on. Low Rimmer smirks. "Yes, you most definitely are a pretty one." He pulls out his holowhip and whacks Rimmer with it. It cuts him, being a hologram. Rimmer starts to bleed in the manner that only a hologram can.
It should be noted that soft light holograms should not, technically be able to bleed, being that they haven't an substance and, logically, shouldn't have any blood. However, minor details like this weren't taken into account when the science scientists created the holowhip. It's makes soft light holograms bleed. The soft light hologramatic version of bleeding isn't like hard light hologramatic bleeding or 'livie' bleeding. A small part of the hologram goes missing and where the blood trail would be the hologram just gets fainter. Fascinating stuff, right?
Low Rimmer thrashes Rimmer a bit more and suddenly stops. Rimmer looks at him, bleeding like only he can, waiting for the cuts to repair themselves. They'll leave minute scars, but since he's soft light, no one will notice them, you can only really tell they're there by touch.
"Come." Low Rimmer says, the whip cracks and it rests on Rimmer's left wrist, somewhat like a leash. Rimmer goes.
His captive leads him through an almost complicated labyrinth of boxes, empty or otherwise, past several confusing machines that look terribly out of commission and past what could, occasionally, perhaps on a Thursday morning, just after breakfast, pass as sleeping quarters.
"D'you sleep there?" Rimmer asks his counterpart, who stops dead and turns to stare at him. His eyes are wide a filled with a mix of rage, and surprise.
"Sort of." He replies, Rimmer nods. Not pressing it, but Low Rimmer feels oddly obligated to explain. "I live there. But I don't sleep there. I..." He stopped, looking at Rimmer. He looked sad, very sad. "I don't sleep."
Whatever moment they were about to have there abruptly stops, as Low Rimmer turns and continues dragging Rimmer to wherever he's dragging him.
Eventually, after much dragging, and walking they get to where they want to be. It's the drive room. Or at least what might be a drive room. Sometimes. On pizza day. Maybe.
In the room is what Rimmer immediately identifies as the Low Kryten, Lister and Cat. And the Low Holly on the screen. He makes a mental note that the hair and eyebrows really suit Holly.
"What's that?" The Cat sneers, sniffing in Rimmer's general direction.
"Just something I found." Low Rimmer replies. "I thought it was pretty, so I brought it back." Rimmer looks almost indignant at the summary, he wants to say he's not an it. But the Low Lister starts to speak.
"Can I borrow it?" He asks. "It looks like you. Only pretty. And normal. In fact, if you weren't such a stupid freak, I'm pretty sure he'd be you." He walks in the direction of the Rimmers. "Yes, might I borrow this, you smegging, cross-dressing failure of the human race? If even."
Low Rimmer stiffens, but nods. He hands the holowhip to Low Lister, who grabs it greedily and tries to put a hand on Rimmer's shoulder.
Unfortunately, Rimmer's a soft light hologram, which Low Lister seemed not to acknowledge. Low Lister growls with displeasure, takes the whip, detaches it from Rimmer and cracks it against Low Rimmer.
And again. And again. Again. Again. Again.
Low Rimmer hasn't flinched yet, Low Lister throws the whip at him and storms off, grumbling about lousy dead holograms.
Low Rimmer stares at Rimmer with blank eyes.
"I suppose I will have to return you. He says I can't keep you." He says, mostly to himself. "I'm sorry."
He takes Rimmer by the hand this time and leads him back.
"Why are you sorry?" Rimmer asks after a while.
"Because... I'm me." Low Rimmer explains. "And in being me... I need to apologize."
Rimmer is stunned. And confused. Why is the commanding dominatrix that is his evil self such a pushover?
Rimmer didn't have the time to figure that out.
With all the warning of a bus that falls out of the sky and crushes an innocent skunk there were lips on Rimmer's. Rimmer blinks in surprise, but it's finished before it starts. And the retreating back of himself walks down a set of stairs. He hears the familiar, identical voice say "Looking for someone?" And knows he's found Lister.
Rimmer is angry with Lister. Very Angry.
"Hello my pretty." Rimmer hears his other self say. "I want to hurt you."
And he does.
It's hard to admit certain parts of yourself exist.
I find it hard to admit that I exorcise myself from people because of my strange phobia and not because I hate them all. My computer is having problems admitting it likes to restart for no reason. In a fandom far, far away, a young, hot Obi Wan Kenobi is finding it hard to admit that Qui-Gon is gone. Can't blames him, Liam Neison is a sexy old man. But, as I said, there a bit of yourself that you don't want to admit exist.
There isn't anything really wrong with this. Everyone should have some little thing thy don't like about themselves so they can work to better themselves.
However.
Arnold Rimmer didn't like any part of himself. He liked to pretend he did, but he didn't. He couldn't stand himself, and everyone knew it. They just didn't talk about it.
Consequently, the two new Rimmers, High Rimmer and Low Rimmer hated themselves too.
High Rimmer dealt with this by staying with his friends. Despite the fact that he honestly couldn't stand himself and often felt guilty for wasting their time, his presence appeared to make them happy. And he wouldn't fight anything that made them happy.
Low Rimmer dealt with this by being mean and cruel and generally not nice to everyone he encountered. And who he encountered this time? Well. Someone who hated him as much as he hated himself and someone who hated himself as much as Low Rimmer hated him.
Arnold Rimmer.
A cruel smile twisted itself onto the face of the man in stockings and army boots who found a cowering creature in a box.
"Well..." He said slowly, Arnold tentatively looks up, then freezes, his eyes wide with shock. "Aren't you a pretty one?" Getting no response, he reaches out a glove clad hand and strokes his cheek. "I want to hurt you."
Rimmer still doesn't say anything. He can't argue with that. He wants to hurt this Rimmer. In fact, put simply. They want to hurt each other.
"This could be the start of an interesting relationship."
This doesn't make Low Rimmer very happy. You're supposed to Cower In Fear when the psycho in kink lingere says he wants to hurt you. Not mention anything about relationships.
"Stand up." He orders, Rimmer complies, you don't fight with someone when you're in a box. Besides, when standing, you have a better chance of running later on. Low Rimmer smirks. "Yes, you most definitely are a pretty one." He pulls out his holowhip and whacks Rimmer with it. It cuts him, being a hologram. Rimmer starts to bleed in the manner that only a hologram can.
It should be noted that soft light holograms should not, technically be able to bleed, being that they haven't an substance and, logically, shouldn't have any blood. However, minor details like this weren't taken into account when the science scientists created the holowhip. It's makes soft light holograms bleed. The soft light hologramatic version of bleeding isn't like hard light hologramatic bleeding or 'livie' bleeding. A small part of the hologram goes missing and where the blood trail would be the hologram just gets fainter. Fascinating stuff, right?
Low Rimmer thrashes Rimmer a bit more and suddenly stops. Rimmer looks at him, bleeding like only he can, waiting for the cuts to repair themselves. They'll leave minute scars, but since he's soft light, no one will notice them, you can only really tell they're there by touch.
"Come." Low Rimmer says, the whip cracks and it rests on Rimmer's left wrist, somewhat like a leash. Rimmer goes.
His captive leads him through an almost complicated labyrinth of boxes, empty or otherwise, past several confusing machines that look terribly out of commission and past what could, occasionally, perhaps on a Thursday morning, just after breakfast, pass as sleeping quarters.
"D'you sleep there?" Rimmer asks his counterpart, who stops dead and turns to stare at him. His eyes are wide a filled with a mix of rage, and surprise.
"Sort of." He replies, Rimmer nods. Not pressing it, but Low Rimmer feels oddly obligated to explain. "I live there. But I don't sleep there. I..." He stopped, looking at Rimmer. He looked sad, very sad. "I don't sleep."
Whatever moment they were about to have there abruptly stops, as Low Rimmer turns and continues dragging Rimmer to wherever he's dragging him.
Eventually, after much dragging, and walking they get to where they want to be. It's the drive room. Or at least what might be a drive room. Sometimes. On pizza day. Maybe.
In the room is what Rimmer immediately identifies as the Low Kryten, Lister and Cat. And the Low Holly on the screen. He makes a mental note that the hair and eyebrows really suit Holly.
"What's that?" The Cat sneers, sniffing in Rimmer's general direction.
"Just something I found." Low Rimmer replies. "I thought it was pretty, so I brought it back." Rimmer looks almost indignant at the summary, he wants to say he's not an it. But the Low Lister starts to speak.
"Can I borrow it?" He asks. "It looks like you. Only pretty. And normal. In fact, if you weren't such a stupid freak, I'm pretty sure he'd be you." He walks in the direction of the Rimmers. "Yes, might I borrow this, you smegging, cross-dressing failure of the human race? If even."
Low Rimmer stiffens, but nods. He hands the holowhip to Low Lister, who grabs it greedily and tries to put a hand on Rimmer's shoulder.
Unfortunately, Rimmer's a soft light hologram, which Low Lister seemed not to acknowledge. Low Lister growls with displeasure, takes the whip, detaches it from Rimmer and cracks it against Low Rimmer.
And again. And again. Again. Again. Again.
Low Rimmer hasn't flinched yet, Low Lister throws the whip at him and storms off, grumbling about lousy dead holograms.
Low Rimmer stares at Rimmer with blank eyes.
"I suppose I will have to return you. He says I can't keep you." He says, mostly to himself. "I'm sorry."
He takes Rimmer by the hand this time and leads him back.
"Why are you sorry?" Rimmer asks after a while.
"Because... I'm me." Low Rimmer explains. "And in being me... I need to apologize."
Rimmer is stunned. And confused. Why is the commanding dominatrix that is his evil self such a pushover?
Rimmer didn't have the time to figure that out.
With all the warning of a bus that falls out of the sky and crushes an innocent skunk there were lips on Rimmer's. Rimmer blinks in surprise, but it's finished before it starts. And the retreating back of himself walks down a set of stairs. He hears the familiar, identical voice say "Looking for someone?" And knows he's found Lister.
Rimmer is angry with Lister. Very Angry.
"Hello my pretty." Rimmer hears his other self say. "I want to hurt you."
And he does.