Misfits in Trouble
Part One: Stockholm Syndrome
A flash of light made Brian Kinney turn his head. He looked out of the dirty window, but the reason for the flash wasn't apparent. There wasn't much to see to begin with. Two engines of the airplane, a portion of the wing, and the falling snow hid Arlanda Airport from his eyes. Out there was no remedy for the boredom of the intercontinental flight. Having been waiting for forty-five infinite minutes for his connecting flight, the man wanted nothing more than to go on with his journey home.
Something moved in his line of sight. A lone wisp of smoke seemed to float in front of one of the engines. Is it real, or am I seeing things? Brian had time to think, and then the engine burst into flames.
In a rush, Brian stood up and moved to the aisle, but even in such a situation he didn't let go of his briefcase. The information stored in his laptop was as important to Brian as the air he breathed. A couple of other people followed suit. One of them was a handsome young man, but Brian didn't notice his looks. He just wanted to get further away from the flames.
The loudspeakers woke up. "Ladies and gentlemen, please listen to your captain," they blared. Most of the people didn't pay attention, though. Maybe they didn't because it was a female voice.
"Unfortunately," a male voice began, replacing the female one, "I've got bad news for you: we are having trouble with one of our engines. There's a threat of a fire" - Really? Brian commented inaudibly as a pretty blonde girl in flight attendant's attire approached him - "and in order to ensure your safety, the plane has to be evacuated. Please follow the instructions given by the flight attendants, and leave the plane immediately."
"Stay at your seats for a while longer, please!" The pretty blonde tried to take control of the situation. "The danger isn't imminent" - Really? Brian commented, again inaudibly - "Let the people that are closest to the malfunctioning engine leave first!" Then she told Brian and others in the aisle to start walking out.
Wonder of wonders, the people listened to the instructions, and all the passengers were soon out of the plane again. Soon they all were back in the terminal of Arlanda Airport, too. Brian cursed his luck. While it was good to be unharmed, it was far from good to wait for his connecting flight, again.
Long before the check-in was reopened, Brian took his place at the forefront of the long queue. He was determined to get out of Stockholm as soon as he could. It was a long wait, and Brian got more and more annoyed. It seemed like the people around him were getting more and more stupid as the minutes crawled by.
Fuck this! he seethed inside, looking straight at a woman. I hate your screaming kids! No breeder should be allowed to breed! The woman took one look at his eyes and turned to yell at her husband. After a brief argument in an incomprehensible language, the man guided the children away from Brian. The Kinney death glare had proved every bit as effective in the capital of Sweden as it was at Kinnetik, Pittsburgh.
But even the Kinney death glare couldn't force the check-in to open. Brian had to wait. He got too annoyed even to notice a cute, blond young man giving him the eye.
As long as the wait was, at last it was over and Brian could make his request to the blonde girl behind the desk.
"I can book you on the flight to New York and from there to Pittsburgh that leaves at 11.25 PM," the smiling blonde told him tiredly.
"That's 14 hours from now! Is that the best you can do?" Brian burst out in anger but apologized for his tone of voice right after. He knew that the girl had already heard too many complaints and was bound to hear a lot more. The girl wasn't incompetent; she was just in an impossible situation. As much as Brian wanted to vent his anger, he was bright enough to understand that pissing the girl off wasn't his wisest move.
"Let me check on something, sir." For a minute or so the girl tapped the keys and clicked the mouse of her computer; then she told Brian that if he was willing to change planes in Amsterdam he could leave Stockholm five hours earlier. That being the earliest flight she could find, Brian agreed to that.
In a foul mood, Brian turned away from the desk. As he walked away, he heard the next person in line telling the girl to make a reservation on the same flight as "the gentleman before me". Startled, Brian turned back to take a look at the person. The voice didn't tell him whether it was a male or a female one.
Fuck me sideways! If I ever saw an 'it' that's it!
The person Brian was looking at presented an ambiguous vision. As the voice, the appearance told him nothing about the person's gender. As a gay man Brian was used to queens. There wasn't anything queenish about the creature: nothing about it was feminine at all. An extraordinary thing was that there wasn't anything masculine about the creature, either. It lacked any definite gender markers.
The person was tall-about Brian's height-but the height was carried in a manner that certainly wasn't manly. It wasn't the stereotypical posture of a soft, petite woman either. The closest to Brian's mental images of women came that of tall, butch lesbians. But that was as far as the resemblance to butch lesbians went.
The coiffure Brian saw wasn't a butch one and neither was it a feminine one. It was straight, shoulder length, most likely with no bangs. Brian wasn't sure because he saw only some of the person's side and back. The red shade of the hair seemed to be a natural one.
In addition to the red hair the person had a very light complexion that further suggested that the hair color was genuine. A beauty, most likely, Brian thought. I'm a bit too far away to tell. Of course, from the back of the head, Brian couldn't tell the shape of the face or the color of the eyes, but the skin was clear and smooth looking, and something about the neck, chin and cheek he was able to see suggested fine bone structure. Also, it seemed likely that the face might have been without makeup.
Brian couldn't help seeing the person's body shape, though. The clothes covering the body didn't hide the long, lean legs, the narrow hips, the clear if narrowish shoulder line, or the slender arms. Since the creature's back still was towards Brian, he couldn't see if the chest would have told him more, but he did see the ass. A well formed, muscular, perfect in proportion ass that Brian found to his liking: A fine ass!
The ass was covered in gray suede pants, not overtly tight ones but close enough hugging to stir Brian's always eager cock. Down, boy. You might get me in real trouble this time, Brian chastised his stubborn organ, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even his gaydar didn't give a clue: every now and then he thought there was a blip, but the blips were few and far between.
In order to disarm his heat seeking missile, Brian concentrated on the rest of the gender neutral creature's apparel. Dark gray, ankle high boots, also suede, covered the feet. The upper body was clothed in a dark gray, cable knit sweater, maybe, a cardigan. The messenger bag hanging on one well-proportioned shoulder was dark orange; a shade that went well with the red hair.
Suddenly turning around, the person left the desk and noticed the audience of one. Busted, Brian cocked his head to one side and, faking a confident smile, waited. The person took the bait.
A closer look at the face confirmed Brian's assumption: he was looking at a beauty. The face was narrow, longish and slightly angular. The big, heavy lidded eyes were coal gray under strong, dark eyebrows. The nose was narrow and straight. The lips were full if a bit pale of color. The mouth seemed ready to smile and laugh. It was an ambiguous face: there were male features mixed with female ones. As far as Brian could see, the face was clean, without makeup.
The closer look revealed something unanticipated but by no means unappreciated, too: an intelligent personality seemed to peek out of the smiling eyes.
"I assume that your appearance is a result of a conscious effort of avoiding gender markers," Brian hurried to say, not wanting the other to set the tone of the exchange.
"Straight into the heart of the matter?" the other grinned.
"Why not? You're a walking statement of your agenda. You want people to notice you and your message. Of course you want to talk about it, too." One eyebrow climbed higher above Brian's mischievously glittering eyes.
"Are you always as aggressively forward as now or am I getting special treatment?" The walking statement shook its head in mock indignation.
"Would you like me to beat around the bush? I didn't take you as a person that wants to be treated like a lady," Brian huffed.
"No, I'm certainly not." A little smile spread on the shapely lips of Brian's adversary. "And, to answer your unmarked question: yes, my appearance is due to my conscious efforts to appear without a traditional gender."
"You aren't alone in that attempt. Quite a number of people are nowadays reaching for the same goal. I get your message, loud and clear, but are you willing to reveal your motives? Is your message motivated by your political agenda or is your gender neutrality an expression of your truly untraditional gender and identity?"
"I'm surprised. You're not trying to pry into my birth sex. That's the most common reaction."
"And it's also the reaction you hope to get." Brian smirked.
The other laughed. "I guess I do. It confirms that I've succeeded in hiding my sex if people do ask."
"You didn't answer my question."
"No, I didn't, but I mean to. My motives aren't one or the other, but both. I've got a political agenda, but that rises from my personality. What you see is what I am; I want to be accepted as that. For that, I need politics."
"Those, if true, are motives that I can respect," Brian said, nodding sagely.
"Because you are gay?" Not taking the bait, the other cast out its own, looking Brian straight in the eye.
"Do you feel sure of your assumption, or is it a wishful guess?" Brian shot back.
"I'm pretty sure. While you're not broadcasting your orientation, you still give out a few subtle signs."
"And you notice such signs because?"
"So, you aren't going to deny it: you are gay."
"Again, you leave a question unanswered. I wonder why?"
"You think you've got me cornered. My handsome stranger, the fact that I recognize the subtle signals of your sexual orientation has very little, if anything, to do with mine. Even less it indicates my biological sex. I recognize the signs because, in order to not be something, one must know exactly what that something is."
"So, either you're saying that the signs that I give out are gender markers of a male, or in case that they are markers of my gayness, you make efforts not only to hide your male sex but also your gayness. In either case, you would be of the male sex."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"So they say."
"I won't let your curiosity kill you."
"Very kind of you." Brian laughed. "Look. I couldn't help hearing that you asked for a ticket for my flight. So, you too have about eight hours to spend in Stockholm. Care to join me? Whatever you are, I find you good company."
"Likewise. I would love to take a look at the town with a fellow American." Brian confirmed the other's assumption with a nod of his head before the person went on with, "My name is Nettle Robertson. And yours?"
"Brian Kinney." Brian knew that he should behave, but he was unable to stop. "Nettle you are? I wonder if I'm going to get a rash."
"Keep your distance, and you won't get burned," Nettle purred.
"Somehow I doubt that your parents named you Nettle." Brian took one more shot at the fortress protecting Nettle's secrets.
"You might be right. They might have named me John or Jane," Nettle fired back in steady tones, keeping the defense up.
"I think they named you Elusive." Brian dropped his weapons, grinning widely. He pointed his hand at the stairs. "How 'bout a coffee first, here in the terminal. Let's see if we have any mutual interests."
xxxxx
Brian and Nettle took a cab to town. They asked the driver to drop them off at the Royal Castle. According to the blond boy that stood behind the counter at the bar, the main tourist trap of the place was located around there: the Old Town. How could one visit Stockholm and not wander down Västerlånggatan? Brian and Nettle thought that even the name of the street with its peculiar letters was a sight.
"I don't think I'm in the mood for a tour of the...what was it?...ah, Kungliga Slottet," Brian grumbled, eyeing the gray block of stone that was supposed to be the official residence of the Swedish monarch. "Are you stone set to see it?"
"No, not really. As far as I'm concerned, the streets of the Old Town have much more allure."
"Let's go, then to the...let me think...Gamla Stan, right?"
"Sounds about right to me."
"There aren't many people around. It's out of season, I guess." Brian pulled the lapels of his collar closer. The wind was brisk.
"Who would want to come here in February?" Nettle's red tresses were dancing in the wind.
"We're pretty far north, aren't we?"
"Almost as far up as the Great Slave Lake or the southernmost point of Greenland."
The two walked around the gray building and found themselves at the bottom of a slippery hill covered with set paving. Their feet slipped badly, but supporting each other, they managed to get up the hill without making closer acquaintance with the street.
"Thank you, my knight in a camel hair coat!" Nettle laughed as they stood at the top. "Without a stout man like you, I would still be down there. It's such a little slope, but for about a hundred times, I thought that I would slide back. My hero!"
"Oh, don't gush!" Brian felt slightly uncomfortable. "And thank yourself, not me. Without you I couldn't have helped you." Brian took a look ahead. "Holy fuck, Nettle! I'm afraid we'll have no difficulty with getting further."
"You're afraid?" Nettle turned to look, too. "Good grief! I would rather say that with reaching the next crossroads we'll have as much trouble as we had with the last one."
"We'll get there in no time, but shall we have our dignity intact? I'm not so sure about that."
In front of them they found a much steeper slope that was looking even more slippery than the slope behind them. Laughing and disheveled, the adventurers reached the street below the hill. By that time, both were sporting sore behinds.
"Look, Brian! We found people. We're not the only ones here!"
Nettle was right. The street they stood upon was riddled with people. A number of them sported the expected Scandinavian hair color, complexion and height, but a larger number did not. There were people with the light northern skin color but darker, mud colored hair; there were people with the looks of the people from Southern Europe; there were even people with Asian looks.
"We must have stumbled on the tourist trap," Brian suggested.
"Stumbled, yeah," Nettle laughed. "Lots of tourists and lots of shops, it seems. That equals to overpriced stuff."
"Absolutely, and more than a little of that stuff is pure trash. Shall we start digging into it?"
"Absolutely! A shopping spree with a fag: what more could I ask for?"
"In my case, that particular prejudice is true. I love shopping, but only for first class stuff at the first class shops." Brian could but laugh at the expression that spread onto Nettle's face. "What is it?"
"I wouldn't say that that is a first class shop or even wanted to suggest that you could find anything first class in there, but isn't that a sight for sore eyes?" Nettle pointed a finger at a shop that proudly presented in its window what had to be the ugliest bag in the world. "I have to touch that! Come!"
Brian let his companion pull him into the dimly lit shop. Nettle took a look around and, in a second, was heading towards the Ugly. The red-headed arrow shot through the crowd and found its mark in a big, pink bag that was decorated with egg-sized emerald green rhinestones. In no time, the bag was squeezed against Nettle's heart; Nettle was grinning like a maniac.
Brian followed Nettle to the Ugly, laughing his ass off. Emmett would be as enthusiastic as Nettle, he thought, but Nettle sure isn't him. He...no, what should...
"Nettle. Since you aren't he or she, what are you? An 'it'? Or do you prefer some other word?"
"For obvious reasons, I don't like to be called it, but in English there aren't more options. Refer to me as it if you find it necessary."
"I could always refer to you as s/h/it which, for obvious reasons, in speech is pronounced shit, if you like that better," Brian offered, tongue in cheek.
"You better not, asshole!"
"Don't call me that," Brian said, wiping his cheek with a finger. "You'll make me feel homesick."
Nettle threw the Ugly at Brian who nimbly caught it before it fell on the floor. As both of them had touched the Ugly, their mission was complete. As they once again trudged down the street, Brian found himself telling Nettle about Emmett Honeycutt.
Despite the cool weather, there were a lot of people around, and a sizable number of them were handsome, young men. Every now and then Brian got distracted by the sights. He was just a gay man, for fuck's sake! And, Brian himself was a source of distraction for a sizable number of people, too.
Despite the good prospects, Brian didn't leave his companion. If he had noticed his uncharacteristic behavior, he would have been befuddled. But, he didn't. Brian noticed something else: some distance away, a green sign with yellow letters above the sidewalk.
"I smell a bookstore," Brian said, touching a finger at the side of his nose. "There definitely are fresh smelling books nearby."
"Fresh? Sounds delicious. Take me where your nose leads, my lord!"
Brian's nose knew its business. Indeed, a couple of steps later the two tourists were standing at a window of a bookstore.
"Science Fiction Bokhandeln," Nettle read from the green sign above the door. "It seems that I can read Swedish. The two first words seem awfully familiar, and 'bokhandeln' must mean a bookstore, doesn't it?"
Brian admitted that Nettle had just enough of Swedish skills to understand that; he seemed to have that much of the skills, too.
"I doubt that I could read the books in this store, though, fresh or not," Brian said, plaintively. "Actually, I'd like to buy a book, for the Trans-Atlantic flight. The one I brought with me wasn't as good as I hoped for."
"But you might! Look, that seems to be the original English print," Nettle said, pointing at a book in the window. "Perhaps there are some other books in English, too."
"Let's take a look. What's there to lose?" Brian grinned.
Through the door they went, but stopped barely inside.
"Brian, all those books are in English." Nettle pointed a hand at a large pile of books. There were about ten titles under the sign 'Engelska nyheter', about ten copies of each title.
"And that's not all," Brian said, his gaze locked on the wall to wall shelf at their left, full of books in English, also under the sign 'Engelska nyheter'.
"This book has been printed this year," Nettle, an opened book in hand, pondered aloud, "and it's just February. I guess 'Engelska nyheter' means new titles in English."
"You must be right. And there are a lot of them. There seems to be a lot of people perusing the selection, too. For a Tuesday morning, this is a crowd." Brian stepped aside, and let a middle aged woman close in on the shelf.
The woman snatched a book and, triumphantly, called to her companion, a younger woman that was perusing a book at the other end of the wall of books. Brian couldn't understand her words, though.
Maybe, my Swedish isn't so good, Brian thought, amused. On the other hand, they might not be speaking Swedish. We're in the tourist trap, after all. Who knows where they came from? And why would a Swede want a book in English?
Brian and Nettle continued deeper into the store. They found manga, they found movies and games, and they found more books both in Swedish and in English, but at the back of the store, they found a treasure. A great number of shelves were housing older titles in English.
"Do you read science fiction?" Nettle asked. "Do you think you might find something to read here?"
"Among other things, yes, I read sci-fi. And I think that I might. On these shelves, there seems to be books that I haven't seen in ages."
Brian proved to be a picky reader, but his companion was more easily satisfied. "I found my treat!" Nettle cried, squatting at a shelf, nose close to the floor. "In Conquest Born. This is the only one of Friedmann's that I haven't read."
"She isn't among my favorite authors." Smiling, Brian looked at his companion who didn't pay him any attention. Apparently, the book was much more riveting.
In a moment, though, Nettle again noticed Brian and, proving false Brian's assumption, asked, "Is that because she is a woman?"
"No! I might prefer males in bed and even as friends and coworkers, but I'm not as prejudiced as that. I just don't like Friedmann's writing style. Too wordy."
"To each his own. However, my question isn't a frivolous one. In general, female writers aren't getting the appreciation they deserve. For example, do you know how many women there are among the winners of the Nobel Prize in Literature? Twelve! There are 102 winners and only twelve of them are women."
"I know. But what about the people that decide who is the winner? Are there women among them?"
"Good question, and another good one is whether there are women among the people that choose the nominees."
"I admit that among authors men have more prestige than women. Actually, it's quite strange, since the buyers of books are mainly female."
"So, who cares about the people that put the bread on the tables of the publishers and authors? It's a power game, men against women, and as usual, women are losing."
"What a pity," Brian smirked and got his due: a snort from Nettle.
Brian went through the shelves, but no book spoke to him; not until he found a book with an extraordinarily fine piece of cover art. He turned the book around and found the expected name. He smiled as he traced the lines of the picture with his finger.
"So, you found something, at last. What is it? Show me!" Brian gave the book to Nettle. "I haven't heard about this book, or its writer."
"Neither have I," Brian purred.
"Then why...?"
"Look at that cover, Nettle!" Brian said, his eyes shining.
"It's fantastic, but you aren't buying a book just because it has a beautiful cover, are you?"
"In this case, yes, I am. That cover art is by Michael Whelan. As far as I'm concerned, his cover art is peerless. In addition, I still have to find a book with one of his pictures on the cover that I don't like."
"Well, I guess that's as good a reason to buy a book as any other." Nettle smiled indulgently and handed the book back to Brian.
Brian smacked Nettle on the ass with the book. "Let's pay for our books and get out of here."
While Brian was occupied with the cashier, behind his back the back cover of the book in Nettle's hands was subjected to close examination. As soon as they were back on the street, Nettle handed the book to Brian, back cover up.
"Did you know?" Nettle pointed at the name of the cover artist.
"No, but I had a hunch: Michael Whelan has a distinctive style. That's a gorgeous picture, too."
"Very true."
"Now what? We still have about five hours before we have to head back to the airport."
"Lunch?"
"That would kill some time and in comfort, too. Are you carnivore, herbivore or omnivore? Your gender isn't an issue, I hope." Brian cocked an eyebrow.
"No!" In the middle of the word, Nettle snorted a mighty sneeze. "Eww. Where are my tissues?"
"Here, take one of mine. Do you feel like you might be coming down with something?"
"No, actually I'm leaving flu behind. Every now and then, my nose is still running."
"Poor thing: frail and fragile like a wing of a butterfly." Brian's voice was dripping honey.
"I may be many things, but fragile I am not." Nettle sounded and looked genuinely annoyed.
"Oh, forgive me!" Brian's gallant apology sounded anything but sincere.
"Quit that, Brian," Nettle said almost in a growl. "I hate that attitude. If I am a woman, my physical strength might be less than yours, but even that much isn't a given fact. If I happen to be a man with effeminate looks, your assumption is even more questionable. And, even if I happened to be weaker than you, that wouldn't give you the right of ridiculing me. My physical abilities are just one part of me!"
"What a shrew!" Brian grinned. "What does it take to tame you?"
"What makes you seek a quarrel with me?" Nettle shot back, then, having taken a deep breath, went on with, "Is that a game you enjoy? Annoying people on purpose? Let me tell you: I'm not going to play such a game."
Brian fell silent. Nettle isn't like other people, he thought. He, uh...no. It isn't like the people that don't see that I've snared them into a game. It isn't like the people that can see the game in front of them but still are unwary enough to stumble into another that hides behind the first. I'm not used to people that go through my bullshit, right into the core of the matter.
"I'm sorry, Nettle." This time Brian's apology was genuine. "I shouldn't make jokes about the feminine features you choose to show."
"Apology accepted but not your attempt at changing the subject." Smiling, Nettle took Brian's arm, and pulled him towards a restaurant. "Come, let's go in here. We can't talk here, on the street. It's too crowded."
"And too cold," Brian agreed, smiling too.
xxxxx
Brian and Nettle found a booth at the back of the restaurant. They ordered lunch and decided that it was late enough for beer. As they, beer glasses in hand, waited for their food, Nettle brought up the interrupted topic.
"I hoped that you would let it drop," Brian admitted quietly. "It's kind of personal, you know."
"Brian, as soon as you tried to involve me in your games, you lost that excuse. You invited me into this personal matter of yours, not the other way around. So, why do you seek a quarrel with me?"
"I don't know," Brian said in sullen tones.
"Yes, you do. You just don't want to tell me."
"Why should I? We aren't friends."
"Would you tell me if I was?"
Brian didn't answer.
"I take that as a no. Is there a friend close enough...no...a friend trusted enough that you'd tell him or her?"
Still no answer from Brian: the man examined the all but vanished head of his beer.
"What is the prize in your games? If you are the winner, what do you get?"
"Let it be, Nettle," Brian growled. "I'm not going to answer your questions. Keep making them, and I will make you regret you were born."
"That's self-protection, Brian, clear as water. Under that aggressive posture, you're protecting something. Apparently, you think that the best defense is to attack. Do you really think that whatever you protect indeed is under attack? Am I really so threatening?" Nettle's arms were spread, showing Brian a slender frame and a friendly face. "Am I?"
"You're a pain in the ass!" With a huff, Brian gave up. "OK. You're pretty close to the mark, anyway. Indeed, with what my friends call my sarcastic wit, I protect my innermost thoughts and feelings. I ask for some space, for some privacy. Don't I have the right to keep some things to myself?"
"Of course!" Nettle sounded baffled. "Is that the problem? Your friends invading your private space, uninvited?"
For awhile, Brian just stared at Nettle. Nettle didn't turn away from his intense gaze.
"Yeah," Brian finally said, looking kind of lost. "Nettle, I never put it together quite like that myself, but that's it, exactly. My friends aren't respecting my right for privacy."
"Do you have any example that you could share with me?"
Brian took a moment to think. Nettle doesn't make demands, or try to force me. I really have the right to decide what I want: if I want to tell Nettle, if I don't. What would it be like if...
While Brian was in his thoughts, their meal was served. For a while, they concentrated on the food and the discussion was suspended. Having tasted his salmon, Brian was ready to tell Nettle the asked for example.
"I gave a friend-he likes to call himself my best friend; we've known each other since we were 14-Well, I gave him a key to my loft." A fleeting smile showed in Brian's eyes. "When we were kids I spent a lot of my time in his house. It was a second home to me. Now, my loft has become a second home to him. He uses the key whenever he pleases.
"When we were younger and both of us single, it felt natural. But that was a decade ago. For a while I lived with someone, but I didn't ask for the key back. There were reasons; let's just say that bad habits die hard. My friend, with other friends in tow, appeared in my home whenever he wanted. It never occurred to him that the situation had changed. At the time, I didn't mind; I was used to it. My ex was not and never did. That opened my eyes, too.
"I understood that people of my age and in my situation were following quite different rules. My friend is married now, and even though I have got a key to the house he shares with his husband, I may not use it without permission. He gave the key to me for emergencies only. But, he still uses his key to my loft as if nothing has changed."
"But...that's stupid." Nettle seemed flabbergasted. "He's having double standards: one for himself and the other for you. Can't he see that?"
"Mikey is a Novotny," Brian said with a crooked grin. "It's a part of his charm."
"A family trait? There are more of them?"
"A mother..."
"As intrusive as your friend?"
"More so..."
"Brian, why do you let them? Can't you put down some barriers with these people?"
"If you knew Debbie you wouldn't bother with asking," Brian said, downing the rest of his beer. He filled the glass with water. "As far as Debbie is concerned, there isn't anything that isn't her concern. And as far as Mikey is concerned, there isn't anything about my life that isn't his concern."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Herre gud!"
"What?"
"It's Swedish for 'Oh, Lord'. A friend of mine uses it a lot. Since we're in Sweden, it seemed appropriate."
"It's not that bad."
"Of course it is! If these people invade your home with no regard for your needs, how rudely invasive they must be with other aspects of your life?"
"Well, if I want an opinion on any littlest thing, I'll certainly get it."
"And when you don't want an opinion?"
"Even more certainly will I get one." A shadow flitted in Brian's eyes.
"If you don't mind me giving you my opinion on the matter," Nettle waited for Brian's permission before going on, "I think that your use of sarcasm might be the defense you developed as a teenager, against such an overwhelming intrusion.
"I think that around you this Debbie person adopted the role of mother. Back then, you being a teenage boy, she didn't allow you to set boundaries; she put herself in the center of your life. As you grew older, she didn't step back from that spot or from her role either. She got stuck, and so did you. You got stuck with the role of her teenage son, Brian."
Brian was amazed. How could someone who had never even seen Debbie make such an accurate guess?
"Apparently, you think that I should break free," was his only comment, though.
"Apparently."
Contrary to Brian's expectations, Nettle said no more. Despite telling it...Brian stopped in the middle of the thought; he still wasn't comfortable with calling Nettle it...,about all that, I don't feel driven into a corner. Like Mikey and Debbie, Nettle is interested in my thoughts, but the difference...
"Nettle, like you just a moment ago, Debbie and my other friends pry into my thoughts. The difference between you and them is that you're actually interested in what I think. They aren't. They are interested in changing my thoughts into what they think is right."
"Are you always wrong?"
"Apparently, in their opinion I am."
"What do you think?"
"Am I always wrong? I don't know. Not always, of course. At work, I am always right." Brian's smile was lopsided. Nettle cocked an eyebrow but otherwise didn't comment on the claim. "But, there are things that I don't know so much about, I guess."
"What kinds of things do you mean, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Family, relationships and such."
"Why is that?"
Instead of answering, Brian was impersonating a clam.
"You don't want to tell a stranger."
"Yeah."
"You don't need to. On the other hand, since I'm a stranger whom you most likely will never see again, you could tell me."
"That's quite illogical, but also tempting. I know that people do that."
"Have you been the one listening to such confessions?"
"I travel a lot..." The wide smile that appeared on Brian's face took Nettle by surprise. As long as they had been together, Brian had seemed quite tense. This smile seemed to tell of a more relaxed man. Nettle smiled too. "You're a nosy person, Nettle," Brian said, but the smile lingered on his lips.
"About you, I admit to that. You tell me some facts about a matter, and then you shut up, leaving me wondering what made the things as they were. You never seem to volunteer explanations."
"That's a part of my motto: no explanations."
"There. You did it again," Nettle laughed. "Some facts, not all of them, and no explanation. Would you, please, tell me a little bit more?"
"No, regrets, no excuses, no apologies: that's my motto, all of it. Are you happy now, at last?" The words were annoyed, but the voice carrying them was not. Brian was clearly amused.
"No, of course not," Nettle said with an exaggerated whine. "Actually, in your motto there isn't a 'no explanations' rule. 'No excuses' isn't exactly the same as 'no explanations'. And anyway, I don't get it. Why would anyone choose a motto like that?"
"Oh don't whine; now you sound exactly like my best friend." Brian grinned. "But even his whine cannot make me yield explanations."
"A very private person, are you? Considering the company you seem to keep that's not a surprise. Or, does the company have an effect on you? Are you as nosy as the company?"
"Not by far, if one thinks about my current company." Brian pointed a finger at Nettle who could only nod in consent.
"Your current company has had its fill of food and drink if not your secrets. We should get moving again."
"Where to?"
"I have no idea. You?"
"None. Let's ask the waiter for recommendations."
The travelers did that, and soon they were heading to some place called Wasavarvet.
"Do I really want to see a boat that sunk hundreds of years ago?" Brian wondered aloud.
"A ship, not a boat." Nettle sounded just like a teacher correcting a simpleton. "Even if the seas around here aren't too wide, they used ships to navigate across them, not boats."
"Thank you for the lecture. Still, I'm not sure this is such a good idea. What could there be of interest?"
"You'll never know if you don't go there. And, do you have anything better to do?"
If Brian had been with his friends he would have told them what better things he had in mind. Of course, they wouldn't have asked. What Brian had in mind was very well known to them all. But with Nettle, Brian found himself unwilling to mention sex or anything related to it. He didn't feel quite like himself around the other.
"I guess I can kill time there as well as anywhere else."
xxxxx
The Americans found the old wreck of a ship much more interesting than they expected. The warship Wasa had been preserved remarkably well by the low salt content of the water of the Stockholm Harbor where it had lain from 1628 to 1961, for 333 years. The restored ship and the museum built around it gave a visitor a glimpse of the life of the 17th century sailor. Brian and Nettle spent an hour in pursuit of knowledge.
"Ah," Nettle's sigh sounded satisfied, "just the sign I was looking for."
Since Brian also felt the need, he followed Nettle into a men's room. Well, this settles it! he thought.
As soon as they were inside, Nettle walked into a vacant stall. As Brian took care of his business at the urinals, he found himself pondering his assumption about Nettle. I made a hasty conclusion. From the fact that Nettle came into this restroom doesn't follow that Nettle is a man. All that it means is that with an appearance like that a person can use both restrooms.
After returning to the museum proper, Brian and Nettle decided to take a break: they headed to the cafe. They weren't hungry, they weren't thirsty, but their feet felt the effects of the exercise. At the table, a cup of coffee cooling in front of him, Brian decided to return to the topic that had brought them together.
"I've been wondering about your gender. As you said, you aren't a man or a woman. As a gay man, I'm familiar with queens and transvestites. Apparently you're neither. Further, I don't think that you are one of the people in the process of changing their gender and sex into the opposite. I seem to know quite a number of gender definitions that aren't applicable to you, but I don't know what you are. Care to enlighten me?"
"I think of myself as belonging to the third gender."
"The third gender?"
There was something about Nettle's tone of voice that made Brian stop and look deeper. He took a moment to digest the idea.
He found it necessary to ask what Nettle meant. "That you don't belong to the third sex, just to the third gender?"
"Exactly. I'm not a hermaphrodite. Biologically, I'm a man or a woman: I'm not of the third sex."
"So, what do you mean by the third gender?"
"As you probably know, there are people that are called gender blenders." With a nod of his head, Brian confirmed Nettle's assumption. "Where gender blenders mix in their appearance both female and male attributes, I don't. Even though my appearance is somewhat similar to them, I don't see myself fitting in with that group, but I find the third gender a fitting description for me, too. In some sources gender blenders are called by that term.
"The third gender is a term for several different subgroups; we aren't just one type of people. For example, such people as the Indian hijras and the Thai kathoeys can be included in that term. In those countries, the third gender has had a place and role for centuries. Things are different in Europe and in the Western culture in general. Our former roles of two-souled people and hermaphrodites have disappeared. The people belonging to those groups were ostracized by the Christian church that claimed that the God had created only two sexes.
"In many of the older beliefs of our ancestors gods were seen as entities with both female and male aspects and two souled people and hermaphrodites as individuals particularly favored by those gods. It's my guess that in those beliefs lays the reason for the attitude of our beloved church. As a result, the Western world got the binary gender-system in which a person's gender follows from his or her birth sex. People born with ambiguous sexual organs or people with unconditional gender identity weren't tolerated.
"Even in our days, the third gender identity is often believed to follow from one's ambiguous biological sex or to be the same thing as one's unconventional sexual orientation. I don't find it so. For me, personally, the third gender means a social role that falls somewhere between the traditional gender roles. For more than 25 years, I acted, like any other person of my sex, in the appropriate role. But, it was only appropriate for the community; it was never the proper role for me. The opposite role wasn't any better: I tried that out, too. The role of man, in which you seem to thrive, makes me as uncomfortable as the role of woman."
"Why is that?"
"I don't know why, but I do know what makes me uncomfortable. The traditional roles are seen as natural while, actually, they are mainly arbitrary constructs. As such, in my opinion, they should change as times change, they should be reformed constantly in social discourses, and they should be constantly criticized. There should be the means to make the roles work better, to make them work for different people and for different situations. In my experience, people take the traditional gender roles as sacrosanct, absolute, natural and they are unwilling to change them. They're unwilling even to see the need for change."
"Apparently, this is a sore point with you."
"It is." Drinking a sip of tea, Nettle took a moment to calm down. "I get a bit passionate, talking about this."
"A bit," Brian agreed, tongue in cheek. "I don't mind. I'm used to passionate people. In some things, I can be quite passionate, too."
"You can? You don't give that vibe."
"As I said, in some things." Brian grinned, reminiscing about some passionate moments in some things. "But, back to the matter. Tell me about your gender."
"What to tell? How would you tell me about yours? Make more detailed questions!"
"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Let's start with the most obvious: your looks. What is the dress code of your gender? I assume that there are rules."
"Of course there are; there can't be a role without rules. About the dressing code, the main rule is simple: avoid anything that carries a gender marker. For example, I don't use skirts or dresses or gowns. They are never used by males and thus are gender marked garments. A peculiar fact is that, nowadays, most of menswear is gender neutral. I rarely wear a suit, but I could. Since women use suits, too, even they are rather gender neutral garments."
"In your avoidance of gender marked clothing items, aren't you creating them for your own gender?"
"Yes, I am. You got to that conclusion remarkably quickly." Brian thanked Nettle for the compliment. "All around the world, the third gender is in the process of creating a dressing code for us. At the moment, the code is still flexible, but I expect that to change. If I'm correct, one day there will be items of clothing that only the third gender uses."
"Maybe your gender will come up with something new, something that doesn't even exist yet."
"We might."
"Did I get it right? You don't mind the rules that bind each gender. Something else makes you uncomfortable."
"Yes. It's the inflexibility of the rules that I find uncomfortable, not the rules as such. For example, following the inflexible dressing rules, each of the traditional genders has come up with rather ridiculous solutions for problems. For example, here in Stockholm, we need to carry with us some things like money, tissues and cell phones. You carry the things you need in your pockets. Mine are in this." Nettle tapped the orange messenger bag on the next chair. "If I were a woman, I would carry a handbag of the appropriate size. Which solution is the most sensible one?"
"I think that my solution is the best, but I doubt that you'd think so."
"As a man you could use a bag like mine. However, for the things you need it's too big. A smaller bag would look like a handbag. It would be too feminine for you. Your solution is to get rid of the bag. From that decision, two more problems follow. First, the size and number of the things you can carry upon your person are rather limited. Second, even though the construction of your pockets has been made keeping in mind the fact that you carry certain things in them the things are a strain to the garments. That's why in my opinion your solution is the worst of the three. The women are the most sensible ones."
"If you put it like that..." Logically thinking Brian knew that Nettle was right, but emotionally he was unwilling to give up the sensibility of preferring pockets. "But, my hands are free. That's a boon, I would think, that women with their small handbags don't get."
"In my opinion, women have come up with the perfect solution for that, too: a small bag with a shoulder strap. That leaves their hands as free as your pockets leave yours."
"But you don't carry such a small bag," Brian said in questioning tones.
"Unfortunately, such bags are gender marked things. Only women use them."
"And therefore, you can't." Brian nodded, in thought. "Actually, your gender dresses in unisex clothes."
"True, and in new things if such garments get invented."
"And if they won't get adopted by either of the traditional genders." Brian was amazed. He had assumed that the least complicated thing about Nettle's gender would be their appearance. At the surface, it seemed such a simple thing, but it was nothing of the kind. "It's not easy to create a new gender, is it?"
"Nothing easy about it." Nettle sighed. "Women in particular are allowed to try out and willing to accept new things. It's not easy to differentiate us from women."
Brian smiled, thinking of Debbie. If anyone, she would want to try out new ideas.
"I would hazard a guess that, regardless of the gender the person identifies with, a person's biological sex must have an effect on how the person can appear." Not wanting to bring up Debbie again, Brian suggested a new topic. "You seem to have been born with a body type that doesn't yell your actual sex. That allows you to achieve that androgynous appearance. That's what your group of third genders wants to look like, isn't it?"
"Yes, an androgynous appearance like mine is some kind of an ideal among us. I'm lucky in that aspect. A friend of mine who also identifies with the same group cannot hide her sex. Her curves are too obvious."
"How does she do it? Is it even possible for her to appear as a member of your group?"
"She follows the same dressing code as I-in that regard she appears as one of us-but as you assume, it doesn't differentiate her from women. She needs more than her appearance to tell people that she actually isn't a she."
"Which once again brings forth the fact that your gender needs to find a word for the third person singular!"
Nettle laughed, too.
"Between the two of us, we could use 'thee' and 'thou' and 'thane' and other old, out-of-use words," Brian suggested. "We'd just need to agree upon the meanings, and our conversation would become so much easier." Brian didn't voice his other reason for the suggestion: he wanted more appropriate words for his thoughts about Nettle. 'It' just didn't feel right.
"I suppose you know the original use of those words?" Brian nodded his head in confirmation, and Nettle went on with, "I'm not sure I can use them in the meaning you suggest. Because of my profession, I'm too used to their proper use."
"Oh, I see." Despite the opening, despite his curiosity, Brian refrained from asking what Nettle did for a living. In just a couple of hours, they would go their separate ways, never seeing each other again. There was no point.
"But your suggestion is a good one, if we decide on some other words, instead."
"Do you have some words in mind?"
"How 'bout...let me write them for you..." Nettle dug into the orange bag and came up with a notebook and a pen. Soon the words 'dhe', 'dher' and 'dhis' were written down for Brian's judgment.
"Not too shitty a suggestion." Brian smirked, but then he said in a more serious manner, "Actually, those are very good words for your gender, the third. The d-sounds seem fitting to me, for some reason. You've thought about these things before, haven't you?"
"Naturally. My friends and I, we've been using these words for some years now. They are one of the many things we would like to introduce to the American culture."
"I wish you luck!" Brian said without a hint of sarcasm; the wish came from his heart. "I really hope that you'll succeed in including those words and your other ideas into our lives. The American culture needs discourses like that. But, I'm afraid that it will be a difficult struggle."
"You would know."
And Brian knew, perfectly well, how difficult it was to be a member of a minority social group in the USA.
"Tell me something, Nettle." Brian let his curiosity take over. "I get the feeling that, while an androgynous look is your ideal, the word androgyny isn't the right one to describe your group." Nettle nodded in agreement. "What is lacking?"
"The androgynous look that we find most appealing is what you see me wearing: not all androgynous looks are the ideal. But, you're right about androgyny.
"In the group, we don't find our biological status of any interest. There are women, men and hermaphrodites. Once, androgyny was the synonym for hermaphrodite. Thus, the etymology of the word is wrong. Later the word has been used for a person that shows in his or her appearance both female and male gender markers at the same time. As I told you, we want to leave those markers out of our appearance. In addition, gender is much more than just appearance. We don't find the necessary wideness in the term androgyny."
"I see. What word do you prefer?"
"We haven't been able to agree on one."
"What do you prefer?"
"Mannisha."
"What the fuck is that?"
"It's derived from the Swedish word for a human being. That's what we want to be: men in that meaning of the word."
"Mannisha. I find that quite easy on the tongue. Man, woman, mannisha; men, women, mennisha?"
"You're quick!" Nettle laughed.
Brian laughed, too, and downed the rest of his cold coffee. "Come on, mannisha. Let's get out of here!"
xxxxx
Leaving the Wasa Museum, the tourists were once again without a plan of action. They still had an hour left until it was time to head for the airport.
"I've got my fill of walking," Nettle confessed. "This bag is heavy."
"I'm sure it is. By now, even my pockets feel heavy," Brian allowed. "I don't want anything to eat or drink, either. What are we going to do?"
"An hour isn't enough to watch a movie."
"Fuck, that sounds tempting."
"Too tempting. Most likely, I would fall asleep."
"I guess we would end up sleeping together," Brian said, the unruly tongue finding its way back to his cheek.
"I wouldn't mind sleeping with you." Nettle grinned.
"I wish I could say the same or the opposite. I have to admit that I don't know if I would mind or if I wouldn't! For me, that's rare."
"For me, it's not. Quite the opposite."
Nettle looked away from Brian, so he didn't see the loneliness showing in the gray eyes, but he could hear it in Nettle's quiet voice. "I'm sorry, Nettle," he found himself saying, even though he knew that it wasn't his fault.
"Thank you, Brian, for sympathy. I chose this lot myself, but sometimes the consequences of the choice aren't easy to bear."
"Unless you're a bisexual, it seems that you're attracted to men." With a tiny nod, Nettle admitted as much. "That's unfortunate, I think, since in my experience, women tend to be more acceptable of new ideas. Whether it's a straight or a gay man you're looking for, your chances must be pretty limited."
"Very limited, indeed." Nettle's voice was tired. "It's not just about finding a man of tolerant enough nature; it's also about finding in such a man a person I can love or even desire. So far every man I've fallen in love with has found my gender not only baffling but also unacceptable. They all found it too much that their friends didn't know whether they were dating a woman or a man. The opinions of their friends were more important to them than my feelings. With bed partners I've managed a little better."
"I can imagine," Brian said quietly, and strangely enough, he could.
"Maybe you do." Nettle kicked a piece of ice, hard enough to make it fly across the sidewalk and bury itself into the snow bank. "Maybe you do have first hand experiences about men that are willing to try out something wild, once. When they think it unlikely to get caught."
"I've met a number of such men."
"So you understand." Still, Nettle showed signs of silent anger. "But, do you understand also what it feels like to be in love with someone who cannot love you unless you give up your true identity and adopt the one he prefers?"
"Actually, I do." Brian's eyes turned jade green, as hard as the rock, as thoughts invaded his mind, uninvited, I might have been a sought after bed partner, but I know only too well what it's like to look in vain for that someone special that accepts you the way you are. I never...I bet that Nettle never has been willing to pay for love by changing who and what...dhe is. "My ex didn't want me to turn into a woman, but all the same, he demanded changes that go against my nature. Believe me, Nettle; I know what it feels like."
"Your ex, and mine, they didn't love us; they loved a fantasy. A person they wanted us to be."
"Yes." Brian wouldn't look at Nettle. "It's bitter, to be loved like that."
"Bitter." Suddenly, Nettle stopped and took Brian's arm. "I need a drink. Let's go in here."
Brian didn't resist as Nettle took him into a bar. They settled at a window table with glasses of beer.
"I'm sorry, Brian. My loveless life is a huge sore point. I tend to get morose thinking about it."
"Don't apologize, Nettle. You remember my motto?" With a crooked little grin, Nettle told him so. "Following my own rules, I don't expect apologies from others, either. And believe me, if I should find your morose demeanor boring, you'd know."
"Thanks." The attached smile was a shy one. "You should stop being such a nice person. I'm in danger of falling for you."
Brian burst out laughing. "Me? A nice person? Never!" He shook his head. "Thank whatever power you believe in that you won't need to know me any better. Nobody likes me."
"I don't believe that," Nettle cried in mock surprise. "You're being way too modest."
"Nettle," Brian chimed in quietly, in serious tones, "I'm not kidding. Don't fool yourself; I'm not a decent human being. I can keep up this front for some time, but in the long run, people find things about me that they don't like. I'm not a likable man."
For a full minute, Nettle couldn't find a word to say. Despite his motto, Brian had time to regret his words. Why did I tell Nettle that? Just because...dhe joked about falling in love with me? Fuck.
"Brian, that can't be true. Why are you saying such a thing? Besides, you already told me that you've got friends."
"I didn't tell you that they like me, though."
"No, you didn't." Nettle stopped for a while, to think.
"Instead, you told me that your friends want you to change." Nettle stared at Brian, stupefied. "To change from what?"
"Believe me. You don't want to know the answer. Could we talk about something else?"
"Sure."
But, Nettle didn't suggest a new subject, and neither did Brian. They sat silent, drinking their beers, in thoughts as bitter as the drinks. Brian at last broke the silence and suggested that they should take a cab back to Arlanda Airport. Nettle was ready to leave, too.
At the airport, Brian and Nettle couldn't find again the easy rapport they had enjoyed earlier. Regardless, they stayed in each other's company. They spoke very little, and even though the silence between them wasn't a comfortable one, neither wanted to sit alone. The situation held until it was time to board the plane to Amsterdam. They hadn't been booked in adjacent seats.
"We'll have another wait ahead of us, in Amsterdam," Brian said in his best nonchalant manner.
"For almost an hour, yes," Nettle answered in as nonchalant tones as Brian.
"We could meet one last time there, if you'd like." A question mark hovered about Brian's words, like the shyest of butterflies.
"I would like, Brian." Nettle smiled warmly at Brian. "Give me the number of your cell; I'll give you mine. Let's make certain that we won't miss each other."
A moment later, feeling much better, the two boarded the plane.
xxxxx
The short flight from Stockholm to Amsterdam was soon over, and as they were exiting the plane, Brian and Nettle found each other without any difficulty. For the wait, they were lucky enough to find a vacant nook with just two seats. They had the perfect place for what Brian had in mind.
"During the flight, I was thinking about your group of misfits," Brian hurried to say in order to take control of the conversation. In particular, he didn't want Nettle to ask about his vices. He hoped that Nettle had forgotten his earlier, misjudged words. "Nettle, you and your friends want people to accept you as you are. In order to reach that goal, you'll need to educate the population. You'll need publicity. Do you agree?"
"Yeah, I know that we must get our thoughts out there. But, how, Brian? We aren't rich. There aren't celebrities among us. Media isn't interested in us. How are we going to reach the people?"
"I can help you, if you let me. If you are willing to help me out with something." A smug smile spread on Brian's lips. "I can make people take notice of you: just not on your terms but mine. If you're willing to take the risk; if you're brave enough to jump headlong into the unknown waters."
"You frighten me, again, Brian."
"I mean to." Brian became serious. "What I have in mind may backfire; publicity may be harsh, too. That's one of the risks you'd have to take if you should let me help."
"I can't decide for the group," Brian nodded in understanding, "but I'm willing to listen. What is it, exactly, that you could do for us?"
"I work in advertising. Actually, I'm the owner of one of the best agencies, Kinnetik. My firm is known for edgy campaigns."
"Kinnetik?" Nettle stared at Brian, in openmouthed surprise. "I've heard about your agency! Edgy is just the word people use about your ads. I'm sure that you could make us known and even change the attitudes towards us, and I would love to sign a contract with you, but your services must be way too expensive for us. I'm sorry, Brian, but I really can't see any way we could afford your help."
"As they say, nothing is free. However, not everything is paid with money, Nettle. I didn't think of you as a potential client. I was thinking about hiring you to work for me." A winning smile blossomed on Brian's face. "Do you think that you and some friends of yours might want to promote some product and on the side, yourselves?"
Nettle's mouth opened, but no words were coming out.
"You'd make a good fish, Nettle my dear." Brian laughed.
"I? In an ad? What ad?" Nettle still looked like a fish: like a fish on dry land. "I..."
"Nettle, concentrate." Brian smiled. "One thing at a time. First, do you, on a personal level, have something against the idea of your gender becoming associated with some product in people's minds?"
Nettle was silent for some time, in serious thought, before answering. "No. Personally, no. I'm not sure about my friends, though. We have never talked about such a thing."
"That you aren't dead set against the idea is good enough for me, at the moment. Second question: would you consider becoming a face associated with a product?"
"Yes. I wouldn't say no, not without consideration. My answer would depend on the product, on the firm, and on the idea of the ad."
"I wouldn't expect anything else from you. Third question: are you willing to ask if your friends would be willing to consider such an offer, too?"
"Of course! I can't promise anything, but I'll try."
"That's all I ask. I have a couple of clients to whom I might be able to sell the idea of using your gender. In order to do that I need to photograph a few of your people. Could you, in a week or two, find out if your group can accept the idea and if two or three people would be willing to do the photo shoot?"
"I'll talk with my friends, and I hope I can convince them, but at least you can count on me. I'll come to the photo shoot alone if I have to."
"That's the spirit you'll need." Brian handed out his business card, telling Nettle to call him as soon as possible. With his most enticing smile, he purred, "I'll be waiting."
"You're the worst flirt I've ever met."
"Oh, Nettle my dear, you'll never know the worst of it."
"I hope to keep the worst for myself."
"That I wouldn't wish for my worst enemy." Brian shook his head in mock terror.
"The worst that could happen would be me growing fond of you."
"Heaven forbid! Friending me would be worse than the worst nightmare you've ever had."
"I could be your worst nightmare."
"My kitchen nightmares are unrivalled by far."
Nettle burst out laughing. "By all means, your friend Mikey can have you as his best friend; I wouldn't accept you as anything but my worst!"
"Thank you! That's one thing I know I will excel at. You bring out my worst instincts better than anyone."
The worst discussion in world history went on until it was brought to an end when Brian and Nettle boarded the plane. The worst possible arrangement of seats took care of that.