a/n: More Rimmer torture. Why? I'm feeling rather down myself. Rimmer will suffer.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
That's all he got. It wasn't even directed at him, but at the same time it was. Every sharp word, every cruel innuendo and he fed. Every letter from his parents, every failed test, every rejection from a woman. And he fed.
And he grew. Oh, how he grew. Soon he had grown to such a point where noone else could grow because he was taking up the space. The others shrunk, or died. He did't get lonely. He had the others. The ones that kept him company.
Loneliness was a treat. Cowardess made a mean soup. Self-consiousness was a laugh. Mistrust played a killer game of charades.
And so, Rimmer's self-loathing flourished.
But he wanted more. Being in complete control of a man's mind was one thing. But, like every person (and Rimmer's Self Loathing was a person onto himself) who bullied his way to the top, he wanted more.
And when Rimmer came across the psi-moon, the neuroses ganged up and terrorformed it.
Rimmer's Self Loathing would finally get his revenge. He did want revenge. Rimmer hated him by hating himself. And Rimmer did hate himself.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
Honestly, Self Loathing didn't want to have a dictatorship over the rest of Rimmer's psyche. But Rimmer wouldn't do anything to stop him.
And besides, honesty had died ages ago, hadn't it?
So for refusing to help himself and therefore help Self Loathing, Self Loathing wanted to make him suffer.
It didn't occur to Self Loathing that the fact that he exsisted was proof that Rimmer suffered. His size and control of th planet he was on proved that.
But he didn't care. He was angry. Rimmer was a stupid, constantly failing, stinking, cowardly drop of polymorph mouth slime. He wasn't worth the time and energy that would be spent making him miserable. He wasn't worth the tools used to torture him with.
Self Loathing sat near the entrance of his underground cave, looking at his hands. His legs.
He looked like a giant cockroach. Or, possibly, a giant grass hopper even. He hadn't always looked like this. All aspects of Rimmer's personality originally looked somewhat like him.
Rimmer's libido, for example, was what Rimmer would look like had he skipped every two meals. Starved, shrunken. Self-loathing had always had a special place in his 'heart' for Libido.
Rimmer was too supressed to do anything for Libido. That was another thing that my Self-loathing mad. It was another thing that Rimmer hated about himself.
Self-loathing himself had looked exactly like Rimmer. In fact, if you wanted a very good description of what Self-loathing had looked like before this insectoid-like appearance, think of the second Rimmer when he shouted 'Mr. Gaspatcho'. That's what he looked like.
A message reached him. Rimmer was there. He was ready.
Self-loathing idly wished that Lister and the other wouldn't show up. But Hope, a starving child Rimmer who lay shivering in the corner of Self-loathing's cave insisted that he would come.
Unable, unwilling to deter hope, Self-loathing left the cave to address his new guest. As he emerged from the smoking pit in the floor, he heard Rimmer whimper and start speaking.
"Stop your putrid whining you dact tuft of rectal pubic hair."
In the distance he heard Hope cry out, and Self-loathing felt more loathing to this man than he ever had before. Noticing this feeling, he wondered if Rimmer heard Hope's cry too.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
That's all he got. It wasn't even directed at him, but at the same time it was. Every sharp word, every cruel innuendo and he fed. Every letter from his parents, every failed test, every rejection from a woman. And he fed.
And he grew. Oh, how he grew. Soon he had grown to such a point where noone else could grow because he was taking up the space. The others shrunk, or died. He did't get lonely. He had the others. The ones that kept him company.
Loneliness was a treat. Cowardess made a mean soup. Self-consiousness was a laugh. Mistrust played a killer game of charades.
And so, Rimmer's self-loathing flourished.
But he wanted more. Being in complete control of a man's mind was one thing. But, like every person (and Rimmer's Self Loathing was a person onto himself) who bullied his way to the top, he wanted more.
And when Rimmer came across the psi-moon, the neuroses ganged up and terrorformed it.
Rimmer's Self Loathing would finally get his revenge. He did want revenge. Rimmer hated him by hating himself. And Rimmer did hate himself.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
Honestly, Self Loathing didn't want to have a dictatorship over the rest of Rimmer's psyche. But Rimmer wouldn't do anything to stop him.
And besides, honesty had died ages ago, hadn't it?
So for refusing to help himself and therefore help Self Loathing, Self Loathing wanted to make him suffer.
It didn't occur to Self Loathing that the fact that he exsisted was proof that Rimmer suffered. His size and control of th planet he was on proved that.
But he didn't care. He was angry. Rimmer was a stupid, constantly failing, stinking, cowardly drop of polymorph mouth slime. He wasn't worth the time and energy that would be spent making him miserable. He wasn't worth the tools used to torture him with.
Self Loathing sat near the entrance of his underground cave, looking at his hands. His legs.
He looked like a giant cockroach. Or, possibly, a giant grass hopper even. He hadn't always looked like this. All aspects of Rimmer's personality originally looked somewhat like him.
Rimmer's libido, for example, was what Rimmer would look like had he skipped every two meals. Starved, shrunken. Self-loathing had always had a special place in his 'heart' for Libido.
Rimmer was too supressed to do anything for Libido. That was another thing that my Self-loathing mad. It was another thing that Rimmer hated about himself.
Self-loathing himself had looked exactly like Rimmer. In fact, if you wanted a very good description of what Self-loathing had looked like before this insectoid-like appearance, think of the second Rimmer when he shouted 'Mr. Gaspatcho'. That's what he looked like.
A message reached him. Rimmer was there. He was ready.
Self-loathing idly wished that Lister and the other wouldn't show up. But Hope, a starving child Rimmer who lay shivering in the corner of Self-loathing's cave insisted that he would come.
Unable, unwilling to deter hope, Self-loathing left the cave to address his new guest. As he emerged from the smoking pit in the floor, he heard Rimmer whimper and start speaking.
"Stop your putrid whining you dact tuft of rectal pubic hair."
In the distance he heard Hope cry out, and Self-loathing felt more loathing to this man than he ever had before. Noticing this feeling, he wondered if Rimmer heard Hope's cry too.