WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?
I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I love that expression so much, I just had to use it for a title. It's such a hilarious little expression... rofl. At any rate, ehh, this fic is gonna stink, I'll tell ya that. I'm just wasting time - I should be updating TSKAQN and writing "Darkness," but NO, here I am writing a fic entitled - of all things - "What Are You on About?" What a life.
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To servant, it seemed so right; and yet to master, all was turned 'nother step toward the bucket of flames known to him as...
...insanity.
As master strutted in false glory 'bout his dark, dull, damned lair, servant let out his complaints, one following the other, in a fashion so loathesome anyone would cringe.
If servant say, "calm yourself," master say, "I'm fine."
If servant say, "pull yourself together," master say, "very well."
If servant say, "you're in it," master say nothing at all.
But servant tattle, "what are you on about?"
And I, master, scream to his direction. He should know what I'm on about! I'm on about... about... about... hell, what AM I on about?
I'm on about my admiration, how it doesn't exist. Man, I go on about that a lot. Haven't I had enough of that subject? It trails my mind all the time... everyday... every second of my life. And I can't stop it. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, that thought is right there.
I'm on about my love, Nala... but what's the use? I can moan and groan forever, paws draped over my ugly, blood-stained features, legs stiff and crumpled beneath me, head pounding for I've not seen the day for some time now.
I'll never get her, I'll never get her back... so I'll be on about her for eternity.
I'm on about that pit of flames.. insanity. They glow green by light of the day... and by night, they turn a dark purple. And I don't want to see them, because it means I'm slowly going crazy, surrendering to my diseased exposed half. Slowly surrendering to death.
I'm on about those emotions I feel every time Zazu says... really anything. Man, I try so hard to be myself and show him that I don't need his warnings... but hell, he's always right. I never want him to be... but I always realize how right he is. Damn, why does that stupid utandu bird have to be the brilliant one?
No... I can't even play my own role. I couldn't play the brilliant servant, I'm stuck playing the idiot master. And I can't even play the idiot master... a role that seems to be too easy. But no... of course it isn't. I would know, for it's the role I have to play.
The role of the slimy, sleazy, two-faced, idiotic. diseased freak.
Ah yes, that's what I'm on about. But how to put that into words? It seems like I can't put anything into words anymore these days... or really ever.
For what is it that I'm on about? My inability to be adored, like misadoration or summat... no, that's not the right word. Unadoration? No. There isn't a word.
What am I on about? I'm on about my life. I'm on about YOU, Zazu. Servant.
Servant and master. Master and servant. Servant will prevail over his master. For master — poor, dying, diseased master — cannot live. For master might as well be dead...
...because of servant.