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Message-ID: <47464asstr$1081977006@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "virgosun" <virgosun@internode.on.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Beryl and the Polymorph 5/9 {virgosun} (mf pett mild nc mutant)
Lines: 564
Date: Wed, 14 Apr 2004 17:10:06 -0400
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<1st attachment, "poly05.txt" begin>

*BERYL AND THE POLYMORPH*

by virgosun (c) April 2004
*******************************
(Part 5)

The next night at the Wildgoose Dance was miserable. 
George smelled of pub and smoke; she had never minded 
before, but somehow tonight it was affecting her. She 
danced the usual reels with him, all the while waiting 
and hoping some interesting strangers would show up. 
Sylvia was there with some of the younger swells, but 
none of the other Enabled showed. Certainly not Basil, 
and definitely not Pro.

Which left her tired and jaded at the dance's end, and 
less than enthusiastic about going parking. She 
eventually convinced George she wasn't over the headache 
that had "kept her home last night".

"We should go out with other people more often, Georgie! 
I'd love to see Grace and Joe again - we could go to the 
trots with them in Kennaware."

"But it'd take half the night to get there, and the rest 
of the night to get back!" he grizzled. "I want us to be 
alone together, Berry. It's the only chance we get to 
kiss and cuddle. You won't come up to my room with me."

That sad, mixed-up feeling stayed with her all week, 
taking the sparkle from her eyes and the roses from her 
cheeks. She mourned the way things had used to be with 
George, when love was fresh and new, and he had been 
content to steal a kiss. She worried about Doug's 
restrained passion, not wanting to hurt his feelings, 
but certainly not about to fall in love with him either. 
And Pro, she simply didn't want to think about at all, 
for suddenly he was some kind of mysterious, dangerous 
forbidden fruit. What she felt for him, she couldn't 
tell. She sure wanted to go dancing with him again; 
could feel his lips on her brow and smell his skin, and 
feel his heart leaping beneath her hand as though it 
were just below the surface rather than buried in his 
chest. Of course he wanted her - he had made that clear 
often enough. But then, he had practically rejected her, 
thanks to his being Enabled.

On Friday evening, she went and sat in George's car 
outside the pub and waited for an hour. He didn't 
emerge, although she heard his voice raised several 
times, and he sounded drunken. Eventually, she walked 
home.

The next morning, talk was all over town. The glazier's 
truck was parked at the pub, the men carrying new sheets 
of glass in to replace broken windows. There had been an 
almighty brawl, and Dad had been down to the lockup to 
bail George out. The whole thing had been down to him, a 
couple of mates, and some of the strangers including the 
funny-looking one with the mosquito allergy.

George was too hung-over to make much sense. "He's lucky 
they're not pressing charges," Dad muttered. "Whole 
thing's going to the district magistrate, they've all 
got to answer for damage and public affray."

"I know those people!" Beryl cried. "I can't believe 
they'd pick a fight...unless it was Poppa, but he wasn't 
there, was he?"

Dad shook his head. "Lass, it was just one of those 
things. Booze in, wits out. Most anyone else who was 
there'll tell you - I'm afraid it was mostly down to 
your big-mouthed boyfriend, he was saying some 
disgraceful things. I don't know what's going on with 
George, he was such a nice young feller. You just be 
careful with him now, eh? Beer's turned him nasty."

"I know," she sighed. "He's still lovely when he's 
sober, but..."

She wanted to rush out to the tower on her bike even 
though she didn't do any weekend deliveries; made 
herself calm down and wait until Monday. There was 
enough to do with home and family affairs until then, 
when everyone would have calmed down somewhat.

Come Monday though, she still punched her pedals hard. 
Sylvia met her at the gate. Reg, Doug and Pro were all 
wearing knocks and scrapes by her testimony. The 
families greeted her cordially as ever, but glances at 
her lingered, gossip tiptoeing around the Enabled 
community as surely as anywhere else.

She checked-in with Poppa Stone. "Do you mind if I have 
a word with the boys?" she asked, gesturing toward the 
workings. He squinted through thick glasses, his big 
nasty grin dividing his face, nod wobbling his chins.

"Go right ahead, Beryl. Only wish I'd been there and 
smashed a few heads! I'm right proud of them boys! Don't 
you forget, they did it for you so I hope it was good 
reason."

A shiver ran down her spine. She set her jaw and 
clenched her fists, determined to find out what had 
happened. Snatched a hardhat from a peg. Basil's elbow 
hung out of the crane cab, safely out of reach. Doug 
raised a hand from high on the tower's workdeck. There 
seemed to be nobody else about at ground level.

"If you don't come down here, I'm coming up!" she 
yelled. "I want to know what's been going on!" Something 
made a soft slithering noise in the shadowed doorway of 
the tower's base. There was a rustle. The hot breeze 
that scuffed dust about her matched her temper; she may 
as well have been Tempest this day.

"Didn't you ask George?" came a quiet voice, wry with 
disgust. "Though somehow, I doubt he'd tell you the 
truth."

"Pro Phillips." He strolled from the tower buckling his 
trouser belt beneath a worn blue bathrobe. There were 
purple blotches on his hide. Beryl glared up at the 
tower and Doug again. "George said Doug started it, he 
punched him for no reason."

"And you believe him? Our Douggie?" Pro threw his arms 
up in a dismayed gesture. "How can you think Doug would 
hit somebody for no reason!"

"That's why I'm here, so I can hear your version! 
Douglas Franklin, get yourself down here right now!" she 
boomed imperiously. High above, Doug shrugged and tapped 
his ear. "And if you had any part in it, Pro...did you 
call him one of your silly names, perhaps? That would 
set him off!"

"He could call me anything he liked, but I won't have 
him calling you names, and neither will Doug," said Pro 
with determined, forced calm, eyes keen upon her. "He 
said things that were utter, utter filth, that no man 
should ever say about a woman if he truly loves her. 
Yeah, Doug lost his temper, and so did I!" His nostrils 
seemed much larger than usual, and pulsed as he puffed 
air. "He wanted a fight so he darn-well got one!"

"George would never say bad things about me," Beryl said 
haughtily, but a dubious frown settled between her 
brows. Pro nodded.

"Oh sure, right - I mean, he was obviously imagining 
things, having a little jape. He said people like us 
would never get to finger a woman's, uh, privates wasn't 
the word he used either, and Beryl obviously knew right 
from wrong because she let him do that and that's the 
bad sort of stuff he said..." Pro's face turned more and 
more scarlet and his voice faltered. Thick eyelids 
shuttered his eyes as he blinked. "So Doug decked him. 
I'm sorry, Beryl, I'm really sorry, but you asked so I 
had to tell you." His lips quivered.

She was conscious of her mouth hanging open; and of 
Pro's eyes meeting and holding hers, seeing in them the 
horror, the flash of guilt.

"Dump him, Beryl," said Pro tautly. "You don't need 
garbage like that. Especially if he's...has he ever 
groped you, Beryl? 'Cos if he ever hurt..."

"_No_!" Beryl cried, bright red. She spun and dropped 
her hardhat, then jumped on the bike and pedalled for 
the exit. Only there did she remember the lunches that 
were still in the panniers; she hopped off at the gate 
and stacked them on the ground while waiting for 
somebody to let her out. It was Tempest who came to her 
rescue.

"I suppose the whole of the Clans know about it?" she 
demanded. Tempest nodded, sober-faced.

"Everyone's really worried about you."

"It's none of anybody's _business_!" she snapped, 
wrenching her bike around and shoving through the gate. 
Without looking back she powered for town, red-faced, 
angry and weeping at once.

Back at the shop, another posy from George had been 
delivered.

***

She tried to tell herself they had made the whole thing 
up as an excuse for starting the fight. But how did they 
know what George had done to her? She couldn't make the 
vicious lie theory work. And she asked Mum to deliver 
the clan's lunches with the car.

George met her at the Sunny Cafe midweek, and they ate 
dinner together. He wasn't drunk, but still boasted how 
he was going to go after the freaks for everything he 
could. "They said you went out there at lunchtimes to 
sleep with them," he insisted, in a voice loud enough 
for her to wave her hands in alarm and shush him.

"No way!" Of course it was them telling lies about her, 
not George saying things. Wasn't it?

Friday Night was picture show night. Hoping the 
experience might have shown him the trouble his drinking 
could bring, Beryl sat in his car and waited. Waited. 
When he finally emerged, he took a sidestep as he 
lurched for the car. Beryl checked in her handbag, 
suddenly anxious. No smokes.

She should have gotten out right there and then. But 
George was already starting the engine, grinning, giving 
her a big beery kiss. He was happy, so that much was all 
right. Before long they were at the picture show, up the 
back like always, his kisses tickling her earlobes and 
the nape of her neck.

At intermission, she felt a prickly heat on the back of 
her head, the acute sensation that she was being 
watched. She turned, glimpsing between patrons moving to 
the milkbar or washroom someone standing motionless on 
the far side of the cinema, blue flecks glinting 
unnaturally as he watched her. He didn't smile. Didn't 
move. Didn't wave.

_Oh no!_ Beryl grabbed George in another clinch. The 
last thing she needed was a brawl breaking out at the 
cinema too. George gave a delighted grunt of pleasure at 
her attentions.

When she looked again, Pro was gone.

After the show, she and George drove down to the 
riverside, parking under the willows by the tennis 
courts. He kissed her with abandon, but she found her 
enthusiasm lacking.

"Georgie, please love...back off a bit, it's not comfy."

He chuckled. "Cushions, oops, forgot!" and disengaged to 
reach over the back for them.

Beryl folded her arms, hugging herself miserably. 
"Georgie...you wouldn't tell anyone what we do together, 
would you? Like, feeling under my skirt? You wouldn't 
tell anybody about that, would you?" 

"Wha?" He looked genuinely confused, and pinched the 
bridge of his nose.

"Ohh, poor Georgie," Beryl sighed while he shook his 
head as if trying to remember; she slipped her hand 
across his chest and snuggled on his shoulder. "It's the 
drink, you've got to stop."

"Did those creepy freaks say that about us?" he growled. 
Then he stabbed a blunt finger toward the rear window. 
"They probably got big ears and big eyes, cameras and 
stuff up there in that friggin' tower so they can spy on 
us! I don' want you goin' out there with them no more, 
Berry, you hear me? No more."

"I only take their lunches to them, Georgie."

"Yeah, well get your old man to do it, the van's all 
right now. You should be helping your mum in the shop 
rather than wasting time going out there."

She sighed against his chest. Thought of Pro's heart 
pounding against her hand, and squeezed her eyes shut. 
"Maybe you're right."

"That's better," George purred. "That's more like the 
Berry I know. Love you, sweetheart." He leaned over her, 
gathering her in his best bearhug, lips and tongue 
playing boisterously. He had put the cushions behind 
her, so she leaned back and responded, knotting her 
fingers in his hair, arching her neck to offer him her 
throat and collar. His hands roamed, cupping her 
shoulders, finding her breasts where he squeezed and 
fondled. As his lips found their way toward her 
cleavage, his hands moved to her hips and rump. He edged 
his knee between hers, feeling her thigh beneath the 
pleated skirt with his hands. Fingertips found bare 
skin, then slipped back up toward her hip again, taking 
the fabric with them.

"Georgie, I said no!"

"Come on, I ain't touched you!" He leaned over further 
as she tried to claw her skirt back down, squashing her 
between his body and the passenger door. "Love you 
Berry! Can't wait to make you mine!"

"Get off me!"

He just laughed, the hand under her skirt grabbing at 
her britches and tugging hard. She couldn't get her legs 
together; by struggling she only allowed him to get both 
his legs between hers.

"_George!_" She hammered at his back with her fists, 
cold horror jamming her heart into overdrive. She may as 
well have pounded on an elephant's back. Fabric was 
giving way. The window-knob and doorhandle were being 
crushed between her ribs. If only she could reach the 
doorknob, but that was impossible, she wasn't double-
jointed.

George shoved his hand hard into her crotch. She 
shrieked. "Aah!" he cried. There came a loud, brittle 
crack of noise close by, the tinkle of glass. 

Over George's shoulder, Beryl saw the driver's side 
window craze and crumble as if in slow motion. Saw a 
large, shapeless mass ooze and squeeze through the hole 
and dollop into the driver's seat, where it loomed up, 
filling the cabin. George twisted toward it too, and 
Beryl lost sight of the intruder. But then a voice rang 
out, delightedly cruel, and familiar.

"Hallo Georgie, remember me? I'm your worst nightmare!"

Beneath Beryl, the door suddenly gave way as it opened; 
strong arms caught her as she tumbled out. Both she and 
her rescuer staggered away as George rolled out too, 
legs kicking at the air, making muffled noises. He 
seemed to be struggling with a large leather bag that 
was wrapped around his head and shoulders; he threw it 
off and got to his feet, looking around wildly while it 
rolled a few feet away. George's eyes lit upon Beryl and 
the man who held her.

"Franklin! Why, I'll...You boys wanna finish this, fine 
by me!" He advanced with fists raised and tense.

The rolling sack stretched, rearing up in front of 
George who sneered and punched it full-force. There was 
a dull, meaty smack and the bag shivered, while George's 
face whitened with horror. His arm was embedded almost 
to the elbow, seemingly in taffy, and the mass crept up 
his arm toward his head. With a yell he spun and hurled 
the bag against the car, and it let him go.

"Careful! Watch him now!" Doug warned, giving Beryl's 
shoulders a reassuring squeeze before letting her go and 
taking cautious steps toward George. George had picked 
up a lump of fallen branch from below the nearest tree, 
a natural club, and brandished it menacingly. His eyes 
darted from Doug to the bag and back as they flanked 
him. "Watch!"

George swung; swung again, and again. Doug didn't dare 
get too close, but the bag had no such compunction. As 
the club swept in, it would stretch thin as taffy and 
loop backward, dodging the weapon three times before 
growing a tentacle that coiled rapidly around the club 
and twisted it from George's hand. 

Disarmed, George gave a yelp, ran to his car and 
wrenched open the door. There was a sharp tang of urine 
in the air. His car coughed to life, engine roaring. He 
reversed and swung so quickly that he almost struck 
Beryl, headlights making white spotlights on her dress; 
then he was gone.

Pro's voice cut the eerie quiet that remained. "Doug, go 
get the car, we should take her to Mum to make sure 
she's all right."

"Or to hospital," said Doug, turning away.

"I - I'm all right, I don't need to go to hospital," 
Beryl quavered. "I think I should just go home..." She 
could still see George's tail-lights disappearing down 
the lane like angry eyes; Doug's taut frame walking 
jerkily toward the main road. Then, soft warm arms 
slipped around her, holding her snug and safe. She put 
out her own arms instinctively, finding a warm, smooth 
back and shoulders. Unbidden, deep wracking sobs came up 
from deep in her chest, and she clung to him as he 
whispered in her ear.

"Ssh, sshh, it's all right now. You're safe now. You're 
not alone...ssshhhh..."

Her knees wanted to fold. She felt faint and wanted to 
sit. Body shivering, she let her legs buckle; all the 
while, Pro held her close, supporting her body in a 
strong but gentle embrace, snug and comforting. It was 
as though she sank into a deep, soft armchair; the 
strangeness of her posture didn't matter. No bitumen 
scraped her knees, no cement edges made her 
uncomfortable. And best of all was hearing Pro's voice 
talking her through that darkest of nights.

***

"Mum's gonna get sick of me taking the car all the 
time," said Pro as Doug seated Beryl inside.

"So isn't it time you bought one of your own?" Doug 
countered. "You coming?"

"I, er, well, I suppose I could get in the boot, I got 
no clothes on."

"Don't be absurd," Doug snapped. "Get in! They're in the 
back where you left them, remember?"

Beryl had managed to compose herself. "I promise I won't 
look," she managed with a watery hint of mischief. She 
gazed straight ahead at the town lights, and the red 
wink of the lights on the tower.

Pro's mother was a nurse. Doug had argued that Beryl 
should go to the police; Pro countered that seeing them 
would worsen Beryl's pain. They had started raising 
their voices, themselves hyped-up by what had just 
happened.

"I'm all right. He didn't put it in me," said Beryl in a 
cold, matter-of-fact tone that had silenced them. She 
wanted to go home. She didn't want to be apart from Pro. 
She needed new underwear. She needed to check herself 
over.

They drove to the tower, where Doug went and knocked-up 
the third of the Enabled grandfathers, Avis, their best 
legal eagle. Pro's mother took one look at Beryl's pale 
face and gave orders - "Tempest, run a nice warm bath! 
Pro, you put the kettle on and make us all some tea."

Surrounded by familiar faces, Beryl felt her assurance 
coming back. She had escaped. It could have ended much, 
much worse - but she was all right. In the bathroom with 
Margaret Phillips, a cosy bath awaiting, she handed her 
clothes one-by-one to the older woman, who examined them 
with a critical eye before folding and hanging them. She 
also examined Beryl's body, looking for bruises; then 
asked her to sit on the edge of the bath to check 
between her legs.

Beryl felt tender and sore on the outside, and there 
were a couple of scratches on her thighs and outer 
labia. "This is still a beastly thing to do to a girl," 
Margaret declared. "We'll see what Avis has to say about 
this! But you're going to be all right, love, you hear?"

Beryl nodded. George was behind her for ever. "I feel 
better already."

While she bathed, Margaret rustled up some underwear, a 
big fluffy towel, and some salve for the abrasions. 
Beryl could hear the warm, low voices of the menfolk 
outside, and felt comforted.

After her bath, she dressed and Tempest brushed her 
hair. When she entered the lounge to say goodnight the 
men all stood. Pro's dad gave her a crackly hug, 
kindness in his eyes, and Doug pecked her cheek. Pro 
simply squeezed her hand in his. She wanted to keep hold 
of him; their eyes held even as he let his hand slip 
away.

"Thank you," she whispered. He nodded.

Margaret drove her home. The candle-light in Mum's 
window flickered out. Beryl wandered slowly inside, 
stunned by how much life had changed.

***

Beryl didn't make the delivery out to the tower the next 
day; it was taken by van, as had become customary. That 
afternoon, a big bunch of roses arrived at the shop, 
sent by George. Dot and Mum watched in mute amazement as 
Beryl angrily threw them straight in the garbage can, 
crashing the lid like a car door slam.

George tried to phone several times. She refused to 
answer the phone. Being short, silent and angry, 
everyone knew something had gone seriously wrong. It was 
Dad she caved in to at last, telling him that George had 
broken the cardinal rule of keeping his hands to himself 
- that was all the detail she gave - and they were now 
finished. At home that evening, she threw out all her 
George paraphernalia. Her bracelet, sweetheart ring and 
costume jewellery all went to the charity shop.

Dad hugged her. "I'm glad, sweetie. I couldn't have told 
you to drop him - you would have dug your heels in like 
your mother does. I trusted in your good sense winning 
through." She nodded tearily from his shoulder.

The days passed in a dull haze, all the town's bright 
summery colours dimmed. Gusty, hot winds scoured the 
district, bringing in palls of dust as if to echo her 
mood. Several calls came from tower folk, mainly 
Margaret Phillips and Avis, who talked about statements 
and court and extracting the most from the pre-existing 
case regarding the brawl at the pub...She just nodded 
and agreed to whatever he said; nothing made sense any 
more. There was an empty, aching gulf where George had 
been; nowhere to go for fun and no-one to go with, or so 
it seemed.

Nor did George leave quietly. He took to roaring up the 
main street in his car, parking as close to the shop as 
he could, and blasting on his horn whenever he went by. 
She was flooded with letters that ranged from the 
simpering and sorry to the outright malicious. 

_They turned you against me! You saw what that freak 
did! How could you want to get sexy with a thing like 
that!_ one letter cried. She stopped opening them and 
started burning them on sight.

A big bunch of mixed garden flowers arrived at the shop, 
brought in by Doug and Tempest. "Are you all right?" she 
asked, big eyes wider still with feeling. "It makes me 
so angry every time I think of what happened!" A gust 
rattled the awning outside, and Tempest drew a deep 
breath, closing her eyes briefly and smoothing her 
dress. "Would you like me to set your hair for you?"

Beryl was able to find her smile again. She had felt 
very ordinary lately. "Thanks, I'd love that."

"Oh, and there's this!" Tempest suddenly remembered, 
delving into her carry-bag. Carefully, she pulled out a 
single small carnation bloom, cut end wrapped in damp 
cotton and foil. "It's from Pro. He wants you to know 
that he thought it best if he stayed away until you'd 
worked it all out..."

Tears sprang unbidden to Beryl's eyes, Tempest's words 
fading into the background. She brought the petals to 
her lips, breathing the sweet fragrance. For a moment, 
she wished for another world, where she could go dancing 
with him, smiling and laughing and being whirled in his 
arms.

The sound of Doug clearing his throat brought her back 
to the shop. "We had better let Beryl get on with her 
work now..."
<1st attachment end>


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