The Dream World Collective

101. Gentlemanly Arts

A single red rose trembled slightly in Otto's fist. In his other hand, a crackly sheet of parchment was beginning to grow damp. Eddie prowled in front of him like a drill sergeant, hands clasped behind his back.

"Go again," he barked.

Otto gulped, then began mumbling the curly words covering his parchment.

"Your hands are like velvet, and so is your hair. Your teeth are as white as—as white—I can't do this! It makes no sense."

"Of course it doesn't make sense," growled Eddie. "It's mushy poetry. The first killer of romance is a slavish adherence to sense. Facts aren't sexy. Get that in your thick head and you're halfway there, right?"

"But—"

"Go again!"

Otto took a deep, shaky breath to steel himself.

"Your hands are like velvet, and so is your hair." He hesitated, then soldiered on. "Your teeth are as white as—"

"Louder!"

"Your teeth are as white as a snow-covered mare. Your fingers are lissome, your kisses are blissome—'Blissome' isn't even a word!"

"Irrelevant." Eddie whirled on him, eyes blazing. "This isn't a bloody spelling bee. We're practicing your delivery. Now put some heart into it. Go again." He returned to his pacing. "And make me believe it this time."

"You're a sick man!" shouted Otto. "This isn't poetry! I don't even like poetry and I'm insulted."

Eddie whirled on him again, his face red-hot.

"Do you or do you not want to master the gentlemanly arts?"

"Well..." Otto began picking absently at the rose.

"Stop that," snapped Eddie.

"Oh. Right. Um. It's just—What, exactly, is the point, you know?"

"Sorry?" Eddie purred, dangerously quiet.

"It's not that I have anything against the Gentlemanly Arts," Otto assured him. "Not at all. But wouldn't they do better with someone a little more, you know—" He swirled a hand through the air, searching for the word. "—strapping? A tumbling mane of hair black as the night? Bronze pecs in a lace-up shirt? That sort of thing?"

Eddie gave a hearty sigh.

"You're just absolutely wallowing in fallacy, mate. Look, d'you have a girl?"

"Well, no, not in the traditional—"

Eddie rolled his eyes. "No, not like that. I mean, do you have a girl you fancy?"

"Oh." Otto felt his face turning red. He twiddled his rose, but Eddie spoke briskly before he could formulate a response, stalking circles around him like a panther.

"Of course you do. Now, when the time comes, you want to be ready, right? You want to be manly. Clever. Straight-backed." Eddie tapped Otto's back, and Otto straightened self-consciously. "Trim." He whacked Otto's belly, and Otto sucked it in. "Sophisticated. Articulate. Well-dressed and smelling pleasant. Yes?"

"Er, yes?"

"Yes! You want to practice now, so that when your moment comes, you can pounce."

"Yes." Otto felt his chest swelling.

"You want to be ready at a moment's notice to sweep her off her feet."

"Yes!" cried Otto.

"Because if you aren't, it's that strapping bronze black-maned bloke that's going to steal her away, isn't it?"

"Not on my watch!" thundered Otto.

"Bloody right, he isn't!" roared Eddie. He turned back to his pacing. "Now go again!"