NOVEL NEXT A Manual Of Consensus Based Democracy With An Eye Toward The Founding Of Intentional Communities
“No we aren’t. Castle doctrine, bitch.” Lavender’s brazen declaration hung around in Darla’s mind like a guest who had overstayed their welcome, and now wasn’t taking the hint to leave. They had flirted a little more, but her mind was elsewhere, so she quickly excused herself to find Joan. Joan had called a general meeting, and Darla had volunteered to cook lunch for everyone.
Various ‘Queerdos’ (as Lavender called them) trickled in from around the property, cut up and patched clothes, tattoos, and unconventional piercings seemed almost a uniform. Darla couldn’t help sneaking looks at just how wild and untamed the people here looked. She hadn’t really internalized how strange the folks at this place were, given she was about to pass out when she got the tour. Probably a good thing too, if she had been paying attention before, she might have run away at the sight of some of them. The six foot girl with five lip piercings, a shaved head, and a pentagram tattoo between her breasts still set her blood on edge.
The girl who sat next the scary demon girl, was a waifish blond with full body tattoo that she showed off by wearing as little as possible, early fall weather permitting. The looping green circles reminding Darla of bad history channel reenactments of Celtic warriors.
To take her mind off the parade of sexually intimidating women that not a day ago she would cross the street to the other sidewalk if she saw them, she started cooking. Three sheet pizzas worked with love and care for everyone... including the freaks.
Darla began with making the dough and letting it rise, then pre-cooking the toppings for each, shitakis and red bell pepper braised in mirin and chili flakes, ground turkey fried in butter and cloves, fresh pesto of new basil and walnuts, garlic boiled to a paste and mixed with lemon juice, a pre-made can of marinara (what? She couldn’t make everything!) All to burn off the nervous energy that began to percolate in the room as those who were early for the meeting watched her work. A parliament of monstrous beauty sitting in judgment of her every action.
Lavender had run off- “To prepare for when the shit goes down.” Which only widened the pit at the bottom of Darla’s stomach. She assured herself the Texan knew what she was doing, and her own worry about putting her crush in danger through voice shenanigans was unfounded. But, she was freaked anyway, at least she could use her energy to offer an apology meal.
It was funny how fast detached cynicism becomes involved worry. She stole glances back at the mustered few, who were idly chatting amongst themselves. Yes they were intimidating, but that didn’t mean invincible. How guilty would she be if one of them got hurt? How much would it be her fault if one of them Died? She was briefly introduced to a few of them, but except for Lavender and Joan, these people were strangers. She had always felt killing strangers was morally worse, because you knew less of their life, and thus felt less guilt for ending it. Even if the confrontation was relatively bloodless, how would she feel if these folks were imprisoned for trumped up kidnapping charges? She swallowed dry.
Clair had the good sense to enter the room just as Darla was feeling alone, naked, and guilty- cooking for people she didn’t know and endangering with her presence. Finally! Someone she kinda remembered! A person who she could attach herself to and hide behind. Of course, Joan’s Bull Dyke girlfriend was also Lavender’s ex which was still made her blood run refrigerant. No matter how chill Clair had been in the moment the gnawing at the base of her skull shouted “rival!” Still, she was genuinely glad when the furniture maker wandered over to her at the skillet and asked “Whatcha cookin’?”
Darla turned and was able to stammer out a “W-well I thought I’d make lunch for the meeting, and what better for that, than…” she suddenly felt self conscious. What if they judged her for making a slob meal! Everyone would see that she wasn’t a hip ‘queerdo’ and instead she was just a shitty small-town looser who let her disabled veteran dad push her around, and literally had to be bullied into accepting herself. Still she managed to mutter “…pizza.” audibly enough that Clair didn’t make her repeat it.
“Sounds great!” Clair licked her lips, but then she gave Darla a meaningful look. “Good thing we don’t have anyone here with Ciliac’s, but your making vegan and veg options right?” Darla began to sweat a bit- How do you even make vegan pizza?? She wasn’t even thinking about hippie diets! She was super glad she cooked the turkey and ‘shrooms separately, that’s for sure… “Anyway the seed cheese is a weird spot let me show you.” Clair spoke like she wasn’t paying attention to Darla’s little panic attack.
“Seed cheese?” Darla asked genuinely baffled.
“Yeah! Its fermented seed or nut butter. I think vegans use it for vitamin B-12? But more importantly, it works okay as a cheese substitute.” She pulled out a large mason jar off the sil with a dishtowel rubberbanded to the top. It had ‘Sunflower’ and a date from a few weeks ago sharpied on the side. “it’s not 1 to one with mozzarella, but its better then a dry slice.”
Darla peeked at the off white goop. It was chunky, and smelled like stinky cheese. She had to fight herself not to wrinkle her nose in front of Clair. “Thanks!” She chirped meaning it. Then lowering her voice to a whisper “I would’ve really stepped in it if you hadn’t told me.”
Clair laughed! “No problem! I’m sure you don’t meet too many vegans out here!” She smiled warmly enough that Darla’s ability to speak began to leak out of her strangely red ears. Why were butch women
as a group so… Hot? Sexy? Made her want to be held down by them and... Ugh. Darla couldn’t even finish that thought. She and Lavender weren't going steady, but she still felt like she was committing sin lusting after her almost lovers ex.Darla stopped herself. She needed to be in control. Being blushy and easily flustered had led to her pops thinking she had kidnapped her guy self! “A-anyway I should get back to it… this lunch isn’t gonna make itself!” She spoke quickly, because if she took her time she might get lost in Clair’s snow melt blue eyes... NO! Bad horny girl!
Clair looked confused, probably about all the mixed signals Darla was sending her way, but she shrugged and moved on to her seat at the table. Darla was left sweating and fluttery. She realized that the intrusive visions of sex had not been bothering her for awhile, instead she got hot. If she was being honest, getting flushed was so much better then your subconscious piping fantasies about everyone you found attractive directly into your imagination, whether you wanted to or not. Then it hit her. She hadn’t gotten a boner ever since she woke up.
She had seen and felt it in the shower, but now even function was affected. Now it was undeniable that her current plumbing was being inspected for renovation by a plumber who loves to tinker. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Frankly even though she had accepted becoming a girl a ‘what if’ still plagued her. Lavender seemed to revel in the power of being a woman with a… with guy stuff. What if she regretted getting ‘setts, purely for the fact that she would never have…
Darla winced, as she stirred the turkey. She knew for a fact that she had cut back on her swearing and explicit stuff when she realized she was going to be a woman, and it got worse when she realized she had always been one. That bothered her a little. Why did it feel so wrong to say… dick? She was emulating the church moms she grew up knowing. Why? Right now she was being a good christen girl for a audience of hippie atheists and pagans. If she wanted back in her hometown community, she would have to follow those norms and abandon any vestige of outward masculinity she might still like or not care to change, but did she even want that? Faking her disappearance and starting clean slate here sounded more and more appealing. Fuck those hicks and their goddamn church! Fuck that stupid ass dying town! Fuck those shitty backward customs that she was forced to observe! SHE COULD BE FREE!
She began to dance again as she bustled about in front of the growing number of ecovillargers assembled. She noticed a few of them watching her, but she was not to be deterred. She was a liberated woman! Though the implications of that statement were still scary and unclear to her.
As Darla began to mull over whether or not she should commit to hating men as part of the package deal- Pops had always warned that any woman claiming to be liberated was like mom. Just as she was toying with that idea Joan burst in trailing 5 or so people, startling her as she put the last touches on the meat pizza. “Alright people! We’re starting without Paul and Lavender.” She looked over the assembled crowd like a general surveying her troops. As far as Darla could tell, with the stragglers Joan had dragged in it looked like everyone she had met on her tour was present. Joan nodded as if confirming that that was indeed the case. “You might be wondering why me and Lavender called an all hands meeting.” Joan looked over at Darla, who realized they may need to have a serious conversation about her basically forcing the poor girl out of the closet before she was even out to herself.
Darla wet her lips and made eye contact with her ex-(and perhaps soon to be again?) best friend. She nodded. Darla began to explain. “First I’d like to thank you all for taking me in while I’m… transitioning.” Darla hoped complementing the groups hospitality would dull what came next. “The truth is I just needed a safe space to just be out side my community, and I couldn’t have asked for a better place.” Not a total lie, but the truth had to be stretched, because god(s?) she did not want to explain she was an accidental gimme. “But… due to a… misunderstanding? My pops thinks you all have kidnapped me.” She said that last bit probably faster then she should have, especially with how much she was grimacing.
“OH GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!” The small girl with the looping tattoos shouted in a voice that was weirdly deep. Darla took the opportunity to study the looping green tattoos under her sports bra and cutoffs, defiantly something Celtic. She felt both over dressed and under modded comparing herself with the speaker. “Fucking hicks! This was bound to happen!” She looked around and settled on glaring at Joan “This is why we should’ve set up in a nicer state like Oregon.”
Joan shot back “Laney! Don’t you dare claim that wasn’t a consensus decision! We agreed that a more right leaning area would allow us to help more folks, like Darla.” Joan strode forward getting all up in the aggro girl face. “We literally already are serving as a queer beacon in this land of homophobia, and now you balk at the first challenge!”
One of the older dykes (Eileen maybe?) cut in by getting between the two and resting a hand the shoulders of both “Now, now. Fighting will get us nowhere fast.” She glanced over at Darla who was desperately trying to peel her eyebrows off the ceiling. “We need to resolve this fast, before we get reported to the local authorities- That’s how it always works, they come up with a pretext, and then use that to fuck us up.” She rubbed her eyes as if remembering something best forgotten.
Darla bit her lip “We’re not sure what he’s planning.” Pops when he let himself be mad was insanely unpredictable, at once a old solider, a servant of an angry god, and a peeved business owner. Which side came out was entirely up to chance and the whims of an addled crumbling mind. “As far as I know he wasn’t planning on calling the Sheriff.” Darla could feel an unwarranted exhale of breath- They really didn’t understand how things worked out here, did they? “Him and his church friend are plotting something, and it’s probably gonna be... extra-legal.”
Joan worked her jaw starring out past Darla while the full body tattoo girl who Joan called Laney glared at her. The older dykes whispered amongst themselves. Clair seemed to be comforting a different member of whatever fucking love quadrangle Joan was tied up in. Most of the other member looked equally at a loss for words. She could feel the hum of 14 minds going a mile a minute trying to find a way out.
It was then that Lavender and Paul Dollied in a large crate that they set down at the foot of the table. Paul pulled out a crowbar, and began to pry the lid off the box. Lavender gave a winning smile, and spoke in a cheery tone, as if she was conducting a pep rally. “Who’s ready to get armed?!”