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Kerr Avon stood before his captor, head hanging in defeat. There was no recourse; he
would have to give in to her, it was the only way out. She had presented him with two
options...neither of which would be pleasant, despite her protests to the contrary. He
knew what she was capable of.
"Well, Avon," the woman purred languidly. "What will it be?"
Avon looked at her uneasily. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, trying to
hide his discomfiture. He knew exactly what she had meant by her question.
"Come on, Avon, which would you prefer?" She smiled sweetly at him. "At least I'm
giving you a choice in the matter. Not everyone in my position would be so kind."
"What kind of choice is this?" he snarled angrily, unable to remain impassive any longer.
The woman looked mildly affronted. "Temper, temper. If you continue to be so
impertinent, I may decide to revoke my offer, and you will have no say at all. I will
choose for you, one or the other...or I may decide to simplify the decision-making
process, and *combine* the two."
For a moment, Avon's composure was shattered. Then his control was back, and his face
was again a mask. "You wouldn't-"
"Oh, but I would."
"Not even you could do what you're suggesting to another sentient being...to *me*..."
She again gave him a very sweet smile. "Don't think it's never been done before. Don't
push me too far, Avon -- you know what I can do."
He did, and with that he knew he was beaten. His gaze wandered to the floor, then up to
her again. "I concede," he said wearily.
"Woo-hoo!"
He looked at her in disgust. "Just get it over with, and let me get out of here."
"Oh come on, Avon, this doesn't have to be a bad experience," she said, pulling out her
laptop. "You've got two choices -- so pick one."
"I don't see why there are only two choices," he stated flatly. "There is an almost infinite
variety of possibilities; I don't understand why you've narrowed my punishment down to
the lesser of these two evils."
"But Avon, it isn't a punishment; it's what *they* want. And we *want* to give them
what they want. It could even be...nice," she finished coyly.
"I fall to see the pleasure in either," he retorted. "Why can't you fan fiction writers ever
send me to Club Med? The Caribbean? Presley's Pleasure Planet?"
The woman's brow furrowed. "You know, I'm not sure -- but I think it's mentioned in the
Ten Commandments of B7 Fan Fiction Writing. But as to why you've only got two
choices...well, you must have noticed by now that there are basically two types of Avon
stories: trash and slash. I'm a writer, and I'm giving you a choice between them. Which
would you prefer to be in?"
Avon knew there was no escape. He remained silent for a moment, then he glared at her.
"Look, shouldn't you be in school, or at work, or downloading the latest update to 'The
Sims', like you people from the early twenty-first century like to do?"
"No. I'm relaxing."
"Torturing me is relaxing?"
"Of course not. I won't torture you, Avon. I like you; you're one of my all-time favorite
characters."
"What do you mean, 'one of' your favorite characters? And if I'm not even Number One, I
don't want to know what you do to the ones you *really* like." He shook his head, and
then looked at her through narrowed eyes. "You won't combine the two story types if I
agree?"
"I promise," she said, making an X-shaped gesture across her chest.
"All right. But under one condition -- that you let me hear a bit of each before I decide. I
want to go into this with my eyes open."
"Fine." She grinned again and rummaged around in a stack of papers. "Ah," she said,
finding the ones she wanted. "You'll love these, really," she said, and then she began to
read.
'Ooh,' moaned Orac as Avon's hands moved inside the plexiglass box, making
those minute adjustments he knew would drive the little computer to new heights
of electronic ecstasy. 'Oh Avon, you're even better than Zen,' he exclaimed
breathlessly. 'So are you,' replied the computer tech.
"Oh," said Avon, not knowing what else to say. "Perhaps I could hear the other one."
"Sure," she replied.
'My God, Avon,' said Blake. 'What happened to you?' 'I don't know...I was just
standing there when the entire building collapsed around me. I saw a thin, curly-
haired man running from the scene...' 'Don't worry, Avon. As soon as we find
your arms and legs, we can sew them back on.'
Avon looked somewhat dismayed. Maybe slash wouldn't be that bad after all.
"No?" she asked. "OK -- try this one on for size ... "
'Oh Avon, Avon,' moaned Orac, voice heavy with desire. 'Please please rebuild
me into the shape of a sexy alien babe so I can give you the pleasure you give me.'
'Anything for you; my love,' he murmured. 'Your tarial cells drive me mad with
passion -- here, let me get out of my black leather and studs so I can... '
"What is it with you putting me with Orac?" Avon said quickly, interrupting before it
could get any worse.
"You seem to get on with him better than anyone else."
He pondered that for a moment. "Do you have any more to choose from?" he asked.
"How about a nice crossover? You like writing them."
"Good thinking!" she said. "How about Blake's 7 in the Warner Brothers Universe?
Yeah!" she said excitedly. "And then you won't really get trashed, because nobody
actually gets hurt there. I can see it now..."
'Oops! ' apologized Blake. 'Sorry about that, Avon. I meant to hit that strange
birdlike creature, but it was moving so fast...' 'Don't worry, Blake,' replied the
computer tech cheerfully. 'Even though I took a full-strength blast from your
laser, I'm not dead -- I'm only covered in soot.' 'Thank goodness for that -- it even
startled Vila when it came up behind him and made that "Beep-Beep" sound!
Lucky for him that he hit those telephone wires after he fell off the cliff...'
"You're getting silly." said Avon reproachfully. "What do you think this is, the Cartoon
Network, or Comedy Central?"
"Back to slash again?" she asked. "Here we go..."
''Whip me, beat me, chain me to a wall and call me Wanda' said Avon, as Vila
slowly advanced on him with the flying helmet and the wet celery...'
"Avon?" asked the woman, as the computer tech fainted dead away in front of her. He
was whimpering something about 'unfinished scenes' and some people called 'Oliver
Klosov' and 'Buster Hymen'.
She frowned. "Avon. I was only kidding...I wasn't really going to do anything bad to you,
honestly...Avon, are you OK?"
She turned to the audience. "Hey, does anyone out there have any smelling salts?"