Her green eyes swept the small room, and as she looked over each of
them, the men became silent, conversations stuttering to a halt, as all
attention focused on her.
"I'm looking for... someone... and I wondered whether you....
gentlemen.... could help me."
The low contralto voice sounded dangerous, like some rapacious predator
that lurks in the long grass, visible only by the twitching of its ears
until something young, tender and innocent wanders by. Her clear
diction emphasised she certainly didn't consider the assembled men to be
gentlemen in any sense of the word and that she was attempting to be
polite in using the verb help. The clear threat hung in the air that if
said help were not forthcoming instantaneously, then someone (very
possibly several someone's) would suffer, long and painfully.
I rested my elbows on the table and glowered at the computer screen
before putting my hands over my eyes and peering through my fingers at
the text glowing lightly on the screen. I couldn't hold back a pathetic
moan when I re-read the paragraphs.
"I can't do this. Dammit. I. Just. Can't. Do. This."
There was a soft thumping sound, of a heavy tail hitting the floor, and
the pressure of something warm against my leg. The scent of meat leaden
breath unfortunately gave away the identity of the culprit. I looked
down into the soulful brown eyes of my dog. He seemed to be looking
back with an inordinate amount of sympathy. Well, why the hell not,
he'd seen me engaged in writing frenzies before. All the animals knew
when to tread quietly around me.
I patted him absentmindedly, playing with his soft, silky ears, whilst
re-reading the text.
"Dear God... just how did I get myself into this one?"
He looked back at me, blinking slowly, then wagged his tail a few more
times sending the pile of papers by my desk skating gracefully across
the polished wooden floor . Unfortunately, that wasn't all that was
disturbed by the draft produced by sympathetic tail wagging.
"Guess it'll be time to clean up again soon then....." I muttered as I
watched hideous fanged dust bunnies of a truly awe inspiring size delurk
from underneath the desk to chase the papers, notes and half finished
stories across the floor.
"It's first sign of madness, you know, talking to yourself."
The voice was husky, low and dangerous, almost a liquid caress.
Oh great.
I turned around to see a figure leaning in the doorway, masked by
shadows. Mental note. I really need to get that central light fixed.
Candles and spotlights can be atmospheric, but sometimes you just need
to see the whole room. Helps you to avoid nasty surprises. I turned
back to the computer affecting nonchalance. Maybe he'd just go away and
leave me in peace to finish this. Oh yeah, right, and isn't that a
flying pig just passing by my window?
"Well, so good of you to show up. I don't suppose you've any bright
ideas about how I could tackle this one, do you?" I gestured at the
screen as my shoulders slumped in defeat. "And, if you must know, I
wasn't talking to myself, I was talking to Iroko."
I patted the dog's head again and heard the reassuring thump of his tail
against the floor. Peripherally I was aware of more dust bunnies
emerging from their hiding places.
"Ah.... um.... do you often have conversations with the dog?"
"You should know, you eavesdrop often enough. Dogs, cats, whatever.
They're a handy audience for bouncing plot ideas off, and they don't
answer back with snide comments. And at least they're real. I hate
to remind you, but you're not!"
"Am too. Well as real as I need to be." Alex surveyed the progress of
the dust bunnies. "This place is a complete pit!"
"Don't bitch about my housekeeping. It's not polite. Besides writing
is much more fun than dusting."
A rustle of fabric, soft footfalls and I was aware of someone standing
close behind me reading the first few lines of text which shimmered on
the computer screen.
One... two... three....
Muffled snickering interrupted my mental count.
"What are you writing?"
I should give him his dues. He did try not to laugh out loud. I
twisted around in my seat so I could see him properly. Laughter lines
crinkled at the corners of his eyes and his lips twitched with
suppressed mirth. I sighed, struggling to sublimate the urge to hit
something (very hard) and tried to sound reasonable.
"It's for the January challenge. I told you about it. Remember? Mary
Sue fic?"
"I see..." he paused for a moment and I saw his eyes flick over the
screen, re-reading what was there. "So you've decided to go the bad fic
route then?"
I shifted back around. Stared hard at the screen. Counted to ten.
Took a deep breath and counted to ten again. It's no good hitting him.
He's not there. You try and hit him and your fist will just end up
smashing into the filing cabinet. Bruised or broken knuckles would be
the only result. You can't hit a phantom of your imagination. Get a
grip!
"I haven't decided anything yet. I don't think I'm going to do it."
Silence greeted my pronouncement.
An ominous silence.
"What? Come on Alex, spit it out."
"I... um... I really don't think opting out is a good idea."
"And why would that be, Alex?"
"It's Mockery's challenge remember? You were in on the hatching of
this one. How's it going to look if you don't submit something?"
"Oh Alex, come on! You don't believe he'd get his nose all bent out of
shape just because I don't wanna play at this?"
Alex leaned forward, right into my field of vision. One perfect eyebrow
raised a couple of inches. His expression said it all.
"No, Alex... he wouldn't..."
"Are you so sure of that? You're going to Escapade together remember?
Do you really want to run the risk of a twelve hour flight of frigid
silence and oh so lethal glances followed by six days of vicious verbal
sparring. Three of which, I feel honour bound to remind you, will be in
front of a rather large audience including a lot of Ter/ma list sibs."
"Uhhh... right. I get the point. So are you going to help me with this
or what?"
"What's the problem?"
"Alex. It's MARY SUE fic!" I was beginning to sound just a little
tetchy.
"So?"
"Mary Sue fic. You know the principle. Author writes self into story
so obviously that all the readers know the character isn't really an
original character it's the author in another guise."
"Yes. I am acquainted with the concept. What's the problem?"
"I'd have thought that was obvious."
"Humour me."
"Well, it's.... it's.... hrghmphpmg."
"Stop mumbling. Spell it out for me. I didn't hear you. It's what?"
"It's... it's... it's... HET FIC!" A slow blush stained my cheeks and
I stared hard at the screen. If he laughed at me now, real or not, I
was going to hit him.
Instead silence greeted the announcement.
"Oh! Oh, I see."
I peered up at him. Good God. Was Alex Krycek blushing?
"So what am I going to do, Alex? I'm hip deep in trouble if I don't send
something to the list, and I really, really can't..." I shuddered in
despair, "... no I won't write het fic."
A comforting hand rested on my shoulder, warmth seeping through the t-
shirt I wore, then his fingers tightened.
"Hey! I got an idea!"
"What?"
"Send what you've got..."
"But..."
"Shut up and let me finish. Send what you've got. You've still got
that other piece on the back burner—right? The bit the Muldermuse gave
you?"
"Yeah, but it's not..."
"Shush. You know he wants to have a look at that, and he could probably
give you some ideas of where to go with it next."
"Um... probably straight into the bin."
"Don't be so pessimistic. After all you've been whining that Mulder
isn't talking at the moment. Send Mockery that as an apology. It'll
probably kick start Mulder into telling you some more..."
"OK, it might. But do you really think Mock will buy it as an excuse
for not doing the Mary Sue thing?"
He looked at me silently for a few moments, then shrugged.
"Probably not, but what other hope do you have? Unless of course you
have a real burning desire to write a bad het fic Mary Sue piece and
somehow I don't think you're creatively quite up to that at the moment.
Too many drugs rushing around your system. Oh and another thing. I'd
suggest grovelling. Lot and lots of grovelling. To your list sibs,
and most especially to Mockery. Never goes amiss... listen to the
voice of experience here, a good grovel can stand you..."
I took a swipe at him and watched as my arm passed straight through his
body. Well it was worth a try.
He straightened up and headed towards the door.
"Gee thanks, Alex."
I love talking to a retreating back.
"Look, promise me one thing OK? If I crash and burn on this you'll come
back for a chat. You see I have this feeling that you have so many more
interesting stories to tell than Mulder."
He turned around, framed once again against the hallway where he'd first
appeared. A sly smile crept over his face and he winked wickedly.
"Maybe."
Damn.
Why don't I ever get a muse that sticks around long enough to be of some
help.
end
(Reference: the sentence about the Mary Sue character's voice is not
mine. It is lifted (and marginally altered to suit my purposes) from
Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, published by Corgi Books
ISBN 0-552-13703-0. If you haven't yet read this masterpiece of mirth
get thee to a bookshop and purchase it immediately. I challenge you not
to be amused).
Musings
by Ruric
The stunning, slender red head walked into the bar, her catlike grace
drawing the attention of the men sitting round the small wooden tables
and in the half shadowed booths.
