[Adrics] 2002 Awards Show, Part 1/9
BKWillis
Adric paced the length of the room one last time to gather his
courage, then sucked in a deep breath, threw his chest out, and
knocked on the door.
"C'mon in," a low voice replied from inside the office. The
Alzarian reached out a trembling hand and opened the massive
oak door, forcing his timid feet to step inside.
Closing the door behind him, Adric crept over to stand before
the huge desk, furtively taking in the sight of what was known at
Tin Scarecrow Productions as simply 'The Office', a name that was
capitalized even when spoken. This was the first time Adric had
ever been within its sacrosanct and inviolate confines.
Somehow, it wasn't quite what he'd expected.
At some point, The Office had probably appeared quite lavish
and imposing, with its deep-pile carpet and massive oaken
furnishings, its gargantuan desk commanding the window view,
and its crystal chandelier suspended Sword-of-Damocles-like over
the visitors' chairs. But the effect of all that overpowering elegance
had now been lost through the efforts of The Office's occupant.
Cigarette burns marked random constellations in the expensive
carpet. A museum-quality Grecian urn was being used as an
ashtray. A rough bulls-eye had been scrawled on the expensive
paneling and had a half-dozen knives stuck in it. A woman's bikini
top bearing the 'Hooters' restaurant logo dangled from the
chandelier. Beer bottles, pizza boxes, and cartons of rifle
ammunition lay strewn about the desktop, while the man behind the
desk lolled in his fraying chair, his back to his visitor.
"Er, you wanted to see me, sir?" Adric managed.
The chair spun around to reveal a short, powerfully-built, vaguely
cowboyish man in his early thirties, a cigarette dangling from his
lips and a sawed-off shotgun in his hand.
"AAH!" yelped Adric as the weapon swung in his direction. His
hands shot up toward the ceiling. "I didn't do it, Mr. Willis!" he
cried. "I promise I didn't do it! And if I did do it, I'm sorry!"
"What are you babblin' about, kid?" the man asked. "I've been
tryin' to get the new firing pin to fit in this blasted thing all
mornin'." He tossed the shotgun, which was clearly missing
several pieces, casually to the floor at his side. "Have a seat,
Adric. I got good news for you."
Adric picked out the cleaner of the visitors' chairs and sat
attentively. "You've decided to do that Adult TDF story you were
thinking about?" He blushed slightly even as he asked.
"Eager, ain't ya?" BKWillis grinned evilly, which was the only way
he knew how. "Naw, this is even better. I've decided, in my infinite
compassion and wisdom, to let you have the privilege of runnin'
the Adric Awards this year."
Adric was instantly on his guard, his trepidation forgotten.
"Why?"
"Why not?" Willis asked back. "They're named for you, after all."
"No, really why?" Adric persisted.
"'Cause you're a bright and responsible boy, Adric. Out of all my
employees here, who else would I pick to carry out my most
important assignments?"
Adric began ticking them off on his fingers. "Nyssa, Francois,
Number One, Sister Roxanne, Coyote, Cain, Babydoll, Tegan..."
"Yeah, but aside from them?"
Adric shrugged and started over again on his fingers. "Bella,
Rahaaz, JoJo, Davros, Phaidor..."
Willis propped his feet on the desk and leaned back. "Well, if
that's what you think, then why do _you_ think I want you to run
the Awards Ceremony?"
Adric just sighed and arched the Cynical Alzarian Eyebrow at his
employer. "Well, having worked for you this long, my suspicion is
that you've been extremely lazy and haven't made any preparations
at all and have decided to foist the whole mess off on one of your
employees, specifically one of your employees who's unlikely to
resist being browbeaten into agreeing to be your scapegoat."
Willis's evil smile kicked up a notch. "See how smart and
perceptive you are, kid? You'll do a fine job!"
Adric just buried his face in his hands. "And if I refuse?" he
asked halfheartedly.
"You won't," Willis shot back smugly. "Not so long as I have the
power to script stuff like this." He slid a story outline across to the
dejected boy, who took it without much interest. That disinterest
lasted about two seconds as he scanned down the page, his face
turning the color of runny ketchup.
"Oh, my," Adric breathed as he finished reading the outline. His
eyes were doing a serious attempt at balloon-dom as he looked
back up at his boss. "_Both_ of them?"
Smirking, Willis nodded.
"Sequentially _and_ simultaneously?"
Another smirk, another nod.
"And you think I'll consent to doom myself utterly by hosting your
debacle, merely for the slim chance that one day you'll let me do
_this_," he waved the outline, "with those two?"
"I do."
The Alzarian's eyes flicked back and forth between the evil visage
across from him and the evil paper in his hand. His shoulders
slumped. "You're right. I will."
"Knew you would, kid. Now, there's a phone and a phone book in
the outer office that you can use. I'll also give you the petty cash
box." He slid a small metal box over to Adric, who grimaced as he
looked inside.
"Sir, there's nine dollars and three dozen IOUs in here," he said
flatly.
"I know. Feel free to use it all."
"I hate you, sir."
"Knew that, too," the boss chuckled. "Knew that, too. Now get to
work, kid. You've got a lot of arranging ahead of you..."
----
**********TIN SCARECROW PRODUCTIONS***********
in conjunction with
NorInCo, Inc.
This Time Round
and
Verity Lambert Public High School
Proudly Presents
!!!!!THE 2002 ALT.DRWHO.CREATIVE ADRIC AWARDS!!!!!
----
[SCENE: The interior of the auditorium at Verity Lambert Public
High School, across town from This Time Round. It's a fairly
dowdy-looking place, as most school auditoriums tend to be,
last modernized sometime in the '70s. A dot-matrix-printed banner
is strung behind the lectern, reading, '2002 ADWC ADRCI
AWARDS', with the misspelling of 'ADRIC' crossed out and
corrected in felt-tip pen. Next to the podium is a push-cart with
a 1960s-era television set and a Betamax video tape machine. The
seats are packed full of authors, readers, lurkers, characters, and
less-identifiable folk from alt.drwho.creative, for the most part
dressed in their formal best, with a few exceptions.]
[A hush falls over the crowd as the lights dim a bit and ADRIC
walks out onto the stage, looking nervous in a yellow and green
tuxedo so ugly that most people wouldn't wipe bird droppings off
their windshield with it. As ADRIC steps up to the lectern, he
fumbles with a set of index cards. He glances repeatedly at the
cards as he speaks.]
ADRIC: Um, hello everyone. Welcome to the 2002 ADWC Adric
Awards. I'm Adric, and I'll be your host this evening, or something
like that. Thanks for coming and, uh, excuse the 'improvisational'
appearance of this year's show, but we're operating under some
rather serious budget constraints, which would have been even
more serious without this year's corporate sponsor, NorInCo, who
graciously agreed to help us out at the last minute. That's
NorInCo, makers of many fine consumer products. NorInCo: it's
not just a company -- it's a really _huge_ company.
This past year was an excellent time for alt.drwho.creative, with
many fine performances by both characters and authors. 2001 saw
some of the best and most innovative fiction yet produced on
ADWC, while it also saw the continuance of our newsgroup's
traditions of civility and mutual cooperation. It is these aspects,
as much as or moreso than our choice of subject matter, that make
ADWC a truly unique and wonderful place on Usenet.
Well, anyway, you know what we're here for, so we'll just be
getting on with it. Thank you all for coming and we hope you
enjoy the show, even with our rather limited budget. And thanks
to NorInCo, makers of many fine industrial machines, for helping
to sponsor us. NorInCo: the future belongs to us.
Now, our first presenter is an old hand on ADWC. He's been
consistently turning out classy, innovative fan fiction since 1995
and is the author of such newsgroup classics as 'Gift of the Garm',
'Maggot Brood', 'Planet of the Tipsy Nyssas', and 'Is the
Pterodactyl Wearing Sunglasses?'. Let's have a big hand for the
presenter of the Best Drabble Award, Mr. Clive May!
[ADRIC exits stage right, clapping]
----
A broom thrusts out from the wings, stage left, clutched by a
gnarled hand. It begins to sweep industriously on the spot, raising
a cloud of dust. The cloud, somehow contriving to suggest that it
wears a Tux, moves quickly to centre stage, and takes up a
position before the mike. It speaks:
"Good evening, Ladies, Gentlemen, welcome to the Best Drabble
category award for the Adrics 2002. It's nice to see such a well
behaved lot this year. Word must have got out about the Ogron
Forlorn Hope Death Commando we have standing by in case of
trouble."
A shudder runs through the theatre.
"It gives me great pleasure to present these awards for drabbling
excellence. The quality of writing is, in alt.drwho.creative, at the
usual high standard we have come to expect from its contributors.
Before I make the presentation, a hugmungous THANK YOU to
our MC, Adric of Alzarius for getting things off to such a
rollicking start - and without any fatalities so far! So, without
further ado, here are the nominations for this year's Adrics - in
alphabetical order."
The reptilian hand leans the broom against the mike, and beckons
imperiously. A large plastic carrier with a ghastly design in
chartreuse and pink sidles onto the stage, bringing with it a strong
smell of fish. Peering over the top is a pelican's beak, and a pair
of eyes, which are fixed on the audience with a nervous glare.
The bag sidles up to the cloud, hands up the envelope,
and shuffles off again, still glaring nervously at the audience.
"Thank you, Pellucida... A big hand for our brave little Pelican."
The envelope is torn open. A pair of spectacles forms out of the
swirling dust. "Ahem! A piece of cod, five pound of halibut? A
dozen dabs? ...Ahem. Sorry! Wrong list."
The gnarled hand is waved in agitation. From the wings, stage
right, a pterodactyl in wrap-around shades, and an ill-fitting tux
flies across the stage, clutching a golden envelope in its beak.
The envelope is delivered to the waiting hand. Instead of exiting
stage left, Bob the Pterodactyl banks sharply and proceeds slowly
back across the stage, pulling faces and waving at the audience.
At the other side, the pterodactyl executes another wing tip
turn and starts across again, still waving. At stage centre, the
screen is lowered... And makes decisive contact with a bony
cranium. The reptile plunges to the stage, where it lies, grinning
and waving weakly. A hook extends from the wings, stage right,
snags the reptile, and hauls it from sight.
"Sorry about that, folks... Some people are just stage struck... In
this case, screen struck! Anyway, without further ado... I give
you the nominations for this year's Best Drabble Category for the
Adrics 2002."
There is a drum roll; the lights dim; the TV screen lights up,
showing...
>Australian Rules.
>A double drabble five minute fiction
>By Helen Fayle
>With apologies to Monty Python.
>
>There were several beings gathered in the backroom. One, a pale
>faced demon in black leather, kept looking around wondering
>why he wasn't a pile of chalk dust in Sunnydale. However,
>Adric's timescoop wasn't renowned for its accuracy.
>
>The chairman stroked his grey-streaked goatee. 'Gentlemen,
>since we are gathered here today to put a plan for Universal
>Domination into action, I suggest we introduce ourselves? I am
>the Master.'
>
>The others began, starting from the blackened figure in the
>tattered cowl.
>
>'I'm the Master.'
>
>'I'm the Master.' A tall gentlemen bearing a striking resemblance
>to the 40's film version of Sherlock Holmes.
>
>'I'm the Master.' From another with goatee beard and a manic
>look in his eyes no-one quite trusted.
>
>'I'm the Master.' The redhead had a slight American accent. The
>others stared, taking in the tan, glittering green eyes, and ornate
>robes opened to the waist to reveal a well developed set of
>pectorals that promised that the rest of this body was just as well
>formed. At least until he peeled off a fingernail and dropped it
>into the ashtray.
>
>'Yes. Well,' said the Chairman. 'Do you mind if we call you
>"Bruce" just to save any confusion?'
"A masterful demonstration of how to do it, whipped up in five
minutes by the Mistress herself. Next we have:"
>How Biggles One the Day
>
>by K M Wilcox
>
>
>"Oh, what bally rotten luck," Ginger said. "Still, not to worry.
>I'm feeling much better now." He staggered toward the cockpit
>but collapsed after two steps.
>
>Biggles caught his friend with his one good arm. "No go.
>You're still feverish."
>
>He looked out at the jungle. Even now von Stalhein's men were
>looking for them, and Algy and Bertie were a hundred miles
>away.
>
>Two men burst into the clearing. The younger one stopped and
>gasped. "Doctor! Would you look at that?"
>
>"I see, Steven, I see," the Doctor said.
>
>"All my life, I've wanted to fly one of these!"
"Chocks away, Chaps! A jolly jape in the jungle by the Drabble
King. Next up is yet another by the same author..."
>One Little Petal
>
>The Master examined the bush and grinned. He removed a
>single petal from its sole flower and ducked behind a hillock.
>
>Soon, a teenaged girl stopped by the bush and plucked the
>flower. "He loves me," she said, pulling a petal free. "He loves
>me not." Minutes later, she shouted, "He loves me!" and skipped
>away.
>
>The Master screamed. "That's not possible! The superstitious
>little nit was supposed to think he didn't love her and run off to a
>nunnery! This ruins everything!"
>
>Watching the Master on the scanner, the Doctor smiled and let
>the petal fall through his fingers.
"Next we have..."
>The Body
>
>by Gordon Dempster.
>
>The Brigadier and Yates looked down at the small, twisted body
>lying in the corridor of UNIT HQ.
>
>"It....it looks like Sgt. Benton ,sir."
>
>The Brigadier bent down and gently poked at the figure with his
>swagger stick. He looked at the shrunken form of Benton, the
>eagle eyes, the kung fu grip.
>
>He picked it up.
>
>"Captain Yates, this is an Action Man."
>
>Yates tried, but failed to keep a straight face, as a familiar laugh
>came from behind them. The Brigadier stood up and turned
>around to see Yates and Benton creased up.
>
>"Yates! Benton! You terrible c***s!!!"
"A tiny tale with a tiny body but giving rise to a giant giggle!
Nice one, Gordon. Now, last, but by no means least, we have the
final nomination for this year's Drabble Category And it's yet
another by the Drabble King."
>Zany Zoe and the Exhilaration of Expectation
>
>
>Francois frowned at the young woman in yellow and purple.
>"Why would you need a ladder?"
>
>"I got a great new idea," Zoe giggled.
>
>Evelyn looked over at the Round's entrance and at Zoe, perched
>above the doorway and ready to pounce. "How long has she
>been up there now?"
>
>"It'll be eleven weeks tomorrow," Anji said.
>
>"She never takes a break?"
>
>"Nope."
>
>"Someone should tell her that young man's just not coming
>anymore."
>
>"Actually," Mike Yates said, "he came and left this morning.
>She didn't move an inch."
>
>At that moment, Zoe's cramped body fell to the floor. "Ouch."
The lights come up to thunderous applause.
"Ouch! indeed! As worthy a bunch of finalists as I've seen in a
long time. Now, we get to the nub of the matter - who has won
this year's Adric in the Drabble Category?"
The hand signals. A walrus, reclining at ease on a large chunk of
ice, enters stage right. Tuck, the Walrus, glides sedately across
the stage, looping expertly around the dust cloud, and hands over
the golden envelope with perfect timing. The walrus continues on
around the cloud, to exit stage left, executing a neat twirl, before
vanishing into the wings. There is a loud crash off-stage. A grin
forms in the cloud.
"Well, plenty of ice cubes for the drinks, anyway."
The cloud looms over the orchestra pit.
"OK, Chaps. You can come out now...Ahem, sorry about the
slight miscalculation in rehearsals."
The dust swirls in the lights, giving off a sparkly sheen just like a
really expensive designer evening gown. The gnarled hand
flourishes the golden envelope.
"Before announcing the winners, I should just like to say that in
my humble opinion, all these deserve to win first prize, but alas..."
The envelope is torn open.
T
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"In fifth place, it's:"
'Australian Rules', by Helen Fayle
"In fourth place, we have:"
'The Body', by Gordon Dempster.
"In second place, there is a tie between:"
'How Biggles Won the Day',
and
'Zany Zoe and the Exhilaration of Expectation', both by K M Wilcox. .
"And the winner of the Adrics 2001 Best Drabble category award
is:"
'One Little Petal' by the Drabble King himself - K M Wilcox.
----
[As the dust cloud swirls away, ADRIC walks back onto the stage,
coughing slightly and brushing dust from his beyond-hideous
tuxedo.]
ADRIC: Thank you, Clive May, for that excellent, if somewhat
surreal presentation. And congratulations to the Drabble King,
K. Michael Wilcox, on his first-ever Best Drabble award. Now, our
next presenter is a rising young star in the world of alterniverse fan
fiction. She's a research assistant and part-time wanted interstellar
criminal, who lists her hobbies as 'cooking, theoretical mathematics,
and being chased by scary idiots'. Ladies and gentlemen,
presenting the award for Best Round-Robin Chapter, Miss Adria
d'Alzaire!
[ADRIC exits stage right, clapping.]
----
[The sound of a muted argument emanates faintly from behind
the curtains at the wings of the stage.]
ADRIA: (whining slightly) Do I have to do this?
NYSSAIAS: (firmly) Yes.
ADRIA: I mean, seriously, can't one of you do it, instead?
EMBERICLES: No.
ADRIA: Can I at least wear something different?
EMBERICLES: (offended) Absolutely not!
NYSSAIAS: You look delightful, dear heart. That dress of mine
fits you admirably. You'll have all eyes on you.
ADRIA: That's what I'm afraid of. Really, I'd much rather one of
you did this instead of me.
FADE: Don't worry, Miss d'Alzaire. I'm sure you'll do very well.
ADRIA: [pause] Do you really think so, Mr. Fade?
FADE: I'm certain of it.
ADRIA: (shyly) And I really look okay?
FADE: Quite lovely.
ADRIA: Oh. Well... okay, then.
[The curtain parts and ADRIA D'ALZAIRE steps nervously over
to the podium. Despite bearing an uncanny resemblance to Adric,
she is a very cute young woman with medium-length black hair
and wire-rim glasses, wearing a very clingy indigo evening gown
that she keeps trying to surreptitiously tug into covering a bit
more of her skin. She is blushing slightly as she looks out over
the audience.]
ADRIA: Hi. I've been asked -- using 'asked' as a verb meaning
'forced against my will and better judgment' -- to present the
Adric Award for the Best Round-Robin Chapter. A Round-Robin
Chapter being, uh...
[ADRIA fumbles through a set of notes for a moment before
accidentally dropping them. She starts to bend down and pick
them up, but then realizes that doing so will give the audience a
marvellous view down her cleavage and quickly straightens back
up.]
ADRIA: ...a Round-Robin Chapter being, umm... a, uh... a
chapter... from a Round Robin. Yes, that's right! So, anyhow,
the nominees are...
[The television set beside the podium clicks on and begins to
display the scenes as she lists them.]
ADRIA: MIA #19, 'Alone in the World', Chapter 7, by Mary
Hyde...
>First Officer Meygao watched in horror as a fiery bloom exploded
>on the planet's surface. He turned from the display and stared at
>the communication's officer. "What happened?" he demanded.
>
>The woman shook herself out of her momentary shock and
>accessed the computer records. "Captain Vonuselani'i reported
>in nine minutes ago on the field adjudication and execution of
>Pilot M'hemed." She hurriedly continued as Meygao waved a
>hand in the air. "The Captain then cut off all communications."
>Her fingers moved over the keypad as she brought up more data.
>"Shuttle telemetry, however, shows that she locked out the
>controls to respond only to her voice and genetic patterns. Then
>for some unknown reason, sir, the Captain accelerated toward
>the planet and crashed the shuttle."
ADRIA: MIA #21, 'Fat Doomsday', Chapter 8, by Tony Whitt...
>The Doctor was watching them approach when he heard his
>name called. "Colette, I thought you were over there," he said,
>pointing across the street.
>
>"I wanted to show you something."
>
>"Show me?" the Doctor asked.
>
>Colette held up a metal rod. "Yes, this," she said calmly as she
>brought the weapon down on the Doctor's skull. The Time Lord's
>eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed onto the
>pavement.
ADRIA: And XIA #7, 'The Mouth of the River', Chapter 1, by K.
Michael Wilcox.
>On 23 September, 2267, it was a different Excalibur that was
>parked alongside Babylon 5. A mile and a half long, this
>Excalibur was unique, a human-Minbari hybrid design with
>elements of Vorlon technology, and its mission was equally
>unique. Its captain, Matthew Gideon, was on the station,
>engaged in heated negotiations.
>
>"I'll see your ten and raise you a hundred," Matthew said,
>smiling.
ADRIA: And the winner is... [rips open envelope] K. Michael
Wilcox for XIA #7, 'The Mouth of the River', Chapter 1!
Congratulations, Mr. Wilcox!
[ADRIA hands the Adric statuette to Mr. Wilcox and strides off
the stage as fast as modesty and her gown will permit. The behind-
the-curtain conversation resumes as she does so.]
ADRIA: So, how was that?
NYSSAIAS: Fabulous, darling.
EMBERICLES: You were sweet enough to eat. Let me just adjust
your dress straps, there...
ADRIA: (squealing) Eek! Pervert!
[The sound of a _hard_ slap is clearly audible to the entire room.]
EMBERICLES: (slurred) Ouch. Tha's quite a arm th' kid's got...
ADRIA: Did I really do okay, Mr. Fade?
FADE: Divinely, Miss d'Alzaire. You were a vision of grace and
charm.
ADRIA: (embarrassed) Oh, uh, thank you... I... You... I, um... I'd
better get back to the ship, now. I'll see you later.
[Sounds of ADRIA walking briskly away.]
NYSSAIAS: (slyly) She's got it for you _bad_, Fade, you old ninja
of love, you!
FADE: (pained) With all due respect, Captain von Drakken, do
_not_ go there...
----
William December Starr
bradk...@aol.com (BKWillis) said:
> "Er, you wanted to see me, sir?" Adric managed.
>
> The chair spun around to reveal a short, powerfully-built, vaguely
> cowboyish man in his early thirties, a cigarette dangling from his
> lips and a sawed-off shotgun in his hand.
>
> "AAH!" yelped Adric as the weapon swung in his direction. His hands
> shot up toward the ceiling. "I didn't do it, Mr. Willis!" he cried.
> "I promise I didn't do it! And if I did do it, I'm sorry!"
Just in case anyone is wondering whether there are *any* limits to my
cluelessness, let this dissuade them from even imagining such a thing:
I read that and thought to myself "What on earth has Bruce Willis got
to do with Doctor Who fan fiction?"
Really. I did.
Sigh. *Gotta* pay closer attention to the physical descriptions...
(And a happy "Yippee-ki-yay, motherf---er" to all of you at home.)
-- William December Starr <wds...@panix.com>
Kevin Michael Wilcox
stops.
"In fifth place, it's 'Australian Rules' by Helen Fayle," it says. "In
fourth place, we have 'The Body' by Gordon Dempster."
Toward the back of the audience, a jaw drops. Those nearby look over at
a man in a white tuxedo. He appears to be laughing hard, but even those
closest to him don't hear it; his face, almost as pale as his suit a
moment ago, is reddening quickly.
"In second place," the voice on the stage continues, "there is a tie
between 'How Biggles Won the Day' and 'Zany Zoe and the Exhilaration of
Expectation', both by K. M. Wilcox."
The man, whose face now glows bright red, sways as he rises from his
seat.
"And the winner of the Adrics 2001 Best Drabble category award is 'One
Little Petal' by the Drabble King himself, K. M. Wilcox."
The audience applauds as Wilcox staggers up the aisle. After a few
steps, he stumbles and reaches out with one grey hand on a seat back to
balance himself. Finally, a pair of Ice Warrior ushers come forward and
help him to the stage. They leave him leaning on the lecturn for
support.
"Please forgive me," he says. "I kept telling myself I'd be calm and
stoic, but suddenly I'm all flustered. I'm talking love-at-first-sight
nervous here." He turns to look for the ushers. "You guys might want
to be ready. As soon as the blood decides to revisit areas below my
neck, I'll probably pass out."
He looks back at the audience. "First and foremost, I have to thank the
cast and crew and authors and everyone else behind 'Doctor Who' in its
various incarnations for creating such a wonderful tapestry that could
inspire over 200 drabbles in the first place.
"I also want to thank all those who voted for me and those who've read
and enjoyed my works over the last, well, nearly five years now.
Without you and your feedback, I don't know that I could ever have gone
on. And just now, I'm not sure I can. Guys?"
He turns around, takes two steps, then slowly drops to his knees. Then,
even more slowly, his head starts to fall forward, taking his upper body
with it. Just before his face hits the floor, the ushers catch it.
They carry his body off the stage.
----
A few minutes later, Adria d'Alzaire rips open an envelope and
announces, "And the winner is K. Michael Wilcox for XIA #7, 'The Mouth
of the River', Chapter 1! Congratulations, Mr. Wilcox!"
People look over at his seat, but it remains empty. After a brief
moment, the two Ice Warriors come out from backstage bearing a long sofa
on which Wilcox is reclining and drinking a can of Mr. Paprika. After
Adria hands him the award and walks away, the Martians set the couch
down.
"This is nice. I wish I'd thought of it earlier. Anyway, in addition
to all those I thanked before, I want to thank the people behind B5 and
'Crusade' and also everyone else who's taken part in this XIA and other
round robins on this newsgroup. Congratulations to all the other
nominees and winners tonight. If you'll excuse me, after all this, I
need some time out of the spotlight."
The Ice Warriors pick up the sofa and carry it off into the wings.
"Well, at least I stayed conscious that time," Wilcox says to no one in
particular. He slowly climbs to his feet, waits for the world to stop
spinning, then claps his hands excitedly. "Now where's that buffet?
Here, buffet. Here, buffy buffy buffy."