This Time Round: Party Favors (2/3)
BKWillis
by BKWillis
[This Time Round, New Reality Level +1.666 (a messy reality)]
"The Adrics are on! The Adrics are on!"
The sudden crush of people crowding in to get a view of the TV
set swept between Lydia and the three angry ladies, carrying the
Bradleyard's companion into the safety of the throng.
"perhaps we have averted an unpleasant scene," Ann whispered in
her glass-fragile voice.
"She'd dare to try and eject _me_? I think not." The Black Widow
sheathed her knife with a sniff and a sneer in Lydia's last known
direction.
The Sarge put away her own weapon under the Dalek's expression-
less but nonetheless disapproving glare. "Yeah, yeah," she said to
her erstwhile foe. "We humans are just vermin, unfit to even touch
an Imperial Legion Commander, yadda yadda yadda..." She looked
back and forth between Ann and the Black Widow for a moment,
then held up a finger with a look of revelation on her face. "Y'all
two, separated at birth, right?"
"Sergeant Donegan..." Athicus the Dalek warned.
The Black Widow gave the one-eyed woman a look of annoyed
forbearance. "If I buy you a drink, will you shut up?" she asked.
The Sarge smirked in reply. "Make it two, and silence is yours,
baby..."
--
"All people shut up! Is stupid hillbilly boss on TV!"
The entire front row of the watching crowd was blown back by the
force of Ogron bellowing. Especially since it was in stereo, with a
Francois on each side to give the full surround-sound effect. Out-
side, pigeons were knocked from their trees and the growth of
local children was stunted.
The crowd went quiet, except for the whimpering of some bit
characters who had their eardrums ruptured. They all watched as
their employer/tormentor began his presentation of the Award for
Best Drabble.
--
Commander Mucksch of the Imperial Kvetchian Interstellar
Space Conquest and Subjugation Force (Harebrained Scheming
Division) eyed the screen for a moment, then turned to the two
Varnes next to him. "You were right," he muttered to the Varne
who wasn't wearing a trenchcoat. "He _doesn't_ look as goofy
without the beard."
--
The SOL crew had grabbed a table, and were all seated in a row
as they watched. Somehow, that just seemed to come naturally to
them these days.
Diane shook her head, choking back a nasty laugh. "You know,"
she said to the others, "watching _him_ give out an Adric Award
is kind of like watching Kitty Kelly hand out a Pulitzer."
"Or Ted Kennedy giving out Traffic Safety Awards," Number One
spat.
Nyssa tapped her foot and made a vexed face. "Is it just me, or
does his presentation seem a bit... uninspired?"
"It's just you," Mistress Helen purred. "I wouldn't call it 'unins-
pired'. 'Flat', 'lifeless', or 'dull', maybe, but not 'uninspired'."
Doug decided to be diplomatic, or at least act the part. "Now,
now. Maybe he just doesn't want his presentation to overshadow
the Award nominees' work..."
"Or maybe he was just too lazy to write anything good," Diane
inserted. "Wouldn't be the first time _that_ happened."
"_Actually_, it's because he decided to write it without _our_
help." Diane leaned back slightly as a pixie-like figure fluttered
onto the table in front of her. "He should've known what he gets,"
the tiny girl went on, "when he tries to write without his Muses
for backup."
"And who are _you_, my little winged sweetheart?" Helen asked,
winking at her.
"Embericles the Dark Muse, at your service." The Muse bowed
low, nearly spilling out of her gown. "Violence, drama, angst,
and violence are my specialties. Sex, too," she added a beat later,
giving Mistress Helen a thorough eyeing. "You know, if you were
about four feet shorter..."
"Don't encourage her!" Doug, Nyssa, and Diane chorused.
A second little winged girl, clad in a white gown that looked as
if someone had been rummaging around in it for a while, glided
down beside Embericles.
"Oh, there you are Nyssaias!" said the Dark Muse. "I just came
over to get us some ice, dearest--"
"Don't 'dearest' me!" pouted the newcomer. "You were over here
_flirting_! And without me!"
Embericles started to protest, but then stopped herself, with a
look of sudden inspiration. She bowed her head and tried to look
penitent. "That's right," she said. "I've been very naughty. I've
been very naughty and should be disciplined at once!"
Nyssaias's eyes gleamed as her pout slipped into slow grin. "Role-
reversal?" she asked. "Kinky. Very well, then, Slave. Fetch the
ice and await me on the piano! OHOHOHOHO!!"
Nyssa watched them go, then buried her face in her hands. "I
could've gone a long time without seeing that," she muttered. "Is
_everybody_ a horndog except me?"
Looking sadly at her, Number One replied, "Unfortunately, yes..."
--
"Excited, Addy?" Ryoko murmurred into his ear.
"Eh, what?" Adric asked intelligently. He cut a quick glance at
the space pirate, then went back to surreptitiously shifting his
gaze back and forth over each shoulder.
Ryoko followed his glances and smiled to herself. Off to their
left, standing just too far away to speak to, Nyssa stood staring
intently at the telly, only occasionally pausing to flick her eyes
in their direction, too furtive to be noticed, but too often to be
casual. Off to their right, a short redhead was leaning casually
on the wall, also trying to not be caught looking.
"Are you excited about being up for Best Drabble, I mean?" Ryoko
clarified.
"Oh, uh, sure. You bet."
Ryoko gave him a friendly pat, then stepped aside so as not to
obstruct any of the three's view of each other.
--
"Owwwoooo! Good deal!" Coyote threw back his head and
howled like his namesake as the winner of the Best Drabble
was announced.
The Serpent's Champion gave him a look of utter, withering
contempt, which he completely ignored. "And just what are
_you_ so pleased about?" she demanded. "It's not as if that
has anything to do with us or our masters."
Coyote turned and poked her lightly on the nose, jerking back
his finger just in time to keep it from getting bitten off. "How
unimaginative you are, Teggy-Poo," he lectured. "But then, I
always did like you for your arse, rather than your mind. Dark
powers come in many guises, snakebait. Here, we see a victory
not only for an ever-growing fanfic dynasty that shall come to
dominate the world of alt.drwho.creative, it is also a victory for
the forces that seek to spread the insidious and addictive influence
of _anime_ into Doctor Who fandom. Soon, anime will become a
mainstream influence among Who fandom, thus further expanding
its pervasive influence into the English-speaking world!"
Tegan kept glaring at him. "So, how is _that_ furthering the
cause of Hell?"
The ponytailed boy shrugged. "Okay, so it isn't, really. I just
happen to like anime. Heh. That Xellos the Trickster Priest
always cracks me up..."
--
"Yay, Doug Killings! Woo hoo!" The cheers rang out for the
winning drabble and its author. "Way to go! The Comedy
Collective strikes again! Attaboy, Killings!"
The MPT3k Doug wandered over and high-fived his TDF
counterpart. "We are the man!" they yelled.
The short redhead against the wall allowed herself a small smile
and whispered, "Yay, Adric." She was too far away to hear Nyssa
say the same thing.
--
"Attention! All people shutting pie holes for next Award! Don't
make Francois come over there!"
--
"Milord is looking well, isn't he?" mumbled the MPT3k Varne to
her 'Shock Value' self. The two were watching, a bit wistfully, as
Magnus made the Best Round-Robin Chapter presentation, with
yet another Varne at his side.
"Indeed," Henchgirl Varne agreed. "I was worried that our other
self might let him get to drinking again."
Mucksch nudged Henchgirl Varne slightly, getting her attention.
"How come that Varne is so much better looking than you?" he
asked, pointing at the TV.
"For the same reason that your arm bends the wrong way," she
replied, putting a hand on his elbow.
Mucksch looked confused. "But, my arm doesn't bend the wrong
way..."
SNAP!
Varne dusted her hands slightly as Mucksch staggered off to find
a splint.
--
"Hooray Matt Marshall! Hooray for K. Michael Wilcox!" More
cheers for the winners shook through the building, knocking a
fine trickle of dust from the rafters.
"Way to go, Wilcox!" cheered Diane from the SOL table. "It's
about time!"
"No point in sucking up, Di," Nyssa reminded. "He isn't going to
hire you away from the Tin Scarecrow."
"It's not that," the blonde shot back. "I just think it's high time he
won something, what with all those nominations for the past few
years. He's been sort of the Susan Lucci of the Adric Awards."
Number One winced. "You know," he said in a strained voice,
"Michael's a good guy, and I'm real happy for him, but I'd give
_anything_ if you hadn't just made me picture him in a strapless
gown..."
--
"Are you ready to witness my moment of glory, fair Lydia?" The
Bradleyard threw back his cape and struck a powerpose, looking
vaguely like the Statue of Liberty.
Lydia resisted the urge to 'crown' him. "That confident, are you,
Boss?"
"It isn't confidence, Lydia, it's just natural law. Water is wet, fire
is hot, and I am the Best Character. Simple as that." The smug-
ness in his voice could have choked a woodchuck.
Lydia just sighed, knowing by now to expect disillusionment on
anything he was _that_ certain about. And that _was_ natural
law.
"Ahhh," the Bradleyard ahhh-ed, with a flourish at the screen.
"See how they honor me, by sending out two such lovelies to
present me with my due! But, which should I grace with my
manly presence? Mistress Helen is so delightfully abloom with
the flush of womanhood, and yet the fierce-yet-fawnlike Mags
Halliday calls to my heart as well! I must have them both!" From
somewhere, the Bradleyard produced a wooden sword that he
held aloft as lightning crashed in the distance.
Lydia told herself that is wasn't anything remotely like jealousy
that caused her to hit him with the concrete cinderblock. It was
the bad Kuno impersonation he was doing. Yeah, that was it...
--
"Good luck, Francois!"
"Much thanks, dead boy." Francois nodded to his co-worker.
"Good luck for dead boy, too."
"Like that'll help," Adric said under his breath. "How they even
let me get this far, I'll never know..."
--
"ONE VOTE?!! ONE STINKING VOTE?!!" The Bradleyard
leapt to his feet, sending the cinderblock flying off of his head.
"I came in FIFTH?! CHEAT! FRAUD! I DEMAND A RECOUNT!
Francois's brother is the Governor, or something!" The over-
dramatic villain shook his fist, looking around frantically for any
sort of support or loophole. "Did they count the hanging chads?
How about the dimpled ones? The pregnant ones? What about
all those ballots that weren't marked? Those were all _mine_!
Minemineminemine!" He broke down, sobbing, not caring
whether it was proper arch-villain behavior or not.
"There, there," said Lydia soothingly, stroking his hair. "It'll be
okay. Maybe you can get a job teaching journalism at some
University."
--
Nyssa's lip curled slightly as she shook her head in disbelief. "I
tied with _Yartek_? Unbelieveable. Bloody _Yartek_." Some-
thing else abruptly occurred to her. "Wait. That means... Adric...
did better than me!"
Her shoulders slumped. Even killing him couldn't erase _that_
sort of stain. Especially after she found out he tied for First Place.
What a low point in her life, to be beaten by the Swamprat in a
popularity contest.
Odd, then, that she kept feeling a little twinge of something akin
to pride for him.
--
Number One frowned to herself as she flipped a hank of coppery
hair out of her eyes. Her Ladyship, the Divine Goddess Nyssa, had
lost out. Not only that, but lost to _him_, the Anti-Nyssa, Adric.
This was a black smirch upon the annals of Nyssa-worship the
world over, yet another Date Which Would Live In Infamy. Bre-
thren throughout Panreality would curse this moment until the
end of time, and no doubt blood would someday spill as a result.
But, that wasn't why she was frowning.
She was frowning because, try as she might, she couldn't make
herself feel angry about it. Go figure.
--
"Get self up here, dead boy!" Francois reached out a paw and
hoisted Adric out in front of the crowd. Gripping the boy's hand
in his own, he thrust their arms into the air, shouting, "Francois
and dead boy is best, yes?! Barkeepers ruling, yes?! WOOWOO!"
Unfortunately, he overlooked the fact that he was nearly two feet
taller than the Alzarian, causing Adric to dangle like a landed fish
in Francois's grasp.
"I... I _won_," Adric said in a tone of profound disbelief. "This
isn't a trick? This isn't the setup for some bizarre deathtrap? This
is all _real_?" Francois set him down just as his shoulder was
about to dislocate. He looked up at the grinning Ogron, wincing
only slightly at the rather disturbing sight. "Did I really win Best
Character?"
"No."
Adric's heart sank. "I knew it was too good to be true..."
"Dead boy win *Co-*Best Character, share with Francois. Please
to keep straight in head, yes? Dead boy needing spine, but not
getting too big for britches. Now, since Francois having exper-
ience, showing dead boy how is being Best Character, and what
need know. First is endorsement contracts, then needing entour-
age and many easy girls for hanging with..."
"Really? All that for winning Best Character?"
The Ogron grinned and nodded. "Nope. Am pulling leg, yes?
Oh, is Best Comedy Short Fiction next! Maybe dead boy having
more Award for self, yes?"
--
"That Best Character Award will be mine by this time next year."
Athicus turned his eyestalk to the Black Widow. "That certain,
are you? You are, of course, assuming that _he_ completes our
story and posts it by then."
"Naturally. Assuming that I am eligible for nomination at that
time, the Award will be mine. No offense, but I see little that
could compete with me in here."
"Perhaps that may be true," the Dalek said carefully. Like all his
kind, he made an effort to be diplomatic when dealing with people.
"But, you forget that other authors' characters will be present, not
just the few present here. I find it likely that there will be be stiff
competition from the other casts, notably those of Gadzikowski,
May, Woodland, and Massi, among others."
The Black Widow smiled indulgently at him. "Even so, I have
every confidence in my superiority."
"Obviously," Athicus observed, allowing himself to get as close to
irony as he dared. "But, I must also point out that _he_ is most
likely to complete our story in conjunction with the 'Grail' concept,
which will of course mean that you will be competing against the
Empress."
"Oh," she replied in a small voice. "Cruk."
"Exactly."
The Sarge finally spoke up. "It's moot anyway, you know."
"And I suppose you think _you_ will win?" the Black Widow
snapped. "Pardon my derisive laughter."
"Nope. My money's on Nyssa from Graham Woodland's 'Cocka-
tiel'..."
--
Doug clapped his hands and fidgetted in his seat. "This ought to
be a good one!" he exclaimed.
Helen fixed him with an arch look. "You're just saying that because
_your_ creator is in it."
"No, I'm not," he replied. "I'm saying that because he's in it
_twice_."
"Don't swell up on us. Imran's in it twice, too," Number One
pointed out.
"And I like Imran, too," Doug returned easily.
"_And_ they're up against some good stuff by Krizu and Wilcox,
too," Helen went on.
Doug shrugged. "Well, then, like I said, this ought to be a good
one."
"Isn't this so depressing, though?" Everyone turned to look at
Nyssa. "I mean, hearing about all these top-notch stories, and just
_knowing_ that we'll never get to read them because they're
_good_. I know it depresses me."
Diane whapped her on the head. "Thanks for that little ray of
sunshine, Rainbow Brite," she hissed. "Let me see, and maybe I
can find a cut for you to rub salt into."
--
Meanwhile, inside the piano, two certain Muses were busy forget-
ting all about Awards ceremonies.
"What must I do next for my penance, Mistress Nyssaias?" Emb-
ericles kept the giggle out of her voice, to try and keep the mood
going.
"Hmmm..." The white-winged Muse pondered for a moment.
"You must write, 'I will not flirt with anyone but Nyssaias,' two
hundred times!"
That wasn't _quite_ what the Dark Muse had been hoping for.
"Eh, what?"
"Silence, Slave!" shouted Nyssaias, who could _not_ keep the
giggle out of her voice. "Don't question me! You must write it
two hundred times... with a _feather_!" Here she reached back
and plucked loose a white feather from her wing.
"And what am I supposed to write on?"
Nyssaias grinned and started unfastening buttons.
----
[Tuscumbia, Alabama, Reality Level 0.0 (Baseline Reality)]
Thin tendrils of smoke continued to drift out the sides of BKWillis's
computer, accompanied by the occasional bright spark. There was
a rather alarming hum coming from the power strip on the back of
the desk, as well.
Awakened by the smoky smell, Guin the Mutt wandered into the
room to investigate. She carefully sniffed at the computer tower,
nose wrinkling from long association with the reek of bad prose.
Concerned, she poked around behind the desk and nosed at the
power strip, jumping back with a yelp when it burned her.
This could be serious. The big dog considered her options for a
moment, contemplating the best way to deal with the situation.
After some careful canine thought, she went to the opposite corner
and placed her ball and her chew-toys on her blanket, then set
about dragging her belongings out to the back porch, where they'd
be safe if a fire broke out.
Now, she just had to figure out how to get the refrigerator out
there, and everything would be okay...