[Adrics] 2002 Awards Show, Part 9/9

[BKWillis]

[ADRIC pops out the tape, tosses it over his shoulder, and inserts
the next one with an angry jab as he mutters quite audibly into the
microphone.]

ADRIC: ...had it. I have really, really finally had it. Nothing is
worth this... ...cheap-ass redneck so-called author... ...NINE
freaking dollars to work with...

[ADRIC, snarling, stabs the 'play' button...]

----

**CARRIE ON CROSSOVERS**

*Post the Eighth*

*In Which the Winner Is Finally Announced, and Our Heroes
Called to Adventures New*

===

ZOE [holding up elaborately gridded paper]: ...my training in logic
has allowed me to deduce beforehand! The winner is --

JAMIE: Hold yer chunnering, lassie, we heard ye the first time!

THE GREY STEWARD: The winner *is* --

MAGICAL MECHANICAL MUSICAL BOX MK II [Folk-singer]:
Come all you maidens young and fair, and listen to my ditty....

AUDIENCE: What? What?

STEWARD: I believe it's _Female Rambling Sailor_, by the
immortal Sally Barker.

AUDIENCE: Who? Who?

CHORUS OF COMPANIONS [restraining respective DOCTORS]:
No! No! Fight the power!

STEWARD: The winner *is*, _Sailor Who_, by BKWillis!

{CARRIE leads round of hearty applause, rebel yells, and
celebratory volleys of virtual gunfire, then looks expectantly at
STEWARD. THE BRADLEYARD is pulling a paper bag over his head.}

THE BRADLEYARD: Nyaah nyaah nyaah -- didn't see it, didn't
hear it, can't smell it! [Sobs. LYDIA G. GORDON begins chewing
way through table-leg.]

STEWARD: So, Carrie, describe to us the *two* dream dates with
whom our lucky winner and approved King of Crossover is
destined to enjoy an all-you-can-eat blowout this night!

WONDROUS AND ADORABLE NYSSA'S KNIGHT-ERRANTS
REGIMENT: He said blowout! Fnarr cor woarggh! AARGH!

PSYCHO NYSSA [pocketing semi-automatic slingshot]: And stay
shut up!

BRADLEYARD [writhing]: Subtext! Describe to us also the
lascivious lesbian subtext! I cannot read it myself, I have a Bag of
Evil over my head!

CARRIE: I can't believe you asked me that again, Buster.

CATS HAMBRIDGE: Sounds like a fair call to me...

CARRIE: I meant the Swinger of Lead, not the Sad Sack of
Turpitude!

STEWARD [sings]: If you don't know me by now/ You will never
ever --

AUDIENCE: Make him stop! Send in the Marines! Bring back
Shub-Barneyrath!

STEWARD [stiffly]: I am but the wand of wonder in the palm of the
proud People. Very well, turn we from frothy light entertainment
to the dreadful solemnities with which this ceremony must and
shall approach its final synthesis. Carrie, dear comrade of a
thousand hackfests, describe to us and so forth!

{Business with the Son of Dream Datemaker. The dials come to
rest on a fireball, a watermelon, and a date, and the final descriptive
scroll is disgorged.}

CARRIE [reads]: Dream Date Number One: Petite flame-haired cutie
who is at once seasoned warrior and crazy mixed-up kid, heroic yet
with a deeply twisted dark streak, packing serious firepower and
well knowing how to use it!

WONDROUS AND ADORABLE NYSSA'S KNIGHT-ERRANTS
REGIMENT [woozily]: I'm a WANKER, I'm a WANKER, and it
does me good like it bloody well should...

NYSSA: It *is* rather creepily... narcissistic, isn't it?

SHERIFF LUCAS BUCK AND CATBERT: Gloat, gloat, gloat, kaark,
meow!

CARRIE: Dream Date Number Two: Busty bondage-queen, bitchy
yet enchanting, who will brook no restraint in the gratification of
her unbridled sensuous passions!

{The WANKERs develop simultaneous nosebleeds and pass out.}

NYSSA: I could see this coming when he posted that MPT3K
'fanfic'... [Looks speculatively across the room at a preening
MISTRESS HELEN.]

TEGAN [throatily]: We'll have a long talk about this later, little
sheila! [NYSSA blushes.]

A COCKATIEL: I particularly liked the way Mr Willis developed
both your characters in _No Restaurant for the Wicked_! [Much
sage nodding from AUDIENCE.]

STEWARD: Let draw the Curtains of Circumstance, and summon
the Dual Dahlias of Delectability!

CARRIE [to AUDIENCE]: That isn't one of mine. I just wanted you
all to know that. [Activates Date Gate.]

{Mists part to reveal a generic fantasy forest. Quibbling together
down a long and winding road (TM) are an oddly assorted couple
much resembling Son of Datemaker's descriptions. They are not
otherwise much like NUMBER ONE (Female) or MISTRESS HELEN.
The... sylphlike... elfin redhead's face lights up in unholy rapture.}

REDHEAD: Is this the All-You-Can-Eat dinner invitation???

STEWARD: Absolutely, ma'am. Your date's just sitting over there.
Won't you come through?

{She flies through the gate and over to the FORTUNATE
FINALISTS' table, her rose-madder cape flapping spectacularly
behind her, a napkin already around her neck and a knife and fork
clicking avidly in her hands. Her ludicrously over-endowed and
underdressed partner struts straight past the Grey Steward onto
the stage, and coolly inspects the establishment.}

BONDAGE QUEEN: Hmph! I suppose that for a free unlimited-
course meal, even Naga the White Serpent may deign to honour
this disreputable dive. Tee-hee! Full stomachs or bust!

{CARRIE agitatedly motions THE GREY STEWARD off the stage.
He allows himself to be guided, not without several curious looks
over his shoulder.}

STEWARD [sotto voce]: What's all that about...? [Exit STEWARD
and CARRIE.]

THE PROPRIETOR [grey as the Steward and shaky as an aspen]:
N-n-n-n--- L-l-l-l-l--- Unli-li-li-lim---

NAGA: Lina Inverse, pay attention! I think you've got us into
another one of those jellyfish joints!

LINA [busy ticking off all the items on both menus]: Jellyfish
don't have joints. -- Oh, *what?*, there's no option here for
cocktail weenies with wasabi sauce! Make that a write-in vote,
then... [Skims menu over shoulder, so that it falls into
PROPRIETOR's quivering hands. He risks one horrified glance at it
before foisting it panickily upon ADRIC. Various anime-side
characters and THE DEATH OF THE DISCWORLD are
surreptitiously tiptoeing out into the parking lot.] That should do
for a first course. What are you having, Mr Mealtick-k-k-k-k-k---
Wilkins?

NAGA: I'll have the same, with a surfeit of lampreys on the side!
And make it snappy!

PROPRIETOR [snapping]: Make it stop! Mummy! *Julie
Andrews!* MAD SHEILA!!!!

TEGAN, PSYCHO NYSSA, CATS, CALLIE MINET, and VOICE OF
DON ORMAN: *YES?*

PROPRIETOR: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHH! [Zooms upstairs faster than
Casanova in a cathouse. Sounds of door slamming, barricades
crashing into place, and planks being nailed across doorframe.]

NAGA: [High-pitched, loud, and prolonged Laugh of Infinite
Annoysomeness, spelled approximately]: NYIAHAHAHAHA-
HAHAHAHAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA...

{AUDIENCE flee, hide under tables, clap hands over ears, or
deploy very large headsets.}

RED-SHIRTED EXTRAS [kneeling, praying, and dying gratuitously
of apoplexy]: Make it stop make it stop please please please make it
stop...

DEATH [bitterly]: KEEP ME HANGING AROUND RIGHT HERE,
WHY DON'T YOU?

LINA [gnashing dainty little fangs]: Why me? Why?

NAGA:...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HA! Oh.

{ANGEL walks through the bar-room doors, trenchcoat flapping
dramatically. Looks NAGA unwaveringly in the eyes. Yes, the
*eyes*. That's how heroic he is.}

ANGEL: If you want to laugh at my friends, demon... you're going
to have to laugh your way through *me* first!

NAGA [stalking over to ANGEL, inspecting him critically, and
chucking him under the chin]: Well now, handsome...! If you'll
just let me finish this little light snack, how about you and I
leave my flat-chested junior partner with the hillbilly, and I take
you into the woods and show you a few laughs I don't show just
anyone?

{LINA's knife and fork clatter together faster than a drum machine
on speed. Her mouth sets in a rictus, and her irises turn a
somewhat ominous flame-colour. The few remaining sane
occupants of the bar hastily slip away.}

ANGEL: Sounds good to me.

LINA: *Junior*? [Cutlery falls unnoticed from her hand.]

NAGA: Lina Inverse! I hope you're not going to eat with that knife
now it's been on this filthy floor!

{CAMERA backs quickly out towards parking lot.}

LINA: F-F-FLAT-CHESTED???!!!

{CAMERA passes outside doors, and keeps backing. Front view
of TTR, with REGULARS and GUESTS milling about agitatedly all
around parking lot. The sound feed, however, is still reaching us
from within.}

ANGEL: Ladies [smoulders], let's just...

{FRANCOIS comes jogging out, toting a whole stack of roughly-
uprooted cash registers. His sister CHARLOTTE follows, in a
chef's uniform, bearing the most valuable cooking utensils under
one arm and the kitchen sink under the other. The continuing
stream of booze bottles out the left-hand window into the lilac
bushes suggests that BENNY also remains within, performing a
desperate work of mercy.]

LINA: *EX...PLO...SION... **AR ***RAY!*** ** *

{A large detonation from within TTR, combined with a searing
flash of light and the skywards cannoning of several large objects
through the chimney, suggests that the internal decor may have
incurred a few scratches here and there.}

NAGA [crashing down from a great height onto THE
PROPRIETOR's third-best Lamborghini, on whose bonnet she lies
starfished and twitching}: Honestly, she's so *envious*...

{BENNY and ANGEL descend in similar style onto THE
PROPRIETOR's remaining Lamborghinis, saved from serious injury
by the anime physics of the offending blast. THE GREY
STEWARD, having previously left TTR by the back door, now
arrives and regards the chaos sombrely.}

STEWARD: This may serve as an example to all of us of the ironic
forces of dramato-dialectical conflict inevitably stirred up by the
o'erweening material and financial greed of the propertied classes.
But what are you doing with that Uzi? You, with that spatula?
You, with that plunger?

LINA [from doorway, tapping feet]: Excuse me? Wasn't there
something in the invitation about FOOD?

ADRIC: Anyone for call-outs? Okay, I'll call in the pizza orders.
Anyone else? Chang Lee -- Chinese, Katarina -- Greek, Mel --
health food, Anji -- poncey overpriced sandwiches and tapas --

CHARLOTTE: I am seeing what I can do wiz' my contacts at le
Dorchesteur and, 'ow you say, l'oncle Tewwance Conwan... if any
person is wanting the *real* food, yes?

{THE GREY STEWARD retreats from the distracted crowd with
unshowy yet ineffably dauntless dignity. Oh, yes he does!}

ADRIC, LINA, and NAGA: Yup, all kinds!

FITZ: And I'll call the chippy while we're at it.

COMPASSION: She wasn't invited.

THE SEVENTH DOCTOR: I'll have been going to would dodge
back ahead and place *all* the orders, which should be arriving
anytime...

{All look up as fleet of UNIT helicopter gutships whirl into view,
bearing emergency takeouts as the Seventh Doctor whatever-the-
bloody-conjugation-of-'to order'-is. THE GREY STEWARD speaks
quietly into his wrist-lens.}

STEWARD: Whilst I should be glad to stay and co-ordinate the
volunteer repair committee, I think it more salutary to let
the sorcerers and minor deities on the guest-list get some much-
needed experience of honest work instead, in restoring all to its
rightful condition! For labour refines the spirit; and also, "To
each according to their needs, from each according to how far you
can sucker 'em," must remain ever a guiding lodestar to such
faithful cadres of Marxism-Grouchoism as ourselves!

CARRIE [from lens]: Besides, the Powers are less likely to get set
upon. Come along, Grey. Leave BK and the runners-up to their
glory, and the mob's wrath to be lulled into slumber by booze
beyond measure or reason. You've still got that report from
Greenland to look into, remember? Some fat cat running the
illegal-alfar sweatshop dodge, from the sound of it. Should keep
you busy, until passions have cooled down here a bit...

STEWARD: Let me at him! There's *one* racket no-one can
complain about our busting!

CARRIE: Some people will whine about anything.

STEWARD: And yet the struggle aught availeth. Carry me away,
Carrie. Next stop -- R&R in the City of Dreams! [They fade away,
like a particularly cheesy special effect from Blake's 7.]

{Individual streams of soppy pink hearts blurble up into the night
from LINA and NAGA, as they dance joyously around the
descending crates of take-out. MAD SHEILA and a whole troop of
formation-floozing NYMPHS caper drunkenly out of the lilac
bushes and into the slightly-deranged Pub Outside Continuity, in
quest of the PROPRIETOR. ZAQQUM, THE DESOLATION
BEYOND TIME, sweeps up any remaining crumbs of depression
from the scene with a swoosh of her heavy cloak, and puts them in
a doggy-bag for later before strolling into the night, chatting
sympathetically with an uncharacteristically subdued TEGAN THE
SERPENT'S CHAMPION. No-one cares to ask.

Across the way, by the barbecue pit, BKWILLIS leads several of
his alternate AVATARS, the crew of the _Late Unpleasantness_,
and various other qualified persons in a soaring chorus of
_Freebird_, to a large and appreciative circle of PATRONS.
NYSSAIAS and EMBERICLES, his Muses, have slipped off quietly
to celebrate their triumph in their own fashion. The various
SAILOR and other SCOUTS have also gone into the woods for
(with the possible joint exception of SAILOR TRAKEN and
SAILOR WIND) the more edifying but less interesting purpose of
holding a Grand Jamboree and going ging-gang-gooly at the
Moon, after the custom among the barbarian Scouts of the West.

A salvage party of known non-boozehounds -- necessarily small
and select -- emerges to add to the growing stock of wine, beer, and
spirits with which ADRIC, HARRY, and FRANCOIS have set up a
closely guarded makeshift bar. The happy tinkle of cash-registers,
and the happier glugging of drinks into glasses, fall upon the night
air like raindrops upon a parched tongue. Bacchus is in his heaven,
cash is in the till, and all's right with the world.

THE GUY WITH THE CAMERA lays it down, and goes off to join
the merry throng.

Fade to black.}

----

[ADRIC turns off the 3V and turns back to the audience, his face
almost frighteningly calm.]

ADRIC: (tonelessly) Thank you, Grey Steward, for that most
excellent presentation, and congratulations to... to...

[ADRIC's expression suddenly changes to reflect a state of
Defcon-3 pissoff.]

ADRIC: (shouting) Willis, you utter, utter bastard! Nine dollars
to organize this whole bleeding thing! Nine! And even with the
sodding corporate sponsor, even the guys who aren't EVEN
SUPPOSED TO HAVE ANY BLOODY MONEY have a better
show!! Mr. 'I'm-so-bloody-funny' Willis is up there getting a big
laugh out of watching the Alzarian chump humiliate himself, isn't
he?! And then I have to sit through the whole blasted thing again
at TTR tomorrow! How about this for a laugh, then? I quit, you
ugly hayseed tosser!

BKWillis's bloody Muses will be giving the award for Best Author
next. Hoo-crukking-ray.

[ADRIC stomps away from the podium, but the voice of BKWILLIS
comes through the PA system, stopping him.]

BKWILLIS (V/O): Hey, kid.

ADRIC: Slag off. I just quit. [resumes walking]

BKWILLIS (V/O): I just have one thing to say to you.

ADRIC: Stuff it. I'm not listening.

BKWILLIS (V/O): I say, quote, 'sequentially and simultaneously'.

[ADRIC stops walking. He swallows hard, then shakes his head.]

ADRIC: No. I mean it. I'm out of here.

BKWILLIS (V/O): One after the other, then both at once, Adric...

ADRIC: [turning slightly red] No. It's too late. I'm not...
interested...

BKWILLIS (V/O): Yeah, you are. You'll be back. But for now, why
don't you just go cool off for a while? You've earned your keep.

ADRIC: (mumbling) ...both... [hands make little squeezing
motions] (louder) Maybe I will just go cool off for a while...
Both...

[Exit ADRIC stage right.]

----

[Two tiny, fairy-like figures flutter onto opposite sides of the stage.
There is a sudden swirl of sparkling smoke around each, which
dissipates to reveal the human-sized forms of NYSSAIAS and
EMBERICLES. NYSSAIAS is a petite brunette who looks almost
exactly like Nyssa, but with feathery white wings furled against her
back. EMBERICLES is a slightly shorter redhead with black bat-
wings. Both are wearing very conservative and severe-looking
long dresses, NYSSAIAS's in white and EMBERICLES's in black.
Both have their hair pinned up in buns and are wearing reading-
glasses. The two walk across the stage to meet at the podium,
where they exchange a brief handshake, then turn to face the
audience.]

NYSSAIAS: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of alt.drwho.
creative. I am Nyssaias the Light Muse, and my associate here is
Embericles the Dark Muse.

EMBERICLES: My distinguished colleague and I have been asked
to present the award for Best Author this evening and--

VOICE from audience: (interrupting) Hold on! This can't be right!

[The Muses stop speaking as the camera pans around to show
CHRIS CWEJ standing up in the third row, a scowl on his face.]

NYSSAIAS: Excuse me, young man? Is there a problem?

CHRIS: Er, yeah, there is! Where's the gratuitous sex?

EMBERICLES: [arching eyebrow] I beg your pardon?

CHRIS: Oh, come on! You know. You're supposed to be making-
out with each other on stage and trying to take each other's skimpy
little outfits off, not... not... whatever this is.

[A murmur of agreement from the audience.]

NYSSAIAS: (disdainfully) Young man, this is _not_ a so-called
'strip-joint', I'll have you know.

EMBERICLES: Sir, we are here in our professional capacity as
fully-accredited Muses, trained experts in the field of literary
inspiration, to comment upon and present honors to the top
authors on this newsgroup. We are _not_ here to provide cheap
and prurient thrills for the enjoyment of the lowest common
denominator.

CHRIS: (abashed) Oh. Uh, sorry. It's just... Never mind.

[CHRIS sits, looking embarrassed, while an ashamed mutter
runs through the crowd.]

NYSSAIAS: Thank you. Now, if we might continue? Now, the
first nominee for Best Author is Miss Jeri Massi...

[EMBERICLES makes a gesture with her right hand and an image of
a fit, dark-haired woman in a martial-arts gi appears over her palm.
As it does so, the song 'Kung-Fu Fighting', by Carl Douglas begins
playing over the PA system.]

MUSIC: o/~ Everybody was kung-fu fighting
o/~ Them cats were fast as lightning
o/~ It was a little bit frightening
o/~ But they did it with expert timing

[BOTH Muses wince.]

NYSSAIAS: Is theme music really necessary? It rather disturbs
the solemnity of the occasion.

EMBERICLES: My apologies, but the management insisted,
though I am no happier with the situation than you are.

NYSSAIAS: Well, we can but endure.

Miss Massi is rightly considered to be one of the top authors in
'Doctor Who' fan fiction and is a professionally-published author
in other fields. Her area of specialization is canonical-style stories
set in the Third Doctor era.

EMBERICLES: Miss Massi's body of work may be considered as
the definitive example of traditional-style Third Doctor fiction. Her
stories have the ring of authenticity to them, being quite firmly
grounded in the tone of that era of 'Doctor Who', while at the same
time avoiding the pitfalls of repitition that plagued that era's
broadcast works.

NYSSAIAS: Character development is strong in Miss Massi's
work, with a fine balance of plot-driven and character-driven
events. The plots themselves are tightly-managed and well-
layered, with first-rate pacing.

EMBERICLES: In short, a person with any interest in writing Third
Doctor stories should first examine Ms. Massi's work to see the
genre at its best.

NYSSAIAS: Our second nominee is Mr. Douglas B. Killings...

[The image in EMBERICLES's hand dissolves into that of a tall man
in his mid-thirties, his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The
song 'I Make My Own Rules', by LL Cool J begins playing over the
PA.]

MUSIC: o/~ Nobody can tell me what to do
o/~ I'm a rebel with a cause, breaking the curfew
o/~ An international threat to the power structure
o/~ Scream when your eardrums rupture

NYSSAIAS: Mr. Killings is an innovative author who has
championed the cause of one of the most under-appreciated
characters in 'Doctor Who': Adric. His two primary areas of
involvement have been in the development of the 'To Die For'
series, which has forever changed the face of Who fan fiction
with its merging of elements from both sides of the so-called
'Fourth Wall' into a coherent and consistent whole, and in the
'Phoenix' saga, the most ambitious 'Post-Earthshock Adric' series
to date.

EMBERICLES: Mr. Killings has a strong feel for his characters and
an affection for them that is evident in every scene. To this is
added a flair for absurdist comedy. However, this comedy is
frequently edged with a darker sense of the foredoomed struggle
of man against an unjust and uncaring Universe. The fact that he
can maintain this edge to his humor without falling into bitterness
and cynicism is what gives his comedic work much of its
considerable appeal.

NYSSAIAS: The next nominee is Miss Helen Fayle...

[The image over EMBERICLES's palm dissolves into a tall, auburn-
haired woman in an elaborate lacy dress and the song
'Heartbreaker', by Pat Benatar bursts from the PA system.]

MUSIC: o/~ You're the right kind of sinner
o/~ To release my inner fantasy
o/~ The invincible winner
o/~ And you know that you were born to be
o/~ A heartbreaker

NYSSAIAS: Miss Fayle, aside from being editor of several charity
anthologies, is author of the burgeoning 'Thirteen Worlds' stories,
including the 'Books of Taliesin' series, which take place in an
alternate reality based on that shown in the 'Doctor Who' episode
'Battlefield'. This setting is based upon a synthesis of traditional
'Doctor Who' elements with the 'King Arthur' milieu, Celtic
mythology, and other European folk legend. This is a romantic
setting, in both the traditional sense of heroic deeds and nobility
and in the modern sense of containing an undercurrent of
emotional longing.

EMBERICLES: Miss Fayle's strong points include her abilities
to evoke images and a sense of character with a degree of deft
economy. Plots are focussed and highly effective. While
maintaining a consistent tone across a range of stories can be
exceptionally difficult, especially when the tone is as distinct as
that of the 'Books of Taliesin', Miss Fayle manages the task
easily, never losing either the mythic-epic feel of the arc as a
whole, nor the more subtle interplay of emotional currents between
Taliesin and Vivienne. Again, highly effective.

NYSSAIAS: The fourth nominee is Mr. Clive May...

[The image changes to show a pterodactyl with a big question mark
superimposed over it. At the same time, the PA system starts
playing 'Dream Weaver', by Gary Wright.]

MUSIC: o/~ I have just closed my eyes again
o/~ Climbed aboard the Dream Weaver train
o/~ Driver take away my worries of today
o/~ And leave tomorrow behind...

NYSSAIAS: Mr. May has probably the broadest range of any of
the authors up for consideration this evening. Though many of his
pieces are centered upon Nyssa and Tegan, his works have
covered all eras of 'Doctor Who' and every style from situational
comedy to brooding angst to fast-paced action stories. A notable
aspect of his work is the emphasis on the spiritual or mystical,
which may be considered something of a trademark for him.
Additionally, his stories often deal with a sense of alienation or
isolation in an alien and unfathomable world, as typified by Vicky
in 'Dance with the Dark Stranger' or Nyssa in 'Maggot Brood'.

EMBERICLES: Without question, Mr. May's greatest strengths are
his breathtaking imagery and the sheer originality of his plots,
characters, and settings. His works often have a dreamlike quality
about them, and reality in a Clive May story is clearly a malleable
substance. On the other hand, he is also capable of surprisingly
'solid' action stories, which move at breakneck speed through his
typically well-realized settings. Add to this an ever-improving
ability to bring his characters to life and the clear sense of wonder
with which he approaches his tales, and you have a truly
formidable writer.

NYSSAIAS: And our final nominee is Mr. Bradley K. Willis, better
known as 'BKWillis'...

[The image in EMBERICLES's hand dissolves into the too-familiar
features of a thirtyish, somewhat dark-looking man in a denim vest.
The song 'Indian Outlaw', by Tim McGraw begins playing over the
PA system.]

MUSIC: o/~ I'm an Indian outlaw
o/~ Half Cherokee and Choctaw
o/~ My baby, she's a Chippewa
o/~ She's one-of-a-kind

NYSSAIAS: [blinks in confusion] I thought Mr. Willis was half
Cherokee and _Chickasaw_...?

[BOTH look at each other and shrug.]

NYSSAIAS: Mr. Willis is primarily a comedic author, specializing
in stories set either in the Outside Continuity world or in alternate
realities, though he has written or co-written a few dramatic pieces.
His comedy is characterized by a high degree of self-mockery and a
strong sense of the absurd. His ability to write straight, traditional-
style adventure pieces is weak on his own, but improves greatly
when working in conjunction with other authors, such as Clive
May or Ken Young.

EMBERICLES: Mr. Willis's style tends to be fairly terse and not
given to long descriptive passages. Sometimes this is a virtue and
sometimes a liability. The plots are generally straightforward and
are mostly character-driven. The characters themselves are usually
competently handled. As a general rule, though, the emphasis in
a Willis story will be on garnering as many cheap laughs as
possible. His stories often seem to be based on excellent ideas that
he is unable to properly execute... But I'll say no more about that.
In all, probably the weakest of the authors presented here tonight.

[NYSSAIAS holds up the envelope and tears it open.]

NYSSAIAS: And, the winner of the Best Author Adric Award is...
Bradley K. Willis!

EMBERICLES: Not who I'd have chosen.

NYSSAIAS: Nor I, but such is the way of things.

[The two Muses look at each other.]

EMBERICLES: And that would appear to be the end of our
program, honored colleague.

NYSSAIAS: Indeed. (to audience) Thank you all for coming. We
hope you've enjoyed the 2002 ADWC Adric Awards and that you
will all have a safe trip home.

EMBERICLES: Thank you and good night.

[BOTH watch as the audience begins filing out of the auditorium.
After a moment, NYSSAIAS turns back to EMBERICLES.]

NYSSAIAS: So, my good colleague, would you care to engage in
a round of Jello-wrestling while we wait for the crowds to disperse?

EMBERICLES: I thought you'd never ask.

[There is a swirl of smoke around both girls. When it dissipates,
they are still human-sized but their hair is down and they are
wearing black and white string bikinis. A large tub filled with
lime gelatin rests on the stage behind them.]

CHRIS: (off stage) Aha! I bloody knew it!

[Fade to end credits]

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