Ghered

A/N: Random note here. Please READ IT, though. I’ve noticed that our characters, especially Catherine, are becoming more and more their own people, and less and less like the people they resemble. Strange, yes? Must try to ratify this.

Click

“Welcome to Ghered, home of authors, muses, and oh, dear Lord, I’ve got wayward characters on my hands.” The petite blond secretary peered over the top of her slim glasses (the glasses weren’t to help her vision, they just made her look smart) at the four people assembled at the desk. “Characters from an amateur author, no less.”

Joe craned his neck back and looked up to see the secretary (the desk was eight feet high). “Whaddaya mean, ‘amateur’?” he asked, trying to sound intimidating.

The secretary sighed wearily and pulled the glasses from her nose. As she spoke, she gesticulated using her clear frames. “I mean,” She said, “That you are merely by-products of a miniature, wannabe, baby-author. You can see it in your design (extremely basic), lack of detail in your face, voice, and body, and your limited vocabulary.” She readjusted her glasses in a very superior manner and adopted an even more condescending tone, if such a thing were possible. “I was created by Dickens himself.”

“Really?” Irene asked, “I don’t remember you from any of his books.”

The blond stiffened and drew her perfectly painted lips together into a very thin line. “Sadly, Mr. Dickens has yet to find a role for me. Not that an amateur would know anything about reserving characters. How did you get here, anyway?” she asked, “Most amateurs don’t even KNOW about Ghered.”

“For your information,” Gwen said, matching the blonde’s haughty tone, “We got directions from a friend. We’re looking for our Author. Is she here?”

“How should I know?” asked the secretary. “You think I keep tabs on them? Find her yourself.” With that, she put up a big sign that read “We do not talk to baby characters” and went on a coffee break.

Gwen said some very nasty things in Japanese and started to chase after the secretary when Irene pulled her back. “Hey,” Irene said, “Isn’t that Doug Adams over there?” She pointed to one of the soda vending machines that was under attack from a middle-aged man. He did bare a striking resemblance to the photos included at the back of the Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy books.

“He does bare a striking resemblance to the photos included at the back of the Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy books,” Joe remarked. “Didn’t the Author say that she was ‘in’ with him back in chapter 2?”

“The one where she destroyed the planet?” Gwen asked, “Yeah, she did, didn’t she? Maybe he knows where she is. Let’s go ask him!”

The last bit of Gwen’s sentence was drowned out by some rather loud swearing and rude exclamations coming from the man that looked like Doug Adams. Cleanly, it was something like this:

“Mother—ing vending machine! Gimme my God—ed soda, you sick—AAARRRRGGGHHH!!”

“Um, maybe we should yet the guppy grow out its tail,” Catherine said wisely.

Click

Meanwhile, Oni was having still more troubles. Her laptop had only just repaired itself from the attack of the big purple button, and it already had a virus! Stupid PCs. She resisted the urge to punt the inane machine deep into the reaches of space, and focused her energy instead on destroying the virus.

She examined her screen meticulously and watched with a look of calm contemplation as all of files were deleted. After each one vanished from the screen, a little icon of a teddy bear popped up and laughed. There was clearly but one thing to be done. She whipped out her data CD. Fortunately, “A Grumble’s Author” was safely saved on this handy little back-up disk.

Before more damage could be done to the laptop, Oni opened a new file and wrote in a pretty new iBook for herself. Lovely shiny things, Macs are. With a quiet “ping,” the iBook appeared by her side. She then proceeded to deal with her laptop PC with the only computer method she knew.

She beat it to bits with her nunchucks.

With a frightening, demonic cackle, she started up her shiny new iBook. Shiiiinyy…

Click

Our familiar and much-loved characters were finding that even the most composed and gentle author could turn into a gibbering-foaming-at-the-mouth moron at a moment’s notice. Doug was proving to be of no help at the moment.

Catherine looked coolly at the enraged author, wearing the same look that her own Author had worn naught but a moment ago as she watched a virus destroy her laptop. It was very clear to Catherine what needed to be done.

“Joe,” she said, beckoning to him, “Would you like to find our Author?”

“Um, yes?”

“Are you willing to go to any lengths to do so?”

“I’m going to regret saying ‘yes,’ aren’t I?”

Catherine nodded a slow, precise nod.

Click

When Joe stepped out of the men’s room a few minutes later, he was difficult to recognize. His dark hair was a platinum blond, the exact match of the secretary’s, and tucked neatly under a very pretty hat. His legs were shaven to a silky shine. He was made up impeccably, and his dress matched his shoes wonderfully. He could easily have passed for the haughty secretary; which was the plan. It was only by looking at his glare of pure hatred and constant twitching of his eye that he could be recognized.

“This was YOUR brilliant plan, Catherine,” he growled, “Why don’t YOU dress up?”

She turned her head slowly to look at him. “Moi?” she inquired, “Dress up? I think you’re mistaken. Besides, it wouldn’t be quite as funny”

Irene stared wide-eyed and agape at the sight of her boyfriend in drag. She couldn’t help but notice how realistic Catherine had made his faux mammallry glands look. It was more horrifying than funny.

Gwen didn’t quite agree. She was collapsed on the floor, tears of mirth rolling from her eyes. She was laughing as long and loud as she could. The look on their faces! Priceless! If only she had a camera.

Catherine ignored them both. “Now, Joe,” she said, “You are to pose as the secretary and make Ol’ Dougy-boy over there stop beating up the vending machine. While he’s distracted, I’ll talk to him until either his mind implodes, or he is forced into a calmed stupor. Then, if the latter prevails, I’ll wake him up, and he can tell us where our Author is. Got all that?”

“Oh, I am SO going to make you pay for this, Catherine.”

Click

“Nooooooooooooooooo!! Mike, ya gotta listen to me, man! I’m innocent! Freaking innocent, I tell ya!” Oni, handcuffed and bound, was being forced into the ILPD (Interstellar Literary Police Department) holding room by Mike the policeman.

“Oh, Ms. Oni,” Mike sniggered, “There’s no escaping this one; plagiarism: the most heinous crime any Author can commit.”

“I never plagiarized!”

“Oh, really? Well, I’ve got an Author who reported three paragraphs of mixing text. Text that was traced to your former laptop. A former laptop that was destroyed by you only a few minutes ago, PROVING your guilt!” Mike was really big on fragmented statements.

“My laptop was crippled, Mike! It was in pain! I had to put it down. It was my final act of compassion for the old piece o’ crap.” Oni dug her heels into the tiles as Mike shoved her along from behind. She screamed of murder by pink pillows as Mike finally managed to shove her into the holding cell.

“You’ll pay for this! You’ll PAAAAAAAAAAY!!” She shouted at his retreating back.

This was very, very bad. Even if she managed to find a way to prove her innocence, she’d be stuck in jail for at least another week while the paperwork found its way through the mess that the ILPD called an office. All she had was her Author Line (the new version 6.7 cell phone that she kept in her jacket) and her iBook (which she’d also hidden in her jacket). But then, those were really all that an Author needed.

Click

Desperately praying for the batteries to last long enough, Oni powered up the iBook and whipped out her back-up data disk. First order of business: to check up on her characters. After a quick review, Oni went from anger (at the secretary), to shock (at Doug’s wacko behavior), to laughs (at Joe’s attire), and finally to calm.

“Catherine,” she said to herself, “While I admire your style, I must say that the cross-dressing ploy will not work.” She knew for a fact that Doug would just get angrier and probably kill Joe. She went through a series of quick revisions and had Joe poke Doug in the kidneys instead (while dressing normally).

Click

And so, Doug Adams collapsed in a heap on the ground and Joe, who was (thankfully) dressed normally (as had always been the case), looked at Catherine in confusion. “Um…wasn’t I just…” he looked down at his jeans and T-shirt and tried to figure out why he had a strange memory of being in a dress…

“Um…now what?” asked Gwen.

“Uh…we wait?”

“…Sounds good.”

Click

Oni glared angrily at her iBook and tried desperately to come up with better dialogue.

Ah, well. Doug’d be up and at ‘em in about a minute. Oni sent him a quick mind mail (Like an email, but with telepathy) telling him that she was stuck in jail. With all luck, he’d loan her characters one of his characters’ ships, and they could blast their way on over here and bail her out!

Though knowing her life’s normal pattern, something would happen to make it all go horribly wrong.

Oni glared angrily at her iBook and tried desperately to come up with better foreshadowing.

Next Chapter of AGA:

1. Maybe some action!

2. Maybe suspense!

3. Maybe some good writing!

4. Or maybe Oni glaring angrily at her iBook and trying desperately to come up with better dialogue!

See ya in chapter