Title: My Dinner with Avon
Version: There's only one, dudes. Posted 2/27/06 (originally
posted to LiveJournal
5/31/05)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. (See full disclaimer on previous page.)
Summary: Avon learns that it's dangerous to push an Author too
far.
A/N: This conversation was held in the shadow of the looming
deadline for The Long Way
Home.
My Dinner with Avon
(Ficathonic Procrastinotorious)
by Mistral Amara and you-know-who
Avon: Why are you working a jigsaw when your deadline is only a few
hours away?
Mistral: I was only looking! Like, thirty seconds!
Avon: Which will turn into thirty minutes, and then three hours. You're
worse than Vila.
Mistral: Fine, whatever. It's past my dinnertime, let me fix a sandwich
and then I'll get at it.
Avon:
(follows me into kitchen) Do you have to take the time to fix a
sandwich? Couldn't you just grab the bag of crisps or something?
Mistral: Do I look like I need to eat a bag of corn chips for
dinner?
Avon: Well...
Mistral: Careful, boyo.
Avon:
I admit I like my women with a little more pulchrit and a little less
'tude, but as Authors go, I'm not one to complain. (aside) Much.
Mistral: Do I need to point out that Authors are privy to asides?
Avon: No, but you usually do, anyway.
Mistral: Why do you have to be such a pain?
Avon: You're the Author, you tell me.
Mistral: (sighs) Accurate characterization, then. (plods back to desk,
calls up WIP, turns on stereo)
Avon: Oh, no. Not Sting again! What we need is some Wagner!
Mistral: Firstly, this is not a battle scene. Secondly, I loathe
Wagner.
Avon: (frowns) You do? Then why do I like Wagner?
Mistral:
Because your name isn't Avon-Sue, stupid. Look, we need something
mellow for this scene. How about this? (puts on Eurythmics)
Avon: Hm. Not really my thing, but if it helps you write--
Mistral: It does.
Avon: Good. Now, let me see what you've got. Hm... anaesthesia,
antibiotics... myopia? Surgery with a paring knife?
Didn't have a bad day at the clinic, by chance?
Mistral: Don't wanna talk about it.
Avon: Well, well. A weakness in the Author. Who would have thought?
Mistral:
Pretty much everybody, actually. Now, either help or be quiet. I've
only got four hours left to write tonight, and I simply must get this
scene and one of the other two done.
Avon: No problem. This one's nearly done.
Mistral: Eh. That's when they trick you, when you think you've got them
licked.
Avon: Look on the bright side; at least Blake's not in this scene.
Mistral: No, just you being obnoxious. Like stealing candy off a log.
Whatever. It's the next one I'm worried about.
Avon: Oh, but that one should be fun! That's the big [CENSORED] scene!
I'm looking forward to it.
Mistral:
Easy for you to say. I've never written a [CENSORED] scene before. And
before you say it, no, I don't trust you to write it.
Avon:
Well, what about the next one, then? I see it's got some [CENSORED] in
it. You've never let me have any [CENSORED] in a story before.
Mistral: If you keep distracting me, you won't get any [CENSORED] in
this one, either.
Avon: (pouts)
--(pause while Author types)--
Avon:
That's interesting. I've never noticed before that the word 'censored'
has 'ensor' in it. (frowns) Wait a minute. That's not my story you're
working on! That's--you're writing down everything I say!
Mistral: That's what I do, or hadn't you noticed? Now, if you were
talking in the story...
Avon:
Oh, all right. What am I supposed to be doing, again? Oh, it's the
surgery with a paring knife. (winces) Is this really necessary to the
plot?
Mistral: You'd rather be babysitting a batch of Auronar brats? Because
that can be arranged.
Avon: (quietly) May I have a whetstone, at least?
Mistral: (glares)
Avon: (tries to look innocent)
--(blissful clacking of keys)--