Blame jat_jane for this one... she got me thinking.. no, actually, blame my flu and the accompanying fever. TITLE: A visit from the muse AUTHOR: GIL SHALOS CONTACT: gilshandros@hotmail.com RATING: Not sure. Some obscentity. Mentions of sex. Characters: GIL SHALOS and FAT ANDY, hir muse (aka THE FAT MAN) part 1/1 ARCHIVE: Um, you want to KEEP this? DISCLAIMER: GIL SHALOS belongs to me. CORRINA LARSSEN belongs to me. FAT ANDY belongs to himself. GREYWOLD belongs to wolfself. All other characters mentioned belong to Paramount. And, Paramount? You really think someone's going to PAY me for this? *********************************** SCENE: Interior. GIL SHALOS is seated at a desk in front of a computer, typing furiously away at an academic paper. Gil Shalos: (muttering) ... is a semiological apparatus which ... VOICE OFF: A semi logical WHAT! (the voice is clearly that of a very large person who is not in the least encumbered by any sort of inhibition) GIL SHALOS (defensively, raising hir voice) ... a semiological apparatus which operates in the trope of narrativity to - VOICE OFF: What the bleedin' 'ell does THAT mean, then? GIL SHALOS: It means ... umm... that it's a mechanism of language which is used in telling stories. VOICE OFF: (approaching) Why doan't ye SAY so, then? The VOICE is just outside the door, now. GIL SHALOS: Well, I have to use language appropriate to - VOICE OFF: Bugger that. It's time you an I had a talk, lass. and through the door comes... a mountainous fat man man, more than 6 foot tall and at least as great in girth, clad in obnoxiously loud clothes which are slightly too tight. He has a face like the side of a mountain (e.g. able to take anything you can throw at it and not give a toss); gigantic hands and little piggy eyes. GIL SHALOS (resignedly) Hello, Andy. ANDY: Hello, yourself, lass, I thought it was about time I popped in and had a word with ye. You'll be forgetting everything I ever told you before long. GIL SHALOS: (mutters) hardly likely. ANDY: Now, what were we up to? GIL SHALOS: I have to finish this article! The deadline is next week! ANDY: Aye, well, that's plenty o' time then. I recall you were working on some overlong drivel involving snowflakes. GIL SHALOS: The Difference it Makes. ANDY: Aye, that'd be it. Daft title, if you ask me. GIL SHALOS: Which I wasn't. And I can't finish that story now, I have - ANDY: I'm your MUSE, gel! When I tell you to write, you write what I say and when I say it! GIL SHALOS: Oh, right. (Ze closes the file, and opens another.) Well, I'm up to the battle between the Romulans and the Enterprise. And on the planet, Spock and Larsson are still lost in the storm. ANDY: Aye, that's got potential, that has! Lost in storm, getting cold, sharing body heat, one thing leads to another - GIL SHALOS: No! There will be none of that in THIS story. This story is for ASC, not ASCEM. ANDY: Oh, precious, are we? Now just take this down: He opened her shirt, disclosing her enormous titties - GIL SHALOS: She doesn't have enormous titti- I mean, large breasts. ANDY: As far as I can tell from this story so far, lass, she hasn't got any titties at all. Poor wee thing she is, too. GIL SHALOS is frantically pressing page down key. ANDY: What are ye doin' now? GIL SHALOS: (grimly) Skipping ahead. ANDY: Skipping ahead? Skipping ahead! You'll never be a writer if you keep skipping ahead. Ah, well, what are you skipping to? GIL SHALOS: Larssen is replacing the slave relay. ANDY: Slaves, yes, we could do with a few slaves in this one, naked Nubian dancing girls with their boobies bouncing all over the place - GIL SHALOS: NO SLAVES. ANDY (sighs) It's a hard life, being a muse to someone as uptight as you are. Alright. Write: "She took off her glove and her fingers came with it, leaving an oozing, ugly mess of suppurating flesh-" GIL SHALOS: I'm not writing that, either! ANDY: Seems like you never want to write anything about the coarser side of life, lass. GIL SHALOS: Stop calling me lass! ANDY: You ARE a lass. GIL SHALOS: I'm a projected construct to allow my real self to write freely without fear of criticism! And I'm androgynous. And I'm arguing with an imaginary Yorkshireman with and clothes sense.... (closes eyes, mutters brokenly) oh, for a muse of fire.... ANDY: Sorry, muses of fire are all out working with REAL writers. You've got me. No reason why we shouldn't make the best of it. Of course, I could light one o' me farts for you if it's fire you're really after. GIL SHALOS: (frostily) No, thank you. ANDY: Oh, eh, Uncle Andy ain't good enough for ye, eh? You want one o' them FANCY muses, eh? One o' them muses that declaims about great battles in the frozen wastes of space, the dead light of a dying star reflecting fragilely off the tarnished sides ' o the pride of the fleet, as she turns, at bay, to face at last her destroyers, there in the great deep, in the dark beyond, where light goes to die and hope comes to the last bridge, where the old stars gutter in the night and the strange light of the skies across the final shore shines down upon the desperate, hopeless, brave and benighted warriors... GIL SHALOS: (entranced, in spite of hirself, breathes,) yes.... that's what I want... ANDY: Well, tough titties coz you've got me, and I doan't do none of that heroic crap. Give me a bit o' a laugh, a bit of grunt, and Bob's your uncle, or at least so my mother told me. Why don't you come over here and sit on Uncle Andy's knee, eh? GIL SHALOS: No, thank you. ANDY: Oh, come on. Give yer Uncle Andy a treat. GIL SHALOS: I told you, I'm androgynous. ANDY (shrugging) I don't make no mind of that, lass, boy girl or whatchcallit, it all comes down to the same thing in the end. GIL SHALOS: (suspiciously) I thought you were homophobic. ANDY; Just because I'm coarse doesn't mean I'm stupid, lass, and I'd be stupid to cut my chance of a roll in hay by half, now, wouldn't I? Oh, come over here. You've got lovely legs, lass. GIL SHALOS: (Shouting) I'M A FICTIONAL CONSTRUCT! AND I DO NOT HAVE LOVELY LEGS! ANDY: Aye, well, no, not really, but I thought a bit of falsehood and flattery might cheer ye up and get ye out of this slump you're in. GIL SHALOS begins to hurl furniture at ANDY, who dodges, laughing. ANDY: Aye, you can say what you like about a woman's mind but tell her she has thick ankles and be prepared to run. GIL SHALOS runs out of furniture and stands, temporarily stymied. ANDY: Now look. You've got a lot of potential. Let's work on that story with the two gels in bed together, eh? I like that one. GIL SHALOS: Okay. (Opens another file) ANDY: (reading over her shoulder) mm .. mm hmm... mm hmm.. oh, very nice. Now, just there, put this in: Suddenly, the door flew open and James Kirk, followed by the entire Enterprise crew, burst in. Wasting no time, Kirk seized Uhura from behind and... GIL SHALOS: Are you out of your mind! This is a lovely sensitive story about the relationship between power and sex! It's not an orgy! ANDY: An orgy is just what you need to liven things up, trust me. GIL SHALOS: Orgies make me squick. ANDY; Squick? Squick! What kind of a word is squick? My god, lass, - GIL SHALOS (between gritted teeth) Stop calling me that! ANDY: -your vocabulary is very maiden aunt. Look here. You've used the word "breast" four times in this paragraph. Why don't you try for something with a bit of variation, eh? GIL SHALOS: (weakly) Such as? ANDY: Titties works well for me. Or boobies. GIL SHALOS: (sullen) No. ANDY: Well, what, then? GIL SHALOS: I thought ... bosom? ANDY: Bosom? BOSOM? Next thing you know you'll be talking about her 'frontal chest area'. Never let me hear you say the word bosom again, love, unless it's preceded by the word "heavin'" or "manly". And as for squick.. can't you say they make you pea-green sick to your stomach? or they piss you off or something? Squick, I ask ye? (singing, horrendously off key): Squick me tender, squick me sweet, Squick my dreams come true (beginning to take off his clothes in a horrible parody of a bump and grind) Squick me when I sleep at night, squick when I think of you GIL SHALOS: (hissing, as the neighbors bang on the wall) Stop it! Stop it! stopitstopitstopitstopit! ANDY: Will ye sit on my lap NOW, lass? GIL SHALOS: No! And put your clothes on! ANDY: Not until you promise to finish that drabble about the naked - GIL SHALOS (resigned): yeoman and the captain's dinner table, yes, all right. ANDY (rerobing): Now, where were we, eh? GIL SHALOS: I shudder to think. I hardly think my creative genius is challenged by short pieces on naked women in Kirk's stew. ANDY: Now, doan't get uppity, lass. And it were cocky van, not stew. GIL SHALOS (despite hirself) Cocky van? ANDY: Aye, that foreign muck with chicken and wine. Waste of a good drop if you ask me, but it's elegant, like. Oh, yes. Write this: She sprawled, magnificent legs akimbo, tits poppin' out of her uniform- GIL SHALOS: I thought she was naked. ANDY: She will be when I'm done with 'er. GIL SHALOS: I won't write "magnificent legs". It's hackneyed. ANDY: Just because her legs are a damn sight better'n yourn, lassie, there's no need to take on. GIL SHALOS (passionately) I don't want to write drabble about magnificent legs! I want to write wonderful stories that will move people! ANDY (unimpressed) They'll be moved to piss their pants wi' laughin' when we're done here. If you want some of that angsty stuff you'll have to wait until I can borrow some from Greywolf's muse. I don't do angst. never have. GIL SHALOS: (glumly) They sent me the wrong muse. ANDY: Aye, well, I'm the only one you've got. Now, write - GIL SHALOS: I won't! Why don't you ever give me any GOOD ideas- I won't write - ANDY(in the kind of voice that points out, in no uncertain terms, that its owner spent a good few years as a sergeant major) : YOU WILL WRITE, BY GUM! YOU'RE MY WRITER AND I'M YOUR MUSE AND YOU DAMN WELL WRITE WHAT YOU'RE TOLD, D'YE HEAR ME? (A picture falls off the wall with the force of his shouting. GIL SHALOS sits, terrified to immobility) GIL SHALOS (very small voice) :Yes, Andy. ********* (Later) (GIL SHALOS sleeps with hir head on the keyboard. ANDY reads over hir shoulder, occasionally chuckling to himself and correcting the text. ANDY: Aye, lass, you want an idea? Let's see what you do with this one. (He moves GIL SHALOS to one side and begins to type laboriously with two fingers. When he's finished, he steals softly away.) (GIL SHALOS wakes, stretches, is relieved to find that hir muse is gone.) GIL SHALOS: Thank god! A normal day! I can take a shower! I can wash my hair! Hell, I might even be able to make an appointment with the hairdresser- (hir ecstatic musings are cut off by a bleep from the computer. At the bottom of the screen is a tiny message saying: You have a new message from Uncle@Andy.youthinkI'llgivemyaddresstoyoncleverspammingbugg...[field too long] ) GIL SHALOS: I won't read it, I WON'T. (But after a minute hir finger steals out and clicks the mouse. An email message opens, saying: TO: Gilshandros@hotmail.com FROMUncle@Andy.youthinkI'llgivemyaddresstoyoncleverspammingbuggersyou'vegota notherthinkcoming SUBJECT: Rise and shine! The message contains only one line: "Bring me my bow of burning gold." GIL SHALOS sits and looks at the message for a while.) GIL SHALOS: I won't. I WON'T! Even fanfic writers have the right to a normal day, dammit! I WON'T - well, maybe one line... (Soon, ze is typing furiously, and very faintly, beneath the clatter of the keys, comes the sound of the Fat Man's laugh.)