A/N: Ahoy, mates. I've decided to poke my previously hiatused head back into fan fiction after being struck by the dire need for cathartic fun. Plus, today was my last day of my internship, so a bit more free time on my hands until school starts up!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Warning: For both subtle and explicit bashing of all kinds. Plus, you probably won't fully understand the premise if you haven't seen Inception (which there isn't a crossover category for yet, and in my opinion, it's not a good idea for this fic to be the first of its kind).
I Dream of Sues
L wasn't sure why he was sitting at the bar of a fancy hotel, but there he was, sitting at the bar of a fancy hotel. Sure, hiding in plain sight had its merits, but never in a million years would he take that risk himself while the new Kira was on the loose. So what exactly was he doing here among dozens of strangers? He couldn't remember… Oh well. No matter how dangerous, at least this was better than being at headquarters chained to Light while typing random things into Google insanely fast as to give everyone the impression that the detective was either hacking stuff or doing important Kira analysis thingies that nobody else could do.
L suddenly noticed there was a voluptuous blonde woman beside him, handing him a napkin with writing on it. Presumably, it was a phone number. He took the napkin and stared at it. There were only six digits. It was obviously not a phone number.
"What is this?"
"My phone number," the woman said, batting her lashes.
"Why are you giving me your phone number?" L asked stiffly. Of course, he already knew why.
"Because I want to jump your bones."
"Right..."
Before L could say anything else, the woman hopped off the barstool, and a sharply-dressed man instantly took her place.
"My name is Mr. Charles," he greeted him. "You remember me, don't you? I'm the head of your security down here."
L's eyes narrowed. "Down here…This can only mean one thing," he said. "Am I dreaming?"
"Mr. Charles" grinned. "I see you're not a genius for nothing, Ryuzaki. Close, but no. You are, in fact, in a parody."
"What? I don't recall ever training my mind for anything like this."
"You haven't. Not yet, anyway. That's why you're here," the older man told him.
L racked his giant genius brain trying to remember everything Watari had ever taught him about parodies.
"How is this a parody? Nothing funny or witty has happened yet," L finally said.
Mr. Charles smiled encouragingly. "Would you care to guess why?"
L swept his gaze across the room, which was filled with nameless, passive, and forgettable people. In unison, they lifted their heads, glanced at him, and then returned to their own conversations. How boring and pointless. Why exist at all, then?
As though reading L's mind, Mr. Charles said, "Don't pay them any attention. They're just projections. They won't do anything unless it's called for. So, back to my question. Why isn't this amusing thus far?"
"Because I have yet to be attacked by a Mary-Sue," L realized out loud, lip curling in disdain with the last word. "Everyone's acting too acceptably. Oh wait, except for that woman earlier. Is she…?"
"No, she is not. She is really a he – a colleague of mine, actually – so she doesn't count as a Sue. Lucky her. Only a rare few ever escape the dreaded Sue label."
"Such as?" L asked curiously.
"Normal people with non-angsty pasts, homosexuals, talentless gits, losers, fatties, nerds, bitches, or all of the above combined. Bonus non-Sue points go to those deemed unappealing to any of the five senses, so if you're butt-ugly, you're safe. Oh, and if you don't pose a threat to yaoi fangirls in any way, shape or form, you're safe. Understand?"
L's mind was spinning. "No, not really."
"Ah, well, let's fix that. Unleash the Sues!" Mr. Charles ordered to nobody in particular.
The lights dimmed, and an attractive female walked into the room. She had milky-white skin and hair as black as a raven's. Her eyes were ringed with insomnia. L gaped at the girl. It was like looking into a gender-bending mirror.
"This, my dear Ryuzaki, is a Level One Sue, where it is appropriate to judge a book by its cover."
The Level One Sue fixed her gaze onto L, dropped down into a familiar crouch and pulled out a lollipop from the pocket of her jeans.
"There's a 95% chance that you are L. At last, we meet," the girl muttered in a robotic yet sultry monotone.
"What exactly is your relation to me?"
"I LOVE YOU, L LAWLIET! WAHHHH I WANT TO HAVE YOUR KAWAII ONE-EIGHTH JAPANESE, ONE-EIGHTH ENGLISH, ONE-EIGHTH RUSSIAN, ONE-EIGHTH FRENCH OR ITALIAN, AND ONE-HALF MARY-SUE BABIES WAHHHH!" Level One Sue shrieked, and she was immediately dragged out of the room by a beefy "projection" that had materialized out of nowhere.
L was disturbed.
"That," said Mr. Charles, "was either your long-lost sister or a potential lover. Most likely the latter, seeing as incest isn't really common in your particular fandom."
"She knew my name!" L said agitatedly.
"Which is precisely the point," Mr. Charles said patiently. "Next!"
A second, more attractive female strolled into the lounge. She was so pretty, she even turned the heads of some of the projections. This one had blazing red-brown curls that reached the small of her back and the most brilliant green-blue eyes ever. A striped shirt clung to her thin yet curvy frame, and a pair of amber goggles sat innocently atop her head. Her lips were pursed around a white cigarette.
"Yo," she drawled.
L did a double-take. "You look familiar."
Mr. Charles waved the redhead away. "She should. That is a Level Two Sue. She is Fem!Matt."
"Excuse me?"
"She's Mail Jeevas, your third-in-line, only in female form. Now, Level Two Sues are shaky ground and are harder to label because of an identity loophole. Some writers try to get around the norm that non-canon females are repeatedly put under fire or immediately subjected to scrutiny by slapping a male's name onto an impossibly banging female body," Mr. Charles explained. "This way, they are free to peddle as much het smut as possible without worrying about as many critics. Similarly, some people use canon females as substitutes for OCs, for instance, a slutty Sayu or a mature Misa, which basically involves shoving an OC's personality into their skin and situation and hoping nobody would realize the dirty truth, and at most get blamed for simple OOC-ness."
"Ah…"
"I'll understand if you're not following me. I myself don't really get it either. The hypocrisy, the illogicality. A name is but a name, yet here, a rose by any other name would smell not as sweet," Mr. Charles ranted.
L frowned.
"You're here to make some sort of statement by disguising your opinions as fiction, aren't you?" L accused the man.
"Why, of course. The purpose of satire is for the author to indulge in preaching his or her biases in a light-hearted and subtle manner. I am merely a vessel. Not exactly a self-insert, mind you, but a stand-in."
"Fascinating. Then your name really isn't Mr. Charles, is it?" L murmured, leaning in conspiratorially.
"It's Cobb. Dominic Cobb."
"I don't believe you," L said automatically.
"Well, that's just too bad, because it's the truth." The older man gestured to the bartender, who placed a bright blue drink in front of him. "Okay, we're dangerously close to breaking the fourth wall. Let's move on to Level Three now, shall we?"
"Alright, but only because I dislike passing up learning opportunities," L said reluctantly.
"Drink this, it'll help you relax," Cobb suggested, pushing the glass of blue liquid across the counter toward him.
L eyed it with reasonable suspicion. "I don't trust that…hmm, what's that white stuff swirling around inside?"
"Sugar."
L suddenly found himself standing on a snowy hill, bundled up like an Eskimo.
"Interesting."
"Isn't it?" Cobb said from beside him, smirking.
"You lied. That wasn't sugar."
"If it counts for anything, you're the first person to ever question my offer of drinks."
L raised a brow. "That's discouraging."
Cobb shrugged. "What do you expect? Most people are mindless idiots. That's why they're all about cheap laughs these days. Something has to be blatantly hilarious in order to be successfully funny. Enter Mary-Sue bashing, the most surefire way to garner reviews, adoring fans and possibly flames the size of Texas."
"How clever," L mused. "So, Level Three. Will I be having the pleasure of meeting a Level Three Sue?"
"Something like that," Cobb said tersely. The man tossed L a large rifle and produced another for himself.
"Why will I be needing this?"
"You'll see."
As if on cue, the snowy ground at their feet exploded. L staggered backwards.
"Hold on!" Cobb shouted in warning.
A new voice filled the air like the thunderous honking of a thousand Zack Hemsey and Hans Zimmer trumpets.
"MY NAME IS YUMI USAGI DOMO RUBY JADE SHINY PLATINUM NIGHTSHADE BAMBOO ARTEMIS PIKACHU BLOSSOM BUBBLES BUTTERCUP– "
"My ears!" L growled. "What is that awfulness?"
"THIS," Cobb yelled above the noise of the Level Three girl, "IS PEOPLE'S IDEA OF A GOOD PARODY!" He fired off a shot, stopping the monstrosity mid-sentence.
"You're joking…"
"Nope. Throw in random Japanese words, jewels, precious metals, plants, Greek goddesses, and pop culture references and you're all set to go," Cobb continued a bit more calmly. "Oh, and they all have to be in caps lock. It makes it all the funnier."
"Is she a Mary-Sue?" L asked, inching away from the body convulsing on the ground, which happened to be wearing a My Chemical Romance bra, fishnet stockings, and sequined wedges. She also had a tramp stamp of the kanji for "love" in sparkly crimson.
"Superficially, Yumi is a Sue parody. On a deeper level, she's still a Sue nonetheless – a classic, perfectly cookie-cutter and stereotypical common troll of a literary punching bag that tries twice as hard to be hilarious as a regular character does to be well-rounded, designed to fulfill its creator's fantasy of getting glowing reviews such as OMG LOL YOU ARE SO CLEVER AND ORIGINAL or THIS IS THE FUNNIEST SHIT EVER DIE MARY-SUES DIE, when in actuality, the joke's overdone and getting extremely stale. Not that it's stopping anyone." Cobb rolled his eyes before continuing. "Clothing that is exaggeratedly slutty or purposely designed to mock teenyboppers who like bragging about their tastes in music within a fic? Check. Hair like it was dunked in rainbow diarrhea to insult those who were unfortunate enough to give their OC blue streaks because they can't dye it in real life? Check. Shimmering eyes of unusual colors that are followed by excessive adjective usage and allusions to smiley faces and unicorns and other mystical creatures? Check."
"You forgot my ridiculously convoluted dark past that contains references to rape or torture or being orphaned because making fun of abuse and unfortunate situations is TOTALLY harmless and acceptable, even entertaining, in parody fics," Level Three Sue whined from the ground.
"Oh yes, thank you," said Cobb before emptying his gun into the Sue troll.
"That's not going to do anything!" Level Three Sue screamed gleefully, jumping to her feet. "You also forgot about my random magical superpowers that landed me at The Wammy's House and helped me break into the Kira Task Force headquarters to wreak awesome troll havoc and interact hilariously with Matsuda and Misa Amane, who always gets brutally stabbed and called a whore for EPIC PARODY LULZ!" Then she fell down again, chocolate milk pouring out of her wounds since regular blood is completely overrated.
"Wammy's would never accept someone the likes of you," L declared coldly.
"You're missing the point," said Cobb. "Oh wow, the great L not understanding something – was that an OOC moment?"
L clenched his jaw.
Cobb patted the detective's back. "Don't be too upset. Most parodies are expected to be completely crack-ish and brimming with OOC goodness, which usually involves lots of screaming and squealing and flailing and running around naked. It's an unspoken rule."
L frowned, feathers clearly ruffled. "Well, I was just making a side comment. I am understanding this perfectly."
"Splendid. Now, how would you suggest we get rid of her?"
L glanced down at the Level Three Sue lying in the chocolate milk soaked snow. The Sue was humming as she waited for her fate. Her voice was as sweet as a witty hyperbole that L was too lazy to think of. Anything mentioning glitter and Edward Cullen and cocaine would probably do the trick; L just didn't know how to put it all together effectively.
"She should jump out a window or something," L said thoughtfully. "Jumping out of windows is probably a popular way to end spoofs. Suicide always is. Or maybe we can get Watari or Mogi or Ukita to finish her off. Someone elderly or obscure or dead enough for people to chuckle about as though it's an inside joke. And it'll have to be absurdly violent and graphic because everyone hates Mary-Sues with an eternal passion and the Sue parody death shall serve as a grand in-your-face political statement, just like what you're doing with this. With me."
"I knew you'd get the hang of it," Cobb said, extremely pleased.
A/N: It wasn't so much as humorous as it was snarky. I'm just not that funny of a person in written form, but I'm working on it. I just had to get this steaming pile of crap out of my system first. I just really like Inception, okay? Okay, bye.
…:D