DISCLAIMER: Bits are mine, bits are theirs. Should be pretty obvious which is which.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a response to some doodles the ever-artful Kiki posted on InterNutter's Bulletin Board a while back, that I converted into fic form for her. Her art makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, so expect much random WAFF-y-ness here. Go Kiki!
Just for fun, how many authors and fics can you spot referenced here? Let's see who can find them all.
No U-turns permitted.
*******************
'Just Another Day' By Scribbler, for Kiki
May 2003
*******************
Kurtsprite was bored. And a bored Kurtsprite is never a good thing.
He sat atop an ethereal church tower, a nonexistent moon highlighting his boredom; but somehow even this didn't serve to alleviate it as it usually did. The entire of Museworld stretched before him, empty and dark, and he sighed despondently to himself, stretching his wings in an effort to break the monotony.
Kurtsprite was different from the other muses in that way. Where they were all ground-bound, his propensity for the arts had led him to possess a pair of tiny feathered wings, not unlike those Warrensprite wore. They'd been given his character in a fanfiction some months past, and he'd found himself liking the feeling of flight so much that, after the fic was over and the authors returned home to Realworld, he kept his downy gifts as a keepsake and source of entertainment.
Yet even his wings didn't help now. It had been many days since his character featured in a fanfic, and as such, his inspirational abilities had been largely uncalled upon in favour of other muses. Not that he begrudged them their time in the limelight, but Kurtsprite was an lively little spirit, and whatever energy he couldn't work off through inspiring authors into literary creations had to come out somewhere.
He'd tried to manipulate the fabric of Museworld to assuage his frustration, hence the disembodied clock tower he was now perched upon. Yet it had only entertained him for so long, and now he hungered for something a little more taxing.
In short, he wanted company.
Getting to his feet, he stretched, flexing all of his limbs. His tail lashed behind him, whipping away the clouds he'd created for atmosphere, and as his concentration on his surroundings broke they dissipated, leaving him floating in mid-air.
He soared aimlessly. Museworld was a desolate place when no authors were present to call on its occupants. An endless expanse of black, broken only by pockets of colour where writers worked. Kurtsprite brushed over a few, inspecting what was going on.
Pietrosprite and Wandasprite were locked in battle in one, hex bolts flying wildly, and he avoided that pocket with a wide upsweep that took him far, far into the air. There he caught sight of Warrensprite, currently engaged in an aerial display with what looked like a metal horse and rider in another pocket. His skin was tinted blue again, and his feathers had been replaced with curved steel and sparkling metal that flew at his opponent like burning bullets.
_Another Apocalypse fic,_ Kurtsprite thought dismissively. Epic though they were, Apocalypse fanfiction rarely featured his character, and thus he preferred to give it a wide berth. The fact that Warrensprite - still irritated with Kurtsprite for keeping his wings, which he claimed were his 'gimmick' and nobody else's - was usually a prominent feature as this 'Death' character was also a reason to steer clear of those sorts of narratives.
Sighing, Kurtsprite banked left, then right, searching for something to do rather than watch the other muses at work. Surely there was *someone* he could talk to, play with - anything! They couldn't *all* be working, surely? After all, his was the most popular character on the show, so if he was out of work one of the others must be as well. Perhaps the New Mutants, or Forge. They never got any attention from the authors.
Yet a writer had indeed swept the New Mutants into a fic, and Kurtsprite watched at a distance as they frolicked under the interest. Forge, too was unavailable, though once again he was relegated to a background role, this time somewhere in the realms of a Lancitty that showed no intention of ending for at least another six chapters.
Kurtsprite exhaled noisily, twirling onto his side and gliding along on an imaginary breeze. His tail whipped idly from side to side, as anxious as he was to expend some energy.
If he didn't do something soon, he was going to go *insane*!
Suddenly something caught his eye, and he veered head-over-heels, hovering for a second to see what it was. Like a pale shadow it shifted for the briefest of moments far below him, before disappearing again.
Curious, Kurtsprite folded his wings and dropped, careless of what damage he could incur by doing so. Here in Museworld, he was master of his own destiny - that is, until some author came along with an idea and a plot to control it for him for as long as their interest held. In any case, right now he could direct his environment to follow his wishes, and so it was that he landed on a floor that wasn't truly there, and saw by a light that didn't really shine.
A figure huddled away from him, back turned his way and facing into the incessant gloom.
"Roguesprite?"
"Go 'way," she grunted. She was wearing a pair of pyjamas, her attire whenever she was disturbed or upset. It never failed. Gothic-wear when she was grouchy, Siren outfit when mad, or battle uniform when she felt particularly confrontational. Muse clothing tended to reflect emotion that way.
Kurtsprite raised his eyebrows. Then, fluffing his wings he knuckled down beside Roguesprite. "You OK? Why aren't you working? I thought that new author was evolving your character's powers today."
"He was." She twisted away from him, clutching something to her chest that was half wreathed in shadow. "Went to have his lunch. I got a respite while he eats." Her voice sounded strangely choked, almost strangled.
Kurtsprite made the connection almost immediately. "The angst fics been treating your character harshly again?"
She looked up at that. "Three suicides this morning, two accounts of bodily harm, and one just plain nasty thing involving Sabertooth that you really don't wanna know 'bout." She sighed, shifting her weight slightly. "Why do the fanfiction authors feel the need to make mah character so damn *miserable* all the time? She's a Goth, not a manic-depressive. On the show she came up with a lotta witty lines, even laughed some; so how come the only thing Ah'm asked to conjure up in fanfiction's gloominess?"
Kurtsprite recognised that she was unsettled by her recent involvement with the literary community, and shuffled closer. He'd been on the receiving end of several unpleasant fictives before, and knew how they stayed with you long after the author went to bed or abandoned their computer. Last year he'd been trapped for fifty-plus chapters in what had, at the time, seemed like an endless cycle of pain, violence and dark desire. Of course, the upside was that it'd had a happy ending where most fics of that sort didn't - even if Kurtty had died out not long after its conclusion. However, he knew from experience that Rogue angst fics were more apt to hinge on cheerless finales.
As he did moved, however, he caught sight of what it was pressed to Roguesprite's front. A battered, dog-eared teddy bear that had obviously seen many a-better day. It was missing an eye, and its left ear hung at a crazy angle, clinging quite literally by mere thread. It gazed balefully at him, bits of stuffing hanging out all over the place.
Roguesprite saw him looking, and dragged it further into her embrace. Like all muses, her facial features displayed several 'chibi' qualities, and her eyes were huge as she defended herself. "I got 'im from a fic not so long back. It ain't against the law to keep stuff outta fics we work on. You kept your wings, so I kept Harry here."
"Harry?" Kurtsprite's brow rose again. "As is Potter?"
"No, smart mouth. Harry as in Harry-mah-comfort-bear. That InterNutter chick gave your character Sch... sh..." she struggled slightly with the word.
"Schmerzmann," Kurtsprite prompted, and grinned a mouthful of fangs. "Ja, but I don't carry him around with me. Schmerzmann stays in the fiction even when I'm not working in it."
"Just like the wings should've?"
"Hey, don't diss the wings. Those multi-authors put a lot of work into these babies." He arched them above his head, demonstrating their dexterity. She watched as the pinfeathers gleamed, pale blue and frosty, yet with a strange inner warmth. Almost like Kurtsprite and his character. Coldly demonic on the outside, but warmer than Summertime in the Mississippi on the inside.
Suddenly his hands darted out, and Roguesprite found herself with a distinct lack of teddiness about her person. She glared at Kurtsprite, who held the battered bear at arm's length, studying him.
"Give that back!"
"I'm only looking," he smiled, dancing backwards and taunting her by waggling Harry from side to side. He was in one of *those* moods, all pent up energy and mischievousness just aching to get out. Unfortunately for her, she was the way it was going to do so.
"Kurtsprite, give me mah bear, or Ah'll stuff yer tail inside yer ear."
"Have to catch me first, Fraulein," he laughed, turning a wide circle that she followed with arms outstretched.
Her cheeks burned, embarrassed at being made to look a fool, even though there was nobody there to see it. She knew that Kurtsprite was probably only trying to cheer her up, but a morning full of work had made her immune to such tactics, and she harrumphed at his good intentions with a stamp of her foot and pout of darkly painted lips.
The elfin muse faltered at her response, seeming unsure of himself, but when she lunged for the teddy again he slipped out of reach still.
"Kurtsprite, Ah'm gonna count to three. If'n ya don't gimme the bear, Ah'm gonna wrap ya tighter n' a steer with yer own frikkin' tail, y'hear?" Roguesprite's voice was level, and she glared at him with a clear warning in her eyes.
Kurtsprite just laughed again, voice light an tinkling as she started her countdown. He didn't believe she'd actually carry out her threat, and so no harm in goading her a bit further to leech out her bad mood ready for another afternoon of providing inspiration.
"One."
"Oh, come on, Roguesprite. Be a sport, and just chase me a little whole longer, ne?"
"Two."
"Don't be a such a grump. Lookit, Harry can dance when he's with me." He tossed the stuffed toy high into the air, then caught it with a delicate flick of his wrist. "See?" He attempted it again as she finished.
"Three. Don't say Ah didn't warn ya."
Suddenly the world around Kurtsprite seemed to buckle and warp, curling in like living shadow to catch his wings and hold him useless against the dark sky. He cried out, but no amount of thrashing could free him as Roguesprite manipulated Museworld to pluck Harry from his fingers and guide him back into her own arms. A flash of green pyjamas, the rustle of white streaked hair, and Kurtsprite found himself laying on his back, hands and feet in the air and tied tight with the length of serpentine blue that was his tail. He tried to free himself, but somehow she'd fixed it so that he couldn't, and though he struggled, he remained exactly where he was. Trussed up like a blue, furry steer, just like she promised.
Roguesprite looked down from where she hugged Harry close, smiling for the first time that day. It seemed this little exercise had succeeded where his other attempts failed, but somehow that wasn't much comfort. "Word of advice, Fuzzy. Never come between a girl and her teddy. Ya may not like the results." She twitched her head, as if listening to a voice only she could hear, and sighed. "Back to the grindstone. See ya, Kurtsprite."
"Hey!" He tussled uselessly with his bonds, turning pleading eyes upon his fellow muse. " 'Lil help?"
"Why not ask an author to write ya free?" she replied as she faded into the darkness, called to duty once again.
"What? But that's why I came looking for someone to talk to. I'm not involved with any authors at the moment."
"Then whaddya call *that*?" Roguesprite gestured towards the huge computer screen, where a writer typed dutifully the words you're reading right now, dear reader. Kurtsprite looked too, and his mouth fell open in shock.
"You mean I've been in a fanfic all this *time*? And I didn't even know it?"
"Them's the breaks, Fuzzy. Best get her attention before she loses interest." And with that, the little Goth muse vanished.
Kurtsprite turned and yelled at the portal, but (and here's the grand finale of our story), the writer therein was yawning, hands away from the keyboard to stretch above her head. The clock on the wall read 3 a.m., and it was obvious she'd tired of writing and was preparing to leave for bed.
"Hey, wait! You can't just leave me here like this!"
But, you see, she could, for she was a fanfic authoress, and in the strange place called Museworld, those mythical beings called writers were always in control whilst they chose to remain.
Which she didn't, saving the file she'd been working on to floppy disk, and closing down the computer with a weary sigh. Then she rose and pattered off to the land of nod, inspiration spent for the duration.
And so we leave Museland to the muses one again. Black and fathonless, it aprkles away into another night as the other side of the planet awakens. Try to put things back neatly when you're done there, dear reader, OK?
"What about me?"
Shhh, the fic's over.
"But I'm still all tied up!"
Here comes a likely author masking as a reader. Let her untie you, I'm sure you recognise her. Goodbye Kurtsprite. Until we meet again. Or Kiki draws you. Whichever comes first.
"Oh, that's a big help. Lousy, no good authoress... Razzin frazzin... no respect... muse union... working conditions... sadistic writer..."
I heard that!
*******************
FINIS.
*******************
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a response to some doodles the ever-artful Kiki posted on InterNutter's Bulletin Board a while back, that I converted into fic form for her. Her art makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, so expect much random WAFF-y-ness here. Go Kiki!
Just for fun, how many authors and fics can you spot referenced here? Let's see who can find them all.
No U-turns permitted.
*******************
'Just Another Day' By Scribbler, for Kiki
May 2003
*******************
Kurtsprite was bored. And a bored Kurtsprite is never a good thing.
He sat atop an ethereal church tower, a nonexistent moon highlighting his boredom; but somehow even this didn't serve to alleviate it as it usually did. The entire of Museworld stretched before him, empty and dark, and he sighed despondently to himself, stretching his wings in an effort to break the monotony.
Kurtsprite was different from the other muses in that way. Where they were all ground-bound, his propensity for the arts had led him to possess a pair of tiny feathered wings, not unlike those Warrensprite wore. They'd been given his character in a fanfiction some months past, and he'd found himself liking the feeling of flight so much that, after the fic was over and the authors returned home to Realworld, he kept his downy gifts as a keepsake and source of entertainment.
Yet even his wings didn't help now. It had been many days since his character featured in a fanfic, and as such, his inspirational abilities had been largely uncalled upon in favour of other muses. Not that he begrudged them their time in the limelight, but Kurtsprite was an lively little spirit, and whatever energy he couldn't work off through inspiring authors into literary creations had to come out somewhere.
He'd tried to manipulate the fabric of Museworld to assuage his frustration, hence the disembodied clock tower he was now perched upon. Yet it had only entertained him for so long, and now he hungered for something a little more taxing.
In short, he wanted company.
Getting to his feet, he stretched, flexing all of his limbs. His tail lashed behind him, whipping away the clouds he'd created for atmosphere, and as his concentration on his surroundings broke they dissipated, leaving him floating in mid-air.
He soared aimlessly. Museworld was a desolate place when no authors were present to call on its occupants. An endless expanse of black, broken only by pockets of colour where writers worked. Kurtsprite brushed over a few, inspecting what was going on.
Pietrosprite and Wandasprite were locked in battle in one, hex bolts flying wildly, and he avoided that pocket with a wide upsweep that took him far, far into the air. There he caught sight of Warrensprite, currently engaged in an aerial display with what looked like a metal horse and rider in another pocket. His skin was tinted blue again, and his feathers had been replaced with curved steel and sparkling metal that flew at his opponent like burning bullets.
_Another Apocalypse fic,_ Kurtsprite thought dismissively. Epic though they were, Apocalypse fanfiction rarely featured his character, and thus he preferred to give it a wide berth. The fact that Warrensprite - still irritated with Kurtsprite for keeping his wings, which he claimed were his 'gimmick' and nobody else's - was usually a prominent feature as this 'Death' character was also a reason to steer clear of those sorts of narratives.
Sighing, Kurtsprite banked left, then right, searching for something to do rather than watch the other muses at work. Surely there was *someone* he could talk to, play with - anything! They couldn't *all* be working, surely? After all, his was the most popular character on the show, so if he was out of work one of the others must be as well. Perhaps the New Mutants, or Forge. They never got any attention from the authors.
Yet a writer had indeed swept the New Mutants into a fic, and Kurtsprite watched at a distance as they frolicked under the interest. Forge, too was unavailable, though once again he was relegated to a background role, this time somewhere in the realms of a Lancitty that showed no intention of ending for at least another six chapters.
Kurtsprite exhaled noisily, twirling onto his side and gliding along on an imaginary breeze. His tail whipped idly from side to side, as anxious as he was to expend some energy.
If he didn't do something soon, he was going to go *insane*!
Suddenly something caught his eye, and he veered head-over-heels, hovering for a second to see what it was. Like a pale shadow it shifted for the briefest of moments far below him, before disappearing again.
Curious, Kurtsprite folded his wings and dropped, careless of what damage he could incur by doing so. Here in Museworld, he was master of his own destiny - that is, until some author came along with an idea and a plot to control it for him for as long as their interest held. In any case, right now he could direct his environment to follow his wishes, and so it was that he landed on a floor that wasn't truly there, and saw by a light that didn't really shine.
A figure huddled away from him, back turned his way and facing into the incessant gloom.
"Roguesprite?"
"Go 'way," she grunted. She was wearing a pair of pyjamas, her attire whenever she was disturbed or upset. It never failed. Gothic-wear when she was grouchy, Siren outfit when mad, or battle uniform when she felt particularly confrontational. Muse clothing tended to reflect emotion that way.
Kurtsprite raised his eyebrows. Then, fluffing his wings he knuckled down beside Roguesprite. "You OK? Why aren't you working? I thought that new author was evolving your character's powers today."
"He was." She twisted away from him, clutching something to her chest that was half wreathed in shadow. "Went to have his lunch. I got a respite while he eats." Her voice sounded strangely choked, almost strangled.
Kurtsprite made the connection almost immediately. "The angst fics been treating your character harshly again?"
She looked up at that. "Three suicides this morning, two accounts of bodily harm, and one just plain nasty thing involving Sabertooth that you really don't wanna know 'bout." She sighed, shifting her weight slightly. "Why do the fanfiction authors feel the need to make mah character so damn *miserable* all the time? She's a Goth, not a manic-depressive. On the show she came up with a lotta witty lines, even laughed some; so how come the only thing Ah'm asked to conjure up in fanfiction's gloominess?"
Kurtsprite recognised that she was unsettled by her recent involvement with the literary community, and shuffled closer. He'd been on the receiving end of several unpleasant fictives before, and knew how they stayed with you long after the author went to bed or abandoned their computer. Last year he'd been trapped for fifty-plus chapters in what had, at the time, seemed like an endless cycle of pain, violence and dark desire. Of course, the upside was that it'd had a happy ending where most fics of that sort didn't - even if Kurtty had died out not long after its conclusion. However, he knew from experience that Rogue angst fics were more apt to hinge on cheerless finales.
As he did moved, however, he caught sight of what it was pressed to Roguesprite's front. A battered, dog-eared teddy bear that had obviously seen many a-better day. It was missing an eye, and its left ear hung at a crazy angle, clinging quite literally by mere thread. It gazed balefully at him, bits of stuffing hanging out all over the place.
Roguesprite saw him looking, and dragged it further into her embrace. Like all muses, her facial features displayed several 'chibi' qualities, and her eyes were huge as she defended herself. "I got 'im from a fic not so long back. It ain't against the law to keep stuff outta fics we work on. You kept your wings, so I kept Harry here."
"Harry?" Kurtsprite's brow rose again. "As is Potter?"
"No, smart mouth. Harry as in Harry-mah-comfort-bear. That InterNutter chick gave your character Sch... sh..." she struggled slightly with the word.
"Schmerzmann," Kurtsprite prompted, and grinned a mouthful of fangs. "Ja, but I don't carry him around with me. Schmerzmann stays in the fiction even when I'm not working in it."
"Just like the wings should've?"
"Hey, don't diss the wings. Those multi-authors put a lot of work into these babies." He arched them above his head, demonstrating their dexterity. She watched as the pinfeathers gleamed, pale blue and frosty, yet with a strange inner warmth. Almost like Kurtsprite and his character. Coldly demonic on the outside, but warmer than Summertime in the Mississippi on the inside.
Suddenly his hands darted out, and Roguesprite found herself with a distinct lack of teddiness about her person. She glared at Kurtsprite, who held the battered bear at arm's length, studying him.
"Give that back!"
"I'm only looking," he smiled, dancing backwards and taunting her by waggling Harry from side to side. He was in one of *those* moods, all pent up energy and mischievousness just aching to get out. Unfortunately for her, she was the way it was going to do so.
"Kurtsprite, give me mah bear, or Ah'll stuff yer tail inside yer ear."
"Have to catch me first, Fraulein," he laughed, turning a wide circle that she followed with arms outstretched.
Her cheeks burned, embarrassed at being made to look a fool, even though there was nobody there to see it. She knew that Kurtsprite was probably only trying to cheer her up, but a morning full of work had made her immune to such tactics, and she harrumphed at his good intentions with a stamp of her foot and pout of darkly painted lips.
The elfin muse faltered at her response, seeming unsure of himself, but when she lunged for the teddy again he slipped out of reach still.
"Kurtsprite, Ah'm gonna count to three. If'n ya don't gimme the bear, Ah'm gonna wrap ya tighter n' a steer with yer own frikkin' tail, y'hear?" Roguesprite's voice was level, and she glared at him with a clear warning in her eyes.
Kurtsprite just laughed again, voice light an tinkling as she started her countdown. He didn't believe she'd actually carry out her threat, and so no harm in goading her a bit further to leech out her bad mood ready for another afternoon of providing inspiration.
"One."
"Oh, come on, Roguesprite. Be a sport, and just chase me a little whole longer, ne?"
"Two."
"Don't be a such a grump. Lookit, Harry can dance when he's with me." He tossed the stuffed toy high into the air, then caught it with a delicate flick of his wrist. "See?" He attempted it again as she finished.
"Three. Don't say Ah didn't warn ya."
Suddenly the world around Kurtsprite seemed to buckle and warp, curling in like living shadow to catch his wings and hold him useless against the dark sky. He cried out, but no amount of thrashing could free him as Roguesprite manipulated Museworld to pluck Harry from his fingers and guide him back into her own arms. A flash of green pyjamas, the rustle of white streaked hair, and Kurtsprite found himself laying on his back, hands and feet in the air and tied tight with the length of serpentine blue that was his tail. He tried to free himself, but somehow she'd fixed it so that he couldn't, and though he struggled, he remained exactly where he was. Trussed up like a blue, furry steer, just like she promised.
Roguesprite looked down from where she hugged Harry close, smiling for the first time that day. It seemed this little exercise had succeeded where his other attempts failed, but somehow that wasn't much comfort. "Word of advice, Fuzzy. Never come between a girl and her teddy. Ya may not like the results." She twitched her head, as if listening to a voice only she could hear, and sighed. "Back to the grindstone. See ya, Kurtsprite."
"Hey!" He tussled uselessly with his bonds, turning pleading eyes upon his fellow muse. " 'Lil help?"
"Why not ask an author to write ya free?" she replied as she faded into the darkness, called to duty once again.
"What? But that's why I came looking for someone to talk to. I'm not involved with any authors at the moment."
"Then whaddya call *that*?" Roguesprite gestured towards the huge computer screen, where a writer typed dutifully the words you're reading right now, dear reader. Kurtsprite looked too, and his mouth fell open in shock.
"You mean I've been in a fanfic all this *time*? And I didn't even know it?"
"Them's the breaks, Fuzzy. Best get her attention before she loses interest." And with that, the little Goth muse vanished.
Kurtsprite turned and yelled at the portal, but (and here's the grand finale of our story), the writer therein was yawning, hands away from the keyboard to stretch above her head. The clock on the wall read 3 a.m., and it was obvious she'd tired of writing and was preparing to leave for bed.
"Hey, wait! You can't just leave me here like this!"
But, you see, she could, for she was a fanfic authoress, and in the strange place called Museworld, those mythical beings called writers were always in control whilst they chose to remain.
Which she didn't, saving the file she'd been working on to floppy disk, and closing down the computer with a weary sigh. Then she rose and pattered off to the land of nod, inspiration spent for the duration.
And so we leave Museland to the muses one again. Black and fathonless, it aprkles away into another night as the other side of the planet awakens. Try to put things back neatly when you're done there, dear reader, OK?
"What about me?"
Shhh, the fic's over.
"But I'm still all tied up!"
Here comes a likely author masking as a reader. Let her untie you, I'm sure you recognise her. Goodbye Kurtsprite. Until we meet again. Or Kiki draws you. Whichever comes first.
"Oh, that's a big help. Lousy, no good authoress... Razzin frazzin... no respect... muse union... working conditions... sadistic writer..."
I heard that!
*******************
FINIS.
*******************