Things That Begin
Assistant Professor Sarah Williams has an unexpected editorial encounter.
Written for the labyfic lj community challenge involving the theme of a goblin king appearing somewhere where he is least expected and a bonus element of a gold watch, courtesy of the challenge proposer having recently seen (and adored) Pulp Fiction.
Sarah strained to keep her voice even. "This is highly irregular. I have never in all my time publishing in the field had an in-person meeting with the editor be a mandatory part of the revision process."
"Yes, Dr. Williams," replied the editorial assistant, "but I'm afraid the editor has made an executive decision in this case, given the numerous revise-and-resubmit attempts."
Sarah's teeth ached in muted fury. "The reason there have been so many iterations is because the editor requested them, not the reviewers. In point of fact, the manuscript hasn't been out for external review once since the first submission. Because, I might note, all the reviewers thought it was publishable with minor revisions when it was first submitted."
"Yes, Dr. Williams, but as it clearly states in the submission guidelines, the editor has final authority in these matters. If you find the process not to your satisfaction, you are always welcome to withdraw your submission from Symbol, Logic, & Modern Film, and attempt to publish it elsewhere." The delicate emphasis on "attempt" was unmistakable.
You smug son-of-a-bitch. "Given the excessive delays in this review process, I unfortunately find time pressures bearing down on me."
"Then you would agree, Dr. Williams," replied the assistant with impenetrable politeness, "that a real-time discussion could certainly expedite matters."
"I might. However, it remains unclear to me why it must be in person, as opposed to over the phone." Like a human.
"Our editor prefers face-to-face discussions to avoid misunderstandings."
"And disdains Skype, FaceTime, and Google Hangout for doing so?"
"He prefers traditional modes of communication. We only recently transitioned to email communication at all."
Exasperation lent an edge to Sarah's voice. "You're a journal dedicated to modern film, for pity's sake!"
"We also have a special focus on irony, if you recall from the description of the journal's scope."
She felt resignation creep over her. "And what exactly do you do if the editor wants such a meeting and the author doesn't happen to reside in the same city?"
"Ah, but you do, Dr. Williams, so the question is moot. Also, we deal with each submitted manuscript on a case by case basis."
Sarah sighed. "Of course you do. Alright, when does your editor next have an appointment available?"
"This afternoon at 1:00pm is currently open."
"I'll be there."
"Thank you, Dr. Williams. We look forward to seeing you."
Sarah didn't bother to reply as she pressed the off button on her phone and glared balefully out her office window.
The editor's office door opened as Sarah approached. The irritating, illustrious, and currently-all-powerful Dr. Aran of Symbol, Logic, & Modern Film at last.
As he came into full view, Sarah found herself looking at an elegant, slender man with roguishly long cornsilk hair and heart-stoppingly beautiful aristocratic features. All-too-familiar aristocratic features.
"That," said Sarah evenly, "is not an editor."
The assistant blinked slowly at her just outside the editor's doorway.
Jareth's velvet voice smoothly parted the awkwardness, sliding across skin and mind with liquid grace. "Why don't I have a chat with Dr. Williams to sort this out?"
As she sat in the chair facing the editor's desk, Sarah's eyes were immediately drawn to the flamboyantly shining watch he wore. It stood out in stark contrast to his tailored double-breasted suit, which was an immaculate and tasteful grey. "What is that golden thing around your wrist?"
"Oh, this?" A Cheshire cat grin stole across his lips as he appreciated the irony of who spoke those lines to whom. "You have seen Pulp Fiction, of course?"
Silence stretched between them for a moment. "Just tell me that hasn't been shoved up several someones' asses for years."
His trickster smile glittered back at her. "I could tell you that, I suppose."
"Seriously? I just can't see you sullying yourself with something with that kind of history."
"History is as history does." He looked at the watch with a rather rueful fondness. "It's all about the story that goes with it, and this one has a rather fine one with some excellent symbolism. Something you'd certainly appreciate." His eyes flicked to the latest version of her manuscript, "Fallible Inference: The Symbols of Quentin Tarantino".
"Speaking of, why on God's green earth are you doing this?"
He arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Doing what, pray tell?"
"This." She looked pointedly at the gold-embossed nameplate on his desk. "Being the editor of an academic journal. In my particular subfield. Who's intent on blocking publication of my manuscript. That I need published to get tenure." You ass.
He seemed to roll his answer through his teeth for a moment, stripping it down to its bones before replying."I enjoy the subject."
She snorted. "Like hell you do."
"You find it difficult to believe that I, of all people, would enjoy encouraging discussion of symbolism and logic in modern film?" A gentle chiding slipped along the liquid notes of his voice. "Really?"
She pursed her lips, mulling that over. It wasn't all that implausible, really. Well, relatively speaking."I see your point, albeit grudgingly. So why have you been blocking my manuscript publication?"
"Ah, that. I simply had legitimate concerns that I deemed important to rectify before publication."
"Twelve godforsaken times?"
He smiled wide, displaying the points of his teeth. "Thirteenth time's the charm, don't you think? Besides, did you disagree with any of my prior observations?"
Her teeth ground slightly. "No, actually. But this is an unbelievable abuse of the peer review process."
"Don't you think the manuscript's improved?"
Her nostrils flared in frustration. "Yes. But that's beside the point."
"Is it? Don't you want to produce the best piece you can?"
She tilted her head, a bitter half-smile on her lips. "I want tenure. And I need this published to assure it. And you," she growled softly, "are standing in the way of that."
"Temper, temper, Dr. Williams." A sly shadow drifted across his features. "It seems that I have power over you in this matter."
"Oh, and you're just savoring it, aren't you?" She hissed derisively through her teeth. "Role reversal, revenge, ruinous recycling...any other Rs you'd like to hit while we're at it?"
"Mmm...retribution." His mouth seemed to savor the syllables, letting them fall with dramatic languor. "Redoubtable repartee." He was rolling the rhotics now with a sultry, deliberate pleasure. "Partnerrrrrrship." He paused. "Admittedly, that last one's a bit of a stretch."
She stared at him. "Alliteratively or content-wise?"
His smile flashed again. "Both. But entertainingly so, don't you think?"
She inhaled slowly before speaking. "What are you saying?"
"I'm making you an offer."
"Haven't we already covered ruinous recycling?"
He inclined his head, a half-smile playing along his lips. "Yes, but I thought you'd find this offer more to your liking."
She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Alright. Make it then."
"Haven't I already?"
"I'm highly tempted to throw something at your head. Be explicit."
A wicked gleam caught in his eyes.
She rolled hers. "State your offer in plain terms, or I'm leaving this office, publication be damned."
"What of your vaunted tenure plans?"
"I'll make do." A distinct air of defiance crackled around her.
"Very well." He steepled his fingers, leaning his chin on them. "I offer you partnership. I will expedite the publication of the current piece on the condition that I am your permanent collaborator on all future creative endeavors."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's blackmail."
His silky laughter slid along her skin. "I did start our acquaintance as a villain, did I not? Besides, you've admitted yourself that the current work has been improved by my comments. This is merely a permanent offer of quality control."
"Quality control?" Her eyebrows jumped in irritated disbelief. "You sure know how to compliment a girl."
"You know we could write incredible things together. Things that would shake up this little ivory tower you've perched yourself in. 'Have you read the latest Williams & Aran?' They'd whisper it at all the little conference soirées."
She blinked slowly, contemplating, a seductive burn building deep inside her. "Why would you want this? Also, you as second author? Really?"
He stretched, displaying a long lean line of arm and chest. "I find myself refreshed by your creative talent. Revitalized even. I want to encourage it, refine it," his hand waved in an elegant flourish, "lead it to new heights of glory. And the senior author is typically second author."
"Hmph, senior author, are you? How mentor-esque. Sounding a little Phantom really...am I to be your little protege, then, your sweet Christine? Should I be bursting into spontaneous song now?"
His smile took on a rapacious edge. "Symbols and themes, symbols and themes...also, as your current manuscript so incisively underscores, fallible inference."
She snorted softly. "Then what? What is it that you want from all of this?"
He shrugged. "Retribution, redoubtable repartee. Partnership. As I've said."
"That threat of throwing things at your head is still in play."
"Most excellent - adds dramatic flair to our interaction. Do you accept my offer?"
She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head. "Does it mean I would actually get to throw something at your head?"
He tilted his head thoughtfully. "It all depends on how far you stretch the definition of repartee, I think. It certainly fits the redoubtable aspect."
She considered for another long moment, and then nodded slowly. "Fine, then. I accept." She extended her hand to him.
He grasped it in his and gave it a strong, business-like shake, the white leather of his glove pleasantly cool and supple against her skin. "So pacted."
A chiming not-sound tinkled in the back of her mind. As their hands broke, she swiftly grabbed the small goblin stuffed toy on his desk and lobbed it at his head.
He tilted his head deftly to the side with an assassin's grace, and his smile was very wide as he raised his fingers to his lips and blew her a jaunty kiss. "An excellent start, Dr. Williams."