When We Have Writers/ Writer's/ Writers' Block:
Well, now that I've introduced all the main characters and lame plot devices… oops! There's that darned narrator's perspective! That's not supposed to be there.
You wanna play: let's run away
We won't be back before it's New Year's Day
Take me ouooooooooot! Tonight. Meow!
Everyone clapped. Roger put down his guitar and Mimi gave a small bow and wiped her forehead.
"That was great, Mimi," said Toronto.
"You joining in on the dancing wasn't too shabby. Maybe you could try out for the program at NYU." Everyone else nodded. Toronto blushed. She had had no idea she could dance so well. Of course, there were those times at all the school dances and then that time when a man had seen her dancing at a concert and told her she should become a professional, but her friends' compliments were so wonderful! Joanne frowned.
"That song was entirely inappropriate for the babies."
"Do you think they can hear in there?" Collins asked, peering at Joanne's maternity blouse as if he could see the fetus dancing along with incredible x-ray vision.
"I think they can!" Maureen piped in, "And they're never too young too appreciate that the world is not a land of prudes." She glared at Joanne, who rolled her eyes.
"She's upset because I told her belly shirts are inappropriate for pregnant women."
"You need to embrace the female form. You had no trouble with that before we were pregnant." Everyone giggled, spit out their drinks, or smirked into their hands. Mark leaned over to Toronto and whispered in her ear.
"Watch us get a mini- Joanne and a mini- Maureen." Toronto smiled at the thought, though it was terrifying to imagine the sibling rivalry.
The topic of conversation turned to more serious themes.
Collins was still upset about the desecration of his beloved's grave. He was past the sad stage and onto the murder stage. Either that or he'd been drinking more heavily than usual.
The Dramatic OC who is Really Another Sue:
Every female on 7th Heaven was pregnant with twins… except for the dog… she was having sextuplets. But that had nothing to do with Tabitha Dumott.
She was a tall girl- thin, but not anorexic. She had long black hair, to the back of her knees, and the front strands brushed her brow and cheeks, nearly masking her pale face. People on the street were surprised that she wasn't wearing black, but she was not. Her skirt was long and blue and she wore a grey, wool sweater with a matching scarf.
"Back demon!" A priest had shoved a cross in her face. It happened all the time. She waved it off and continued down the street.
"I hate my life," she said to herself. Suddenly, in the doorway to her left, a decrepit old woman appeared.
"An angel watches over you," she hissed. Tabitha looked at the crone and gave a polite smile.
"And as a reward for your passing on this knowledge, I'm sure the demons won't eat you." The old woman glanced behind her, horrified, saw nothing, and stared angrily at the gothic teenager.
"I am serious, Tabitha, an angel watches over you. Do not shun him; you'll make her angry." The old woman grabbed a sack and ran down the street before Tabitha could question her.
"So… my angel is asexual. Okay then, crazy woman." Tabitha continued down the street, moping about how her life had gone horribly wrong. Oh great, time to describe the OC's life story.
Tabitha Dumott had lived in the suburbs of New York City for as long as she could remember. Her family was not rich, but they were not poor either. Her life had been comfortable, but she had always felt like she didn't belong. All of the pop tarts at school shunned her and to rebel against the parents that had done nothing except encourage her, she had begun to slash her wrists and write poetry about the darkness that encroached upon her innocent heart and the fleeting dreams of childhood. She started to wear black and hang out with kids named Bloodious X. Vive and Nosferatta- people who understood the darkness that was a suburban high school and trigonometry homework. Tabitha knew that she had to leave that hell and live where people of her sort thrived, but most of all she longed for family- family that was like her.
"I sold my soul for a jelly bean (black of course) and then I choked to death," Tabitha sang softly before coming to a stop on a park bench.
She had looked up relatives on her father's side of the family because her father never talked about his parents and Tabitha didn't know if she had any aunts or uncles or cousins. It turned out that there was a much younger sister named Marie. She had abandoned her life as an upper middle class girl and had moved to the city and had married a Puerto-Rican/ French mechanic named Jacques-Jose Schunard. They had died from cancer but they had a son named Angel Dumott-Shcunard. Tabitha had been excited to meet her cousin and she had saved up her money to go to New York City after graduation. When she looked Angel up, however, Tabitha discovered that he had died six months earlier. Broken-hearted, she asked if a DNA test could be performed on the body to see if they were related. When the body was to be exhumed, it wasn't in its coffin.
Now Tabitha had nowhere to go and no family. College seemed so empty: her roommate and all of the others had pictures of family and friends all over their walls and went out partying all night. So what if Tabitha had better grades? She wanted people who understood her: she wanted Ang- Angel! Perhaps that crazy woman was right! What if Angel was her guardian angel? Excitedly, Tabitha stood up. She had never been very religious, but old people with strange prophecies must always be believed in stories. She decided to try what Inigo Montoya had done in The Princess Bride: she would ask Angel to guide her to where she was supposed to go. She prayed silently and allowed her feet to move her. When she felt it was right to stop, she looked up at the building to which Angel had guided her.
"The Cat Scratch Club?" On the sign in primary-colored letters were silhouettes of busty women in sexual poses. She wondered why her destiny was a strip club then chastised herself for believing in the nonsense of angels. Still, she needed money. She walked into the building and started to tear up at the smell of liquor and tobacco that wafted through the air to her nostrils. All around her, men were sitting- cheering and gawking at the catwalk where women in skimpy clothes gyrated and sang. Men shoved dollar bills into their thongs. A woman was tied to a pole a la ingénue-on-the-train tracks. Men hooted at her.
"You!" shouted a man. Tabitha looked up. A portly man with greasy hair was pointing at her. "You looking for work?" Tabitha nodded, scared. He beckoned her to follow him and she walked over slowly, wary of eyes following her, despite her wearing much more clothing than the writhing dancers.
"Here," he said gruffly when they reached an office of sorts. The walls were covered with posters of naked women and the windows were cracked. There was also an unpleasant smell. "I'm Joe, the boss. You'll work three hours in the evenings, then. What's your cup size?"
"I'm a C." Joe nodded, staring at Tabitha's chest.
"What's your name?"
"Tabitha." Joe shook his head and handed her a black bikini thing.
"It's too dark. Your name will be Bubbles." Tabitha wanted to tell him that it went against her beliefs and standards as a human being to be named Bubbles, but she didn't see any use in arguing. "Put that on in the dressing room down the hall. You're on in half an hour. Bunny will tell you what to do." Tabitha blinked, stood up, and walked down the hall to the dressing room. It smelled bad in there, too, but it was because it reeked of cheap perfume and hair spray.
"New girl?" someone asked. Tabitha looked and saw a thin, voluptuous woman who in no way matched her voice. She sounded as if she had been smoking for twenty years but looked about twenty. "Well?"
"Oh… yes. I'm Tabitha."
"I'm Bunny. And Tabitha's no good here. You must be the new Bubbles. The old one got pregnant… no wait- that was the old Candi. The old Bubbles OD'd on sleeping pills." Tabitha just stared. "Well, put the outfit on." Bunny stood right in front of Tabitha, waiting for her to change. "If you can't strip in front of me you have no career here, kid."
"Where are all the friendly, down-on-their luck strippers who are supporting children as single mothers?"
"That's Buffy, Bonnie, and Brittany. They aren't working tonight. We're the drug addict strippers." Tabitha changed into her costume. It was a bra with black fringe hanging from the underwire, black fishnets, a black pair of hot pants that exposed her butt cheeks, and spike heeled shoes.
"You've got the goods," Bunny said, talking about Tabitha's naughty parts, i.e. her boobies for children who really should not be reading this. "Let's get some makeup on you." A few minutes later, Tabitha was dolled up like a hooker.
"Now about your routine. You'll be grinding on the pole on the left side of the stage facing the audience- the one Giggles is tied to right now, but they'll move her. I'm on the other side. We'll do our thing for a while and then the Feline will make her entrance.
"The Feline?"
"The best dancer here: Mimi, The Feline of Avenue B."
