The man inside Sam Beckett was pissed off.
Alan Rickman sat swinging his legs off the edge of the cot impatiently. Was there no limit to obsessive fan girls? Obviously not. And the weird looks he kept getting from the pretty woman - Dr Beeks, he remembered - were scaring him. What with weird dress senses, alien-fan-girl abductions and disembodied female voices, he decided it was just going to be one of those days.
As if on command, the man with the odd dress sense came in. Alan decided it must be their leader. He hadn't expected him to be male though, he always thought that the strange, secret-service looking young women who were always looking at him from high buildings were led by a woman. Unless, of course, he was a woman, which meant he was the cross-dressing leader of the strange people. Very odd indeed. He decided the best course of action would be to glare menacingly, which he did. The cross dressing man immediately broke his gaze and looked away.
"Uh, hi, I'm Al," he said. Alan stopped glaring. At least he wasn't hostile. He was still wary of the man, though, even though Al looked up and tried his best to smile.
"I'm Alan," he said. It was still formal, but at least it was a reply. He'd always hated formality. Small-talk. Bleurgh. A pause. "Why are you keeping me here?" *Well,* the little mini-me inside him said sharply. *Don't SQUEAK, will you??* Alan blanched and told mini-me to shut up, he didn't need his input.
Al sighed. "We're not keeping you here," he said softly. The sound of the English accent on Sam's lips was very strange.
The man on the cot raised his eyebrows. "Can I leave then?"
"No." It came out stronger than intended. He prepared himself for an explosion. These artistic types could be like that sometimes.
It never came. Alan looked pissed off, extremely pissed off, but not as if he was about to rush over to him and throttle him brainless. He was a pretty nice bloke after all. Likeable. He actually felt sorry for the guy.
"Listen, Alan, I'm sorry. There's been a mix up. My best friend has switched places with you to sort out something that's going to go wrong in your life. It's only temporary and you'll be back home soon."
"There's nothing wrong with my life," Alan cut in defensively.
"Something is about to go wrong with it," Al corrected.
Another pause, then Alan looked up sharply. "I'll say. I've got performances for the rest of the night. Aren't the audience going to notice that the lead actor has changed suddenly?"
"Uh, no," Al felt so awkward. "You see, you've not really switched places........." He saw the exasperated look on what would have been his best friend's face. Harsh. "Uh, it's more like your soul has switched places, really."
"Oh don't give me that science fiction shit, it's too early in the morning," Alan snapped. Al took a step back before continuing.
"So he looks like you, and you look like him," he finished quietly. Alan was glaring at him now. The man held out his hands and looked at the back of them, turning them over. "These are my hands, not anyone else's," he said icily. Al turned around the mirror in the corner, watching Alan take tentative steps towards it. He took one long look at the mirror and fainted.
"Damn," Al muttered.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
11;35am, Monday 23rd May 2002
The Rickmaniac Society Headquarters
Wil's office.
Wil was very pissed off. She was dressed in her usual black tank top and combats tucked into regulation army boots, her hair yanked backwards into a tight ponytail with wisps of light brown hair escaping over her face. The said regulation army boots were crossed on the table, the sounds of Smells Like Teen Spirit and Rammstien's Sonne playing very, very loudly from the room behind her. She pulled the hat down so it shadowed her, knowing that if she glared hard enough she could pass for AR, thus making Gumlick (who was sitting int the corner boredly) faint once again.
"What do you mean she was looking at him weirdly?" she asked dangerously.
Amanda had to admit she never did like the insane Brit, and resented the fact Brits or Germans always had to be the bad guys (or gals) in stuff like this. She wanted to be the bad guy for once. Damn her.
"Well," she found herself saying. "Sort of wanting, dribbling sort of thing."
Wil looked blankly at her. "So, frankly, no different from normal then," she remarked dryly.
"No," she said after a pause."More like, um...possesively..." Amanda filled in. Wil sat up and leaned over the desk (which, incidentally, was carved out of wood and if seen from a certain angle bared an uncanny resemblance to AR's finely crafted rear end)
"Are you wasting my time?"
"No," Amanda said. "She was looking at him possessively. As if he was under her control."
Wil sat back, and after a pause for thought, tipped back her hat and glared fully at Gumlick. After around six seconds of the poor girl's eyes getting wider and wider, she fainted and started spasming on the floor before lying stock still and going very white.
"What the hell was that for?" Amanda asked indignantly.
"She was thinking bad thoughts," Wil said evilly, her eyes glittering insanely from the naked bulb in the ceiling.
"Uh, well, oooook then." Amanda said, stepping towards the door. She opened it and was about to step outside.
"Oh, and Mandy, do keep an eye on our worm," Wil ordered, never looking up from the Alan Rickman Galaxy Quest comic that one of the other Rickmaniacs (Hestia, she remembered) had drawn for everyone. She also remembered that the particular one was the one with the naked AR in. "I wouldn't want her to get into any.....trouble."
Wil was such a weird bitch.
Alan Rickman sat swinging his legs off the edge of the cot impatiently. Was there no limit to obsessive fan girls? Obviously not. And the weird looks he kept getting from the pretty woman - Dr Beeks, he remembered - were scaring him. What with weird dress senses, alien-fan-girl abductions and disembodied female voices, he decided it was just going to be one of those days.
As if on command, the man with the odd dress sense came in. Alan decided it must be their leader. He hadn't expected him to be male though, he always thought that the strange, secret-service looking young women who were always looking at him from high buildings were led by a woman. Unless, of course, he was a woman, which meant he was the cross-dressing leader of the strange people. Very odd indeed. He decided the best course of action would be to glare menacingly, which he did. The cross dressing man immediately broke his gaze and looked away.
"Uh, hi, I'm Al," he said. Alan stopped glaring. At least he wasn't hostile. He was still wary of the man, though, even though Al looked up and tried his best to smile.
"I'm Alan," he said. It was still formal, but at least it was a reply. He'd always hated formality. Small-talk. Bleurgh. A pause. "Why are you keeping me here?" *Well,* the little mini-me inside him said sharply. *Don't SQUEAK, will you??* Alan blanched and told mini-me to shut up, he didn't need his input.
Al sighed. "We're not keeping you here," he said softly. The sound of the English accent on Sam's lips was very strange.
The man on the cot raised his eyebrows. "Can I leave then?"
"No." It came out stronger than intended. He prepared himself for an explosion. These artistic types could be like that sometimes.
It never came. Alan looked pissed off, extremely pissed off, but not as if he was about to rush over to him and throttle him brainless. He was a pretty nice bloke after all. Likeable. He actually felt sorry for the guy.
"Listen, Alan, I'm sorry. There's been a mix up. My best friend has switched places with you to sort out something that's going to go wrong in your life. It's only temporary and you'll be back home soon."
"There's nothing wrong with my life," Alan cut in defensively.
"Something is about to go wrong with it," Al corrected.
Another pause, then Alan looked up sharply. "I'll say. I've got performances for the rest of the night. Aren't the audience going to notice that the lead actor has changed suddenly?"
"Uh, no," Al felt so awkward. "You see, you've not really switched places........." He saw the exasperated look on what would have been his best friend's face. Harsh. "Uh, it's more like your soul has switched places, really."
"Oh don't give me that science fiction shit, it's too early in the morning," Alan snapped. Al took a step back before continuing.
"So he looks like you, and you look like him," he finished quietly. Alan was glaring at him now. The man held out his hands and looked at the back of them, turning them over. "These are my hands, not anyone else's," he said icily. Al turned around the mirror in the corner, watching Alan take tentative steps towards it. He took one long look at the mirror and fainted.
"Damn," Al muttered.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
11;35am, Monday 23rd May 2002
The Rickmaniac Society Headquarters
Wil's office.
Wil was very pissed off. She was dressed in her usual black tank top and combats tucked into regulation army boots, her hair yanked backwards into a tight ponytail with wisps of light brown hair escaping over her face. The said regulation army boots were crossed on the table, the sounds of Smells Like Teen Spirit and Rammstien's Sonne playing very, very loudly from the room behind her. She pulled the hat down so it shadowed her, knowing that if she glared hard enough she could pass for AR, thus making Gumlick (who was sitting int the corner boredly) faint once again.
"What do you mean she was looking at him weirdly?" she asked dangerously.
Amanda had to admit she never did like the insane Brit, and resented the fact Brits or Germans always had to be the bad guys (or gals) in stuff like this. She wanted to be the bad guy for once. Damn her.
"Well," she found herself saying. "Sort of wanting, dribbling sort of thing."
Wil looked blankly at her. "So, frankly, no different from normal then," she remarked dryly.
"No," she said after a pause."More like, um...possesively..." Amanda filled in. Wil sat up and leaned over the desk (which, incidentally, was carved out of wood and if seen from a certain angle bared an uncanny resemblance to AR's finely crafted rear end)
"Are you wasting my time?"
"No," Amanda said. "She was looking at him possessively. As if he was under her control."
Wil sat back, and after a pause for thought, tipped back her hat and glared fully at Gumlick. After around six seconds of the poor girl's eyes getting wider and wider, she fainted and started spasming on the floor before lying stock still and going very white.
"What the hell was that for?" Amanda asked indignantly.
"She was thinking bad thoughts," Wil said evilly, her eyes glittering insanely from the naked bulb in the ceiling.
"Uh, well, oooook then." Amanda said, stepping towards the door. She opened it and was about to step outside.
"Oh, and Mandy, do keep an eye on our worm," Wil ordered, never looking up from the Alan Rickman Galaxy Quest comic that one of the other Rickmaniacs (Hestia, she remembered) had drawn for everyone. She also remembered that the particular one was the one with the naked AR in. "I wouldn't want her to get into any.....trouble."
Wil was such a weird bitch.