***
Wesley was adding the finishing touches to something he liked to call "The Button." It was perfectly designed, proportioned, and just generally perfect in every way...much like Wesley himself. "The Button," in short, was...*magnificent*. And Wesley knew just what to do with it. He was going to-
"What the heck is *that*?" Wesley looked up in all his perfect splendor to see someone standing in the classroom doorway: Wanda. Wesley had had her picked out months ago as the perfect mate for a perfect man. The only thing he had to do to get her was woo her. And that, he was sure, would be easier than it was to *blink* for such a perfect specimen as himself.
"I call it 'The Button,'" he said, vastly proud of himself. "Just something I've been tinkering with for the past few days. Nothing to get too excited about." He hopped down from the second platform of "The Button," making certain to show off his perfect physique. "I was just adding the last piece of the neutron accelorator and giving the plasma drive a tweak. You know, no big whoop."
Wanda rolled her eyes at him. Could he get *any* more pathetic? _Come on, Wanda. This is *Wesley* we're talkin' about here. Of *course* he can get more pathetic._ "Listen, dweeb. I'm downright sick of being nice to you. I'm going to tell you the truth: you are a dork. You have always been a dork, you are presently a *really* big dork, and you will always *be* a dork. Understand?"
Wesley blinked. _Does that mean she *doesn't* want me to push "The Button?"_ he thought blankly. _Wait a second, did she just call me a *dork*?! No way! I'm too - I'm too *perfect* to be called a dork!_ "That's it," he said, pissed off. "I'm not pushing 'The Button' for *you,*" he whined, on his way out. He knew *just* who to see. His mom. She always provided him with the ego-padding that he needed. Wesley headed for the turbolift.
***
Meanwhile, in Ten-Forward...
***
Guinan was trying her very best to maintain her usual look of quiet dignity and knowledge, but her temper was running short. For one thing, Data had been sitting in the corner of the room for quite awhile now, downing synthehol at a speed that only an android could achieve, even though he *knew* it wouldn't do him any good, considering that a) he was an android and he couldn't get intoxicated, b) synthehol couldn't get *anyone* intoxicated in the first place, and c) he couldn't even taste it anyway! For *another* thing, Lieutenant Barclay had come in a half an hour ago and was bugging the *crap* out of her with his over-the-top cheer. At the moment, he had gathered a group of crewmen together in the *other* corner of the room and had launched into a spirited account of the time he had taken over the ship by melding with the computer.
_As if we hadn't *heard* that one already,_ Guinan thought - quietly, of course, since rumor was going around that the empathic counselor was in a bad mood. She headed over to the replicator to gather drinks for Barclay's fan club. She hadn't asked what they wanted, of course. It was easy to tell. "Three Arcadian fizzes and a Sizzling Romulan Tamale," she stated simply to the machine. The order appeared on a tray, and she picked it up with a swooping gesture, ready to head over to the corner of the room - until she stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the hiss of the double-doors. Turning her head slightly, she saw a very upset-looking Geordi enter the room, and winced (gracefully, of course). Another customer. And she already had to deal with Data and the annoyance of Barclay, and a sorry-looking group of ensigns who had congregated around a close group of tables in the center of the room, each of them wound up in their own glum thoughts.
Sighing, she headed over to the 'happy table' as Geordi slumped into a chair behind her. "Here you go," she said, plunking the drinks down on the table. "A Sizzling Romulan Tamale, and...one, two, three Arcadian fizzes." Nobody responded in the least to her presence. They just continued to laugh at an absolute *vile* pun that Reggie had just uttered. Guinan resisted the (strong) urge to roll her eyes, and settled for grinding her teeth in annoyance.
Winding her way through the tables filled with depressed people, Guinan finally made it to the other corner of the room. She stopped in front of Data and folded her arms, waiting patiently for him to stop pouring synthehol down his throat. The android's arms were a blur - there must have been more than fifty glasses on his table. After a couple minutes, he stopped moving abruptly, and merely swayed mechanically in his seat, peering at Guinan through half-closed eyelids.
"What...can I help you with, Guinan?" Data was obviously trying to fake a slur.
"You can help me figure out why you just consumed as much synthehol as our resident 'drunk' on a good day."
Data just swayed some more. He blinked slowly. "What...can I help you with, Guinan?"
"Cut the act, Data," Guinan spat irritably. "I don't have the time for the theatrics today."
"What act? I am not an actor." Data had stopped swaying, but continued to slur. Guinan sighed and shifted her weight to the other foot, looking down her nose at him.
"Why are you drinking so much, Data? You're just wasting supplies."
"I am trying to-" here he faked a hiccup, "-induce depression. I have noticed that..." Data paused to swallow loudly and blink again. "...I have noticed that depressed humans have a tendency to drink a great deal of alcohol..."
"And you wanted to try it?" Guinan was getting really annoyed now. "Data, you don't have emotions. You couldn't get depressed if your entire family died, your girlfriend left you, and you lost your job in the same day! Besides," she scoffed, "you're drinking synthehol, not alcohol, so you can't *possibly* get depressed *that* way." Guinan leaned down on the table-top to glare into his half-closed eyes. "So cut the act."
Data cut the act.
"I am merely trying to simulate the situation of drinking alcohol. I thought that synthehol would be only fitting as *it* is artificial, and *I* am artificial as well. My holodeck program failed to succeed, and the Captain restricted my holodeck use anyway, so the idea occurred to me that I could induce depression by *acting* depressed. Do you think that *this* idea will succeed, Guinan?"
Guinan started grinding her teeth again. "May I ask *why* you're going to all this trouble to get depressed - oh, the hell with it. I don't care, Data! Just stop wasting supplies! If you want to drink something, drink water! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go cheer up our chief engineer, so..." She walked off rubbing her temple underneath her gigantic round hat. Data stared after her for a moment, then fell back into his act.
"Geordi," Guinan called a little too sharply, on her way over to see him. He looked up in surprise, and Guinan removed her hand from the side of her head quickly. "Geordi," she said more softly, trying to fall back into her usual collectedness. "What seems to be bothering you today?"
"You might want to sit down," Geordi said, slumping farther down into his chair, "this could take awhile."
At this point, Guinan, impatient with her job and just generally annoyed by everyone's constant requests and/or everyone's *ignoring* her, stood solidly in her spot. "No, thank you, Geordi," she said a little too coolly.
Again Geordi looked up in surprise. "Oh - okay, Guinan. Well, uh, the trouble is..." he stopped and sighed. "...Data's been making this depression program in the Holodeck."
All of a sudden, Guinan exploded. A cry of exasperation resounded through Ten-Forward as Guinan ripped off her elegant maroon headpiece and threw it across the room like a frisbee. She stomped her way out of the room flailing her arms and crying, "That's it! Tell Picard I quit! There's no *way* I'm listening to you people anymore!" The door shut behind her with a hiss, and Barclay, who had had to duck when Guinan's hat had come flying at him, continued laughing and chatting with his newfound friends, him being only person who was feeling truly pleasant in Ten-forward.
***
Meanwhile, in Sickbay...
***
"So you're telling me the headache meds didn't work, Captain?"
"No."
"No they didn't or no you're not telling me that?" Beverly leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples.
"No they didn't."
"Didn't I give you permathol?"
"Yes."
"Ten ccs?"
"Yes," came the dull voice through her commbadge.
"And it didn't work?"
"It didn't work," he repeated, obviously bored.
"Well, I don't understand how that wouldn't have any-" She looked up as someone pounded on the glass of her office window. "I'm afraid I can't speak to you right now, Captain, could we continue this discussion later?"
"Yeah, whatever." Beverly gave her commbadge an odd look before tapping the link shut. Then, looking up again, she watched the second-in-command slouch into her office and pick up her hypospray.
"Commander, what are you-"
"This is the stuff you used on me, right?"
"Yes, that's it," she said tiredly, leaning back into her chair once again, glad of the extra comfort provided for medical officers.
"Hmmph," said Riker, twirling the same chair he had twirled before and straddling it in the same way. Crusher blinked at him. He blinked back. He was looking considerably more depressed than he had been before. In contrast to the aura surrounding the Commander now, his *previous* mood could easily be compared to the demeanor of Richard Simmons (Note: Boo! Hiss! Wait. Does anybody still *remember* Richard Simmons? Didn't think so). Whereas before Riker had sat up straight, he was now slumped against Beverly's office chair, appearing to everyone in Sickbay to be the most tired officer on the ship.
"Commander, is there anything I can help you with, or are you just going to waste time by making inarticulate noises and comments at me all day when there's a ship to run?"
Riker rolled his eyes. "I *came,* Dr. Crusher, to see if you could give me some *better* *happy pills*. 'Cause these, quite frankly, suck."
Crusher was taken aback. 'Suck' was not a word often uttered by Commander Riker, and, even though he was dumb as an ox (Note: This is *my* Riker now, okay? I know the real one's not really as dumb as an ox. He's just as dumb as a boar. That's a slightly higher intelligence level), he usually had more tact than your run-of-the-mill second-grader. Beverly leaned across the table and looked into Riker's eyes, and it was quite easy to see that he wasn't faking his depression. Putting her hands on the table, the medical officer said: "You're the second person today to complain about the treatments I've administered. Now, either I'm getting sloppy, or *you* people are just so convinced that the drugs I prescribe won't work that...they don't work." With that she slumped back into her chair again.
Riker stared at the table, and Beverly got the chance to watch him clean one of his back molars in an utterly grotesque way. Finally he looked back up at her. "I think you're getting sloppy, Doctor." Riker stood up and left the room.
Beverly turned her eyes to the heavens (not that there're any heavens in space, but...you get the idea), hoping for a divine light to come and take all her problems away. _Am I really getting sloppy?_ On a whim the doctor leaned forward and put her head on her hands, perhaps to take a quick nap, but suddenly-
"Mo-oooooom!" -Wesley appeared in front of her desk. Sighing, she pushed herself back up again and leaned onto the back of her chair. Her son was obviously on a whining rampage; he had that look on his face, the one that she dreaded day and night. "Wanda was-" The young tyrant stopped to look at the chair in front of his mother's desk. "Why's this chair turned around?" he wondered aloud. Dismissing it, he put it into its proper position and put on his whiny face again.
"Yes, what is it, Wesley?" Crusher was doing her very best to look (and sound) motherly, as she usually strived to do when she spoke with Wesley.
"I was gonna show Wanda my Button," he started in his most nasal voice, "but then she said that I'm a dork, and it was a really *cool* Button, but now I'm not so sure if it was cool anymore." His lower lip quivered in faked upset and he looked up at her with his best puppy eyes.
***
Bum-bum-BUM! And she cuts it off in another cliff-hanger. ::evil laughter:: That's right, I made a huge update, but...I'm not going to tell you what happens next! Not that you particularly *care* what *happens* next...I'm guessing you just care what's funny next. Ah, well, more hilarity next update.
Aren't you glad Fanfiction.net's up again? So am I.
Wesley was adding the finishing touches to something he liked to call "The Button." It was perfectly designed, proportioned, and just generally perfect in every way...much like Wesley himself. "The Button," in short, was...*magnificent*. And Wesley knew just what to do with it. He was going to-
"What the heck is *that*?" Wesley looked up in all his perfect splendor to see someone standing in the classroom doorway: Wanda. Wesley had had her picked out months ago as the perfect mate for a perfect man. The only thing he had to do to get her was woo her. And that, he was sure, would be easier than it was to *blink* for such a perfect specimen as himself.
"I call it 'The Button,'" he said, vastly proud of himself. "Just something I've been tinkering with for the past few days. Nothing to get too excited about." He hopped down from the second platform of "The Button," making certain to show off his perfect physique. "I was just adding the last piece of the neutron accelorator and giving the plasma drive a tweak. You know, no big whoop."
Wanda rolled her eyes at him. Could he get *any* more pathetic? _Come on, Wanda. This is *Wesley* we're talkin' about here. Of *course* he can get more pathetic._ "Listen, dweeb. I'm downright sick of being nice to you. I'm going to tell you the truth: you are a dork. You have always been a dork, you are presently a *really* big dork, and you will always *be* a dork. Understand?"
Wesley blinked. _Does that mean she *doesn't* want me to push "The Button?"_ he thought blankly. _Wait a second, did she just call me a *dork*?! No way! I'm too - I'm too *perfect* to be called a dork!_ "That's it," he said, pissed off. "I'm not pushing 'The Button' for *you,*" he whined, on his way out. He knew *just* who to see. His mom. She always provided him with the ego-padding that he needed. Wesley headed for the turbolift.
***
Meanwhile, in Ten-Forward...
***
Guinan was trying her very best to maintain her usual look of quiet dignity and knowledge, but her temper was running short. For one thing, Data had been sitting in the corner of the room for quite awhile now, downing synthehol at a speed that only an android could achieve, even though he *knew* it wouldn't do him any good, considering that a) he was an android and he couldn't get intoxicated, b) synthehol couldn't get *anyone* intoxicated in the first place, and c) he couldn't even taste it anyway! For *another* thing, Lieutenant Barclay had come in a half an hour ago and was bugging the *crap* out of her with his over-the-top cheer. At the moment, he had gathered a group of crewmen together in the *other* corner of the room and had launched into a spirited account of the time he had taken over the ship by melding with the computer.
_As if we hadn't *heard* that one already,_ Guinan thought - quietly, of course, since rumor was going around that the empathic counselor was in a bad mood. She headed over to the replicator to gather drinks for Barclay's fan club. She hadn't asked what they wanted, of course. It was easy to tell. "Three Arcadian fizzes and a Sizzling Romulan Tamale," she stated simply to the machine. The order appeared on a tray, and she picked it up with a swooping gesture, ready to head over to the corner of the room - until she stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the hiss of the double-doors. Turning her head slightly, she saw a very upset-looking Geordi enter the room, and winced (gracefully, of course). Another customer. And she already had to deal with Data and the annoyance of Barclay, and a sorry-looking group of ensigns who had congregated around a close group of tables in the center of the room, each of them wound up in their own glum thoughts.
Sighing, she headed over to the 'happy table' as Geordi slumped into a chair behind her. "Here you go," she said, plunking the drinks down on the table. "A Sizzling Romulan Tamale, and...one, two, three Arcadian fizzes." Nobody responded in the least to her presence. They just continued to laugh at an absolute *vile* pun that Reggie had just uttered. Guinan resisted the (strong) urge to roll her eyes, and settled for grinding her teeth in annoyance.
Winding her way through the tables filled with depressed people, Guinan finally made it to the other corner of the room. She stopped in front of Data and folded her arms, waiting patiently for him to stop pouring synthehol down his throat. The android's arms were a blur - there must have been more than fifty glasses on his table. After a couple minutes, he stopped moving abruptly, and merely swayed mechanically in his seat, peering at Guinan through half-closed eyelids.
"What...can I help you with, Guinan?" Data was obviously trying to fake a slur.
"You can help me figure out why you just consumed as much synthehol as our resident 'drunk' on a good day."
Data just swayed some more. He blinked slowly. "What...can I help you with, Guinan?"
"Cut the act, Data," Guinan spat irritably. "I don't have the time for the theatrics today."
"What act? I am not an actor." Data had stopped swaying, but continued to slur. Guinan sighed and shifted her weight to the other foot, looking down her nose at him.
"Why are you drinking so much, Data? You're just wasting supplies."
"I am trying to-" here he faked a hiccup, "-induce depression. I have noticed that..." Data paused to swallow loudly and blink again. "...I have noticed that depressed humans have a tendency to drink a great deal of alcohol..."
"And you wanted to try it?" Guinan was getting really annoyed now. "Data, you don't have emotions. You couldn't get depressed if your entire family died, your girlfriend left you, and you lost your job in the same day! Besides," she scoffed, "you're drinking synthehol, not alcohol, so you can't *possibly* get depressed *that* way." Guinan leaned down on the table-top to glare into his half-closed eyes. "So cut the act."
Data cut the act.
"I am merely trying to simulate the situation of drinking alcohol. I thought that synthehol would be only fitting as *it* is artificial, and *I* am artificial as well. My holodeck program failed to succeed, and the Captain restricted my holodeck use anyway, so the idea occurred to me that I could induce depression by *acting* depressed. Do you think that *this* idea will succeed, Guinan?"
Guinan started grinding her teeth again. "May I ask *why* you're going to all this trouble to get depressed - oh, the hell with it. I don't care, Data! Just stop wasting supplies! If you want to drink something, drink water! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go cheer up our chief engineer, so..." She walked off rubbing her temple underneath her gigantic round hat. Data stared after her for a moment, then fell back into his act.
"Geordi," Guinan called a little too sharply, on her way over to see him. He looked up in surprise, and Guinan removed her hand from the side of her head quickly. "Geordi," she said more softly, trying to fall back into her usual collectedness. "What seems to be bothering you today?"
"You might want to sit down," Geordi said, slumping farther down into his chair, "this could take awhile."
At this point, Guinan, impatient with her job and just generally annoyed by everyone's constant requests and/or everyone's *ignoring* her, stood solidly in her spot. "No, thank you, Geordi," she said a little too coolly.
Again Geordi looked up in surprise. "Oh - okay, Guinan. Well, uh, the trouble is..." he stopped and sighed. "...Data's been making this depression program in the Holodeck."
All of a sudden, Guinan exploded. A cry of exasperation resounded through Ten-Forward as Guinan ripped off her elegant maroon headpiece and threw it across the room like a frisbee. She stomped her way out of the room flailing her arms and crying, "That's it! Tell Picard I quit! There's no *way* I'm listening to you people anymore!" The door shut behind her with a hiss, and Barclay, who had had to duck when Guinan's hat had come flying at him, continued laughing and chatting with his newfound friends, him being only person who was feeling truly pleasant in Ten-forward.
***
Meanwhile, in Sickbay...
***
"So you're telling me the headache meds didn't work, Captain?"
"No."
"No they didn't or no you're not telling me that?" Beverly leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples.
"No they didn't."
"Didn't I give you permathol?"
"Yes."
"Ten ccs?"
"Yes," came the dull voice through her commbadge.
"And it didn't work?"
"It didn't work," he repeated, obviously bored.
"Well, I don't understand how that wouldn't have any-" She looked up as someone pounded on the glass of her office window. "I'm afraid I can't speak to you right now, Captain, could we continue this discussion later?"
"Yeah, whatever." Beverly gave her commbadge an odd look before tapping the link shut. Then, looking up again, she watched the second-in-command slouch into her office and pick up her hypospray.
"Commander, what are you-"
"This is the stuff you used on me, right?"
"Yes, that's it," she said tiredly, leaning back into her chair once again, glad of the extra comfort provided for medical officers.
"Hmmph," said Riker, twirling the same chair he had twirled before and straddling it in the same way. Crusher blinked at him. He blinked back. He was looking considerably more depressed than he had been before. In contrast to the aura surrounding the Commander now, his *previous* mood could easily be compared to the demeanor of Richard Simmons (Note: Boo! Hiss! Wait. Does anybody still *remember* Richard Simmons? Didn't think so). Whereas before Riker had sat up straight, he was now slumped against Beverly's office chair, appearing to everyone in Sickbay to be the most tired officer on the ship.
"Commander, is there anything I can help you with, or are you just going to waste time by making inarticulate noises and comments at me all day when there's a ship to run?"
Riker rolled his eyes. "I *came,* Dr. Crusher, to see if you could give me some *better* *happy pills*. 'Cause these, quite frankly, suck."
Crusher was taken aback. 'Suck' was not a word often uttered by Commander Riker, and, even though he was dumb as an ox (Note: This is *my* Riker now, okay? I know the real one's not really as dumb as an ox. He's just as dumb as a boar. That's a slightly higher intelligence level), he usually had more tact than your run-of-the-mill second-grader. Beverly leaned across the table and looked into Riker's eyes, and it was quite easy to see that he wasn't faking his depression. Putting her hands on the table, the medical officer said: "You're the second person today to complain about the treatments I've administered. Now, either I'm getting sloppy, or *you* people are just so convinced that the drugs I prescribe won't work that...they don't work." With that she slumped back into her chair again.
Riker stared at the table, and Beverly got the chance to watch him clean one of his back molars in an utterly grotesque way. Finally he looked back up at her. "I think you're getting sloppy, Doctor." Riker stood up and left the room.
Beverly turned her eyes to the heavens (not that there're any heavens in space, but...you get the idea), hoping for a divine light to come and take all her problems away. _Am I really getting sloppy?_ On a whim the doctor leaned forward and put her head on her hands, perhaps to take a quick nap, but suddenly-
"Mo-oooooom!" -Wesley appeared in front of her desk. Sighing, she pushed herself back up again and leaned onto the back of her chair. Her son was obviously on a whining rampage; he had that look on his face, the one that she dreaded day and night. "Wanda was-" The young tyrant stopped to look at the chair in front of his mother's desk. "Why's this chair turned around?" he wondered aloud. Dismissing it, he put it into its proper position and put on his whiny face again.
"Yes, what is it, Wesley?" Crusher was doing her very best to look (and sound) motherly, as she usually strived to do when she spoke with Wesley.
"I was gonna show Wanda my Button," he started in his most nasal voice, "but then she said that I'm a dork, and it was a really *cool* Button, but now I'm not so sure if it was cool anymore." His lower lip quivered in faked upset and he looked up at her with his best puppy eyes.
***
Bum-bum-BUM! And she cuts it off in another cliff-hanger. ::evil laughter:: That's right, I made a huge update, but...I'm not going to tell you what happens next! Not that you particularly *care* what *happens* next...I'm guessing you just care what's funny next. Ah, well, more hilarity next update.
Aren't you glad Fanfiction.net's up again? So am I.