A/N: Whoa, finished two chapters today and already starting another one... Aren't you all lucky? No, actually, I just wanna get one with the plans I've set up. That's all.
--
Chapter 17
I rejoined the group in their camp with a triumphant grin. My palm pilot disappeared with a flash, and I saw the most comfortably seat around the fire that had been set up (By Jones, of all people) and made for it. I normally would have cautioned them of the dangers of lighting a fire in a forest of enemies, but there was only one enemy, and if he wanted to come get us, he'd come. But I suspected that he wouldn't do that, because all of the Star Trek characters there would help defend me, and he'd wipe them off of existance. This, in turn, would lead all of the Star Trek authors to rise up against him, and there are some pretty powerful authors among us, so that could prove a challenge for him after taking care of all of us at once, and after being taken by surprise by the Greeks earlier that day.
No, I had declared to all that we were safe for a while, since the Greek Gods had weekened him.
As I made for the chair, Kirk sat down in it with some marshmallows, graham crackers, and milk chocolate bars. I lifted my eyebrow as I drew near, and stood expectantly beside him when I reached the chair. Kirk skewered a mashmallow with a metal poker, set up some chocolate and graham crackers, and proceeded to skillfully roast the marshmallow. I cleared my throat softly, and he glanced at me.
"Oh, hey, Author. Pull up a seat, roast some marshmallows. There's enough for all." He then resumed his roasting, turning the 'shmallow till it was perfectly roasted, a nice golden-brown. He placed it on the his chocolate and half a graham cracker, then scraped the gooey marshmallow off with the other half graham cracker. Then he placed the second half on top, and had a nice, delicious looking s'more. "Mmm..." He looked at me again. "Don't like marshmallows? Okay. But do you really have to stand there like that?"
"You're in my seat." I announced evenly.
"I'm in your seat - what?" Kirk shook his head. "I've been sitting here all night, while you were off in the woods playing with that ancient gadget of yours."
I scowled. "For your information, this 'ancient gadget of mine' is one of the most advanced pieces of equipment open to the public in my age. And besides, do your PADDs have AIM? No? I didn't think so." I let a triumphant smirk crawl onto my face. "Now, out of my seat. Or do we have to get in a discussion about who has higher rank again?"
Kirk considered this. "I'd prefer that we didn't." He stood up and pulled another chair over, finishing his s'more. Jones was on the other end of the fire, shoving the marshmallow far into the fire.
"Ladd, I think that you're putting your marsh'allow a wee bit too far into the fire." Scotty advised.
Jones scoffed. "I've been going camping since I was a kid, sir. I know how to roast a marshmallow."
"Then why is it on fire?" Sulu asked innocently.
"It's not on fire - " Jones looked in; sure enough, the marshmallow was on fire. He pulled it out and began blowing on it, then waving it frantically. "AHHH! FIRE! FIRE! HELP! FIRE!"
The marshmallow flew off the poker, and sailed through the air. Chekov made a vain grab for it, and it sailed into the woods, very likely to start a large forest fire that could have conveniently weakened TUBA even further.
Or, at least, that's what would have happened if there weren't a bright flash of light that delivered a teenage girl, who grabbed the marshmallow quickly, swore becaue it was on fire, dropped it, and smashed it to blackened bits.
"Don't ever say I'm not a humanitarian. I mean, look at this wonderful meal I've delivered for thousands of ants." She glanced at her hand. "Oh, and this wonderful mess I've made on my hand." She seemed to consider wiping her hand on her legs, but decided that that would make an even bigger mess. She looked around, found a leaf, and, 30 seconds later, had a crushed leaf stuck to her hand. "Quite the predicament I've gotten myself into. Oh!" She noticed us for the first time. I came over.
"You're late." I declared.
"Flashy entrance and all, y'know, the usual." She shrugged helplessly, then resumed looking for some water to clean her hand with.
"You forgot." I translated.
"Yep."
I blinked. "I just talked to you 20 minutes ago. How could you forget?"
"Surprisingly easily. Now c'mon, have you got any water or anything here? My hand is a mess. Maybe I could... spoon it off... or something..." She trailed off, looking around for Spock, who would know exactly what everyone had.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but..." My voice took on a creepy tone. "There is no spoon..."
"There's no Spock, either. Where'd he go?" She looked around, bewildered.
"The Black Author has him."
She gasped. "No!"
I nodded.
"When? How? Why?!"
"When: About 12 hours ago. How: Hit him with a whack-bonk. Jones saw the whole thing, but TUBA made him unable to talk. He knew the sort of responce he'd get if he killed Jones. And as for why: How the hell should I know?" I scowled.
She shrugged innocently. "Well, it IS your story."
"And this IS the Black Author." I countered. "He doesn't follow our rules, or scripts. You know that, as well as anyone else."
"Ahem." Kirk interrupted. "Hello, we're still here, you know."
"No you aren't." She said. "The Matrix has you, Jim. Free your mind..."
"What is she talking about?" Kirk demanded. "Who IS she?"
"Oh, yeah. My bad. Everyone, meet Empress Leia - "
"Emp for short." She cut in.
"Right... You've all starred in some of her stories." I looked at Kirk. "You most recently."
"Yeah... didn't I steal your muses?" Kirk recalled.
"Yes, jerk." She said it accusingly.
"You made me!" He defended, against absolutely nothing.
"But they're my muses!" She wailed.
I rolled my eyes skyward. "Muses don't exist. They're just myths, and that's it. What you have are voices in your head."
"So do you!"
"Most people do. 'Cept ours tell us to write stuff, most people are told to burn things." I considered. "That's a big difference. Of course, burning stuff is still awesome."
"True dat, true dat."
"Okay, fine, what's she here for?" McCoy asked, unusually taking the role of peace-keeper and helping people stay on topic.
"She's here to help me stall TUBA."
"Stall him for what? Don't you want him dead?" Sulu asked.
"Stall him while you rescue Spock. I wish we could kill him, but that just isn't going to happen, unless he was more weakened then I thought by the fight with the Greek gods. If Heracles got some good hits on him, he should be laying low for awhile, but, as Emp pointed out earlier, this is MY story, so I know where he is." I smiled. "Get a good rest tonight, because tomorrow, we're attacking."
--
A/N: There we go. Some nice humor, along with plot progression. I'm getting good at this. But, clearly, I'm setting things up for end-game. I'm aiming for 20 chapters
--
Chapter 17
I rejoined the group in their camp with a triumphant grin. My palm pilot disappeared with a flash, and I saw the most comfortably seat around the fire that had been set up (By Jones, of all people) and made for it. I normally would have cautioned them of the dangers of lighting a fire in a forest of enemies, but there was only one enemy, and if he wanted to come get us, he'd come. But I suspected that he wouldn't do that, because all of the Star Trek characters there would help defend me, and he'd wipe them off of existance. This, in turn, would lead all of the Star Trek authors to rise up against him, and there are some pretty powerful authors among us, so that could prove a challenge for him after taking care of all of us at once, and after being taken by surprise by the Greeks earlier that day.
No, I had declared to all that we were safe for a while, since the Greek Gods had weekened him.
As I made for the chair, Kirk sat down in it with some marshmallows, graham crackers, and milk chocolate bars. I lifted my eyebrow as I drew near, and stood expectantly beside him when I reached the chair. Kirk skewered a mashmallow with a metal poker, set up some chocolate and graham crackers, and proceeded to skillfully roast the marshmallow. I cleared my throat softly, and he glanced at me.
"Oh, hey, Author. Pull up a seat, roast some marshmallows. There's enough for all." He then resumed his roasting, turning the 'shmallow till it was perfectly roasted, a nice golden-brown. He placed it on the his chocolate and half a graham cracker, then scraped the gooey marshmallow off with the other half graham cracker. Then he placed the second half on top, and had a nice, delicious looking s'more. "Mmm..." He looked at me again. "Don't like marshmallows? Okay. But do you really have to stand there like that?"
"You're in my seat." I announced evenly.
"I'm in your seat - what?" Kirk shook his head. "I've been sitting here all night, while you were off in the woods playing with that ancient gadget of yours."
I scowled. "For your information, this 'ancient gadget of mine' is one of the most advanced pieces of equipment open to the public in my age. And besides, do your PADDs have AIM? No? I didn't think so." I let a triumphant smirk crawl onto my face. "Now, out of my seat. Or do we have to get in a discussion about who has higher rank again?"
Kirk considered this. "I'd prefer that we didn't." He stood up and pulled another chair over, finishing his s'more. Jones was on the other end of the fire, shoving the marshmallow far into the fire.
"Ladd, I think that you're putting your marsh'allow a wee bit too far into the fire." Scotty advised.
Jones scoffed. "I've been going camping since I was a kid, sir. I know how to roast a marshmallow."
"Then why is it on fire?" Sulu asked innocently.
"It's not on fire - " Jones looked in; sure enough, the marshmallow was on fire. He pulled it out and began blowing on it, then waving it frantically. "AHHH! FIRE! FIRE! HELP! FIRE!"
The marshmallow flew off the poker, and sailed through the air. Chekov made a vain grab for it, and it sailed into the woods, very likely to start a large forest fire that could have conveniently weakened TUBA even further.
Or, at least, that's what would have happened if there weren't a bright flash of light that delivered a teenage girl, who grabbed the marshmallow quickly, swore becaue it was on fire, dropped it, and smashed it to blackened bits.
"Don't ever say I'm not a humanitarian. I mean, look at this wonderful meal I've delivered for thousands of ants." She glanced at her hand. "Oh, and this wonderful mess I've made on my hand." She seemed to consider wiping her hand on her legs, but decided that that would make an even bigger mess. She looked around, found a leaf, and, 30 seconds later, had a crushed leaf stuck to her hand. "Quite the predicament I've gotten myself into. Oh!" She noticed us for the first time. I came over.
"You're late." I declared.
"Flashy entrance and all, y'know, the usual." She shrugged helplessly, then resumed looking for some water to clean her hand with.
"You forgot." I translated.
"Yep."
I blinked. "I just talked to you 20 minutes ago. How could you forget?"
"Surprisingly easily. Now c'mon, have you got any water or anything here? My hand is a mess. Maybe I could... spoon it off... or something..." She trailed off, looking around for Spock, who would know exactly what everyone had.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but..." My voice took on a creepy tone. "There is no spoon..."
"There's no Spock, either. Where'd he go?" She looked around, bewildered.
"The Black Author has him."
She gasped. "No!"
I nodded.
"When? How? Why?!"
"When: About 12 hours ago. How: Hit him with a whack-bonk. Jones saw the whole thing, but TUBA made him unable to talk. He knew the sort of responce he'd get if he killed Jones. And as for why: How the hell should I know?" I scowled.
She shrugged innocently. "Well, it IS your story."
"And this IS the Black Author." I countered. "He doesn't follow our rules, or scripts. You know that, as well as anyone else."
"Ahem." Kirk interrupted. "Hello, we're still here, you know."
"No you aren't." She said. "The Matrix has you, Jim. Free your mind..."
"What is she talking about?" Kirk demanded. "Who IS she?"
"Oh, yeah. My bad. Everyone, meet Empress Leia - "
"Emp for short." She cut in.
"Right... You've all starred in some of her stories." I looked at Kirk. "You most recently."
"Yeah... didn't I steal your muses?" Kirk recalled.
"Yes, jerk." She said it accusingly.
"You made me!" He defended, against absolutely nothing.
"But they're my muses!" She wailed.
I rolled my eyes skyward. "Muses don't exist. They're just myths, and that's it. What you have are voices in your head."
"So do you!"
"Most people do. 'Cept ours tell us to write stuff, most people are told to burn things." I considered. "That's a big difference. Of course, burning stuff is still awesome."
"True dat, true dat."
"Okay, fine, what's she here for?" McCoy asked, unusually taking the role of peace-keeper and helping people stay on topic.
"She's here to help me stall TUBA."
"Stall him for what? Don't you want him dead?" Sulu asked.
"Stall him while you rescue Spock. I wish we could kill him, but that just isn't going to happen, unless he was more weakened then I thought by the fight with the Greek gods. If Heracles got some good hits on him, he should be laying low for awhile, but, as Emp pointed out earlier, this is MY story, so I know where he is." I smiled. "Get a good rest tonight, because tomorrow, we're attacking."
--
A/N: There we go. Some nice humor, along with plot progression. I'm getting good at this. But, clearly, I'm setting things up for end-game. I'm aiming for 20 chapters