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Chapter Three: Subreality and the Illusory Network
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Subreality is a strange place. It's very easy to get lost here, no matter how much fiction you write or art you produce – both fan and otherwise. If you've ever been in a hedge-maze, then you have a fraction of an idea of what Subreality is like. It's akin to the multiverse's biggest ever hedge maze, and then some - except that buildings, country borders, highways and open plains can replace hedges at random intervals.
Some people think that Subreality is where External Characters hang out and live when they're not working. This isn't strictly true. They do hang out here, but they're too transient to stay after hours. It'd be like a truck-driver's holiday.
To boil things down to their simplest state, Subreality is a place of locations. Think of a place, any place at all, real or imaginary, and Subreality will have it. Past, present, even future settings – places that haven't been discovered yet, or were lost millennia ago. You want to visit Atlantis? You can get tickets there from your local Subreality airport. Pompeii takes your fancy? No problem. The Xavier Institute? Nothing could be simpler. Or maybe you like to pop along to Middle-Earth for a stroll around Hobbiton. In Subreality, it can be done.
If you've ever watched a TV show, then the backdrop you see is a location in Subreality. You may argue that, for live-action pieces at least, the backdrop is a studio lot somewhere; but you'd be wrong, because from the moment those actors bring those characters to life on film, then that backdrop has become a part of Subreality. It has infiltrated its audience's perception, and therefore transcended from studio back lot to something more; and even when the show is cancelled or the movie finished, and all sets taken down, the *setting* remains, because it's now a part of Subreality, and therefore can never be lost so long as evidence of it exists in the minds of viewers and fans.
So, Subreality is where one goes to get a feel for where External Characters operate. It's where canon is created, and so is drenched with useful facts and particulars than could benefit a writer or artist.
Take the Bayville Mall, for instance. It's still under construction after that first incident with Scarlet Witch, as is evidenced by scaffolding, strut-supports, and big yellow 'keep clear' tape all over the place. Away from this, each store is individual, whether it's been shown on the show or not – this *is* a mall, after all, and since when have you known a mall not to fill every available space with nice, rent-paying shop owners? If you go into a Starbucks, then you can smell the coffee and hear the whirring of machinery. Enter the record store and you will no-doubt find the latest Festering Boils CD playing over the loudspeakers. Set foot inside a hair salon, and you'll almost certainly choke on the scent of hairspray and colourants.
Disregarding artists for the moment – because this is a fiction about fiction, not about art, after all - Subreality is where writers go to set their work. Fiction can't take place in empty space – neato as The Matrix's moving gun-aisles are. And settings need to be specified – not just by name, but also by atmosphere.
If you've ever read a fiction where characters function completely independent of their surroundings, then that writer has not been to Subreality; because in Subreality, just like in real life, your surroundings play a part in what you do and say, and how you act and feel. Go sit in a graveyard at night and you won't exactly be singing cheerful ditties about butterflies and how life is so grand you could just burst into song. Likewise, people on a roller coaster can hardly have a civilised chat whilst doing loop-de-loops and clinging onto the handrail for dear life.
Smells, sounds, things that get in the way as you walk, the sticky bit of chewing gum that just won't scrape off the base of our shoe – all of it can be found in Subreality, even if the actual characters can't, most of the time.
It's all a question of learning about your tools before you set about using them. You may have seen the Boarding House hundreds of times on TV, but when starting off a fiction located within its living room, you have to think about what it's really *like* to be there. A TV screen can only show you so much. It can't tell you about the aroma of Todd's unwashed sock in the corner, or the half-mouldy cheese sandwich Fred dropped beneath the couch three months ago. It won't remind you that the window is broken, and that a permanent cold breeze makes bare floorboards bloody freezing to walk on first thing in the morning. That's what Subreality is for – to get inside the world of External Characters.
It's also where The Authoress has decided to start her trip. Specifically, on the doorstep of Bayville High School. She's not intending to stay long, but this seems a pretty neutral place to begin. Besides which, there is a depot just down the street.
The Authoress spends quite a bit of time in Subreality when she daydreams. The phrase 'zoning out' is almost coined for her personal usage, and more times than she cares to count, annoyed lecturers and peers whom she was supposed to be paying attention to have woken her from musings via a hand-clap or slap to the desk. Consequently, she knows her way around this particular area quite well – a good thing, since it's pretty much empty right now. You can't ask for directions when there's nobody to ask.
All places in Subreality have a depot of some description. Even fantasy settings like Earth-Realm have shacks where means of transport are stored. These aren't for getting around here – those depots are clearly flagged. No, these are where a writer can get on the Illusory Network.
Some writers think that Subreality is the be all and end all of fiction. It's not. Beyond Subreality there is a place that doesn't have a name, per se, but which houses all the things Subreality can't. It's where External Characters go when they're not working, to meet new writers and help old ones with whom they've lost contact for whatever reason. It's where facets of writing take physical form. The Multiverse works at the check in centre there, and only writers who have deciphered their brainteaser can get past it.
The Authoress is aware that she is talking what can be considered nonsense, so she makes an attempt to explain. Subreality is a place of locations, as has already been stated. It can be reached whenever a person watches a TV show, picks up a book, or just daydreams him or herself there. However, the realm beyond it is where genuine authors go – people who truly enjoy their work. It's one thing to imagine a place, and quite another to write about what goes on there.
There are several ways of getting to the realm beyond (for now, she will refer to it as the Ambit, even though that's not its exact name). The most commonly used way is the Illusory Network – a system of metaphysical buses, trains, aeroplanes etc.
The Authoress used to ride the train, but the recent explosion of Harry Potter fanfic has metamorphosed things from diesel to steam, and stations have renamed and redesigned themselves to reflect the number of HP External Characters who travel them. The Authoress has nothing against Harry Potter, but she feels slightly uncomfortable riding alongside his fans, since those who make the effort to get on the train tend to be a bit fanatical, and don't take kindly to someone like herself, who couldn't tell the difference between a Nimbus 2000 and Every Flavour Beans ™.
Nowadays, The Authoress contents herself with riding the bus. Aeroplanes are pretty much the best place to meet immortal and divine characters like gods and other deities. Mortals stick to more land-bound means of transportation, and since almost all characters that The Authoress likes to write about are mortal, she also sticks to grounded methods. It's benefited her in the past – although trying to get hold of Warren Worthington III involved a trip on a 'plane. He's not a deity, but he likes hanging around in the clouds because of his wings, and often stops off on one of the Illusory Network aircraft when his muscles tire.
The Bayville depot looks like an everyday, unexciting building from the outside. People go in and out, usually alone, but sometimes in ones and twos. From time to time groups of writers involved with round robins and interficcery go in together – though they don't always all make it onto the Network once inside. The Authoress has been in some of those groups, but today she is unaccompanied.
She enters the depot, checking her disbelief on a suspension peg and waving hello to Reality at the door. It works as a janitor in each branch, though she doesn't talk to it much while here, and it waves back a little forlornly, pushing a broom that could use a few more bristles.
Striding forward, The Authoress travels the long, seemingly endless corridor that makes up the majority of the depot, until she reaches the turnoff for buses. It's right next door to the airport, and through the adjoining entrance she can see a huge open space that couldn't possibly fit into such a small building in the real world. That's why Reality got demoted to janitor instead of gatekeeper – it kept trying to force people's perceptions back to its own point of view, which, in a place like the depot, is nigh on impossible.
The Authoress trips along to the bus station, and sits down to wait. Around her are writers, none of which she's ever met before, and she twiddles her thumbs idly. Several have thoughtful looks on their faces, and a handful have pieces of paper in front of them that they are scrutinising. The Authoress knows what they're up to, and so doesn't bother them or break their concentration.
You see, not everyone who comes to the depot can get onto the Illusory Network. When they first arrive, new writers are each given a personalised brainteaser. Only once they've cracked it can they board the Network and travel to the Ambit. A lot of writers never solve their brainteaser, or else half-solve it and wing the rest. Even professional writers don't always work it out.
The brainteaser is an author's own writing style.
The Authoress sees a lot of new writers with their brainteasers at the depot. Sometimes they board with her, but, unfortunately, more simply toss their brainteasers into the trash and stay in Subreality instead of progressing on to the Ambit. This saddens The Authoress, but she is of the firm opinion that there are some things people have to figure out for themselves in life. This is one of them.
The brainteaser isn't a one-time thing. It can return whenever a writer loses confidence in his or her own work, or is set upon by peers. Sometimes lack of practise can incite a writer's brainteaser to return. The Authoress didn't always write on a regular basis, as she does now, and occasionally she would find that her writing skills had gotten rusty through want of use. Then she would have to puzzle out her style again, and would sit at the bus station working at it for maybe weeks on end.
These days she keeps on top of things. She writes every day – whether for leisure or because her studies require it. She also reads as a hobby, and constantly seeks to improve herself by looking at other people's work. The Illusory Network can be unpredictable and capricious, and it's always useful to seek self-improvement when riding it so that it doesn't toss you off for stagnating.
Passengers who have gained enough skill to solve their brainteasers are the sorts of writers External Characters want to work with. It's not that they *can't* work with less experienced writers, it's that they just prefer knowing when they commit themselves to a project that the author in question is not going to play favourites to the nth degree and will treat them all fairly. Writers who indulge in character bashing have likely never even heard of the Illusory Network, and External Characters hardly ever seek them out to 'phone ad hoc in the real world. Would you actively go and spend time with someone who insults you and/or your best friend for no other reason than because he or she wanted to? Didn't think so.
The Authoress peruses her fingernails as she waits. With no Internal Characters around, she is completely human again – albeit a fictional form of herself – and in dire need of some nail-clippers, now that she thinks about it. Of course, had she wanted she could have called on one of her Internal Characters to use as an avatar, but since she is pretty sure any readers still reading are already confused enough, she has elected to remain human for this little exodus. Any External Characters will be able to tell it is her whatever form she takes. In the past three years that she has been writing official fanfiction, she has boarded the Network literally thousands of times – more than enough for characters to get to know her.
Writers aren't the only ones who ride the Illusory Network, as people may already have guessed. External Characters travel it as well, whether because they need to get from one place in Ambit to another, or just because they fancy seeing who else is on board today. The Authoress never quite knows whom she will meet when she gets on – if she meets anyone. Sometimes she will be actively searching for one particular character, and be blindsided by another. She has a MLP fiction that came as a result of that. She had been looking for some of the XME cast at the time, until a pair of small, colourful equines sat down either side of her on the seat and pestered her into writing a fic about them.
The Illusory Network is more than simply a means of transportation, as you may by now have deduced. It's a metaphysical means of character development, piloted by Inspiration.
Inspiration doesn't talk much, but sometimes it will touch you as you pass by the driver's seat, et voila. It's like a large neon sign suddenly appears above your head, flagging you up for External Characters to come sit by and talk to. However, Inspiration is as capricious as the Network itself. Sometimes it will refuse to come near you, and bare its teeth if you make the advance. Hormonal, angst-driven teenagers have absolutely nothing on it.
The bus pulls up suddenly, and since The Authoress has been playing narrator, she is startled by its arrival. Standing up, she smoothes down her fictional clothes and mounts the stairs past the hissed-open doors. Only two writers from the cluster accompany her, the rest still intent on their brainteasers.
The Authoress has a badge of clearance that she shows the driver. Then she steps onto the bus proper, and regards the other varied passengers.
There are hardly any people or characters she recognises, today. Certainly, no authors she knows by name. The bus is another place that, like the depot itself, could not possibly fit all its insides into its outsides in the real world. Inside, it is roughly the size of a few soccer pitches, with maybe a warehouse or two tacked on for good measure. Even so, The Authoress is able to take it all in at a glance and ascertain who is on board. The bus is rather empty at present.
This intrigues her a little. Usually she knows at least one or two characters, if not by name then by sight. Where she lives in the real world, The Authoress is not privy to a lot of TV shows or anime from America, where fanfiction is statistically most rife, but she can typically spot a book character. They like hanging around buses more than most, and she has had several deep conversations with them there, even though no fiction has ever come of it. Her most remarkable exchange was with Moon-Face of The Faraway Tree, whom she first met in Subreality in her childhood.
Moon-Face is a peculiar character, in that he doesn't think of himself as External. He is from an age where fanfiction did not exist as it does now, and the books in which he featured do not get the same attention as 'classics' do in the fan-world of the here and now. Consequently, Moon-Face would rather talk about anything else *besides* fanfiction, which was a bit of a respite for The Authoress when they talked, since she was suffering from burnout at the time.
The Authoress sits down and leans back in her seat as the bus starts off. She was has not been touched by Inspiration today, but since playing raconteur for this piece is taking up all of her attention, she is not unduly bothered by it. Instead, she simply settles back for the ride, listening to random characters talk in the background.
That's another thing about the Illusory Network – it's an invaluable device that teaches the virtues of combining both a background and a foreground, so action can more easily take place 'off stage'. Inferred events are something The Authoress only recently learned the extensive benefits of, and she finds that she cannot sing their praises enough, since they have effectively cut her workload in half.
"I'm not sure I'd ever do anything like *that*," one character is saying to a relatively new, innocent writer. "I mean, it's just so… cruel. I'm more likely to reason with them."
"I… suppose," the writer replies, obviously unconvinced. "But it just sounded cool, y'know?"
"Just because I *carry* the sword doesn't mean I have to use it all the time. There's a time and place for everything. Such is the lesson I've learned." The tone is vaguely familiar, and The Authoress looks up to see a man in a stylistic white robe, hair pulled back into a small ponytail. There is a vaguely curved sword in a scabbard at his waist.
The writer is unconvinced, and what follows is a rather one-sided argument whereby the relative merits and downsides of inner peace and decapitation are bandied around like salt and pepper at a dinner table.
Conversations are like that on the Illusory Network. Like the travellers, you never quite know what you're going to hear. Sometimes what seemed like a good idea in theory seems suddenly not so plausible when confronted with an External Character to put it to, and writers can learn from each other's mistakes.
"Sounds like someone's a little too fond of fight scenes," says a new voice, and a previously unobserved body plops down next to The Authoress. "Hmm, I wonder who else I know is like that…"
The Authoress turns, double-takes, and then sits up a little straighter. "Rogue?"
Evo-Rogue doesn't ride the bus as much as she used to. Too many fanficcers disregarded her advice, and, being the kind of character she is, she got ticked off at *all* writers because of it.
Rogue sweeps back her hair with one hand, nods, and folds her arms. It is a classic pose for her, replete with suggestive pout and eyes peeking out from heavily darkened lashes. Her hair is in its typical style – thick, glossy, and half-obscuring her face. She is the very picture of teenage gothic angst, and, as such, a complete and utter cliché of herself.
Let's just take a timeout to talk about Evo-Rogue. Far more than any other Evolution character, she is completely different to her comic incarnation. She is, in fact, an antithesis.
Comic-Rogue is a flirt – plain and simple. The Authoress has had a total of one conversation with Comic-Rogue, but that much was clear right from the beginning. Comic-Rogue likes to challenge the world and everything in it, and subsequently would rather torment writers into thinking for themselves than give them straight answers regarding her motivations and characterisation. She also has a fairly sunny outlook on life – an amazing thing when one considers all she's had to endure in the decades she has been put through by Marvel. Even forgetting her powers, scriptwriters have dumped on Comic-Rogue time and time again; so much so that the fact she is still sane is a miracle in and of itself.
Evo-Rogue would like to be a flirt, but the scriptwriters *she* has decided to travel another route. Evo-Rogue was designed to appeal to fans, more than anything else. From the word go, she has been touted as the character with whom fans have most empathy – and The Authoress can see why. Evo-Rogue has all the attributes of a normal teenage girl, inclusive of raging hormones, relative shyness, the desire to fit in, and all the other anxieties than make up the years between twelve and twenty. All this is then accentuated by her skin-on-skin-energy-absorption and the drawbacks thereof. Her powers act as a microcosm of regular teenage woes, making her, arguably, the most human of all characters on the show.
Think about it. In battle, Rogue has to rely either on her teammates, or herself and her own physical prowess, since her powers count for squat when she's not absorbing anyone. Fans were always meant to identify with things like this – after all, there aren't too many people out there with handy laser-beam eyes or super-speed. Put an ordinary fan into one of the combat situations Rogue is constantly faced with, and they would be begging for one of her nifty discuses within eight seconds.
Her creators must have done something right, too, because Evo-Rogue claims a full third of the fandom.
All this contributes to making the character what she is. And what she is happens to be possibly the most infuriating and frustrating character in the whole of XME fanfiction.
Because of all the attention heaped upon her, coupled with the personality she was given at inception, Rogue has become a particularly sharp, insightful character to talk to. She is very discerning of the fan-world, and can see both its merits and its flaws. Plus, she isn't afraid to speak her mind about any of it. Having so much fan backing will do that to you.
Typically in fanfiction, Rogue is portrayed in a set number of ways – even more so than characters like Jean or Scott. Rogue has, in her own words, transcended the boundaries she was supposed to inhabit – often in more ways than one. The Authoress has run across more than one fic in which Rogue obtains wonderful, godlike powers - whether by absorbing a version of Carol Danvers or by simple evolution. Many fanfic writers seem to think that Rogue is just plain cool, and that justifies advancing her abilities further. It's the 'special offer' style of writing; i.e. if two for one is good, then six for three must be damn fantastic.
Which rather ticks Rogue off, alongside everything else. You see, she may have transcended her old, canon boundaries; but that's only to slip into a new, fanon set. A horizontal progression, if you will.
The Authoress considers Rogue for a second, before saying, "If you don't mind me asking, why on Earth are you talking to me? I'm not writing anything involving you at the moment, and we already discussed the mall scene."
Rogue nods, but doesn't offer an answer. Yet another infuriating thing about her. Just like her comic counterpart, thanks to all the interest she has received, Evo-Rogue has developed a habit of never giving authors a straight answer. She would much rather make you work to find an answer on your own – which helps immensely when you're writing at length on one facet of her personality. Understanding is the key to good writing, and this is something Rogue holds in high regard.
Not that The Authoress would ever point out this similarity with Comic-Rogue. The Evolution characters tend not to associate with their comic book foils. Jean once described it as talking with your own grandparents, but doing so after hopping in a time machine and going back to when they were young enough to be considered 'whippersnappers'.
Likewise, the comic characters don't really like talking to the Evolution cast. Young versions of themselves that are so much more powerful and have so much more control than they do (it took years before Shadowcat could phase a person along with herself through solid objects, and Jean Grey would never even have considered lifting a police car filled with people off the floor at age eighteen)… well, it tends to unnerve them. And when someone like Jean Grey is unnerved, you know to take a step back.
"Reckon she'll take any notice?" Rogue jerks a thumb over her shoulder, startling The Authoress out of her narrative.
"Who?" The Authoress says intelligently, openly inviting the world to question her place on the Network.
Rogue merely rolls her eyes and jerks again, then stares contemplatively at the ceiling. The Authoress is not sure whether this means she is already bored of the conversation, or waiting for an answer.
"Well?"
Option b, then.
"I don't know. I don't know anyone here well enough to say whether they'll listen or not."
"That's the world's problem," Rogue says soberly – forcing The Authoress to contemplate her own place in a fandom where such a dour creature could be so popular and revered. "Listening. Not enough people do it – or else they pretend to, when really they're just hearing, which is something quite different. Insulting, really." She turns, fixing The Authoress with a beady eye. "Why are you here? To listen, or to hear?"
The Authoress is not sure how to respond. She is certain that, whatever she says, Rogue will somehow be able to twist it to mean something else, thereby tying her up in verbal knots that accomplish nothing but raise Tynolol's profits a smidge more. "Uh…"
"Don't bother. I already know. But tell me, why *are* you here like this?"
"You mean with a readership?" The Authoress sounds hopeful, despite herself.
"I mean with piggybackers," Rogue replies dismissively. Strange how a person so disinterested in her own devotees could have so many.
The Authoress is abruptly reminded of comedians who stand up on stage, night after night, ridiculing the very people who have paid money to come see them talk into a microphone. Not that she has anything against stand-up – far from it – but she is constantly amazed at how people revere those who incessantly and publicly insult them. Is it some sort of mass communal masochism?
"Meta-fiction," The Authoress says. "I'm doing the investigative thing."
"With us?" Rogue raises an eyebrow. Somehow it manages to be sardonic, unconcerned, irritated *and* interested, all at the same time.
"Well, obviously."
"How nice for you."
The Authoress blinks. "Somehow I was expecting more of a reaction than that. Although perhaps I shouldn't have."
Rogue winks, faint traces of a smile on her lips. "You're learning. Glad to see all that time spent in my company's paid off. And in answer to your question, I'm here because I want to be. Just like you."
The Authoress can't argue with that. To do so would call into question too many facets of the Illusory Network, and maybe get her thrown off it altogether. So instead she looks around again, and finds herself drawn back to that bickering new writer.
"Was I like that?"
"Like what?"
"That. You were the first Evo character I ever wrote. Was I as frustrating?"
Rogue seems to mull this over, and after a moment she says simply, "That all depends on your interpretation of frustration. And your threshold for it. There's others more qualified to talk to you about that, if you really wanna know. Is it a burning question?"
"Not really. But you weren't offering anything else to talk about."
"You said it yourself – we've already talked about my upcoming scene, and you're not writing me at the moment." Rogue peers at the new writer, who has risen and is stepping off the bus before her stop. Rogue shakes her head, licks a gloved finger, and makes a vertical line motion in the air. "Another one down. Don't reckon she'll be back."
The Authoress watches her go. "So why exactly did you come to talk to me if we've got nothing to talk about?"
Rogue shrugs. "It seemed fitting I put in an appearance. Besides, I have a message for you."
That makes The Authoress sit up straighter still. "A message? For me?" The idea of Rogue willingly playing courier is positively ridiculous. "Who from?"
"Yes, yes, and wouldn't you like to know?" Rogue wags a finger. Then she gets up and starts walking away. "But you'll find the answer at the Game."
The Authoress has a suspicion of who has sent her this message. Or rather, she has a suspicion of on whose behalf the message has been sent. Either way, she nods. She is familiar enough with Rogue to know that the character won't say any more than she has to – or wants to. If she has consented to passing along this message, then odds are she has some personal stake in it.
Then again, maybe she doesn't. That's one of the infuriating things about Rogue. As she is portrayed so many ways in fanfiction, she had absorbed so many facets as to be completely unreadable. Gothic recluse, grinning prankster, loving sibling, hate-filled daughter, resentful roommate, kick-ass vigilante, save-me romance heroine, wishy-washy love interest – just some of the ways in which her numerous fans see and depict her. That's why, to write her properly, you really need to speak to her in person. And that's why Rogue so rarely talks to writers anymore, too.
Vicious circle? Maybe. Maybe not. That's just Rogue for you.
Speaking of which…
"Hey, don't you have any cutting words of advice for me? A last parting shot?" Rogue has homed these down to a fine art, and The Authoress doesn't feel like the conversation is over unless one is voiced.
Rogue pauses, turns, and says, "Sure. Loneliness breeds in large groups of people."
The Authoress knows this expression already. It's actually the same saying as adorns a postcard blue-tacked to her bedroom door. She also knows that Rogue knows that she knows this, and will know that she knows this, too. And… uh…
"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"
Rogue smiles mischievously, revealing yet another facet of her character. "Hey, it's a gift." Then she hops off the bus and leaves The Authoress unsure whether to fume or puzzle over the idiom some more.
The only problem with being a fictional character in a story is that sometimes other characters write your part for you.
Chapter Three: Subreality and the Illusory Network
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Subreality is a strange place. It's very easy to get lost here, no matter how much fiction you write or art you produce – both fan and otherwise. If you've ever been in a hedge-maze, then you have a fraction of an idea of what Subreality is like. It's akin to the multiverse's biggest ever hedge maze, and then some - except that buildings, country borders, highways and open plains can replace hedges at random intervals.
Some people think that Subreality is where External Characters hang out and live when they're not working. This isn't strictly true. They do hang out here, but they're too transient to stay after hours. It'd be like a truck-driver's holiday.
To boil things down to their simplest state, Subreality is a place of locations. Think of a place, any place at all, real or imaginary, and Subreality will have it. Past, present, even future settings – places that haven't been discovered yet, or were lost millennia ago. You want to visit Atlantis? You can get tickets there from your local Subreality airport. Pompeii takes your fancy? No problem. The Xavier Institute? Nothing could be simpler. Or maybe you like to pop along to Middle-Earth for a stroll around Hobbiton. In Subreality, it can be done.
If you've ever watched a TV show, then the backdrop you see is a location in Subreality. You may argue that, for live-action pieces at least, the backdrop is a studio lot somewhere; but you'd be wrong, because from the moment those actors bring those characters to life on film, then that backdrop has become a part of Subreality. It has infiltrated its audience's perception, and therefore transcended from studio back lot to something more; and even when the show is cancelled or the movie finished, and all sets taken down, the *setting* remains, because it's now a part of Subreality, and therefore can never be lost so long as evidence of it exists in the minds of viewers and fans.
So, Subreality is where one goes to get a feel for where External Characters operate. It's where canon is created, and so is drenched with useful facts and particulars than could benefit a writer or artist.
Take the Bayville Mall, for instance. It's still under construction after that first incident with Scarlet Witch, as is evidenced by scaffolding, strut-supports, and big yellow 'keep clear' tape all over the place. Away from this, each store is individual, whether it's been shown on the show or not – this *is* a mall, after all, and since when have you known a mall not to fill every available space with nice, rent-paying shop owners? If you go into a Starbucks, then you can smell the coffee and hear the whirring of machinery. Enter the record store and you will no-doubt find the latest Festering Boils CD playing over the loudspeakers. Set foot inside a hair salon, and you'll almost certainly choke on the scent of hairspray and colourants.
Disregarding artists for the moment – because this is a fiction about fiction, not about art, after all - Subreality is where writers go to set their work. Fiction can't take place in empty space – neato as The Matrix's moving gun-aisles are. And settings need to be specified – not just by name, but also by atmosphere.
If you've ever read a fiction where characters function completely independent of their surroundings, then that writer has not been to Subreality; because in Subreality, just like in real life, your surroundings play a part in what you do and say, and how you act and feel. Go sit in a graveyard at night and you won't exactly be singing cheerful ditties about butterflies and how life is so grand you could just burst into song. Likewise, people on a roller coaster can hardly have a civilised chat whilst doing loop-de-loops and clinging onto the handrail for dear life.
Smells, sounds, things that get in the way as you walk, the sticky bit of chewing gum that just won't scrape off the base of our shoe – all of it can be found in Subreality, even if the actual characters can't, most of the time.
It's all a question of learning about your tools before you set about using them. You may have seen the Boarding House hundreds of times on TV, but when starting off a fiction located within its living room, you have to think about what it's really *like* to be there. A TV screen can only show you so much. It can't tell you about the aroma of Todd's unwashed sock in the corner, or the half-mouldy cheese sandwich Fred dropped beneath the couch three months ago. It won't remind you that the window is broken, and that a permanent cold breeze makes bare floorboards bloody freezing to walk on first thing in the morning. That's what Subreality is for – to get inside the world of External Characters.
It's also where The Authoress has decided to start her trip. Specifically, on the doorstep of Bayville High School. She's not intending to stay long, but this seems a pretty neutral place to begin. Besides which, there is a depot just down the street.
The Authoress spends quite a bit of time in Subreality when she daydreams. The phrase 'zoning out' is almost coined for her personal usage, and more times than she cares to count, annoyed lecturers and peers whom she was supposed to be paying attention to have woken her from musings via a hand-clap or slap to the desk. Consequently, she knows her way around this particular area quite well – a good thing, since it's pretty much empty right now. You can't ask for directions when there's nobody to ask.
All places in Subreality have a depot of some description. Even fantasy settings like Earth-Realm have shacks where means of transport are stored. These aren't for getting around here – those depots are clearly flagged. No, these are where a writer can get on the Illusory Network.
Some writers think that Subreality is the be all and end all of fiction. It's not. Beyond Subreality there is a place that doesn't have a name, per se, but which houses all the things Subreality can't. It's where External Characters go when they're not working, to meet new writers and help old ones with whom they've lost contact for whatever reason. It's where facets of writing take physical form. The Multiverse works at the check in centre there, and only writers who have deciphered their brainteaser can get past it.
The Authoress is aware that she is talking what can be considered nonsense, so she makes an attempt to explain. Subreality is a place of locations, as has already been stated. It can be reached whenever a person watches a TV show, picks up a book, or just daydreams him or herself there. However, the realm beyond it is where genuine authors go – people who truly enjoy their work. It's one thing to imagine a place, and quite another to write about what goes on there.
There are several ways of getting to the realm beyond (for now, she will refer to it as the Ambit, even though that's not its exact name). The most commonly used way is the Illusory Network – a system of metaphysical buses, trains, aeroplanes etc.
The Authoress used to ride the train, but the recent explosion of Harry Potter fanfic has metamorphosed things from diesel to steam, and stations have renamed and redesigned themselves to reflect the number of HP External Characters who travel them. The Authoress has nothing against Harry Potter, but she feels slightly uncomfortable riding alongside his fans, since those who make the effort to get on the train tend to be a bit fanatical, and don't take kindly to someone like herself, who couldn't tell the difference between a Nimbus 2000 and Every Flavour Beans ™.
Nowadays, The Authoress contents herself with riding the bus. Aeroplanes are pretty much the best place to meet immortal and divine characters like gods and other deities. Mortals stick to more land-bound means of transportation, and since almost all characters that The Authoress likes to write about are mortal, she also sticks to grounded methods. It's benefited her in the past – although trying to get hold of Warren Worthington III involved a trip on a 'plane. He's not a deity, but he likes hanging around in the clouds because of his wings, and often stops off on one of the Illusory Network aircraft when his muscles tire.
The Bayville depot looks like an everyday, unexciting building from the outside. People go in and out, usually alone, but sometimes in ones and twos. From time to time groups of writers involved with round robins and interficcery go in together – though they don't always all make it onto the Network once inside. The Authoress has been in some of those groups, but today she is unaccompanied.
She enters the depot, checking her disbelief on a suspension peg and waving hello to Reality at the door. It works as a janitor in each branch, though she doesn't talk to it much while here, and it waves back a little forlornly, pushing a broom that could use a few more bristles.
Striding forward, The Authoress travels the long, seemingly endless corridor that makes up the majority of the depot, until she reaches the turnoff for buses. It's right next door to the airport, and through the adjoining entrance she can see a huge open space that couldn't possibly fit into such a small building in the real world. That's why Reality got demoted to janitor instead of gatekeeper – it kept trying to force people's perceptions back to its own point of view, which, in a place like the depot, is nigh on impossible.
The Authoress trips along to the bus station, and sits down to wait. Around her are writers, none of which she's ever met before, and she twiddles her thumbs idly. Several have thoughtful looks on their faces, and a handful have pieces of paper in front of them that they are scrutinising. The Authoress knows what they're up to, and so doesn't bother them or break their concentration.
You see, not everyone who comes to the depot can get onto the Illusory Network. When they first arrive, new writers are each given a personalised brainteaser. Only once they've cracked it can they board the Network and travel to the Ambit. A lot of writers never solve their brainteaser, or else half-solve it and wing the rest. Even professional writers don't always work it out.
The brainteaser is an author's own writing style.
The Authoress sees a lot of new writers with their brainteasers at the depot. Sometimes they board with her, but, unfortunately, more simply toss their brainteasers into the trash and stay in Subreality instead of progressing on to the Ambit. This saddens The Authoress, but she is of the firm opinion that there are some things people have to figure out for themselves in life. This is one of them.
The brainteaser isn't a one-time thing. It can return whenever a writer loses confidence in his or her own work, or is set upon by peers. Sometimes lack of practise can incite a writer's brainteaser to return. The Authoress didn't always write on a regular basis, as she does now, and occasionally she would find that her writing skills had gotten rusty through want of use. Then she would have to puzzle out her style again, and would sit at the bus station working at it for maybe weeks on end.
These days she keeps on top of things. She writes every day – whether for leisure or because her studies require it. She also reads as a hobby, and constantly seeks to improve herself by looking at other people's work. The Illusory Network can be unpredictable and capricious, and it's always useful to seek self-improvement when riding it so that it doesn't toss you off for stagnating.
Passengers who have gained enough skill to solve their brainteasers are the sorts of writers External Characters want to work with. It's not that they *can't* work with less experienced writers, it's that they just prefer knowing when they commit themselves to a project that the author in question is not going to play favourites to the nth degree and will treat them all fairly. Writers who indulge in character bashing have likely never even heard of the Illusory Network, and External Characters hardly ever seek them out to 'phone ad hoc in the real world. Would you actively go and spend time with someone who insults you and/or your best friend for no other reason than because he or she wanted to? Didn't think so.
The Authoress peruses her fingernails as she waits. With no Internal Characters around, she is completely human again – albeit a fictional form of herself – and in dire need of some nail-clippers, now that she thinks about it. Of course, had she wanted she could have called on one of her Internal Characters to use as an avatar, but since she is pretty sure any readers still reading are already confused enough, she has elected to remain human for this little exodus. Any External Characters will be able to tell it is her whatever form she takes. In the past three years that she has been writing official fanfiction, she has boarded the Network literally thousands of times – more than enough for characters to get to know her.
Writers aren't the only ones who ride the Illusory Network, as people may already have guessed. External Characters travel it as well, whether because they need to get from one place in Ambit to another, or just because they fancy seeing who else is on board today. The Authoress never quite knows whom she will meet when she gets on – if she meets anyone. Sometimes she will be actively searching for one particular character, and be blindsided by another. She has a MLP fiction that came as a result of that. She had been looking for some of the XME cast at the time, until a pair of small, colourful equines sat down either side of her on the seat and pestered her into writing a fic about them.
The Illusory Network is more than simply a means of transportation, as you may by now have deduced. It's a metaphysical means of character development, piloted by Inspiration.
Inspiration doesn't talk much, but sometimes it will touch you as you pass by the driver's seat, et voila. It's like a large neon sign suddenly appears above your head, flagging you up for External Characters to come sit by and talk to. However, Inspiration is as capricious as the Network itself. Sometimes it will refuse to come near you, and bare its teeth if you make the advance. Hormonal, angst-driven teenagers have absolutely nothing on it.
The bus pulls up suddenly, and since The Authoress has been playing narrator, she is startled by its arrival. Standing up, she smoothes down her fictional clothes and mounts the stairs past the hissed-open doors. Only two writers from the cluster accompany her, the rest still intent on their brainteasers.
The Authoress has a badge of clearance that she shows the driver. Then she steps onto the bus proper, and regards the other varied passengers.
There are hardly any people or characters she recognises, today. Certainly, no authors she knows by name. The bus is another place that, like the depot itself, could not possibly fit all its insides into its outsides in the real world. Inside, it is roughly the size of a few soccer pitches, with maybe a warehouse or two tacked on for good measure. Even so, The Authoress is able to take it all in at a glance and ascertain who is on board. The bus is rather empty at present.
This intrigues her a little. Usually she knows at least one or two characters, if not by name then by sight. Where she lives in the real world, The Authoress is not privy to a lot of TV shows or anime from America, where fanfiction is statistically most rife, but she can typically spot a book character. They like hanging around buses more than most, and she has had several deep conversations with them there, even though no fiction has ever come of it. Her most remarkable exchange was with Moon-Face of The Faraway Tree, whom she first met in Subreality in her childhood.
Moon-Face is a peculiar character, in that he doesn't think of himself as External. He is from an age where fanfiction did not exist as it does now, and the books in which he featured do not get the same attention as 'classics' do in the fan-world of the here and now. Consequently, Moon-Face would rather talk about anything else *besides* fanfiction, which was a bit of a respite for The Authoress when they talked, since she was suffering from burnout at the time.
The Authoress sits down and leans back in her seat as the bus starts off. She was has not been touched by Inspiration today, but since playing raconteur for this piece is taking up all of her attention, she is not unduly bothered by it. Instead, she simply settles back for the ride, listening to random characters talk in the background.
That's another thing about the Illusory Network – it's an invaluable device that teaches the virtues of combining both a background and a foreground, so action can more easily take place 'off stage'. Inferred events are something The Authoress only recently learned the extensive benefits of, and she finds that she cannot sing their praises enough, since they have effectively cut her workload in half.
"I'm not sure I'd ever do anything like *that*," one character is saying to a relatively new, innocent writer. "I mean, it's just so… cruel. I'm more likely to reason with them."
"I… suppose," the writer replies, obviously unconvinced. "But it just sounded cool, y'know?"
"Just because I *carry* the sword doesn't mean I have to use it all the time. There's a time and place for everything. Such is the lesson I've learned." The tone is vaguely familiar, and The Authoress looks up to see a man in a stylistic white robe, hair pulled back into a small ponytail. There is a vaguely curved sword in a scabbard at his waist.
The writer is unconvinced, and what follows is a rather one-sided argument whereby the relative merits and downsides of inner peace and decapitation are bandied around like salt and pepper at a dinner table.
Conversations are like that on the Illusory Network. Like the travellers, you never quite know what you're going to hear. Sometimes what seemed like a good idea in theory seems suddenly not so plausible when confronted with an External Character to put it to, and writers can learn from each other's mistakes.
"Sounds like someone's a little too fond of fight scenes," says a new voice, and a previously unobserved body plops down next to The Authoress. "Hmm, I wonder who else I know is like that…"
The Authoress turns, double-takes, and then sits up a little straighter. "Rogue?"
Evo-Rogue doesn't ride the bus as much as she used to. Too many fanficcers disregarded her advice, and, being the kind of character she is, she got ticked off at *all* writers because of it.
Rogue sweeps back her hair with one hand, nods, and folds her arms. It is a classic pose for her, replete with suggestive pout and eyes peeking out from heavily darkened lashes. Her hair is in its typical style – thick, glossy, and half-obscuring her face. She is the very picture of teenage gothic angst, and, as such, a complete and utter cliché of herself.
Let's just take a timeout to talk about Evo-Rogue. Far more than any other Evolution character, she is completely different to her comic incarnation. She is, in fact, an antithesis.
Comic-Rogue is a flirt – plain and simple. The Authoress has had a total of one conversation with Comic-Rogue, but that much was clear right from the beginning. Comic-Rogue likes to challenge the world and everything in it, and subsequently would rather torment writers into thinking for themselves than give them straight answers regarding her motivations and characterisation. She also has a fairly sunny outlook on life – an amazing thing when one considers all she's had to endure in the decades she has been put through by Marvel. Even forgetting her powers, scriptwriters have dumped on Comic-Rogue time and time again; so much so that the fact she is still sane is a miracle in and of itself.
Evo-Rogue would like to be a flirt, but the scriptwriters *she* has decided to travel another route. Evo-Rogue was designed to appeal to fans, more than anything else. From the word go, she has been touted as the character with whom fans have most empathy – and The Authoress can see why. Evo-Rogue has all the attributes of a normal teenage girl, inclusive of raging hormones, relative shyness, the desire to fit in, and all the other anxieties than make up the years between twelve and twenty. All this is then accentuated by her skin-on-skin-energy-absorption and the drawbacks thereof. Her powers act as a microcosm of regular teenage woes, making her, arguably, the most human of all characters on the show.
Think about it. In battle, Rogue has to rely either on her teammates, or herself and her own physical prowess, since her powers count for squat when she's not absorbing anyone. Fans were always meant to identify with things like this – after all, there aren't too many people out there with handy laser-beam eyes or super-speed. Put an ordinary fan into one of the combat situations Rogue is constantly faced with, and they would be begging for one of her nifty discuses within eight seconds.
Her creators must have done something right, too, because Evo-Rogue claims a full third of the fandom.
All this contributes to making the character what she is. And what she is happens to be possibly the most infuriating and frustrating character in the whole of XME fanfiction.
Because of all the attention heaped upon her, coupled with the personality she was given at inception, Rogue has become a particularly sharp, insightful character to talk to. She is very discerning of the fan-world, and can see both its merits and its flaws. Plus, she isn't afraid to speak her mind about any of it. Having so much fan backing will do that to you.
Typically in fanfiction, Rogue is portrayed in a set number of ways – even more so than characters like Jean or Scott. Rogue has, in her own words, transcended the boundaries she was supposed to inhabit – often in more ways than one. The Authoress has run across more than one fic in which Rogue obtains wonderful, godlike powers - whether by absorbing a version of Carol Danvers or by simple evolution. Many fanfic writers seem to think that Rogue is just plain cool, and that justifies advancing her abilities further. It's the 'special offer' style of writing; i.e. if two for one is good, then six for three must be damn fantastic.
Which rather ticks Rogue off, alongside everything else. You see, she may have transcended her old, canon boundaries; but that's only to slip into a new, fanon set. A horizontal progression, if you will.
The Authoress considers Rogue for a second, before saying, "If you don't mind me asking, why on Earth are you talking to me? I'm not writing anything involving you at the moment, and we already discussed the mall scene."
Rogue nods, but doesn't offer an answer. Yet another infuriating thing about her. Just like her comic counterpart, thanks to all the interest she has received, Evo-Rogue has developed a habit of never giving authors a straight answer. She would much rather make you work to find an answer on your own – which helps immensely when you're writing at length on one facet of her personality. Understanding is the key to good writing, and this is something Rogue holds in high regard.
Not that The Authoress would ever point out this similarity with Comic-Rogue. The Evolution characters tend not to associate with their comic book foils. Jean once described it as talking with your own grandparents, but doing so after hopping in a time machine and going back to when they were young enough to be considered 'whippersnappers'.
Likewise, the comic characters don't really like talking to the Evolution cast. Young versions of themselves that are so much more powerful and have so much more control than they do (it took years before Shadowcat could phase a person along with herself through solid objects, and Jean Grey would never even have considered lifting a police car filled with people off the floor at age eighteen)… well, it tends to unnerve them. And when someone like Jean Grey is unnerved, you know to take a step back.
"Reckon she'll take any notice?" Rogue jerks a thumb over her shoulder, startling The Authoress out of her narrative.
"Who?" The Authoress says intelligently, openly inviting the world to question her place on the Network.
Rogue merely rolls her eyes and jerks again, then stares contemplatively at the ceiling. The Authoress is not sure whether this means she is already bored of the conversation, or waiting for an answer.
"Well?"
Option b, then.
"I don't know. I don't know anyone here well enough to say whether they'll listen or not."
"That's the world's problem," Rogue says soberly – forcing The Authoress to contemplate her own place in a fandom where such a dour creature could be so popular and revered. "Listening. Not enough people do it – or else they pretend to, when really they're just hearing, which is something quite different. Insulting, really." She turns, fixing The Authoress with a beady eye. "Why are you here? To listen, or to hear?"
The Authoress is not sure how to respond. She is certain that, whatever she says, Rogue will somehow be able to twist it to mean something else, thereby tying her up in verbal knots that accomplish nothing but raise Tynolol's profits a smidge more. "Uh…"
"Don't bother. I already know. But tell me, why *are* you here like this?"
"You mean with a readership?" The Authoress sounds hopeful, despite herself.
"I mean with piggybackers," Rogue replies dismissively. Strange how a person so disinterested in her own devotees could have so many.
The Authoress is abruptly reminded of comedians who stand up on stage, night after night, ridiculing the very people who have paid money to come see them talk into a microphone. Not that she has anything against stand-up – far from it – but she is constantly amazed at how people revere those who incessantly and publicly insult them. Is it some sort of mass communal masochism?
"Meta-fiction," The Authoress says. "I'm doing the investigative thing."
"With us?" Rogue raises an eyebrow. Somehow it manages to be sardonic, unconcerned, irritated *and* interested, all at the same time.
"Well, obviously."
"How nice for you."
The Authoress blinks. "Somehow I was expecting more of a reaction than that. Although perhaps I shouldn't have."
Rogue winks, faint traces of a smile on her lips. "You're learning. Glad to see all that time spent in my company's paid off. And in answer to your question, I'm here because I want to be. Just like you."
The Authoress can't argue with that. To do so would call into question too many facets of the Illusory Network, and maybe get her thrown off it altogether. So instead she looks around again, and finds herself drawn back to that bickering new writer.
"Was I like that?"
"Like what?"
"That. You were the first Evo character I ever wrote. Was I as frustrating?"
Rogue seems to mull this over, and after a moment she says simply, "That all depends on your interpretation of frustration. And your threshold for it. There's others more qualified to talk to you about that, if you really wanna know. Is it a burning question?"
"Not really. But you weren't offering anything else to talk about."
"You said it yourself – we've already talked about my upcoming scene, and you're not writing me at the moment." Rogue peers at the new writer, who has risen and is stepping off the bus before her stop. Rogue shakes her head, licks a gloved finger, and makes a vertical line motion in the air. "Another one down. Don't reckon she'll be back."
The Authoress watches her go. "So why exactly did you come to talk to me if we've got nothing to talk about?"
Rogue shrugs. "It seemed fitting I put in an appearance. Besides, I have a message for you."
That makes The Authoress sit up straighter still. "A message? For me?" The idea of Rogue willingly playing courier is positively ridiculous. "Who from?"
"Yes, yes, and wouldn't you like to know?" Rogue wags a finger. Then she gets up and starts walking away. "But you'll find the answer at the Game."
The Authoress has a suspicion of who has sent her this message. Or rather, she has a suspicion of on whose behalf the message has been sent. Either way, she nods. She is familiar enough with Rogue to know that the character won't say any more than she has to – or wants to. If she has consented to passing along this message, then odds are she has some personal stake in it.
Then again, maybe she doesn't. That's one of the infuriating things about Rogue. As she is portrayed so many ways in fanfiction, she had absorbed so many facets as to be completely unreadable. Gothic recluse, grinning prankster, loving sibling, hate-filled daughter, resentful roommate, kick-ass vigilante, save-me romance heroine, wishy-washy love interest – just some of the ways in which her numerous fans see and depict her. That's why, to write her properly, you really need to speak to her in person. And that's why Rogue so rarely talks to writers anymore, too.
Vicious circle? Maybe. Maybe not. That's just Rogue for you.
Speaking of which…
"Hey, don't you have any cutting words of advice for me? A last parting shot?" Rogue has homed these down to a fine art, and The Authoress doesn't feel like the conversation is over unless one is voiced.
Rogue pauses, turns, and says, "Sure. Loneliness breeds in large groups of people."
The Authoress knows this expression already. It's actually the same saying as adorns a postcard blue-tacked to her bedroom door. She also knows that Rogue knows that she knows this, and will know that she knows this, too. And… uh…
"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"
Rogue smiles mischievously, revealing yet another facet of her character. "Hey, it's a gift." Then she hops off the bus and leaves The Authoress unsure whether to fume or puzzle over the idiom some more.
The only problem with being a fictional character in a story is that sometimes other characters write your part for you.