Aliens and Cookie Dough

My mind is really not set on work now. Thank you, Sands. "Stupid man…stupid ego…stupid grin," I mutter to myself. "Stupid…stupid." Yeah, Sands would have enjoyed that witty comment.

"Grr!" This is not good. That fucking agent will not get out of my brain! I know what I'll do. I'll go read. Take my mind off him.

I set off down the hall toward the library. "I think I'll read Peter Pan…it's been awhile."

That's it; drown the bastard out with innocence.

I open the door to my library, and am immediately greeted by the most glorious warmth. A fire is blazing and the room smells delightfully of old books and…pipe tobacco?

"Hello. Fancy meeting you here, miss."

"And where might here be today, Mr. Barrie?"

"Well, a library at the moment. Suffering from a bit of a headache; imagination is taking a wee nap."

"I'm sorry. Can I get you anything?"

"No, don't bother. Your company will be enough. It'll be nice to talk to someone other than Porthos." He smiles half-heartedly at me. Poor man. Poor, very handsome man.

He's sitting in a burgundy leather armchair, a very soft looking bathrobe wrapped about him. His old brown pipe juts from his mouth, grey smoke floating toward the ceiling. Sherlock Holmes could never have rivaled this. I pet Porthos who has come in search of affection.

"Sorry boy," I think, "right now your master is the one with my attention."

James' eyes are closed. I brush a few loose strands of hair from his face, and gently kiss his forehead. He smiles in return; wraps an arm around my waist. I was right about the bathrobe, very fluffy.

I sit precariously on the arm of the chair, letting James hug me. Sometimes it's wonderful to just be held. Right now is not one of those times. Right now I want more, all thanks to the psycho who, for some reason, is still basking in my bedroom. I groan, but before Mr. Barrie can inquire as to why, the library door bursts open.

Black high heels. Nylons. Black skirt. Pink…angora sweater.

"Well hello kids!"

"Ed?" James is slightly confused. He's never seen the somewhat eccentric writer like this before.

"Yes sir. Mr. Edward D. Wood, Jr. at your service. And boy have I got an idea for you!"

I stare blankly, wondering what nonsense he's conjured up this time.

"It's called Plan 10 From Outer Space!"

I mentally role my eyes, whereas James seems to perk up a bit.

"What's it about then?" God that accent is sexy.

"Well, after the aliens' first failed attempt at world domination," God! That subject just keeps popping up everywhere, doesn't it! "they decide to regroup and try again. But this time, instead of lasers and terror, they choose a new weapon. You ready for this? …Cookie Dough!"

"Cookie Dough." I was ready for something odd, but not quite this.

"Yes."

"Interesting weapon of choice, that." Mr. Barrie was sitting upright, his pale cheeks sporting a rosy blush. "I would have gone with brussel sprouts myself. They already look evil."

"Exactly. Which is why cookie dough is the perfect weapon; everybody loves it! Nobody will ever expect mind controlling cookie dough!"

I fight so hard to suppress a giggle.

I lose.

"I like it." James. "Have you got a script?"

"Not entirely, no. I was thinking we'd go spur of the moment, find our artistic muse and run with her! I even thought we could get the pirate to star as Prime Mookling, leader of the aliens. Just fill him up on booze and let him go!"

The pirate! Jack! I can already hear him questioning Ed's masculinity. This pleases me. Not nearly as much as escaping this hair-brained movie talk, though. If I stick around, they'll probably try to cast me. As the cookie dough, the way my luck runs. No. No no no. Not nearly in the mood for that.

I excuse myself (not that either of them are paying any attention to me), and leave the now overly warm library.

I have a mission.

A mission, and a burning desire.

For rum, of course.

How's that for you? It occurred to me while I was in Texas, after I had snapped. Personally, I like Sands' story better, but I am strangely obsessed with him for some reason. I'm in the process of talking with Jack, but he's being stubborn. Stubborn and drunk. Many thanks to Klara for the Sherlock Holmes thought.