Llamarama: Chapter II

So, apparently, no one's reading this. Not only did I only get five reviews for the first chapter, but there were only like 20 people even looked at the story. And, although that's a pretty darn good review-to-pageview ratio, it's still depressing.

Meh. Usually five would be an amazingly high number of reviews for me, but I think that getting 40 reviews for TEE spoiled me terribly.

So, to make me feel better, I want everyone who's reading this to at least pop in on Llamarama, even if you don't review it (or even read it!).

Oh, wait, if you're reading this, then you're here already.

Crap.

Oh well, just go read the story now. Since you're here and everything.

Yes, I know that I took a really, really long time for a chapter in which not much happens. What can I say? I was floundering. I like Llama a lot, but I didn't really know where to go with her story, especially since I have to keep it from turning into a Mary-Sue story… But I finally came up with a decisive plot for this thing (Well, okay, my particular version of a decisive plot, which means I know how it will end and have a particular scene or bit of dialogue I want to write for every chapter), so I feel okay about updating again.

Plus, the real Tokyo Mew Mew characters will appear next chapter! Huzzah!

The receptionist led Llama out of the waiting room and down a labyrinthine corridor that stretched on for such a distance that Llama wasn't even sure that it could all fit in the building. After a shameful amount of uneventful walking, which did absolutely nothing to advance the plot, the two women came upon a room so large that if you stretched out a person's intestines, they probably wouldn't reach all the way across.

And the intestines of a human are really, really long when you stretch them out. Just in case you were wondering.

Llama gazed upon the room, which was filled with row upon row of cheap movie-rental-store shelves, each packed with videos, in utter disbelief.

"Wow…" she muttered, "how can this place actually exist?" The receptionist started to answer, but immediately fell down a plot hole.

And, lo, the authoress said unto herself, "Crap, now who the heck can I use for plot exposition?" She sighed, and, suddenly, the receptionist was back.

"Don't ask things like that. You've been in a Mary-Sue story, so you should know to just ignore nonsensical things like this."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

So, yeah, anyway, the room was big. And filled with videos. The receptionist wheeled over a TV that had come from goodness-knows-where.

"Where did that co—" Llama began, before noticing that yet another plot hole was opening up under the receptionist.

"This is the sort of thing we archive here," the receptionist intoned, completely ignoring Llama's almost-question as she snagged a video from a nearby shelf. "Pay attention. You might learn something."

"Couldn't I just read the back of the video box to find out what it's about?"

"What? No!"

"Oh, okay." Llama shrugged and tried to make herself comfortable. Unfortunately, there were no chairs or, indeed, any furniture at all near Llama. She turned around to ask the receptionist about it, when she noticed that the receptionist had procured a large, overstuffed armchair out of thin air. "Um. How did you do that?"

"Sheesh, didn't you learn anything when you were an OC?"

"Don't fall down…" The receptionist, who has obviously never read "Tokyo Ew Ew" just looked at Llama quizzically.

"Good luck with that," the receptionist replied, still puzzled. "No, what I meant was, you can use the energy of clichés and dumb plots to make stuff. It only works in here and in certain types of stories, but you need to learn how to do it before I can let you run loose through this room."

"Um… I don't wanna run loose."

"Of course you don't. Now, close your eyes and concentrate on what you want to appear."

Llama shut her eyes. Her brow furrowed and little beads of sweat popped out on her forehead. Her fists clenched and unclenched convulsively.

Et Cetera.

There was a flash of light and a "pop!" and suddenly something came into being. For a moment, neither woman could recognize it. Then the receptionist's eyes widened in fear.

"I-it's a coherent plot!"

"Wow, I've never seen one before," Llama said in an awed voice. "Did I really just make that?"

Unfortunately, it's fairly obvious that coherent plots, which are unstable, elusive beings under the best of circumstances, become extremely reactive when exposed to something as inherently opposed to their nature as the energy of a million million Mary-Sues. So, in a spray of blueberry jam, the coherent plot imploded.

When the purplish-blue gunk had cleared, there, standing in its place, was a barstool.

Llama shrugged and sat down. The receptionist quickly popped the video into the waiting TV's VCR, so no one would have time to think about what a terrible anticlimax the last couple sentences were.

The lights dimmed, and the TV turned on in a flurry of static. The receptionist mumbled something unimportant and pressed a button, which caused the screen to go black for a moment.

Then, after another brief burst of static, a pretty, blue-haired girl appeared. Her hair cascaded in oceanic waves down past her head and, presumably, went on for a long while after the picture cut off, which was directly below the girl's chest. Speaking of which, her chest was full and obvious without being disgusting, and the simple-yet-elegant shirt she wore over it showed her impeccable taste. And her eyes, oh, her eyes were golden like treasure beyond Croesus' most fevered dreams…

The authoress paused for a moment as she re-read that last paragraph. Upon closer inspection, the authoress noticed that she was definitely falling into the trap of describing an OC to the point where all the action in the story just ground to a halt. Her finger poised over the delete key, the authoress stopped. Maybe she'd leave the description paragraph in there, to show what not to do. Yeah, that was it. What not to do.

"Can we start the movie now?" The receptionist asked pointedly, looking upwards.

Sure. Okay.

"Thank you."

So, anyway, the pretty girl in the video smiled (and her smile was like—No! Must resist!) and said, "Hi! My name is Miko Loveliness, and I'd love to be in your story!" This all went off without a hitch, but Miko paused before continuing. She squinted at something off camera, and her beautiful lips moved restlessly as if she was trying to sound out a hard word. When she did continue, it was obvious that she was reading off of a cue card.

"I'm… 16 years old, and I'm willing to be paired with any boy except… Mah-yuh-suh? Oh. Mayasa, of course. Any boy except Mayasa! I've had a tragic past," continued Miko, getting into the swing of things, "but that certainly hasn't had any bad effect on my character! I'm nice and charming and witty and exciting and of course have very strong magical powers. You see, I was originally from another planet, but when my planet was destroyed, my parents sent me to this one. I never saw them again, but it turns out that on this planet I have super-duper magic powers!" She smiled brightly, then paused and muttered, "Oh, a cue card change. Okay, um…" She stopped again. "My—my flaws are—"

Miko couldn't even finish that sentence, because she burst out laughing. The tape dissolved into static once again, and the receptionist shut the TV off.

That's all for now, folks!

In case you were wondering, Miko is not based at all on a specific character, just a character type. I have no plans of ever having her physically appear in a story, so if any of you ever want to use her, go right ahead. Just please PM me and tell me you're gonna use her, so I can read your story.

And to anyone who thinks that this chapter was far too slow, all I can say is, "It's plot exposition, darling, it has to go somewhere."

Review, please!