Normally I'm too unpleasant to be the kind of person who makes any apology for a late update – but actually, everyone here is so charming and has been so honeyed, that they really do deserve a reason:

Laptop crashed, file containing vital drafts of fic stuck on said laptop. Twelve-day wait and 30GBP fine to get files burnt onto DVD as backup before sending laptop off to be fixed. I hate computers, I heart PC World's fix-it desk, The End. :D

And mighty upset I was about not being able to write, I might add. Horrendous fun. Reviews to the usual wotsit, if you're feeling charitable.

-

The bullets hit Silas.

'Ow! Oww! Ow!' he screamed, in a passable Michael Jackson impression.

Although he usually suffered in silence when it came to pain, the agony of simultaneously being shot in the ear, kneecap and pinkie was surprisingly acute. He howled bestially, writhing about and making alarmingly orgasmic facial expressions. He paused to listen to the soundof female brains melting. But...something was wrong with this picture...

His injuries were completely baffling! Why not just shoot him in the heart? After all, very few people have actually died of Multiple Earlobe Injuries, when you get down to it. Whoever was shooting at him was either a)insane, b)a really crap shot, or c)...

-

Amaria the Mary-Sue sighed.

True, she did that a lot, but this time there was a reason.

Silas just would not be shot! Or rather...she had assumed that, being a Mary-Sue, she'd naturally be perfect at any activity she attempted (except for that one fatal weakness connected to a Terrible Childhood Trauma). And yet, aiming the damn thing was surprisingly difficult...

'Stay still! Stop wriggling about, God damn you!' she cried, gun held out in front of her in a manner that meant business, 'You have to be properly shot else how do we do a hurt/comfort scene? So nobody else had the decency to shoot you! Ok, I can deal with that - but will you at least let me have a try?'

Silas, who was too far away to hear her screaming to herself, curled up into a ball.

'Great! Way to go, Mister Hedgehog!' she yipped in frustration. She took aim in a last million-to-one chance.

YES!

'Gotcha!' she said, tossing the gun in a dustbin and running out of the hidden alleyway with her arms outstretched. Silas took one look at her bouncing form, with its purple hair streaming out behind, and promptly felt ten times worse.

'Oh no!' she reached him, cradling his peroxide head and cuddling it embarrasingly aganst her ample bosom, 'Awww, did someone shoot you? Why, whoever would DO such a thing? How mysterious! We'd better get you checked out!'

'Get away from me, you weirdo,' Silas whimpered.

'Awwwww! Bless his cotton socks, he's delirious with the pain!' cooed Amaria, 'Doesn't know what he's saying, the poor sausage!'

Silas blacked out.

-

When he came to, his resist-temptation-to-write-adjective-here eyes opened once again, and he found he was still lying on his back, head still throbbing miserably, wounds still bleeding merrily.

That's not right, he thought, I'm no expert on fanfic, but aren't I supposed to be recovering somewhere soft and flumpy, not somewhere hard and...quacky? he considered, as a line of ducks waddled comically by, en route to the nearby duckpond.

Of all the laughably stupid places to get shot...! Silas thought, wincing as a small child aimed a stale bread roll at the ducks, missed, and cracked Silas on the skull with it instead, I pick a public duckpond.

'Please get me out of here. Small children are hurling crackers at me,' he said to Amaria, noticing she was still flapping about nearby.

'I know! Look, I'm working on it!' she wrung her hands distractedly, unsure of what to do. Technically, everyone would like to think that if they came across a beautiful, fallen angel like Silas, bleeding tragically on the path, they would surely whip off their favourite hoodie to staunch his wounds, cut off all their hair to make a tourniquet, magically summon up the strength to yank him to safety, and perform open heart surgery on the spot with only three twigs and a pair of eyebrow tweezers.

In reality, most people would make exactly like Amaria, which was blither about uselessly, panicking, until they figured out what to do.

'You could start by phoning an ambulance,' Silas suggested.

'No, duh, I can't do that! That's such a crap set-up for a romance fic, I mean - love amongst the ventilators? It's so gory, all those bacteria and coffee machines and crazy old men. Uh-uh. No way, Jose'

'But I'm dying!'

'Oh, it's all 'Me,Me,Me!' isn't it?'

Fortunately for her, the rest of the landscape magically kick-started into Mary-Sue-dom. It had finally realised it was supposed to be fitting in with her world-view. As if by magic, several concerned passers-by who had nothing better to do with their time conveniently appeared on the scene. They leapt into action.

'Don't worry, I'm a nurse!' said the first passer-by.

'Don't worry, I'm a doctor!' said the second.

'Don't worry, I'm a lapdancer!' said the third.

'That's great, Lola,' said Amaria, ushering her away, 'But Silas really doesn't need that kind of assistance right now'.

'Gosh, he's as pale as a...white thing,' said everyone in unison, remembering to notice it twice for good measure - for although it hasn't been socially acceptable to point out how black, brown or otherwise ethnically colourful someone is since about 1970, apparently it's still ok to point out how white someone is. Had it been the other way round, twenty people would have jumped on whoever uttered the heinious words, carted them off to prison for being a racist, and been on the Nine O'Clock News as the traumatised victim of hate crime.

As it was, Silas just said 'Ouch' and fainted with pain again.

'So: how did you come to be treating a hobo dressed like Jesus in a duckpond, exactly?' the Doctor quizzed Amaria.

'Er...!'

-

Lots of happy thanks to:

Adeline7 ('Blessed are the sweet' – The Book of Fuchsia, ch 54,867, v1-3), LaRosaAzul, Shy FX , Malaysian Gal, Xlawa, Countess Verona Dracula, Rodentfanatic, Schmergirl, The ephemeron, BelleEve, Sweetgirl99, Lycanthropia (Bless you, my Mamma's the same. The only way to tell if a joke is funny when you write it, is to test it on yourself and see if you laugh...it's just I actually find completely ordinary things like custard hilariously funny as well as any jokes, so sometimes it gets quite frighteningly noisy in here.), Elaine, DeeDee and LilyCurly of the Paul Bettany Dot Com forums, and part-man part-biscuit Mr Bettany for being an inspiringly deranged and hilarious gutterbrain. Please, Academy, for the love of God, give that 'Best Supporting Actor' Oscar to the person it belongs to.