Disclaimer: Anne owns everything good. I own the rest.

A/Ns: Sorry it took so long. This chapter has no bad spelling/grammar (not intentionally, anyway). So, sorry that I can't explode any more brains with bad grammar. But Marjory's newest story has more R-rated content: Clichés and Mary-sues. Brace yourselves, and turn away now if you value your life.

Pamela (a.k.a I Know You Are But What Am I) will here on out be referred to either as Pamela or IKYA, which is short for the first part of her penname. Did anyone else notice that Pamela's penname changed last chapter between TheVoiceofReason and IKYA? Well, it was supposed to be the IKYA one.

So please review. It helps all of us as writers. Who knows? If you review Marjory's newest story, maybe it'll help her writing, too.

Well, maybe not, but hey.

Angry words were exchanged.

Shouting words.

Nasty words that can't be printed.

Arguing.

Yelling.

Debating.

Accusing.

Protesting.

Pleading.

Then there was the head-banging.

The dented computers.

But finally, Pamela managed to turn flarismyman's newest story ("TheMost Beautiful ofThem All")into something vaguely resembling… well, a story. It was still not something she would purposely read, but at least it had grammar, among other new amazing qualities. Like pacing. More or less. Anyway, it read as follows:

A/Ns: I know you all loved my stories before, but I've got a beta now, so they're not as pure. Anyway, I hope you like it, and R & R or I'll kill you all! Mwahahaha! (-Chainsaw sound-)

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Sayalaidarsha scrubs the pot harder. However, Sayalaidarsha is a very long name, so the author will refer to her from here on out as Alai (the least consequential part of her name). Oh, how she hates washing the dishes!

She tosses her head back, throwing her silvery hair out of her thin, pale face. Her blue eyes sparkle, even though she isn't supposed to be happy now. She is just one of those people whose eyes sparkle all the time.

Because she is, of course, devastatingly beautiful. Her hair is, as has been mentioned, but must now be described in more detail, silvery and long. It is thin and straight, cascading down her back like a waterfall of silvery-blond. Cascading, I tell you, cascading.

And her skin isn't just pale – it is porcelain, milk-colored (not curdled milk, fresh milk – uh, do they have cows on Pern?), despite the fact that those things probably aren't known of on Pern during the time this story is written in (the author can't be bothered with specifying exactly when this is). Anyway, back to her pale skin. It is smooth, uninterrupted, pale, lovely. Don't you just want her skin?

And Alai's eyes are just as enchanting as the rest of her. They aren't just blue (the author is running out of dramatic phrasing and must recycle) – they are a deep, dark blue, the kind of blue that you only see nowhere, since nothing can compare to Alai's beauty. Her eyes could hold you spellbound, and many men are constantly testing this theory.

Her body is, of course, as perfect as anyone could ever imagine. It is as thin as a twig off an emaciated tree, though that description does not do justice to how good she looks. She is so slim and tiny, and yet she is of course wondrously strong, but you'll find out about that later (if the author forgets to mention it again, so what?)

Now, back to the dishes. Ah, yes, such tragedy had brought her here to Ruatha Hold to work as a drudge! Despite the fact that people do not randomly have flashbacks while washing dishes, we will now take a trip down memory lane…

"Mother!" Alai screamed. She clutched wildly at her gorgeous hair, tears streaming down her face. And yet her pale skin's beauty could not be marred.

"And Father! Oh, no!" Alai fell to her thin, strong knees, sobbing dramatically. Her poor family was dead! Every single one, brutally murdered. Alai's fresh wails filled the air around her, though of course they were sweet wails.

So she had staggered away from their little holding up in the mountains to Ruatho (or however you're supposed to spell it, the author doesn't particularly care) Hold. They hadn't been very kind to her at first, but when she lifted her sparkling eyes to those of the Lord Holder, he had relented and let her stay on as a drudge. Ever since then, her life had been tragic and full of work that her delicate body was not meant to do. But, of course, since she is so perfect, she did it anyway, and is still beautiful.

So, Alai's tragic past having been filled out, the author decides that it's time for a dragon to come, since fleshing out the girl's character more is too much of a chore.

A dragon winks out of between, hide flashing gorgeously in the sun. Alai is frightened at first, and runs squealing into the kitchen.

Oh, wait. That's not very admirable. So, rewind.

Alai steps out into the sunlight, squinting her sapphire eyes against the glare off the dragon's hide – bronze, of course. She then calls out to the rider. Her voice is smooth, clear, rich, beautiful, like bells, like… really smooth, clear, rich, beautiful things.

"Hello, bronzerider, bronze dragon," she lilts. "Welcome to Ruatha Hold. What brings you here?"

Greetings, little one, a voice suddenly sounds in her head. Alai jumps slightly, but then shrugs it off. It would figure that, in her perfection, she would also be HAD, hear all dragons. She is actually even HAFL, hear all firelizards, and HAWW, hear all watch-whers, but those parts aren't in the story right now.

"We come on Search!" calls the dragon's hott rider. He is so hot, in fact, that all the other girls in the courtyard begin to swoon. But Alai stands unaffected, though he is enchanted by her beauty. Anyway, back to his hottness – of course he's hot, all bronzeriders are hott by definition.

"But we don't need to linger any more," continues the bronzerider. "I think we've found our object." He jabs his finger at Alai. "Come to the Weyr with us, O Beautiful Girl. You must Impress a dragon. A queen, no less."

Alai gives a small, pretty gasp, laying a dramatic hand on her collarbones. "Me?" she whispers, hardly able to believe her good luck.

"By the way, I'm M'kyui," the bronzerider says. "Where's the lord of this Hold? What's this place called anyway?" Yes, the author knows it's Ruatha Hold, but who cares? Who would know about that out-of-the-way dump?

"I am here," booms the Lord Holder. Of course his voice is booming. If you've got a big, prestigious man, of course his voice will be booming. It's, like, in the rule book. The rule book of… um, big mens' voices… and…

"Why are you here, O Bronzerider?" booms the Lord Holder.

"I was here to Search, until I found this flower of beauty – this Alai," says M'kyui. Of course he knows her name! Gosh, who wouldn't?

"You want her?" cried the Lord Holder with the Booming Voice™. He shrugged. "Then you may take her."

"Come to the Weyr with me," said M'kyui, reaching down to help Alai mount his dragon – uh, Somethingeth. Why not? Fine, his dragon… Hotteth. Yes, Hotteth.

Alai shyly took his hand, staring into his deep amber eyes. She blushed as he helped her swing up – she was surprisingly good for someone who had never ridden a dragon before.

M'kyui put his hands on her waist, blushing himself as he realized where they were. "Let's go, Hotteth!" he cried to the dragon, and they took off and went between.

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That's it, folks! R & R! Or else! (-Menacing chainsaw named Ralphie starts up again-)

Well, whether Pamela/IKYA really thought it was worthy, it was getting posted. She sighed, standing up. She was going to need to refresh her stock of aspirin.