A groan resonated from deep within.

"OK, Fanficcer, could you stop with these witticisms already?" came a pained voice as a small, black and gray dog stumped into the room. "I've had enough with this room where you imagine yourself being the twisted abyss of your mind." He cocked his head to the side, closed eyes narrowing. "Get it?"

"No," replied the black silhouette of a figure, lying down on the stone floor, a quill in its hand and intent on a long sheaf of notepad paper unrolled before it. Its luminous green eyes were focused on the sheet below, and it was nigh-impossible to tell if it was male or female; its plain black body was no more than a solid shadow and its voice could belong to either gender. "No, why would I?" TCF went on, not looking up from its busy scrawling.

"Yeah, Dark Rush, it's out of character." A Pikachu appeared from on top of a nearby wardrobe, a malicious grin on his face. Following him were a yellow Acara and an impatient Moogle, who was nervously playing with his bon-bon with one posterior paw. "Complaining is so not your thing."

"It's more than driving random fandom characters up the wall," the Acara continued with a sympathetic smile. Blowing an overbearing strand of yellow fur out of her face, she gave him a smile as she thrust her thumb toward the pocket monster before her. "Leave that to Pikasqueaks here."

It took him five seconds to realize that he'd been insulted. "Hey!"

But by that time, the Moogle had already begun speaking. By aid of his bat-like wings, the small, furry creature floated over to the Dark Rush. "Yeah, kupo, you know, it's not like you. Besides, kupo, you shouldn't complain. You're like a muse, kupo – even if you're not one – and that means, of course, kupo, that you're not supposed to normal complain about TCF's hilarious antics. Kupo!"

The Dark Rush flashed the three of them a grin. "'Kay, thanks, I will!" he said, and abruptly disappeared with a pop.

As soon as the fatedog was gone, Pikasqueaks jumped down from his perch, followed by Magic, the Moogle, and Clara, the Acara. Bending over Fanficcer's shoulder, he made the following observation:

"Hey, what happened to dear old Dark Rushie's description?"

TCF scowled and pushed the prying Pokémon away, for once looking up from its writing. Amazingly enough, the events continued to happen, rather than everyone being caught in a time/space continuum or anything of the sort, even though it had ceased writing. The story could go on as long as its mind (or writing materials) were properly focused. "Too lazy," it said gratingly, "and besides, I've found that I don't get as many reviews with behind-the-scenes chapters like this." It paused. "But don't tell the readers I said that."

Clara, her paw trembling, pointed to Fanficcer's story, where the quill was up and moving even as they spoke. "It already happened."

For seconds afterward, TCF's anguished cry rent the air, successfully twisting 'round the laws of science and literature in general.