It was nearly midnight, and only one house in the whole of the mysterious 'SouthFlorida' still had it's lights on. Five figures were clearly silhouetted against the thin curtains, and voices could be heard from behind the windowpanes, even against the eerie thrum of mosquitoes in the bushes.
Inside, a teenage girl, about sixteen, sat in an uncomfortable looking black armchair, leaning against one of the sides with a distinct look of utter exhaustion.
"Now look, you guys, I'm really sorry, but finals are coming up. I've got to study, and I have another essay due in just a few days. I am seriously overloaded. What would you say to a hiatus?"
Four fictional characters have never made so many noises of protest. For indeed, the four other figures were a long limbed redhead, lounging on a tan loveseat, a small blonde boy, on an equally small wooden stool, a slightly larger boy, about fourteen with a dark complexion, seated on a matching tan sofa, just a few inches from a much taller, well-muscled blond boy.
"You can't put us on hiatus!" the redhead stated vehemently, her eyes blazing. "I don't know what's going to happen to Hetcher!"
"I'm stuck in a tree!" the little blonde chimed in, "I can't hang on there much longer!"
The others clamored, too, all voicing their separate opinions on why Clara should not do the unthinkable.
"Look," said the author, who you may have guessed by now was Clara herself. "This isn't working. How about I cut you guys a deal?"
"We're listening," said the dark boy, leaning in with piercing dark eyes.
"Okay. I'm going to update a bit slower. I'm already working on the next chapter, but the going is slow. I'm still finishing by June fourth, okay?"
The taller blonde boy tilted his head, his mouth curled into a grimace.
"Umm, guys? Y'know, I don't think I'm going to last much longer. So, well, I kinda like the idea."
The redhead shrugged.
"Hetcher has a point," she mused, toying with a strand of her hair. "just so long as you do update."
The rest murmured assent, though the smallest boy still looked rather angry.
"Just so I get down from the tree," he said, plainly.
Clara nodded, a look of melancholy across her face.
"One way or another, Carden. One way or another."
The readers, who had been observing the scene, nodded. They were appeased, and put down their flaming pitchforks, and the like. A few muttered something about not having any fun, but most went home, simply happy that Clara was updating some of her old, old, horribly written intros.
In fact, she recently uploaded a better version of Paris's. She called after the readers, recommending that they check it out.
The night returned to it's state of peace, and the fictional characters disappeared from the blue, white-trimmed house in SouthFlorida.
All was well.
--x
Seriously, y'all. I love you to pieces, but I am weighted down under all my homework and the like. Please, though, go back and check out chapter one. It is shiny, and long, and full of lots of interesting stuff about Paris.