…Well, you go attempting to invoke the creative urge from a number of pantheons, none of which are particularly pertinent to your own life situation, and what do you expect but positively purple pirate prose?
Chapter Twenty-Three
On the last day of the conference, Sam sat scanning the latest offerings from the participants – including Dean – as RJ, who was wearing his Dean Winchester cosplay outfit of his tiny leather jacket and a tee reading 'I WUV HUGS', sat in Dean's lap, waving and babbling cheerfully to anyone passing by. From time to time, as a particularly well-endowed fem interpretation of a character from Carver Edlund's books went past, he let out an appreciative cry of "Titi!"
"Oh yeah, it worked," Sam mused, scanning the chapters posted since the spell working. "But how?"
"Are you still goin' on about that spell?" asked Dean, peering around his squirming son and tapping furiously at the keyboard. "You're like a terrier with a rat. Or a lawyer with an evasive witness. Or a fangirl with a Sam Winchester plushie…"
"A what?"
"A Sam Winchester plushie," Dean repeated. "I saw her yesterday. I mean, really, it didn't look anything like you, but given the length of the hair and the plaid shirt, it must've been you. Because Dean Winchester does not do plushie. She was totally cuddling you, dude."
"Given a choice between being a plushie and being in some of the slash fics written here, I think I could learn to live with stuffed toy," muttered Sam.
"At least the writing's improved," Dean grinned. "Anyway, the thing is, the spell worked, and there wasn't anythin' evil about it – does it matter how?"
"Of course it matters," Sam snapped, "This is a spell that shouldn't have been cast. It shouldn't have been castable! I mean, really? Three different pantheons? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get the attention, let alone the favour, of a Hindu goddess if you're not actually Hindu? It would be like you wanting to borrow a book from the Library of Congress."
Dean paused and looked up. "Do they archive Busty Asian Beauties?"
"Jerk," Sam looked around – there were plaid shirts, trench coats and leather jackets everywhere. There were even canine characters: a Rottweiler puppy carrying a blue squeaky toy, a Border Collie wearing a blue tie, a Labrador with a scruffy wig, a Bull Terrier with a 'Samulet' around his neck, a grizzled old Bulldog wearing a trucker's cap – there was even a German Shepherd with long blonde hair added. "I guess at least the dogs don't look out of place, there are lots here today." They had brought 'Lennie' and 'Lara' with them, in the hope of using their noses for evil shit if anything should happen on the last day, and the two fluffy Cockapoos were working the crowd for pats, tails wagging and soulful eyes gazing up adoringly. "Oh, hey, look, that German Shepherd, it's an actual canine!Ronnie."
"That aint Ronnie, that's Andrew."
"Huh? Why?"
"Well, look at how happy his face looks, he's smilin' at everybody and waggin' his tail. If that was supposed to be Ronnie, he'd be snarling, and tryin' to tear legs off."
"When she finds out you dosed her with YiaYia Panagopoulos's potion, I hope she tears your leg off," Sam scowled.
"She'll thank me for it," Dean smiled breezily, "Make sure you upvote me!"
"Huh?"
"Upvote me!" repeated Dean, beaming, "I think I might be in with a chance for one of the prizes! People just love my story!"
"So, the writing may have improved, but the audience hasn't," Sam commented. "Does the word 'florid' mean anything to you?"
"Is it something to do with bouquets and stuff?"
Sam humphed, and took the mirror from his pocket. "Mirror mirror, on the tray, rate Dean's story: yay or nay?"
Though his ego it might squash
That tale buckles with the swash
"But you said it had improved!" complained Dean.
"Well, from rock bottom the only way is up."
"Bitch," sniffed Dean, returning to his typing. "Just for that, I'm gonna make you walk outta the captain's cabin and past everybody, buck naked."
"What?"
"I'm up to the bit where you've woken up and you're talkin' to Ronnie," Dean elaborated, "And you're kinda rude, 'cause you're a Navy officer with a stuck up your ass, and you think she's the doctor's servant, and, and," an evil grin bloomed on his face. "Tell you what, I'm gonna make Becky the cabin girl on the She-Wolf…."
"If you're gonna make me a werewolf pirate, the least you can do is have me tear Becky's head off the very first time I shapeshift," Sam wailed.
"Can't talk ficwriting," beamed Dean, "Okay, now I'm getting to the bit where you get locked in the brig with Gabriel. You're naked."
"You freak."
"He's naked."
"Oh, God."
"And just to really mess with your head, Ronnie got naked before you left the cabin. You just go no idea where you're supposed to look."
"I refuse to be locked up anywhere with Gabriel! Especially naked!"
"Oh, but they loved that bit, just think, with my new improved writing, they'll go nuts for it!"
"You're the one who's going nuts!"
"You want any tattoos? You're a sailor, after all."
"Why do you want to know if I want tattoos?"
"Well, what's the point of havin' you walk around buck naked unless there's some sort of description of you?"
"Jesus Christ, what is this? The oestrogen is starting to affect you! You do remember that you're not actually a woman, don't you?"
"It's okay, bro, I'm on my way to save you, the Impala will set sail as soon as heroic Captain Dean figures out how to find the She-Wolf."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better, is it?"
"But not before my fans have upvoted me. For GWN."
"GWN?"
"Gratuitous Winchester Nudity, bro. They love it!"
Sam glared resentfully at his brother. "Fuck, you've really drunk the Kool-Aid, haven't you? I can't wait until you're male again."
"What, so I stop writing fanfics?"
"Well, that too, but it was mostly so I can kick you in the balls for this."
"Oooooh, now who's feeling the oestrogen rage? You getting hormonal, Sammy? Should we be layin' in a supply of Midol and hot water bottles and certain sanitary products?"
"I hate you."
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Leaving her bestie to her melodramatic literary lunacy, Samantha took Lara and went to mingle with the milling conference-goers, exchanging greetings with some of the women she'd already become acquainted with, and running into the man who had been cosplaying as Ronnie on the first day.
"You look great!" she assured him.
"My sister did my make-up," he admitted sheepishly, "It feels like she put it on with a trowel, but we discussed it, and decided that when she's feeling human, Ronnie doesn't have a five o'clock shadow."
"Uh, no, no, I guess not," Samantha agreed, as Lara wagged her tail and lifted a paw.
"Oh, she's just adorable!" enthused 'Ronnie', "What a beautiful girl!"
"I feel like I should've dressed her up," Samantha admitted, "All the other dogs here are cosplaying. I guess I could just give her a squeaky toy, and say she's fem!Lars."
'Ronnie' smiled. "I hate to break it to you, but as three-quarters Hellhound, your gorgeous girl here is about as convincing as I am as Ronnie."
"You don't know how right you are," she muttered.
Her mingling took her towards the admin tables, where Fiona and some of the other organisers were tapping at laptops or fussing over things on the tables. "Oh, hey, Samantha!" called Fiona, "Oh, who's that with you?"
"This is Lara." she replied, as the completely-unconvincing part-Hellhound deployed the charm, eliciting a series of coos and awwwws. "So, did the, uh, you know, the working…"
"It worked perfectly!" declared Rachel, beaming, "Have you seen some of the writing submitted since yesterday?"
"Yes, yes I have," Samantha tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice.
"The voting has gone nuts!" confirmed another woman, consulting a screen, "We'll have plenty of interest for the prizes!"
"Uh, prizes?" echoed Samantha.
"Oh, absolutely," Fiona beamed, "They're not much, just tokens, really," she indicated the table, "To give to the people who have really made an effort, and improved, and really impressed the conference-goers. That's why we're tallying the voting in real time, so we know which stories are most popular!"
Samantha looked at the prize items laid out on the table: they were a series of intricately crocheted doilies. She smiled. "Oh, I get it, the doilies, just like what Dean used to summon Jimi Senior!"
"And George the cat!" grinned Rachel.
"Wow, they're really something," Samantha commented, taking an interest in the dense and complicated lacework. "Somebody knows their filet crochet. It's so delicate, I just don't have the patience for it."
Lara pushed forward to sniff at one of the doilies, and Samantha put a hand on her collar. "Oh, hey, don't you go slobbering on the prizes, that's just…"
She paused, as a sound came to her ears. Not through the air, though – up through her shoes. She recognised it at once.
It was the growl that Lars used to alert a member of his pack that something had stirred his Hellhound heritage to alertness, something had caught the notice of a Hunter's dog, something wicked that way came...
Something had grabbed the attention of his nose for evil shit.
"So, uh, who made these?" she asked, casually pulling out her phone to get some shots and stepping in front of Lara whilst hoping that nobody saw the faint whirls of red stir in the dog's eyes, "They are absolute works of art."
"Oh, the conference organiser provided them," Fiona replied.
Samantha's head shot up. "The organiser? I thought you ladies were the organisers?"
"We're the local committee, yes," Fiona confirmed, "But we do the gruntwork – the organiser got us the venue, provided the funding, and provided the prizes."
"She gave me the spell, too," Rachel added, "She's really good! She was so pleased to find a practitioner of The Craft so we could do the working – she would've been with us, but she said she had to put the finishing touches on the prizes, so they were just perfect."
"Well, she's very talented," Samantha smiled, those slam-dancing armoured gerbils bouncing around in their buckets again, "What a shame I never got to meet her."
"Oh, I think she likes to stay in the background," Fiona suggested, "She's a middle-aged lady, and she doesn't like to push herself forward. But she's passionate about fan fiction! Her writing is really good, and she organises these events to encourage others to improve their own."
"It's really good," Rachel nodded, "I mean, I find the idea of Crobby just, well, squicky, but when she writes it, it's just a really good gen story, you know?"
"She… she writes Crobby?" Samantha tried not to let herself gawp. "And it's good?"
"Check it out if you don't believe us," Fiona said, "She even knows Latin! At least, she writes it into her stories. I got no idea if it's really Latin, but it looks convincing."
"Oh, yeah, I know the ones you mean," Samantha made herself sound enthusiastic, "She's great! There's grammar! There's spelling! There's English expression! Punctuation as far as the eye can see! In fact, I think I need to read some more right now, to get inspired to work on my own writing! See you later!"
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Pulling the growling Cockapoo away from the table before the dog could implement 'her' inherited strategy for dealing with all sorts of dangerous occult items, which consisted of eating it and letting a Hellhound digestion defuse it, Sam headed back to where Dean was sitting, pulling a face as RJ batted enthusiastically at a small cup of frothed milk.
"That damned barista," growled Dean, "You got her conditioned! She gave me this sissy frothy stuff for RJ and I didn't even ask for it!"
"Faff!" enthused RJ, sticking his fingers into the delicious frothy goodness.
"Sounds like he did," Sam grunted, opening his laptop. "But right now, frothy milk is the least of our worries." He explained what 'Lara' had found. "So, it wasn't Rachel who pulled the spell together at all. It was somebody else, this mysterious 'organiser', who's provided the funding to get all these fanfic writers together, and has provided prizes that have set off the nose for evil shit."
"You think this 'organiser' is the fugly we're looking for?" Dean was all business.
"Sounding like it," Sam replied, "But I don't have much to go on – a 'middle-aged woman' who actually writes pretty well, could be anybody. Could be anything." He ran a hand over his face. "What does it want? It gets women together, to write and to socialise, then gets some to kill each other."
"Siren?" suggested Dean. "With a weird MO, admittedly."
"But why go to the trouble, the expense, of organising these conferences?" Sam wondered. "There's hundreds of attendees; you might get a handful turn murderous. That's a damned inefficient way to go about it. And then there are those doilies, the prizes." He pulled out his cell. "I got a couple of photos, but they don't immediately bring anything to mind. Damn, if only we were at Bobby's, I could look in his library."
"He's still incommunicado," Dean reminded his brother, "Dealin' with that nasty Sumerian sumbitch. So, we're it, dude." He paused to intercept a small sticky hand that was about to give him a beard of froth. "Hey, little guy, I got enough trouble with the chin hairs, don't you go addin' to it."
"The doilies are involved in all this," Sam stated, "Whatever it is, the doilies are important. We have to figure out how."
"So, let's steal the doilies," Dean shrugged. "We get hold of 'em, nobody else can use 'em. Or be affected by 'em."
"Can't," Sam humphed, "They're with the organising committee." With a determined look, he started up his laptop. "But I think you're right. We do have to get hold of 'em. We'll just have to do it the same way as normal people. So, get on with your pirate-tastic tale, Madam Deanna ImpalaDude. You gotta win a doily for Most Popular AU Story, and me," he opened a new window, "I gotta get the doily for Most Popular Self-Insert."
Denizens of the Jimiverse may remember that George the cat showed up in 'Nine To Five' after Dean did a faux-summoning with the wrong doily. Sam swears he summoned the cat; Dean swears he didn't. From time to time, they still argue about it.
And for those Denizens who want to read the entirety of Dean's Totally Awesome Jimiverse Genderbent AU Ye Olde Swashbuckling Pirate Werewolf Chasing Adventure, it's one of those things that might be written in its entirety – but in another reality.
So, what is setting fanfic writers to kill each other? Feed Alfie-Con reviews, and let's find out!