It's meant for adult readers.
No additional warnings for this scene.
Thursday Next did not love her job in Jurisfiction, but she was devoted to it, so when the report came across her desk she shuddered and called in her new temporary assistant – no one explained to her why her assistants were always temporary – Pangloss into her office. He glanced at the file and rolled his eyes.
“Please, not fanfic, it SO destroys the pre-established harmony…”
“Fanfic. We’ll have to go to the Labyrinth.” Thursday grumbled. The Great Library contained twenty-six floors of actual stories, and twenty-six basements of unfinished/in progress works (the Well of Lost Plots). But fanfic rested even beneath that, in a seemingly random and endless run of warrens and tunnels and dead ends called the Labyrinth. It did not matter if stories were finished, if plots made sense, or if the porn sucked, if it was fanfic, it lived; although a story in fanfic rested only within its fandom and did not exist anywhere else, even if brilliantly written. The Cat Formerly Known as Cheshire, the chief librarian of the Great Library, refused to acknowledge anything born of the Labyrinth, claiming all such prose was inferior even to grocery lists, and could not be considered legal anyway.
Pangloss moaned. “I always get lost in those unfinished serials. It is worse than the Well of Lost Plots, a horror of...”
“Yes yes yes…Just avoid anything labeled ‘WIP’ and you’ll be fine.”
“No no no! They lie! They say they are going to finish a story but NEVER DO! I was lost in a Star Trek serial for over a month, once, waiting for Spock to break out of the Romulan’s prison planet and he never did! It was awful…the smell…”
“Well we might end up there again.”
“Xaptoria?”
“No…no, not the Romulan prison planet, I mean lost in a serial.” She tapped the folder. “This story is not finished yet.”
“Then I am not going.”
“Well, it was sort of finished. But…okay, look, we won’t be going into this particular fic anyway, because the character we want made a break for it. We must find this guy, that’s our job, no matter what genre he’s from.”
“Why? It is only crass fanfic. No one cares, except the copyright lawyers.” Pangloss whined.
“It’s all about the integrity of the story. Even if the story is crap, it has to remain true to the original vision of the author.” Thursday tediously quoted statutes, although she could not remember which one exactly she was quoting. “This maniac escaped and now his story hangs on an empty shower. Makes no sense. We have to drag him back.”
“’Empty shower’? This does not involve slash, does it?”
“Erm….”
“Wonderful. Flying cocks everywhere...”
“It is less about slash than about an empty story and a psychotic murderer on the loose…as he broke out, he tried to kill Gene Hunt.”
Pangloss pulled back, appalled. “No.”
“Yes.” Thursday nodded slowly.
Pangloss chewed his knuckles, then gasped. “Did he harm the camel hair coat?”
“No, no-thank-god that came out alright. But it is my understanding one of the driving gloves was ripped apart in the scuffle.”
“NO! Oh sweet heavens…wait, Hunt does not ‘scuffle.’”
Thursday flipped open the report and scanned it. “Yes, ‘scuffle.’ Right here.” She pointed.
“Next, this is serious. I was a part of the contract committee when those scripts came through. Hunt does not ‘scuffle,’ it is a breach of characterization to write that he ‘scuffled’ with anyone. Fight, argue, wrestle, wrangle, mangle, struggle, grapple, brawl, tussle, clash, battle, clash, collide, row, bicker, even quarrel but never scuffle.”
“Fine for the scripts, but this is fanfic.”
“You ever met Hunt?”
Thursday shook her head.
“Right. Believe me, he takes those literary restrictions seriously. Not a man to mix it up with, when it comes to character limits. I’ve heard of him brow beating newbie fanfic authors with a cricket bat because they wrote scenes of him ‘cuddling’ Sam Tyler.”
“Hunt doesn’t ‘cuddle’ either, eh?”
“Kiss, snog, lick, bite, suck, nibble, chew, gnaw, spoon, nuzzle, nestle, even snuggle but absolutely no ‘cuddling.’ Seriously. Cricket bat.” Pangloss nodded vigorously.
“Wow.”
“I mean it. If this psychotic bastard got Hunt into a ‘scuffle’ then we are talking some seriously messed up shit.”
Thursday began chewing her own knuckles.
“So who we looking for anyway?”
“Psycho!Sam made a break out of the Psycho!Samatic Cycle.”
Pangloss squealed. “That bastard who showers in Test Card Girl’s blood?”
Thursday nodded, and Pangloss squealed again. “What we gonna DO?”
“We’re going to put Sam Tyler on the case.” Thursday said grimly as she snapped the folder shut and stomped out of her office.
They found a decently fleshed out fic that was not WIP and that was not completely buried in Chiropterangst guano, the droppings of that peculiar bat-like grammasite, almost exclusive to the Labyrinth, which ate joy and fluff and excreted it all out as heart breaking, tear-jerking angst. The shit was nearly impossible to avoid, particularly in an angsty fandom such as made up Life on Mars, but the alternative was smutty PWP, and Next needed a Sam Tyler with a head on his shoulders, not just a head between his legs.
She jumped into the story at a calm point where Sam was sitting at his desk, daydreaming about hosting a dinner party. Apparently, the author was going for ‘really, really gay.’ She showed her Jurisfiction badge and he scooted back in his chair.
“Oh, sorry, was that too gay? I could tone it down, daydream about a football game or something…”
“No no, you were written just fine, no problems. Actually this has something to do with a situation going on outside of your fic, and I need your help.”
“Outside…” Sam looked around, as if listening for voices.
“No, no, this has nothing to do with being in a coma. Really.”
Sam bent over and started fiddling with the dials on the radio.
“No, Sam, I mean outside of your fic. Not outside of your current reality. Not even outside Book World, even.”
He looked at her suspiciously.
“O ‘ey, Next! ‘Ow you doin’?” Chris walked in and slapped Next on the shoulder.
“Oh, Chris! Forgot you were in this fic. How did that transfer go with the new season of Torchwood stuff?”
“Oi, tricky, Boss, tricky. Got too damn many Torchwood crossovers, as bad as Dr. Who.”
“Crap, I’m sorry.”
“You two know each other?” Sam motioned between them.
“Oh, yes, Chris is a really minor character in this fic and so he volunteered for the Crossover Character-Integrity Maintenance Fanfic Sub-Committee. Tries to make sure crossover fics don’t utterly destroy the integrity of the original characters…”
“They do, Boss, they do.” Chris waved his hand in the air in frustration. “Don’ get me started on the fuckin’ Simm!Master crap, it’s bleedin’ endless.”
“Well surely not here…” Sam asked, earning fierce glares from Next and Chris. “But…how could Simm!Master get into Life on Mars? He wouldn’t even fit in, and his timeline is completely different. Not like he could pretend to be me or something…”
Chris snorted and gave Next a sorrowful stare.
“Sorry, Chris, I understand your pain; I had to reign in that Firefly/Teletubbies disaster, remember.”
“Oi yeah, Boss, I remember that. River was pissed….look, we got a meeting, we’ve ‘eard some new rumblings about a Sailor Moon/Hot Fuzz cross that we need to stamp down. Is this scene happing or not?”
“No, go on, I’m taking Sam out for a, er, bigger problem. Don’t worry about it, Chris.”
“Right-o, Boss. See ya’, Sam.”
Sam shrugged. “Well if the scene isn’t ‘appening right now I guess I’m free to ‘elp.”
Next grabbed him and they jumped out of his fic and into the LoM [acronym courtesy of Acronym Adjusters(tm)! Call today for all your acronym needs! 31-555-6495] warren, which was full of tiled-mirrored walls and furniture upholstered in orange. Sam grimaced.
“I ‘oped to get away from orange outside of my own fic.”
“Sorry, but your fandom is pretty much set in the 70s. Forays into 2006 are hotly contested.”
Sam looked around in displeasure.
“Thanks for coming along, though, there are so many fanfic versions of you that…”
“Versions of me?”
“Well, yes, you are a character in an unauthorized amateur story based on other, legally recognized characters.”
“’Other legally recognized characters’?”
“Sam Tyler. You’re based on Sam Tyler.”
“Wait…wait…I’m based on Sam Tyler? Does that mean I am not Sam Tyler?”
“Of course you’re Sam Tyler. You’re Sam Tyler from a messed up fic called Looping which I have to say, just made no sense. So of course you are a bit confused.”
“But I thought I was the Sam Tyler…”
“No! The original Sam Tyler is in script lockdown; that last episode created a huge controversy and now the original Gene Hunt is under contract to the Ashes to Ashes scripts, so we can’t allow those characters to roam around, talking to themselves. Might let out Graham’s secret and really, I don’t need to have another Writ Fictitious Accompli…you just don’t know what my predecessor went through with the Blake’s 7 final episode script. God.”
“But…aren’t I on TV?”
“This is the Great Library, Sam. The actual television show characters exist in the Performing Arts Division. You think they’d have anything to do with amateur fiction versions of themselves? Damn prima donnas, think that being broadcast makes them better than the written word. Really, you don’t want to know the demands Sam Tyler made on the costuming department, ‘leather this’ and ‘leather that’ and Cuban heels…. at least you just wear what was written for you…well, sort of. I see your author wasn’t much into literary exposition.”
Sam looked down at his fuzzy attire. “What the fuck?”
“Well if the author doesn’t clearly describe your clothes, you just kind of end up wearing what ever the reader imagines you in. And readers’ imaginations vary, you know, so you end up…”
“…is this paisley or plaid?”
Thursday stared at him. “I really don’t want to know the reader who is trying to fit you in polyester plaid pants.”
“What the hell…” Sam stared in horror as his pants floated through plaid to jeans to black trousers to leather chaps. “HEY!”
“…Nice.”
“HEY!” Sam bounced around, tugging at his indecisive pants.
“Calm down, you look handsome no matter what you’re in, you were written that way.”
“But I still don’t understand why I’m here…”
“You are in the fanfic Labyrinth. There are about 400 different versions of you, so I just pulled one, no offense. You are all Sam Tyler and brilliant detectives, so I figured as long as you weren’t naked under Gene at the time…”
“WHAT?”
“Well you know the slash thing. Look, I could have taken you from Steady As She Goes, but you are so happy shagging Gene’s daughter there I really didn’t want to interrupt.”
“…Gene has a daughter?”
“In that fic, yeah.”
“…She cute?”
“You are gay, Sam, remember?”
“Oh.”
“Sorry, just how your particular fic ran.”
“Sooooooo…I spend a lot of time under Gene?” Sam asked, trying to act nonchalant, watching his sleeves change from tight silk to French cuffs to poet’s shirt baggy.
“Not in this fic, no, but in a quite a few others, you basically get shagged blind.”
“…seems a bit unfair.”
“Not my call. You might petition the Character Exchange Program for a swap out with Sam from the Who’s to Say? series, he gets a lot of Gene-action. Although what you can offer him in return I don’t know, your fic is really just so much crack, and Gene gets raped, so…”
“Oh my god, what?
“You know, can we just change the subject? There is a reason I dragged you out here…damn, those chaps are distracting…” Thursday looked off as Sam hobbled himself to cover his privates. “I’m going to have to demand a Fanfic Characterization Stabilizer here.” She turned to Pangloss who whipped out a form and a pen. Thursday handed them to Sam without looking down. “Sign there.” Sam quickly signed and suddenly he was back in his black pants, polyester shirt and leather jacket. He sighed happily, running his hands over the leather.
“Okayyy. So our problem here is Psycho!Sam.”
“Who?” Sam folded his arms, looking detectively.
“Not a word, Sam. ‘Detectively’ is not a word.”
“I hate sentences full of ‘like’; ‘like a detective’ or ‘like a panther’ or…”
“Well you aren’t writing this, so keep your nose out of it.”
Sam frowned and folded his arms, looking like a detective. “Fine. So who is the psycho? And why are we looking for him?”
“He’s you, of course. Psycho!Sam from the Psycho!Samatic Cycle.”
“Psycho!Samatic?” Sam paled.
“Yes, we believe he jumped out because he was really pissed about the musical version of his story.”
“…musical?”
“Psycho!Chris can’t sing.”
“…Chris?”
“Yes, he’s cooperating fully. Amazing what a good flogging can accomplish in fanfic.”
“Oh, God…” Sam looked at her in horror.
“You said it. We’ve got to catch this maniac, fast. A gorgeous, magnetic, sexy psychotic murderer let loose on fandom…think what he could do to the Harry Potter fanfic! We have to protect the children, Sam.”
“What can I do?”
“We need to find him. Where would you go? To hide?” Thursday looked at him, studying his reaction.
“I’m not psychotic!”
“No, but in your fic you eventually go insane, so you’ve got the chaps…er, chops. We need an idea of where Psycho!Sam might be hiding.”
“I really don’t know.”
“Come on, think!”
“I am! I’m thinking about these crazy fanfic writers! Who would dream up something as monstrous as Psycho!me?” Sam yelled, flapping his arms.
“Thursday, maybe a visit to the Hooker!verse might give him some perspective…” Pangloss leaned in, speaking in a low voice, and eyeing Sam doubtfully.
“Oh god, no, bring a gay Sam into Hooker!verse? The repressed Enforcer!Gene in that story would go off the deep end.”
“….Hooker!verse?” Sam stalled, his eyes wide. “Tell me that doesn’t mean…that it isn’t about…”
“No no no! No, no of course not! No, not at all. Just forget about it.” Thursday tried to smile winningly at the insecure character.
Pangloss checked his notes. “I thought the Enforcer!Gene in that one was not gay…oh, or is that just what he thinks?”
“Pangloss, please, drop it.” Thursday pleaded as Sam’s expression went into emo meltdown.
“I…I want to go home…”
“NOW you sound authentic! Great. So…where would you hide, if you were you? Only psychotic?”
Sam shook his head.
“Come on, books you loved as a child? Something you read in college that changed your life?”
“Well…Camus…”
“FUCK!” Pangloss howled. “I am NOT going back to Oran!”
“The Stranger?” Thursday asked Sam hopefully, because she really detested Oran as much as Pangloss did. Sam shook his head.
“No, The Plague.”
“Damn. Well, would you…go hide there?” Next looked over at Pangloss who was hopping up and down in Camus-driven Absurdist despair.
Sam squinted. “No.”
Pangloss collapsed in relief.
“I really loved Robert Louis Stevenson. And Jack London.”
“Dogs, pirates…well, maybe.” Thursday made some notes. “Anything…disturbing? A character that upset you or impressed you?”
Sam paced, thinking. “Scared me?”
“Or attracted you. Any character that you could really see and feel as a child. Someone Psycho!Sam might run back to.”
Sam snapped his fingers and pointed excitedly at Thursday. “Cruella D’Ville!”
“No. Please…no.”
“Yeah! I had a crush on her. She was just so…manic! And evil! Not that I was attracted to evil, of course, and I would never hurt an innocent animal. I love dogs.” Sam said reassuringly. “…but I was a boy and she was just…magnificent.” He eyes glazed over with an unbalanced haze and both Thrusday and Pangloss stepped backwards.
Next turned to her assistant. “Put the word out that we need the Dodie Smith section locked down.”
“Awww…”
“No time to get sentimental about beloved iconic British children’s literature authors!” Thursday yelled as she grabbed Sam and they all ran. “God, Sam I hope you’re right! We need to catch this maniac before he gets around to killing all those Dalmatians! It would ruin a classic!”
“I would not! I love Pongo!” Sam kept up with her as they got to the lift and she dragged him into it, throwing him against the wall as she hit buttons. “…are you related to Gene Hunt?” He asked, straightening his jacket with a grumpy frown.
“What? No!” She tapped the wall impatiently. “It’s just accepted as fannon that anytime Sam Tyler needs to be in an elevator he’s supposed to be tossed in.”
This did not make him happy, and he just stared at the button pad. "Um…."
"What now?" Next asked impatiently.
"Just sort of wondering what 'appened to all my 'h's." Sam frowned.
"That is a short hand indicator of your Manchester accent that writers use to remind people that you are not Canadian or something."
"…I don' 'ave an accent…"
"Please. Your U.S. audience can barely understand you when you order lunch. And believe me, accent or not, half the world doesn't know what 'treacle' is and quite frankly most Americans assume it is some kind of seafood."
"Not my fault. Don' see why I 'ave to lose all my 'h's for it. Or those 't's. An' I don' care what Americans think anyway."
"Good thing, too, or you might get pissed about the U.S. remake…" Next laughed.
"WHAT?"
"Now you have done it, Next, we shall be hauled down a Regional Disparity Digression," Pangloss mumbled.
“No, we are not.” Next grimaced.
Sam sniffed. “I don’ think the U.S. can capture the original tone and characterization of…”
“Be quiet!”
“…and really, do you think American audiences can ‘andle the ambiguity of the nature of the psychological question…”
Next stomped on Sam’s foot.
“Ow!”
“Good. Back to the plot….”
“Where are we going?” Sam asked, leaning against the lift wall and massaging his toes.
“Children’s Literary Classics.”
“Am I allowed? Being, you know, an unpublished illegal amateur version of a lawfully recognized character in an adult-rated program…er, script?”
“Not really, but you’re vital to solving this case, and you’re with me, so we’re making due. Not like I’m bringing Gene Hunt up to the children’s section to stomp on all their toys.” Thursday muttered, distracted.
They crashed out of the elevator and into the riotous, over-packed and eye-screamingly colored children’s section. A squad of Bar-ba-loots formed a line around the small, polite Dodie Smith section and the Children’s Literature Librarian hovered next to the shelves, twitching.
Sam stopped and pointed. “Aren’t you…Tinkerbell?”
“Bloody ‘ell, an adult character! Blimey, Next, wot the ‘ell you doin’ bringin’ ‘im up ‘ere?” The little fairy hollered and Sam stepped backwards.
“He’s crucial to the case, Tink. Had no choice. Listen, we think a psychotic fanfic version of Sam Tyler escaped the Labyrinth and might be hiding out in 101 Dalmations.”
Tink flew closer to Sam and squinted. “Oooo, you’s a cute’un!”
“Yes, yes, he was written to be alluringly handsome and tragic. Please stay on topic, Tink!”
“’Ere, then, if you won’ let me ogle the manflesh.” Tinkerbell pulled out the book and zoomed back to Next, handing it to her, then flitted closer to Sam.
“Hands off, Tink. I remember what you did to Willie Wonka.”
Tinkerbell growled and went to sit on a shelf while Sam buttoned up his jacket self-consciously.
Next opened the book and started flipping through it, until she came to an unexplained disappearance by Cruella followed by the Badduns being locked in the basement of Hell Hall. Next stopped right there and pointed to the page. Pangloss read it over her shoulder and nodded grimly. The plot deviation had already begun, and Next just hoped they were not too late.
They jumped into 101 Dalmatians to find that Hell Hall was empty. The ninety-seven Dalmatian puppies that Cruella bought or stole were missing, yet this was the location of the great rescue scene to be enacted later by Pongo and Missus while the Badduns were distracted watching television. No escape was going to happen in a house with the bad guys locked in the basement and all the puppies missing.
Sam walked around. “This is most hideous looking house ever built. The walls are all painted red…” He stood, one hand on his hip and the other pointing in dismay.
“Hey, too gay, Sam, wayyyy too gay. Cut back a little on the swishing.” Next grumbled, stomping through the place, looking for clues. “What I really need is for you to get all detectively and…stop that.”
“Sorry.” Sam retracted ‘detectively’ again. “…should be a word, though.”
“What I really need is for you to start acting like a detective and tell us where you, er, Psycho!Sam took the puppies. And why?”
He shrugged as if it were obvious. “I don’t operate out of revenge. Not my style. Or…his.”
“What?” Next and Pangloss said together, turning towards him.
“You ‘ave not given me much background ‘ere, aside from the disturbing idea of my…’is story set to music, which I think would annoy anyone. But I…he would not go through all this trouble just to get out of a few bars of music. I can sing, you know.”
“So why’d he do this, then?” Next pulled the case file out of Pangloss hands and began flipping through it.
“Leverage.”
Next looked up in surprise. “For what?”
“I told you: I do not know much of the background story to this. I mean to Psycho!Sam, I know 101 Dalmatians pretty well, actually…as a boy…”
“Sam! Stay on topic! We can segue later.”
Sam nodded. “Just a little off step, ‘ere, okay? Give me something. What makes ‘im psychotic?”
Next steeled herself. “He kills the Test Card Girl, every night when she visits him…”
“Smart…” Sam’s eyes narrowed and both Next and Pangloss stepped backwards again.
“NO! Not smart, she just keeps reappearing.” Next read from the case notes. “He’s…you…are pushed to the point of craven desperation only to discover that his plan doesn’t work: no matter how many times he kills her, she returns to haunt him. Of course by that point he’s over the edge, and takes to draining their blood to bathe in and finds out that Chris is really a secret homicidal sociopath so they start shagging…”
“OH JESUS CHRIST SHUT UP!” Sam covered his ears.
“Can’t even take his own fanfic? Hunt was right: pansy.” Pangloss snorted in disgust.
“Look! Give me a break! This is a bit extreme, don’t you think?” Sam looked at Next with pleading eyes.
“Yes, but it’s his fic, he plays his role same as you do. His end isn’t any worse than all those ‘character death’ stories the Angst Monkeys love flinging about…”
“Angst Monkeys?”
“Oh, they collect the Chiropterangst guano and make mutant plot bunnies out of it. Nasty group, throwing shit at each other all the time just so they can get someone raped, killed, or maimed. Their work kind of makes Psycho!Sam going off to the loony bin a happy ending.”
“Shit.”
“Literally. Anyway, he’s not any worse off than you are. And quite frankly, he gets shagged more. So what’s his problem?”
Sam looked at her sideways and began pacing. Then he stopped, focusing on the red walls. “Blood.”
Next and Pangloss stepped backwards even more, glancing at each other nervously.
“He’s thinking that if he kills the original TCG, maybe all the others will stop showing up.”
“That’s crazy…but damn, it would work. If it was possible to get her out of the original LoM script lockdown I was telling you about, which thankfully it isn’t. But…so why hasn’t he made his demands, yet?”
“Probably got distracted.” Sam blushed.
Next and Pangloss looked at each other again. “What, exactly, is ‘distracting’ here?” Pangloss asked.
Sam bunched up with his hands in his pockets, looking off. “….erm….I really, REALLY liked Cruella…as a boy…”
Pangloss rolled his eyes. “So our blood thirsty psychopathic murderer is off shagging a beloved children’s character right now?”
“I wouldn’t call her ‘beloved,’ really…” Next said, trying to defend Sam, who was blushing furiously.
“At what point can I call out sick, here?” Pangloss glared at Sam.
“Frankly, I don’t care.” Next slashed the air with her hands. “We need to find him either way. He’s obviously with Cruella, and they both obviously have the puppies with them…”
“Is it really that obvious, Next?” Pangloss asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry.
“Absolutely. This story has to stay under 10k words and right now we are at the 4,102 word mark, so if we make the plot any more complicated, then this will definitely go over that limit and we’ll be asking for a novella license.”
Pangloss nodded sagely. “Ahhh, I understand.” He turned to Sam. “So where would YOU go with ninety-seven puppies and the woman of your dreams?”
Sam looked surprised, as if the answer was obvious. “A barn.”
A quick check with Next’s Jurisfiction TravelBook under “B” revealed that all classic British children’s literature always have a barn within two kilometers of any major scene location, in order for orphaned children escaping their cruel guardian/orphanage/governess to have a place to hide which is warm. This was a standard requirement whether the children’s story actually included orphaned children or not – just in case – so Next knew one had to be close.
After three hours of marching about, they found a road that lead to a small farm with a large barn. There was light in the barn from lanterns hanging from the rafters, and as Next and her makeshift ‘team’ snuck up to it they heard the yips and yawns and snores of nearly one hundred puppies. They peered through a crack in the side door and saw the puppies all corralled together in otherwise empty horse stalls.
“We need to get the puppies back first…” Next whispered to Pangloss, who grimaced but nodded. Sam stood behind them, grinning.
“They are so cute! You think I’ll get to see Pongo?”
“Sam, we’re not here for the tour. I’m going to need your help facing down Psycho!you. He’s bound to turn up soon, we need a dramatic plot crux or readers will lose interest…”
“Will I do?”
They spun around to find Psycho!Sam behind them, grinning maniacally. He wore a stylish pin-stripped suit that was well tailored and he looked absolutely gorgeous. Next frowned and peered at him.
“Oh no, you aren’t really Simm!Master, are you?”
“No, I’m really Sam Tyler. I just like Simm!Master’s style. Looks good on me, don’t you think?”
“Look like a damn queer fashion plate.” Sam snorted, petting his leather jacket.
“Well I can vouch for his manhood.” Cruella appeared out of the creeping darkness behind Psycho!Sam and stood next to him, and they were the picture of ‘Fabulously Beautiful Evil Couple,’ even if Cruella stood a head taller than Psycho!Sam.
“Cruella! You need to get these puppies back to Hell Hall so the original plot of your story can proceed!” Pangloss announced, and Cruella laughed.
“No! In that story I end up ruined and penniless without a fur coat to my name. I’ve had a better offer.” She stroked Psycho!Sam’s arm and he smirked at them.
“What is the deal?” Next asked, stepping forward.
“I get the original TCG, Cruella gets a new ending, and we live happily in our own plot.”
“Or?”
“Or the puppies get it.”
“Typical.” Pangloss snorted.
“Hey! I’m a whiz the knife, lots of practice by now. You can try to pin me down but I’ll have at least half those dogs dead before you haul me out.”
“…oh, Sammy, I love it when you talk nefarious…” Cruella cooed and Pshyco!Sam smiled alluringly at her.
Next knew it was true. It was three against two, sure, but those two were bad villains of the highest order, murders and probably kinky lovers, so they would fight to the end, and a good portion of the puppies would be dead before Next could call in back up.
“Sam, you’re sick. You need help. I can talk to your author and see about getting a rehabilitation scene written as epilogue…”
“I’m not really psychotic! It’s that damn TCG! I just want her DEAD!”
Next lost her temper. “And showering in her blood was some form of new skin regimen?”
“Ooo, Lovely, you didn’t! For me? I’m so charmed…” Cruella ran her fingers through Psycho!Sam’s hair and leaned over to whisper. “Oh I can see you naked on a bed of Dalmatian fur…”
“Cruella! Back off from the fanfic!” Pangloss yelled, pointing his eraserhead-loaded gun.
“NO! Pangloss, she’s the original character! You erase her and a classic is destroyed!” Next yelled.
Cruella laughed viciously and Psycho!Sam smiled, sidling closer to her, as Pangloss reluctantly lowered his gun.
“Look, give me TCG, and I’ll go live quietly in the backstory here. I won’t even pet the dogs. I promise.” Psycho!Sam ran an arm through Cruella’s. Next cursed, knowing that to try for a shot at Psycho!Sam meant possibly taking out or, worse, altering Cruella into a minor character in the story.
“He’s lying.” Sam turned to Next.
“We can’t turn over TCG either way. But how do you know?”
“I would. I lie a lot, you know; about being from ‘Hyde’ and being from the future, loving Santana. I’m good at lying.”
Next turned to Psycho!Sam. “Straight from your own lips! You’re lying. We can’t trust you, even if we did bring TCG here. Which we won’t do. You need to give up!”
Psycho!Sam smiled malevolently and shook his head. “We have the puppies. Bring me the original TCG, or I cut their throats. Every single one.”
Cruella looked down at him lustfully. “We could fill a tub with their blood and…”
“Cruella! You are a children’s book character, you cannot even suggest perversion like that! At least keep it to deep subtext within non-plot specific dialogue!” Next yelled warningly.
Sam leaned into Next casually and whispered. “Who is writing this story, anyway? We’re just dripping with annoying adjectives, here: malevolently, lustfully, warningly…what next, ‘sexily’?”
“Sam, right now is not the time for beta’ing…”
Psycho!Sam wiggled up to Cruella sexily…
“SEE?!?” Sam cursed.
“Not NOW, Sam!”
There was a loud explosion above them and a huge, gaudy spaceship emblazoned with a bright red “Z” appeared. A zippy little floater car zoomed out from high atop the outrageous ship and landed in between the two warring parties.
“Cruella! Darling! Ready?” Emperor Zhark stepped out and then looked over at Next. “What are YOU doing here?”
“Runaway fanfic character, escaped from the Labyrinth and is holding the puppies hostage, Zhark.”
“Emperor Zhark.”
“Agent Zhark.” Next snapped.
Zhark eyed her evilly…
“AGAIN with the adjectives!”
“Sam, shut it!”
“Oh, Sam Tyler?” Zhark stepped forward and shook his hand. “Big fan. Not much into slash, but I do love the heart breaking angst of most LoM fic. So wicked and cruel, just pitiless really. Delightful. Is Gene Hunt here?” Zhark looked around expectantly.
“No, he’s not.” Next folded her arms while Sam tried to extract his hand from Zhark’s grasp.
“Too bad. I was going to run a genocidal cleansing on one of my many minion slave worlds and thought he might enjoy it. Such a bastard, he’s just a classic noir villain with a good-guy cover.”
“And a conscience!” Sam objected, wrestling his hand loose.
“If you say so. But I read Ripe and he really shines as a homicidal cannibal…”
“Zhark! We are in the middle of a case here!”
“Fine with me. Just here to pick up my date…” He turned to Cruella, who pulled away from Psycho!Sam.
“Zhark! Darling! You’re early…”
“I just can’t stay away from your vicious, evil and heartless boney body, my love.”
“Wait…where are you going?” Psycho!Sam clutched at her as she walked towards Zhark.
“Oh, you’ve got the puppies, you’ll do fine, my twisted little psychopath. Have fun! I’ll be back later. Remember what I said about that tub…”
Zhark narrowed his eyes and looked at Psycho!Sam. “Tub? What are you going on about, dearest?”
“Oh, we plan on…er…washing the dogs later. Just some back story, darling, nothing to even think about. Shall we go? Now?” Cruella dragged Zhark back to his floater car as they cooed at each other.
Psycho!Sam was left alone and vulnerable, and Pangloss raised his gun again.
“No, Pangloss, we can’t erase him.” Next sighed.
“He’s just a fanfic character! No one will miss him! How many people really comment on his sick, twisted stories anyway?”
“A lot, actually, I ran the numbers. And even more people follow his story than comment on it, because most don’t want to admit to reading it, so they do it late at night when they think no one will ever find out. He’s got a substantial fan base.”
“Of course I do! I’m romantic and evil and insane! Everyone loves that!” Psycho!Sam growled. “Not to mention irresistibly sexy.”
“Don’ look it to me,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.
“Think whatever you want, lunatic boy, I know how your fic ends!”
“You should talk!” Next said. “Look, we know you are upset about the musical; we can dialogue with the author to turn it into a friends-only post, if you want…”
“NO! Too late! They set me to song and then had Psycho!Chris turn on me! And now he’s going after Hunt and I can’t stop him without breaking out into verse! It’s HELL! I want it to end, and the only way it’s ending is for me to kill that original fucking TCG! She’s the key to all of this!”
“Look, I’ve made this as clear as I can: the original TCG is under lock down in the LoM master scripts, and even if I had the authority to bring her here – which I don’t – I wouldn’t do it.”
“Then I kill the puppies and 101 Dalmatians becomes a horror story! Might as well as have Stephen King write it!”
“You kill those puppies and you will be erased, no matter how many fangirls scream! The Librarian will NOT tolerate some crazy illegitimate fanfic character massacring a sanctified icon of children’s lit! It was made into a Disney movie, for chrissakes, you think anyone will grant you amnesty for screwing that up?”
At the mention of Disney, Psycho!Sam cringed.
“You have no idea the trouble I went through to get here, using every trick in fanfic to cross genres and leap narrative styles, so if you think I’m just going to give up…”
“Wait! ‘Tricks’?” Next stepped forward, her eyes gleaming. “Did your author give permission for you to be used in another fanfic?”
Psycho!Sam glared at her.
“No? Because if not then your presence here in this story is unlicensed and unlawful!”
“What? If it weren’t for me there would not BE a story here!”
“Right!” Next turned to Pangloss. “Log into the main server and see if you can’t find Psycho!Sam’s author for verification of character loan to this fic!”
“I have two authors! You just try to get consensus from both of them before all the puppies die!” Psycho!Sam yelled.
“Got it, Next! Code names m31andy and jantalaimon …oh, wow…these are some seriously messed up…”
“Stuff it, Pangloss! Keep the editorial opinions to academic literary analysis! Are they online?”
“Not much for chatting, but…”
“No! Stop!” Psycho!Sam straightened his jacket, breathing deeply. “Look, we can…negotiate.” He moved towards Next, running his hands down his chest. “I really want TCG, not these damn mangy mutts, you know that. We can…work…a…trade…” With each word he stepped closer to Next, lowering his head and looking at her through his long, feminine eyelashes. He rubbed his hands suggestively on his thighs.
Next folded her arms and stared him down. “I don’t bathe in blood, you psychotic bastard, and Psycho!Chris is under creative restraint, so nothing here for you.”
Psycho!Sam stepped back. “You got Psycho!Chris?”
“I do, and he has been flogged senseless.”
“Lucky.”
“He’s more than willing to talk, and he’ll finger you…”
“God I hope.”
“Shut it! You twisted pervert! No deals! You turn the puppies loose or…”
“Or what? I hold the cards here! I have the puppies! You want them, then you need to drag the ORIGINAL TCG up here so I can slit her throat!”
“Next! m31andy and jantalaimon have posted on the LJ comm Lifein1973 asking if anyone has seen Psycho!Sam! Apparently they are experiencing writer’s block!”
Next spun on Psycho!Sam. “Ah hah! Left your authors in the dust, did you? Outside of your AU without a pass?”
“NO!” Psycho!Sam nearly shrieked.
“He shrieked!” Pangloss squealed.
“No! ‘Nearly’ shrieked!” Sam pointed at Pangloss accusingly. “Don’t misconstrue my literary exposition!”
“That sounded like a shriek of fear and despondency to me, Sam. In fiction that is usually an indication of a character trying to fight the inevitable dissolution of a clever plan gone awry.”
“You are SO wrong!” Psycho!Sam yelled, advancing on Next and Sam, whipping a glistening and lethal blade from a jacket pocket. “I’ve had enough of this…”
“YOU’RE NICKED!”
Psycho!Sam went down under Gene Hunt, who appeared out of nowhere in his typical saving-the-plot-at-the-last-second manner, taking charge of the scene and rescuing the Samuel in distress. He handcuffed Psycho!Sam, who really seemed to enjoy it, and turned to Next and Sam.
“Yer welcome.”
“You boorish oof, if it weren’t for your stunningly macho good looks, you’d be a jackass.” Next snapped. “And thank you. I figured we needed to keep fanfic consistency, anyway.”
“How did YOU get in here?” Sam asked, appalled. “This is children’s book! Next, you can’t possibly…”
“Actually, he’s got a legitimate literary link here, so any Gene Hunt can get into this book any time he wants.” Next shrugged and Sam stared.
“You got to be kidding.”
“Nope, Sammy Boy, I was a texter as a lad and even appeared here as delightful blond boy in a park scene. ‘Fore I muscled up. Just adore Pongo, got to walk ‘im a few times on the backstory…”
“Really? I loved Pongo as a boy…” Sam said, amazed.
They looked at each other, sparks flew, and Pangloss howled.
“I will NOT allow slash in 101 Dalmatians! Out! Everyone out!” Pangloss yelled.
They jumped out of the book, Psycho!Sam yelling in frustration. Next stayed behind to get the puppies transferred back to Hell Hall – they all went willingly, glad to get back to the warm room with the telly in it – and to make sure the Baddun brothers were in place so the dramatic rescue of the puppies by Pongo, Missus, and the Colonel could occur on schedule, then followed. She re-appeared in children’s literature to a horror show: Psycho!Sam was sitting on the floor, looking pissed, while Gene Hunt flirted with Tinkerbell who was perched on his shoulder. The other Sam looked on jealously, and severely annoyed with the overabundance of creatively used literary adjectives.
“…so then, I says to this notorious crim, ‘yer nicked!’ an’ he went down like a ton o’bricks…”
“Oh ‘unt! Yer so strong! We really need more men like you, Poirot is such a pansy…”
“Always said that meself, you sparkling little fairy…” Hunt smiled suggestively.
“TINK! OFF!” Next stomped over and swatted at the librarian, who flew up, spitting cuss words. “Alright, all of you, to the lift. We’re going back to the Labyrinth before we have any more cross-genre pollinating in the children’s section.”
“Just nasty, this is…” Pangloss grumbled as they walked out.
“Bye bye, Genie!” Tinkerbell waved and Hunt threw her a wink over his shoulder.
When they were back into the LoM warren, Hunt started to haul Psycho!Sam into a dank, dark, narrow AU side corridor, but not before throwing Looping!Sam up against the wall and whispering something into his ear, pressing their bodies together. Next cleared her throat.
“If I hear of any fanfic AU-jumping down here, I will bring in every Prose Resource Operative on duty to lock the place down and wash the floors with Puritan(tm) SlashBgone astringint!”
All three men paled and Hunt dragged Psycho!Sam off, cursing as his charge tried to rub up against his thigh. “…you know how much I love handcuffs…”
“Shut it, perv, and don’t offer me another one of your blood soaked lollipops.”
“I got something better for you to suck…”
“Crap I so hate slash…” Pangloss whined as they watched the men fade into the moody darkness of their AU. “Really just ruins the best of all possible worlds…Next? Are you paying attention?”
Next looked over at him with a dazed, dreamy expression. “Oh now, nothing wrong with a little, er, sexual identity exploration now and then, I always say.” She smiled as Gene Hunt finally disappeared from view, dragging a submissive and lithe Sam with him in a highly charged erotic encounter. Next sighed and Pangloss snorted in disgust.
“So I get to go home now?” Sam turned to Next expectantly.
“If by ‘home’ you mean a cracked up AU slash fic where you eventually turn into a homicidal lunatic, I think I can help you.”
“….uhhh, can I have one of those Character Exchange Request forms?” Sam asked Pangloss. He tucked the form happily into his jacket and nodded at Next as they jumped back into his fic.
Authoria: The Fanfic Labyrinth, Chiropterangsts (chiroptera is the scientific classification of the order that bats belong to), Angst Monkeys, Regional Disparity Digressions, the Character-Integrity Maintenance Fanfic Sub-Committee, the Fanfic Characterization Stabilizer contract and the Children’s Library Section (as well as Tinkerbell being the librarian there…I’m waiting for the Disney lawyers to call any minute now….) are all my own creations, and you can’t blame Jasper Fforde for them. Pangloss is also my ‘own’ character, at least here; he is actually a character in Voltaire’s Candide. Bar-ba-loots are the Truffula Tree loving creatures out of Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax. Dodie Smith wrote 101 Dalmatians in 1957 so Gene being a ‘delightful blond boy’ in a park scene is a bit of stretch, as he was probably in his late 20s at the time, but damnit it’s my story, my rules! So there.
Characters: Cruella DeVille, Emperor Zhark, Gene Hunt, Sam Tyler, Tuesday Next
Narrative mode: third-limited