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Feb. 12th, 2003 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taratemimaOriginal fictional characters introduce themselves to a slash pairing.
"Oh. It's you. Danny Elfman and Tim Burton."
The source of the remark is a small pale girl. Okay, not that small. She has an imperious stance, a steady gaze and arms that obviously have something of a work-out. She has a curly dark brown bob and was wearing Leith High t-shirt and faded blue jeans, and a silver ring on her right middle finger.
The target is a man, also small and pale. He is in a black and charcoal gray suit, his copper hair cut very short to hide the fact he's balding. He wears glasses tonight, so he isn't completely vain.
He isn't completely mute either. "And just who the hell are you?"
"Margaret Dunsmuir, advocate for Clan Murray, general of the Leith platoon, descendent of the sidhe settlers of the Rockies, and until you and your . . .pet director came along, the work in progress of an author."
"I don't think she minds if you call her Meg . . .do you?" The questioner is is a tall teenage boy with glasses, his light brown curls going ever sort of way, in a red 'Leith High Band' hoodie and clean blue jeans.
Meg shrugs. "May as well keep things informal."
"Now," Danny replies, "I've had angry ex-girlfriends, drunk bandmates, and psycho fans, but this is the first time I've been accosted by a, what's that, 'shee.' That's fairy, right?"
The boy then looks worried. "Not out loud! Jeez, you want milk spoiled or glasses ruined or something?"
Mike Callahan decides to intervene. "It's okay kid, I've got Fair Folk insurance. I must ask you, however, to take it to the Danger Room if you have a problem with the gentleman."
Meg shakes her head. "I much rather explain our situation to Mr. Elfman here . . ." She then clears her throat. "We are fictional characters, as you are. See, while you have the names, faces and some of the biographical details of real people, you don't exist outside of stories. I mean, you don't really sleep with each other except in stories." The men roll their eyes in agreement.
She continues, "But I'm not alone." The teenage boy stands up and walks to Margaret's side. Four more people then come out of the shadows: a fat, short young woman with fine curly ginger-colored hair in a black sweater, a Curtain Society t-shirt and worn black jeans; a short, slender young man with straight black hair that flops over his face in black baggy shorts, combat boots and an autechre long-sleeve shirt; a short, slender but pear-shaped girl with straight brown hair, rainbow-stripped tights and a white peasant dress with blue polka dots; and a very tall young man with padding on his stomach but otherwise slender build, with clear blue eyes, black hair, white shirt and ironed black pants.
She gestures to the teenage boy beside her. "Jacob is my boyfriend, my companion, my link to the human world. He is a musician, and will find out that thanks to fae ancestry, he can access the powers of a bard."
Jacob looks surprised. "I know what a bard is, I know I'll play music, but what will that mean?"
"It will be too long to explain, but I can tell you this--a lot will be asked of you."
Jacob looks at her worried again.
She gestures to the ginger-haired woman and the man in the autechre shirt. "Meet Emily and Sam. They are acquaintances who drift apart when Sam moves to San Francisco. Nothing really unusual, childhood scars, like music and books, science fiction fans. Sam is interested in technology, Emily is interested in psychology. He gets involved in using a new drug and she witnesses friends falling prey to that same drug."
"Unlike her, we have no fairies or any of that crap. Straight ahead science, technology, almost-real world stuff," Sam adds with a touch of condescension.
"Pretty smug for someone who will end up in a wheelchair," Margaret mutters.
"You weren't supposed to tell him that," hisses Emily. Then she looks horror-stricken. "Am I interfering with things that don't concern me again?"
"Wouldn't know." She then gestures to the rainbow and polka dots girl. "This is Fiona, who becomes my squire. She has this reputation, well, how do I explain?"
Fiona turns to face Margaret, her hair whipping around. The hair then hits a glass of red wine, sending the wine and the glass across the room. The patrons of Callahan's know enough to duck, so the wine just lands on wall and the glass ends up on the floor.
An unknown patron laments, "And I haven't even made my toast yet." A patron grabs a toaster, but what he was about to say is drowned by the sound of pelted peanuts.
"Pre-emptive strike?" Sam mutters.
Margaret sighs. "Fiona manages to do the wrong thing, and be at the wrong place at the right time, or vice versa. Thus her nickname, Folly."
Fiona shrugs while wiping the wine from her hair with napkins. "I get more good out of it than bad."
The tall man with clear blue eyes cocks his head to the side. "Fascinating."
"Oliverio looks like a typical early entrance student majoring in library science, except he is also precocious student of the occult, who has somehow kept his sanity despite coming across some of the frightening aspects of an uncaring universe populated by heedless inmaterial beings."
"There's a little of an HP Lovecraft influence, as you can guess," Oliverio adds, "except I am not completely in isolation. I have friends, allies, sometimes lovers."
Jacob chuckles. "Sounds familiar."
So, anyone got any questions to ask these folks?
"Oh. It's you. Danny Elfman and Tim Burton."
The source of the remark is a small pale girl. Okay, not that small. She has an imperious stance, a steady gaze and arms that obviously have something of a work-out. She has a curly dark brown bob and was wearing Leith High t-shirt and faded blue jeans, and a silver ring on her right middle finger.
The target is a man, also small and pale. He is in a black and charcoal gray suit, his copper hair cut very short to hide the fact he's balding. He wears glasses tonight, so he isn't completely vain.
He isn't completely mute either. "And just who the hell are you?"
"Margaret Dunsmuir, advocate for Clan Murray, general of the Leith platoon, descendent of the sidhe settlers of the Rockies, and until you and your . . .pet director came along, the work in progress of an author."
"I don't think she minds if you call her Meg . . .do you?" The questioner is is a tall teenage boy with glasses, his light brown curls going ever sort of way, in a red 'Leith High Band' hoodie and clean blue jeans.
Meg shrugs. "May as well keep things informal."
"Now," Danny replies, "I've had angry ex-girlfriends, drunk bandmates, and psycho fans, but this is the first time I've been accosted by a, what's that, 'shee.' That's fairy, right?"
The boy then looks worried. "Not out loud! Jeez, you want milk spoiled or glasses ruined or something?"
Mike Callahan decides to intervene. "It's okay kid, I've got Fair Folk insurance. I must ask you, however, to take it to the Danger Room if you have a problem with the gentleman."
Meg shakes her head. "I much rather explain our situation to Mr. Elfman here . . ." She then clears her throat. "We are fictional characters, as you are. See, while you have the names, faces and some of the biographical details of real people, you don't exist outside of stories. I mean, you don't really sleep with each other except in stories." The men roll their eyes in agreement.
She continues, "But I'm not alone." The teenage boy stands up and walks to Margaret's side. Four more people then come out of the shadows: a fat, short young woman with fine curly ginger-colored hair in a black sweater, a Curtain Society t-shirt and worn black jeans; a short, slender young man with straight black hair that flops over his face in black baggy shorts, combat boots and an autechre long-sleeve shirt; a short, slender but pear-shaped girl with straight brown hair, rainbow-stripped tights and a white peasant dress with blue polka dots; and a very tall young man with padding on his stomach but otherwise slender build, with clear blue eyes, black hair, white shirt and ironed black pants.
She gestures to the teenage boy beside her. "Jacob is my boyfriend, my companion, my link to the human world. He is a musician, and will find out that thanks to fae ancestry, he can access the powers of a bard."
Jacob looks surprised. "I know what a bard is, I know I'll play music, but what will that mean?"
"It will be too long to explain, but I can tell you this--a lot will be asked of you."
Jacob looks at her worried again.
She gestures to the ginger-haired woman and the man in the autechre shirt. "Meet Emily and Sam. They are acquaintances who drift apart when Sam moves to San Francisco. Nothing really unusual, childhood scars, like music and books, science fiction fans. Sam is interested in technology, Emily is interested in psychology. He gets involved in using a new drug and she witnesses friends falling prey to that same drug."
"Unlike her, we have no fairies or any of that crap. Straight ahead science, technology, almost-real world stuff," Sam adds with a touch of condescension.
"Pretty smug for someone who will end up in a wheelchair," Margaret mutters.
"You weren't supposed to tell him that," hisses Emily. Then she looks horror-stricken. "Am I interfering with things that don't concern me again?"
"Wouldn't know." She then gestures to the rainbow and polka dots girl. "This is Fiona, who becomes my squire. She has this reputation, well, how do I explain?"
Fiona turns to face Margaret, her hair whipping around. The hair then hits a glass of red wine, sending the wine and the glass across the room. The patrons of Callahan's know enough to duck, so the wine just lands on wall and the glass ends up on the floor.
An unknown patron laments, "And I haven't even made my toast yet." A patron grabs a toaster, but what he was about to say is drowned by the sound of pelted peanuts.
"Pre-emptive strike?" Sam mutters.
Margaret sighs. "Fiona manages to do the wrong thing, and be at the wrong place at the right time, or vice versa. Thus her nickname, Folly."
Fiona shrugs while wiping the wine from her hair with napkins. "I get more good out of it than bad."
The tall man with clear blue eyes cocks his head to the side. "Fascinating."
"Oliverio looks like a typical early entrance student majoring in library science, except he is also precocious student of the occult, who has somehow kept his sanity despite coming across some of the frightening aspects of an uncaring universe populated by heedless inmaterial beings."
"There's a little of an HP Lovecraft influence, as you can guess," Oliverio adds, "except I am not completely in isolation. I have friends, allies, sometimes lovers."
Jacob chuckles. "Sounds familiar."
So, anyone got any questions to ask these folks?
