From drewry@roanoke.infi.net Mon Nov 10 13:01:13 1997 Path: news2.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!www.nntp.primenet.com!globalcenter1!news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsxfer.visi.net!news.infi.net!news.infi.net!not-for-mail From: Laura Taylor Newsgroups: alt.fan.q,alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW: Can We Talk? 1/1 [PG-13] (parody, Q) Date: Mon, 10 Nov 1997 21:01:13 +0000 Organization: InfiNet Lines: 156 Message-ID: <34677619.6D52@roanoke.infi.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: pm3-155.roanoke.infi.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Mailer: Mozilla 2.02 (Macintosh; I; 68K) Xref: news2.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:906 alt.startrek.creative:8848 Well, humor isn't something I do very well, but here's my contribution to the fanfic revenge challenge. I hope someone likes it :-) TITLE: Can We Talk? AUTHOR: Laura Taylor (drewry@roanoke.infi.net) RATING: PG-13 SERIES/CODES: parody, Q SUMMARY: Q takes revenge on the author for what she put him through. Or does he? DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Star Trek, blah blah blah... This may be added to the ASC and AFQ archives; anyone else, ask first! * * * * * It was a beautiful day outside: upper 50s, light breeze, pale blue sky streaked with wispy clouds. I should have continued working on my latest story, but leaf collection was beginning this week and I hate bagging leaves. I decided to spend the afternoon raking the front yard. I grabbed my gardening gloves and rake, hooked my Walkman to my waistband, and went out. Barely a few minutes had passed when I saw a flash of light out of the corner of my eye. I though it came from the patrol car that occasionally parked behind the 4-way stop sign at the corner, and turned to see if the guy had nailed some teenagers speeding home from school. Imagine my surprise when I bumped into Q. "Excuse me," I said. Then, "Where the hell did you come from?" He didn't look pleased to see me. In fact, he looked downright furious. Shit, was I in trouble. "Watch you language. And yes, you are. I have a bone to pick with you." Shit, shit, shit. "Um...you do?" "Yes, you teasing little trollop. Just who the blazes do you think you are?" "Um...Laura Taylor?" Lame, but it was worth a shot. "Don't get coy with me. Where do you get off denying me my rightful sex scenes?" His accusation puzzled me. Why was he upset about that? "I haven't denied you anything. I haven't written sex scenes for anybody." I hoped he didn't know about my latest story. "Yes, I know, and I have a few words to say on that subject too, but first me. Do you realize that you are just about the only fanfic writer *not* to give me the chance to have sex with someone?" I was grasping at straws, trying desperately to stall for time. I was still shaken by the news of Ruth's and Mercutio's horrible fates. "Julia hasn't written any sex scenes for you." "Don't change the subject. Julia at least had the decency to give me subtext with Picard and a surrogate daughter. You gave me a Mary Sue, but kept her faithful to her husband, and then you killed her off!" "Fatima wasn't a Mary Sue!" I protested. "Yeah, right. And neither was Kaymat. Just because you made her ethnic and gave her a tragic past doesn't mean she's not a Mary Sue. You know damn well that it should have been Picard who offered his soul in exchange for my life, and then we were supposed to have such wonderful sex that our souls were fused together and he was allowed to live. Fanfic is about happy endings, not your maudlin, pedantic musings about the meaning of life and true love!" He snorted with disgust. "That's interesting," I replied, growing more and more angry by the minute. "I always heard that fanfic was about wish fulfillment." "It is. But it's not about fulfilling *your* wishes, it's about satisfying the craven desires of everyone else out there in fandom, and they want me fucking Picard! *I* want me fucking Picard, although Janeway will do in a pinch. Nobody gives a damn about your thematic elements and convoluted metaphors." I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. "I'll have you know that all of my stories have been very well-received." He rolled his eyes. "By whom? Jeanita? She likes any scenario where I get to suffer. JJ? She likes anything, period. And let's not forget how you screwed all those J/Cers and P/Ters." He snapped his fingers and Janeway and Chakotay appeared before us, as they were written in "Facilis". They didn't look happy. In fact, they looked like hell. "What was going through your mind when you concocted this nonsense?" he accused. "You age them 50 years, send them home, but they don't even get a kiss? What is *wrong* with you?" "*Nothing* is wrong with me," I said defensively. "Sex just didn't fit in with the story." "Story, schmory. What kind if a J/C writer refuses to write J/C?" "I'm sure you're familiar with my feelings on that issue. There's no need to go into them again." "Yes, I read your comments to Peg. What are you, some kind of prude?" "Hey!" I said. I was irate now. "I haven't even been on a date in four years. Why should fictional characters see more action than I do? Besides, I'm in the middle of writing a sex scene for my new story right now. I came out here to work on it in my head." "What kind of a sick pervert composes sex scenes while raking leaves? Never mind, I *don't* want to know." He stared at me, and I felt his presence invade my mind. "Q! Mind your own business!" The look he gave me was priceless. "Ewww. Like *that's* a coupling that will ever happen in canon. Why do *they* get to have sex, and I don't? ~Without her even realizing it, Kira's fingers had strayed up and were now resting on the ridge at the lower end of his abdomen~," he quoted. "Q! Stop it! I haven't even shown that to my beta readers yet!" "Good thing, too." He probed my mind further. "Oh, ho, ho, what's this? Bill Nye the Science Guy?" "Hey, he's cute in a geeky sort of way." "If you say so. Gul Dukat and the Science Guy. You have *strange* taste in men. No wonder you haven't been on a date since --" His eyes widened in shock and amusement. "Laura, I am *appalled*. But intrigued. You seduced a --?" "That's *enough*, Q." "Oh, my. My my my. You have enough skeletons in your closet to populate a morgue. But you do have it in you to write a good sex scene, if you put your mind to it." Time for my last defense. "Q, you've been given so many sex scenes with so many different people, don't you think you need a breather from time to time?" "I'd agree with you if you didn't have to torture me in the process. You poisoned me and left me in the desert! With *this* skin tone! And you made me the creator of the Borg, for crying out loud. Thank you *so* much! Just what I needed to bolster my image." "Well, at least you got to turn Chakotay into a peacock." He laughed at that. "Yes, that was fun. But you still owe me a sex scene." "Q, you can't make me write something that doesn't fit in with the story." "Yes, I can. I'm omnipotent." "You're a fictional character." "Oh, really? Are you so sure about that?" A heavy rumbling coming from the end of the street diverted my attention. "Q, I don't have time to quibble with you. That vacuum truck is going to be here in less than an hour, and I'd like to get these leaves to the curb. So unless you're going to snap your fingers and save me an hour of heavy-duty raking, I'd appreciate it if you'd just go the hell away." His eyes narrowed, and I realized with sickening clarity that I had just said the wrong thing. With an evil smirk on his face, he snapped his fingers. Suddenly the wind began whipping through the trees, scattering the leaves I had managed to pile together all across the yard, and then the skies opened, releasing a torrential downpour directly over my house. "That's what you get for refusing to obey me," he sneered. "Oh, and by the way, I was the one who ruined your "Riverdance" CD. I got sick and tired of listening to those damn Uillean pipes." Then he gradually faded from sight, his Cheshire Cat-like grin lingering for a few final seconds before dissipating. I was furious. I threw the rake down and stalked into the house. I settled into the desk chair and lit a Camel, taking as deep a drag as my lungs would allow. The computer was still on, so I just opened a new window and began typing. * * * * * Q examined his reflection in the mirror. He looked a little strange, with his skin-tight black leather pants, heeled boots, bare chest decorated with strange markings and peroxided hair, but he thought it was the perfect look for seducing Picard. He carefully ran his hands down his lean, wiry body. Perhaps he had been a little too hard on her after all. There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he called, anticipating the response. "We're ready for you, Mr. Flatley."