An Authorial Adventure

(AKA: A Writer's Ramblings; Close Encounters with Characters; Misadventures of the Fourth-Wall Kind; The Misadventures of Glad and Gwen; or "Some Random Writing Scrap I Decided Had to be Written".)

I haven't seemed to be able to seriously write anything lately. Any and all major projects (minus one, but it's all plotting at the moment) have ground to practically a standstill. But Gwen wants to write. I cannot tell you how badly she wants to. And yet she can't seem to settle on one thing to concentrate on? I even have *anything* she could *possibly* want to write plotted out for her. All she has to do is write it.

She came up with this instead at about 2130 last night.

---

Pain flared through her hip at her rough landing. She stifled a cry of pain, biting her lip as she glared up at her tormentor. A feral—

“No, no, no!” Gwen growls. “That’s not it at all. ‘Feral’ is more like a wolf. This guy’s not wolfish at all. That’s Link’s territory.”

“Hey! Don’t bring me into this!” (Wind Waker Link.)

“I think she was talking about me, Twerp.” (Twilight Princess Link.)

“Oh. …Wait, really?!” (Wind Waker, again.)

“Anyway—” (Gwen)

I groan, rolling my eyes and throwing the quill pen on the desk. Of course, that’s not my real pen, nor is this my real desk. Granted, my desk is also messy, but this one’s confined to story-related documents and notes that like to vanish if I don’t snatch them up and file them away quickly enough.

That’s normally where Gwen comes in. Although…she’s usually the one generating the ideas too quickly for me to organize and write them down. So, I guess not so much.

“Guys, will you shut up?” I growl at the multiple Links standing behind me. “This isn’t even a fanfic, let alone one of yours. And you’re blocking the MC! I can’t hear her over all your arguing.”

Gwen—the Two-Faced Muse—smiles apologetically at me and ushers the Heroes back to their corner of my mind. “Sorry Glad. You know them—hard to contain.”

“Or you just like them too much,” I mumble, turning my attention back to the slight girl whose story I’m penning down. “I apologize, Penny. What were you saying?”

She smiles back at me shyly. “The assassin.”

‘Right. Assassin—think The Rock. Big, darkish skin tone, close-cropped dark hair, eyes like…’ I tap the feather of my quill against my chin. ‘Not amber, not honey. Hmm…’ Without looking over my shoulder, I ask Penny, “What color did you say his eyes were, again?”

“Dark brown. Kinda like coffee.”

“Ah, yes. Compared to—for the more villainous effect—”

“Oil,” Gwen comments.

I glare at her, at her too-confident pose—the hands spread and planted on the only other clear space of my desk; the lowered head; the lazy shift of her weight onto outstretched legs; and, above all, the tiger-like gleam in her hazel eyes.

‘Like the assassin’s! Except, she’s a tiger, and he’s more like a leopard,’ I realize quickly, turning away from my muse to hastily scratch out the next line of Penny’s story.

—as she glared up at her tormentor.

A feral leopard-like gleam flashed through his dark eyes. His hand pulled back—the blade drooled red saliva, hungry for sustenance—

“And that’s where the love-interest-slash-hero comes to the rescue with a well-timed tackle!”

The next letter of the sentence slides into a terrible imitation of a snake trying to eat its own tail. I slam the quill down and turn a full-fledged Death Glare on Gwen.

To my non-surprise, she is both immune to it…and petting an all-too-familiar pet. The one I told her to sell or give to ALttP Link ages ago.

It’s a Plot Bunny.

“Gwen?” I say, deathly quietly and through clenched teeth.

“Hm?” She absently looks up from petting the disgusting little creature.

“Did I not tell you to get rid of that…” I vaguely motion toward it. “…that thing? This is a horror/suspense story, NOT adventure/romance. That particular kind of rescue belongs in GP—NOT here. Put. It. Back.”

She tries to pull the innocent doe-eyes on me. “But Glad—”

“No! This one is no different from the other million of its ilk!” I snap. Gwen attempts to continue rationalizing the monster’s existence, but I forestall her with the ultimate threat: “Don’t make me call Rosey. I’m sure Kerani would love to take it off your hands.”

Immediately the faux-doe turns into a slapped puppy. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

Ah, the satisfaction of hearing those Deku Scrub-like words. It would be better if I knew she wouldn’t end up forgetting this promise and stealing another Bunny from the horde. But I take what I can get.

And with Gwen, that’s about all I can hope for.

As Gwen leaves with the Bunny, I take up my quill again and turn back to Penny. Noticing her somewhat intimidated expression, I offer a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about her. She’s a good agent for finding ideas, but is definitely not the best Writing Assistant.” I turn back to my paper and gesture at the character. “Please, continue.”

—the blade drooled red saliva, hungry for sustenance—and plunged forward. She flinched, braced for the smooth slice of steel through her skin—

And heard the screech of stressed metal instead. A shower of sparks cascaded around her, forcing the girl to duck her head under the protection of her arm.

I pause, frowning at the new ink flowing across the lined pages. “Hang on. Didn’t you tell me there was an alien-robot-type-thing in here somewhere?”

Penny blinks, tilting her head to one side like a confused puppy. “No,” she says at length, dragging out both letters of the word uncertainly. “I don’t remember that…”

“Oh come on!” a familiar voice laced with disbelief exclaims. “Alien robot monsters are so much more frightening than slavering werewolves!”

The Death Glare returns, albeit with the intensity turned down a notch or two. “Have you been talking to the PBs again? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not what happens. I don’t even think, in the context of this story, that’s even possible. It’s not a Zelda-Halo crossover, after all; that’s what Elurya’s for.”

“Did someone call me?”

I roll my eyes and wave the MC of the aforementioned fanfic away. “No, Link. Go back to your game of chess with what’s-his-name-Elite-captain.”

The reply is a little too chipper for the character I remember from last time I worked on his story. “Okay!”

I narrow my eyes at Gwen, who is walking back into the wan light cast by the lone lamp at the corner of my desk. “Don’t tell me you’ve been tampering with his backstory, or I will get Kerani to put you in your place.”

She watches me with wide, unsettlingly blank eyes for a moment, then gives me an anime, closed-eyes smile. A halo appears over her head, to boot. “Why would I do that, Glad? You know me—the sadistic type. Why would I want to give a perfectly emo character a reason to be chipper?”

I can imagine all too well the anime sweatdrop she’s trying to hide.

---

And I'm not entirely sure if that's the end or not. I'll edit/let you know/repost if I have anything to add to it. But for now, that's it.

To those who don't understand the Zelda/Halo/other references, I'm sorry and will be happy to explain what I mean if you ask. To those of you who do get the jokes--I hope they made you laugh. 'Cause I sure did while writing them. xD (Shout out to Rosey Unicorn for the unwitting cameos.)

Edit 1 (2-2-11): This has now been expanded upon to form a collection of short drabbles detailing some of the random things that happen between me and my muse on a daily (or other) basis. Part 2.1 will be coming shortly!