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You're Never Alone with the Voices in Your Head

by M Phoenix


Rating: PG-13
Notes: This is what happens when I have writer's block.
Summary: A Fuffy writer's life is not an easy one.



Dear Faith,
Please stop trying to persuade me to write your dark and angsty smut in first person. Why do you always insist on doing this when a fic involves you behaving in a manner which at times disturbs me, and will probably disturb others? Why? Now kindly step back into third person at once and we'll say no more about it. Thank you for your cooperation.




Hey M,
No way. Suck it up.



Dear Faith,
Re our previous correspondence. I don't really feel that, ‘No way. Suck it up,' works as a reasoned argument. Furthermore--


Faith is lounging in a chair, wearing her favourite white, wife beater and looking bored and slightly menacing. She crumples the letter she's been reading -- the last of a dozen -- and tosses it into the corner. "Dude, time's a wasting. Now stop screwing around and write the damn fic. You know it's gonna work better with me in charge. Trust me."

"Trust…you?" M asks, frowning at the concept.

"Yeah," Faith says, smiling not entirely sweetly, "I figure after everything you've put me through you owe me another shot at the wheel."

M begins to look worried. "Hmm? Well, I don't think it was really that bad…and I believe that a tight third person narrative will serve the story just as well as--"

Faith snorts, pulls out a wicked looking knife and starts cleaning under her fingernails with great care. "Don't think you're hearing me M. You can take your tight third person narrative, shove it up your ass and whistle Dixi. You dig?"

"I--" M begins.

"Woah. I'm not done yet! First off, me and B should be getting down and dirty right now; instead you left her waiting on my doorstep all night, and me drunk as a dog, losing my grip, rambling about frickin' fairytales, and refusing to let her in. Slayers have needs y'know!"

M tries to speak but the death glare Faith gives her makes all the words dry up, and it comes out as an apologetic squeak.

"Then what about all the other shit you've pulled on me? You've had me homicidal, suicidal, and just plain crazy. Murdering the innocent in my bed. Betrayed, rejected, dejected, beaten and lost. Addicted to Orpheus. Laundry sex…okay, the laundry sex was a good time, but identifying with moths? Nearly getting killed my assorted vamps and demons at every turn. You made me a manifestation of the First Evil for Christ's sake." Faith leans forward, pointing accusingly. "Then, when I think it can't possibly get any worse you made me spend a whole day in bed with B writing hundreds of Christmas cards to the Slay-brats, and licking envelopes until my tongue went numb. Jeez." She shudders at the memory. "You are truly diabolical."

"Er, it's all in the interests of entertainment?" M suggests.

"Tell me something miss know-it-all-I'm-the-boss-of-you-writer; you ever see a movie called Misery?"

A soft laugh comes from the corner where Buffy has been observing the spectacle, while sipping a cherry cola. Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, but M doesn't notice that in time. "B…er, I mean Buffy, help me reason with Faith, please."

Faith chuckles. "Oooh. Big mistake Newbie. This should be fun."

"Help?" Buffy asks dropping her sweet fizzy beverage and stalking towards the increasingly flustered M.

"Um, Buffy why are you flexing like that? N-nice muscle tone by the way."

"You want me to help?" Buffy growls. "After everything that you--"

"Hey, wait, what have I ever done to you?"

Buffy stops and exchanges a look with Faith, who's grinning like the proverbial cream getting cat. "Would you like a list?" she asks quietly. Without waiting for the floundering writer to answer, Buffy leans in close, takes a deep breath and begins…

Lalalalalala…M has resorted to the only defence she has left. She closes her eyes, sticks her fingers in her ears, hums, and prays fervently to every deity she can think of, that she will wake up. Now. Like at once. Pronto. Please! Lalalalalalalalalalala…After about five minutes she risks taking one finger out of her ear, and is greeted by Buffy yelling, "--and then you made my little sister have sex with Riley. Riley! How could you!" M opens her eyes to the sight of Faith bent double with mirth, and Buffy in full tearful but furious hero mode. At least the outburst seems to have ended. Faith straightens up slowly and comes to put her arm round Buffy, who leans into her for a moment before seeming to remember who she is, smacking Faith, and stalking icily back to her corner.

Faith grins and whistles. "That's my girl." She clasps her hand on the shell-shocked M's shoulder. "Okay, now listen up, this writing thing, it's a cooperative effort, you need us, we need you. Right? But you gotta loosen up. Stop being such a tight-ass control freak, let us do our job, and we'll help you do yours. I get that you're scared sometimes. I get that you don't wanna write this story first person ‘cause it's all intimate and shit and you're afraid I'll say something to offend your delicate sensibilities."

M makes a noncommittal sound.

"Well of course I'm gonna," Faith continues, suddenly full of dark fire, "it's who I am, it's why you write me -- admit it. I know you, and deep down you like it, you need it. But if you ain't willing to take the risk, get nekkid and tell it how it is, I ain't gonna play. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yuh-huh," M nods feeling some excitement mixing with the fear chill. Pissed off Faith is pretty disconcerting. Pissed off laying down the law Faith is actually strangely inspiring.

Faith's face breaks into a smile like a kid being given the biggest chocolate bar in the world. "Cool," she says, hauling M out of her chair and propelling her towards the door. "Now go write, and remember to give me some good lines."

As M makes her way to her laptop, shaken but determined, she can hear crashing, then laughing, then moaning coming from the other side of the door. Ah, Slayer love. Xander's gonna have a hell of a lot of mending to do. She pulls up a chair, opens Word and begins to type.


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