XF Fanfic: Only one written and edited now, has no name. Ever wondered what happens when CC has a bad day? Ever wondered exackly where VG really gets his story ideas from?? I do have an idea though... How would an Irrisistable/ Avator crossover sound. Too much of an alternate universe?? I was thinking...Skinner, Donny Phaster...Can you just see it....Skinner, the Necrophiliac (oops, i mean DEATH FETISHIST!) This one I'll just dedicate to all you X-Philes out there.
Fanfic According to Chris Carter
By: Emily Allen
Vince Gilligan sat hunched over in his desk, surrounded by crumbled papers, cups of long cold coffee, and other fruits of futile and unrecognized labor. The computer glowed an insomniac's greenish tint. Gilligan shook a frustrated fist and hissed, "Just you watch, when i get a raise, you'll be the first to go!" He glared at the screen to enforce his point. An episode number and the repeated words "LA LA LA," in the place of text glowered back at him.
Yawning, Gilligan realized with a shock that it was three AM. God, I should be at home in bed, he thought, not in the office with this evil...Mac! The computer got another hateful glare. He slowly began to shuffle a pile of rejected X-files scripts. There were three of them, all in various stages of winning "The worst X-Files idea ever" award, or at least according to Chris Carter. Personally, Gilligan had liked all but the third one (involving a psychotic Frohike kidnapping Scully for a sex slave) which he had written just to piss off Chris. Carter, damn him, had only looked at Gilligan rather strangely and said, "I don't think the censors would like it." Maybe he had sensed that the script was a product of frustration, but he hadn't showed it.
The first two scripts were basically just plays off each other, involving a genetically altered mutant who preyed on people by putting them in a trance. In angry red marker was written "Dump the idea Vince, it sounds too much like Fanfic. I think this episode needs to be Scully-centric anyway." Chris had signed it with his name and a cute little smiley face.
Sounds too much like Fanfic, hungh, Gilligan thought, at least fans know a good story idea when they see it...
Suddenly, with more vigor than he'd had all night, he spun around in his swivel chair to face the computer, and closed down his microsoft application. "Too much Fanfic?" He smiled, "Just you wait..."
It was three-thirty when Gilligan burst into Glen Morgan's office, waving a stack of papers wildly above his head. Oh God, Morgan thought, he's finally snapped. He was torn as to whether to lead Gilligan into Chris's office, to show him what he'd driven his lowly writers to, or hit the madman over the head with his Roswell paperweight. Instead Morgan sat sown at his desk and peered at Gilligan from beneath his hat.
"If he wants fanfic," Gilligan panted, "I'll give him fanfic. Carter's going down!"
Gilligan pulled up a chair and sat down, plopping his feet down on Morgan's desk. "Look at this," he said, sliding a stack of fanfic across the desk. "Chris has shot down every single one of my ideas for the past week. Mythology, mutants, it doesn't matter!"
Gilligan looked at Glen, whose face was scrunched up in surprise. "This stuff isn't bad...It's...funny!"
"Not to Chris."
"I like this. Top Ten X-files Crossovers. Eve 9 and 10 are adopted by the Brady Bunch. Buffy the Vampire Slayer joins the FBI. Luke Skywalker and Scully meet and fall madly in love!"
"I-"
"How do you like this one? Mulder and Scully investigate a series of ax murders committed by the reincarnation of Lizzy Borden."
Gilligan paused to get his bearings. Glen wasn't supposed to like this stuff!
"And this one. People are driven to murder by floaters!"
"By what??"
"Floaters. You know those little amoeba looking things that swim across your vision when you look into a bright light?"
"Oh."
"Why don't you use this stuff in your script. It could be great! Come on, I'll help you write it and everything." Morgan's eyes were dancing around just like a little kid's.
Vince was almost starting to get into this stuff. "Uh, okay," he heard himself saying. Why not? He could think of several reasons! He must be going crazy. He'd just meant to leave the stuff on Chris's desk, not write it!
"Lets see, the Star Wars motif was already touched on in "Small Potatoes." The Buffy thing is better for a Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode. Eve Brady doesn't have much of a chance for a well-developed story line. I don't think a million clones could fix that many soft drinks." Gilligan had to laugh at that. He had a mental image of Eve 9 and 10 in the Brady kitchen poisoning soda's, saying "Here's one for Marsha, Cindy...what that middle one?"
"I like the Lizzy Borden idea," Gilligan said slowly. To his horror, Glen's eyes lit up and he began jumping around his small office singing "Lizzy Borden got an ax and gave her father forty wacks..." After a few more skips and a hop, Morgan sat down.
"So, what do you think," he asked.
Vince wondered if he were asking for an opinion on the story, or his singing. "Uhhh, very, ummm...interesting," He finally said.
"Yea, i thought so too."
"So," Morgan settled into his chair. "Lizzy's back from the dead."
Slowly, but not so willingly catching on, Gilligan volunteered, "She died protesting her innocence. Maybe you could build that in, or something."
"What her reincarnations motive? Surely she just doesn't wake up one morning and say 'I feel like butchering some innocent people today'!"
"So everybody's favorite ax murderess takes a liking to her."
Morgan shook his head. "How 'bout a mind control thing, from beyond the grave."
"Why her?"
"Empathy?"
Vince looked skeptical
"Boredom?"
Vince burst out into laughter at the thought of a very bored cadaver.
"Maybe she's a relative or something..."
"I can see this. Lizzzy's great-niece four times removed takes over where her aunt left off!"
"A century later!" Now that they at least had the beginnings of a plot, Vince almost relished the meeting of their script with their grouchy boss. Then again, he almost dreaded it too...
Morgan turned towards his own computer, slapped the mouse a few times, and began to type. Gilligan strained to look over his shoulder.
September 12
Liesa Williamson sits sharpening an ax on her knife sharpener. She-
"What kind of stupid name is Liesa Williamson?? How come I can't name her?!?"
Morgan sighed. "What do you want to name her???" There was a slight edge to his voice which Gilligan almost chalked up to the coffee.
"Something sweet and innocent...let me see. Nanya-i like that one. Unusual. Jane...sweet." He looked flipped through the stack of papers. Lizzy Borden: The Untold Story. An X-files Fanfic by Lira Watkins. "Watkins. Someone'll appreciate this one. Nanya Jane Watkins."
Morgan rolled his eyes a little behind his glasses at Gilligan's melodramatics and started to push the delete key.
September 13
Nanya Jane sits in her clean modern kitchen, sharpening an ax on a knife sharpener. She is a pretty
woman of medium stature, brown hair, and piercing green eyes. There are of few small areas of
brown-looking suspiciously like dried blood. She is humming an unrecognizable tune. Suddenly the
doorbell rings. Nanya gets up, turning off the sharpener. She greets the door with a smile, almost sadistic,
in light of the ax behind her back. The woman at the door is an average suburban middle-class house wife.
"Dearie," the woman says, "Where is your husband. He was supposed to check my water line this
morning." Nanya Jane chokes up on the ax.
"She's gonna hack up her neighbor???"
"Did you want her to kill her parents...again?" Morgan's voice was riddled with sarcasm. He took Gilligan's silence as permission to continue.
"So she hacks up her friend and goes on an ax murdering rampage."
"I had better luck reading Machievelli's "The Prince" to my four year-old."
"Smart four year-old."
Morgan wasn't sure if he wanted to know whether Vince had missed this comment, or simply decided to ignore it. "Impatient forty year-old," he hissed, and continued.
"Good lord, you know my husband. Wild hearts cannot be broken, they say. He's mountain
climbing in Nepal this week. Suppose he is missing this horrid weather?"
She is now behind her victim, seated prone on the couch.
Suddenly Nanya jumps at her neighbor and begins to attack, ax raised.
A moment later she looks up. There is a splatter of blood across her face. Nanya picks up her ax,
wipes away the blood with her shirt tail, and runs out the door, guided blade held high for all to see.
Opening Credits
Tag line-
"What is the tag line. We can't use "Trust No One." That's reserved for mythology episodes."
"The Truth is Out There." Morgan raised his eyebrows, in an expression that seemed to read "Its okay, they'll find a cure for it someday."
"Why"
"Why what?"
"Why the usual? How 'bout "Hack Open Everything" instead?!?"
Morgan didn't even bother to respond to this. He looked between a still rolled newspaper, and his Roswell paperweight in indecision. He picked his weapon and wacked Vince Gilligan over the head with the Sunday edition of "The New York Times."
Tag line: The Truth is Out There
FBI agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder are driving down a nearly deserted stretch of four-lane
highway, somewhere in northern Arkansas.
"Mulder, can you please tell me why we are driving through the middle of nowhere?"
He glances at her for a moment and hands her a manilla folder. She begins to flip through it, as
Mulder dictates the story to her.
"A sweet little housewife went slightly crazy yesterday and hacked her neighbor into 42 separate
pieces. The police found her husband in the attic, in nearly as many pieces as the neighbor.
"A history of violence," Scully asks.
"None that is evident in that report. Looking for a history of dancing around the house with a tank of
gasoline and a box of matches, singing the Barney song, perhaps?"
Gilligan promptly burst out in laughter.
"Hey," Morgan said, a bit defensively. "My uncle did that."
"Pyromaniacs in the closet, ehhh, Glen."
"Anyway, Yaddie, yaddie, yaddie. Mulder and Scully arrive and start to question the cops that are at the crime scene. One of them only reveals, quite cryptically, that with that family history, no one is surprised."
She excuses herself and finds him staring at a photo album, one picture in particular, of a young
woman, with her hair drawn back into a sharp bun, resonating the time period.
"Does she look familiar to you," Mulder asks her.
Scully peers at the picture closely, and backs up a few steps. She looks up at Mulder in surprise.
He smiles down at her. "Interesting photos, eh?" To prove his point he turns the picture over.
Scrawled on the back is "Lizzie Borden, 1892."
"So Nanya Jane has a picture of Lizzie Borden. Even Mulder needs better evidence of reincarnation than that."
"Yea, well, I'm writing here. Don't mock me. Let's see..." He peered intently at the monitor.
Gilligan puts his feet up on the desk, shuffling a few stacks of papers in a haphazard fashion, to make room.
"Somehow..." Morgan's voice trailed off as he looked back at the computer.
In Scully's room, the phone rings. She rolls over and answers it on the third ring. The alarm clock
beside the bed glows 11:21 PM.
"Hello," Scully answers sleepily.
"It's Mulder," the voice on the other end replies. "I've got something i want you to see."
"Uh," Scully looks at the clock. "I'll be right over." She hangs up the phone.
"Let me see...Scene Three. Any ideas, Vince?"
"Now you ask me," Gilligan responded, rolling his eyes slightly. However, he didn't take the comment any further.
"We need more characters. We can either keep the script going with the entire plot involving Mulder, Scully, and Nanya Jane, or introduce some more."
"The first which won't work with everybody's favorite workaholic director and," he said with distaste, "editor."
Morgan sighed. "You're not kidding." He pulled out his won pile rejected scripts out of a desk drawer. "One of these days someone is gonna crack while working with Chris and go after him with a butcher knife. I'm not volunteering or anything..."
September 14
3:10 PM
After a night of restless wondering, Nanya Jane finds herself on a peaceful street, in an unfamiliar
part of town. She is visibly confused. She is still carrying the ax, still slightly crimson at the edge of the
blade.
"So what happens next? Does she stalk into the nearest house and take out the entire family or does she have a particular destination?" Glen tossed a crumpled piece of paper from his desk to the trash can. It hit the wall about three feet left of its mark.
"It doesn't matter."
"What, of course it does! Is she a deliberate or completely random killer?"
"I mean the whole darn script. Its too delibrite. Come on, anybody reading this expects the next like to be something akin to "I've got you now! Resistance is futile!." He raised his hand, blade like an ax and started chopping at the air. "I've got you-"
A bang broke Vince off in mid-sentence. Morgan's last paperball bounced off the door as it opened, and Chris Carter stood in the way. His eyes skimmed over the room, and as they did, his face registered an increasingly confused expression. Gilligan stood poised precariously still on one foot, frozen in a knifehand stroke. Surrounding him was a field of paperballs, all at various points of completely missing the trash can. Rob Bowman sat at his horribly disorganized desk, his feet marking the only clear spots. He was holding his Roswell paperweight.
"Glen, when was your last vacation?"
Vince walked over to Morgan's desk, retrieved the pile of fanfic, including the script's inspiration, and, with a grin, a hop, a skip, and a jump (and another to cover the distance) arrived at Carter's feet.
He looked him in the eyes. "Lizzy Borden got an ax and..."
With Vince's words, Morgan shook himself from his stupor. "We were taking a break from the script."
As Chris's eyes lit up, Gilligan put his head in his hands and let out a whimper.
"A script???"
Morgan moved so Chris could see the computer, and could almost hear the imaginary drum roll. He could barley breathe. Carter began to scroll down. His face gave them no indication of his opinions.
Vince slowly raised his face.
Morgan swallowed nervously.
And Chris Carter burst out into laughter.
The unexpected response shook Morgan so thoroughly he couldn't speak. Vince's mouth hung wide open.
"This is funny, guys. Its great!"
Funny?? Had Chris gone crazy, too?
Carter continued, "I want a finished copy on my desk in one hour." With this, Chris smiled at them and practically danced out of the room.
Morgan looked at the computer, just to be sure Carter had read the same ax murderess script that they had been writing. He glanced back at Vince, still shocked.
"I think there are people crazier than you," Morgan said quietly. They could still hear Chris's laughter resonating down the hall.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer: I don't think I will write any more of this kind, considering I don't really like the results here. I whole-heartedly dedicate this to Megan Greensfelder, without whom there would be no fanfic.
Death Road to Vengeance
Emily Allen
Buffy could feel the bright sunlight on her back, but she didn’t care. Everything was looking glum: Willow and she could find nothing to send Angel back under the curse, and she knew, that she could never raise a stake to his heart. Never.
Suddenly she stopped, the breath catching in her throat. Why was the door standing open...Oh no, she thought, please don’t let anything have happened to mom. She had seen doors standing wide open before, and never had it been an innocent mistake. She slowly slung her bookbag around and took a cross out of the front of her bag. A stake would have made her feel more secure, but the cross was all she had. Buffy crept into the house, shutting the door behind her.
“Mom,” Buffy called, as she walked through the house. She entered the living
room and stopped, in shock of the remains of her home. The cross dropped from her hand
and into the pool of crimson red blood on the floor. It sprayed the rug and the TV and
dripped from the wallpaper in eerie rivulets. Scrawled on the window pane with a bloody
finger, was:
Buffy hardly needed to look on the couch to know what site met her eyes. Joyce Summer’s throat had been ripped out. Buffy felt sick. She was filled with anger at what Angel had done...it had to have been Angel. The message... “It was good for me, Buffy.” She bit her lip and reached for the phone. Her hands were shaking so hard she had to concentrate souley on dialing the number, and still had to dial twice to get the number correct.
“Hello-Hello?” Willow’s voice shook.
“Willow, thank god. Angel-there’s blood everywhere. I-”
Now her voice was dull, but even less composed, despite the fact she was no longer stuttering. “Angel killed my parents, Buffy. I didn’t think he and Drewsilla could come into my house. Buff, I think Giles and Xander are in trouble. If Angel and Drewsilla are on a killing spree...”
“Meet me at the library, Willow, okay? I’ll try Giles.” She tried to remain calm, but she was shuddering, and her mind was racing out of control. They hung up, and Buffy dialed Giles number, successful this time on the first try. She listened to the distant, insistent ringing of his phone. She knew on the third ring that he wasn’t going to answer. She slowly put the receiver back in its cradle, and tried not to think about everything that could have happened to Giles. She then called Xander. Perhaps he could help them, god, they needed help...
“Hello,” Xander said
“Xander! Meet me at the library pronto. Its an...an emergency!”
“Okey dokey,” Xander said, in a sing-song voice, and hung up the phone.
Buffy let the receiver settle into its cradle. It seemed to echo ominously over the house.
Then, footsteps. She could hear them approaching to her rear. She spun around to face Angel posed in the living room doorway. His fangs dripped with blood. “Welcome home, Buffy,” he smiled.
Angel looked strait at Buffy, her hand on the phone, and walked calmly to the phone jack. He yanked the cord out.
Buffy darted behind the coffee table, picked it up, and tossed it at Angel. It barley fazed the nefarious vampire. He dodged the piece of furniture as it fell, and came at Buffy. She knew instinctively that it was futile to fight. She blocked each vicious approach, backing up with each step. In the last possible moment, before she reached a corner, Buffy threw herself through a large picture window.
Shards of glass gashed through her knees, and she winced even as she rolled with the fall. Upon impact she wasted no time. The moment she came out of the roll, Buffy was on her feet and running towards the school. She heard the remaining glass in the window break as Angel jumped through in pursuit. She struggled to run even faster, as she reached for her bookbag. Nothing met her groping fingertips. She must have lost it when she jumped. For the first time since she had become The Slayer, Buffy was defenseless against a creature of the night. She glanced back over her shoulder, only to see Angel slowly gaining on her. No time to double back. She’d have to get weapons from the library.
Buffy turned on to the street on which the school was, sprinting hopefully towards safety. She couldn’t fight the vampires without tools...Angel was too powerful.
Suddenly she was on the ground, foot in a deep pothole. Buffy laid sprawled on the pavement for a few precious moments while Angel gained the advantage in the chase. The impact had ground the glass a little farther into her knees, and her elbow’s and hands were ripped up from where she had tried to break her fall on the rough concrete. She pushed herself to her feet and almost fell back down, as a sharp pain like lightning shot up her leg. She’d probably sprained her ankle.
Angel was almost on top of her, and Buffy could hear sirens down the street. Buffy turned and began to limp as fast as she could towards the library. It wasn’t fast enough. In the moments before Angel grabbed her, she screamed for Willow.
He was roughly holding her wrist, and Angel spun her around to look at him. “Did you get my message,” he asked in irony.
“Which one?” Buffy twisted out of his wrist lock, grabbed his head, and brought her knee to his face. She winced as the glass cut farther into her knees.
Willow came running out of the school just as Buffy found herself unable to support her own weight. She caught Buffy just as she was sinking to the ground beside the groaning Angel. She kicked him in the side, just for good measure.
“We should get you to the hospital,” Willow said, looking at her friend. “What happened?” The question was unnecessary.
“I’m fine,” Buffy managed, struggling to stand on her own accord. “No hospital. Really, I’m okay.” She was lying through the skin on her teeth. Well, it was a half-truth...All she needed was some peroxide, Band-Aids, and a pair of tweezers. Oh, and a Tylenol wouldn’t hurt. The sirens had stopped moving. Were they looking for her?
Buffy hobbled down the hall towards the nurses office. It took no time for Willow to bust past the flimsily locked door, and get the first-aid kit. Buffy sat down groaning, and began the painful process of picking the glass out of her knees and elbows. She sat stoically as Willow applied peroxide, and gauze. Funny, Buffy couldn’t feel a thing-in her heart or beaten body. They went to the library after the doctoring was done, and Buffy walked straight to the window. The sunlight was cold and nefarious against her. She didn’t move, even as Willow spoke to her.
“Do you see Xander? Maybe-” A dark shape crashed through the window. Buffy and Willow dived aside as glass rained around them. The sun had caught a few pieces, and they glimmered like a rainbow, as they crashed to the floor.
Buffy opened her eyes to the vampire who stood above her, fangs dripping with blood. Xander. She closed her eyes in disbelief as he jerked her roughly to her feet, then pushed her against a bookshelf. Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein fell into her lap. Buffy picked herself up in an instant, but by that time Xander had already started towards Willow. His eyes danced with glee, and anticipation. First Willow, and then the Slayer.
“No!” Willow screamed as the vampire leapt at her. She covered her face with her hands. Suddenly, she could no longer feel the rush of air as her swept beside her. She peeked between her hands and saw Buffy holding a stake to Xander’s heart.
“I guess friendships can be broken in an instant,” Buffy said bitterly. Of course she would have to kill him, sink the weapon deep into his chest, because if she didn’t, he would kill them. It was a matter of survival-self defense, but still Buffy took a deep breath before she drew the stake back and stabbed her one time friend through the heart.
Willow was crying. The stake dropped from Buffy’s hand and she ran to her friend. They embraced, and shed the brooding tears together. Tears for everyone and everything that they would never see again.
They stood like that for a moment, neither trying to control their weeping, until Buffy pulled away. Angel and Drewsilla must be found before anyone else was killed.
She wiped the tears away, even as they streamed down her cheeks. “We have work to do.” Buffy started packing a vampire bag. This time she would be ready if or when she found the killers. “I’m going to Giles’s house,” she said, looking at the phone. “Will, I want you to come with me.”
“They’re going to regret this,” the determined Willow said between clinched teeth. The normally peacefully Willow had been stirred to anger. She grabbed a handful of matches and some stakes.
The night was chilly, and an eerie wind fought with their hair. The very atmosphere seemed to be rotted with death. Willow glanced uneasily over her shoulder every few minutes.
When they finally reached Giles’s house, the door stood nefariously open. Buffy felt her heart sink in dread, but new she had no choice but to comfort the horrible sight inside. The Slayer rushed up the stairs as cautiously as she could. Yet surly they could hear her pounding footsteps on the stairs. Willow followed her. They found Drewsilla sitting comfortably on the bed, Giles’s head in her lap. The Watcher was dead.
Drew slowly raised her head as they entered the room. “My pet and I were expecting you,” she said in a nasal, child-like tone. “You’re late.”
“Yea, well, we had to take an unexpected detour,” Buffy spat, and tightened her grip on the stake. Willow raised a match to the box.
Drewsilla stood up as Buffy began to move stealthily away from the open door. Moments later, a dark shape moved over them, though neither Buffy nor Willow noticed. Buffy jumped at Drew, whose feet warped in the blood soaked sheets beside the bed. They fell to the floor as Angel joined the combat. Buffy and Angel, caught in a deadly grappling game, barley noticed as Drewsilla leapt at Willow, in a corner. Buffy could no longer feel the blows that pounded her, and could only find enough strength to throw her arms into a general blocking pattern. He was getting the best out of her, no contest. Though Buffy’s senses were compromised, she could hear the scrape of a match against a box and then searing heat and burnt flesh, as Willow set fire to Drew’s hair.
As Willow made her way across the room, she lit another match and watched as the curtains went up in smoke. Willow turned from the inferno and bent down to the beating on the ground. She roughly grabbed Angel’s chin and yanked his hair back. The once powerful and undefeatable Angel screamed in pain. Buffy punched him in the stomach and pulled a cross out of her bag.
The room began to fill with smoke as the fire grew in splendor and distruction. Buffy turned around in the doorway, and looked one last time at the scene. Angel stumbled to his feet, but only to find that Buffy had shut the door in his face. She nodded at her friend, and then let out a ragged cough. Buffy hung a cross on the doorknob. Her fingers blistered at the touch. They began to slowly back down the hall, crosses out in front of them, in a nearly useless display of self-preservation. The fire crept into the hall, just as Buffy and Willow emerged from the building.
Once outside, Buffy turned to look at the former Watchers house, the ruins a symbol of the charred remains of herself. “Burn. Burn for Giles. Burn for Mrs. Calendar...” Buffy spoke with no emotion.
“Burn for Xander...” Willow’s bitter voice joined Buffy’s stoic one just as the fire trucks rushed up. “For Mom and Dad...” Willow was crying
“For Mom...” Tears make sooty rivulets on Buffy’s face. “And burn for me.” Buffy felt herself being led into a police car. Willow was beside her, watching the dancing inferno. She no longer cared what happened. They were dead, all dead, and Buffy’s heart was somewhere back in the fire, dead and burnt, yet another victim of Angel’s bloody wrath.
“Passion, without it we are truly dead.” -Angel
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