Disclaimer: I don't own Angel of anything else from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB do. I own me, and half of my dorm room, though!
Note: This is just a little thing I wrote while I was stuck on three stories. A friend of mine suggested that I write a stupid story about getting over writer's block, maybe it would help me. Guess what? It did. Yay for the inspiration for Dread Machine part one. Warning: I never claimed it wasn't stupid!
Rating: I've never needed a rating before, but I should now. . . I curse like a sailor. Sorry, I have a really dirty mouth, and it shows in this story. So, let's see. . . rated PG-13 to R for language. There.
“I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE WRITER’S BLOCK!” Janelle yelled to nobody in particular, her cries muffled slightly by her flannel-clad arms. A soft chuckle got her attention, but she still refused to lift her face from the fuzzy confines of her shirt.
“It’s not funny, Wendy. . .” Janelle said menacingly, assuming the chuckle had come from her roommate, who was all too familiar with her fanfic-related frustrations. Despite herself, Janelle began to giggle.
“Okay, it’s funny,” she conceded. She turned her face to one side, eyes still closed. “It’s just so. . . bleeah. I can’t think of anything to write. . . not for Coffee, not for Heart to Heart, not for Dread Machine. . . what’s wrong here?” she sighed, opening her eyes at last.
“You know, any words of encouragement would work great right about now.” Her voice became slightly irritated as she craned her neck to see the short redhead whom she assumed would be sitting at the computer they shared. Instead, her gaze fell on a tall, dark-haired masculine form sitting in the chair, scrolling down the prologue to her story “Heart to Heart”. Dressed in full black, he didn’t look like any of her friends, or even any people she had seen around campus.
“Uh, excuse me,” she started out, her tone now fully annoyed, “but this is *my* room, and I don’t think I know you, so if you don’t mind-”
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Angel,” the man said. Janelle opened her mouth to say something really nasty about fantasy role-playing but stopped short, halfway raised off the bed, when the man turned to face her.
“Holy shi - OW!” Janelle screamed as recognition crossed her features, replaced quickly by pain as she crashed unceremoniously to the floor from her precarious perch on the bed.
“Are you all right?” Angel asked, concerned, dropping to the floor to help her up.
“All right? All RIGHT? I think not, I’m fucking hallucinating. . . no, wait I’m dreaming! That’s it, it’s a dream, and Wendy will wake me up soon, I hope, WENDYYYYY!” Angel clapped a hand over her mouth and looked around nervously, but the door was closed, and nobody seemed to have heard her.
“Will you please cut that out? I’m not here to hurt you,” he said softly, not yet trusting her enough to remove his hand from her mouth.
“Mmmmph,” Janelle managed, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp.
“You promise not to scream again?” Angel asked her hopefully. She nodded her head so vigorously that she knocked it briskly against Angel’s nose, making him drop his hands to bring them up to his face.
“OW! What’d you do that for??” he asked, removing his hands from his nose and sniffing gingerly.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” Janelle asked worriedly, reaching for his face to make sure nothing was broken. He waved her hands away, moving into a cross-legged position.
“No, I’ve seen much worse, plus I’m a vampire. . . doesn’t hurt me much,” he said with a wry smile.
“Ohhh. . . oh. Oh!” Janelle exclaimed as realization dawned and she began to look very nervous.
“I take it you’ve figured out who I am, so you really have nothing to worry about,” Angel reassured her, shooting her a quick glance, his head still bowed slightly.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” Janelle began nervously, now shaking slightly. “You see, you do NOT exist. David Boreanaz exists, bless his beautiful hide, but ANGEL doesn’t exist.”
“David *who*?” Angel interjected, but she plowed on ahead.
“. . . which means I’m going stark raving mad! Shit, I *knew* something like this would happen. Well, I didn’t really *know* know, but jeez, with my stupid luck, I-”
“Wait a second, I don’t *exist*?” Angel cut her ramblings off short.
“Well, of course you don’t, are you crazy!?” Janelle retorted, and the two were silent for a long moment before she began to laugh hysterically, collapsing on her bed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked incredulously.
“Oh. . . it’s just. . . hee-hee. . . that. . . hah. . . I called *you* crazy. . . when. . . ha-ha. . .I’m the crazy one!” she managed to sputter out. Angel sat calmly on the floor and waited out her fit of giggles. When she stilled, her face buried in her pillow, he spoke up.
“Are you quite finished?” Angel asked impatiently. She whirled around to face him, nearly tossing herself off the bed again.
“God, you’re still here? My hallucination’s not over yet? Dammit, what’s a girl gotta do to stay sane?!” she cried, pressing the heels of her hands into her closed eyes.
“I’m *not* a hallucination!” Angel snarled angrily, and Janelle blanched.
“Y-your eyes. . .” she stammered, holding out a trembling finger at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, immediately contrite. “Sometimes my eyes. . . flash or something when I’m upset. Haven’t gotten the chance to check it out for myself yet. Sorry,” he looked at her apologetically.
“S-so you’re. . . really. . . “ Janelle trailed off.
“A vampire,” he sighed. “And judging from your story,” he said, gesturing towards the computer, “you know who I am already.”
“Well, If you’re really Angel, then I guess I sort of know who you are. . . you’re a character on a TV show here in my world. Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” she said tentatively as she reached to the shelf above her computer and pulled down a pack of Camel filters and a blue bic lighter. If she had ever needed a cigarette before in her life, she needed one now. She stuck one between her lips and raised the lighter, still speaking.
“So, if you’re real, how and why are you here in my dorm room?” she asked around the cigarette. She was about to flick the lighter when the cigarette was snapped from her mouth. Janelle looked up, startled, in time to see Angel break the cigarette in half.
“You don’t need that,” he said, a trifle angrily, and threw the cigarette remains in the wastebasket. “Those will kill you.” Janelle stared at him in silence for a few moments and Angel could see the fire rising in her eyes. He shifted uncomfortably on the floor under her intense scrutiny.
“IF I HAD A NICKEL FOR EVERY TIME I HEARD SOME ASSHOLE SAY THAT TO ME I’D BE A BILLIONAIRE!” Janelle screamed at the top of her lungs. She was now standing over Angel, hands clenched into fists. “BUT I DON’T WANT A BILLION DOLLARS, I JUST WANT A CIGARETTE! GOT THAT, BUDDY?”
Angel looked up at her meekly, but couldn’t keep a hint of annoyance out of his eyes. Before he could respond, she had whipped out another one and lit it. She strode over to her door and locked it, not a moment too soon. Not five seconds later, a loud rapping came on the door, and someone tried to open it.
“Janelle?” a lightly accented voice called out.
“I’m getting ready to take a nap, Blanca,” Janelle yelled to the girl on the other side of the door, getting raised eyebrows from Angel. She shook her head and inhaled deeply off her cigarette.
“Okay, I’m going to class now, see you for dinner?” the voice called out again.
“Sure, see ‘ya,” Janelle called back and seated herself at the computer.
“So. . . “ Angel began, “I’m a television character. . . here?” he asked carefully.
“Yup, called Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” Janelle responded while she opened up Netscape. “Is Buffy real too?”
“Yes,” he said quietly, and Janelle could hear the pain in his voice.
“Hey, if your guys’ life is really the way it looks on TV. . . well, I have no idea what that kind of pain is like, but hey. . . things are looking up a bit, I think.” she tried awkwardly to comfort him the only way she knew how without giving him a big hug. . . somehow she didn’t think he’s like that very much. After a moment’s deliberation, she did it anyway. Startled, Angel looked down at the smaller girl’s head, when she let him go.
“Sorry,” she said, re-seating herself. “I just thought you needed that. Everyone needs hugs. . . and you aren’t getting enough of them,” she explained. “Anyway. . . you get your own show next season.” He chuckled a little at that under his breath.
“Not sure what to make of that,” he said in a low voice, looking over her shoulder at the hotmail account she was opening. “Is that e-mail?” he asked dubiously.
“Yes, ancient one, it is,” Janelle jibed playfully.
“It’s too bad Willow couldn’t just drag me into the computer lab sometime, tie me to a chair and force me to learn it,” he laughed. “She’s the one who’s really good at it.” Janelle froze in her chair for a second before her whole face lit up.
“THAT’S IT!!” she shrieked triumphantly, an idea for “Dread Machine” forming in her mind. “Thank you, Angel, you’re a-” she broke off and scanned her room. He was gone.
“You’re a one-man disappearing act. . .” she finished as she began to type.