Speak Stiltedly and Wear a Yellow Shirt

For previous Blog War entries, see the wiki.

“They want us to hold a press conference.” Jemima sounded less than enthused.

Seema, however, was in her element. “Set up the soapboxes, boys!” she called out to the poolboys sunning themselves on the deckchairs. Sean in his speedo bumped into Jemima’s new poolboy, Liam Neeson, overdressed in a Soviet naval uniform. Words in funny accents were exchanged. Liz, to keep up her battered image of aloofness, had Snape move her soapbox a little farther away from the others, closer to the pool. Spike and Liam unfolded a few rows’ worth of the resort folding chairs, lining them up in front of the soapboxes.

“Let ‘em in!” Seema pointed the way to their seats. “Aren’t you folks supposed to be at the White House? What brings you all to our humble pool?” They weren’t poolboy material, that much was certain.

The reporters all answered at once, drowning each other out. “War,” one said, after the others had grown silent. “Stone Electrons,” he introduced himself, “reporting for the Blog News Service.”

“Never heard of it,” Liz muttered.

“You’re a little late,” Seema said. “The blog war started, oh, about eight months ago. You should have stopped by when we were at the Death Star.”

“Which Death Star?” Stone asked.

Seema shrugged. “They all look alike to me.”

Stone shifted uncomfortably in his seat; Snape stood nearby, looking innocent. “I believe this is a different blog war,” Stone said, leaning over to scratch his legs.

“There can be only one blog war,” Liz said, slipping momentarily into Highlander fandom in her unique multi way. She loosened her longsword in its scabbard.

“So that’s what’s under the cloak,” Lori whispered to Christine.

Stone was speechless, but another reporter filled in the gap. “Is Jemima going to apologize for her inflammatory remarks?”

“Which ones?” Lori asked.

“‘A story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end,’” Seema quoted. “Do you mean that one?” The reporters looked at her blankly. “I was there for that one - it was messy.”

“I remember when she said a mailing list with no email on it was dead,” Christine said. “That didn’t go over well, either.”

“I know,” Lori said, “it must have been ‘Sex does not advance the plot.’ The resort was in an uproar for days over that one.” The White House press corps was nonplussed. They didn’t seem to know much about Jemima, after all.

Liz shook her head. “It must be that she called people without muses ‘museless’. Now, that was a blog-wide scandal.” No response.

“What exactly did Jemima say this time?” Seema asked.

Stone Electrons stopped scratching for a moment. “Jemima is a C/7 fan.” One of the reporters fainted, but the figures on the soapboxes were unmoved. “She thinks she’s better than J/C writers.”

“When did Jemima ever say that?” Christine asked. “Do you have a source, Mr. Electrons?”

“Several bloggers have said–”

“I meant a reliable source,” Christine interrupted. “Or is defamation the standard policy of the Blog News Service? You’d better get your story straight - it’s all going in my docket.”

Stone leaped out of his seat, but it wasn’t the specter of the law that had frightened him. The fire ants had finally reached his derriere. Unable to shake them off, he ran out of the Zen Resort in a mad panic. Snape’s self-satisfied expression wasn’t lost on the other reporters, who began to collect their notepads and edge away.

Jemima cleared her throat. “I would like to make it perfectly clear that I have never claimed to be better than other J/C writers. Honestly. I mean, Penny is a J/C writer.” There was a general hush as an angel of light appeared over the pool, walking towards them across the water and playing an unearthly melody on a golden harp. “Monkee is a J/C writer.” The angel vanished and the ABBA appeared in her place, wearing six-foot platform shoes which kept them above water. They broke into a rousing rendition of ‘Dancing Queen.’

“Do you admit that your website is yellow?” one last reporter shouted over the din.

Jemima clapped her hands together. “That reminds me! This month marks the two-year anniversary of Jemima’s Trek, proving fanfic and entertainment in lovely TOS technicolor and standards-compliant html since August 2000. We need to celebrate.” She turned to Lori. “Do you think the ABBA would sing ‘Fernando’ with my lyrics?”

“It’s your blog.”

“Indeed.” She had Sean run off four sunshine yellow copies of ‘Chakotay’ on Lori’s color printer and swim out to the ABBA to deliver them. Spike chased out the press and let in the members of CSFic. Snape handled the drinks, Jade brought cookies and Jemima hummed along.

Can you hear their guns Chakotay?
I remember long ago another starry void like this
In the firefight Chakotay
You were humming to yourself as I was cursing Gul Evek
I could hear his pompous threats
And sounds of phaser fire coming through the deck…

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