You glare at the clock. It half-heartedly ticks and then apologizes for disturbing you. You wave your hand at it and it disappears. You'll let it come back later when it stops offending you.
Time is such a strange illusion, you decide, and open a veil. On the other side, your author suddenly looks over her shoulder and then back to her computer.
You read the draft. Surprisingly, it is very nearly acceptable, except... "No, don't have Moira do that to Angela," you whisper. She swats the side of her neck and you sigh. Humans. "It's out of character."
"This is crack, I don't care," she mutters. You raise an eyebrow at the back of her head. "Fine, I care," and then grumbling, she deletes the last two paragraphs and starts rewriting them.
Satisfied, you are about to go back through the veil when you realize what user name she had put at the top of the document.
"By the by," you ask casually, knowing she can't hear you but will obey nonetheless, "how do you feel about Luke/Ryan curtain fic and then they break up because they can't agree on color choices?"
"Knock yourself out," your recipient says.