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The Mary Sue Files

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Happy SunnyD

Finally, I saw the sun. I was bathed in real sunshine, not that crap that filters through the smog blanket we always have over LA. My first vacation in years was starting off right.

Cherry red mustang convertible – check.

Top down – check.

Sunglasses – check.

Three weeks to wander wherever my fancy takes me – check.

I’d decided to avoid the big freeways and stick to smaller roads whenever possible. As a result, I was driving into my first small town just a few hours north of LA. I hadn’t been in a small town in years. 

“This should be fun,” I thought. They even had one of those cute welcome signs with the population on it. Yes, Sunnydale sounded friendly and quaint… and vaguely familiar. *snort* I should have just kept driving.

As I came into the center of town, I noticed it had all the standard hangouts – old movie theater, coffee shop, arcade, book store, magic shop… Wait, why the hell would a small town have a magic shop? I parked the car so I could take a closer look, flipping my raven locks over my shoulder and twitching my thin black leather jacket into place because I didn’t want to blend in too much with the local yokels. But come to think of it, they were suspiciously homogenous – all white and relatively stylishly dressed. I was beginning to get a really bad feeling about this place. As I walked over to the Magic Box, I tried to pinpoint what exactly was wrong. When I opened the door and saw the place chock full of people, none of them customers, I realized that my “bad feeling” had grossly underestimated the situation and I moaned with self-pity.

One of the women immediately hurried over to me. She flashed a bright, avaricious smile and flipped HER brown…no reddish…no blonde… dammit everytime she moved her hair seemed to change color! “Moaning is good,” she said. “It indicates you are desperate which means I can overcharge with impunity. Please tell me the exact nature of your distress so I know which items to jack up the prices on.”

The young Everyman with dark hair groaned and put his head in his hands, but everyone else took the woman’s moneygrubbing in stride. I was still coming to terms with my realization so I just ignored her.

“Oh, oh, I know!” This was from the youngest person in the group – perky, cheerful, and possessing inhumanly straight and shiny brown hair. “She must be the potential slayer from the prophecy! The one who’s older and cooler than all the other potentials and who will help us defeat the First Evil and prevent yet another apocalypse!”

“Hmm, you could be right, Dawn.” Crap. I had been hoping for a modicrum of sense from the hunky older gentleman, who oddly enough, I expected to be wearing tweed, but he was dressed in a twill jacket, muted blue Henley, and khakis. Huh. No internal dialog about his hair. Maybe I could break free of this nightmare…

“The time convergence and planetary positions are correct. Plus wicked stylish with the hair and the leather. Total indication of moral ambiguity like the prophecy said.” The red head spoke up to dash my hopes and display a cute crinkled nose as she pondered my appearance in their midst. I moaned some more because the shame of my position was just overwhelming.

The petite blonde, wearing a halter top that showed an amazing amount of skin given the fact that everyone else was wearing long-sleeves and/or a jacket, got up and came over to me. “I know this seems overwhelming. To find out one day that you have a destiny and your life with never be the same again. To know that you’ll never be the carefree girl that you were and that a normal life is forever denied you. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like. I’m the Chosen One and I’ll never have the chance to marry some hot guy, have kids, and grow old. You get used to it.”

“Oh god, why me?” I wailed.

The Chosen One gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay. At least your destiny isn’t a full time gig like mine.”

“It’s not that! Arghhh!! Why is this happening to me?”

The gang looked confused. My frustration erupted in words. “I’m the frellin’ Mary Sue! I hate the Mary Sue! Fics with Mary Sues suck ass! I am so ashamed. Please god, let this be a dream or sunstroke or a coma or something!”

“Why does she refer to herself in the third person?” Anya asked. Ack! I knew all their names as if by instinct. This was really going to blow. “I don’t do that. I’m not crazy, just materialistic, uh I mean enterprising in a gloriously capitalistic way.”

“Mary Sue, try to calm down. We do this kind of thing all the time. We’ll help you through it.” Xander was attempting to restore my emotional center. Please, that only works on Scoobies.

“My name is not Mary Sue, it’s… no screw it. Call me Mary Sue. I don’t want anyone to ever find out about this. You,” I spun around and pointed directly at the only other person in the room as stylish and cool as myself, “Spike, don’t you dare tell anyone about this. None of the other cool people can know.”

“Don’t worry, luv. Got ya covered. I’m ashamed to be participating in this drivel myself.” Spike showed the intelligence that comes with killer cheek bones and keen fashion sense. I breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Alright. Obviously there’s no escape from this hell except to go along with it. Right. I’m Mary Sue and I’m a 30 year old potential slayer.” I absolutely had to roll my eyes at this point. “This explains why I had the urge to buy the entire Time Life series on demons, selected the calendar as my free gift, and left it hanging on my wall even though it is now years out of date. Hell, I bet I can even speak Cantonese now.”

“That’s excellent,” said Giles. “I was having a bit of difficulty with one of the other girls. She got very upset when I offered her milk, for example, and I have no idea why.”

“Enough with the chit chat.” Buffy spoke with her usual briskness. “Let’s get to the dealing with the First part. The prophecy said you could help, so spill.”

“The First Evil, huh? Okay, here’s the plan. You obviously need to find a wickedly complex and dangerous spell to summon the First Good. The spell will require the talents of absolutely everyone in or related to the Scooby Gang. The First Good will be an equal and opposing force for the First Evil. Their being manifested together will cancel out the overwhelming evil thing, balance will be restored to the world, the Potentials will be safe, and I will be far, far from here.” I grinned maniacally, sure that they would quickly toss me out and I could be on my way.

“That’s so crazy, it just might work.” Xander looked around expectantly waiting for someone to catch the reference.

“Brilliant, my dear.” Giles smiled approvingly and I wanted to roll over and let him pet me. Ahem. Back to thoughts of escape.

“Great. One quick patrol since it has conveniently gotten dark while we chatted and I am out of here. Spike, Buffy, let’s go.” I was dying to get this over with.

“But wait!” Willow demanded. “Where do we find the spell and how did you figure that out so fast?”

I grinned evilly. By the power of Mary Sue… “The spell’s in that green leather volume on the second shelf up in the loft.” I was totally talking out my ass, but I knew it would be there. I was getting the hang of this ultimate power thing. “As for how I figured it out… well, I’m something much cooler than just a really old potential slayer.” I swept the awestruck group with an assessing glance before I threw back my head and said with pride, “I am a technical writer!”

They gasped, struck dumb by my fabulousness. With a toss of my cinnamon brown locks, I gathered Buffy and Spike and swept out to patrol.

As we entered the cemetery, I took a quick peek at Buffy and Spike. Tense and a bit distant, but ready at a moment’s notice to fight for each other. Hmm, maybe I could use this Mary Sue power to straighten things out.

“So, you two need to figure out your relationship, huh?” They looked startled. “Listen up, you aren’t in love and this isn’t some huge passionate destiny thing either. You have the respect, camaraderie, and trust of people who have been through the wars together. Accept it and move on. Face it, you both need to have simple, uncomplicated affairs with other people right now.” They looked at me with dawning comprehension and relief. Now it was time for the final blow. “Buffy, just go jump Principal Wood. He’s incredibly hot and his name is Wood for god’s sakes. Go!” Buffy looked at Spike briefly for approval, he nodded gleefully, and she scampered off. As Mr. Burns would say, excellent. “As for you, Spike,” my evil grin returned with a vengeance, “you come with me.” 

Spike obeyed with a hip rolling swagger that was making me drool. Just as I was reaching for the lapels of his coat to yank him to me, five vampires appeared. “Oh hell no!” I cried as I leapt quickly past Spike to deliver a spin kick to the head of the first vampire, knocking him into the rest of the pack. That gave me time for a quick one-handed cartwheel over the military grave he’d been standing on so I could yank the small American flag out of the ground. I could hear all my military ancestors cheering as I used the flag to stake the vamps one after another.

Spike watched the proceedings from his laid back perch on a nearby crypt. “Nice spin kick,” he drawled, “Where’d you learn that one?”

“I’ve watched a few kung-fu movies, so being a potential and a Mary Sue, it was easy enough to just whip it out.” Now I was really grooving to this gig. I could do ANYTHING. “Now that they’re taken care of, why don’t you come over here and whip out what I want.”

Spike was happy to oblige, but he wanted to hear me beg first. “Tell me exactly what you want, pet,” he growled.

“You know what I want and if you don’t give it to me right this second, you’ll wish the First still had you chained to her wall.”

“Ooh, someone’s feeling a bit of the nasty tonight. Don’t worry, luv, I’ve got just what you need right here.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a slim volume covered in red leather. 

“That’s it, baby,” I purred, “Give it to me now.”

Spike opened the book and began to read in a voice hot enough to melt steel and all my inhibitions. 

“MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee, 
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;
    Yet this enjoys before it woo,
    And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
    And this, alas! is more than we would do.
O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
    Though use make you apt to kill me,
    Let not to that self-murder added be,
    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true; then learn how false fears be;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.”

I swooned with lust and fulfillment, desire personified in sound filling me to the brink. I knew it couldn’t get any better, so with a quick caress across cheekbones that could cut glass and one fiery kiss, I headed back to my car and out of town. Being a Mary Sue could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, as long as no one find’s out, of course. After all, power corrupts and I’ve got a killer evil laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

Someone please save me

It was a dark and stormy knight, which, of course, inevitably led to rust and other unpleasantness and anyway, the age of chivalry is dead, thank God. 

Cherry red mustang convertible, engine full up of horses, vrooming down the long straight of highway. Yeah, baby, that’s more like it. Nothing like stretching your legs across the vast of prairie. Flat as a table top and open as, okay, that’s odd, trees. Lots and lots of trees.

Huddled between the vasty foresty trees of the great plains, a little sign, Smallville, population 40,xxx. The breaks are tested, screech. 

Our heroine with almost feline grace, actually know, err…no, it is feline grace. She moves exactly like a great big sleek jungle cat prowling through the forest, her long blond hair flowing tumultuously in the breeze. She gracefully oozed up to the sign, “Cool. Smallville.” She took a picture of the sign. “Although, 40K is not exactly small and hey, suspiciously glowing rock.” She bent at the knees in a graceful ladylike fashion to pick up a green, red, gold, and for good measure, blue glowing rock, which in no way resembled the periodic element kryptonite. 

Since there was no way it would fit into the pocket of her skin tight black leather pants of evil, she quickly pulled out her travel jeweler’s kit and made it into a very unattractive pendant, to be referred to hereafter as the VUP.

She hopped back into the car and the engine leapt to life, although not literally of course, as she sped down the road and into the quaint and not actually small town of Smallville, the VUP illuminating her face in an eerie and otherworldly green, red, gold and blue glow. 

Pondering the nearness of lunch and the length of time since her last bathroom break, the car swung into a parking place in front of a delightful art deco theater/coffee house. She took a picture and then dashed into the coffee house.

Tap, Tap, Tap. “Nice place.” Glance around, “Woah, pink.” A beautiful young woman wearing a pink fuzzy sweater, a pink cotton shirt, a pink silk skirt, pink tights, pink mary janes, pink lipstick and a pink button that read, “Asteroids ruined my life, ask me how!”

“Hi.” said the young woman, her beautiful violet eyes attremble with burgeoning unshed tears, her face filled with the eternal sorrow of the Madonna, “My name is Lana and my parents were killed when I was three, which makes me sad and I was dressed as a fairy princess and if I could grant myself one wish it would be to bring them back to life, so I could be happy again, because my short life has been blighted with sorrow and the only way that I can find a little itsy bitsy bit of happiness is by running this café, which is where my parents met, except it was a movie house at the time and if there is anything I can do to help you, let me know.” Her head bobbed thoughtfully.

“Pink MoJo JoJo. Uh, where’s the bathroom.?” said our heroine, her beautiful blue eyes, which normally flashed like sapphires, glazing over.

Lana’s beautiful tear filled eyes rolled sorrowfully, “The Ladies room, which is for customers, is behind that pillar next to Clark, who has some sort of secret that he will not tell me, which I do not understand, because I tell him everything and it is very important that everyone be absolutely honest with me and tell me everything about themselves, because I hate secrets, because they make me feel insecure and if people do not tell me their every single thought then clearly they do not love me and perhaps the secret that they are keeping is that they wish to leave me and I would be alone and unloved and abandoned in this café that I run, although I am only sixteen, but my friend Lex leant me the money to run the Talon, because it is a good business proposition and he is my friend, although I am not sure that like or trust him because he is a Luthor and he has secrets and I think that…”

“Thanks.” said our heroine, “I’ll have a coke.” who began edging towards the bathroom, jigging her left leg in a rapid pattern.

“Oh, don’t you want a coffee? The Talon sells all sorts of coffee beverages, because there is nothing that people in people in a small Midwestern town love more than a wide assortment of coffee beverages like Expresso and Mocca and…”

“Coke is fine.” as our heroine’s nerve broke and she made a dash for the bathroom.

Later she stared at herself in the mirror, she mused “I want to take this lighting with me everywhere.” She was illuminated in a soft, warm vaseline glow of light. Every pore porcelain smoothed into non-existence. Her golden eyes glowing softly in the soft light and her hair was a perfectly coiffed mane of cascading red gold curls. “Damn. I’m freaking gorgeous. I want to live in this bathroom.” She poked her cheek briefly, “Maybe it’s a Mary Sue thing. Whatever.” and then went out to face her adoring public.

The three pale gaunt beautiful boy poets who had been composing odes to Lana in a corner of the room, paused in their Lanadoration, awed by the site of our heroine, Mary Sue, obviously a woman of destiny and possessor of a very large VUP. Byron rewrote She Walks in Beauty on the spot. Percy lined out Lana’s name from Valediction to a Meteor. Keats fainted from the stress, strange frail boy.

Clark Kent, who was made of sterner stuff, was nevertheless torn. Should he exchange the gayest look of the story with Lex, who was just coming into the Talon, if only he could tell Lex his secrets? Should he look adoringly at Lana, if only he could tell Lana his secrets? Should he simultaneously faint, go evil, lose his powers or hum Billy Holiday songs from the effects of the VUP? Since he was and is super-cool, he did all of the above. 

“Nice pants.” Mary Sue turned to look at the incredibly attractive and obviously stunned at her incredibly Mary Sue beauty, talent, and over all superior intelligence, bald guy standing before her, “I’m Lex Luthor.” He was wearing a lavender silk shirt, purple slacks and the Sexy Smirk Number 3, Lexcorp patent pending. 

“Of course, you are.” She smiled blindingly at him. However, Luthors, ever prepared, wearing stylish shades, yada, yada, yada.

At that moment, the three poets, whose babysitter, it should, dear reader, be explained, had been reading great works of poetry to them when the meteors hit, lo the many years ago, snapped. Declaring if the three of them could not have Mary Sue, then no poet or potential patron of poets would, they sprang into a feral and frothing attack of frenzy. It was frightful.

Her topaz eyes flashing, Mary Sue sneered and flipped into proto-Slayer speed augmented by fast acting Kryptonite mutation action. Pow. Bam. Bang. Kazoo. The floor was littered with bleeding romantic poets. And, plus, the Talon was totally trashed. The crowds rejoiced.

Clark sighed, he’d wanted to save Mary Sue, but she had been just too fast for him. Darn it. No wait, the red Kryptonite kicked in. “This blows.” He gave both Mary Sue and Lex a long lingering anatomically impossible look, “Let’s go play Alien Abduction.”

Mary Sue glanced at Lex and then Clark, “It’s good to be Mary Sue.” she sighed.

Arm in arm the three walked free of the wreckage, leaving behind the faint sniffles of fairy princess Lana. 

Words cannot describe or even do justice to the events that followed at the mansion. Although, what Lex, Clark and Mary Sue experienced bore some similarity to pages 25-34 of Silhouette Special Edition, “Millionaire in Disguise” And then pages 78-82 of “Deception.” And then for a change of pace, pages 117-124 of Silhouette Desire “Unfinished Rhapsody” which is technically a backrub scene, but very nice. Then pages 179-184 of  Mills and Boon “Dark Pursuit.” And pages 177-180 of Harlequin Presents “Tainted Love”. And then wrapping up with various and sundry sections of “Mr. Hyde’s Assets.”

It should also be mentioned that one bonfire, six fireplaces, and forty thousand candles, one for each resident in Smallville, lost their lives over the course of the evening.

“Wow,” said Lex as he leaned back on the couch, “I had no idea romance novels were this descriptive.” He put down “Mr. Hyde’s Assets.” Mary Sue swirled her ruby red wine crystal wine glass and then sipped a swallow of Niebaum-Coppola Rubicon 1999, which tastes like pure ruby sin in a wineglass, therefore Lex had forty cases. Mary Sue had a bite of rich chocolate cake, which she knew with her increased slayer in waiting fast acting kryptonite mutant metabolism would never make it to her perfectly fat free thighs.

Clark was blowing smoke rings with his eyes, because, as, dear reader, this story shall shortly tell and not show, in the midst of reading, Clark had been forced to admit to being an alien, which as it turned out was totally okay with Lex and they had agreed to be best gosh darn “friends” forever. Mary Sue had explained the whole Krypton explosion, space craft, super powers thing and reenacted her favorite scene from Lois and Clark, complete with eye glass props. All was right with the world.

Just then, Lionel Luthor flung back the magnificent oaken doors to the magnificent living room, magnificently. He looked at the piles of romance novels and sneered Domineering Sneer #73, now with new flowers in the attic vibe add on, a patent of Luthor corporation, “Pah, romance novels. I should have expected as much.” He was about to pat Lex on the shoulder, when he saw Mary Sue, who smiled brilliantly and leaned back on the couch, Mary Sueness oozing from every inch of her slender and yet voluptuous body, curling through every lock of her red, red mane of tempestuous hair, “My God, you are a Magnificent Bastard.”

She tossed him a romance novel,  “Page 115.”

Lionel flipped open the book, “Hmmm…you have good taste, my dear.” Lionel shark smiled, poured himself a glass of sin and he began to read aloud.

In the morning, it was a tired, but happy Mary Sue who after uploading her pictures and blogging the entire experience, bid goodbye to Lex and Clark. They, of course, begged her to stay, because how could their lives go on without the shining light of her presence, but she knew that they had each other. “Good luck you crazy kids.” she said and shyly handed Lex a copy of her resume and a writing sample, because future evil genius’ should always document their fiendish devices. How else can they ensure that their devilishly foul devices observe Architectural principals and are: Quality Focused, Integrated, Observe Privacy and Security Standards, 100% Available, Scalable, Have High Performance and Control Costs? They can’t. Documentation. It’s important. This message brought to you by the society of Mary Sue Technical Communicators.

Mary Sue slid bonelessly into her car and as she left town, she began to sing along to, “I am the very model of a modern major cherry pop tart.” Pausing only to stop by the Kent farm, wup Pa Kent upside the head, give him the number for platitudes anonymous, and hand Ma Kent a stack of really good romance novels.

 

 

 

 

 

Intermission

Cross the vast and lonely plains of <insert elf word here> the solitary track led its isolated way betwixt rolling dunes of white powdered dust and darkly grown sage. Distant mountains purple prose stood both to the right and the left. Empty of all life the plains were, except for a hearty band of stalwart and true travelers, intent upon their mission to create a fictional trope that could be copyrighted and hereafter used by all band of hearty hero stories forever. Ranger. Check. Knight. Check. Impossibly beautiful elf. Check. Wizard. Check. Cleric. Hmmm…does the wizard count? Thief. Check twice. Dwarf. Check. Normal schmoes who nevertheless drive the action of the story. Check and sidekick check. Maguffin that must be destroyed/delivered to specific spot. Check precious. Beautiful precious. Mmmm…precious. Ahem…

This fellowship of travelers paused in their walking across the plains to light a small fire and eat a small supper of roast Coney. They then resumed walking for many miles on the lonesome, aloof, and in the sticks track through the powdery white soil and sage brush. They stopped at a fine example of a standing stone at a crossroads and ate a dinner of Coney stew and travel bread. The travelers were rightly soiled from the day’s travels, except for Legolas, whose garments were spotless clean. Night past. After a fine breakfast of porridge, the fellowship continued their journey of walking. And walking. Supper. Walking. Dinner. Sleep. Walking. Walking. Eat. Walk. Eat. Walk. Eat. Sleep. 

They paused at the sound of a distant roar. Legolas and Aragorn’s far sighted eyes scanned the horizon. In the distance, a red speck. Closer. Closer. The sound of a discordant and dissonant voice, “I get my kicks on route 66.” Closer. A cherry red demon guided by a beautiful woman. Her soft skin like magnolias gently glowing in the noon light, green eyes flashing like imperial green gem quality jade, long, long, long white blond hair fluttering in the gentle 90 mile an hour breeze of her passage.

The demon past the travelers on the track, kicking up a cloud of white dust in its passage that covered the fellowship and the sage and even precious in a white layer of earth.

Weeping, Legolas wiped the dust from his eyes, “No longer the prettiest.” he cried and each member of the fellowship, homoerotic and homosocial tensions not withstanding, sighed the heart deep sigh of pure love.

Then they started walking again.

 

 

 

 

 

And even shorter Plot

Ah, wine country at last. I knew I was desperate for decent bottle of wine after taking that extreme short cut through Middle Earth to get from Kansas to Northern California in one day. But the dusty road would be totally worth it if I could snag a bottle of Ferrari Carano Fume Blanc. Wait, what was I thinking? I’m the Mary Sue and I’m richer than God. I’d buy a couple of cases and be prepared to seduce the next cute young thing (and all his friends) that I came across.

I pulled my cherry red convertible, still purring like a kitten, into the parking lot of the winery which looked remarkable like an Italian villa made of marble. It’s amazing what you can do with unlimited funds. I swung out of the car with the grace and flexibility of an Olympic gymnast and walked toward the tasting room with thoughts of the luscious wine soon to be rolling across my tongue. These pleasant thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sharp crack of a 357 and a burning pain in my chest. “This bites,” I said before sinking slowing the ground.

“No!” yelled a tall, lanky, and handsome-in-a-rawboned-geeky-sort-of-way man as he ran up and caught me before I hit the ground. His hair was oddly spiky and his orange t-shirt said something about reigning in hell, but I didn’t care because he was kneeling on the grass, holding me gently, and weeping tears of rage. The world started to go black.

“Why God? How could you do this? How could you let such a perfectly beautiful, intelligent, strong, and stylishly dressed woman die like this? Please, please don’t die. I’ll do anything! I can’t let you go! Hobbes, can’t you do anything?” He was really cute when he was devastated. A shorter man with dark hair came up and put his hand on the other’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Fawkes. Sometimes Fate is a cruel mistress. This lovely lady just happened to come to a winery which was a front for Arnaud’s latest evil scheme and get caught in the cross fire when we tried to stop him. It’s a damn shame. She’s the best and brightest of us all. She will be sadly missed.”

The man holding me could no longer contain his grief and sobs wracked his body. Strangely enough this loss of control also turned him transparent, but that could have been my imagination because it was really getting dark and ooh, look a bright shiny light at the end of a tunnel. I floated away to check it out and left the hottie to his tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end,

there can be only one, before that more than one

Cold hard metal on her naked spine. 

Mary Sue opened her eyes, blackest night dark. Fringed lush with lashes that flirted with creamy white cheeks. Sweet, sweet oxygen rushed into starved lungs. Breathing good. She was pretty sure she’d been dead a moment ago. Apparently, she’d gotten better. And naked. And freaking freezing. She carefully glanced round the room. Corpse-icles on slabs laid out for investigation. Coroners on a smoke break or something.

She lithely jumped off the examination table and efficiently tied her sheet into a chiton, which she totally knew how to do because she was an immortal. Mary Sue was not her name. She had many names. Maria Susa. Mreya Suesdater. Magda Anna Kareena Elizabeta Katarina Suzavitch. Sue Mary of the clan McSue. So, many many names. So, many identities over the vast echoing centuries. She was over two thousand years old. No, wait, over four thousand years old. She was really, really old. And knowledgeable. Oh, the ennui of it all. There was nothing that she hadn’t done.

There was that twenty years she’d spent studying kung fu with a Show Linn mystic. The thirty years she’d spent studying main gauche dueling with that really cute honey of a Spaniard. Not that one, the other one. The one hundred and fifty years she’d spent at that really nice day spa at that island near Crete. Damn shame about the volcano. The ten years she’d spent as a Venetian courtesan perfecting the art of love. Veronica Franco. What. Ever. The fifty years she’d spent as Vengeance Sue of the Varangia after the city that she’d founded on the banks of the D’Niepper river was destroyed. Flush toilets 2000 years ahead of their time. Damn Mongols, but she didn’t like to think about that. Would the blood never come off her hands? Sob. The sixty years she’d spent learning the fine art of documentation from the finest writers in ancient Egypt. Old Kingdom, not new. The forty years she’d spent just studying air movement with that old wacko in a cave. Catch an arrow at fifty paces she could. Walk on rice paper without a mark. Catch flies out of the air like nobodies business.

Yeah, she was a kick ass fighter all right. Only augmented by the fact that she’d been a potential slayer before she died for the first time. And now, what with the kryptonite mutation, oh, neat x-ray vision, there was nothing that she couldn’t do.

She decided to leave. After a time that seemed too long – but very short – she put one foot in front of the other and she was walking with an innate and primal feminine power. She didn’t bother to find clothes. With her innate chiton tying skills, taught to her by a ancient and venerable fashion consultant mystic in horse rearing Troy before the walls fell, her chiton looked like the finest of fashion plate garments, despite being a Coroner’s sheet tied off with a piece of twine. 

With her innate sense of direction, she went to the car impound, snagged her cherry red convertible out of lockup, put on some shoes and headed on down the road towards beautiful downtown Seacouver. Brief pause for blog photo. 

Feeling a bit rusty, what with the being dead and all, she decided to stop at that quaint little dojo right over there. She swerved, to avoid the plot anvil lying there in the road. Heaven knows what that would have done to her baby. She patted the convertible. 

As she climbed the stairs, Mary Sue felt the double wammy of a double quickening. Two immortals for the err…price of…actually she hadn’t paid anything. So, technically. oh, anyway, she pulled her ivory handled basket rapier out of I-space* (The space time fold where Immortals store their swords) and turned to face two really cute guys coming up the stairs behind her.

“I’m Duncan McCloud of the Clan McCloud.” Said the tall loomingish one. 

The shorter dark haired one, who’d been standing somewhat behind McCloud waved, “Adam Pierson.”

“Wow. Adam Pierson. I read you’re paper ‘The new world of autonomous discourse, Plato, writing and computers.’ I’m Mary Sue and I’m you’re biggest fan.” She gushed charmingly as she put her sword back into I-space.

“Really,” Adam said. He stepped out from behind McCloud, who was looking slightly perturbed.

“Yeah. Actually, I’ve read everything of yours that I could find. As a fellow pre-literate I’d be fascinated to discuss your thinking on the neotic roles of heroic heavy figures in the pre-literate tradition. Or for you know blogging.” Mary Sue ran long slender fingers through her short shiny cap of hair, so black it was almost blue, but it was black, really. And really, really shiny. 

“Perhaps, you’d like to go out for a beer then to discuss primacy and orality and all that.”

“I’m the hero of the story.” Said McCloud.

“Actually, I could use a bit of a workout. Dead this morning. You know.” Mary smiled apologetically at Adam.

McCloud left in an almost literal haze of disgust, muttering “Go get my own Mary Sue. Generally one hanging out in a church or graveyard all re-vengy my lost lovery.”

“Yeah, been there. Bought the toga, which by the way nice.” Adam smiled at Mary Sue approvingly. 

Mary Sue graciously decided not to correct Adam, because well old or not he was a guy, so he had no reason to know a toga from a chiton. “Okay, there’s way too much plot here. Can we just cut to the gratuitous sex?”

“My place is around the corner.” Said Adam.

Twenty hours later, Adam and Mary Sue sat lotus position motionless on the hard wooden floor of his apartment. Having worked their way up through all seven of the tantric chakas, they had been in a state of perfect bliss in the seventh top o’ the head chaka for the last eight hours, but enough is enough. Since, beer or wine would have been irrelevant, Mary Sue gave Adam her number back home and headed out on her travels for the day.

 Flee back to lifeamgood!

 

 

 

 

Good Clean Fun

What to do today? As a really, really old immortal, potential slayer who was augmented by Kryptonite mutation, I needed something a little more exotic than my last few adventures. Time for a costume change. I pulled over briefly to put on my Leather Waist Cinch of Evil, straighten the midnight cascade of hair which fell to my waist, and add some gothy make-up such as lipstick that glowed the dark lustrous red of a fine old merlot, black eyeliner that made my emerald green eyes even more mysterious, and black nail polish just to be true to form. Back in the car, I gunned the engine, shifted into F, and took off high above the trees heading east.

In two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I was landing next to a whomping big tree in front of Hogwart’s School of Wizardry. I leapt from the car without bothering to open the door and landed with my feet apart and the three-inch spike heels of my black leather boots miraculously not sinking into the verdant lawn. I sauntered over to the trunk of my baby, gave her a quick thump with my fist, and pulled out my robe from the now open trunk. The midnight black silk settled over my shoulders with a swirl but I didn’t fasten the front, because *ahem* black leather waist cinches (and the curves they displayed so nicely) were meant to be seen. I flicked the trunk closed and walked with feline grace over to the entrance where Dumbledore was waiting for me.

“Welcome, my dear. We’re so glad you could substitute as the Defense Against Dark Arts teacher on such short notice.” His kindly old eyes held a wicked gleam, but I couldn’t blame him. I am me after all.

“No problem at all,” I replied. “I was looking for a change of pace anyway.”

“Let me show you to your classroom.” He held out his arm in a courtly gesture that I remembered so well from gentler times. I took it with a happy little smile of nostalgia. His slow pace gave me time to add plenty of swish with my hips as we strolled through the constantly changing corridors to the classroom. Boys goggled and girls sighed everywhere I went, but I ignored them with ease. I mean, come on, they’re children for pity’s sake.

As we entered the classroom, however, I saw something much more to my taste. “Hello, dark nurse,” I murmured, casting a long, slow look up and down the raven-haired man before me.

“Mary Sue, I’d like you to meet, Professor Snape, our Potions Master.” Dumbledore performed the introduction quickly, such an observant gentleman. I held out my hand.

“Welcome, Mary Sue. I’m sure we’ll all benefit from your talents,” Snape sneered. I grinned. His feeble attempt to hide his overwhelming lust for me was adorable.

“I’m sure we’ll get a chance to discuss my talents later,” I offered. Oh yes, he will be mine.

Snape and Dumbledore left as the students began filing in. A room full of fifteen year olds – joy. I was sure I could come up with some novel ways to kill things that would distract them from their adolescent worship of me. Once they were all in their seats, I pointed imperiously to a bright looking boy with glasses and a funny scar. He blushed quite prettily before he replied.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“First of all, don’t call me ma’am. Call me Professor or Mistress or something else cool and powerful. Second, tell me what you were working on with your last teacher.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Okay, I could get used to that. “We were working on protections against the Bug Bladder Beast of Trol.” I smirked, way too easy.

“Okay, I can cover that in about two seconds. Close your eyes. The beast is so stupid it thinks that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you. Alright, let’s move on to something more interesting.” The students looked a bit nonplussed, but they needed to learn to roll with the punches anyway. “Let’s talk about Macarthal demons. They’re made of fire, but can’t be stopped using the usual fire retardant spells. Instead, you need to…” I broke off when I realized the kids were looking frightened, which was peculiar because I hadn’t even described the horrible mutilations usually suffered by people who attempted to fight a Macarthal demon. “What’s wrong?”

The girl with riotously curly hair in the first row spoke up. Big surprise there. “Actually, some sort of fire demon has been terrorizing the school for the past two weeks. No one can figure out what it is or how to stop it. Several students have been horribly mutilated.”

Wow, I had hit the jackpot on the first try. Go me. “I see. I guess I’d better take care of this little problem for you.” I reached into I-space past my sword for my wand. It was a nice ebony wood with silver inlay – matched my outfit perfectly. “Students, please gather on the left side of the room away from the door. I’ve got plans for later that don’t include taking any of you to the Infirmary.” They shuffled off to one side like a good little herd of sheep, although a few showed some initiative by taking out their wands just in case – Hermione and Harry being the first two. No wonder they managed to get out of so many jams, but back to the business at hand.

“First, I’m going to create an ice statue of myself to lure the demon here. Icicus simulcrium perfectus.” A little wand wave and there I was perfectly rendered is prismatic ice. “Next, the demon shows up…” I counted to ten in my head and the beast burst through the door just as I was finishing. Well over eight feet tall and glowing with red-orange flames, the creature was a textbook example of a Macarthal demon. I knew that Time Life series would come in handy someday. The beast roared so I had to raise my voice a bit to finish my lecture. “Next, I use the transmorgraphier spell to merge the demon with the ice statue and render it immobile. Morgraphicus stifficus.” Another little wand wave and the demon merged with the statue, or in other words shrank a couple of feet and was encased in ice. Now came the fun part. I slipped my wand back into I-space and pulled out my sword. “You can use whatever’s handy, but I prefer to use my sword because I like the feel of the hilt in my hand as I kill stuff.” I decided to show off a bit for the kiddies and leapt into the air, spun around, and whipped my sword out in a thunderous strike against the frozen beast, which shattered into a million pieces in a really satisfying way. “You students clean that up and no homework for tonight.” Then they started cheering which was nice and all, but I had a professor to seduce, so I left them there and went in search of Snape.

I found him in the potions lab. It was a dreary place full of mysterious bottles and bubbling caldrons. However, I was carrying a bottle myself, one that could cure all of Snape’s ills. “Hello, Snape,” I purred as I stalked across the floor towards him. He was starting to look gratifying nervous.

“Mary Sue. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Finished with the Dark Arts already?” He smirked quite well for a man who would soon be a slave to my wiles.

“Oh, yes. I got rid of that pesky fire demon for you and left the children to clean up.” He looked impressed, but he hadn’t seen anything yet. “I thought we could have that discussion of my talents we spoke of earlier.” I was right in front of him now and could see him trying hard to stay calm and nonchalant. 

“Your talents?” he asked. “What talents would you like to show me?”

“I happen to have a deft touch with potions myself. Here’s one that I think you’ll really enjoy.” I pulled out a cobalt blue bottle filled with a botanical shampoo I’d made myself. “You’ll feel like a whole new man without that grease in your hair.” I grinned in invitation and saw his eyes flicker in acquiescence. “I’ll even show you how it’s done. Your shower or mine?”

“Mine is closer, I believe.” He took my arm and we adjourned to his chambers for an afternoon, evening, night and early morning of hot, wet fun that really doesn’t belong in a children’s book. I left him limp and begging for more, but it was time to move on. Enough with the kid’s stuff, I was ready for the big time.

 

 

 

 

 

The Amorality

of the Immorally Relative Spam 

Not that things ever turn out quite like I expect.

I’d been having a great time. I mean what’s not to like. I was an incredibly old immortal technical writer with apparently oodles of money in the bank. No fictional character was safe from my nefarious ways. X-ray vision, pyro abilities thus far not demonstrated, but existing because I’ve always liked fire, a really neat-o sword, a magic wand, a tiny nose and incredibly perky breasts. Cue impossibly cute flip of mint green hair over right shoulder. My God, I’m so cute I can’t help but love me. I must be impossibly annoying. Oh, well. 

I was thinking, “I’m on a road trip and feeling fine. I drove from California to France. How cool is that. Oh, Oh, mime. There’s a random mime just standing on a random street in France. This is just too cool. As sure as my name is Mary Sue, I’m going to take his picture and war blog it.” This was my last chapter mistake.

How was I to know that the frelling freaking frigging mime was a lu-suh jing tzahng mei yong duh Section One Agent. This so blows. 

Quick as some disgusting and yet colorful metaphor involving geese and fat, they had me strapped to some sort of weird metal chair thingy. God, it was so embarrassing. I’m the Mary Sue. They should love and worship me. Damn it, why am I so important to the plot? Why would I do this to myself other than all the incredibly flattering attention that I’ve been getting from fictional and incredibly cool characters and forget I asked.

Nikita strode into the room, her eyes shaded from the impossibly white lights by a totally Catwoman pair of shades. I wondered where she got them. “You’re choice is simple.” I rolled my eyes, it’s always a simple choice with Section One. “You can either spend the rest of your life strapped to this very uncomfortable chair or you can use your unique abilities to help us destroy Chartreuse Mist.” There was a slight background buzz, Nikita paused, “Wait, no, this week we will be eliminating Amethyst Cloud, a very dangerous terrorist organization.”

I pondered my options. On one hand, since I’m an impossibly old immortal, who has spent the last several thousand years training to be an absolutely kick ass fighter because I am going to be the frelling one and who was a potential slayer before she died for the first time and has some really cool kryptonite mutations and you know magical powers, I could tell them exactly where Amethyst Cloud was and kill every last one of them single handed. Nikita would probably invite me over to her place for red red wine full of smooth mouth feel, which is nice in its way, but since I don’t actually swing in that direction and I didn’t sign up for slash fiction, yeah, anyway... Burkoff’s cute and all and all geeky and stuff and no, that’s it no. 

“I think that you will find that if you contact the Center that I am in fact Mr. Jones as well as a Senior Partner and quite possibly the First Evil. In fact, I’m incorporeal.” I stylishly stepped out of my restraints, clad entirely head to toe in black leather. We’re talking cute little leather boots with cute glued on tight leather pants, a leather corset, but you know tasteful and some sort of leather necklace chain thing. And since, you know boots, made for walking, I walked through the wall into the main area of Section One. 

Nikita followed me, via the door, her face wreathed in worry. “Wait, you can’t do this. They’ll kill you. They control all of us.”

My vertigo inducing rainbow hued eyes narrowed dangerously, “Honey, I’m the Mary Sue. I think you’ll find that I can do whatever the hell I want and everyone who is in the story will freaking love me for it. Heck, wanna see Michael smile. Michael come here.” Michael lopped across the white tiled floor, his hair a mass of confusion, his face a stony mask of not-showing any expression-ness. “Listen to this.” I then proceeded to tell an exceedingly long and boring story about my last assignment at work, ear wax, and the etymology of the word friend across all romance languages, which I have, dear reader, cut from this version, because it is all thirty pages of immensely tedious. Immense. Tedious. Word. Michael was, of course, utterly convulsed in laughter. Face crinkled and cracked with big belly laughing laughter. It was totally Out of Character. They had to carry him off on a stretcher. It wasn’t pretty. He’d be a broken man until the reset button was struck.

“See.” I said. “Now, how the hell do I blow this place. Oh, do’h.” I snapped my fingers and I was standing next to my cherry red convertible. “Now this is more…oh, hell.” My hand passed right through the steering wheel. “I’m incorporeal. This sucks.” I tapped my long silver skull wearing slender fingers together, each moment like unto an eternity of boring. “Hey, I’m not the first evil anymore.” Nothing. "I am no longer a higher life form." I'd have rested my head on the steering wheel, but my silky chestnut locks went right through it. "God, I've ascended to a higher life form, shoot me now."

Thankfully, the Scoobies, having finally finished casting contract negotiations with every single character of any importance that had ever appeared on the series, cast the impossibly difficult tres uber ultra Slayer spell, summoning the First Good. And if I may say, “Hello, in ultimate goodness nurse. Hubba. Hubba. Hubba.”

I’d describe what happened next, but dear reader, your eyeballs would cook in their own eye sockets with the heat of my description. Let’s just say that we drove into the sunset and leave it at that shall we.

And with a winkle of her impossibly cute little nose, Mary Sue was free, free at last.

Until the sequel, “The Return of Fiery Teenage Mary Sue, this time this vengeance is personal, harder, and involves more guns.”