Posted on Sunday, 22 September 2002
Colonel Fitzwilliam dried his hands on the plush beige hand towel in the fictional men's room of the DWG. Contemplating the fine porcelain sinks, polished silver fixtures, marble flooring and general opulence of this marvel of indoor plumbing, he thought to himself, Life is good. For some of us, at least, he corrected as a sopping wet rat dragged its bedraggled body in through the door. On closer inspection, he realized it was his cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and his appearance was more indicative of a hurricane survivor than the perfectly tailored Master of Pemberley.
"Darcy! You are unwell?" Of all the lines that he had been ever given, he thought with satisfaction, this one was the most appropriate to the current situation.
This, however, seemed to be lost on Darcy, who glared up from the floor as he blew water out of his nostrils and whipped his head back in attempt to get his dripping locks out of his eyes. He dragged himself over to the sink, and with great effort reached up to the edge and slowly rose, groaning all the while. When this feat of resolve was accomplished, he returned to glaring at his cousin. After staring at the Colonel for a few moments while gripping the edge of the sink for support, he managed to speak.
"That was not, perhaps, the most intelligent thing you've ever said, Colonel. Although I must give you some credit. Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most remarkable gift for stating the obvious?" he gasped out in as dry a tone as he could manage, considering his current condition.
He had a red welt running around his neck and up the side of his face, and there were several slimy tendrils of vegetation hanging from his ears and tangled in his hair. His cravat was MIA, his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were in various damp stages of tatters, his once cream linen breeches were now covered in green stains, and his boots were horribly muddy. Wherever his flesh was exposed there were red welts and the beginnings of bruises. In short, Fitzwilliam Darcy was a sorry mess. After briefly sizing up his cousin's state, Colonel Fitzwilliam decided not to take offense at Darcy's crabbiness. It seemed warranted.
"What has happened, Darcy, for you to be in such an, um, state? This seems to be taking the wet shirt motif a bit far." Darcy, being in some pain, went for the succinct angle.
"Reunion scene. At the pond." The Colonel was puzzled. Understandably so. He had just come from a scene with Elizabeth, at Rosings, in which he revealed to her Darcy's interference in the Bingley/Jane affair. So how could she have also been at Pemberley for a reunion scene? The Colonel voiced his wonderment.
"Wait a minute," Darcy began, "That's where she was? With you? Who runs the schedule around here? If I'm going to blindly dive into a pond full of, and get my butt kicked by Mutant Curious-Water Plants from Beyond the Stars, somebody had bl**dy well make sure Elizabeth's there at the end of it to nurse me back to health! Oh, Mademoiselle Authoress," he began to mumble to himself, "No amount of complimentary laundry service is going to make up for this!"
"What? You get complimentary laundry service? No fair! I'm always footing the bill to get my uniform cleaned. No one wants to see a scummy Colonel. Speaking of which, I've got a meeting with a new authoress. Something about a security team and the AGM or something." Darcy couldn't believe his cousin. Here he was, seriously damaged, and all the Colonel could think about was his laundry? Some people he thought indignantly. I mean, he's a military man. Does he not think that mutant vegetation is a threat to national security? Wait a minute! A new authoress...
"Would this meeting happen to be in the new conference room on floor 56 D?" he asked casually.
"Why, yes, have you met her?"
"Oh yes. She's the one arranging for free laundry. You know, Colonel," Darcy whispered confidentially, slinging his arm around the Colonel's shoulder and glancing around to make sure no one was listening, "If you volunteer for a pond reunion scene, I'm sure she'd offer to take care of your laundry in return." Darcy had stumbled suddenly on a way to get revenge for the Colonel's indifference. (Among other things, of which there are too many to get into now, but I'm sure the gentle reader can fill in the blanks.) Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared pleased with this information, but then a cloud settled upon his brow.
"Wait. For me to be able to do a reunion scene at the Pemberley pond, it'd have to be a story in which I get Elizabeth. And that," he gestured, "doesn't bother you?" Darcy frowned, but quickly composed his features. It hadn't seemed so at the time, but now he began to think it was a good thing that he had ran..er..crawled, rather, into Mrs. Jennings earlier. She had imparted a bit of information that would seal the Colonel's doom, if Darcy played his cards properly.
"Oh, no no no no no, ol' bean. I'm feeling very generous today. I wouldn't mind at all. Actually, ask this authoress specifically for it to be a Colonel/Elizabeth story. Free laundry service will be only the beginning of your benefits." That'll teach him. Just see if he is so eager to go repeat everything I say to him after this. Darcy felt a 'Muahahaha' and victory dance were in order, but he managed to contain himself for the moment. Colonel Fitzwilliam couldn't contain his elation, and pumped the lesser damaged of his cousin's arms enthusiastically.
"Darcy, I can't thank you enough. Indeed, you are generous today." Darcy waved him off, and the Colonel quickly exited the men's room, eager to make it to his meeting on time. As soon as Darcy was sure that the Colonel was gone, he indulged in the aforementioned maniacal laughter and victory dance, and blessed his cousin's credulity.
Meanwhile, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood in the elevator and blessed his good fortune in finding an authoress who, apparently, seemed to like stories in which he married Elizabeth. Hey, he thought, maybe she'll even let me live for more than six months after the wedding. The elevator door opened at the 41st floor, at which point Mrs. Jennings, a known member of the Austen Gossip Monger's, boarded.
"Oh, Colonel Fitzwilliam! I am so glad to see you. I have the most important news, and you must hear. I know you are on your way to a security meeting on floor 56 D. Now, there's something I must warn you about, concerning this authoress. She absolutely..." The Colonel brushed her off.
"I've heard all about her. Wonderful news, isn't it? I can't wait to find out what my next role will be," he pondered blithely. Mrs. Jennings shook her head. She didn't know what to make of the young men these days.
"Well, this is my floor. Take care, Mrs. Jennings," he exited the elevator and strode resolutely to the new conference room. He found the meeting already in session. Every Austen military man was assembled, from Colonel Brandon to William Price. The authoress stood at the head of the table.
"So nice of you to finally join us, Bob."
"Pardon me, but did you just call me 'Bob'?" asked a confused Colonel Fitzwilliam. The authoress smiled.
"Yes. It's actually short for Colonel "Hasn't-got-a-first-name-but-often-referred-to-as-Richard-though-Jane-Austen-didn't-care-for-that-name-herself-so-I'll-just-call-him-Bob" Fitzwilliam. You like?"
"But why," he asked in a sweeping gesture, "Bob, of all names?"
"Just flows well. I suppose I could have gone for something more original, like Aloysius, but Bob's begun to grow on me. Sit down, if you please," she said, indicating a chair. He did so.
"So, continuing on. Wickham, you're in charge of infiltrating and charming information out of the AGM. Just don't turn double-agent on me. You know I keep black pills. Captain Wentworth will write and file all mission reports, logs, etc. Mr. Weston....um...you can just, get on everyone's good side for me. Ok, gentleman, that's a wrap." Everyone else had already received his assignment, and so they filed out of the room, leaving 'Bob' and the authoress alone.
"What about me? Don't I get an assignment?" Colonel Fitzwilliam whined. The authoress sat down as well, and gazed thoughtfully at the Colonel.
"Why were you late?"
"I was in the bathroom, washing my hands, when a rather wet Darcy made an appearance. We were talking, so, there you have it. He seemed to be in a bit of a bad mood at first, but then he brightened up and even went so far as to give me some really generous advice."
"You saw Darcy, did you? Haha. I should say he'd be wet. The C W-P was feeling a little feisty today. And he gave you a bit of advice, did he? This should be interesting." Colonel Fitzwilliam was still feeling confident in his own assumptions about the authoress, and so didn't hesitate to launch into his request. He did so with his usual charm of address and openness of countenance, and so it came as a bit of a shock to him when the authoress started having an apoplectic fit.
"You...want me to...arrange for Elizabeth to marry...you! Not Darcy?!" she spluttered. She rose to her full height of six feet (the authoress's father is six-foot-seven) and bored into the Colonel with a steely gaze. If looks could kill...
Colonel Fitzwilliam began to have misgivings about coming here. Darcy sure hadn't known what he was talking about. Or maybe he had...
"My dear Colonel," the authoress was still talking, "there's something that you should know about me. You are responsible for about five of my ulcers and two cardiac arrests. I used to like you, I really did. When I first read Pride and Prejudice, I thought of you as a very charming gentleman, and I wished you well. Then, I began to wonder if you were just a plot device, but quickly dismissed those thoughts. You were also somewhat visually appealing when in the guise of that Anthony Calf fellow. But then, you started to overstep your bounds. Who do you think you are, trying to keep Elizabeth and Darcy apart? When you show up in a story, you can cause me more worry than even Wickham, or Caroline, or A Misunderstanding. Until it's established that you and Elizabeth have a purely platonic relationship, I'm on tenterhooks. And believe me, they're not comfortable. And I've even found myself in a somewhat catatonic state, mumbling, 'no Colonel Fitzwilliam. go away. know your role: you're a plot device. go away. bad Colonel Fitzwilliam.' That doesn't give me a very reassuring view of my mental health. So, when you're in my stories, you just remember to know your role, hear me? I have no objections to you following the commands of the other writers, in fact, I love the smell of angst in the morning, but in my own stories at least I had hoped to escape the agony of your overstepping your bounds." She felt drained by this tirade, and fainted dead away. This gave Colonel Fitzwilliam some time to think. There were some smelling salts on the mantel, but the authoress had rather offended him, so he decided spitefully that he would not try to revive her, though he was a gentleman. Mrs. Jennings had probably been trying to warn him about this. And Darcy...he was at the bottom of this. He never did take it well when the Colonel made the romantic lead, and it had been only a matter of time before he pulled a stunt like this.
"Well, Darcy, thanks to you, my fate is, at the moment, rather uncertain, but if I come through whatever she has in store for me, I must say, I begrudgingly admire your style." The Colonel was both an optimistic and forgiving soul, which is good for this authoress, for if she ever wants the Colonel to behave in the future, she must hope that he won't harbor a grudge about this little episode. The authoress still lay inert on the floor, and the Colonel realized he and all else might soon cease to exist in this story if he didn't revive her soon. And so, the smelling salts were duly applied.
"Phew! Is that ammonia? Thanks, but you're still going to pay for your presumption. Let's see, I already had the gardener go and dispose of the Mutant Curious Water-Plants From Beyond the Stars, so that's out of the question. Hey, you should have seen the look on Darcy's face when that thing grabbed his ankles. Classic!" She and Colonel Fitzwilliam shared a laugh; the latter connected this with Darcy's soggy state in the bathroom, and suddenly remembered the non-laundry part of the conversation.
"Man, I wish I had been there! You say you got rid of it? Too bad, although it does kind of sound like a security threat. Speaking of which, I'm a Colonel in the army! What's my assignment? The AGM are a sneaky bunch. You need every man you can get."
"Well, we'll talk after you learn your lesson. You and Darcy are a lot alike, you know, always trying to avoid the real issue. Well, anyway, when I was passed out down there, I had a flash of inspiration!" she said with an evil grin. "Are you familiar with the copyright rules here at the Guild? No crossovers with anything that's, well, copyrighted, so that makes song lyrics iffy. Hahaha. So Colonel Fitzwilliam, you are going to get a song stuck in your head. You know how when you get a song stuck in your head and you only know one line of it, and it plays over and over and gets louder and louder and the only relief you can get is to sing it as loud as you can until it's out of your system? Well, that's what's going to happen to you, only, since I don't want any copyright infringement going on in my story, you won't be able to sing it out loud." Colonel Fitzwilliam only managed a blank stare as she pressed a buzzer on her desk, summoning Mary Bennet.
"Mary, take him down to the music room. Play the most annoying thing you can think of, and make sure he listens. If you need any inspiration, feel free to contact Emma, Georgiana, Jane Fairfax, or your sister, Elizabeth. Or get the harp ladies. It may not be the most perfect punishment on a symbolic level," she mused, "but, hey, whatever works to keep the characters in line." The gravity of his situation had finally dawned on the Colonel, and he began struggling as Mary led him out of the conference room.
"Darcy! Darcy! Help! Please, I'm family! I promise I'll stay away from Elizabeth! Where are you? Don't let them give me unpleasant associations about one of my main conversational topics! Heeeelp!!!!!" his voice trailed off as he was dragged to the music room. The authoress, meanwhile, shook her head sadly.
"Sorry to do that to you Colonel, but a girl must establish her authority somehow. That Darcy. Jane Austen knew what she was saying when she called him clever. Note to self: Must start being nicer to these characters before they start to think that I don't like them. Or before a rebellion ensues. Though what do we live for, but to make sport for these characters, and laugh at them in our turn?"
Meanwhile, back in the men's room, Darcy could hear the Colonel's screams coming all the way from the music room. Ah, so there is some justice in this world after all. Life is good.