Lord of the Fandom (aka Unicorn Pegasus Kitten story)
The painting that inspired the contest:
If you haven’t read them, my previous two entries talk about my thought process behind my story.
And now, my entry, which (again) is the silliest thing I’ve ever written, after the cut…
Lord of the Fandom
The fair boy and the fat boy solemnly made their way down the beach. They could see him sitting there as soon as they rose over the hill that marked the edge of their camp, the dark haired boy sitting on a log of driftwood, with several other children gathered around. Even though a pact protected them, they approached cautiously, always concerned about suspicious play.
The dark haired boy, Jack, seemed surprised to see them. “Is it that time of the week already? I lost track of time.” The two boys shared a look, each wondering if they could have put things off for another day, knowing for certain they couldn’t have. Jack knew exactly what day it was. Jack knew everything.
“How many do you have left?” Jack asked, a tone to his voice that reminded them he already knew the answer.
The fair boy refused to be intimidated. “Just us. You know it’s just us.”
Jack smiled, his teeth matching the color of his grungy Dharma initiative t-shirt. “And I’ve lost…” Jack looked around at the other boys, ranging in age from six to twelve. “Oh, right. I haven’t lost yet.” The fat boy looked down, turning pink from embarrassment. “So, what do you have in mind for this week’s competition?”
The fat kid looked up again, mumbling, “Comic Books: Batman versus Spider-Man.”
“We’ve done that.”
“We’ll let you have Batman this time,” the fat kid offered as encouragement.
“We’ve done that too.”
The fair kid gestured the fat one down and offered his own suggestion. “How about, Computer Magnates? Bill Gates against Steve Jobs?”
Jack looked intrigued. “That’s the most original suggestion you’ve had in weeks, Ralph. But who really wants to imagine two old businessmen locked in mortal combat?”
Ralph sat on the log next to Jack. “Okay, no old people.” He looked at the kids around him, inspired when he saw one wearing a SeaTrek shirt, a memorial to the fallen vessel that landed them here. “What about Wil Wheaton?”
The fat kid looked at Ralph in dismay. Lives were on the line here, and he was banking it on… “Wil Wheaton?”
“Yeah, why not. Geek figurehead. Not an old man. Not one of the tired superheroes we’ve used week after week.”
Jack looked entertained. “Wesley Crusher? You want to use the stupid kid from Next Generation?”
“No, not the character. The guy behind him.”
“Yeah,” the fat kid spoke with a bit more confidence. “Yeah, Wil Wheaton!”
Jack’s entertainment had faded. “Who are you going to pit him against? The guy who plays Sheldon on Big Bang Theory?”
Ralph was getting more serious. Some sort of plan was hatching in his mind. “Stop confusing the performer with his characters. He’s an actor. He’s a writer. He’s…”
“The stupid blogger who put out that picture of himself with a dumb clown sweater on, right?” Jack interrupted. “Man, I can’t take him seriously. Nuts to your Wil Wheaton.”
The fat kid interjected again, “Wil Wheaton!” He kept trying to pronounce it like the baby from Family Guy, emphasizing extra h-sounds, but nobody seemed to pay him much attention, so he just came across as a fat kid yelling out the same name repeatedly.
Ralph looked squarely at Jack. “What’s the matter Jack, afraid? Our hero is Wil Wheaton. Our fandom is bloggers. What do you have?”
Jack looked at a loss. He stood up from the log and stepped away, followed by the children who were present. In the distance, the two remaining boys could hear even more kids playing, a grim reminder of their small numbers. Ralph tried his best not to let his confidence fade as Jack and the others plotted. He pushed his hair back out of his face as he waited, and tried not to focus on the fat kid’s wheezing repetition of Wil Wheaton’s name.
Finally, Jack returned. Clearly trying to take control of the situation back, he sat down calmly, the other boys returning to their previous places. It was quickly apparent that their positioning, seemingly random, was planned out by Jack from the start. Jack looked around at the beach, took a deep breath, and then spoke.
“Alright. We’ve got a blogger to match yours.” Jack held onto the name to draw out the suspense. Finally he revealed it, “Adam Curry!”
“No,” Ralph uttered, resolutely. “Curry’s a podcaster, not a blogger. Different skills.”
“Well, doesn’t Wheaton run a podcast?” Jack was getting desperate to hold onto his choice.
“Not regularity enough that the two would cross paths on that venue,” Ralph defended his rejection. The fair boy stood up. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, we’ll just go.”
“Yeah, you gotta be realistic,” the fat kid jabbed, completely missing the irony of his own words.
Jack looked annoyed. “Fine, give me some other bloggers and I’ll pick one.”
“Let’s see,” Ralph hadn’t expected to come up with someone else. He tried to stack the deck in his favor. “Um, Peter David blogs… and Roger Ebert… and.. um, John Scalzi.”
Jack’s annoyance grew. “What, you’re giving me a bunch of fat, bald men?”
“Scalzi’s not fat…” the fat one chimed in. “And all of them have hair.”
Jack did not look pleased, but Ralph would be damned before he gave up someone like Neil Gaiman or Felicia Day. Finally Jack blustered, “Fine, I’ll take Scalzi and put him up against your clown-wearing freak.” Ralph stood certain he could beat John Scalzi with Wil Wheaton, but he was going to need help. “What’s the setting?” Jack asked, his attitude back in full. “No, you both came up with the duel. Let the little’uns decide.”
The surrounding children gleamed with excitement now that they were included as well. They started shouting out settings recklessly, much to Ralph’s disappointment. “Desert!” shouted one. “The Old West!” another. Finally came the one that caught Jack’s attention: “Mustafar!” Jack glared at Ralph, who was forced to agree. The volcanic planet from Revenge of the Sith would have to suffice, although Ralph had been hoping for something a little more Star Trekian.
Silence fell over the group as Jack and Ralph prepared for combat. Everyone present knew the stakes, but for Ralph more was on the line than ever before. If he won, well, then he’d finally have a victory. If he lost, however, he was facing solitude. Not that his counterpart was the best company, but it was better than being alone. Loneliness was what put him on this cruise in the first place; the hope of meeting others like him. Nobody could have imagined the week that would follow…
Ralph snapped back into focus. He was dwelling on the wrong thing. He needed to win this contest, and he wasn’t going to win contemplating the past. How could Wil Wheaton defeat John Scalzi?
Jack struck first. He set the stage with Scalzi and Wheaton on an embankment, surrounded by volcanoes in constant eruption. One wrong move and either combatant would burn horrifically in the trickles of molten lava. Borrowing too heavily from Revenge of the Sith, Scalzi had the high ground, and, in an embarrassing jab, Wheaton, although a bearded adult, was wearing the brightly colored, homemade clown sweater.
Ralph’s mind reeled. He had nothing to work with. Jack’s Scalzi had the high ground, and Wheaton was just standing there in a stupid, humiliating sweater. Thankfully, Jack made a critical mistake. “Scalzi pulls out his death dealing PC…”
“Wait a bit,” Ralph interrupted. “Where’s he getting a death computer?”
“From the commercials,” Jack explained. “You know, ‘he’s a PC’?”
“That’s John Hodgeman, not John Scalzi!” Ralph rebuked Jack, gaining a bit of confidence.
“Whatever!” Jack wailed, attempting to get back into the flow of things, but it was too late. He had left an opening, and Ralph was going for it.
To counter the high ground, Ralph gave Wil Wheaton a spear from Rubicon III. So far, Scalzi hadn’t drawn a weapon, giving Ralph the upper hand. Before Jack could react, Wil stabbed at Scalzi, drawing first blood. Ralph really wanted to throw in a Melville reference for good measure, but decided that was more Picard than Wheaton.
Jack looked unphased. “Doesn’t matter. Now you’ve made him angry. You won’t like him when he’s angry.”
“That’s Bill Bixby… or Edward Norton or, quite the stretch, Eric Bana. Maybe if you’d gone with Peter David you could pull that line off, but Scalzi…”
“But see, this isn’t your normal John Scalzi,” Jack explained. “With the draw of blood, you’ve unleashed a monster. He puffs up, growing in size and gaining ample muscle. A shield appears in one arm, and a battle axe in the other, as you unleash, the Scalzi Troll!”
“Scalzi Troll?” the fat kid asked. A murmur from around them echoed his disbelief.
“Sure. Big muscle, massive weapons, and can regenerate damage?” Jack explained as if everyone around him had suddenly been struck stupid.
“Trolls can regenerate damage, but what you’ve described is an orc. You’ve turned Scalzi into an orc,” argued the fat kid.
“Troll, orc, whatever.” Jack replied.
“No, there’s a big difference! Trolls can regenerate. Orcs can’t. You turned him into an orc.”
Jack was clearly bothered by the interruptions and attempted to return to the story. “So the Scalzi Troll.”
“Scalzi Orc!” Ralph jumped in.
“Whatever!” Jack yelled.
“Exactly,” the fat kid replied, pleased with his little joke. To his disappointment, nobody else even smiled, and he knew it was futile to explain it.
“So, the Scalzi Orc roars mightily, a fierce presence that unbalances the Wheaton. The Scalzi Orc charges forward, smashing Wheaton with his shield, a gleam of victory in his eye as Wheaton falls to his death.” Jack had a similar gleam as Ralph realized he had been written into a corner. But if Jack was going to pull a ridiculous stunt…
“Not so fast,” Ralph interrupted. “Clearly you didn’t count on Wil being in good company. As he falls, he is snatched, midair, by his… by his…” the fair boy was getting desperate, and grabbed the first thought that came to his mind. “By his… unicorn!”
“Pegasus,” the fat boy corrected.
“Kitten!” one of the little’uns shouted out, desperate to be involved in the action.
“That’s right, he’s snatched midair by his… unicorn pegasus kitten, who throws him up higher and then flies underneath him, giving him the chance to mount up.” Ralph felt the gleam of victory in his own eye. “As Wheaton flies down, closer to the Scalzi Orc, he taunts, ‘Where’s your high ground now?’”
“Oh, Scalzi’s not afraid of a unicorn pegasus kitten,” Jack refused to back down. “As he prepares to charge in with his battle axe, a volcano in the distance erupts.”
Suddenly all of the boys were caught in the moment. A clear image was burned in everyone’s inner eye. They could all see Scalzi, as an Orc, preparing to do battle with Wil Wheaton, who was wearing his infamous clown sweater while astride a unicorn pegasus kitten. The moment was frozen in time, as both parties realized they had created something so awesome, so enormous, that there was no way either side could come out a victor. It was a stalemate, and to move the story beyond that beautiful moment was to ruin it forever.
Jack and Ralph looked at each other with pure understanding. The two boys stood up, shook hands, and Ralph proceeded to walk back down the beach, the fat boy following him. It wasn’t a victory, but Ralph knew it wasn’t a loss either. It was something more sublime and transcendent than either of those outcomes.
Eventually the boys would be rescued, but not before Ralph lost his overweight companion and was hunted by the other boys for refusing to compete anymore. But that is another story, for another author.