From: Megan Kennedy Date: Sat, 10 Jul 1999 18:27:04 -0700 (PDT) Subject: Fanfic Title: "Dialogue: The Shrunked Head" Author: Megan E. Kennedy E-Mail Address: mekamorph@yahoo.com Rating: G Category: VH Spoilers: None Keywords: None Summary: Mulder's latest acquisition is a shrunken head. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine, though if you don't know that, I'm curious as to why you're reading this- rant mode off. They are Chris "One Syllable Away From Death" Carter's and 1013's and Fox's and any number of other people's, the salient fact being that they aren't mine. Please don't sue me, I want to go to college... "Dialogue: The Shrunken Head" by Megan E. Kennedy When Scully came into the office, Mulder was staring at a glass jar. Inside the glass jar was a large quantity of greenish fluid. Inside the fluid was a shrunken head. "Mulder, why is there a shrunken head on your desk?" He shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure." "Well, where did it come from?" Mulder was silent. "You don't know where it came from?" "I didn't say that." "You didn't say anything." Mulder looked up for a moment. "Does it matter where the head came from?" "Yes, it matters!" Scully dropped her briefcase on her desk. "Did you buy it?" "Nnnn-yes," Mulder admitted. "I think." "You think?" "Well, I and a bottle of rum bought it." "Oh, Mulder." She rolled her eyes. "The rum thought it was interesting." "Where the hell did you get it?" "Uhm....'Mambo Bokri's Houmfor and Brothel' according to the receipt." "Since when did brothels issue receipts?" "I don't think the brothel was involved in this transaction." "What the hell's a houmfor, anyway?" "A voodoo temple." "You've been consorting with voodoo priestesses while drunk?" "You make it sound like a crime." "It depends on what kind of consorting it is. Remember the last time we messed around with voodoo?" "Colonel Wharton wasn't a mambo. Or whatever the male form of the term is." "And you're the one with the photographic memory." "I'm not a voodoo expert, okay? And it still doesn't solve the problem of the shrunken head." "Well, you have the receipt. Just return it." Mulder looked at her incredulously. "Return it? Scully, I don't think I can find this place again, and how the hell do you return a shrunken head?" "Try a phone book, Mulder, and just explain you were drunk when you bought it and you think it's very nice but you don't want it anymore because you're sober now and it's a shrunken head." "Oh, yeah, a houmfor will really be in the phone book." "Worth a try." "And I didn't say I didn't want it anymore." "It's a shrunken head!" "Yes, we established that." Scully flopped down in a chair. "Why do you want a shrunken a head?" "I dunno, it's kind of growing on me." He turned the shriveled visage towards her. "See? Doesn't it look a bit like Skinner when he's pissed?" "Mulder, a tomato looked more like Skinner when he's pissed. Now get that ugly thing away from me." "I think it would make a nice bookend." "Mulder-" "What?" "I am not going to have a shrunken head in this office. Uh-uh." "Technically, Scully, I _am_ your boss." "And technically, Mulder, I could do a lot of damage around here with a claw hammer and a Bowie knife." Mulder put on hand over the head's jar and another over the pile of UFO photos on his desk. "You wouldn't." "You're right, I don't know what that green fluid is." "So I can keep it?" Scully rolled her eyes again. "The shrunken head is not a dog that followed you home from school, Mulder." "Still..." "Think you could find Mambo Bokri's if I got you liquored up again?" she asked, a tinge of a threat in her voice. "All I was going to say was that we really can't just call it 'the shrunken head.' It needs a name." "We're going to name the shrunken head?" she asked incredulously. "Yes. Well, I am. If you want a say in this-" "Oh, fine. How about 'T.S.H.'?" "Scully!" he said reproachfully. "Mulder!" she countered. "Oh, find. Hmm..." He pinged some sunflower seed hulls against the jar. "Martin?" "Why Martin?" "Why not Martin?" They contemplated Martin in silence. "Mulder, how much did this thing cost you?" "Oh, about twenty bucks." "You paid twenty bucks for a shrunken head?" "The jar was free." Scully shook her head, then placed Martin on a shelf where she wouldn't have to look at him too often. "The decorations around this place have been getting stranger and stranger since we moved in, you know?" Mulder blinked. "What do you mean?" "Well, first you had the 'I Want To Believe' poster. Then you had your collection of humorous crime-scene photos-" "Don't tell me the one with the head in the toilet wasn't at least absurd-looking." "-Then I put up that cross-stitch my mother made me, that Serenity Prayer." Mulder's eyebrows went up. "You did? I hadn't noticed." Scully pointed to the framed fabric on the wall. It read, "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change those I can, the wisdom to know the difference, and the patience to explain which is which to my partner." "I mentioned it at her house once and she ran with it." "That's incorrect, you know. I know the difference between what I can change and what I can't." "Then why is it every time we go before a review board you end up shouting at the members?" "They're usually rude to me, that's why." "To continue on my original subject-now we have a shrunken head for a bookend. Next thing you know, you'll make a dart board out of one of those cardboard stand-up Reticulans they sell at Spencer's Gifts." "You've been into Spencer's Gifts?" Mulder asked. "Why do you sound so surprised?" "Well...it doesn't seem like your kind of place." "What does seem like my kind of place?" she prodded, obviously enjoying this. "Oh, I don't know...Things Remembered or Deck the Walls. Not a place where they have three shelves of sex-oriented products per one of strange jewelry and blacklight paraphernalia." "You've counted?" she said. "I was make a point." "Badly, I might add." "You'd know a lot about points, wouldn't you, Scully?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows. "All that time in Spencer's-" "Shut up and help me with these expense reports." Suddenly a muffled chanting in Creole began emanating from the shelf. Martin's withered mouth was moving slightly. "You shut up, too, or start adding." Martin was silent.