From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Fri, 1 Jul 2011 20:32:31 -0500 (CDT) Subject: The Truth of the Matter by Deirdre Source: direct Reply To: cschick@gmail.com (Just testing Ephemeral. Really. ;) Note, July 1, 2011 There is some part of me which says ... might as well. This is the follow-up to The File on the X-Files. But this definitely requires more explanation. This story was written in July/August 1996. If you don't remember or know what the Internet was like back then: cross-ocean Internet connections were slow as molasses. The three archive setup of the Gossamer Project was originally to combat that issue: Gossamer tried to keep servers in Europe/the UK, the United States, and Australia. This story pre-dates that setup, and just barely pre-dates the organization of the Gossamer Project. Natasha's site was what became the US Gossamer Project site at Simplenet. At the time this story was written, she had just inherited all the files from Vincent at the original Ohio-State Gossamer site and was busy working with a group of people (including me!) to develop the summary and categorization database has driven Gossamer from that point forward. The British site was Steph's site. She ran eXtreme Possibilities, a site dedicated to Mulder/Scully romance stories. Soon after this story was written, she also began running the UK-based Gossamer mirror which shut down in early 1997. Steph was known for being an extremely dedicated shipper and a major presence on the ATXC newsgroup. Also, in the few months between when the last story was written and this story, the term "shipper" came into usage rather than "Romantics" as a result of the May 1996 relationship wars. Netscape was THE BROWSER. The one and only. I haven't the faintest clue what the "Winona Ryder rumor" was. ----- The Truth of the Matter Deirdre (cschick@gmail.com) Okay, another Gnyfer story (everyone that read the first one, stop moaning please). This one's a wee bit more abrasive than the other ... please remember it's all tongue-in-cheek. This might make more sense if you read the first one (The File on the X-files) or it might not. I don't know. No insult intended to any 'shippers or romance writers, I bow before your excellence. Then I turn and make fun of it. Perfectly logical, huh? Summary: Gnyfer strikes again! His sudden re-appearance reveals a deeply hidden secret of Chris Carter's, a secret that will shock 'shippers and anti-'shippers alike! Rating: S,H ***** Chris Carter leaned back in his chair and sighed. Producing a television show was hard work ... much too hard sometimes, especially on days when everything went wrong. But now, with about an hour to relax before anyone came seeking him, he could relax. Well, kind of. Unfortunately his choice of diversions was one he needed to be careful that no one discovered, especially those insane x-philes on the 'net. For if they did, well, the results wouldn't be pretty. And not just because of the fan reaction. So, after stretching muscles cramped by several hours of sitting at his desk, screaming at people over the telephone, he stood up and silently locked the door. Kicking at one of the many crumpled pieces of paper that littered his floor, he returned to his chair and turned towards the thing that dominated his desk. His computer ... his lovely, packed-full-of-options computer. Gigantic hard drive, lots and lots of RAM, and the fastest modem a person could buy ... everything a computer geek could desire. And of course he only used the set-up for writing. Of *course*. Turning it on, he waited impatiently for the system to boot up, aware of the time flying past, then quickly signed onto the Internet, avoiding his email. Someone could mention *business* in there ... a terrible, avoidable prospect. He wasn't online for business. Not tonight. Immediately opening Netscape, he hesitated just for a second, mind rapidly sorting through the possibilities. Running over his list of memorized urls, recognizing his mood, he swiftly settled upon the perfect one. Ah, just how perfect! Although even he'd admit the US-British connections were sometimes too slow for his liking ... the collection, the collection was perfect. Typing in the memorized address (for he didn't dare bookmark it--too risky, who knows what might take a look at that file?) he waited for the page to load, fingers tapping impatiently upon the desk. Glancing through the page he hastily weighed the prospects, organizing and rejecting ideas even as he looked towards others. Then he saw it. His eyes lit with glee and he clicked upon it, sighing with happiness and barely restraining a delighted shout. Finally! Nothing could disturb this perfect evening. Well, almost nothing. Totally engrossed, he barely noticed anything but the screen before him until two skinny legs, feet enclosed in bright purple shoes, suddenly appeared dangling before him. When they registered, he gasped in shock and hastily minimized the Netscape window, praying that it had not seen. "Why, hello." The gray creature sitting upon the monitor returned the greeting with a nod and a smile. "Just coming to tell you that I like what you've been doing. 'Specially that recent announcement that shook those damn 'shippers right out of their socks. You know--the one where you claimed the two would never be in a romantic relationship because of the reaction of fans on the Internet? Artfully done, I must say. Especially coming on top of the Winona Ryder rumor." Carter tried not to grimace, watching the thing gently thud its purple-shod heels into his computer screen. Artfully done? Yeah, especially if you counted the amount of people now angry at him ... one reason he'd been avoiding the newsgroups these past few weeks. It was so easy to want to defend himself, to explain ... but one word wrong, one word that revealed his true self and inclinations, one word that would be broadcast far and wide ... and very bad things would happen. Very, very bad things. Although this horrid thing might stop bothering him out of pure disgust. Quickly suppressing that thought, he responded "Why, thank you." "Our agreement is secure, unblemished by that slop Pusher." the creature grinned. "And the general quality of the show is back on the upswing, thanks to my cooperation. Think the 'philes are anxious enough for the premiere by now?" "Very ready, I hope." And after laughing, which did very unpleasant things to his smashed-up features, the creature jumped down from his perch upon the computer, landing right upon the mouse pad, its purple cape swirling dramatically around it, revealing the slightest glimpse of a heavily jeweled handle of a tiny sword. Distracted, Carter stared at the sword for an instant, wondering why a figment of his imagination (or whatever) would be costumed in a bad copy of some Medieval outfit. A bad, bright purple copy, even to the fake felt cap on its hairless head. And that distraction proved his undoing. "Cool, you're online!" exclaimed the excited creature, peering at the Netscape icon on the bottom of the screen. "What 'ya doing?" And taking the mouse in both hands, it double-clicked on the icon. As what he'd been reading popped up on the screen, betraying him, Carter almost fainted. Now what was he to do? Gloved hands resting upon cloaked hips the creature began reading aloud. [ "You're sure?" he asked yet again, his hands running up and down her arms, smoothing along her skin. "Yes," she said a bit more emphatically, bemusement creeping into her voice once more. "I'm fine." "Well, I'm not," Mulder muttered as he brought his lips to hers with a kind of barely controlled violence. His mouth crushed against hers, surprising her. Blindly she clung to his arms for balance, while he kissed her as if he thought to mark her in this way, stamp her as his own. ] "What in hell is this?!?!" it shouted, all humor leaving its voice, hastily using the mouse to scroll up the screen. "At a Loss for Words, by Karen Rasch? Why are you reading this slop?!?" Its skin had turned a brilliant green, a color that looked even worse than its usual gray for some reason. And a shade of green that clashed with the purple. Searching his mind for a believable explanation Carter responded, "Um, someone just told me to check out this site ... I didn't know what type of fan-fiction was on it! I was as shocked as you are to read that!" Clicking back, the creature answered "Yeah, right. You're on a site whose main page is entitled 'eXtreme Possibilities' and whose creator is one of the truly dedicated 'shippers on the 'net. And makes that clear on every page of her archive." It stared at Carter, red eyes demanding an explanation. Feeling his face grow hot, Carter answered "Well, I was just trying to relax. You know, find some stuff that I've never read, enjoy these people's perspective on the show. I never expected to stumble on that." "If you were looking for X-files fanfic, stuff that followed the show's format, you wouldn't be here. Do you think I'm computer-stupid? I keep track of these things, you idiot. You've be over on that Gossamer site, the one that has all the summaries." "Natasha's, on Simplenet." whispered Carter without thinking, then glanced over at the creature, who was thankfully too enraged to notice. "And you'd be reading Livengoo's Corpse, or even Sheryl Martin's Dragon Tales ..." "Jackie St. George" issued quietly from Carter's mouth, another comment that it thankfully missed. "NOT THIS!!!!! That's the type of stuff that works, the type of stuff that isn't or almost isn't erotic slop. You know what reading this could do to you?" Luckily, his betraying mouth stayed silent this time. "You could accidentally start to write more than UST into your scripts ... and lose my help. This is what Pusher emerged out of, isn't it?!? Reading this stuff off the 'net?" "I didn't mean anything ... I was just reading ..." "Go to hell." And with a swirl of its cape, it vanished. Carter stared at the spot for a moment, his world crashing around his ears. If it left him, where would he get his ideas? Who would help him? Tears began rolling down his face, and he put his head into his hands, bemoaning his fate. "Oh, stop it." the voice came from behind him. He whipped around to find the creature seated upon a shelf, the green slightly faded back towards gray, a disgusted look on his face. "You're such a baby. I'm not leaving forever, unfortunately. You've still kept our bargain, so I have to. I don't break my agreements, and deal harshly with those who do. Understand?" Carter nodded. "Good. Goodnight." It vanished again. Glancing around to make sure it was fully gone, Carter shook his head. Now he had to be even more careful. Glancing back at his computer, his eyes glanced over the words and he shook his head sadly. Now even this was too risky. Leaning over, he signed off and leaned back in his chair. No more, he promised himself, no more. That resolution lasted about five minutes. ***** Washington, DC The man walked down the hall, his lighted cigarette glowing slightly in the after midnight darkness of the building, thanking God for the silence. After the party atmosphere of the last six hours--the endless music and laughter and screaming--it was far more than welcomed. It was required. The aliens, those helpful, bossy, noisy diplomats whom the government tried to please in every way, had found out about Halloween. About the costumes, the candy, the fun ... and had demanded that they hold a costume party. It didn't matter to them that the holiday was over a month away, and only for children, they had demanded a party *now*. A party with costumes, bobbing for apples, hide-and-seek, a haunted house ... the full works. And candy, especially candy. Candy and aliens ... well, it wasn't a good mix. Sugar went to their heads like alcohol to a human's head, a fact that he had thought funny once upon a time. Getting drunk on sugar? It seemed so fantastic. But not after tonight. Never after tonight. Rubbing his pounding head, he continued down the hall, hoping that they all had finally collapsed somewhere. And knowing that he wasn't coming in early tomorrow. The last thing he needed to deal with was a bunch of aliens with hangovers. But as he neared the back door, a thumping sound intruded into his silence. A rhythmic thumping that went on and on ... not ceasing even as he drew near. Rounding a corner in search of the noise, he saw a small shadow, draped in a long cloak, thumping his head against the wall. Quickly remembering which aliens had been wearing such costumes, he realized who it was and tried to fade back into the shadows. Hell, the *last* thing he needed to deal with tonight was their primary diplomat, drunk on sugar and upset enough to start slamming his head into walls. It wouldn't hurt him, not with his extraordinary thick skull. Maybe it might even knock some sense into the idiot. But the odor of the cigarette gave him away. The damn sensitive noses of those creatures! He turned and screamed "You! You! Why does everyone betray me?" The man stared at the clearly delusional alien for a second and said "Gnfyer, no one's betrayed you." "He's betrayed me ... even he doesn't believe in the right of my decision." "Gnfyer ..." he said, not clear on how to respond, not even knowing what the thing was talking about. When these things got on a roll, nothing would stop them. Not even the fact that whatever was going on only mattered to them. "I hate life." and the alien sank to the floor, and fell asleep. The man dropped his half-burned cigarette to the floor and squashed it, then picked up Gnyfer. No, he didn't want to do this. But if he wanted to keep his hide in good shape, he wouldn't leave the supreme diplomat of the most-valued allies in earth's section of space laying on the floor in a back hallway. Luckily the short guy was really light. Oh, he hated his life. End.