Parts 6-10

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Clarice sighed as another door was slammed in her face. This had been the fourteenth, no, fifteenth time in a row. She turned to Commander Rick. Judging from the expression on is face, he was equally discouraged.

The two had been going door to door in the residential areas, attempting to gather information. The process wasn't working well for the oddly matched search partners. So far all they had found were a good number of door slams and one person who said repeatedly that he didn't want anymore Girl Guide cookies.

"Do you think we're going about this the wrong way?" Blink asked her companion.

"Maybe they think we're bible thumpers," Commander Rick suggested.

"Why? We don't even look the part." Blink headed towards the next house's front door. Commander Rick quickly followed suit, running past Clarice and beating her to the door.

"Do you really want to see how to do this the wrong way?" he smirked. Normally Rick would have been calm and under control. However, the stress from the repeated rejections had gotten to him and he saw this as a chance to blow off some steam. Before Clarice could answer, Commander Rick pounded loudly on the door.

The door opened a crack, only big enough to let the tenant see out. "What are you selling?" a deep voice inside the house asked. The voice seemed to have a metallic echo to it, as if the owner was talking into a steel bucket.

"Would ya like to buy a box of chocolates?" Commander Rick asked in his best Forrest Gump voice. "My mama always used to say life was like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get. But with these you always know you'll get almond inside. That's cause they're chocolate covered almonds. Two bucks a box."

Before the tenant could close the door on them, Blink jammed her foot between it and doorframe. "Sorry to bother you," she apologized, pulling out a 4 x 6 of Joel. "But, have you seen this man?"

The tenant opened the door. To the surprise of Clarice and Rick, the man had a full sized aluminum canoe on his head. As the man turned his head to face Blink, the canoe's gunwale struck the commander, sending him flying across the front yard.

"Let me see the photo," the man requested. Blink handed him the picture. After inspecting the photo, the man shook his head. Clarice made sure to stand clear when he did this.

"So you haven't seen him." Clarice presumed. She took the photo back. "Can I ask you one last thing?"

"Is it about the canoe?" the man guessed correctly. "Let me give you some advice: Never let your writer have you portage an aluminum canoe during a thunderstorm."

Clarice nodded. "Thanks anyway, Mr..."

"Canoehead," the man introduced himself. "Now I you would excuse me, I've got housework to do." As Mr. Canoehead went back in, Blink went to see what had become of Commander Rick. She found him on the front lawn, lying in a heap by the sidewalk.

"Any luck?" he asked hopefully.

Clarice helped Commander Rick back up. "Nothing new, but I bet you already guessed that," she explained.

The two walked over the next house on the street, a small one-story bungalow. When they reached the front door, Clarice stuck out her arm to block Commander Rick.

"This time I'll knock," she said. Rick, still dazed from being hit by the canoe, didn't complain. Blink rapped upon the door. There was no answer.

She tried again, knocking louder this time. Still no answer.

She pounded on the door a third time. Still nothing.

Before deciding to give in, Claire tried the doorknob. The front door was open and she let herself in.

The interior of the house was a disaster: furniture was flipped over, beer bottles were scattered everywhere and anywhere, and an assortment of junk food was in the process of being ground into the carpet. The owner of the house lay passed out on a half-collapsed couch. From the looks of it, a wild party had happened the night before.

Judging from the state of the resident fictive, Blink figured she wasn't going to get any information there. She started for the door when one of the countless beer bottles caught her eye. It wasn't the bottle itself that intrigued Clarice; it was the label. Around there Guinness was universal beer of choice, but this wasn't Guinness. It was something completely different.

"Hey Rick. Come in here," she called towards the open front door.

Commander Rick had been waiting out on the porch. He hopped through the mess over to Clarice. "What's up?"

"What do you make of this bottle?" Blink asked, pointing out her discovery.

"Elsinore," Commander Rick explained. "It's a Canadian brand; extremely hard to find, even up there. Heaven only knows how someone got hold of a case here."

Over on the couch, the homeowner was coming to. Blink and Rick decided it was high time to make their exit. Before she left, Clarice grabbed the Elsinore bottle. In a community where Guinness flowed like water, it seemed strange that someone would go out of their way to get such an extrinsic brand. If they didn't have proof, she doubted the others would believe them. That and the label looked kinda cool.

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Note/Meta/Whatever you want to call it:
Elsinore Beer wasn't my idea. It's an inside Canadian joke. Ask someone from the Great White North (such as me) to explain it. The same goes for Mr. Canoehead.

Teddog

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In the TTPCTS club, Tom Servo poured drinks and enlisted volunteers for the search for the missing fictives. Most costumers were quite helpful, just a few weren't interested at all. Overall, he still wished he was doing something more. Servo looked up as trio of fictives entered the bar.

Servo recognized the first two immediately. Fox Mulders and Dana Scullys didn't usually come to the TTPCTS, but some had visited. Servo figured the guy behind them was John Doggit, the new guy that he'd heard about on the grapevine. The trio looked around the room before walking to the bar and flashing their ID.

"I know who you are," the bot told them before they introduced themselves.
The three agents sheepishly put their ID away.

"Sorry. Force of habit," Mulder explained. "We're investigating the disappearance several fictives. We'd like..."

"Geez. What took you so long?" Servo interrupted, "We've already started several search parties. Oh well, better late than never, I guess. Where do you want to search?"

"We're asking the questions here!" Doggit retorted.

"We're trying to establish a pattern of abduction, but Joel's disappearance is puzzling. All the other victims were females. Can you tell us about Joel's personal life Mr. Servo? Did he make any enemies?" Scully asked.

"Joel is really easy-going. No enemies," the little robot replied.

"Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity Scully. It's pretty common in Subreality," Mulder said before drawing a deep breath, a clear sign to all that he was about to start another of his long-winded, crazy theories.

"Scully, some writer somewhere must be behind all this," Mulder began, "How can some character just kidnap another? Whoever did this has to be either a writer or backed by a writer. Imagine if you will that someone rented 'Manos: The Hands of Fate.' Not the MSTied version, just the movie itself."

"That's possible. Mistakes happen," Doggit conceded.
By now, most of the other conversations had ceased. The customers turned to listen to Mulder.

"Imagine that not only did this person rent the unMSTied movie," Mulder continued,

"Suppose the person actually watched the whole thing through without turning it off in disgust."

"That may be...possible," Scully said dubiously.

"If someone could watch it the whole way through, then maybe someone could actually like it," Mulder suggested. "Maybe it was someone's favorite movie. How would that demented person feel when they saw Joel and the bots make fun of it? Surely the rage of this clearly disturbed mind would be immense. How would such a madman react? He would write his own stories about Manos and Torgo and set them loose upon the citizens of Subreality. It explains why all the previous victims were females. The characters in that movie were nuts for girls. It also explains why they took Joel. They want to exact revenge on the person who made fun of their movie."

There was a long pause with crickets chirping in the background. As expected, everybody in the bar started laughing. No one could ever like 'Manos.' It was impossible.

"Good one, Mulder," Doggit snickered.

Mulder stormed out of the bar in huff. Scully immediately followed trying to console him and offer more plausible explanations. Doggit rolled his eyes and turned back to Servo.

"If you can remember anything useful, call this number," Doggit said as he set his card on the bar and followed his companions out of the bar.

Servo was not sorry to see them go. He was actually a little shaken by Mulder's theory. What if it was true!?! He turned to one of the many versions of Crow T. Robot.

"You don't think that's really possible do you? Somebody actually liking 'Manos'?" he asked hoping for a negative reply.

"Anything's possible in Subreality. That's probably the craziest thing I've ever heard though. I hope Mulder's wrong," Crow said nervously, "If he's not, then Joel's in really deep trouble and you and I need to watch our backs."

Servo returned to his bartending. He didn't want to talk to this Crow anymore. He hoped that there'd be a more chipper one later. Meanwhile, he'd try to pretend he hadn't heard Mulder's theory.

Amanda

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"This bites."

"Aw, it ain't dat bad, cherie."

"No really, THIS BITES. I mean, here I am, an ex-superheroine, with a good deal of proper PI apprenticeship under my belt, we have a massive case involving a number of victims and WHERE am I? Sitting down and properly interviewing potential suspects? NO! Instead, I'm wandering around in the worst part of town, getting glared at by a bunch of fading fictives and accompanied by the Subreality equivalent of cannon fodder--"

"HEY!"

"-- searching futilely for a solution which more than likely ISN'T going to be found here. And why? Because Miss "SRPD Car Aisle" has no freakin' sense of humor." She scowled and kicked an empty bottle of Guinness away from her.

Gambit frowned. "Well, if you hadn't been going out of yo way to erk her, she might've been a bit more understanding, hmm?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Only because she rubs me the wrong way. I mean, talk about pushy! And she thinks she knows everything. I don't know WHY Bodger created her." She harumphed.

Gambit, wisely, chose not to say anything.

Alexis sighed. "At this rate, absolutely NOTHING'S going to hap -- OW!"

She rubbed the back of her neck and looked down at the ground. A rock was just finishing its descent and bounced a bit in the dirt. It wasn't too hard to figure out what had happened.

Alexis didn't need this kind of crap.

"All right, you little punk, just because I'm a little more established than you are doesn't mean you have to go. . . beating up on. . ."

She blanched. Behind her was a short, malformed, long-haired man, who was glaring at her quite malevolently. His head was vaguely shaped like a lightbulb, and his body was something akin to an upside-down trumpet on toothpicks. His arms almost seemed to have no bones in them at all.

Gambit looked in the same direction. "Whoa! What de bloody hell be DAT?"

Alexis sighed. "Blast from Bodger's past, Gambit. THAT would be one of her first fictives. Sean Mahogany, I believe."

"Why he look like some lil' kid's drawing?"

Alexis thought for a moment. "Well, that WAS how he was first drawn; I guess he's stuck that way for now. I think it's because he became UnWritten when she was still in the fifth grade, or something." Alexis looked at the little figure sadly as it ran down an alley. "The only reason he hasn't faded utterly by now is either that she reinterprets him in her drawings or that the concept still exists. She still hasn't entirely let him go, I suspect -- he was a favorite back in her younger years."

Gambit thought for a moment. "Think he know someting 'bout them missing fictives?"

Alexis blinked. "Why should he? You're not saying it's not some sort of grudge against Bodger, are you?" She eyed him warily.

"Not at all, cherie! Still, he be one of Bodger's -- maybe he be willin' to help," reasoned Gambit.

Alexis shook her head. "You wanna talk to him, go ahead. The last thing I need is to be reminded of where I may be going if Bodger doesn't finish her first script for that comic idea of hers. Besides, he's clearly not too fond of me," she said.

Gambit shrugged. "Suit yo'self, cherie. How bout I meet you near de central square 'round twelve, den?"

"Fine, fine. I'll see if I can check out some of the other areas," agreed Alexis.

"That's de way! I be seeing you den!" He headed in the direction of the fictive.

"Oh, and Gambit?"

He stopped and turned. "Yeh?"

She smiled. "Thanks."

Gambit grinned. "Hey, anything fo' a pretty woman like you." He ducked into the alley.

She smirked. 'There's a compliment I haven't heard for a while,' she thought. 'Even if it is from a Gambit.'

Bodger

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"Think they're gone?"

*pant*pant* "Sure hope so." *pant*pant*

Joel looked down from the rather tall tree he and Mike had climbed to escape the slippers. It seemed most of their time in Subreality was spent in trees, avoiding the numerous badguys and other such that wandered such a place. He had dropped his gummis along the way, but even then they were still wary about jumping down.

Still, time was wasting, and with Joel... the other Joel missing, there wasn't much they could afford to lose. Mike leapt down first, his broadsword clutched anxiously between his two hands, and his partner hopped down a moment later.

So far, so good.

"What's the next bar on the list?" Mike asked, blue eyes still darting nervously around, trying to find a trace of the slippers.

"Um, Fried Green Hedgehog...?" The inventor frowned to himself, wondering about the name.

Mike chuckled, "Is that the name or the cuisine?"

"Could be either."

"Ugh."

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In a darker corner of Subreality, Sabretooth and Adriana were on the prowl. The AoA Bar and Grill hadn't turned up any leads, though Creed had reveled in the hour he spent there with people he had some recognition of. Nonetheless, the mission at hand had pulled him reluctantly away, and now he's got his high-powered sniffer in gear.

"Where are we, anyway?" Adrie asked, looking around carefully for clues.

Vic shrugged. "Got me, babe. Fer all I know, we could jus' be goin' in circles in this place."

She was about to reply when a far off melody caught both of their attentions. Frowning to himself, Victor tilted his head in that direction to pick it up clearer, and Adrie did the same. It was a simple tune if they had ever heard one, only consisting of four notes, but those four notes were somehow haunting.

"Someone with a flute?" she ventured, hesitantly.

Creed's eyebrows drew together, and he shook his head. "Kinda sounds like an old record or somethin', skippin' over an' over."

Adriana shuddered. For some weird reason, that tune sounded almost sinister.

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Too far away to hear the melody, Jean Grey and Logan kept on their woodland search. They hadn't turned anything up but some soiled... well, prophylactics, undoubtedly left behind by a bunch of kiddies. Aside from that, though, not even a scent of Joel in the area.

Unbeknownst to them, however, they were being watched... and carefully.

SLWatson

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After very brief investigation in Slashonia, Commander Rick and Blink took off for the Shifting Sands. Rick had gotten his car back from the TTPCTS, which made travelling a lot easier.

Clarice rolled down her window to let in the seaside air. "Please tell me we won't go back there," she pleaded.

The commander shivered upon thinking of their last stop. "No, we're never ever going back there, unless your writer says otherwise." He glanced out the window. Before them was a vast expanse of sand and surf. So this was The Shifting Sands. It looked it could be a nice place, that is, if it wasn't so crowded. People seemed to be everywhere.

"That's strange," Blink noted. "It's usually a lot quieter. I guess we've got a better chance at finding answers with all these people here."

Commander Rick nodded in agreement. Their last few stops had proved fruitless. The more people, the better their chances. He parked the car and the two began their work.

The first person they approached was an old man in a robe. He seemed very out of place in the beach environment. When asked about Joel, all he said was "It's a long time yet before the dawn." He then staggered aimlessly down the beach.

Clarice and Commander Rick looked blankly at each other. They had seen some strange things on their search, but this took the prize.

"What do you think he means?" Commander Rick asked Blink.

"I can tell you what!" a voice that was definitely not Clarice's answered. A second later, a bright red dog-like creature jumped into Blink's arms. She was startled to say the least.

The animal seemed to be canine, but in place of a muzzle it had a yellow beak, and it wore a pair of wrap around shades. "He means nothing. That monk's loaded," it explained. "Rael was lookin' for him earlier. By the way, welcome to the music mainstream party. What band are you guys from?"

"We're not from a band. I'm Clarice Ferguson, and this is Commander Rick Smith. We're on a search for a missing fictive named Joel Robinson," Blink said, still a little shaky from the surprise. "Have you seen him?"

The animal shook his head. "No, and I don't think anyone else here would either. Those jerks are pretty headstrong about being mainstreams and most don't associate with fictives such as you two," the creature sighed.

Clarice was even more surprised by this comment. "You're a mainstream, and you don't like other mainstreams?"

The animal shrugged its shoulders. "They're okay, but I rather hang out you fictives."

Commander Rick's jaw dropped. "You're kidding me, right? Who are you?"

"The name's Larry Boniface Clebdon," the creature explained. "I'm a Moxy Fruvous mainstream. Don't let that fool ya, though. I don't believe in this fictive, avatar, and mainstream crap. After all, any character is a character in the end. If you don't like it, blame my writer."

Rick smiled. "I like your style," he praised, patting the animal on the head. Larry wagged his flat tail.

"So, what can you do?" Blink asked the newcomer.

"I thought you'd never ask," Larry said. "I've got a great knowledge of music and stuff. I always beat my buds at Guess-That-Tune."

Clarice turned to Commander Rick. "Should we let him join?" she asked.

"As long as he doesn't ruin my car, I'm fine."

Larry Boniface Clebdon let out a cry of joy.

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In a far corner of Subreality, Kitty and Nan-Cy sat at a computer console. They had been searching files for hours on end, hoping to find information on Joel's disappearance. Despite their combined efforts, all they could find was a MIDI file that played the same four notes over and over again…

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Note:
I think I broke all the rules in this part. Larry Boniface Clebdon is owned Moxy Fruvous, a Canadian band… (Teddog is beaten up by the other writers has they read the word "Canadian" again)
Rael and the dunk monk are owned by Genesis. Don't ask.

Teddog

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