TTPCTS Club
by: Bodger (bodger@homestead.com)

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"Look, I'm pretty sure it's against the rules for us to be here."

"No, it's only against the rules for you guys to be hanging around the place as patrons. I didn't see a thing about actually working here."

"Oh, whoopie."

"Quiet, you. Look, it's leaning on the left -- pull it up a little."

The blond, elfin avatar groaned and pulled the sign up on the necessary side. He'd never asked to do all this, but when his writer asked him to do something he had to do it. It was completely different when she was present as her Self-Insert, where he didn't have to listen to a thing she said. But when she was actually there in the flesh, he didn't really have much of a choice.

"Does this better suit you, oh high and mighty one?"

"You did it too far. Pull it back down."

It was times like these where breaking some major taboos and killing his writer was a major temptation.

Unbeknownst to both avatar and writer, their activities had been acquiring spectators in the forms of a certain sleepy-eyed janitor and a golden spider-duck/robot.

"Well this looks interesting," commented Joel Robinson.

"What, an elf nailing up a sign? Yeah, I guess it isn't something you see everyday," replied Crow T. Robot.

"Actually, I was referring to the new place in general," explained Joel, waving his arm towards the new building. "I wonder what's going up here?"

"Well, only one way to find out. HEY MISS WRITER!"

Both writer and avatar jumped. This proved to be unfortunate for the elf, as in doing so the hammer dropped from his hand. As he reached down to get it, the sign slipped and nailed him on the head, knocking him out.

The writer turned around. "Oh! Joel! Crow! Cripes, you scared me! How's it going?"

He shrugged. "Not too bad. That fic you're writing me in is a tad on the downer side, though."

She shrugged. "It's got a happy ending."

"If you say so. Um, is he all right?" asked Joel, indicating the elf.

"Who, Kirin? Don't worry, he's an avatar. He doesn't croak unless I say so," she replied.

Joel frowned. He never felt entirely comfortable around writers.

"Say, Joel and I were kinda wondering what you're opening here," said Crow, peeking around from behind Joel.

"What, this? It's a new club," she replied, grinning.

Crow pondered this for a moment, then asked the most vital question: "Will Kat Catrall be a member?"

"I doubt it."

"Ah, poopy."

Joel chuckled. "Well, it never hurts to ask, right Crow?"

"*sniff* I'm never gonna meet her."

Joel shook his head. "Well anyway, I think the more important question is what kind of club you're opening."

"Oh, that's easy," said the author. "I bid you welcome to the TTPCTS Club!"

There was a pause. "The WHAT?"

"The TTPCTS Club, or 'Take The Plot Concept Too Seriously' Club," replied a muffled voice from under the sign. Kirin lifted it off his head and threw it aside with a certain degree of annoyance. "It's a club designated for fictives whose authors take their settings way too seriously."

"Oh, you mean like Miss 'Angsty-Joel' here," commented Crow, looking sideways towards the writer.

"Hey, I don't make him THAT bad. What about the Project?"

Joel shuddered. "Don't remind me of that, PLEASE."

Crow suddenly glomped onto Joel's leg. "You won't croak on us, will you Joel? Compadre?"

"Don't worry, Crow honey, I'll be around for a long time," he replied, patting Crow's waffle-net.

"Yaaaaay!"

"Well, it's not just for MST3K characters," the writer continued. "It's also for pretty much any show where the writers go entirely the wrong direction in writing their fics."

"Serious death dramas in Friends," Kirin gave as an example.

"Murder in Chicken Run," added the writer.

"Rape in Pokemon."

"Steamy sex stories in Harry Potter."

"Betrayal in The Muppet Show."

"Suicide in Red Dwarf."

Crow's eyes widened. "Um, we get the picture. Ugh."

The writer tapped her nose. "Exactly. We felt the characters needed a place to vent. Call it MiSTer's conscience."

"Or backstabbing," deadpanned Kirin.

"Shut up. You still need to get that sign up."

The elf scowled as he hefted the large sign. "Couldn't you just write the sign on, or at least give me some help? I don't think Alexis is doing anything at the moment."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be as funny that way," she explained.

"You've got a warped sense of humor," Kirin grumbled as he began the tedious process of putting the sign back up.

The writer rolled her eyes and looked back towards Joel. "Avatars. Give 'em an inch and they'll walk a mile," she whispered conspiratorily.

"I heard that."

"Say, are you looking for any help? Except for a few MiSTings here and there we don't get a lot of tedious work," offered Joel.

The writer pondered this for a moment. "Well, how good are you at mixing drinks? We're looking for a bartender at the moment."

"He does a mean Killer Shrew," Crow piped in.

"Crow, I really don't think that drink is suitable for the general public," said Joel, holding his stomach at the painful memory.

"What about Servo? He's always been pretty good at mixology. He's the only guy I know who can take pistachio ice cream and kahlua and make a good drink out of it," the golden bot suggested.

"Really? I thought his arms didn't work," said the writer.

Joel shrugged. "We find ways around it."

"If he's willing, that's fine. We could use the help," said the writer cheerfully.

"Right! I'm gonna find Servo! He's probably hanging around the Subreality Cafe looking for X-Chicks again," said Crow, running off.

The writer looked at Joel. "X-Chicks?"

He sighed. "He sits off to the side and waits for female X-Men to come out. I've told him not to, but..."

She chuckled. "Oh well. It wouldn't be the bots if they didn't do that sort of thing, right?"

"Well yeah, I suppose not."

The writer had an idea. "Oh, I know! It's against the rules for writers to look after these places, and Mr. Sunshine over there doesn't strike me as the type to ensure public satisfaction, so how about you manage the place for me? I know you have experience," she offered.

"Really? Hey, that'd be great. It'd be kinda cool meeting other fictives like us," answered Joel.

"Wonderful! This could end up being something big!" she exclaimed, grinning.

Crow came back at that moment. "Servo wants to know what he'd get paid," he reported.

"Hmm... $20,000 a year cut it? I mean, it's only a bartending job," said the writer.

"Well, lessee... HEY SERVO! TWENTY GRAND A YEAR! HOW'S 'BOUTS?"

"BITE ME!" came a distant reply.

Crow shook his head. "No go."

"Okay... twenty grand and all the RAM chips he wants," she amended.

"Wow! SERVO! SHE'S TOSSING IN ALL THE RAM CHIPS YOU CAN EAT!" Crow hollared.

"WOW! SIGN ME UP FOR _THAT!_"

Crow looked back at the writer. "He's in."

"Yes! In that case, the TTPCTS Club is officially open for business!"

The announcment was greeted not by trumpets and fanfare, but by a very irate elf swearing his head off after hitting his thumb with a hammer.

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Disclaimers: MST3K belongs to BBI. Subreality was Kielle's divising, and we mean no infringement here... Red Dwarf belongs to BBC, and everyone else mentioned is owned by everyone else.