Idle Hands Are The Devil's Workshop

[Talisman]

It's late, but what with the Jobberknoll lobby, gratuitous Destroyer 
usage, raging MD disorder, and the Sunday Update looming, Carolyn's 
burning the candles low. That's not the only thing running low, from 
the look of the empty bottles lying around.

She takes a sip from her mug and pads back through the parlor.  
Coffee needs a little something. A little...she pauses to look up 
into the dark recesses of the staircase. Was that a snore or a snort 
of derision?  Hmmm, mightn't be too late to borrow a spot of gin, at 
that. 

She turns toward the stairs, but--what's this? Bloody footprints 
lead across the Axminster and disappear into an old armchair.

Swinging her mug like a cudgel, Carolyn leaps to the front of the 
chair.  Two eyes blink up from a pile of raw liver; no...make that a 
gore-spattered creature, frozen in the process of licking its 
fingers.   

"Evening," it says, flashing a sticky smile.  "I've, um, finished 
those posts you gave me before I left town. Come to see if you've 
got a few more."

"Talisman?"  

"Indeed," it murmurs, bobbing its head so that a blob of something 
slips from the blood-matted hair to the floor, with a soft plop.

"Well...that's...just...fine," Carolyn nods vaguely, surveying the 
ruined upholstery.  A realization that the Chesterfield will forever 
bear a rusty silhouette sizzles through her beleaguered 
neurons. "Right," she snarls. "I thought you were off composing 
prurient limericks, or something. Really, I'd given up hope of 
getting anything useful out of you this month."

"I know, I'm dreadful," Talisman says earnestly, rising from the 
chair and reaching for Carolyn's quickly retracted arm. 

"First it was that trip, and then I DID get distracted by 
Kneasy...." (This time, a definite *Snort* from above.) "But," she 
continues giddily, "I realized last night that you'd given me work 
the first part of January, and here it was the last weekend, so I 
felt I owed you at least an hour or so...  And, guess what?  That's 
all it took! 150 posts just like that!"  

Talisman beams at Carolyn and tries to snap her fingers, but 
succeeds only in a slippery flap that flecks the wallpaper with 
ruddy droplets. "I think about 45 made it through."

"Oh God," Carolyn closes her eyes, shuddering inwardly. "It's 
doomed. It`s all doomed."  

Keeping her eyes shut, and barely moving her lips over barred teeth, 
she hisses, "Weren't you paying attention AT ALL, when I went over 
this with Jen?  Didn't I show you my ROPE?"  Her eyes snap open.  
She begins to move feverishly through the room.  "Where is 
it...where...oh,just you...you...by your scrawny effing neck..."

"No, really," Talisman sputters, "it's all legit...
Listen, first there were all these 'when will OOP be released?' 
speculations. OT, right? Sliced and diced.

Then someone started a 'who is the most pitiable character' chain.  

I really did look to see if anything probative bubbled up, but it 
was all 'it's worse to have a happy life cut short. Huh-uh, it's 
worse to have a long sucky one.'  I considered them species of O.2 
(Personal Fav?). Ran the first few through with a pike, and then 
just started ripping heads off like spent blossoms.  

After a bit, they switched to 'who do you think is most enviable? 
people who have short but happy lives? or long ones that suck?'  I 
think that's when I started using my teeth."

Carolyn leans back against the wall, breathing steam through flared 
nostrils, and fixes Talisman in a beady stare.  Can't trust this one 
out of your sight.

Encouraged, Talisman presses on. "And, there is a certain from-the-
rear poster who keeps trying to launch theories based on clearly 
flawed premises, like 'we don't know how old Sirius was when he 
played the prank.'  These were gutted and feed to 0.7.  A flurry of 
responses citing canon, like 'duh, try this page where it says he's 
16,' would follow.  Just popped `em like bubble wrap.  It was all 
buy-one-get-four, you know?"  

Carolyn rubs her temples; somewhere in the background she can hear 
Talisman nattering on....

"And, then there was a series of posts about Draco's upbringing--
WHICH I KEPT. Which. I. kept. But, by a few posts in, the Malfoys 
were left behind and the thread turned into: 'I didn't say Americans 
make wussy parents, I just said inconsistency is as bad as abuse.  
Oh really? Well,what do you know? I don't care to take parenting 
advice from the childless. No, you misunderstood me. No, YOU 
misunderstood ME.' Followed by apologies all around.  I felt some 
draw and quarter coming on...."

Carolyn rifles the pocket of her Brunhilde negligee for a pencil and 
a scrap of paper. Someone's going to have to clean up the mess; and 
then it's plastic slipcovers and newspapers on the floor until this 
lot leave. 

"We'll see," She sighs wearily. "Next time, a simple note will 
suffice.  Now get out of here and hose off.  Better yet, burn those 
things; and don`t come back until you look relatively human."

"Gottcha," Talisman winks.  "Hey, I don't expect a treat like this 
every day. I've got my MD biscuits, a monitor head rest, and a 2-
posts-per-hour speed limit sign all set up and ready to go. 

So, I'll wait to hear from you on the next batch...right?"

Carolyn manages a stiff nod.

Talisman squelches toward the door, pausing as she fumbles with the 
knob, "Oh, and thanks for the ##1017,1022 rejection encouragements, 
I may slip back into the old wood to slit a few throats."

Carolyn dumps her coffee into the potted sneezewort and vaults up 
the stairs, "I know where he keeps the bottles," she mutters. "HEY, 
KNEASY--open up and gimme some of that hooch, NOW!"