Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2007-09-20 12:09 am
ptahrrific) wrote2007-09-20 12:09 am
Entry tags:
Fake News: The Thing With Feathers, Chapter 2
Title: The Thing With Feathers, Chapter 2
Fandom: The Daily Show/The Colbert Report
Rating: G
Words: ~1300
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: Second verse, same as the first.
For the full table of contents, click here.
The Thing With Feathers
Chapter 2
(there.)
Something was very, very wrong.
Stephen had spent the past ten minutes turning his office upside down in a frantic search for his car keys. The fact that they were nowhere to be found was rapidly becoming the least of his worries.
The whole room had changed. Not in ways that you'd notice if you took a quick glance; it was subtle, but unmistakable. There were more pictures of himself on the walls, for one thing. His Pirates of Penzance poster had been replaced with a cheap Tek Jansen print. In one of his desk drawers he had found a sheaf of papers with his signature -- and nothing else, just the signature, over and over as though he'd been practicing it. Another of the drawers was locked, and as it had never had a lock before he didn't know where to find the key.
Worst of all, his family pictures were missing. He had called home, to apologize for being late (and maybe, just maybe, to confirm that his staff had gone crazy, not him), but nobody had picked up.
There was a knock on the door, and he stopped rifling through his suit pockets for the third time to answer. "Who is it?"
"It's Bobby." The man on the far side tried to open the door, but Stephen had, for the first time since he could remember, actually locked it.
"I don't want to talk to Bobby," snapped Stephen. "I want to talk to Eric."
"Would you like me to be Eric?" asked Eric's voice doubtfully.
"Not like that, no! I don't want Bobby-pretending-to-be-Eric, I want Eric. Or Paul. Or Allison or Rich, if they're here. Are they still here?"
"I'm afraid I don't know an Allison or a Rich. If you give me last names, I can try to find them..."
"Allison Silverman and Richard Dahm." He knew as he said them that it would be useless. If Bobby didn't know them -- that is, if Eric was pretending not to know them -- then it was unlikely they would turn up.
"I'll do some research," said Bobby/Eric. "And I've called Mr. Stewart," he added. "He's on his way over."
Stephen heard the other man walk away before he could think of a reply; he was too busy letting waves of relief crash over him. Whatever was going on, whatever strangely thorough scheme his staff was involved in, Jon wouldn't play along with it, not if it were genuinely scaring Stephen.
And there it was. This wasn't just an annoyance any more. Stephen had left Annoyedville, passed the exit for Creeped Out Town, and aimed straight towards the heart of Scared City.
---------------------
---------------------
(here.)
There was an insistent knock on the door. Fortunately, these were easier than iPhones to shut up. "Go 'way," mumbled Stephen.
The knocking got louder; then Bobby's voice said, "Stephen, are you in there? It's half past nine!"
"We can push rehearsal back," called Stephen without opening his eyes. "Ten more minutes!"
"Did you say rehearsal?" asked Bobby, opening the door.
At that, Stephen did open his eyes, glaring at his stage manager. "I told you, don't open closed doors without an invitation!"
"Well, sorry," replied Bobby, in an astoundingly impudent tone. Stephen would have to do something about that. He closed his eyes as he heard the door click shut, and then a voice muffled by the barrier asked, "Can I come in?"
"No," said Stephen firmly.
And that, he thought, ought to be that.
"You feeling all right?" continued the stage manager.
Okay, they would do this the hard way.
"Fine," snapped Stephen. "I'm just trying to have a relaxing nap. Wake me when it's time for rehearsal."
Again the door opened, and Stephen turned his head to glare. Bobby, only his head and shoulders leaning past the door, didn't seem to notice. "You did say rehearsal," he observed, sounding distressingly un-intimidated.
"That," confirmed Stephen, glaring harder, "is what I said."
"Rehearsal's long over. So is the show, for that matter."
That woke Stephen up in a hurry. "You did them without me?!" he demanded, scrambling to his feet all at once.
"Um, no. You were there, don't you remember?"
Stephen blinked. He didn't remember, if truth be told; and anyway he didn't understand why they would have broadcast so early. But then again, he always claimed he could host the show in his sleep. Maybe this time he actually had.
So he told the truthiness. "Of course I remember," he said briskly. "Great episode, wasn't it? So, ah, is there anything else to do?"
"Nope. You can go home now."
"Good. Thanks, Bobby."
To his utter bewilderment, Bobby actually snickered at this! "Good night, Mr. Colbert," he said, winking. "See you tomorrow."
---------------------
Stephen stood in front of the studio door, tapping his foot. Yes, he was a couple of hours early, but that shouldn't have made any difference to Sam. A good driver is simply there whenever the drivee needs him. The wait would be coming out of his paycheck, there was no question of that; all that was left was for Stephen to work out exactly how much his time was worth per minute.
He was almost sick of tapping when a woman with long curly brown hair approached from behind him. "Hey, Stephen," she said. "Waiting for someone?"
"Yeah. My driver," he replied.
The woman snorted. "Since when do you have a driver?"
A lesser man than Stephen would have found that downright offensive. "Madam," he said stiffly, "a person of my stature, not to mention considerable wealth, would certainly not drive himself anywhere."
"Do you have to answer in-character?" asked the stranger. "I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, you can just say so."
Like Bobby, she was unintimidated -- and Stephen didn't even know her. Was he losing his edge? Lifting an eyebrow sternly, he said, layering the question with every ounce of derision he could muster, "Who are you?"
Now she at least had the grace to look worried.
"Stephen, it's me. Allison."
"You say that as if it's supposed to mean something to me," he continued, trying very hard now to sound dismissive rather than confused.
"Are you feeling all right?" asked the stranger, Allison.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" snapped Stephen. He looked up and down the street and added, half to himself, "And where on Earth is Sam?"
At that point the studio door opened behind him; it was Bobby, and as he passed them Allison grabbed his arm. "Hang on a second, Eric," she said. "Stephen, seriously. Talk to me out-of-character. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," repeated Stephen. "Bobby, do you know this woman?"
They exchanged a look. Oh, yes, they knew each other. It was a familiar look, a meaningful look, the kind of look that meant they were having some kind of unspoken conversation and leaving Stephen out.
At last Bobby said, "Stephen, maybe you'd better come inside."
"Oh no. I've been waiting too long for Sam already; when he shows up, I'm going to just get in and go."
They exchanged another one of those looks. It was most unkind of them.
Then Allison said, "Wouldn't it be fair, since you've been waiting, to make him wait a little for you? And you'll be more comfortable waiting inside, too."
"On second thought," said Stephen, "since I've been waiting so long, it's only fair that he should have to wait for me. I'll wait inside."
He strode in, Allison and Bobby following; and he tried to pretend he couldn't tell that they were actually conversing out loud now, in hushed, worried tones.
Fandom: The Daily Show/The Colbert Report
Rating: G
Words: ~1300
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: Second verse, same as the first.
For the full table of contents, click here.
The Thing With Feathers
Chapter 2
(there.)
Something was very, very wrong.
Stephen had spent the past ten minutes turning his office upside down in a frantic search for his car keys. The fact that they were nowhere to be found was rapidly becoming the least of his worries.
The whole room had changed. Not in ways that you'd notice if you took a quick glance; it was subtle, but unmistakable. There were more pictures of himself on the walls, for one thing. His Pirates of Penzance poster had been replaced with a cheap Tek Jansen print. In one of his desk drawers he had found a sheaf of papers with his signature -- and nothing else, just the signature, over and over as though he'd been practicing it. Another of the drawers was locked, and as it had never had a lock before he didn't know where to find the key.
Worst of all, his family pictures were missing. He had called home, to apologize for being late (and maybe, just maybe, to confirm that his staff had gone crazy, not him), but nobody had picked up.
There was a knock on the door, and he stopped rifling through his suit pockets for the third time to answer. "Who is it?"
"It's Bobby." The man on the far side tried to open the door, but Stephen had, for the first time since he could remember, actually locked it.
"I don't want to talk to Bobby," snapped Stephen. "I want to talk to Eric."
"Would you like me to be Eric?" asked Eric's voice doubtfully.
"Not like that, no! I don't want Bobby-pretending-to-be-Eric, I want Eric. Or Paul. Or Allison or Rich, if they're here. Are they still here?"
"I'm afraid I don't know an Allison or a Rich. If you give me last names, I can try to find them..."
"Allison Silverman and Richard Dahm." He knew as he said them that it would be useless. If Bobby didn't know them -- that is, if Eric was pretending not to know them -- then it was unlikely they would turn up.
"I'll do some research," said Bobby/Eric. "And I've called Mr. Stewart," he added. "He's on his way over."
Stephen heard the other man walk away before he could think of a reply; he was too busy letting waves of relief crash over him. Whatever was going on, whatever strangely thorough scheme his staff was involved in, Jon wouldn't play along with it, not if it were genuinely scaring Stephen.
And there it was. This wasn't just an annoyance any more. Stephen had left Annoyedville, passed the exit for Creeped Out Town, and aimed straight towards the heart of Scared City.
---------------------
(here.)
There was an insistent knock on the door. Fortunately, these were easier than iPhones to shut up. "Go 'way," mumbled Stephen.
The knocking got louder; then Bobby's voice said, "Stephen, are you in there? It's half past nine!"
"We can push rehearsal back," called Stephen without opening his eyes. "Ten more minutes!"
"Did you say rehearsal?" asked Bobby, opening the door.
At that, Stephen did open his eyes, glaring at his stage manager. "I told you, don't open closed doors without an invitation!"
"Well, sorry," replied Bobby, in an astoundingly impudent tone. Stephen would have to do something about that. He closed his eyes as he heard the door click shut, and then a voice muffled by the barrier asked, "Can I come in?"
"No," said Stephen firmly.
And that, he thought, ought to be that.
"You feeling all right?" continued the stage manager.
Okay, they would do this the hard way.
"Fine," snapped Stephen. "I'm just trying to have a relaxing nap. Wake me when it's time for rehearsal."
Again the door opened, and Stephen turned his head to glare. Bobby, only his head and shoulders leaning past the door, didn't seem to notice. "You did say rehearsal," he observed, sounding distressingly un-intimidated.
"That," confirmed Stephen, glaring harder, "is what I said."
"Rehearsal's long over. So is the show, for that matter."
That woke Stephen up in a hurry. "You did them without me?!" he demanded, scrambling to his feet all at once.
"Um, no. You were there, don't you remember?"
Stephen blinked. He didn't remember, if truth be told; and anyway he didn't understand why they would have broadcast so early. But then again, he always claimed he could host the show in his sleep. Maybe this time he actually had.
So he told the truthiness. "Of course I remember," he said briskly. "Great episode, wasn't it? So, ah, is there anything else to do?"
"Nope. You can go home now."
"Good. Thanks, Bobby."
To his utter bewilderment, Bobby actually snickered at this! "Good night, Mr. Colbert," he said, winking. "See you tomorrow."
Stephen stood in front of the studio door, tapping his foot. Yes, he was a couple of hours early, but that shouldn't have made any difference to Sam. A good driver is simply there whenever the drivee needs him. The wait would be coming out of his paycheck, there was no question of that; all that was left was for Stephen to work out exactly how much his time was worth per minute.
He was almost sick of tapping when a woman with long curly brown hair approached from behind him. "Hey, Stephen," she said. "Waiting for someone?"
"Yeah. My driver," he replied.
The woman snorted. "Since when do you have a driver?"
A lesser man than Stephen would have found that downright offensive. "Madam," he said stiffly, "a person of my stature, not to mention considerable wealth, would certainly not drive himself anywhere."
"Do you have to answer in-character?" asked the stranger. "I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, you can just say so."
Like Bobby, she was unintimidated -- and Stephen didn't even know her. Was he losing his edge? Lifting an eyebrow sternly, he said, layering the question with every ounce of derision he could muster, "Who are you?"
Now she at least had the grace to look worried.
"Stephen, it's me. Allison."
"You say that as if it's supposed to mean something to me," he continued, trying very hard now to sound dismissive rather than confused.
"Are you feeling all right?" asked the stranger, Allison.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" snapped Stephen. He looked up and down the street and added, half to himself, "And where on Earth is Sam?"
At that point the studio door opened behind him; it was Bobby, and as he passed them Allison grabbed his arm. "Hang on a second, Eric," she said. "Stephen, seriously. Talk to me out-of-character. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," repeated Stephen. "Bobby, do you know this woman?"
They exchanged a look. Oh, yes, they knew each other. It was a familiar look, a meaningful look, the kind of look that meant they were having some kind of unspoken conversation and leaving Stephen out.
At last Bobby said, "Stephen, maybe you'd better come inside."
"Oh no. I've been waiting too long for Sam already; when he shows up, I'm going to just get in and go."
They exchanged another one of those looks. It was most unkind of them.
Then Allison said, "Wouldn't it be fair, since you've been waiting, to make him wait a little for you? And you'll be more comfortable waiting inside, too."
"On second thought," said Stephen, "since I've been waiting so long, it's only fair that he should have to wait for me. I'll wait inside."
He strode in, Allison and Bobby following; and he tried to pretend he couldn't tell that they were actually conversing out loud now, in hushed, worried tones.
no subject
My favorite line;
"And there it was. This wasn't just an annoyance any more. Stephen had left Annoyedville, passed the exit for Creeped Out Town, and aimed straight towards the heart of Scared City".
no subject
Which Jon? (Or both of them?)
Thank you =D
no subject
I meant alternate universe Jon dealing with real!Stephen (will au!Jon be different than real!Jon?) but I look forward to seeing any Jon I can get.
I agree with another poster that I find character!Stephen funny but I'm genuinely concerned for real!Stephen. Can't wait to read more!
no subject
Yes, "Jon" will be different than Jon. As I mentioned in another comment, I usually write TCRverse!Jon without thinking about his differences from real!Jon, but in this story I considered the differences, and then really drew them out.
Ohhhhh, that's gonna change. (Your reactions to the Stephens, not -- I hope -- whether you keep wanting to read more.) And, again, I shall say no more for now.
no subject
now i just have to find an excuse to use this line in my everyday conversation:
"a person of my stature, not to mention considerable wealth, would certainly not drive himself anywhere."
XD
no subject
I wish I could use that line in everyday conversation. Alas, I have neither the stature nor the wealth =(
no subject
What is Stephen world going to make of 'Stephen'? I WISH TO KNOW. This is so good! :D
no subject
no subject
FROM A METATPHORICAL TREE</>
no subject
NOT LIKE A GENUINE SOUTHERN EXPERIANCE
OK SHUTTING UP NOW
no subject
It's sad, because "Stephen" in the real world, I'm just going "Oh, this'll be hilarious!" like slapstick comedy meanwhile Stephen, I'm going HOLY CRAP POOR BABY HE IZ GONNA BE SO LOST HOPEFULLY "JON" WILL RESCUE HIM HOORAY.
And I wonder if and what the differences will be between Jon/"Jon." The ability to deal with crazy, probably. hahaha
<3333's for "Stephen" and his driver.
no subject
Normally I don't differentiate between Jon and "Jon" when writing. That is, even when writing in the TCRverse, I'm basically writing real!Jon. In this story I decided to draw out their differences. "The ability to deal with crazy" is one way to put it. (But, again, I won't tell you how I would put it. Not yet. That would be spoilery.)
no subject
I agree, I can't wait to see how Jon reacts! :^D Once again I say, how awesome to see Stephen vs "Stephen".
PS: This is OT, but I've managed to convert someone else to the idea that Jon Stewart is the second coming of Christ. He now can't believe he ever thought otherwise. ^_^
no subject
It's great to hear how much you're thinking about this. And that you are spreading the Wørd about His return ^_~
no subject
{{bounces}} Moar, please!
no subject
Every other day, m'dear! Hang in there!
no subject
I don't feel sorry for "Stephen" yet, but I'm waiting for the impending catastrophic freak-out.
no subject
You at least are thinking along the right lines ^_~
no subject
no subject
no subject
Dammitwhydidn'tIthinkofthis!!:Dno subject
Because I'm just that much more brilliant than you, obviously.=3no subject
no subject
no subject
I can't wait to see Jon!
no subject
Which Jon? Or both of them?
no subject
Both Jons, of course, but I am interested in seeing how "Jon" might be different.
no subject
no subject
(With a leafblower, that is.)
no subject
And there it was. This wasn't just an annoyance any more. Stephen had left Annoyedville, passed the exit for Creeped Out Town, and aimed straight towards the heart of Scared City.
*guilty giggle*
He strode in, Allison and Bobby following; and he tried to pretend he couldn't tell that they were actually conversing out loud now, in hushed, worried tones.
*is uncomfortable, but feeling a macabre sort of satisfaction*
More plz. Kthnxbai.
no subject
I, too, have a humiliation squick. I've been known to leave movies during scenes where a character is actively embarrassed.
Nobody is going to mock or laugh at either Stephen. Their fear and confusion will be taken very seriously by the people around them. Despite the funny lines, this isn't a comedy; it's a drama, and the sad and hurtful parts will be played straight, not for laughs.
With that in mind, I hope you can relax about the possibility of humiliation and keep enjoying the story more easily =)
no subject
http://www.jonstewart.net/misc/99_0721chatcc.html#jseb <--- Has a part there where Jon says he's got six nipples 'cause he has puppies to feed. O.O;
no subject
*loves it, waits for more (and both Jons!)*
no subject
no subject
For some reason, that was the most disturbing thing about this chapter.
Poor character!Stephen! He's going to get sent to a mental institution or something. It's amusing how Allison and Bobby are able to manipulate him so easily. I'm really looking forward to seeing the differences between the two Jons. Sorry this comment is so disconnected.
*runs off to read next chapter*
no subject
Disconnection is fine; thanks for the reactions!
no subject
no subject
Poor real Stephen and poor real Report crew. =)
no subject
no subject
Nice! So much win in that line. Yep, Allison would definitely know how this "Stephen" thinks.
no subject