InsaneJournal

Not-really-fic: The Debate
Ladies and gentlemen, a word.

Imagine the following scene, if you will, and tell me: are they? Do not fret, gentle readers, that you know neither the meaning nor answer to that question. All will be made clear in time, and you, once so informed, will hold in your hand the key to the inquiry.

Shall we begin?


Imagine this.

Nishizono Shinji (nom de plume), brave defender of all things hedonistic. She holds in her left hand a stuffed seal, one flipper missing; in her right, a vanilla cigarette. In the tradition of all writers, extraordinary or otherwise, her hair is tousled from an hour's restless sleep on the floor beneath her desk. Standing five feet seven in one sock, she stops in the doorway of a small sitting room with the resigned expression of a woman whose authority is about to be harshly challenged.

Imagine this.

Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Yuki Eiri, and Iason Mink, defenders of superfluous arrogance. The four men stand in varying stances of obvious annoyance: Lucius and Draco Malfoy near the fireplace (arms crossed over their chests and haughty sneers in place); Yuki Eiri casually leaning against the back of the settee (hands in the pockets of his trousers and lip curled with disgust); Iason Mink standing at the window (hands clasped behind his back, expression blank but for the murderous gleam in his eyes). Despite the differences in their dress, and other subtle nuances of their appearance, they have something in common besides an excess of egotism: they are all very, very blond.

Herein lies the problem.

Our courageous heroine— who is courageous not because she particularly embodies the trait, but because she has just entered a den of serpents with hardly so much as a heartbeat out of place— immediately notices something amiss between her flaxen haired loves. The others (Severus, Sirius, Shuichi, Riki) have already fled the premises, presumably to sequester themselves in some abandoned corner of the house. We cannot blame them, nor call them cowards; the sitting room is stifling from the heat of animosity, and tempers are smoldering along a slowly shortening fuse.

Nishizono raises her eyes to the ceiling, arches an eyebrow, and says very quietly, "Stifling from the heat of animosity? Smoldering along a slowly shortening fuse? You've honestly just written that?"

Miss Shinji is, if nothing else, extremely critical of the work of others, despite the fact that her own writing leaves much to be desired. Like her four arctic beauties, she displays a fatal flaw: hubris.

"Enough with the 300 quotes," Nishizono sighs to no one in particular, and thereafter turns her attention to the silent battle being fought in her sitting room. "What's the problem, gentlemen?"

The answer is a chorus of, "Him."

Nishizono then arches an eyebrow and asks, "Who?"

Note, dear readers, that our heroine is not especially known for superior comprehension skills in day-to-day conversation. Indeed, she often requires numerous explanations before she 'gets the point.'

Without warning or provocation, Nishizono whirls on her heel and glares at the ceiling. "Now look here," she says crossly, "I'm not in the mood for your attitude today. I have seven stories to work on, two communities that need immediate attention, and four irritable prats who won't cooperate until I settle whatever argument they're having."

The failed author has always had a flair for the dramatic. Naturally, she has never once stopped to consider that her histrionics might be the cause of her inability to complete a satisfactory piece of original fiction.

Nizhizono's hands curl into fists at her sides. "I don't recall asking for your opinion," she hisses. "Stop abusing your privileges as the omnipotent narrator."

Such a statement would shock anyone who knew her, simply for the sheer hypocrisy of it. It is a little known fact, gentle readers, that Nishizono has abused her authorial privileges in excess by surreptitiously inserting herself into various stories. Often, she falls just short of becoming a dreaded Mary Sue.

Nishizono's eyes darken, and her lips curl upward in a sneer. "You have until the count of three to stop inserting yourself as an unseen character and start doing your job, or I will take this narrative first person and make sure you're never heard from again."

It should be noted that Nishizono Shinji, for all of her numerous flaws, can be rather frightening when provoked.

"Now then," our deeply respected heroine says, "Why are the four of you having a standoff in my sitting room?"

The question spawns a furious but surprisingly orderly chaos. Picture, if you will, the following:

"That man," Lucius says as he gestures to Yuki, "Is obviously out of place here."

"I believe you are the one out of place," Iason says calmly. "After all, Yuki-san and I are openly homosexual in our respective canons; you require the assistance of an imaginative author to skew your preferences away from the strictly heterosexual."

"Yeah, well, at least Father and I have real parents," Draco retorts with a smirk.

Yuki arches an eyebrow at Iason.

"That's right, Eiri," Lucius says a bit smugly. "Your little friend isn't even a natural human; he was bred in a muggle laboratory."

"Genetically engineered for perfection," Iason tells Yuki.

Yuki grunts, obviously unimpressed.

"If perfection was the goal, then you should really speak to the engineers about your hair," Lucius drawls.

Thus, the gauntlet (kid leather, white) is tossed into the center of the room. A stunned silence follows. The four men stare at one another. The author holds her breath. The omnipotent narrator is quietly amused.

"Excuse me?" Iason says finally. The three syllables are drawn out for a measure longer than is perhaps necessary.

"You're obviously not a natural blond," Draco informs him nastily.

"Yes," Iason replies darkly, "I am."

Lucius offers a derisive snort and tosses his own platinum locks over his shoulder. "Clearly not; I can see your roots from here."

"Of course I am a natural blond," Iason asserts in a monotone. "Do you think it mere coincidence that I and others of my status are called Blondies?"

Draco snickers. "That's the dumbest name for a group of people I've ever heard."

Iason raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. "You and your father were once involved with an organization that referred to themselves as Death Eaters, were you not?"

Draco turns an unflattering shade of scarlet.

Lucius employs the notorious Malfoy Death Glare.

Iason offers them the barest trace of a smirk.

Yuki sighs and fishes in his shirt pocket. A second later, he comes up with a pack of cigarettes, and shakes two out. One goes between his lips; the other is offered over his shoulder to Nishizono, who accepts it gratefully. It is a silent commiseration between two writers.

"Though as I understand it, being a Death Eater was difficult," Iason continues without inflection. "I'm told that it is perfectly natural for mongrels to grey prematurely when they have experienced such intensely stressful situations."

Draco fades from crimson to white.

Lucius narrows his eyes and asks, "What, exactly, are you implying?"

“He's saying you dye your hair,” Yuki interjects with an irritated scowl. “And from here, it looks like he's probably right.”

“Now look here-” Lucius begins.

Draco cuts him off with, “My father and I do not dye our hair.”

“Idiot,” Yuki dubs him, followed by a thin plume of smoke blown right into the boy's face. “No one's hair is naturally that light.”

“Excuse me?” Iason puts in, now turning his halfhearted glare on his fellow Japanese. It should be mentioned here that Iason Mink's hair is nearly the same shade of silvery blond as that of the two Malfoys.

Yuki crosses his arms, arches an eyebrow, and smirks. This is his silent way of saying you heard me.

Nishizono, meanwhile, has spent the last two minutes inching her way toward the sitting room door.

“Miss Shinji!” Lucius snaps.

“Bugger,” Nishizono replies.

“You will settle this argument,” Lucius informs her, and emphasizes his command with another Malfoy Death Glare.

Nishizono looks unimpressed. “And just how am I supposed to do that? I didn't create you, so how the hell am I supposed to know?”

“We live in your mind,” Iason points out. “You must know.”

“So what if I do?” Nishizono retorts, and crosses her arms over her chest. The gesture makes her look like an insolent child. Our heroine raises her eyes to the ceiling and hisses, “Do not start with me.”

“I think you'll find it in your benefit to help us,” Lucius drawls almost nonchalantly.

“Are you seriously trying to bribe me?” Nishizono asks incredulously. “It doesn't work that way, you can't bribe the author.”

“Even when the author has been having horrible writer's block?” Draco puts in with a smirk.

This gives our beloved writer pause. Nishizono fixes the boy with a glare and snaps, “That isn't fair.”

“Slytherins never are,” Lucius and Draco reply together.

“So you'll be willing to cooperate if I try to settle this debate?” Nishizono prompts. Clarification when dealing with serpents is absolutely necessary.

“Yes,” is the reply from all but one man.

“Speak for yourselves,” Yuki mutters.

Nishizono pointedly ignores him, and turns to the other three with a decidedly mischievous smirk. “Well in that case,” she tells them in as close to a drawl as her accent will allow, “I think I might know of one way that we can ascertain once and for all whether or not you're natural blonds.”

Surely, gentle readers, you have already guessed what our heroine is suggesting. Indeed, the others have as well, and each turn varying shades of pink and white. For a moment, there is no reply, and a stillness settles over the room that can only come in the calm before battle. Brace yourselves, friends, for a spectacular explosion of temper.

“Well,” Draco says slowly, “I guess that would answer the question, unless someone's been poncy enough to use dye there too.”

Or perhaps a large fire.

“I have neither the need nor the desire to apply dye to any part of my body,” Iason says calmly.

A blaze in a fireplace, then.

“I would not be opposed to acquiescing to Miss Shinji's idea if it means making my point,” Lucius agrees with a nod.

Hot coals?

“Give it up,” Nishizono mumbles to the ceiling.

“Well, you're going to have to come up with a better idea than that if you want to prove I'm a natural blond,” Yuki tells the room at large.

All eyes turn to stare at him.

Yuki smirks, winks, stubs his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, and says, “I shave.”