The First (and Last) Meeting of the FCwPP
By zennie
Helen rapped the gavel she had stolen from the femslash meeting room on the table to quiet the small group of attendees. "Order, I hereby call this meeting of the newly inaugurated FCwPP support group to order!" The room quieted and Helen smiled at the ease in which she controlled the room, unlike a particular blonde know-it-all ADA. "I've formed this group as a support network for those of us with perceived problems that are exaggerated and taken to extremes by those dreadful femslash writers."
Helen sank back in her chair with an unhappy sigh. "You know what I'm talking about. I apparently empty any bottle of vodka within a 20-meter radius within seconds. I can't even catch a break in metafiction…"
Sara Sidle snorted. "Oh please. I can't even have a cough drop without Catherine, Sofia, Wendy, and/or Mia… even Grissom," she shuddered at the thought, "showing up to ask me about my drinking problem, my 'me' problem, my dead or incarcerated parents, my suicidal tendencies, or my cutting…"
"You're a cutter?" chimed in Willow.
"According to some tweener goth fanfic writers, yes, I am."
"Oh wow." Willow looked almost impressed. Chase just looked hungry.
Faith snorted. "Try being a murderer. Last Easter Buffy tackled me and almost broke my hand trying to get the carving knife." She plopped a pair of heavy black boots on the table and crossed her arms across her chest. "I didn't get to carve the ham… again! How the hell am I supposed to be the butch one?"
"Yeah, it's like once evil, always evil. 'Oh, Willow, she's the dark, veiny big bad, she's going to destroy the world.' I cursed a telemarketer the other day and Zander got all, 'save the world'-y again." She turned Starbuck and rolled her eyes. "It was just ONE time." That off her chest, Willow looked around the room and sighed, "Bored now."
Sara and Helen visibly cringed and inched away from the witch. "Oh, see, I even have an evil catch-phrase!" cried the red-haired college student with indignation.
Helen surveyed the room with a knowing nod. "This is what we are faced with: assumptions, innuendoes, and outright slander. I think we should…"
"Wait a sec," Starbuck interrupted. "You have an alleged drinking problem?" Helen nodded vigorously while Faith mock-coughed into her hand. "That's it?" Helen looked confused. "No 'You may be a Cylon…'"
"evil..."
"murderer..."
"manic-depressive suicidal cutter..."
"...insinuations? And you have a canon OTP that you got to spend the night with on-screen?" Starbuck continued her line of questioning and Helen nodded, less certain this time. "No 'slut of the fleet…'"
"Or coven…"
"Or crime lab…"
"...rumors following you around?"
Faith neatly swiped the gavel from Helen's hand, ignoring the Scot's outraged yell. "You don't need a support group. You don't have any real problems." Helen glared. "Go collect on that 'all night long' promise your girlfriend made and you'll be fine."
The Scot looked to protest, and then she thought the better of it and hurried out, mumbling something about a bottle of red while Starbuck surveyed the other women in the room. "OTPs, they just don't know how good they have it."
"Yeah," Faith agreed, and then asked, "so should I go out with the witch, the ex-demon, another slayer, an evil corporate bitch…"
"Borg or captain..."
"Catherine or Sofia..."
"President, viper pilot, Six Cylon, Boomer Cylon…"
The End
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