Being chased by fangirls/fanboys
The gentlemen in the parlor read the letter, passing it to the next as they finished.
“Dear ____”
“OMG U R so hawt. I mean, totally HAWT. I want to have UR babeez LOL! * stalks * * downloads * * LOL *”
There followed a space with “hair/eyes/recessives/aspiration/zodiac/totos (if any)/cc.”
“I NO where U live. LOL!”
Love love love,
Your biggest fan.”
There was a moment of silence.
“You all get these too?” asked Spencer Fitzhugh, finally, holding up his copy.
Brody Legacina removed a copy from the inside of his jacket. A small shower of fur came out with it. “Yep,” he said. “Except mine has my name and all kinds of stats written in. I wonder how they know.”
Cecil Goodytwoshoes stood near the door, arms crossed. “I am appalled,” he said, shuddering and repressing the instinct to remove the fur from the grey velvet chaise. “Appalled. Have these young ladies no parents? No training in propriety? No moral compass?”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Spider Jerusalem Vetinari, candidly, “but they don’t seem to have made much of an impact.” He leant casually further back on the lounge next to Brody and parked a large stompy boot on Cecil’s rosewood coffee table. Cecil put his hand over his eyes.
Rhys Fitzhugh looked up from the wing chair, where he had been moodily staring into his scotch and chewing ice. “Yeah, so,” he snapped. “So we all get them, including Dad. Big deal. And they all know where we live, which is creepy.”
“I think it’s fun to let one catch you occasionally,” said Spencer, chuckling.
“I think it’s fun to chase them back once in a while,” put in Spider Jerusalem. “Within limits. You don’t want to be Gage.”
“I don’t understand it at all,” protested Brody. “Heather and Venus can tell you how much I shed, and it’s not as though there’s anyone but Heather.”
“Don has a huge fan club,” Spider Jerusalem pointed out, “and he’s only with Samara.”
“And it’s not as though he’s pretty,” muttered Rhys.
“I don’t think it’s about fan quantity,” said Spencer. “I think it’s quality,” he added, looking up at the ceiling and smiling, as though he were reminiscing about something.
“Probably it’s just the genetics,” said Brody, running his hand through his hair and shedding some more.
“Yeah, well, that would explain a lot,” said Rhys. Spencer turned to look at him.
“Thanks, son,” he said, laughing and placing his empty glass on the tray in front of him.
“Hear that, Cecil?” said Spider Jerusalem, a second stompy boot joining the first. “It’s the Fitzhugh genetics. They really get passed down, if you get what I mean, and I think you do.” Cecil looked at him, his eyes narrowing.
“I think,” said Cecil, picking up a silver plated bucket, “we require more ice,” and he walked out of the room.
“Why did we have this meeting at Cecil’s, anyway?” said Spider Jerusalem, as the door clicked shut. “Talk about awkward.”
“He’s got the best bar,” said Rhys, “and he gets ‘em too.”
“He DOES?” said Brody, eyebrows disappearing into his hair.
“He’ll never admit it,” said Spencer. “I suspect his fangirls are pretty quiet about it, but they’re out there. Too bad, because I think he’d like the money from selling licensed merch.”
“Makes it tough to get a body count,” said Spider.
“Ouch,” winced Brody.
“I love my fans,” said Spencer. “Bless their warm little hearts, and other things.”
“Both of you have had Bachelor Challenges,” said Brody. “I never did. I think I have enough trouble without one.”
“I don’t need one,” said Rhys proudly, as Cecil reentered with a fresh bucket of ice. “I am . . .”
“Do NOT finish that phrase,” snapped Cecil, interrupting him.
“. . . everywhere,” finished Rhys.
“Dear ____”
“OMG U R so hawt. I mean, totally HAWT. I want to have UR babeez LOL! * stalks * * downloads * * LOL *”
There followed a space with “hair/eyes/recessives/aspiration/zodiac/totos (if any)/cc.”
“I NO where U live. LOL!”
Love love love,
Your biggest fan.”
There was a moment of silence.
“You all get these too?” asked Spencer Fitzhugh, finally, holding up his copy.
Brody Legacina removed a copy from the inside of his jacket. A small shower of fur came out with it. “Yep,” he said. “Except mine has my name and all kinds of stats written in. I wonder how they know.”
Cecil Goodytwoshoes stood near the door, arms crossed. “I am appalled,” he said, shuddering and repressing the instinct to remove the fur from the grey velvet chaise. “Appalled. Have these young ladies no parents? No training in propriety? No moral compass?”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Spider Jerusalem Vetinari, candidly, “but they don’t seem to have made much of an impact.” He leant casually further back on the lounge next to Brody and parked a large stompy boot on Cecil’s rosewood coffee table. Cecil put his hand over his eyes.
Rhys Fitzhugh looked up from the wing chair, where he had been moodily staring into his scotch and chewing ice. “Yeah, so,” he snapped. “So we all get them, including Dad. Big deal. And they all know where we live, which is creepy.”
“I think it’s fun to let one catch you occasionally,” said Spencer, chuckling.
“I think it’s fun to chase them back once in a while,” put in Spider Jerusalem. “Within limits. You don’t want to be Gage.”
“I don’t understand it at all,” protested Brody. “Heather and Venus can tell you how much I shed, and it’s not as though there’s anyone but Heather.”
“Don has a huge fan club,” Spider Jerusalem pointed out, “and he’s only with Samara.”
“And it’s not as though he’s pretty,” muttered Rhys.
“I don’t think it’s about fan quantity,” said Spencer. “I think it’s quality,” he added, looking up at the ceiling and smiling, as though he were reminiscing about something.
“Probably it’s just the genetics,” said Brody, running his hand through his hair and shedding some more.
“Yeah, well, that would explain a lot,” said Rhys. Spencer turned to look at him.
“Thanks, son,” he said, laughing and placing his empty glass on the tray in front of him.
“Hear that, Cecil?” said Spider Jerusalem, a second stompy boot joining the first. “It’s the Fitzhugh genetics. They really get passed down, if you get what I mean, and I think you do.” Cecil looked at him, his eyes narrowing.
“I think,” said Cecil, picking up a silver plated bucket, “we require more ice,” and he walked out of the room.
“Why did we have this meeting at Cecil’s, anyway?” said Spider Jerusalem, as the door clicked shut. “Talk about awkward.”
“He’s got the best bar,” said Rhys, “and he gets ‘em too.”
“He DOES?” said Brody, eyebrows disappearing into his hair.
“He’ll never admit it,” said Spencer. “I suspect his fangirls are pretty quiet about it, but they’re out there. Too bad, because I think he’d like the money from selling licensed merch.”
“Makes it tough to get a body count,” said Spider.
“Ouch,” winced Brody.
“I love my fans,” said Spencer. “Bless their warm little hearts, and other things.”
“Both of you have had Bachelor Challenges,” said Brody. “I never did. I think I have enough trouble without one.”
“I don’t need one,” said Rhys proudly, as Cecil reentered with a fresh bucket of ice. “I am . . .”
“Do NOT finish that phrase,” snapped Cecil, interrupting him.
“. . . everywhere,” finished Rhys.