OOC: The Dream
Cameras flashed all around him. People were clamoring to get his picture, to meet him, were calling for him. He was a popular man, that was for sure. However, his interest was on the woman next to him.
"What kind of idiot kills off his best-selling main character?" she wanted to know as she pulled his sunglasses off.
"Are you asking as my blood-sucking publisher or as my blood-sucking ex-wife?" he wondered, putting on a smile for the crowd before turning to look at her.
"Oh, is that what you're doing? Punishing me by killing the golden goose?" she asked.
"Oh, come on, I may be petty and short-sighted, but I'm not THAT petty and short-sighted," he protested.
"Really? Then why?"
"Writing Derrick used to be fun," he grumbled as they parted from the crowd and began to walk away. "Now it's more like work."
"Mmm. God forbid you should work," the woman commented mildly. "I mean, you could've retired him. You could've crippled him. You could've had him join the friggin' circus. But, no, you HAD to bullet a bullet through his head."
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Real messy, too. Big exit wound." He then signed a book he was handed without even looking at the person handing it to him. However, his signature and the name on the cover were too blurry to make out. "Don't worry, Derrick Storm isn't the golden goose, here... I am."
"What kind of idiot kills off his best-selling main character?" she wanted to know as she pulled his sunglasses off.
"Are you asking as my blood-sucking publisher or as my blood-sucking ex-wife?" he wondered, putting on a smile for the crowd before turning to look at her.
"Oh, is that what you're doing? Punishing me by killing the golden goose?" she asked.
"Oh, come on, I may be petty and short-sighted, but I'm not THAT petty and short-sighted," he protested.
"Really? Then why?"
"Writing Derrick used to be fun," he grumbled as they parted from the crowd and began to walk away. "Now it's more like work."
"Mmm. God forbid you should work," the woman commented mildly. "I mean, you could've retired him. You could've crippled him. You could've had him join the friggin' circus. But, no, you HAD to bullet a bullet through his head."
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Real messy, too. Big exit wound." He then signed a book he was handed without even looking at the person handing it to him. However, his signature and the name on the cover were too blurry to make out. "Don't worry, Derrick Storm isn't the golden goose, here... I am."