"I don't know how many times I gotta' tell you but let's go for one more, eh? My characters are my fucking characters. They're not yours, they're not anyone else's. They're mine, mine fucking mine."

With wide eyes he shook his head in disbelief as the smouldering cigarette hung limply from his lips.

"Seriously, I worked fucking hard to create a cast of believable, likeable characters..." He paused that he might take one final draw upon the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ash-tray beside him. "...and I work even harder keeping them in line. Trust me, it's no exaggeration to say they've got fucking minds of their own. Thing is, their minds and my mind are the same fucking thing. I don't want any other fucker thinking they know what's going on inside my head well enough to know what the fuck my fucking characters are gonna' do in a given situation."

Still shaking his head he retrieved another cigarette from the packet resting upon the table beside him, knocked back the whiskey that was likewise within easy reach of his left hand, lit the cigarette and continued his tirade.

"My characters are real people, or at least they might as well be. They certainly are to me and let's be honest for a fucking minute that's all that fucking matters. I mean, how the fuck would you like it if some fucker took it upon themselves to write about you, or more specifically their own interpretation of you? You wouldn't fucking like it one bit, would you? So imagine, just for a fucking minute, how my characters - or any fucking writer's characters, for that fucking matter - must feel when some fucking scrote, some rank fucking amateur who don't got the stones nor brains to put themselves out there and create their own work of fucking art, takes them in their inexpert hands and ties to mold them into something they're fucking not."

For the first time in several minutes he glanced up to see a sea of shocked faces staring back at him. Some, he suspected, were somewhat aghast that he had the audacity to smoke in a public place, a conference centre where many young science fiction fans were attending the convention being held there but most, and he was under no illusions about this, were probably more concerned with his F-rated rant. There was certainly no shortage of shits, fucks, cunts, bastards, cocksuckers and motherfuckers - there was even a cock-juggling thundercunt - in his work, but witnessing his potty mouth first hand, rather than via the lips of his much-beloved characters, was clearly too much for many people to take.

Well, fuck 'em. Shit had gone too far to give two fucks about them now.

"So, what was the question again?"

"Erm..." A noise rather than a word, followed by a tiny cough, and the young girl who had asked the previous question, the one that had fuelled his recent rant, spoke. "Are you ever going to do another crossover between Half-Light and Tales From the Easter Quadrant?"

At least the lass'd had the sense to finish there rather than where she had done the first time, telling him about a novella she had read on some fucking fan fiction website focusing on some fucking fucked up relationship between Dan and Ecks, the main protagonists from each of the aforementioned stories.

Not that he had anything against that in principle. If Dan wanted to get it on with some dude from another of his created universes - they shared the inside of the same head, after all, so the occasional crossover was to be expected - then that was just fine by him. But if that was gonna' happen it was gonna' be on his watch.

If Dan was gonna' fuck some dude up the shitter and/or get his shitter fucked by some badass with a penchant for killing shit and fucking alien hookers then he was gonna' be present making sure his characters were not forced to do anything they did not want to do.

Dan and Ecks were both hard as shit, in vastly differing ways of course, but just as hard as each other. He had not made them that way, either, not really, and if he had he had certainly not done so alone. When he had mentioned his characters having minds of their own he had most definitely not been exaggerating.

They were also his most popular characters and he knew that 'Dacks,' as they were quite often referred to in and around the fan fiction community, were quite often portrayed as lovers.

"Probably," he replied with a shrug, lighting another cigarette with the still-burning remnants of the previous one. "Y'never fucking know, do you?"

"How about ZEDS?" came a shout from somewhere in the middle of the audience. "You haven't brought anything out in that universe for months and some people are speculating that you intend to leave it exactly where it is."

"Maybe I do," he replied, shrugging once more. "Maybe that's where the story ends."

"Well that's bullshit, considering you left the second novel hanging and you've not even finished either spin-off... Maybe it's time to let someone else take over."

"Fuck that and fuck you!" he shouted, angrily scanning the audience for the youth. "You think you can do a better fucking job than me when it comes to writing my shit? You reckon you've got a storyline inside that retarded little fucknugget of yours more gripping and thrilling than the shit that's inside my head?"

He paused, curling his nose in disgust as he took an incredibly long, deep drag upon the cigarette and breathed out an enormous cloud of smoke as he spoke.

"Y'know what? Fuck the lot of you; I'm out."

***

"How'd it go?"

He did not proffer anything by way of an answer. Instead he started the engine and wound down the window, resting his head back into the headrest as he did so.

"As well as that, eh?"

"Musta' been pretty fuckin' brutal. Ain't too often he gets like this."

"Anyone got a drink? I'm fucking gasping."

"Erm... here."

"Shut up, the fucking lot of you!" he yelled, shaking his head with an accompanying chuckle. "Seriously, you're like a bunch of fucking kids."

"Must've gone really badly if you're taking it out on us."

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose as the soft, gentle, very feminine hand caressed his thigh. When he opened them mere moments later he found himself looking straight into the eyes of Eloise 'Badass' Barker and he smiled, weakly.

"They were talking fan fiction again, weren't they?" she asked, her voice as soft and delicate as her tender touch. "Did they bring up Dacks?"

"That's all they ever want to talk about, El," he replied, a wave of calm washing effortlessly over him as she stroked, moving her hand to his denim-clad inner thigh.

"You do realise we don't give a fuck who else writes us, right? I mean, at the end of the day it's not like anyone else actually has control of us an' all that shit. Hell, it ain't like you've even got control over us."

"What's your point, Dan?" he asked, his eyes still transfixed by the beautiful deep blue eyes that belonged to the delectable Ms Barker.

"Point is it don't fuckin' matter. Just 'cos some bellend reckons they know what we'd do in a given situation don't mean shit. It's you we chose, all of us. Ain't no one else any of us would rather have tellin' our fuckin' stories an' if'n anyone else tries, well they ain't tellin' stories of us, they're tellin' stories about us that they wanna' hear."

"I think what Sir Colt is attempting to say, in the way that only he can," said Eloise, leaning towards him as she spoke until she was close enough that her lips brushed gently against his ear as her mouth emitted words, "is that you need to stop fighting this. People are going to write fan faction and, thanks predominantly to our collective fantasticness, people are definitely going to write fan fiction involving us... I'm just a little disappointed that Dacks have never taken a break from doing each other to pop into my boudoir and double-team me."

He closed his eyes once more and sighed, heavily. They were right, of course they were right. He really ought to take it as the compliment it was that people loved his creations so much that they were willing to use their limited amount of spare time to write their own stories about them.

He opened his eyes and lit a cigarette, glancing quickly around the empty car with a smirk upon his face.

As he drove away, roughly in the direction of the nearest pub, he entertained the thought that maybe, next time one of his fans brought up the subject of Dacks, EloDacks or even fan fiction in general, he might not fly quite so high off the handle... Maybe...