GR - The Other Side



This fanfic by Ariel exists on the web at the following location(s) and we suggest visiting the following link(s) rather than viewing the material here:

The text here has been included to allow searching for character availability and author recognition. Please note that the text is most likely not formatted and may be hidden by a spoiler tag.

GR - The Other Side

by Ariel

Rated: K

Summary: More a play than a story - and one with unexpected turns, too... Written in a truly whacky moment.

The sun is about to set majestically on an unnamed border planet. A lone rider in black attire, looking as if he hasn't been shaving for days, rides slowly into what looks like a deserted settlement. 
Now and then, the glint of anxious eyes can be seen as they peer out from behind shuttered windows. 
Suddenly, gunshots erupt. The man swiftly takes down all of the villains with the speed of a striking cobra...

Gooseman: Hey! Cut, damn it! Cut! Hey, pal, what's this? 
Director: Well, your character, actually... 
Gooseman: It better not. Man, I resent being reduced to some frikkin' wild west stereotype! And where did you get those horses? 
Doc(aside): Fresh out of a lego box, I imagine... 

Clothed in a kimono of Asian appearance Niko shifts, looking coquettishly at Goose. 

Niko: You've got the looks, the guns, and the women. And, of course, me, although you're obviously too retarded to notice. So I don't know what you want. 
Gooseman (frowning): I want a brain! About five more cells would be nice for starters - that's five more than I've got right now, which is zero. 
Doc: Believe me, my Goose man - the more brain cells, the less women. It's one of Nature's laws. I should know. 
Zach: Yeah, right. Dumb and trigger-happy rules. Doesn't help if you've got my haircut, though. 
Niko: Right. Arm with the firepower of a hundred bazookas, but the wife still giving him the cold shoulder. Get the man a new haircut, someone! 

Enter the Queen, with a bunch of slaverlords in tow. 

Doc: Hey, Queenie! Found new uses for the discarded palace bedclothes? 
Queen: Harhar. Very funny. At least my crystals don't look like an alcoholic's hip flask. But I actually came to complain about the make-up. I look like death incarnate! 
Gooseman (snickering): Yeah. Death by drowning. 
Doc (aside): 'Get thee to a nunnery, get thee to a nunnery...' (aloud) Queenie, face it: you are death incarnate - or something like that. You are not renowned for your flawless fashion sense. Red and purple - blah! 

Eliza's spirit appears, floating in a containment chamber. 

Eliza: Fashion sense? At least she gets to change her clothes once in a while! And what about me? Two years, and still the same damn uniform! I want my wardrobe back! And my life, if I come to think about it... 
Niko: Now, now, Eliza. I'm the leading lady here. Expanding your role would mean less screen time for me, and more money for you. You can see where this is a bad idea? 
Queen(nodding): Indeed. 

The camera slowly zooms out of the desert landscape where five humans/aliens, a ghost, several slaverlords and horses still continue to gesticulate long after the sun has set. The crew has long since left for the next McDonalds, leaving a helpless Director alone, wringing his hands.