Disclaimers:  Beauty and the Beast concept and characters are property of . . . um, whoever it is, which is not me.  Original story herein, however,  is mine so please let me know before posting it anywhere.
Rating:  G.
Season:  Post third -- in the nebula of "ran out of seasons, now what do we do?"
Author's Note:  Just getting frustration at "too many fandoms, not enough time" out of my system.

Midnight Oil
© 2000, Grace Macy

"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The cry rang throughout the tunnels Below, creating eerie echoes in the cavernous distances.  All through the subterranean kingdom, ears perked and brows drew into perplexed frowns.  In his personal chamber, Vincent looked up from his journal and winced.  He knew that scream.  A moment later, a figure appeared in his doorway, long hair disheveled, a manic look in her dark eyes.  Vincent closed his journal carefully and regarded his visitor.  Grace was panting slightly from the exertion of her scream.

"I take it things are not going well?" he asked calmly, trying not to smile.  Showing amusement when a fanfic author was obviously overwrought was typically a Bad Idea, especially  this fanfic author.  While he enjoyed her work, he did not want that level of angst and drama aimed his way -- he'd gotten enough of that from the  official writers.

Grace glared at him.  "No," she answered in a growl that rivaled the best of Vincent's own.  "I should be collapsing into the arms of a tall BeastMaster and his Eiron friend, but where am I?"

Vincent's lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles.  "Below," he answered correctly.

Grace nodded.  "Below," she agreed.  "And why?  Because you --" she aimed an accusing finger at the elegant leonine features.  "-- can't keep Diana from talking to me!"

Vincent tilted his head slightly.  "When have I ever succeeded at influencing her?" he asked.  "And why are you not bringing this up with  her?"

Grace let out another growl and stalked forward, only to seat herself on Vincent's bed.  "Because the last time I tried, she pointed at her computer and told me to transcribe!"  The young woman made a strangling motion with her hands and flopped backwards to lie on the large mattress.  "Transcribe!!  And as if that wasn't bad enough. . . this is when I've got OTHER characters talking!!"

Vincent winced.  Uh-oh.  That was never a good sign, and taken with her showing up  here instead of with Dar and Tao . . .  "Other characters?" Vincent asked cautiously.

"YES!"  Grace sat up and fumed, "Other characters.  New characters.  Half-god characters.  There I was, thinking 'Oh, kewl, a couple of stand-alone stories.'  But what does Maya do instead?  She decides that no, this is going to be part of the f-ing SERIES!!  And then Diana says she maybe wants me to write more journal entries!"

She let out an inarticulate sound, then placed her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.  "Why do they DO this to me?" she moaned, then looked up and gave Vincent a truly pitiful look.  "I didn't ask for this.  I just wanted to write for ONE fandom.  Not two.  Not three.  Why won't they leave me alooooone?!!??"

She plopped backwards again on the bed and Vincent couldn't help himself: he laughed.  Grace sat up, looked at him fiercely, and he valiantly tried to rein in his amusement.  But really, seeing a fanfic writer this distraught was . . . well, funny!  And incredibly poetic justice.

Grace glared.  Syllable by syllable, she gritted out, "It.  Is.  Not.  Funny."

Vincent didn't answer; he was still chortling and the expression on his face looked decidedly smug.

Grace glared harder.  "If you don't watch it," she warned him, "I'm going to concentrate on YOU next time!"

Vincent raised his hands in mock-surrender.  "No!  Please!" he cried dramatically.  "I beg for your mercy!"

It was so utterly ridiculous that Grace ended up laughing.  "Fine!" she agreed.  Her expression sobered and she pleaded, "But really Vincent, could you PLEASE tell Diana to give it a rest?  I mean, I know she's had fun with other authors -- although I haven't messed her up nearly as bad . . . yet," she conceded, at the look Vincent gave her.  "But a girl's gotta have some rest!"

"The third season airings will be done in a week at the most, won't they?"

The young woman sighed.  "Yes, but -- but -- I mean, she starts talking at THE most impossible times!  Like when I'm trying to fall asleep!"  She pouted almost convincingly.  "I'm serious, Vincent!  I've been banging my head against the wall so often, Pascal probably thinks I'm trying to send some really screwed up Morse Code."

Vincent laughed again.  "I'll be sure to correct him."

Grace struggled against a smile and failed.  "Come on," she whined comically.  "I'll do anything!  Babysit Jacob, comb Mouse's pet raccoon, organize Father's library . . .  Just make her stop!"

Vincent smiled.  "I will do my best.  All I ask in return is . . ."

"Yes?"  Grace leaned forward eagerly.

"No angst."

Grace blinked.  "No . . . angst?"

"None.  Not a mention."

Now the pout was coming back in earnest.  "Not . . . not even . . . a little?"

"No."

"Just a little, little bit?"

"No."

"A teensy bit?  A smidgen?  Just for form?"

"No."

"But . . . but . . . but . . . . .!!!!"

"Do you wish Diana to be silent while you work on your torment of the BeastMaster and his friend?"

"Well, yeah, but ---"

"Then no angst."

Grace pouted, then suddenly eyed him with mischief.  "But Vincent, you can't have the comfort with the hurt. . ."

Vincent stared at her as she batted her lashes at him.  He wasn't sure whether to laugh, scowl, or blush fiercely.  "Are you always this . . ."

"Evil?  Yep.  It's my middle name."

"I thought Grace was your middle name."

She batted long ebony lashes at him again.  "On paper, but in my soul, it's Evil.  Just ask any of my sisters, we were all named alike."

"So I've gathered," Vincent said dryly.  "Well then . . . can you at least promise to go easy on us?"

Grace beamed at him.  "Deal!"  She stood and bounced over to him, giving his big frame a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  "You're the best!  Thank you!!"

Vincent laughed.  "You're welcome.  Now . . . go torment to your heart's content."

Grace grinned in response and skipped out of the room.  "You betcha!"  As she left the chamber, he could hear her calling, "Oh Daaaaaaar!!!"

Vincent shook his head, chuckling, and turned back to his journal.  He almost pitied the BeastMaster . . . but anything to distract an angst-addicted fanfic writer from  his world.  Even if she did plan on returning to New York City soon; but he would worry about that bridge when he came to it.  For now he had to figure out how to keep Diana from muttering in Grace's ear.  He grinned as images flowed into his mind, and sent a silent thanks to the other authors.

From another entry-way, Father appeared and raised an eyebrow.  "Is she gone?"

Vincent chuckled.  "For now.  She's promised to go easy on us in future writings."

Father's eyebrows skyrocketed now.  "In return for what?  I hope not your immortal soul."  It did seem the only way to secure such a promise from a fanfic author, particularly one as bent on angst as Grace (and her sisters) seemed.

Vincent laughed.  "No.  Just in return for a promise that I will try to keep Diana silent around her until her other stories are done."

Father's lips quirked into a smile.  "That," he observed, "may be as difficult a challenge as any you have ever faced."

Vincent grinned at him.  "Oh, I'm certain I will think of something."

Father frowned, started to ask, then decided he didn't want to know.  He was right . . . and he  was called wise for a reason, after all.