In which Tony finds proof and they hatch a plan

The marketing department was deserted. Two-drink-minimum lunch?? Tony checked his watch. It was eleven-thirty and a Friday, so the entire marketing department were probably in the pub for one of those “working” lunches. So he was definitely safe in here for a bit. He moved over to the nearest desk and started to look for clues. He really wasn’t comfortable doing this, but Reg had been insistent: if Tony wanted to save his bacon he needed to have proof.

He rifled through the overstuffed filing tray--letters, more letters, spreadsheets...doesn’t anyone ever do any filing around here? He reached the bottom tray and was about to move on when his hand landed on a thick manila envelope.

Tony glanced at his watch. He still had time, so he pulled out the envelope and peered inside. It was some sort of marketing plan. He peered at his watch again...still waiting on the second round of G&T’s, he shouldn’t wonder. He pulled the documents out and began to read.

~*~*~*~*~

“I don’t believe it.” Jo sipped from whatever it was Tony had put in front of her. “They actually read all that stuff from the website and base their decisions on it??”

Tony took a quick swig from his pint and nodded. “That they do.”

“They change things based on opinions people post in textspeak?” Jo sat back. “Blimey!”

“That can’t be the only criterion.” Stuart chipped in his ten p’s worth.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course it isn’t the only one, but they’re chasing a target demographic. So older characters like you and me don’t fit.”

Jo frowned and took another sip of whatever it was. It really didn’t taste too bad. She put the glass down, crossed her arms, and thought hard.

“Is this a private wake, or can anyone join in?”

Jo jolted out of her reverie. Sam was standing next to her, so she budged up a bit. “Stu... shift over.” Stuart, looking quite anxious now, obeyed. Jo frowned (that was twice in less than ten minutes... it wasn’t in her idiom to frown so much) but, really, Stu’s huxon fears were unfounded. They were scarcely going to come and get him in the pub--surely not. Anyway, as several heads were better than only a couple, she explained the problem to Sam.

Sam tried to look suitably sad, but gardening leave and the easy-going company of loose women were hard to beat. “It’s not as though it’s definite though--they haven’t shut the door completely, Tony. You can still slip back in from time to time.”

“That’s not what...” Tony trailed off. Explaining to the sceptical Samantha Nixon that the taxidermified remains of Reg Hollis had told him to do it seemed a little odd, even in the context of the storyline.

“Can anyone join in?” Terry Perkins wandered over, pint in hand.

Jo scowled. Recycling lines was strictly a no-no, especially within the same scene, but something seemed to have become stuck somewhere. Besides, demographically-speaking, Terry fell into the danger zone.

As she explained the nature of the problem, Terry’s expression went from rueful to frightened. “Terry,” Jo snapped, “this isn’t the time for that.”

“But I’m scared of you...it’s in my idiom.”

Idiots. I am surrounded by idiots bound by their idioms. And without a useful suggestion between them. Jo sighed and nudged Stuart. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet. Say something clever.”

“Just trying to think of the answer.” Stuart had a faraway look in his eyes, as if already dreaming of pastures new, abandoning me to my fate. Jo sighed again. Even though he was her best friend, she could scarcely blame him. Who wanted to go on forever being the character that everyone loves to hate? Particularly when the hate was based on a myth.

A little light went on in Jo’s mind. Myths, legends: they weren’t necessarily written down; unscripted... hmmmm...

“We may have to go off script to survive.”

“Eh?” Tony looked startled. “Off script? But.....”

“But what,” Jo smiled, “what could possibly go wrong? It’s easy. You just make it up as you go along.”

“This isn’t Whose Line Is It Anyway?” Tony was plainly panicking. “I don’t think I could ad lib for that long.”

“Why go off script?” Stuart chipped in. “We could write our own.”

Tony scowled. “So you want to be Stuart all day or night, and then go home and write all day or night? All well and good for you, but I can’t do that.”

“It’s easy.”

“You’re going to come up with all these ideas, then? Words and situations?”

Stuart smiled confidently. “I could.”

Terry looked thoughtful. “You don’t need to.” They all stared at him. “We could just ask the fanficcers for help.”