//------------------------------// // Chapter One // Story: Flash Reads a Wally Fic // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// Flash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it Monday? It must have been Monday. Flash's loathsome feelings measured themselves in prolonged sighs. He wasn't alone in this quiet, crawling angst. A looming hush of brooding defeat lulled the entire room to the drooling point. First period was just fifteen minutes away. The boy kept his eyes shut, and in so doing prolonged the oozing seconds under the interminable veil of darkness. It was a queer form of self-punishment and the brutal irony was not lost to the teen. Then, amidst all of that sickening malaise, a sentient series of footsteps pierced his eardrums. At first, Flash assumed he was hallucinating a hitman coming to deliver sweet merciful arsenic, but then those footfalls came to a shuffling stop right beside him. This was followed by the sound of a backpack slumping to the ground, then the grating squeak of a desk sliding across the tile to rest perpendicular to his. “Uhm... good m-morning... uh... Flash,” stammered a pensive voice. A gulping sound. “Flash Sentry...?” Flash's teeth clenched. He forgot. He had forgotten. But now that it was Monday morning and he was there... of course she'd be there. And the thing is... he hadn't forgotten about what he promised. He had just wished he was a bit more awake for when it came time to deliver. But—that wasn't her fault. Nor was it her fault that she was evidently made of stronger, thicker, more caffeinated stuff than himself that morning. “Are... are you awake?” He heard her mousey inquiry. There was no point in being anything but a gentleman. Flash sat up slowly. He looked away from her for a moment to make sure there was no drool on his face, then—with a slight hair flick—he carved past his exhaustion and gifted her a friendly smile. “I'm awake,” he said hoarsely. A cough. “Good morning to you, Miss Bush.” “Uhm...” She chewed her lip, toying awkwardly with one of many many loose strands of seaweed green hair. “It's Blush,” she corrected, her cheeks living up to the name. “My bad,” Flash calmly breathed, blinking at the coquettish maiden. She looked disheveled, hunched, and more than a little bit frumpy in her oversized sweatclothes. Her eyes were a gorgeous chestnut brown. Flash focused on them as he smiled again. “I'm guessing this is about the story.” “Erm... yes...” She stroked and tugged and stroked at her hair again, shivering slightly. “My... uh... my fanfic...” It took an oceanic breath of oxygen to force these tender words out. It was a miracle she ever talked one-on-one to Flash Sentry in the first place. It was an even greater miracle that she convinced him to read an online document she had forwarded him. But—that's the crux of what resulted from their initial conversation last... Friday? It had to have been Friday. “I was... uhm... wondering wh-what you thought of it...” Flash smiled at her. Her fanfic. Yes, he had indeed read it—the long and meandering “Chapter One” of... a thing. And, yes, he had... managed to keep his lunch in his stomach. No. No, that was too cruel of a way to put it. Just because he had dreamt up knee-jerk riffs of the literature didn't mean he had to parrot them out loud. No... he had time to think about what he had read. Moments spent digesting in the shower, lying in bed, on the bus ride to school just minutes ago. No... he didn't have to rain in burning hail and lightning. Wallfower Bush... Blush was obviously a sweet and well-meaning girl, and it took her everything to so much as strike up a squeaky conversation with another human being. If Flash wasn't extra... extra careful, then he might bury this young woman's future endeavors in socializing completely. Flash continued smiling at her. Oh God, he was delaying. “So... uh... what I thought about it... … …!” The edge of his grin twitched, so he pivoted it away from her patient gaze, only slightly. “Uhm... well...” He sat up straight in his seat in a desperate bid to keep himself awake and alert for the words to come next. “Not gonna lie...” He sensed her body tensing in his peripheral. “...my knowledge of The Legend of Zelda is somewhat limited.” Her body eased back into plush frumpiness. “I mean, I know who Link is. But... I'm still a little lost on... on...” His ocean blue eyes narrowed quizzically into the ether. “...Ga... Geh... Gunnerkrigg?” “Ganondorf Dragmire,” Wallflower Blush vocalized. “Right. Er... him... “The King of Thieves,” she continued typing out loud. “First born male leader of the Gerudo in his century. Defiler of the Sacred Realm and current possessor of the Triforce of Power—” “Right.” Flash spoke into his teeth. “I get that. But... wasn't there—like—a Ganon? I thought he was some giant pig monster—” “This is before he became Ganon.” “Oh. So, uh, Gachadorf—” “Is Ganon in his non-beastly form.” “Ah.” Flash nodded. “Got it.” He nodded again. “But... like... isn't he and Link supposed to be enemies to each other?” “Yes.” Silence. “Okay.” Flash fought his eyelids as he contemplated the matter. “So... they are in fact sworn nemeses.” “That's right.” More silence. “So... uhm...” Flash leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin—in search of stubble to tickle the situation. He briefly forgot that he was a teenager. “Hmmmm...” “What's the matter?” “I guess I'm just...” He twirled a finger in midair in search of a string of words to collect. “...I'm just confused.” His eyes squinted in her direction. “What exactly would... motivate them to become such passionate lovers?” “Well, they're both hot.” “Oh! Sure! I mean...” He smiled crookedly. “There's no doubting that! But...” “But what?” She blinked. “But...” He tongued the inside of his mouth. Suddenly it was him who was too nervous to look her straight in the eye. “I mean... well... the fic starts sometime after the events of one of the games, right?” “A year after Ocarina of Time.” “Uh huh. So... why are they suddenly together?” Flash asked. “Wasn't Ganon—...dork imprisoned in some place for the things he did? And he didn't just spray graffiti on the Royal Castle or nothing. He tried to imprison the whole world in an infernal Age of Darkness, if I remember correctly. Also—and I'm scratching old memories here—but didn't Link get sent back in time at the end of the game? So... like... is this some alternate universe where Link grows up and there's a Ganondude who never becomes evil? Or is this the... uhhh... other reality where Link somehow... doesn't get sent back home but... like... the bad guy gets un-imprisoned and now they're together and they're kissing and rolling around in a desert tent somewhere?” “Ganondorf's isolation in the Sacred Realm allowed himself to reevaluate his feelings: for Hyrule and mostly for Link. He reformed and the Sages saw it and they let him free.” “Well, that would have been nice to establish,” Flash remarked with a friendly smile. “At least for the readers.” “I... figured the exposition wasn't nearly as important as the passion.” “Yeah... and about that...” Flash slouched, wincing slightly as he stared up at the ceiling. “I don't play on the same side of fence as the two dudes in your story, and—nothing against gay lovers or nothing. I'm not about bashing people for how they love each other. But... if your goal was to get the readers invested in the love-making...” “Yes...?” “It's... it...” He chewed on his bottom lip. “...there really wasn't much passion.” “There wasn't?” “The whole romance scene was externalized with little to no details as to their feelings. Like... what is their motivation? There's a really huge hump they gotta get over—no pun intended. But, seriously, though... they're both narrative rivals of an epic video game series, and the canon ending they've both endured has gone at broad lengths to separate them... physically, mentally, philosophically. So what have they done to bridge that gap and become ardent lovers? There's no grasp of that. The reader is too busy wrestling with that suspension of disbelief, and the actual meat of the love-making—again, no pun intended—isn't throwing anyone a bone to nibble on. It's just... a bunch of gasping and groaning and whimpering with no inclination as to why they're so into one another.” “But... but...” Wallflower tugged and pulled at her bangs, staring a million miles away in abject fear. She trembled. “...you c-could at least tell what was going on in that scene, right?” “Well—there's another thing.” He smiled delicately, pointing into the stale atmosphere of the morning. “If this was a story written for purely erotic purposes, then I just might be able to look past all of the glaring questions of the exposition—or lack thereof. But... uh... the problem is, Wallflower...” He sighed briefly. “It was really really hard to read.” “You... were uncomfortable with the situation?” “No, I couldn't get my bearings to be comfortable or uncomfortable. The whole scene... the entire chapter as a whole was just chock full of errors and typos. Like... super easy mistakes—'easy' in that it really wouldn't take much to fix them all. I was sorta tempted to proofread for you... y'know? Like... make a printout of the fic and mark in red pen all the parts that need attention. But... I-I didn't want to come across as a jerk.” He scratched the back of his blue head. “For realsies, though. Just a single passover with your own eyes and you could scrub those flubs clean in no time.” Her nostrils flared as she sighed long and hard into the lengths of the room. “It's a godawful piece of fanfiction...” “Now, look...” Flash waved a hand. “I didn't say that!” He smiled a friendly smile. “There's an earnest heart beneath all of the chaff. This story means a lot to you and it... er... shows in the narrative. It's just... it's an awful lot to digest for a chapter... and it is the 'first chapter.' I really have no clue what could possibly happen after what you've written. There... really isn't much of an established conflict yet, so the plot could go anywhere. But—that c-can be a good thing! It means you have so much more to dream up and plan for!” “Really...?” “Really...!” “So...” Wallflower squirmed in her seat. “What... could I do to salvage this mess...?” “Okay, for one...” Flash counted off one finger. “It's not a 'mess.'” He clenched his jaw for the duration of milliseconds it took to weather vocalizing that. “For another...” He counted off another finger. “Go over the story. Fix the typos. Then save it as a 'first draft.'” Third finger. “Then... go back over the core message of the story. What are you trying to establish emotionally for the characters? Or the audience? Then...” Fourth finger. “...plan a conflict to happen as early as possible, and steer the characters so that their actions—passionate or otherwise—are aimed at addressing that conflict.” “But... wh-what about the weird plot and 'suspension of disbelief' or whatever?” Flash waved a hand. “So long as your characters and conflict are on-point... who cares. The point of fanfiction is to have fun and create alternatives to the canon, right?” “Sure... I-I guess...” “And... lastly...” Fifth finger. “...you might wanna get a second opinion once you've made these changes.” “Second... opinion...?” “Yeah. Like... ask another person besides me to read your second draft.” He smiled warmly. “Just so you can get an opinion from the perspective of someone who has no knowledge of the first draft whatsoever.” “That...” Wallflower Blush nodded thoughtfully. “...sounds like a very good idea, honestly.” “Right?” Flash leaned back in his desk seat, stifling a yawn. “See? It's nothing to sweat over. Didn't I promise you the last time we talked that I would give you some helpful feedback? You see, Miss Blush, the key to improving your accomplishments isn't so much obsessing over perfection as it is about learning from past mista—”