possibly picturing Maxima’s head stuffed and mounted above her fireplace.
“And who might you be?”
“Melissa Arnott. I go by Miss Maxima?” Her fake-smoky voice is about what you’d expect from a theater major with a DVR full of Castaway Planet and Bette Davis films. “I moderate one of the most highly regarded fanjournal communities for Castaway Planet fans. You might have heard of the Cadsim Connection?”
“I have not.”
“Our fan fiction is very widely respected in the Castaway Planet fandom, and—”
“Oh, good grief.”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Romanticism poisoning the fan experience—trust me, I’m an old-school X-Phile; I know how it goes.” She sighs. “I’m sorry. You were saying. People apparently think Cadmus and Sim—” She makes a face and grinds her index fingers together.
“Yes! Well, we’re hoping…”
“No. Sorry, but no,” says Della Wolfe-Williams. “Why do people think this pairing is a good idea? I find it really baffling, if I’m being honest.”
Someone yells boooo! I sneak a look at Abel. He makes a halfhearted herp derp face.
Miss Maxima’s motormouthing: “…would actually make total sense for their characters, if you think about it, and also I heard the plan is to get them together during sweeps next season.”
“People actually think that?” Della Wolfe-Williams twists her mouth up.
“Many do, yes,” Maxima says. “In fact, two of the biggest believers are right there in front of the stage. In the Blondie shirt? And the baseball cap?”
Abel facepalms.
“These two young men?” says Della.
“Yep. Isn’t that right, boys?”
“Ah,” I say, “no, we—”
“Oh, don’t be modest! They’re relatively new converts but they’ve already written the most incredible fanfic,” Maxima smirks. “It’s just so lyrical and romantic. Emotionally, they build a rock-solid case for the Cadmus-Sim pairing; I mean, you should read it sometime. There’s this flashfic set in the spider cave that’s almost like a sonnet, and—”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh. Well listen, you two little Shakespeares.” Della Wolfe-Williams clicks closer to us. “I studied queer lit in college so I’m nothing if not an ally, but I’ll eat my boot if an actual relationship happens. It would be the worst storyline disaster since the giant-sandworm episode in Season 2.”
Giggles in the crowd. Some grumbles. Bec’s holding the camera on Della, but her eyes keep straying to me.
“People. Look.” Della holds up a hand. “Clearly I don’t know what’s brewing in Lenny Bray’s cranium; none of us do, but you’re asking me, and I say it’s not possible on any level. It stretches every reasonable test of credibility, character-wise.”
Miss Maxima folds her arms and flicks her dark bangs. “Why is that?”
“Ahh, let’s see. Well, for starters…” She looks right at us. “Cadmus: classic narcissistic personality, obsessed with his hair, obnoxious hero complex, etc. And the sad fact is, even if Cadmus changed tomorrow, Sim couldn’t. He isn’t capable of real love.”
The crowd murmurs. Abel slings me a sidelong glance.
“Well, plenty of people think that’s a cruel assessment of Sim’s character,” says Maxima. “My writers—”
“Oh, is that what they think? That if you don’t believe in character assassination, you’re just a big meanie?” Della shakes her head. “It is a neutral fact. Stop romanticizing him, people! He’s not going to change, because he can’t. Chip or no chip, he’s a machine. It’s crystal-clear from Episode 1: He was built to follow orders, not fall in love.”
“Ouch,” whispers Abel.
Ouch, says my stomach.
“Besides, isn’t that the fun of slash fiction? It plays off subtext,” says Della Wolfe-Williams. “If they really got together, guys—wouldn’t that ruin everything?”
***
“We try to make peace with Maxie, and she publicly humiliates us!” Abel’s pacing in the CastieCon exhibit hall, right next to a display of coffee mugs with the Hell Bells etched in silver. “That’s just—that’s not cool.”
I blink at the rows of mugs: green, orange, stop-sign red. He’s not going to change, because he can’t. I don’t believe that about myself, not anymore. So why can’t I stop replaying it?
“Ugh, here she comes. Look blasé.” Abel hooks his thumbs in his pockets and studies the ceiling, whistling off-key. Miss Maxima zigzags through the crowd. Her pillbox hat bobs in a sea of shaggy hair and baseball caps, and her big round face radiates smug, as if the sun had a secret.
“Hello, young lovers!” she sings.
“Hey.” I stare at her lip. I think the mole is drawn on.
“Sorry it took so long to wend my way over; I was having a fascinating talk with Ty Savarese—you know him? Big name fan, co-moderates the forum?”
“Why’d you tell the whole room we write Cadsim fic?” Abel sticks his hands on his hips.
“Oh! Well,