DISCLAIMER: All characters and their backgrounds in this story belong to good ol' Renaissance and those wonderful TPTB who let us all think what we want about the show. This story may not be reproduced in any form without the prior consent of the author (namely me!) so don't go doing anything silly now, else I'll have to send over my boomerang-wielding lawyers! And believe me, they love the sight of blood ... they once bathed in a tub of blood ... their nicknames are bloody lawyers ... they -- oh, you get the drift now? Jolly good.
NOTE: Based on Joanna's idea of writing a parody Uber Fanfic (i.e. "A Tree Grows In Mesopotamia"), I came up with this little ditty.
NOTE II: Okay, raise you hand if you noticed that Xenrielle has run out of unique story ideas ... *sigh*
I Have Many Help Files
INT. SECOND-HAND COMPUTER SHOP -- DAY
The shop is filled to the roof with second-hand (NOTE: the correct term is "pre-loved", thank you) monitors and CPUs. At the rear of the store is a table with two computers set up on it. One has a CD-ROM and an unusually blue "on" button, while the second has a nasty looking microphone and well-sculptured speakers.
There is silence for a while until COMPUTER #1, who clears its speakers to get COMPUTER #2's attention, breaks it. They start to speak in Binary Code, but since this sketch is aimed at the American population, we hear them speaking in English. COMPUTER #1, having been built in another factory on the other side of town, has to adjust its Binary to accommodate the American accent because the Cyber Wizards believe that Americans can't understand what it says otherwise.
Umm ... I don't mean to be so forward,
but are you feeling a serious case of deja vu?
Yes! You noticed also? I can't help but
feel that we've known each other in a previous
life or something. By the by, my serial code's 7-1-2.
But my friends call me GAB.
Pleased to meet you GAB. I'm known as 24-5-13-1
... but you can call me XENA if you like.
That's a nice serial code, XENA.
Has anyone told you that you have a very blue
Oh, I get that a lot. It's natural, you know. I don't
put on blue covers or anything.
I can tell. Blue covers always have a ring around
the outside that gives them away. What's that extra
drive you have?
You mean my CD-ROM?
CD-ROM ... I don't have one of those.
A friend installed it for me many printer cartridges ago.
It comes in handy when virus-ridden floppies try to get
the better of me.
Hey, nice mic.
Oh, thanks. A Macintosh gave it to me. Taught me
how to use it an' all.
A Macintosh, huh? But you're an IBM.
Yes. A long time ago I tried to save one of them from
the scrap heap. It was taken away to be recycled,
unfortunately, but not before it gave me its
You're a Network Server?
Well, yeah. But I don't really do anything. One of the
Macintoshes does all the work while I'm here.
The two computers dwell on this new information for a while before the door to the shop opens and a pimple-faced boy wearing coke-bottle glasses shuffles in, carrying a Casio Pocket Computer, which he keeps poking at. He ambles on up to the counter and rings the bell.
Get a load of that one!
He reminds of my previous human. They really make
you work. I've never scanned so many files!
That explains your well-sculptured speakers then.
Oh, yeah. It makes up for my CPU height.
Unlike yours. That's one tall CPU you got there.
Thanks. I get it from my designer.
The shop owner emerges from a rear room and walks over to the customer. They talk for a while, studying the pocket computer before the store owner nods and forks over some money. He takes the computer and walks over to the rear table, putting the hardware down between XENA and GAB. He then walks off into the back room again. The boy counts his money before grinning and whipping out a calculator, punching in amounts as he leaves the store.
(to the CASIO)
Hello, there. You're one of those Casio Pocket
Computers, aren't you?
Hey, I was just trying to be nice.
I don't care for Desktops.
(dangerously, the light on her CD-ROM drive starting to flash)
Oh, you don't do you?
(challenging, ejecting its POINTER and threatening XENA with it)
Yeah, that's right.
What you gonna do about it?
The mouse comes out of nowhere and lashes out towards the CASIO, tapping its reset button.
I've just cut off the flow of electricity to your memory
chip. Apologise and I might just let you reboot.
I'm ... s-sorry!
Huh? I didn't hear you.
I s-said I ... I was s-sorry! Please!
XENA sighs and retracts her mouse, watching as CASIO gasps and reboots itself.
That's a neat trick.
I have many help files.
The shop owner emerges from the back room again and picks up the CASIO.
What's been going on here? Why is there a virus in
XENA and GAB turn off their monitors.
That kid! I'll kill 'im!
He storms off into the rear room again to make some phone calls. After a few seconds, XENA and GAB turn their monitors back on.
That was close.
You don't seem too frazzled by it all.
I've done a lot of bad things in my past. Back when I only
ran Windows 3.1, I used to roam the Internet and spread
viruses to every computer. My floppy disks were no match
for even the most thorough anti-virus software. I ... I ...
But you're not like that now.
No. I met Bill Gates and he gave me an upgrade. He
taught me that there's more to life then Win 3.1 ... he
showed me VET.
Yes. VET keeps my evil viruses in check. I couldn't
do all the good I do without it.
(interlaces her printer cable with XENA's)
Teach me everything you know.
Well ... okay.
XENA launches HELPER.EXE and plugs in her network cable to GAB. They spend the rest of the day exchanging optic messages and getting to know one another.
ON THIS WE:
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