The Joys of Fanfiction
Emmett discovers fanfiction, much to Edward's annoyance. Need I say more? Jasper's POV.
Stephenie Meyer owns all that you recognize in the story that follows! No copyright infringement is intended.
3. The Plan
Rating 5/5 Word Count 1195 Review this Chapter
The word was full of deep, far-reaching, extremely symbolic meaning. It resounded with implication. It resonated with . . . resonance.
It was a shame that no one else seemed to appreciate that.
My military boots--c. 1861, thank you very much--clacked smartly on the tiled floor as I paced, marched, really, back and forth before my lethargic troops.
Miserable slackers, the lot of them.
Edward rolled his eyes, and his exasperation rolled off of him as well. Bella, curled up on his lap (again--you'd think she lived there), grimaced up at him. The room was full of mingled expectation and aggravation. Didn't they understand that I had to work up to it? Did they think that Caesar had found his victories without meticulous planning? That "Stonewall" Jackson had stood his ground on a whim? That Alexander the Great had built his empire on a foundation of haste?
Dang straight they didn't!
Rosalie was glaring daggers at me. Apparently, she did.
"Just get on with it, Jasper." Alice's voice was bored, flat. She looked at her watch (Vacheron Constantin, or some other fancy designer; I didn't even want to think about the price). "You've been pacing and muttering like you think you're General Lee for five entire minutes. We can't afford to waste time. Carlisle and Esme can only keep Emmett out of the house for so long. Do you have a plan or not?"
The name of my nemesis brought me back to the present century.
"Ah. Yes. The Plan."
I pulled Edward's old watercolor easel (don't ask) forward and, with much dramatic flourishing of the arms and hands, threw off the filmy black cloth covering it. I smiled at my brainchild for a moment, basking in the glow of my genius, and then turned to face the front again.
I raised my hand, ready to gesture to Point One, but dropped it suddenly. It felt dreadfully wrong. This wouldn't do at all. It was terribly . . . unstructured, somehow.
"Edward," I said wheedlingly.
He groaned far more loudly than was necessary, hearing my thoughts before I vocalized them. "No. I refuse to let you wreck my car on a childish whim." Bella looked at him in confusion, Rosalie in annoyance.
"You know, Edward, I really hate it when you do that--" she began.
"I won't wreck your car, and this isn't a whim!" I growled, frustrated. It appeared I had a full-scale mutiny on my hands now. "If we're going to go about this seriously, we've got to do it right. Orderly. Responsibly."
"What is this, Sex Ed?" Rosalie interjected, smirking.
I ground my teeth. Brats.
"Fine, Edward. That's just fine. Have it your way. I don't see what's so hard about lending me a windshield wiper, but--"
Bella interrupted me with a fit of incredulous giggles. "A windshield wiper? That's what all the fuss is about? Why?"
Rosalie was smirking even wider now. She looked remarkably like a Chesire Cat. "You've got such a dirty mind, Jasper."
I sighed, trying to keep my aggravation under wraps.
Remember, they couldn't possibly understand. They've never served under the masters: Lee . . . Davis . . . Yoda . . . oh, sorry, wrong galaxy. Anyway, they don't understand the vital importance of every single detail.
"Well, if you must know, I was going to use the windshield wiper as a pointer, to indicate the separate parts of my strategy. It's better than using a simple metric ruler, because it's slightly bendy as well as rigid. And Edward's got the highest quality vehicle--no offense, Alice--and therefore the highest quality windshield wiper. But since some people--"
Bella interrupted my train of thought . . . for the second time. "Wait a minute. A pointer? In what century did you attend school? The 1800's?" She was giggling again.
I stared at her. There was a long silence.
"Anyway," Alice said levelly, "Jasper really wants to tell us about the Plan, right now, don't you, darling?" She smiled at me beatifically.
"Without your precious pointer." Now she was glowering.
"Fine." I reluctantly gestured to Point One with my--shudder--naked hand. "The gist of it is that we've got to get Emmett, henceforth known as Big E, to believe that what he's written is actually real. Psychological Warfare 101. . . ."
Ten minutes later . . .
I smelled rank stupefaction and astonishment coming from Bella, whose mouth was as wide open as humanly possible. I almost expected a colony of flies to take up residence there.
Alice conversely, appeared quite excited. She was clearly looking forward to her part in the ambush.
Rosalie also looked to be enjoying herself. There was a malicious glimmer in her eye, and in her aura, that I wholeheartedly approved of.
Edward just glared at me, the disapproval radiating off in suffocating waves. He seemed to be a loss for words.
"Jasper, I don't like it, and you know it." It came out in a strangled hiss.
So much for him being speechless. But then again, I'd been naive, foolish, to hope for it. Since when had Edward ever kept his opinions to himself?
That's right. Since never.
"I do know that, Edward," I said suavely, twirling Exhibit A (a Prom Queen Barbie doll) in my hands. I sent a subtle calming wave in his direction for good measure. "But do you want to teach Emmett a lesson or not?" I closed my eyes and sent him yet another sampling of the garbage my other, over imaginative, brother had dreamed up. Coconut oil, disturbingly large dogs, pink . . . far too much pink . . .
"All right, all right!" He snapped, his face contorted with pain.
"I still hate it when you do that," Rosalie muttered.
"But this Plan you speak of," Edward said, his voice derisive, "seems to be taking the . . . humiliation factor of the participants to an extreme. All I can say is that for your sake, Jasper," and he snarled at me menacingly, "this had better work. I'm not dressing up as a . . . you know . . . prin--thing for nothing." He cradled the still-shell-struck Bella protectively, as if to shield her from my 'evil musings.'
I'm an empath, all right? I understand body language.
"It will work," Alice said confidently, "but only if you cooperate, Edward." She waved a reprimanding finger at him. "Emmett knows that you're not as . . ."
"Normal?" Rosalie suggested helpfully. Edward bared his glistening canines at her.
". . . playful as the rest of us, and so he'll assume that if you're acting strange, too, then it couldn't possibly be a fake," she concluded.
Edward pinched the bridge of his nose with such force that I was astounded when no immortal clumps of snot shot out.
He sighed softly, and I smelled victory.
"How shall we begin?"
"OH! Oooh!" Alice jumped up and down excitedly. "I took the liberty of getting the costumes earlier today when I had my vision, and so, Edward, you won't have to settle for some fake jewels or cheap imitation rhinestones; I have a real, genuine jeweled tiara, isn't that nice?"
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