Bergen peers down at my monitor.
Bergen: What are you doing?
Angela: Writing.
Bergen: About?
Angela: Your brother.
Bergen scoffs.
Angela: He’s part of the book too, Bergen.
Bergen: Yeah, but I’m better. The sign says so.
Angela: You put that sign there!
Bergen scoffs again and the author rolls her eyes.
Bergen: Just cut the scene. I’m not in it any way.
Angela: No, Bergen. I need this scene to show Rune’s inner confli—
Bergen leans over and begins to scroll up through the manuscript.
Angela: What are you doing?
Bergen: Going back to the part about me.
Angela: Don’t touch the keyboard! I’m the author! You g—
Bergen takes a drink from a fresh bottle of Guinness.
Angela: Is that my Guinness?
Bergen: [smiling] My lady, you know it is.
Angela sighs.
Bergen: Write about my sword.
Angela: I did.
Bergen: What did you write?
Angela: You have a sword, Bergen.
Bergen: What’s it look like?
Angela: It’s black, Bergen.
Bergen: Black. I picked that of a Fae goddess! Do it justice! Talk about how the Seidr flows gold under the black metal or how awesome I look while wielding it. The ladies will like that.
Angela: It’s just a sword.
Bergen: It’s cool! You talk about Rune’s sword. You gave it a black fire opal pommel and silver filigree! Do I get silver filigree?
Angela: I already talked about your sword! I need to be working on Rune!
Bergen: Rune isn’t as interesting.
Angela: Well he would be if you let me work on him.
Bergen scoffs…again.
Bergen: Derisively.
Angela: What?
Bergen: If you’re going to have me scoff this much at least say that I scoff derisively.
Angela: It’s implied.
Bergen: Well, at least add something about my scars! I have awesome scars.
Angela: This whole book can’t be about you.
Bergen: I’m hardly in it!
Angela: That’s because I have to lead into your story!
Bergen takes another drink of the Guinness.
Angela: And stay out of my Guinness or I’ll kill you off in the third chapter!
Bergen: [grinning] Baby, you can’t kill me.
Angela: Watch me!
Bergen: People love me. You kill me and your popularity will drop like a pair of bal—
Angela: Bergen! I’ll write you wearing woman’s clothes.
Bergen: And I’ll still look—
Bergen: WHAT IS THAT!?
Angela: It’s you.
Bergen: That is NOT me! I look more like this!
Angela types like a rabid dog.
Bergen: What did you just do?
Angela: I killed you.
Bergen: You didn’t kill me.
Angela: Shut up. You’re dead.
Bergen: You can’t kill me.
Angela: Yes, I can. I did. [Angela points] Right there. I embedded a dagger into your back.
Bergen: A dagger!? You killed me off with a nine inch blade!?
Angela: Four inch.
Bergen: What the fu—
Angela: Too much?
Bergen: Woman! I’m the Dark One! The legendary Berserker—
Angela types again.
Bergen: What is that you just added?
Angela: I took away the dagger and changed it to the flu.
Bergen: The flu!?
Angela: That’s right.
Bergen: You did not just kill me off with the flu.
Angela: Sure I did. It’s right there. “Bergen dies of the flu.”
Bergen: That isn’t even poetic.
Angela: Who cares? You’re dead.
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