The following is one of the fics from the Improvisational Fanfiction panel at Anime Expo 2002, transcribed by me. I've done my best to reproduce the text exactly as it was written. The author of each section is listed at its beginning. The first author contributed their mini-starter to the panel, and the subsequent authors are from the panel's audience. Enjoy, and feel free to continue the fic if you so wish. ^_^ -- Stephana -- Mac looked up from drying a scotch glass when the bell over the door jangled. Another customer, and early too. The man that shuffled towards the bar looked right out of an old black and white detective movie. He wore a dark gray fedora, a faded gray suit, and black shoes. His face was drawn, eyes downcast. Mac recognized him, and immediately poured the man's regular in a martini glass. For fun, he added a cherry rather than the usual green olive. "You look like hell, Roy," Mac told the man as he hunched onto a barstool. He set the martini in front of him. Roy looked up from the bar, eyes bleary. Everything about him screamed "washed out". "Eh, yeah, I had a long week." "Too much work?" Roy sipped the martini. As his mouth touched the glass, the red cherry seemed to.leak its hue into the drink, and then the color itself dissolved. Mac had grown used to this over the years, yet he never ceased experimenting with different garnishes and drinks. The Shirley Temple had been a barroom favorite. "I don't know why they want me to do this," the gray man complained. "I didn't ask to be in this line of work." "You were born to it," Mac replied automatically. They'd had this conversation a million times since the night Roy first set foot in the bar, nigh on 20 years ago. "It was in your stars." Roy grunted. "It was in my name." "Whatever. Wanna talk about it?" The man polished off his martini and extended the glass, gesturing for a refill. "Yeah., yeah I think I do." * I was sitting in my favorite arm chair in my office when the fax started up. I hate that machine. I didn't move until it had stopped whirring and squealing- I think it needs some work- and then I got out of my chair. Reluctantly, I might add. I didn't want to work that night. I glanced over the paper and sighed. Yeah, the usual work order: "Please kill off this person. Yadda yadda. Payment upon receipt of some macabre token." I grimaced, like I always do, and dropped the request in File 13. Then I remembered that the bills were piling up, and retrieved it. I really do hate this job, but it's just my luck that I would be the only one with half a brain and some marksmanship who could get suckered into this line of work. Yeah, and the name doesn't help. Because out there in the real world, I'm known as. ****************************** ROY G. BIV: Color Assassin Written by Stephana ****************************** -- Ryan Berry / AIM: SkitsOverburn -- Dustin Karven, Yeah, my file lay on the desk somewhere ofcourse somewhere down the line, I took the name Raven. Raven just sounded so much cooler! Anyway so this is how it would work, if I used my "real" name, as in. "I'm Karven, Dustin Karven". most people blinked I had wet that certain fear aspect. of course, saying. "Name's Raven". People tended to be impressed, and then I had to shoot them. Yeah so I was good at my job. And I was half good, with my two dollar zip-gun, made in Jr. High. So, I looked on down to this faxed file. My hit this time was Strawberry Ann. Wow. I wondered what piece I would bring back this time... .. -- Isa -- You'd have expected she'd have been a redhead, with a name like that. Maybe a curvy type, built like an hourglass with soft, smooth legs. The sort of woman to make you gulp down a great martini just to watch her without any distractions. The sort of woman they write jazz songs about. This woman looked like a disgruntled librarian with a headful of No-Doz. Mousy, bespectacled, rumpled clothes and recovering from bad skin. She looked so nonthreatening it was faintly pathetic, and about as offensive as a powdered donut. Mmmmmm. Donuts. But why would anyone want her dead? -- Jimmy Sun / AIM: CthulhuSpawning -- With experienced caution, I followed her out of the club. The neon lights sparked and crackled as a light rain began falling. I was getting a bad feeling and the impetuous weather didn't help. But this wasn't about me, I still had a job to do. "Sweetheart", I thought, "You're about to pay for a week's worth of drinks...and possibly a hooker or two". I slid my custom Baretta out from the leather holster and pointed at the naked area in the back of her neck. Something about her still bothered me. I pulled the trigger. She vanished. Damn it, its always the quiet ones...