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The purpose of this Glossary is to explain any obscure references to characters or shows present in some of the stories in this zine. Some people insist on using names referred to in stories not present or like to use characters from old and new television shows no one has ever heard of (or is ever likely to) outside of the Relativity forum. As official Glotterizer for the past 8 issues I'd just like to explain one thing so it's right out there in the open. Simply put… I've lost it! Anything you don't understand, I hope I've explained here, but I've probably more likely gone off on some weird tangent or soapbox as opposed to saying anything of value and since Jill doesn't really read this stuff too carefully, I suspect she'll never notice… Yep, that's what I need -- my own personal, totally devoid of censure, place where no one but me can speak! Ha!
But, if you do need clarification on anything contained in this fanzine, I surely hope I've actually remembered to address any bits of confusion there might be… I'm sorta tired… and I suspect my brain leaked out my ear weeks ago. Have a great day!
(This is the section where Elaine really does lose it and includes Buffy's world in her glossary for no other reason than she wanted to…)\
Rupert Giles sighed deeply. It had been a long day of not really doing very much of anything. Since de-employed by the Watcher's Council and having blown up his own workplace -- along with the rest of the school (though he did save the books) -- he'd been having a lot of days like this one.
He stretched, unkinking his neck and back. But now it was the evening. The time when his former students were either out slaying evil creatures or busily making out with each other and less likely to intrude into his world.
He carefully reached behind his sofa for his prized guitar -- a part of his life he hadn't really intended to share with anyone, that is until the Scooby Gang found out. But he still felt incredibly awkward playing in front of them.
An evening with the classics would suit him well. He strummed a few times, tweaking the keys until the instrument was perfectly tuned.
A smile crossed his lips as he leaned back, his eyes closed. He began to sing one of the most perfect and cherished songs ever composed…
Clouds never laughed before
Beanstalks never grew
Ponies never ran before
'Til I met y-- ack!
Giles' door burst off the hinges, startling and interrupting him completely.
A very young, handsome, bulging-muscled hunk of a man in very dark sunglasses -- despite the late hour -- and trenchcoat (a tank top accentuating his incredible physique clearly visible underneath it) stood in the doorway holding the door, looking almost as surprised as the ex-librarian.
"Excuse me." Giles finally found his voice. "I believe that's mine."
"Yikes! Sorry man!" The guy cringed apologetically. "Forget my own strength every Now & Again." He moved aside, still holding the portal. "Lisa, Heather -- hurry!"
An attractive woman and a young, gangly girl clad in almost identical shades and overcoats slipped past the intruder. He then leaned the door back into place, hurriedly racing to the windows to make sure the blinds and drapes were shut tightly.
"Name's…" He glanced sorrowfully at the woman before continuing. "…Newman. Michael Newman." He extended a hand to Giles, but pulled it back when he saw their host gawking at his former locking mechanism laying on the floor. "Thanks for helpin' us," Michael said instead. "I can't tell you how much we appreciate this."
Lisa breathed out deeply in relief. "Yes, Mr. Giles." She stepped forward. "It's been a nightmare. We've been on the run since they burst in just after Mr. Newman pulled us out."
"Th…They?" Giles queried. "Demons? Vampires? Monsters?"
"Like duh," Heather whined. "Like the IRS…" She gave him an incredulous look.
"I…I…IRS? Internal Revenue Service?" Giles' eyes fluttered and his mouth opened.
"Yeah, well," Michael hemmed and hawed. "That might be a cover story…" he admitted. "But they're really bad guys."
"Oh." Giles lowered his head and assessed his visitors over the top of his glasses. "I see." He frowned a little. "But what exactly…"
A creak at the door as it began to fall inward stopped Giles' question. Luckily, with blinding speed, Michael rescued it before it could crash to the floor.
A pleasant looking gentleman in black leather jacket stood with a stunned expression on his face, one fist raised to knock and the other clutched a rolled up newspaper. "Hi." He managed a wan smile, carefully sidestepping the debris on the floor. "Gary Hobson," he introduced. "I'm, uh, I'm looking for -- Rupert Giles…"
Giles came forward. "That would be me," he hesitated to announce.
Gary bobbed his head up and down seriously. "Great! Great! This is gonna be such a great help…" he began.
"Can anyone join this party?" A tall man, also in a leather jacket, with slightly singed hair, perhaps from a recent fire or bomb explosion, leaned in the opening, peering over his also-inappropriate-for-nighttime dark sunglasses.
Barely visible behind him paced a leggy brunette in a very tight, very short mini-skirt. She rolled her eyes in disgust, placing her hands on her hips. "Come on, Smokey," she grumbled. "I'm not spendin' an eternity stuck with you in limbo land." She pushed past him, bringing with her the distinct odor of burnt oil.
She scanned the room. "Give us the stupid magic tree and we'll be getting on with our business," she demanded, annoyance dripped off every syllable.
"Now, now, Miss Parker," her companion scolded in a tone used for naughty children. "Didn't the Centre ever teach you patience is a virtue." He turned to the crowd. "Jarod," he declared himself, then his expression lit up at the sight of Giles' crossbow on the counter. He immediately started to play with it.
Her eyes went heavenward again and she sighed the longest, long-suffering sigh in history.
"Come on, children," a woman clearly called from outside. She appeared at the still open entrance. "I think we've found it." She grinned broadly, a large strapping also-hunk appeared at her shoulder, motioning for a their group to follow. "Hello," she cheerily began. "I'm Jo, and these are my little men. Can we come in?" she asked, obviously embarrassed at her lack of proper manners. "I'm so sorry to arrive without any sort of announcement, but I've been so cold since some silly young man put us in a freezer next to a psychotic killer named Johnny just so my oh-so-sad sister's death would linger…" She took in the confused stares. "That's neither here nor there. Is it…? We're looking for a watch-person, though how a maker of timepieces will be able to help us…" She shrugged, but kept her happy expression lit.
Giles rubbed at his temples. Unsure if the din was the cause of the pounding there or just the sheer number of people in his living room. "Uh, um… well… perhaps the children could wait upstairs while we figure out what the he-- what exactly is happening here," he suggested.
"Sure." Jo motioned for her charges to head for the second floor.
"Oh!" Giles cried, remembering. "Please don't allow them to play with the medieval weaponry…"
Jo nodded assurance as the boys and two girls disappeared upstairs.
Giles watched two females trot up behind their male companions, sure the woman had only mentioned little men. The noise didn't seem to be abating with the exit of the young ones. Giles needed to do something quickly. He grabbed the brass knuckles from Jarod's hand and banged on the counter loudly.
"Please, everyone," he said wearily. "Please… I need some answers…"
"Maybe this one'll be able to help you," a blonde woman who rivaled the brunette in short, mini-skirted and leginess supplied from the door with an Australian accent. "I'm Nikita." She boldly strode in, signaling to someone outside. "Michael?"
Michael, with his longish dark hair and face that looked like it would speak with a sexy, smoky French accent, dragged a struggling white-blond being through the door with him.
"Bloody hell," Giles cursed in Cockney. Regaining his composure, he approached the one trying to blend into the background. "Spike? What the hell have you done?"
Spike pulled up straight and tall, a wounded puppy-dog, hurt expression filled his features. "Me?" in an accent similar to Giles' outburst. "I'm just tryin' ta be the best little non-bitey vampire I can be," he decried innocently. "Gotta make a livin' somehow." He blinked, attempting to look the owner of the home in the eyes but failed miserably from guilt.
Giles surveyed his abode. Delight filled his heart at the black expressions being thrown in Spike's direction but reason made him stop any action against the demon -- at least until he knew what was going on. "Would someone please tell me what he's promised," Giles announced. "Ah!" He held up his index finger at the cacophony that assaulted his ears when everyone tried to speak at once. "One person and one person only."
They all looked to each other. Finally, door-busting Michael stepped forward. "Well, I don't know about these guys, but -- and did he say he was a vampire?…" Michael shook his head at the thought and continued. "… he said you were a powerful sorcerer and with your faithful witch companion you could put a spell -- or I'd even settle for a curse -- on a certain network's executive staff and make them renew us. Ya gotta help us do this," he pleaded with the ex-Watcher, getting up close and whispering in Giles' ear. "I gotta be able to tell Lisa something and I can't like this…" He shrugged.
"Yes, well, assistance would be appreciated," Miss Parker added grudgingly. "Jarod and I were in the middle of being blown away on a train when our lives were canceled. We'll be stuck nowhere if you aren't able to do this…"
Giles frowned. "Oh d…dear." He searched the faces of all present. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try." He picked up his phone, and dialed Willow, explaining what had been requested of them and what they would need to pull off the incantation.
"Ya know, Mate," Spike informed Giles. "There were a whole more lot waitin' in line outside my crypt waitin' for this opportunity. We can make a bloody fortune."
"Shut up, Spike," Giles ordered. "Willow will be here shortly. Um, uh, would you all like some tea or something," he offered.
"I can do that," Lisa said, dropping her trenchcoat onto the leather jacket and trenchcoat pile which had become alarmingly high.
"I'll help." Jo spoke up as well.
Giles smiled his appreciation. "Thank you, ladies. I guess while we all wait, why don't we all relax." He retrieved his discarded guitar. "I think a few choruses should do the trick." He strummed the instrument reverently.
Clouds never laughed before
Beanstalks never grew
Ponies never ran before
'Til I met you…
APOCRYPHAL COUSINS: Apocryphals… hmmm… what can you say about Apocryphals… Well, first, I guess that we really only have one this year (I dare her to put my QL/SG1 story there). But our poor A's, for so they have been branded -- though luckily not with the scarlet kind -- are pretty downtrodden. The most important thing to remember, especially when you've been unfairly relegated here, is that their storylines may or may not become part of the real Relativity universe. Course, not only does the decision of whether or not you are banished here seem to rest solely with only one of the co-editors, the same fickle, unexplainable, no-rhyme-or-reason whims seem to relegate whether or not they are canon. Go figure.
BASED UPON: Okay, who knew it would be such a based upon year! Based upon this… based upon that… Isn't it fun! Inspiration ran from a WKRP episode, a throw-away line in Scarecrow and a story done last year, La Femme Nikita in general and <yikes and ye gods!> a Soldier of Fortune episode. Course this whole zine is based on a few phrases Andy and Lee uttered in their shows. Dontcha just gotta love based upons! Huff Puff!
BETHIE: Bethie is a character from a Battlestar Galactica story called "The Quiet Whisper." It finally came to our attention last year that Bethie had not really died in a dark pit of despair (aka: a hole on the ground) as previously written in the past. The petite, sorrowful heroine was rescued by the valiant SG-1 team and eventually became supreme leader of Earth's United Military force. Don't believe me? Read Relativity 8.
BRITISH SPELLINGS: Well normally, for the most part, in a consistent always the same world, we don't usually, that is to say normally, use British spellings in our zine. But we have made an exception since the one story is almost a journal and the writer is a British citizen. But boy did it wreak mind games with my tiny brain. I knew about colour and favourite and centre, etc., but did you all know about marvellous as well? It was a great learning experience.
MURPHY'S LEG: Fans of first season Remington Steele may not remember Murphy Michaels having a limp in the show. He didn't. Jill gave it to him after he almost died in a cave in "Will You Steele Need Me?" published in Steele Files I and reprinted in Works of Steele (available from me, ask for details). Murph banned all use of this plot device starting with the last issue -- and somehow he managed to win… that doesn't seem quite fair, does it…?
The thunder echoed and reverberated eerily through the small beach house on the shores of Lake Michigan. Only seconds earlier, the darkened cabin had been alight from the bolt that had heralded the booming sound. The boys had been sitting in the dark since the power line had snapped hours earlier.
Skip leaned on the couch, pressing his nose to the large plate glass window to watch as each lightning strike showed the lake with the fifteen foot plus swells. "Geez, guys," he complained. "You sure we're not on the ocean…? Those don't look like little lappy thingies to me."
"Little lappy thingies?" a voice that sounded like Lee asked from a corner somewhere.
Andy hmphed. "He's from California," he explained, as though that were enough.
"Yeah?" the spy queried from the pitch blackness.
"He thinks lakes don't have waves," Andy elaborated. "They have 'little lappy thingies'." Another strike nearby illuminated Andy long enough to show his bunny quotes around the phrase.
"Oh? A frown sounded in Lee's tone. "And what exactly did you think sunk the Edmond Fitzgerald?" he asked his cousin incredulously.
"Ya know, honestly…" Skip paused momentarily. "Never really did give it much thought," he declared cheerfully, abandoning the conversation for more nose-pressing.
A sharp intake of breath and an almost dragging sound from near Andy caught everyone's attention and another flash caught Murphy gimping towards the kitchen.
"Murph, you okay?" Lee asked.
"Fine," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Just… fine…"
"Yeah, well you look like Chester on Gunsmoke," Skip added with a laugh. "The old war wounds actin' up with the changes in the weather?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Murphy called from the kitchen, the sure sound of an aspirin bottle being fumbled with, opened and its contents poured out could easily be heard.
Andy tsked. "And they say women are vain…"
"My leg hasn't bothered me in years," he declared, losing a little credibility when he again gimped past his cousins during the next bolt of light.
"Whatever you say, Hopalong." Andy chuckled.
"Not in years…" Murphy mumbled to the unbelievers. "Fine --ahhphm," he again asserted. "Abso -- lutely f…"
The loudest thunderclap so far shook the cabin to its foundations, effectively silencing the rest of what the detective might have felt the need to say.
No one dictates to me in my zine! Ha!-- Elaine
POETIC LICENSE: "The right to deviate, for artistic effect, from rigid fact or form." (Thank you Webster's New World Dictionary, 1972 edition… Hey look at the cool pictures -- did we have any presidents after Nixon…?)
Uh guys, I hate to admit this but… not everything in this zine is totally accurate. I'm so sorry to burst any little bubbles, but I felt -- and I cringe at this admission -- you had a right to know.
I have to say that we're going to hide behind "poetic license" <did you hear the booming, echoey voice that just announced that? You didn't? Let's try again…> "POETIC LICENSE" <How was that? >.
Okay, now the confession… in Mark's story "Section Zero", beside this one thing, it's very, very accurate and true to life, but… There is no way that when all those unlabeled, unnumbered, unlogged tapes fell, that it would bury Abdul in a three foot high pile. Just no way! Gads, if it were three feet tall -- I'd just… I'd just… I'd just be such a happy little camper! It hasn't been only three feet tall in even my wildest dreams in forever.
Sorry for the inaccuracies, but we didn't think the readers could handle the truth.
SEPARATED AT BIRTH: Being the "mother-of-all" is still a title held by Ms. Beverly Garland -- Mama Holt (Laura), Mama West (Amanda), Mama Lane (Lois), Mama Douglas (Chip and Ernie), Mama of Annie (7th Heaven)… but our clone hats are off to someone closing in: (though she seems to expire more than she is motherly…) Bonnie Bartlett! Starting off as the saintly woman on St. Elsewhere married to William Daniel's character she's gone on to many, many new roles this season… Lily's mom in Once & Again and Mark Greene's mom in ER and the Destroyer of Worlds in Stargate SG-1 (okay, maybe not the motherly type, but she did reborn a whole world after escaping the SGC by de-aging everyone (including herself), which of course made her beautiful and sexy and young and bimbo-like… Just the person Daniel needed to fall in love with the very next episode after losing his soul-mate, Sha're… Geez… Mary Sue's don't normally achieve this drek-like status! And don't get me started on Jack and canoes and meteor strikes and women who want to have babies and…) Oh, uh, did I digress? Of course none of this really has anything to do with Relativity this year, but it seemed a more interesting idea than just repeating last year's definition… So back to Bonnie -- she was also the poor wife on (I think) it was The Practice this year who gets killed by her husband… my memory chips are not functioning properly these days. Must be time to defrag again. But, Beverly, watch out… Bonnie's comin' from behind, but she's narrowing the gap.
TYPOS: Lala Lala Lala La… Hi, I'm Elaine. I live in my fantasy bubble. Just FYI -- there are no typos in Relativity 9. Yep. Amazing but true… I made sure of it. Barbara made sure of it. Jill made sure of it. So it must be true. If you think you see one, my guess is it's because it's the "British" spelling of the word! Yep. That's what it is. The "British" spelling… That would be it. And that's my story and I'm sticking to it… Because if there were any typos (and how could there possibly be since I've reread each and every story in here two bazillion times each) I would have to apologize humbly to all our readers and try to come up with a reason I could be so blind. That's how I know, there are no typos in Relativity 9! Lala Lala Lala La. I'm Elaine and I live in my fantasy bubble.