Throwing the gauntlet down

"My name is Marin the assassin. You cut my character. Prepare to die!"

"About that..." I pick up my editing knife, wondering if it will work against a character already cut from my novel. Best to back away from my desk just in case. "How about coming up with your own dialogue instead of mooching off movies?"

Marin, a muscled assassin wearing a long armored coat loaded with all the weaponry he had on him when he left my novel, scrambles up my chair. "I don't have much choice since you're not writing me anymore, do I?"

He jumps to the desktop and pulls a gun, waving it around. "You've got some nerve! I stood with you through countless rewrites. I went from being dominant, to looking like an incompetent fool. Even then I didn't get all difficult to work with like Delyn did. Yet, you still cut me."

"I wouldn't call you a fool. You got played. That's all."

"Played?" He laughs. "By you or Delyn? You meant to axe me right from the start, didn't you? That's why you didn't even bother giving me a last name."

I look down to see the Barthromians cheering and shaking their fists. "Oh, shut up. None of you even had first names." Where is that pilot, I could really use a little help right now. "Zsmed?"

Ms. Wildstar points under my desk where I can just make out some moaning. "He's busy."

Good grief! Now? Really? I don't even want to know who he's with.

With my editing knife held out like a shield, I make my way toward the door. "Marin, you might notice that I rarely give supporting characters last names."

"You gave him one." He keeps his gun on me as he points beyond the Barthromians to a man sitting alone in the corner sifting through a crate of adverbs. The words very, angrily and violently sit at his feet.

"True." I recognize Nekar Viceres, whom I'd forgotten about. "I cut him a full revision before you though. That should say something positive about you, right?"

"You cut us both, but you at least had the consideration to make him not look like an idiot first."

I notice Nekar watching us. The ex-member of the Pirate Guild stands up, his armored coat also filled with weapons. A wave of hope washes over me. Marin was right, Nekar had been cut on pretty good terms. "Hey, Nekar, how about a little help here?"

"Yeah, Nekar, how about a little help here?" Marin nods toward me.

Nekar kicks the crate of adverbs aside. A flurry of suddenlys goes flying into the hushed crowd of Barthromians. His face splits into a wicked grin. He whips out a gun.

Oh, crud.