A fat bloke in the hand*

It's just after three in the morning, the bleary green lights on the alarm clock radio shining out into the darkened bedroom as Stuart slouches through to the toilet. Having a bit of a scratch. He stifles a yawn, does his sinful business, washes his hands, clicks off the light and turns to find a fat, middle-aged man leaning back against the wall, by the medicine cabinet, illuminated by a soft golden glow.

The newcomer is balding, his nose swollen and red, a string vest stretched by a beer gut of immense proportions, wee stubby, bandy legs, tiny feet, and a set of gossamer wings that ruffle the cobwebs round the light fitting.

Stuart: Oh God, not you again.

Ideas Fairy: Hey, you think I wanna hang about your bathroom in the middle of the friggin night? You think this is my idea of a good fuckin' time? You been ignoring my memos.

Stuart: Yeah, well, I've got three more Logan books to write before I can--

Ideas Fairy: (lighting up a hand-rolled cigarette) Look, this is quality stuff here -- dismembered corpses, flesh eating, cheerleaders in skimpy costumes, people having sex with dead bodies... eh? Eh?

There's a sudden whiff of brimstone and whelks and John Rickards appears, dressed in a black Armani jacket, rubbing his little goatee beard with manic glee.

Stuart's Bad Angel: (looking hopeful) Did someone say necrophilia?

Stuart: (burying head in hands) Oh God...

Ideas Fairy: Look, you want these ideas or not? I'm on a schedule here, got to go speak to some guy in Wales about financial restructuring in the Rhonda Valley.

Stuart's Bad Angel: I'll take them!

Ideas Fairy: You gotta be shittin' me... I'm not allowed anywhere near you since that Hardboiled Jesus thing you pulled. They nearly clipped my Goddamned wings!

There's a delicate sound of crystal goblets ringing, and a figure clothed in shimmering white appears peering suspiciously into a tub of Müller Light. She looks remarkably like Doris Day, only after a three month pie-eating binge.

Stuart's Good Angel: Why are there pubic hairs in the yoghurt? (looks up and sees Bad Angel standing there) Never mind, I can guess.

Ideas Fairy: Look, you want them or not?

Stuart: I can't I've got three Logan books to write. HarperCollins want--

Stuart's Bad Angel: Fuck 'em! Get a cool domain name and a fancy new blog and post the whole fucking thing online. It's what I'd do.

Stuart's Good Angel: You leave him alone! He has commitments. (sounding proud and righteous)

Stuart's Bad Angel: Shut the fuck up, fatty. Come on, you can--

Stuart's Good Angel: Don't you tell me to shut up, mollusc boy! And put some pants on!

Ideas Fairy: (raising his voice to be heard over the bickering) Look, I gotta be in Wales in ten, OK? Guy's gonna take a midnight dump and I need to be there to jam the idea in his ear before he wipes.

Stuart's Good Angel slaps the Bad One as he tries to cop a feel. Violence follows.

Stuart: Can you not just come back later? Like next week?

Ideas Fairy: No can do, you know how it works -- use 'em or loose 'em.

Stuart: (sighs) OK, OK, let's have them then. And wash your hands first this time.

Ideas Fairy: Fair enoughski. (rummages around in a tatty handkerchief, coming up with sticky clumps of inspiration to ram in Stuart's lug-holes as the fight on the bathroom floor finally comes to a puffing halt)

Stuart's Bad Angel: (spitting out a mouthful of feathers -- he has the start of a black eye) That was fun! Anyone want a hit of Absinthe?

Stuart's Good Angel: (halo all crooked) Yea, go on then. I've got some chocolate biscuits round here somewhere, we could have a party!

Stuart's Bad Angel: Party!

Stuart: (muttering to himself as he leaves them to it) I'm going to have to stop eating cheese last thing before bed.

* idea and at least one character shamelessly ripped off from PBW's blog post yesterday, because I can't be arse thinking up something new. Er... no, it's a homage! Yes, that's it, a homage. Not plagiarism at all. *ahem*