Red Dwarf was created by Rob Grant and Doug Naylor. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was created by Joss Whedon. All characters belong to them and their corporate masters who are not me.Author’s Note:
This is an FFA response for Rimmer/Anya“Defictionaliser”
“What's that?” asked Rimmer as he entered the workshop to find his three crew mates (if you really stretched the definition of the word 'mates') clustered around a strange looking alien ray-gun like device. It stood on a table in the middle of the room with a number of wires and supply tubes connected to it from various wall sockets. It was pointed toward a projection screen.
“Well, Mr Rimmer, sir,” answered Kryten, “it's a meta-atomic defictionalising extraction unit prototype device. We found it amongst the stuff we salvaged from that wrecked gelf ship we visited last week.”
“I see,” said Rimmer, who clearly didn’t. “And what does a meta-atomic defictionalising extraction unit prototype device actually do, may one ask?”
“Theoretically speaking, the meta-atomic defictionalision process is capable of taking a personality characterisation and augmenting it's definition matrix with sub-atomic particles in order to realise it into matter projected onto the physical universe.”
“I think I understood you as far as ‘theoretically speaking’.”
“It sucks people out of TV shows and Movies,” supplied the cat.
“Yeah,” added Lister pulling a stack of video cubes out of a carrier bag. “This is going to be awesome, man.” He grabbed one from the stack and inserted it into the video player.
Rimmer turned to look at the screen. “Species? Are you out of your mind?”
“But she’s addicted to sex. She’ll mate with anyone,” said Lister.
“And let’s face it, bud, for you that’s an important consideration,” said the Cat to Lister.
“She’s a mutant alien who kills every man she mates with and tries to wipe out the human race,” shouted Rimmer. “We’ve got enough of those running around the galaxy already.”
“Yeah, but she’s hot,” argued Lister.
Rimmer hit the eject button, grabbed the cube and then pressed it into his chest, momentarily softening his hard-light project in order to envelop the object with his body. “There. Now, what else do we have here?”
“Okay. How about Baywatch?” asked Lister.
It was 2am ship-time. Lister and the Cat were fast asleep, both suffering from exhaustion, while Kryten was on C-Deck re-ironing some laundry he'd done last week, just to make sure none of the creases had come back. Rimmer snuck into the workshop, slipped the video cube from his pocket and loaded it into the projector. He let it play for a bit while he powered up the meta-atomic defictionalising extraction unit prototype device. He’d just about figured out the controls when the scene he was waiting for began:“I wish Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale.”“Done!”
Rimmer pressed the activation button on the device and with a bright flash of white light, Anyanka was ripped from the screen and materialised in the workshop.
She regarded the man before her warily. “Who are you? Where am I?”
“Both very good questions, your demonness. Arnold J. Rimmer BSC at your service, and you are aboard the mining vessel Red Dwarf.”
“Service?” she snorted. “And how do you believe a worm such as you could be of service to me?”
“Well, your demonness, I was hoping to provide you with a vengeance wish that you could enact in order to increase your standing amongst your peers.”
“I see. And, puny man, tell me what is it you wish for?”
“Okay. But before I do, I want you to promise to wait to ensure that you’ve heard the whole of the wish in its entirety before you act upon it, as it's a rather complex multi-part wish, and I’ve noticed that you have a habit of saying ‘done’ and changing reality before the wisher has fully expressed all aspects of the wish they wish to have enacted.”
“Oh, all right,” said Anyanka, “but you should know, you're taking all the fun out of this.”
“Excellent! Right on with the wishing then: I wish that rather than being the youngest of four brothers that I was the eldest and that all the pranks and torments they inflicted on me were inflicted on them; that my father, rather than being the odious failure of a man that he was, was a successful leader and attentive father who nurtured my talents, and that my mother was caring and supportive, and liked me more than my brothers; that I was able to pass the Gold Swimming test; that Lister was allergic to curry; that women find me attractive; that I am wealthy, popular, a prime physical specimen and general all-round sex god; and that neither this wish, nor any others you enact, have any effects that a rational person would consider detrimental to me. You can say ‘done’ now.” Rimmer smirked.
Anyanka considered the request for a moment. “Drat! Done, I suppose.”
The skier raced down the mountainside, five gunmen in hot pursuit, the captured nuclear detonation codes safely tucked into his breast pocket. Seeing that they were gaining, he turned off the open piste and into the forest – still hurtling down the slope at breakneck speed. He dodged between the trees with amazing grace and agility – something the pursuers were struggling to match. Two had already collided with tree trunks before they were even a hundred feet into the woods. He turned sharply left to avoid a large boulder protruding from the snow in front of them and sailed out over the edge of a precipice. As he looked down between his ski’s he saw a train emerging from a tunnel below him. Quickly, he grabbed the spring-loaded grapple that was affixed to the chest strap of his back-pack and fired it at the train. The hook snagged onto the railing of the final carriage and the rope was pulled taught as the train sped away. He splayed his skis slightly and braced for the landing on the railway line, wedging the skis against the inner edges of the two rails as the train towed him along. He began to haul himself along the rope toward the train. Behind him, he heard the screams as the three remaining gunmen fell to their deaths. When he finally reached the train he hauled himself aboard, to find himself in the luggage car. He squeezed past a series of trunks labelled ‘The Red Windmill touring cabaret’ and into the next car, which happened to be the women’s sleeper section.
“Well, hello ladies. Ace Rimmer’s the name. Mind if I bunk up here with you girls till we reach Paris?”
A few minutes later as the train speed onward into the next tunnel, a breathless female voice could be heard, “What a guy...”