FanFic: The Convention by Trianne

Pairing: none specified
Rating: none given
Summary: The first annual Real Fan Fic Convention gets under way, hilarity (or at least soppy humour ensues)
Warnings: None, unless you are a fan of high class parody, satire and humour, in which case stay well clear. Some fairly mild innuendo and bad language.
Author's Notes: Should really be read after FanFic but what the hell!
Disclaimer: These are real people, movie stars no less, is it at all likely that I would have a conduit to their personal lives? Oh, I wish.

E-mail message
From: B.Boyd
To: Real Fan Fic List
Subject Convention #1 Venue – The Dream Palace Hotel, Wikuki Island
STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL TO LIST ADDRESSEES ONLY!

Hi all
Just an update on our first Convention, as above. Please note that I will not tolerate any pissing around, if I hear even a hint that details have leaked you will be moderated and even bounced from the list – that goes for you, too, Ewan. This will, of course, be a pan-Fan convention, ie celebrating all movie Fans of whatever persuasion. As a FOTR real Fan fic writer, I will be very interested in that particular strand but, hey, the convention has been put together to pay tribute to ALL our Fans, even Arnie's (only joking Arnie, your latest post re sarahconnorisapumpedupvixen was really very good, and the spelling is coming on a treat - well done).

You should all have received your travel details and itineraries, report to reception on arrival. Security is tight, of course, and ID will be needed, no ID then its no-go and heave-oh – none of us is too famous, too well known or too damn gorgeous to waive that little requirement, okay? (Stop pouting you lot).

Cover stories have been prepared for all of attendees and will be submitted to press agents shortly, as per guidelines, so, see you all on the island! Two days and nights of Fan-ying around in one of the most luxurious hotels in the world, poetry readings, booze, goss and who knows what else!

See ya there, folks, and remember – this is how we say our special, secret and sexy thank you to all our Fic Writing Fans.

Billy Boyd List Mom

Sun. Sand. Sea. Security.

The Dream Palace Hotel stood in twelve acres; its wooded, verdant grounds, constantly watered, primped and maintained to offer seclusion and tranquillity to its special guests. To the south of the hotel was the beach, golden and soft and virginal (raked thoroughly after midnight) lapped by the crystal clear blue waters of the Pacific (dredged by off-shore maintenance crews to ensure no unsightly flotsam or jetsam made it ashore). Six pristine tennis courts stood ready for the pleasure of the honoured guests and the same number of heated pools, saunas, gyms and cafes. In addition, the hotel stables could provide mounts of impeccable lineage to enable guests to take to the woodland trails (followed at a discreet distance by hotel staff armed with dustpans and brushes to ensure that nothing spoiled the natural beauty of the island and its ultra- deluxe, oh-so-special hotel).

The hotel had an enviable reputation to maintain. It was, quite simply, the resort of choice of the world's richest and most famous movie stars. If you were a billionaire who had nothing to do with movies, you could not get in. Only by special ballot could a new member be accepted. Absolute discretion, total relaxation, all tastes catered for – and all to be had among fellow stars who could party as only the gifted and fabulously wealthy could – perfect.

Its Manager, Mr Forochel, had welcomed the stars personally to the hotel for the last sixteen years. He had seen them come and go. If a star's "rating" fell below a certain level then they were sadly denied membership and would be turned away from the island but this rarely happened, and Mr Forochel had a soft heart. He once allowed a washed up, alcoholic former mega-star, down to his last three million dollars, to wait table in the lesser of the hotel's restaurants until such time as he found his form again. And he did. He became one of the hottest box office draws in movie history and he never forgot the kindness of Mr Forochel.

Life was good for Mr Forochel and his illustrious clients. And he was so looking forward to the Real Fan Fic Convention, which promised fun and one hundred of the hottest movie stars working today, not to mention legends from the past, all buzzed and hyped and clasping their beloved, red hot Real Fan Fics. Oh yes!

Billy was the first of the Fellowship to arrive at the hotel, clutching his itinerary and his battered manila folder containing all the e-mails, letters, schedules and other assorted paraphernalia of a dedicated List Mom. His chauffeur, supplied of course by the hotel, saw that his cases were whisked off to his suite, allowing Billy a moment to look around. It was his first time here. Last year his "rating" hadn't been sufficient to allow admission and it was only really on the say so of Elijah and Sean Bean that he was here at all; and the same applied to Dom. Wow! What a place. Marble stretched into infinity in any direction, its clean, pure lines broken by tasteful waterfalls and a virtual rainforest which erupted from the foyer and skimmed the incredibly high, vaulted ceilings. Billy suddenly felt rather small and insignificant. But that changed within an instant.

"Mr Boyd!" boomed a deep and distinctive voice, the owner of which was a short, fat gentleman wearing a brocade waistcoat that Bilbo would have coveted. "I am Mr Forochel, I am honoured to welcome you to our humble lodgings, name your heart's desire, Mr Boyd, and it will be yours!" said the Manager, pumping Billy's hand while he discreetly and smoothly relieved him of his folder and his flight bag.

"A drink, yes? Then I will arrange for you to see your suite and approve the arrangements for the Convention. Sit, sit." And the rotund Mr Forochel was gone. Billy sat. His folder and bag were on an onyx table beside his overstuffed armchair and ten seconds later they were joined by a large beer, Billy's favourite brand, of course.

"I think this will be just fine," Billy thought, lazing into his armchair and downing his drink. "Hope the actual convention goes as smoothly."

Within the next two hours, the hotel began to fill up. Mr Forochel greeted each and every guest individually and with his legendary deference. The staff, ludicrously well-paid to prevent any temptation to divulge the private affairs of the hotel's guests to the media, were attentive and efficient and the guests were soon relaxed and chatty. Mega stars, hot from their latest blockbusting movies, were commonplace, mingling and chatting and sipping from long glasses filled with exactly the right drink at the right temperature and the right vintage. Huge billboards had been erected in the foyer and along the exquisitely decorated corridors leading to the Convention Hall. These billboards depicted the Fans. They were edged in gold and bore inscriptions which identified Fandoms and names, among them:

Ewan McGregor Fandom – Ewanfeelmyforce
Fellowship of the Ring Fandom – Domandbillysittinginatree

This last on a huge candid photograph of a thin, dark haired woman with lustrous eyes and a pen in her mouth. She was sitting at the table of an open air café, a legal pad open before her and a half eaten bagel in one hand. She was wearing a dreamy expression, and the photographer had cleverly managed to capture the words "Billy Boyd" and "Dominic-" which she had written in bold block letters. It was, everyone agreed, a very beautiful portrait of a Fan.

"I was pleased with the shadows on this one," said Viggo, quietly. A mega star fresh from a blockbuster about the evils of drug abuse stopped popping pills long enough to peer up at the billboard. "One of yours, Viggo?" he asked. "Should have recognised your style buddy."

Viggo simply shrugged and carried on down the corridor to find Ian and Nick. He had contributed in all nine of the billboards, commissions from movie stars wanting the very best depiction of their Fans. The Domandbillysittinginatree board was a freebie for Billy and Dom, they were not as well placed to meet his fee as the others and besides, they belonged to the Fellowship.

In the hall itself, Billy was bustling around, his ubiquitous manila folder in hand. He loved this! It was the best decision he ever made when he took over moderating the Real Fan Fic List from a certain movie star who had discovered a strange new religion whilst trekking in Nepal, a religion so far removed from any hitherto recognised world creed that every spiritual leader from the Pope to the Chief Rabbi to the Ayatollah to the Dalai Llama had declared him persona non gratis. Said movie star had now renounced movies as works of the Devil working in alliance with the Head Humonog of the Planet Thror, and had retired to his estate in Ireland to contemplate how best to destroy Hollywood and save the world. Billy couldn't have been more pleased, taking on the duties of List Mom and Convention organiser with gusto, even down to handholding the Real Fan Fic writers sobbing in their Bel Air mansions because they didn't get feedback.

Now, he checked and re-checked the schedule. Where was Dom? His friend and co-Real Fan fic writer had promised to help out. And where was he? He had arrived from LA an hour ago, been given the Mr Forochel treatment and had then locked himself up in his suite, and no amount of calls to the room would avail him to put in an appearance. And where was Elijah?

"Ah, Billy!", came a voice that Billy knew well. It was Ian, elegant in cream open necked shirt, Nick by his side, scrumptious in black. "This is really wonderful, you have done very well."

"Thanks, Ian, appreciate it. I just e-mailed all the instructions and the hotel did the rest. Seen the Seans and John? They were around earlier but I've lost them."

"They're over on the terrace, Sean Bean is telling them all about that football club of his and is trying to explain the off-side rule to Sean Astin. I don't think Sean has quite grasped the concept," said Ian and he strode off, arm in arm with Nick to look for Orlando. The mercurial Mr Bloom had insisted ona pre-Convention, pre-light lunch leg wax in the salon, and several stars had volunteered to hold his hand in case it was really, really painful.

Billy scanned his schedule. Viggo – poetry reading at 2pm, straight after the light lunch. Readings to include "Delilahluvsviggo and Viggomortensenisgod meet in a dark forest" and "Delilahluvsviggo and Viggomortensenisgod find out the meaning of suffering", which should be real crowd pleasers. Viggo wrote comedy so well. These two Fans of Viggo's had provided him with rich pickings for his Real Fan fics. He had them exploring their gay relationship against a background of drugs, alcohol addiction, a life threatening illness, a threesome involving a Fan of Ian's called Gandalfsfavesexslave, a lottery win and a trip to the moon. His fics were all NC17 and very, very steamy.

The bell rang for the light lunch, and a hundred extremely rich, famous, desired and celebrated movie stars bolted for the restaurant. It would be a long and tiring afternoon, with the readings, the video surveillance footage of Fans from Albuquerque and Minneapolis and the Real Fan Fic Challenge. The first day's proceedings would draw to a close with music from Russell Crowe's band, so some nourishment was a must, if only to soak up the copious amounts of alcohol being imbibed.

The light lunch over, the Conventioneers reassembled in the hall and took their seats. Billy was on the top table with Viggo who would be kicking off the proceedings. To his right sat a movie actress whose very presence in a film could guarantee the sale of Kleenex tissues would quadruple around every college campus, and to her right sat a legend of the silver screen whose fifth wife had just given birth to triplets, rumoured to be clones.

Billy scanned the auditorium for Elijah. He could see John, the two Seans deep in discussion, and Dom had finally put in an appearance. Orlando could be glimpsed chatting to one of his handholders from the salon, but of Elijah there was no sign. Shit.

Elijah was number four on the schedule, reading from his Real Fan fic about his beloved Fans, Frodosbint & Samssexkitten. The latter was also an avid Fan of Sean Astin's, and they sort of shared her between them. Some of their hottest fiction was where a foursome emerged, generally along the lines of the two Fans being accosted by Elijah and Sean in an underground car lot and the two movie stars seducing the Fans with promises of undying love and chocolate. Elijah also got Dom to beta his fics, since they lived together anyway, and would beta for Sean Astin in turn. Sean liked soppy humour best of all and his fic about a Fan writer in England had just been posted to generally good reviews, even if he had posted it to the entire list before getting it beta'd by Elijah first, which was a bummer as it had several embarrassing typos in it. But he had been very tired and emotional at the time, and the guys on the list had been so kind. Where in hell was Elijah? The rumour mill had ground out one particularly strange little item, that a certain seventy seven year old movie great had travelled to the Convention for no other reason that that he was obsessed with Elijah and intended to seduce him and in effect commit suicide by viagra.

At exactly 2pm, Viggo rose to his full height and the audience quietened down respectfully. They loved his poetry, which he read to a backdrop of a collage of photographs of his Fans, delicately illuminated and almost spiritual in their depth and beauty. His poetry detailed their lifelong struggle with shopping and childcare worries, their endless striving for perfection, of saving nickels and dimes to scrape together enough money to visit the cinema and watch his films, buy his books, visit the galleries exhibiting his art. And still they found time for endless, hot, steamy sex in every possible location (and position) and setting, with sex toys, in costume, in a sauna, in an abandoned mine shaft, beneath the bleachers….. by the end of the reading, the audience was hushed, emotionally drained and horny as hell.

One splendidly muscled action hero on the front row, nicknamed The Pecs of Sex, was unashamedly sobbing into a lavender handkerchief. Viggo resumed his seat and Billy announced a short recess to allow for a comfort break.

Where was that prick, Elijah? The next speaker was the masturbation machine, the actress with the vapid eyes and sexy pout, and her reading was very short and to the point, he knew, he had seen it - the word "fuck" written about six times, interspersed with the name of her beloved Fan and photos of him sunbathing in the garden in Bognor Regis, his live journal there for all to see on his laptop. It was hardly worth the effort but Billy had known that a good many of the men in the audience (and quite a few of the women, too) thought this girl was sex on a stick, so he had included her in the readings.

Then there would be Ian and Nick reading jointly from their epic about their favourite Fans, accompanied by a Maori chant, and then Elijah. Where in the world had he got to? If Dom hadn't been seated right in his eye line, Billy might have suspected something, but as it was where the hell was he? Billy dashed into the lift and made it to the sixth floor. Room 602, a suite of course, with breathtaking views of the Pacific ocean, the rolling woodlands and the nudist reserve. He knocked, once, twice, then banged on the door.

"Elijah!", he screamed. "Lije, open the bloody door now, you are on stage in about fifteen minutes, you arse. If you let me down-"

The door opened, and there stood Elijah, a fluffy towel wrapped around his sleek creamy frame, eyes wide.

"What's up Billy?" he asked.

"Who have you got in there, Lije? Does Dom know?" demanded Billy, ramming open the door.

The vapid actress had screamed out the words of her fic, "Fuck. Oh Fuck!" interspersed with a rolling of the eyes that Frodo would have envied, then had sunk back into her chair, eyes now screwed tightly shut, substantial chest heaving with emotion. There was stunned silence. The actress cracked open one eye and checked the room. Then all the red blooded men and women were on their feet. Shit! This wasn't art, it wasn't even fiction, but it was hot! To thunderous applause, the star sobbed and clutched at Viggo's arm for support; he smiled benignly and disentangled himself gently from her – she was SO not his type.

The seventy seven year old legendary movie star craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Elijah. Where the hell was he? Time was of the essence, he could croak any minute, especially as he had been lying about his age for the past four decades and was actually eighty three. He fingered his viagra in his pocket playfully (there was little to be gained from fingering anything else until he had actually taken the viagra). "Elijah, Elijah, come out, come out, wherever you are," he thought to himself, "Hobbity feet, Hobbity feet, hairy Hobbity feet, pointy ears, baby blue eyes, soft white skin…come to daddy…"

Panting and pouting, the actress was helped solicitously from the stage by the Pecs of Sex, who seemed determined to prove to everyone he wasn't gay, as was widely believed; though his strategy was flawed because everyone knew that the actress, in fact, most definitely was.

Viggo, realising Billy was not going to be returning any time soon, and also guessing rightly that he had gone in search of frigging Frodo, was on his feet now, trying to quieten the audience down. Damn Elijah! That boy was as delicious, desirable and talented as hell, but reliable? On the set, yes, promoting the film, yes, professional to a tee. But on the social, be there on time, bring the lube, kind of level? No, never. Viggo sighed deeply, he would have to step in again, like he always did, good old reliable, mature, Viggo – Viggo will sort it out. Well, this would be the absolute last time. He proceeded to give an inspired introduction to the next two readers before sitting down again and scanning the auditorium ominously.

Ian and Nick were given a warm round of applause and read the one and only Real Fan Fic they had managed to co-write, or rather Ian read it and Nick played out the scene. This involved an erotic mime with a staff of power and a heart-rending interpretation of the tender love scene wherein Ian's beloved Real Fan Fic writer, Gandalfsfavesexslave, reveals her true feelings for Nick's beloved Fan, Thesexyguywiththewizard; all to an authentic Maori chant on tape. Viggo led the rapturous applause at the end, and Ian took the opportunity to tell the ecstatic congregation that he and Nick had been married that very morning on the island's secluded southerly beach. Mr Forochel had been in on the secret and had, in fact, initiated at the ceremony; he was beaming like a Cheshire cat as he presented the honeymooners with a bouquet of flowers, a gallon bottle of Wet (wild applause and catcalls) and a year's subscription to "May to September" magazine.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and fellow Real Fan Fic Writers," said Viggo, hoping against hope, "our next contributor is Mr Elijah Wood."

At this precise moment the movie legend promptly crushed his viagra tablets in his trouser pocket and ejaculated copiously inside his very expensive silk trousers. My God, even the mention of Elijah's name had floated his boat in a way he hadn't experienced in fifteen years. What joy! He sat through the rest of the proceedings in a damp, dreamlike and deteriorating state and was eventually pronounced dead when the cleaning crew wanted to move him to vacuum, some six hours later. (Mr Forochel would later arrange for the body to be shipped home quietly and with the minimum of fuss, this kind of thing had happened before at the Dream Palace and would surely happen again. Subsequently the newspapers would report him as having died peacefully in his sleep in his Florida beach home, surrounded by his beloved King Charles spaniels and there would be an extended and deferential showing of his movies, each one introduced by one of his four tearful ex-wives).

There was a hushed expectancy, as Elijah's Real Fan Fics were considered among the very best. Indeed, only Viggo's were more popular. Several mega stars were even now clutching their laminated (for a very good reason) copies of the Fics, ready to follow every line as spoken by the celebrated author and acknowledged hot Hobbit.

Viggo looked around. No Elijah. Shit. No Billy either. On the third row, Orlando was in the process of zipping up his flies and he shrugged at Viggo to indicate he had no idea where the pair had got to. Nice. Viggo would have to improvise, but by God he would take it out on the pair of them later, with great relish and at great length.

"But before we go to Elijah," he said, fixing the audience with those steely eyes, "with your indulgence, I would like to just tell you a little about my forthcoming work, Deathbed Confessions in a Danish Delicatessen. He took a sip of his iced water.

"It's a comedy."

"Who the fuck are they?" Billy asked, finally.

They were two middle aged women Billy had never seen before, in Elijah's room, in Elijah's bed, smug and flushed and grinning. One had frizzy hair and thick glasses, the other was thin, with mussed up red hair and some sort of very badly executed tattoo on her bony left arm – Elvish?

"These are my two beloved Fans, Frodosbint & Samssexkitten. Say hello ladies." Elijah was wearing that soppy, silly look of his; his fluffy towel had slipped down to his hipbone and Billy was speechless.

The two women giggled and hiccupped and Billy noticed the empty champagne bottles on the floor.

"These are FANS?" he howled, when the power of speech had returned to him. "FANS?"

"Huh huh", nodded Elijah, gazing at the two simpering women fondly. "Aren't they wonderful?"

"But," said Billy, shakily, "Elijah, I'm the list mom and convention organiser, you can't do this to me. How did they get past security? These are FANS. Real Fucking Fans!"

"Its alright, Billy. They won't cause trouble. They just wanted to share in the experience, I owed it to `em. Come on, Billy. Where the hell do you think I've got my inspiration from to write all these months? How do you think I managed to put down on paper every little sex act these two wonderful ladies have ever performed with each other, their angst, their PMT, their dieting, their agonising over writing Lord of the Rings slash fiction, their SEX? Think about it, Billy."

Billy looked around Elijah's hotel suite, at the tangled trail of lingerie and the maids' uniforms discarded on the shagpile…

"You mean? You've been watching them do all that stuff for real?" he asked, weakly.

"Huh huh," grinned Elijah. "And not just watching…"

Billy thought he could see his whole life, his career as List Mom on the best ever, most prestigious Real Fan Fic site, seeping away from him and there was nothing he could do about it.

"But, but, what about Dom? I thought, I mean I thought-"

"What? That I was gay, that we were an item?" asked Elijah, with a devilish glint in his big blue eyes.

"Come on, Billy, get real! We were together, for sure. But these are my FANS!"

Billy staggered, grabbed the tallboy for support and tried to make sense of the world. Finally, he looked at Lije, who had joined the two fans in bed, much to their obvious delight. From the look in the eyes of Samssexkitten, Billy's presence in that huge bed would have been a very welcome addition, the mere thought of which made Billy shudder involuntarily.

"But Lije, " he said, bewildered, his eyes wide and innocent. "Lije, this is awful! Don't you understand what's the worst thing about all this?"

"No, " replied Lije, nuzzling the ear of Frodosbint in pure adoration, "what?"

"This has just turned into a HET FICTION. FUCKING HELL."