The Clumsy Hand of God

My author sucks.

I sit with my chin resting in my hand as I look out across the ballroom at the main romantic tension of the story. Our writer has been at this one scene for quite a while now, almost two hours I think.

It’s admittedly hard to tell if time is moving quite the same for myself as it is for them. I can only really tell when the writer's hand is present or not based on when the story is interrupted and re-written.

And man, they’re struggling right now.

“Hors d'oeuvres?” I look up at the butler as he offers the tray to me.

“Thank you Sebastian.” I sincerely hope his name is just a placeholder, and something just a little bit more original will be given to him later. My white gloved hand picks up an elegant little Canapé, given a salmon spread that tastes appropriately divine on my tongue. “How long do you think it’s going to take this time?”

“Pardon?”

I sigh, continuing to stare as the two eyecatchers dance and twirl in the center of the ballroom, the room clearing to give them space. Sebastion, who the author can’t figure out if it’s supposed to be tian, or tion, turns to look at them as well. I keep talking, though more to myself. “It’s the dialogue I think. That’s where the struggle is. This is supposed to be important but it keeps coming out clunky.”

“Ms, er, my deepest apologies, I seem to have forgotten your name.”

“That’s alright Sebastian, we’ll be talking about it again in a couple minutes.” I don’t actually have one. Perhaps later in the story I’ll be given a throwaway line. I suppose I could always make enough of a ruckus that I’d have to be named, but when I’ve tried in the past I just get re-written.

He mistakes my ambivalence on the topic as some sort of slight, nodding hesitantly. “O-Of course, apologies, I hope you know my failings don’t reflect onto Maria.”

Maria, the golden haired female lead, is dancing in step with the male lead. The two of them glitter the room with the beauty of their clothes, the finery of their movements, the elegance of their stature. Fluid, smooth, elegant. A microcosm of everything that nobility was supposed to be.

Then Maria messed up, and stepped on the male lead's foot.

Everything paused for several moments.

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

“Yes, thank you Sebastian.” I plucked the cracker off of his tray as I watched the dance start all over again.

I suppose they were trying to think of some way to make a romantic scene flow more naturally, but didn’t want to suddenly make Maria incompetent. That’s the best motivation for why I can think of her getting messed up being scrapped so suddenly.

“Say Sebastian, do you ever wonder about why we all ended up here?”

“My lady? I think such thoughts are outside of my position's level of importance. It was your decision to come to the gala was it not?”

I nod, uncrossing my legs and leaning back in my stiff chair. Pulling one of my gloves off to card through my own hair, feeling the pins keeping it all in place. A few of the other unnamed members of the crowd looked at me quite strangely as I performed such an unlady-like action so brazenly. “It’s probably beyond all of us. Which is why I’m so curious about it.”

The two swirling and aweing dancers came to a stop as the music slowed down. The male lead, who was Saffron for a while before his name got changed halfway to Berlam. Which I felt was like trading a piece of dog shit for a piece of horse shit.

But as Sebastion/ian could attest, names were not our authors strong suit.

The disturbance I was causing wasn’t enough to actually pull attention onto me, so everyone just glanced at me then back to the couple. Berlam, in all his stupid named glory, held onto the hand of his eventual partner.

They were going through something of a rough patch right now, since he had saved her from her evil step-mother, but killed the woman in the process. I think this was supposed to be their big coming back together moment, even despite the fact that neither of them had changed or apologized since the fight they had, and no developments had occurred.

He stared into her eyes under the watch of the crowd, and lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, perhaps forgetting that her outfit included gloves.

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

“Yes, thank you Sebastion.”

Maria no longer had gloves. Despite the fact that it was established to be part of the dress code for this kind of party during her debutante.

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

Maria had gloves, but had taken them off before the dancing started so that she could feel his hands on hers. Though where exactly she had put these-

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

Berlam had them resting in one of his pockets. A tad unsanitary I think.

Oh, nothing that time, I suppose they’re alright with that then. It’s good that my author isn’t too big of a stickler.

“Sebastion, do you have any drinks of the alcoholic variety?”

He blinked at me for several moments, “I could provide some wine if so desired, but the night has only just begun.”

“I find that this night has been somewhat endless myself.”

Soft old laughs left him. “Then allow me to provide some balm for that timelessness."

He scurried off, and I had almost no doubt everything would reset by the time he returned.

The two reached a climax of their dance, with Berlam dipping her low, before pulling her back up. Kissing the back of her hand and looking deep into her eyes. He opened his mouth, everything paused.

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

I started rubbing my face with my hand. Squishing my own cheek with the white velvet. I think this might be the worst it’s ever been.

“Could you fetch me some wine please Sebastion?”

I often wondered why I had a consciousness. Perhaps some twist that the author sought to push into the story later, though I feared that was perhaps beyond their skill as a writer.

Perhaps this story is actually all about me, though I can only imagine how dreadful of a thing that would be. All I do is complain. Even if this main story can’t quite find its footing, it’s far more damning of an author to just poke at common flaws in a story and pretend that’s somehow interesting.

Perhaps this isn’t all a story the way I’m assuming, and I’ve simply taken a great deal of head trauma I don’t quite remember.

All equal possibilities.

Sebastian actually does get me a wine glass in time, which I thank him for. I take a big sip, before considering for a few moments.

May as well try again to see if I have free will.

I cock my arm back and chuck the wine glass at the dancing couple. Everyone stopped in stunned silence, staring at me as the glass shattered against Berlam’s back. Oh? That’s good, I might finally be done eating-

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

A deep inhale filled my lungs as I looked up at Sebastian. “Thanks Sebastian. You know, I guess not having a name is probably better. I think you got the worst deal, named, but not cared enough about to make sure it’s spelled right.”

He just blinked at me with bewilderment behind his eyes as I placed the cracker in my mouth and leaned back in my chair.