I - wow, I really love that, and you, a whole lot.

The feeling is entirely mutual. I mean, I'd love you for your writing alone, but you also post pictures of your new vibrator so that we can admire the packaging. I - how could I not love you?

(Hmmm. I was saying to justacat that I don't ever picture writers in fandom as, like, the gorgeous woman with the slinky red dress and the devastatingly hot accent and high high heels and the vial of poison concealed in her cleavage, and then I vowed to myself that from now on I'd make a sincere effort to picture all fannish writers that way. To, like, level the playing field. Or just have fun. Whichever.

And your comment came next after hers. And - okay. I tried. I did. Gorgeous was not a problem. And I got you into the dress, and you were fine with that, although you kind of thought the skirt wasn't short enough. But then you were all, "Oooo, can I wear fishnets? OH! FISHNETS AND FLIP-FLOPS!" And I tried to get you into the shoes anyway, but by then you had taken off the dress and were wearing pajamas and painting your toenails.

And then I realized that it was just as well, because if you tried to hide a vial of poison in your cleavage, we'd never find it again. I mean, you couldn't be the deadly boob assassin, because you'd do exactly what I'd do:

BLG, speaking into her sub-vocal transceiver: There's my target. I'm going in.
BLG's control, speaking to her through her earring phone: SUB-VOCAL. That means DON'T TALK OUT LOUD.
BLG: I'm sorry! I forgot!
BLG's control: STILL TALKING OUT LOUD.
BLG, muttering: I said, I'm going in.
BLG's control: Look. It's sub-vocal. Muttering is still vocal.
BLG, very very loudly and kind of pissed off: I said I'm going in. Did anyone not hear that? I CAN REPEAT IT, YOU KNOW.
BLG's control: Shut up.
BLG: I TOLD YOU I DIDN'T WORK WELL WITH TECHNOLOGY.

[In the black van in the parking lot, BLG's control reaches for the bourbon.]

[Meanwhile, BLG is trying to sashay up to her target, distract him, and poison his drink.]

BLG, in seductive voice: Hey there, sailor.
BLG's control: Oh my god. TRACEY. He's straight. STRAIGHT! That's why we're using a GIRL! YOU! IN CASE YOU FORGOT!
BLG's control: *starts drinking directly from the bottle*
BLG, still speaking out loud: I'm sorry! I'm not used to straight boys!
BLG's target: *looks nervous and inches away from the hot chick talking to herself about gay boys*
BLG, back in seductive voice: So, um. How you doin'?
BLG's target, nervously, inching a little further away: Uh. Fine?
BLG: *sidles up to the bar, positions herself between the target and his drink*
BLG: *subtly brushes her hand across her cleavage*
BLG: *less subtly adjusts her bra*
BLG's target: *stares*
BLG: *now openly fishing in cleavage with both hands*
BLG: Um, hang on. I have something for you. In - god damn it, where the fuck did it GO?
BLG's control: *weeping openly*
BLG's target: *fleeing from crazy girl*
BLG: Damn. Fuck. I lost the guy, and I think my boobs ate the poison.
BLG's control: *a broken man*
BLG: Look, if we're done here, I'm going to go write some porn.
BLG, muttering as she stomps out of the bar carrying her shoes in her hands: I bet Fraser could poison someone. I bet Ray never loses his poison in his boobs - I mean, even if he had boobs, which - hmmm. Hmmm. Hey! Fraser/Ray genderfuck femslash spy AU!
BLG: *runs home and swears never to leave Gardino again*

So, sorry. You're not the writer I'm looking for.

You're fun, though. You can totally try to poison people in my head any time you want.)