Making Our Own Story

Happy Fraxus Day! Warning: I'm making this story up off the top of my head THE DAY OF Fraxus Day. No planning, no outline, I honestly have no clue how this will go or where it will end. Total author ad-libbing! Mavis help me!

----

There was a line stretching almost to the door, fans eager to meet their beloved author, even if only for five seconds as he signed their book. Men praised him, young girls fawned nervously in front of him, each insisting they were his biggest fan.

Freed greeted each with a smile. Some brought gifts. He had an assistant to deal with those, placing little trinkets of adoration aside for later. He was tired and his wrist throbbed from signing so many books. Still, this was all part of the job. He wanted to write a bestseller. He got it! After years of obscurity, he finally made it!

The duties that came with fame were tiring. He continued to smile and be polite to each fan as the line slowly whittled down. However, inside he was ready to go back to his hotel and avoid the world.

The line was almost done, the bookstore was closing, when a burly blond came up, the very last one. Freed had seen him around all morning, a worker here at the bookstore. It was a surprise that he too wanted an autograph.

"Whom should I make it out for?" he asked, a standard question he had repeated ad nauseam.

"Laxus," the man said gruffly.

"Wonderful name. Spell it please." Again, all standard book-signing requests.

"L-A-X-U-S."

"Perfect. So, is there any specific message you want me to include?"

"Yeah. Write in there, Thanks for the coffee."

Freed was already writing before he realized what the line was. He jolted up and finally truly looked at the man.

"Coffee? Pardon?"

"You look exhausted. Store's closed and my shift ended. There's a coffee shop next door. Really good coffee. My treat, if you want."

Freed's words stuck in his throat. "I ... that is ... I am thirsty, but ... Evergreen?"

His assistant came over. "Yes, Freed?"

"When do we plan to leave?"

"We have to tear down the booth and pack up any extra books. Bickslow is talking with the store owners right now. If you need a break, you have about an hour before we're done here." The brunette (who looked like she quit as a school librarian to be this author's manager) patted him on the shoulder. "Really, go get some coffee. It's a long drive back to the hotel."

Freed nodded. A drink sounded good, and if this man was paying, even better. Being an author was not as glamorous as some people think it is.

They strolled over to a little café. The coffee was good, the atmosphere was a bit hipster, a mix of retro lamps and strange urban junk recycled into coffee tables, but Freed did not mind. He sat by the window to stare out at the people traffic, and Laxus took a chair across from him.

"Rough work, that," the blond said casually. "How the hell do you do it? After three hours of dealing with customers, I'm a pissed cat, yet you kept on smiling."

"It would have been rude otherwise," Freed reasoned. Still, he rubbed out his wrist.

"Writing for that long, you're gonna get tennis wrist, or carpool-something-or-other."