Jemima mounted the soapbox that had taken out Seven of Nine.
“That’s enough!” she shouted. “There isn’t room in the van for the boyband, the Britney and the 80 million teenagers. You are hereby banished to one of the frostier circles of Hell.” Jemima snapped her fingers, and the extras disappeared.
“Much better,” Lori said. Seema sent Tom to the wetbar for another margarita as Jemima watched thirstily. Then a lightbulb appeared above her head, and she snapped her fingers again.
A platinum-blond appeared and said, “Bloody hell! This scene again.”
“Spike, take the wheel. As long as we’re in this galaxy, we may as well blow up the Death Star.” Jemima rubbed her hands together eagerly.
“Which one?” Lori asked.
“There’s always one hanging around,” Jemima assured her. “Snape, fetch me a Guinness.”
Snape appeared from behind the wetbar and poured Jemima a foamy one.
“Now this is the life - two poolboys and a perilous mission to save the galaxy.” Jemima dismounted the soapbox and sat down in one of the minivan seats, putting her feet up. Snape retrieved a tray of deviled eggs from behind the wetbar and began serving.
Chakotay cleared his throat. Everyone ignored him. Jemima handed her Guinness to Snape to hold and pulled out her UFO bag - not the unfinshed fanfiction, but the unfinished cross-stitch projects. “Lori,” she proposed, “how about a real round robin?”
“Sean, fetch my crochet bag,” Lori said, and the two stitchers were soon deeply involved in their other common addiction.
“When will you drop us off in the Delta Quadrant?” Chakotay asked.
“Are you still here?” Jemima frowned. “Talk to Seema about tying up that loose end.” Seema saw him coming, however, and had Tom run interference while she started on her third margarita and petted her angst bunny.
“Say, luv, does this van have any armaments?” Spike called from the front.
“There’s probably a freeze-ray around here somewhere - why?” Jemima said.
“Because we’re coming up on that Death Star you ordered.”
“As a neutral country, I must protest,” Liz said, “or at least bravely run away.” Harry, Hermione and Ron gathered around her, drawing their wands and and uncorking a few potions in preparation for a sudden retreat.
“Fine, but leave my poolboy here,” Jemima said. Snape gave her one of those piercing, ambiguous looks that was so much more complex than a vapid Volvo-boy smile, and she sighed contentedly. There was nothing in the world like semi-evil, tortured poolboys who looked good in black.
“It was nice seeing you, Liz,” Seema said pointedly.
Such little hints were lost on Jemima, who added, “And don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”