John's finger pressed the doorbell, and the sound of chimes could be heard, followed by the thumping of bare footpads. The lock chimed, the light turned green, and the door opened to reveal a white-furred, anthropomorphic otter.

"Oh, hey! You made it!" the otter exclaimed, extending his hand in greeting. John shook the proffered hand, feeling a bit surprised it wasn't something more intimate, like a hug.

"Hey Alex, good to meet you." The otter's name was Alexsandyr Nikolaiovitch Troutnoodler. He was a retired officer in the Imperial Lontran Navy, and now worked for Imperial Intelligence as an analyst and sometimes forward observer in the frontier. "Mind if I come in?"

Alex snorted and laughed. "Of course, where are my manners! I'm sorry, come in, come in!" He stood aside to welcome the human into his home. It was rather nice, considering that his pay wasn't all that spectacular? But one of the perks of serving in the Imperial Military, was they footed the bill for your home. As such, it was built much like an underground den, with no hard corners, and mostly rounded or oval rooms. There were few windows, but lots of sun prisms embedded in the walls and ceiling, providing plenty of light. There were few divisions; mostly a large, open "pit" in the center of the home, surrounded by openings in the outer wall that led to private rooms and storage areas. There were no interior doors, only curtains.

John gave a deep sniff, lifting his chin to catch the heady mix of otter musk, fur and fish oil. Most humans found it disgusting, but he was rather fond of it.

"Hah hah," Alex chuffed wryly, leading the way into the central pit. "I know, I know, we stink." He gestured to a large pillow that looked about John's size. "Here, take a flop, I'll get us something to drink." He stepped away into a large alcove that wasn't curtained off and rummaged around in the fridge for some bottles, and other things.

John flopped as ordered, and sighed happily. "You don't stink," he replied. "I like it." There was a sound of plates and bowls being collected, along with the hiss of bottles being opened, and mugs being filled. "I uh...I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable, or anything?"

"Not really," Alex replied, coming out of the kitchen with a tray of food balanced on one hand, and carrying two mugs of cider in the other. He handed one to John, while balancing the other. "I mean, no more uncomfortable than anyone else inviting their creator into their world and home?"

John almost spilled his mug. "Wh...wait, what?" The look of shock on his human face was palpable. Alex set the tray of snacks on a low stool in the center of the pit, in perfect reach for both of them. There was a collection of sushi, cocktail wieners, chips, dips, boxes of anesthetized rodents, chilled insects and frogs.

The otter flopped like a pro, his cider never even wobbling in the mug. "Well, yeah?" He took a pull on his mug of cider as he watched John start to blush. "I mean, come on? I work in Imperial Intelligence. You had to know I'd find out sooner or later?"

The blush in John's face deepened as he seemed to shrink into the massive pillow, pulling the mug into his lap. "I...I didn't. I didn't think you would..." This was not what John had expected to happen. "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

Alex smiled softly. "Made me uncomfortable? Come on, John. I've read your stories. You didn't write me to get upset easily." He motioned to the mug in John's hands. "Better take a pull on that before you burst into flame or faint."

John took several swallows of his drink, and it did help. He'd intended on talking to Alex as though they were total strangers. Ever since the Crossover Event, creators all over the multiverse were suddenly meeting their fictional creations. Some had been cordial? Some downright lewd. But a distressing number of them had gone poorly, and some had been distressingly fatal.

How does God meet their creation, when they don't want to be a god? How do you talk to someone you know everything about, because you wrote everything about them? What do you say? What do you talk about?

How does one meet their "Mary Sue"? Or "Gary Stu" in this case.

The otter reached over to touch John's arm. "Hey." He gave the arm a soft squeeze. "Hey. Look at me." John slowly looked up into those blue eyes. Eyes he'd imagined. Eyes he'd written about so many times. "I know. I get it. I really get it. I...what's the word from that book you like? 'Stranger in a Strange Land'? I 'grok'."

John let out a laugh that was half humorous, half sob of relief. He choked back a few sobs, determined not to make this any more awkward than it already was, but the otter seemed to know just what to say. "Th-thanks," he said at last, taking a gulp from his mug.

Alex smiled and shrugged easily. "Hey? I'm good! Funny how that works both ways, isn't it? But yes, you're welcome." He leaned back in his pillow. "And yes, I 'grok' what this is. This...Crossover? I've been reading about it for weeks, now. It's definitely made the universe a heck of a lot more interesting, and it was already a madhouse to begin with." He reached over to pluck some sushi from the platter. "Imperial Intelligence, the High Command, her majesty? They're all fit to be tied."

John blinked and looked up. "Her majesty? You mean Empress Mayweather?"

Alex nodded. "The same. And before you ask, the answer is not just 'no,' but, and I quote, 'Hell no,'" He shook his head. "A meeting is not going to happen, so don't ask. You know why."

John did know. Empress Mayweather's impressions of humans came from ancient holotapes and archives, and it hadn't been flattering. Humans in those stories were the "bad guys". "I'm guessing she didn't take it well?"

Alex munched on cricket sushi. "Oh no, she's fine? It's Admiral Talbot who blew his stack and threatened to slap shackles on her if she so much as even thought about meeting you." One of the crickets woke up and made a leap for freedom, forcing the otter to make a grab for it. "He damn near chewed his own foot off when I asked to meet you?"

"Security reasons, I'm guessing?" John paused in mid-reach for a cocktail wiener, one of the 'safer' choices on the platter. "Wait...you...you wanted to meet me?"

Alex finally caught the wayward morsel and popped it in his muzzle. "Of course! Who wouldn't want a chance to meet God? Well, anyone not in command, that is." He muttered under his breath, "Or an uptight old fart of a grizzly, afraid of his own shadow, apparently..."

John chuckled at that. "He probably heard you say that." Now it was Alex's turn to pause in reaching for food. "He's bound to have your house bugged, and listening to this." He smiled at the otter's drooping whiskers. "It's what I would have written?"

Alex held himself there for a moment, pondering that, then laughed. "Hah!" He grabbed a few wieners and sat back, popping them into his muzzle. "Fair cop? What's he going to do to me, eh? Rip off my legs?" The otter lifted a foot and waggled it a bit. They made a very soft, but still audible "electronics" sound. They were artificial. He'd lost them in combat, when he was commanding officer of the ILS Salmonidae.

John blushed again. "Ouch," He sipped his cider. "You don't pull punches, do you."

Alex laughed loudly this time. "Nope. But hey, it's alright? These are the latest model! Fully neutral buoyancy, so they don't make me sink like the old ones. And fusion cores, so I don't have to recharge."

John snorted and pouted. "Okay, now you're doing it deliberately." Alex simply grinned toothily, eyes closed in glee. "Two-edged sword isn't the half of it. Just how much of my stuff did you read?"

Alex's muzzle split in a grin that went from ear to ear. "Ohhh, not much? I just dug through your old Google Groups stuff. A lot of it was marked X-NoArchive, but that doesn't matter to A.I." He sloshed the remnants of his cider in the mug. "Allll the way up to my last entry in your FurAffinity account? The otter tipped the mug back to swallow the last of the cider, giving him a fish-eye lens view of the human's gaping, pale look of utter shock.

"Y...you..." John started shifting from pale to red. Alex simply nodded.

"That was kinda old, though. I see you've sorta moved on from writing about me." He picked up the bottle on the table and began refilling his own mug. "You've been writing about other stuff since then. Other people?"

John could only sit there, frozen in mortification. Not only did his creation, his fursona, know what they were? He'd seen his FurAffinity account! His thoughts, rantings and feelings? And oh GOD, all of his favorites? The screenshots from SecondLife alone...

The sound of chimes rang through the room, making John jump and his cider slosh. Alex simply grinned at his creator's discomfort and sat up. "Why, I do believe that's the door? I guess the others finally made it." He grunted and hopped up out of the cushion. "I need to go welcome them, and get some more cider? But they're all looking forward to meeting you."