From: DPangel79@aol.com Date: Sun, 11 Apr 1999 06:11:22 EDT Subject: Re: adult: Me, Myself and Minus One Muse (01/01) To: fkarchiver@fkfanfic.com hmmm, here we go again with the Muse stuff. The disclaimers apply as usual, .There's a joke that refers to KotK (Keeper of the King, Nigel's book), so if you're curious, I'll klew ya in. Onto the show... Me, Myself and Minus One Muse by (Cousin) Shana Nolan ********** "So everything's back to normal now, my dear?" "I guess so. One Methos turning into a happy prune." "And you?" "Nick canceled tonight. Someone just *had* to get murdered tonight." "Hmm... a less than pleasant attitude, I dare say you have returned to me." *signs "kiss my ass"* "That's my little thug." "So now what?" "I have heard that you lost the writer's block." "Like a proverbial Brick wall." *grumbles* *grin* "Perhaps you can write me that story I requested a while ago." "Which one?" "All of them?" "'Lacroix Becomes the King of the World, Leaps off the Titanic and Survives, Unlike Leo Di Crappio?'" "That sounds more like a movie to me... " "Well, kinda, but not really." "You're using that broken Californian dialect again." "Works for Buffy." "Yes, but she is a high school student that slays," *shifts discontentedly* "vampires as a birthright." "And a fictional character to boot." "There is that, too." "HAHA!! I caught you! You do watch the show!!!" "Damn." *still laughing* "Okay, seriously, you really want a story?" "Yes... just don't let the BTVS thing get out... my reputation would be ruined." "Yeah, okay, I promise to not tell Methos." "That snide mouthed cocker? And that's presuming he comes back at all... " *evil snicker* "He has to. I stole all his socks." "Not his boxers?" "Well, not this time at least." "And you usually steal... ?" "His heart?" *dark stare* "His, a-hem, rigid attention?" "Better... " "Two of his hours, three times?" "Only two hours?" "Immie versus vamp. It's an endurance thing." "But you're a mortal." *crosses arms* "I'm also a woman." "Your point being?" "I'll attach a stopwatch to your ass and see how you do." "Promise?" "Uh, sure." "But can we make a deal?" "Which would be..." "I want a sex story!" "Sure thing. Tracy and Vachon are in the church, both in leather and she's in a frisky mood.... " "Stop! Stop! Stop!" "You asked for a sex story." "With me." "Okay, so you're at the church, too?" "No." "Tracy's not?" "Where's that Spaniard?" "Err, in Vegas with Screed?" "Good. I get her to myself." "Umm, no. Not right now and not by me." "What?!" "Long story. Long long story. Too long. Yeah, too long." "You're evading the truth." *innocent smile* "Lil ol' me?" "Yes, little *young* you." "Are you calling me a kid?" "I grew up hearing Plato in Greek. You grew up watching `Mr. Roger's Neighbourhood.'" "A hit, General, a very palpable hit." "Thank you. Now back to my story." "I'm thinking." "A dangerous habit." "Yup." "You're not trying to think of a plot, are you?" "Um, well... yes?" "Why the need for complication? She and I meet, we fuck, end of story." "Forgive me for having a lingering respect for reasonable story lines." *sigh* "You need a motivation?" "Yeah." "*Male* vampire." "So I've noticed. But what does that have to do with motivating factors?" "Tracy is a young attractive woman with very nice-- " "Stop!!" "What?" "I don't want to hear you reduce Tracy to a sexual object." "Isn't that precisely why writers such as you write `smut?'" "No... we reduce the men to tasteful sexual objects. There's a difference." "Oh, really now?" "Mmm-hmm. I'll make you a bet that if I wrote a scene and you wrote a scene involving the same... `stuff,' a reader could distinguish between I, the woman, and you, the man." "Are you saying I can't write a decent sex scene?!" "No, no, no. I like what I've seen." *wink* "Oh, have you, now?" "Don't give me that look." "What look?" "The look that reduces me to a puddle of happy goo." "This would be the same look that would distract you from my son, correct?" *squirming in chair* "Yeees?" "The same look that empties your mind of that Methos bloke?" "Yes." "The same look that makes you lock the doors to your room?" "Okay, you can stop now, or I'll be setting the writing thing for later." "Where's the bad part of that particular situation?" "I'm not exactly sure myself." "So lock the doors and strip." "I am not turning off the computer." "Find the glow of a computer screen romantic now?" "Not really, but I'm still recovering files form the crash that you caused." "*I* caused?" "Yeah, Mr I-heard-Plato-in-Greek, you crashed it. Besides, not in the mood." "Are you feverish? Is there a medication I can ram down your throat to fix this?" "Nope. It has more to do with my mortal body. Throat hurts." "Mmmmm-hmmmm... and I wonder how you got that.... " "By catching a bloody cold!" *a beat* "Oh. You're not infectious, are you?" "Not for vampires." "How about an adrenaline rush to stimulate those t-cells?" "It ain't just my immune system you're thinking of." "And?" "I dunno. Let's go back to that story thing." "Good. Define the parametres." "You and Tracy." "Where?" "In the morgue? Oh, sorry!" "I thought you said you weren't a Valentine... " "I'm not. CERK?" "No, replacing some drywall there. Damned rains ruined the acoustics." "And we can't let that silken voice of yours go unadulterated." *grin* "Raven?" "Amateur strip night, too many patrons." "I find it hard to believe a Roman like you is suddenly developing modesty." "It's for her!" "Uh-huh, sure. Her apartment?" "No. Not a bad place, mind you, but that refrigerator gives me the creeps." "You have a problem with alphabetising food?" "Yes. Want to make something of it?" "No, that's alright. That doesn't leave many options open. Her Taurus, your Jag, uh, I dunno, Bickford Park... ?" "How about here?" "In the mansion?" "Yes, why not?" "Because it's not canon." *chuckles* "Oh, as if that has ever stopped you before." "You may have a point, but I do have to play by some rules, ya know." "Mere mortal conveniences set up to keep one's self in a perpetual guilty state." "Maybe, but you can't be a rebel if there aren't any rules." "Mmm. And the rebellious ones are the most fun... " *evil grin* "Don't I know it." "Rebellious, rebellious, perhaps Tracy is being rebellious... don't the locker rooms in the precinct offer some privacy?" "I wouldn't know." "You wouldn't would you... ?" "No, I wouldn't." "Not even once?" "No." "Then perhaps I should have a conversation with my son about the `variety' in life." "No, you won't. You want the locker rooms?" "Yes." "That's grim." "I don't follow." "'You could have trusted me?'" "That horrifying escapade doesn't exist, my dear." *raised eyebrow* "Are you sure?" "Yes. It was a dream. A bad dream. A horrifying dream that nearly ruined all of our lives." "Sort of. It saved some of our lives. And it sent the rest of spiraling into a replicating pattern of denial." "Denial is sometimes a good thing." "Hell, yeah. No complaints there. So are we going to get back to that story of yours?" "Not in the mood for it anymore. Let's talk about repeating denial over and over and over again." "Define `denial...'" *evil grin* *****************