"So it's just wishful thinking on my part. Now shut up and let me do the disclaiming bit."

Not mine, no money. I can't spend feedback, but it does give me a  nice warm-fuzzy feeling. And on really bad days, it's all that keeps me from pushing Methos under a bus. Thanks to Tilla for the title, even if it did take me seven months to use it. Thanks to Luminosity for letting me steal the words right out of her mouth. And very, *very* special thanks to Moonpuppy-- no greater love hath any RSMer, etc., ad nauseum. Uh, you *do* realize that was a No Deposit, No Return deal, right? <g>

<I've given up trying to keep you away from the RSM, but you're not going to use Tilla's other idea are you? You promised me you'd deleted that one!>

"I don't know, Methos. Tilla may have been right. The more you chatter, the more appealing 'The Muse in the Iron Mask' gets."

<Bitch.>

"You're really begging for that DQ story, aren't you?"

Apologies to my sister conspirators in the RSM, the Krell. Especially Rache. I'm really, *really* sorry. But it's your own fault for getting him so excited to begin with. Zen and nan, I stopped apologizing for Methos' attitude about Blair and TLB *months* ago. <weg>

<Can we wrap this up and get this show on the road?>

Rated PG-13. Hard to believe, isn't it? We'll do better next time.

<Write something.>

"Write what?"

<Anything. You're starting to bore me.>

"Excuse me? I'm starting to bore you? I thought you were Mr. I'm- Easily-Amused?"

<Well, there's easy, and then there's *easy*.>

"And you're certainly the expert on *easy* around here, aren't you?"

<Was that a crack about my sex life?>

"Methos, would I joke about your sex life?"

<Oooh, is it Stupid Question Day again *already*? That comes around amazingly often.>

"I'm sorry, hon."

<Stop that. I *hate* it when you do that!>

"Stop what? Breathing? Sorry to disappoint you, Methos, but it's kind of required."

<Sighing. Pouting. Trying to look weak and helpless. Pulling that sloppy Southern 'poor little ole me' routine. Just stop it. It never works on me, you know that. It's canon that I'm immune to feminine wiles. >

"I'll be sure to tell Amanda that so she can stop using you for her practice runs."

<Just because *you're* in a snit it's not necessary to spoil *everybody's* fun. And Amanda needs the practice. I'll just suffer through it.>

"Uh-huh. Right. We all admire your self-sacrifice, Methos. I know how hard it is for you, enduring all those awful, boring sex scenes that she keeps making you and Duncan rehearse over and over and over. You poor baby."

<Go ahead, laugh. You have no idea how hard it is.>

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea how hard it is. And how often. I pay for the lube, remember? Not to mention the upholstery cleaning. I told you three not to do that on the couch anymore."

<That wasn't us. It was the goat.>

"Nice try, Methos. Has it escaped your notice that the goat is no longer gracing us with its presence? How could you not notice that that delicious, indescribable eau de farmyard ambience has disappeared?"

<Really? You got rid of the goat? Good job! What did you do with it?>

"I sent it to Moonpuppy."

<You're kidding. Moonpuppy? Uh, Suze, isn't Moonpuppy the automatic weapons bearer for the RSM?>

"Yeah, so?"

<Silly me. I never would have thought of sending a woman who owns automatic weapons a nasty, ill-tempered, rather aromatic goat. *I* would have tried to stay on her good side.>

"That's why I do all of your Christmas shopping. You have no imagination. Trust me, Moonpuppy will *love* the goat. She'll turn it into something the RSM can be proud of."

<A rug?>

"Very funny. I have complete faith in Moonpuppy. If anybody can train Byron and that damn goat to do something useful, it's her."

<Byron? You sent her Byron, too? Wasn't the goat good enough?>

"They're kind of a set, Methos. And I consider myself lucky she took them for free. I thought I'd have to pay somebody. Don't worry about it. She said that as long she doesn't start spouting poetry, her husband will put up with Byron and his hairy little friend."

<Whatever. She is in the RSM, after all. I don't even pretend to understand that particular group of overly strange women.>

"You don't have to understand the RSM, Methos. It's enough that they understand you."

<Now *there's* a frightening thought.>

"Doesn't it warm the cockles of your frosty little heart?"

<I like my cockles just the way they are, thank you, and so does Duncan. So you write and tell those women to keep their greasy fingers away from...>

"Methos?"

<...my cockles! What?!>

"Not to change the subject or anything-- I mean, I understand how near and dear this subject is to your...heart, but could we get back to the subject of *writing*?"

<We're we talking about writing? I thought we were talking about me.>

"Aren't we always? Yes, we were talking about writing. Surprise! You said you wanted me to write something. Something *besides* threatening harangues about the sanctity of your frosted cockles, I hope."

<Oh. Yes. Write something.>

"Methos, try to concentrate. Does the phrase 'write what' ring any bells?"

<Write anything. Just write.>

"I miss the good old days."

<*What* good old days? You're mortal. You're too young to have good old days. Now *I* have good old days.>

"Let me rephrase that. I miss the days when you use to bitch at me to write you more sex scenes."

<Me too, but I think we've conquered your fear of writing sex scenes. You have a hard drive *full* of bits and pieces of sex scenes. Try this instead-- there's this amazing concept called 'finishing a story'. You may have heard of it-- it's all the rage now. Even *Rache* can do it!>

"Really? I hadn't noticed any 'the ends' on the bottom of Desert Prince. How *ever* did I miss that?"

<Don't start that. I *like* DP. It's about time somebody did me another long running story. I have much more potential for staying power than the Princess of Pout, and *he's* already got thirty two chapters!>

"Uh-huh. And no end in sight. TLB will outlive us all."

<Right! So just imagine how long a serial with *me* in the lead can run!>

"The mind boggles. Poor Kiltboy!"

<Leave the Krell alone, they're doing just fine. We're talking about *you* finishing something.>

"Any suggestions?"

<How many have you got started at the moment? Four? Six? Just pick one and finish it. How hard can it be?>

"How hard....? Fine. Let's go look at 'Belling the Cat.'"

<I'm not in the mood to do submissive right now. And we need to revise the outline.>

 "What's wrong with the outline? I've been working on that outline for *months*!"

<I'm not convinced that the up-against-the-wall scene is  essential to the plot.>

"Plot? It has a *plot*?"

<Oh. Did I forget to mention that?>

"Methos, that isn't fair! You have to give me *much* more warning if you want fancy stuff like plots!"

<We'll discuss it later. Pick another one.>

"If you really want something with a plot, could I entice you into working on 'Current Times?'"

<Do we have to discuss this again? I thought we'd finally convinced you. No themes, no recurring metaphors, no bloody angst epics!>

"Be that way. It's your loss. Okay, how about 'The Best Laid Plans.' That started off well."

<Oh yeah, right. Do you really think you'll be able to convince Duncan that I'm totally het?>

"No, but I thought *you* could. He believes the most incredible things when they come out of your mouth."

<Not *that* one, he wouldn't. Not on the best day I ever had. Chose another one.>

"We still owe the DMSG that song challenge story."

<Uh-huh. And we'll *keep* owing it to them until you come up with something better than Duncan challenging me to prove that I really *do* have the skills to be a ten thousand dollar a night prostitute!>

"Awww. Where's your sense of humor, Methos? Duncan and I were looking forward to that one. And I've got two of the sex bits done."

<Two? The whole thing is only supposed to be five hundred words! Exactly how many sex bits were you and the Kilted Wonderkind planning?>

"For ten thousand dollars? More than two, that's for damn sure."

<Think again. What else have you got on the back burner?>

"Bad Muse Theater?"

<Hmmm. Which episode?>

"Well, we've got a nice chunk of Gone With the Wind ready to go."

<I'm not doing another corset-lacing scene with Kronos! 'Breathe in, Sugar' my ass! Couldn't we recast his part?>

"Why? Kronos makes a great Mammy! And he brings so much energy to the part."

<Wonderful. He can lace *you* to the bedpost next time. Or better yet, Richie. There's someone who needs to be tied to a bedpost!>

"Won't work. Richie's playing Prissy. The corset scene has to be Mammy and Scarlett."

<Couldn't Kronos switch parts with someone else?>

"Sure. We'll let Cassandra lace you up and Kronos can play Melanie."

<Moving right along. How about the Star Trek episode.>

"You mean 'He's Dead, Mac. You Get His Tricorder, I'll get his Wallet'?"

<Yeah, that one's fun. Or should I get into character and call it fascinating?>

"Bullshit. The whole idea bores you silly. You're just looking forward to Richie as a security red-shirt."

<Not true! I'll admit that's an enticing idea, but Duncan in the Kirk role has a certain charm, too.>

"Yeah. That gold shirt, those tight black pants. I guess that qualifies as charming. But the outline's not ready yet."

<What other episodes have you dreamed up? Let's try something classic.>

"More classic than the original *Star Trek*? Do we live on the same planet?"

<More *classy* anyway. Is that clearer?>

"Sure. I can do classy. 'Methos on a Hot Tin Roof?' 'A Katana Named Desire?' 'The Sound and the Methos?'"

<Obviously, you need to do some more work on this concept. Skip Bad Muse Theater for now.>

"Naaah, I'm on a roll here. How about 'My Fair Methos?' Or 'As I Lay Reviving?'"

<A downhill slide is more like it. What else is there?>

"Well...there's *that* story."

<Which one?>

"The one I'm going to blame on Rache."

<If you've already decided you're going to have to blame someone, I want more details.>

"The one with all the props."

<There's nothing wrong with a few props now and then. The chains and the feathers worked well. What are they this time? Whips? Handcuffs? Are we going to need batteries?>

"Wrong props. Think pocket protectors. Think thick black glasses held together with tape. Think high water pants and white socks."

<I'd rather not. The description alone is turning my stomach. What the hell do you call that one?>

"The Dork Quickening."

<Why, whatever *is* that strange sensation? I believe that I'm starting to feel rather submissive. Yes, I think I definitely feel an urge to dress in tight denim, put on a collar, and let Duncan push me up against the wall and tear my clothes off. I think I might even enjoy it.>

"Sounding better all the time, isn't it?"

<You have no idea.>

The End

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