BELIEVE HALF OF WHAT YOU SEE

By Scribe

Part Two
A Hint of Things to Come

Mary Ann bounced. You might not have been able to tell it on those itty bitty screens they used to have for televisions back when the show was first televised, but there was a fair amount of Mary Ann to bounce. "Oh, Ginger! The Professor was right! Scribe is on the island!"

Xander and Mulder had stopped wrestling. Both of their heads were bobbing a la those little dogs in the back windows of cars as they followed Mary Ann's... um... undulations. Xander whispered to Mulder, "So, in the classic Mary Ann versus Ginger debate, which do you pick?"

Mulder shook his head. "Fuck, I hafta choose?"

Xander nodded. "Scribe?"

"What?"

"You know. Ginger, or Mary Ann?"

"For the last time, Xander. I'm not bi."

"Yeah, whatever. Answer the question."

"Oh, hell. Um, all right." Thoughtful pause. "Mary Ann."

*Squeal!* Mary Ann bounced some more. "Oh, she likes me!"

Scribe backed up. "Don't get your cutoffs in a twist, it was all theoretical."

"Wow." Ginger's voice was breathy. "You talk just as fancy as the Professor."

Scribe looked at her a little more closely. "Are you related to someone called Buffy Summers."

"Why?"

"Certain similarities." She looked at the two men. "Xander, Fox. Pick your eyeballs back up, dust them off, and put them back where they belong. I need to find a way off this island."

Mary Ann sighed. "Good luck. We've been trying for..." Her forehead creased. "How many years is it now, Ginger?"

"Um... I don't know. I lost count somewhere back in the Reagan administration." She sighed. "I should have been back in civilization then. Think of what I could have done with an actor in the White House."

"Actually," Scribe commented, "Judging from your most obvious attributes, I think you might have done better in the Clinton administration. Anyway, I'm a special case." She put her hands on her hips and tossed her head back in the classic heroine pose. "I--am a fan fiction author. I thrive on solving impossible situations." She slumped into a more natural posture. "Logic don't always have a lot to do with it, but there's sort of a mutual agreement between writers and most of the readers: if you ain't ready to suspend disbelief, you need to get your butt off the net."

Mary Ann looked adoring, and Ginger breathed. "Wow. That is so profound."

Scribe looked at her again. "I'm almost positive you're related to Buffy Summers. She lives in California, after all."

Fox, scrambling up, said, "Nah. Too farfetched."

Xander countered. "Are you kidding? Thomas Magnum once turned out to be Blair Sandburg's mystery father. Ginger as Buffy's long lost aunt would be a snap."

A small furry animal with long ears and a cotton tail raced across the sand, making right for Scribe. She screamed and leaped at Mulder, who caught her in his arms, holding her up. "GET RID OF IT! GET RID OF IT!" she shrieked.

It didn't want to go, racing around Mulder, leaping high. Luckily we all know what long legs he has. Finally Xander managed to shoo it away, and Mary Ann chased it off into the trees. Scribe was trembling, her face hidden against Mulder's neck. "Is it gone?"

Mulder nuzzled her, giving her a comforting lick on the ear. "No."

"Quit lying to her, you creator hog," Xander growled. "Yeah, Scribe, it's gone."

"Thank heavens. Put me down, Fox." He squeezed her butt. "I said put me down. Now. Or I write you into a fic with the elder Spender."

Fox dropped her quickly, his face turning pale. "You wouldn't do that to me."

She patted his cheek. "No, I wouldn't. But it's a helluvan effective threat."

Ginger was gazing off toward where Mary Ann had disappeared into the palms. "Why were you so afraid of that cute little animal? What was it?"

Scribe shuddered. "That was one of the most vicious, aggressive plot bunnies I've ever seen, and I am not ready to take on a Ginger-as-long-lost-relative fiction any time soon."

Mary Ann came back out of the trees, humming brightly. "Okay, you don't have to worry about that rabbit anymore."

Scribe said nervously, "How can you be sure?"

"Let's just say that they aren't going to be able to bitc... gripe anymore about nothing but fish for supper." She smiled brightly. "I have a terrific recipe passed down from my upteen great-grandmother, Gabrielle."

Ginger gasped, tears welling up in her eyes. "That poor bunny! How could you?"

Mary Ann shrugged, "Ginger, I'm a farm girl. Practically any animal that doesn't bark or mew can legitimately be considered protein."

"And forget that 'poor bunny' hogwash," Scribe advised. "Those things are ruthless, and they multiply like... er... erm..." They looked at her expectantly. "Oh, hell, I can't say it. It's too obvious, even for me." She squared her shoulder. "Okay. Time to look for the exit," and marched resolutely into the trees, followed by Mulder, Xander, Ginger, and Mary Ann. Actually, it was Ginger, Mary Ann, Mulder, and Xander. They guys made sure they fell behind so they could have the best vantage point to view all three female backsides.

Scribe pushed her way through the lush tropical growth, muttering under her breath, "Cripes, why didn't I just stick to writing fan fiction about Smurfs and Winnie-the-Pooh? At least if those little boogers got horny, they'd be small enough for me to just bat 'em down. Hell, I could play handball with the Smurfs. I'm sure many people have actually dreamed about that..."

They came to a little clearing, where there were several sturdy huts made out of palm fronds. Scribe shook her head. "Willing suspension of disbelief, big time. Not even Army Rangers and MIT graduates could construct shelters that solid from the stuff available on this island without access to Home Depot."

A very upper-crust, supercilious looking couple strolled out of one of the huts and stopped, looking at the little group that had just emerged from the trees. The man looked at the woman and said "Lovey, you didn't mention we were having guests for cocktails."

"Darling," she twittered, "I'm perfectly astonished!" She fingered a diamond necklace, then patted perfect hair with a kid gloved hand. "I'm such a frightful mess." She addressed the group. "Really, it's most gauche to drop in unannounced."

"Okay." Scribe shooed everyone back behind the screen of trees, bawled, "Company coming!" then led them out again. "How's that?"

The man tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Rude, brash, sarcastic, lots of attitude..." He brightened. "Lovey! It's Scribe."

She peered more closely. "Why, so it is! Wonderful! We'd be written up on the society page, having her as a guest, if we had a society page around this benighted island."

Thurston patted her hand. "There, there, Lovey. I'll have the Professor whip up a printing press for you." He turned a bright smile on the group. "Please, join us in our humble abode for a bit of imbibing."

Xander's brow wrinkled. "Huh?"

"He says come on in for a drink." Scribe translated.

"Cool." Xander started forward.

Scribe grabbed him by the back of the neck. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Why the heck not?"

"I have a problem with getting in enclosed spaces and having people push intoxicating beverages on me. Over here it usually means they're trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me. If I'm going to be taken advantage of, I want to be fully conscious to enjoy it."

Thurston snapped his fingers. "Damn! She's seen through our diabolical scheme, Lovey."

"Well, go to plan B, dear. I told you to try that first, anyway."

Thurston looked at Scribe. "I'll give you a million dollars to sleep with you."

Xander and Fox both had to pick their jaws up off their chest. Xander whispered, "Can I be your agent?"

Scribe shoved him. "Look Gotrocks, I can write myself anything I damn well please in this universe. What makes you think I need your money. I don't make any money off my fan fiction. I don't prostitute my talent, what the heck makes you think I'd prostitute anything else?"

Howell shrugged and spoke to Xander and Fox. "All right. I'll give you boys a million to hold her down."

Fox and Xander looked at each other. Scribe promptly slapped them both. "Ow!" Xander yelped.

"What was that for?" Fox complained.

"That was for even fucking thinking about it!"

"Did not!" Xander protested.

"Do I or do I not know how your brain works?" Scribe demanded.

"Hey, I have some secrets from you!" he insisted.

"Like the gerbil incident?" He turned pale. "I rest my case." She made a very rude noise at the Howells. "Learned that from Blair Sandburg, along with some interesting uses for canned whipped cream. C'mon."

As they started off through the trees, Scribe was engulfed in a multi-colored shimmer of sparkles. She stopped and stamped her feet violently. "Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!"

"Oo!" Mary Ann, who had been following, clapped her hands. "You renewed!"

"Sonofabitch!" Scribe snarled. "All that damn work on the outside and here I am, a virgin again!" She shook her fist at the sky. "Don't you idiot writers believe in 'experienced'?"

Ginger shrugged. "They must. I don't have that problem."

Scribe eyed her. "You wouldn't. If you could convince anyone you were a virgin when you came to this island they'd be a candidate for ocean-front real estate in Montana."

Ginger cooed, "You say the sweetest things! Want me to show you a trick from my feature film debut?"

Suspicious, Scribe backed up a step. "Let me guess: your co-star was Francis, the Talking Mule. I don't think so." She headed back toward the beach. "I need a way off this island, but I can't think of any fandom involving boats that I want to get mixed up in. There was the WWII UBsomethingorother, and since that was an all male cast, it would be slash, and should be relatively safe for me, bootie-wise. But then again there'd be that whole torpedo-submarine thing to deal with, plus there are Nazis, and those tend to bring out the worst in the PWP writers, so... Mm. Dead Calm? Nope, nutty Billy Zane--already ran into him on the Titanic, narrow escape. Man does a good psycho. Talented Mr. Ripley? Oo... Tempting, what with Damon. But again, there's that murder thing..."

Fox looked at Xander as they trudged after her. "Does she always talk to herself like this?"

"It's how she comes up with her best plots. Stay quiet. When she starts working out the sex scenes out loud it's really fun. Especially if she needs a test subject to find out if a position is physically possible."

As he was speaking, a dark haired young man dashed out of the trees, scooped Scribe over his shoulder, and started off, with her kicking and screaming. Xander and Fox would have been in hot pursuit, but a small orange cat wound itself between Xander's feet, tripping him, and Fox passed out from a sudden wave of methane. The cat surveyed his handiwork smugly, then darted off.

Scribe was once again jounced along in a fireman's carry, making obscene and marginally blasphemous comments the entire way. They ended up back at the lagoon, where a small motorboat rested just up on the sand. She was dumped inside and, while she was trying to regain her balance, the young man jumped in after her.

He screamed at the cat, who had stopped and was industriously scratching in the sand. "Hurry up, damn it! Hold it, or I leave you here, and keep in mind that you'll be the first new pussy these guys have seen in about thirty years!" The cat sped over and leaped into the boat. He cut on the motor and they pulled out a little ahead of the disgruntled fan fiction characters that rushed out onto the beach.

Scribe sat up, dazed, rubbing her head. "What? Who? Huh?" She squinted at the man piloting the boat. "Hobson? What are YOU doing here?"

He handed her a Chicago-Sun Times. The headline said "FAMOUS FAN FICTION AUTHOR AMONG CASTAWAYS RESCUED FROM UNCHARTED DESERT ISLE." The headline sort of shimmered, then reformed. "CHICAGO BAR OWNER RESCUES SCRIBE!" In smaller print under the headline it said, "Hobson claims, 'She's the best I ever...'"

Scribe closed the paper. "You're a blabbermouth, you know that? I thought they could only print stuff like that in adult tabloids."

"This is the MarySue universe. The federales don't have a whole hell of a lot of control over the media."

"Meow." *whoosh*

"Oh Christ!" Scribe waved, holding her nose. "Look, Gary, I'm assuming that you have in mind what every other even remotely recognizable person in this universe has in mind..."

"Sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex..."

"Yeah, got it. Well, to tell you the truth, Felix there doesn't do much for a romantic atmosphere. Kinda like placing a honeymoon motel between a landfill and a cattle yard, if ya know what I mean."

"I have air freshener and a cork on my boat." The cat bit him. "Ow! Hey, do I try to interfere when you break the decibel scale makin' it with that Persian next door? Gimme a break."

"Meow!"

"Look, don't give me a hard time or I'll send you to visit that vet in the Providence section, and he'll neuter ya. Ow!"

It's very hard to steer a boat with an irate feline wrapped around your head. Gary proved this concept by steering straight into the submarine that had surfaced right in front of them. They rammed it so hard that Scribe was catapulted over the front of the boat to sprawl on the wet, slippery deck of the submarine. And since it was wet and slippery, she slid till she fetched up against a hatch. Sitting up she began to repeat her entire vocabulary of swear words, including the foreign ones that she wasn't entirely sure of.

Gary, holding a hissing cat by the scruff of the neck, was clambering off the ruined boat onto the submarine when the hatch beside her creaked open, and she drew back apprehensively. She almost wilted in relief when a dark haired man wearing glasses climbed out and stood, surveying the mess.

Well, thank goodness! Here's the one character I shouldn't have to worry about. I've had the most success in avoiding him, and he's usually too unselfconfident to try anything, anyway.

He helped her to her feet, and she said, "Well, Joxer, fancy meeting you here."

The man smiled at her charmingly, then grabbed her. "Oof! Hey!" She looked at him more closely, then said, "You're not Joxer! Who are you?"

"Lieutenant JG Tim O'Neill, ma'am." he said. "Communications officer. But," he started to drag her through the hatch. "Once I get you onboard, I may very well be put in charge of morale."

"CRIPES!"

Part Three
This Segment's Premise Becomes More Clear

Tim O'Neil was trying to tug Scribe down the hatch and into the seaQuest, without a great deal of success. Have you ever tried to stuff a pissed-off cat into a small animal taxi? Notice how they seem to grow extra limbs to hang onto the sides?

Tim was on the ladder leading down, and had his arms around Scribe's waist, trying to tug her into the entry. "Oh, come on, will you! Drat, I hate being written as one of the less aggressive members of the crew!"

"Me, go into an enclosed space with a bunch of people who are not only fan fiction characters, which makes them horny by definition, but are also sailors? I don't think so!"

"That is so unfair! The land characters have had their chance, so have the space characters. We undersea characters demand equal rights."

"Go jump Ariel!"

"The freakin' dolphin ate her, okay?" He pried one hand loose, and she promptly used it to smack him, then grabbed hold again. "Damn!"

Gary came over holding the cat. The cat had taken a good look at his surroundings, calculated his chances of swimming anywhere, and called a truce. Gary said, "Hey, that's my squeeze you've glommed onto. Let go."

"Yeah? And where do you think you'll take her?"

Gary looked around. "Um..." He shrugged. "Hell, I'm not adverse to doin' it on the deck."

"Oh, charming!" sniped Scribe. "Like I want to risk seagull poop, and this marine paint coated steel isn't the most comfortable surface in the world, Hobson."

"Hey, the bunks on board are really very comfortable," Tim assured her.

"Screw you."

"Yes, please."

"Jesus."

Gary dropped the cat, grabbed Scribe around the waist also, and started tugging up. "C'mon, sugar."

Scribe yelped as a dripping wet plot bunny clambered up onto the deck, ran over, and whispered in her ear before bounding off and swimming away. "Aaaarrrgh! Now you've done it! Dammit to hell! Now as soon as I get back to my computer I have to write a freakin' song fic about 'Torn Between Two Lovers'! GAG!" She kicked violently at whoever she could reach. "I hate that! Why can't it ever be heavy metal? Why is it always sugar-pop, bubblegum, or disco?"

"Because you listened to Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy when you were growing up," Gary explained.

She scowled at him. "If you say that in public, I'll sue."

Tim shrugged, still tugging. "Well, it's not a total loss. You did write that RP MarySue fantasy about the lead singer of Jesus Jones."

"It was the earings. It was the first time I ever noticed a guy who wore two."

"Hey, you don't have to explain it to me," Tim assured her. "I almost got my ears pierced because of that. Then I got a hint of what you were thinking about the Seth Gecko character in that Dusk 'Til Dawn vignette and got a tattoo instead."

She went still. "Really?"

"I'll show you, if you let go of the hatch."

"Ooo... No."

He sighed. "Well, I can't take any more time on this. I have to get you below, so we can dive." He looked at Gary. "Help me."

"HAH! Why should I help you capture someone I wanna jump?"

"You get first turn."

Gary picked up the cat and pointed its butt at Scribe, then squeezed.

*whoosh*

She fainted.

Thankfully, the cat had passed on the anchovy appetizer the previous night, so she was only out for a minute or two. She regained consciousness as her limp body was handed over to someone else, and Tim closed the hatch, sealing it. "Okay, ready to dive!" he called.

There were immediately official sounding buzzes and clangs, plus a *whoop whoop* that probably existed only in the fevered imaginations of pulp authors and their readers.

Scribe sneezed, blinked, and said, "The cat gets a case of Gas X for Christmas."

"Yeah. The little booger is gonna have to stay in the airlock during this voyage. I don't think the air filters could handle his output."

She blinked at the man who was holding her, then screamed and thrashed, managing to get herself dropped. Startled, the man said, "Hey! I know I'm not the cutest guy on board, but..."

"Brody!" "Huh?" Several people, including Tim and Gary, gathered around.

She'd located a chair and climbed up on it. Not that this'll do a freakin' lot of good, but I gotta do something. "Brody!"

Gary scratched his head, looking at Tim. "Is that some sort of author code-word for troll?"

The man who had been holding Scribe said calmly, "You could swim home, you know."

Gary consulted his newspaper, swallowed hard, and said sincerely, "I was only joking. I don't see how any of the rest of us stand a chance with you around." The man looked mollified. Gary looked intently at the paper. After a moment he sighed in relief, folding it and stuffing it in his back pocket.

The man turned back to Scribe. "What's got you so upset?"

"Aside from the fact that I'm once again in the clutches of a group that's pumping more testosterone than the combined NFL lineup and the audience at a Monster Truck rally? You're Martin Brody, Amity sheriff, and we're in the middle of the ocean, and that means that the fuckin' Moby Dick sized JAWS shark is gonna show up any minute now and chew a hole through the side of the submarine and eat me!" "I'm not Brody."

A bit of the tension seeped out of her. "You're not?"

"No. I'm Nathan Bridger, captain of this vessel."

She slumped. "Thank goodness. I'm not gonna get eaten after all."

He smiled. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"Ri-i-ight." She looked past him. "Should there be water running down the side of that wall?"

Everyone looked. She ran.

Ooo, hell! Submarines are even worse for ducking and hiding than space ships! Boy, talk about limited options. Footsteps were coming closer, so she figured she'd try to hide, rather than getting run down in the corridor.

The room she ducked into looked something like a cross between a laboratory and a marine petshop. Mainly because there was some sort of tank or something with a dolphin in it. "Hey, I didn't know people wrote Flipper fic these days!" The footsteps came closer. After a brief look around she crawled under a low table set against a wall and tugged some boxes in front of the open space.

The door opened and someone entered and spent a moment or two walking around, moving things. She held her breath. Someone outside in the corridor called, "Is she in there?"

"Nope. Go try the galley. She usually manages to find food, and I know for a fact that the cook took on a load of Pop Tarts the last time we were in port."

Scribe's tummy grumbled quietly, and she pressed on it frantically. Shut up! God, you're worse than Pavlov's dog. Just mention Pop Tarts and you're ready to give me up.

She felt relieved when the footsteps retreated toward the door, and it closed. Then the voice said, "Okay. Where is she?"

Scribe was utterly astonished when another voice answered, "Under the table, Einstein. Don't you remember that you left those boxes against the wall?"

"So I did." The boxes were shoved aside and an arm reached under the table. Scribe tried to evade the grasp, but there just wasn't anywhere to go, and she was quickly hauled out.

She found herself in the grasp of a very young, very cute guy. "First off, who the hell squealed on me? There wasn't anyone else in here."

"No one else humanoid, you mean." He nodded at the tank.

She looked. The dolphin popped its head out of the water and said, "When you're done having fun, toss her in here. Those World Weekly News articles about dolphins trying to mate with swimmers aren't all hooey."

"You malicious aquatic mammal!" Scribe fumed. "And to think I boycotted tuna to help preserve you endangered ass! The first thing I'm doing when I get home is making myself a big Starkist salad."

The young man was pressing her back against the table. "Whoa! Hang on there, sonny! Crap, you're even younger than Xander! I'm not a cradle snatcher..."

"Speaking of snatch..." His hand was moving toward her crotch.

She slapped it away. "God preserve me from horny teenagers and bad filthy puns! Horny post-adolescents and good filthy puns are another matter. Will you just..." She looked at him more closely. "Bastian?"

"Who?"

"Bastian Bux, right? Shouldn't you be hanging around with rock creatures and pseudo-fairies and wish dragons that look like cocker spaniels?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Lucas, and I quit being intersted in fairy tales about the time I discovered Playboy."

Scribe smacked her forehead. "Sheesh! That's right, your actor played both roles"

"You're into role playing? That works for me. What'll it be? Jock and cheerleader? Mrs. Robinson and Benjamin? Juvenile delinquent and teacher? I'm up for it." He humped against her.

"I can see that. I have a request: can I have a pen and a piece of paper first?"

"And let you write your way out of this? I don't think so."

"I promise not to write a single word about myself." She held up three fingers pressed together. "Look, Girl Scout salute. I was a Girl Scout for a few years, though I think they'd probably try to keep that quiet."

"Girl Scout, huh? Did you keep the uniform?"

"I haven't run into this many kinks since the last time I didn't use conditioner when I washed my hair. Just let me write, huh? It'll be interesting, I promise."

"Okay, but I'm going to watch closely. One word about you escaping, and I pounce."

"Don't worry." Scribe took the paper and pen and started to write. //Lucas looked around his laboratory suspiciously. Something was different.//

Lucas looked around his laboratory. "You know, something feels different around here."

//His eyes came to rest on an item he hadn't noticed before. It was a huge book: bound in elaborately tooled leather, and looking ancient and full of wisdome.// Damn, that's kinda awkward, but I'm pressed for time, here.

"Hey! I never noticed this old book before. Did you bring it with you?"

"N-ot exactly." She wrote quickly. //It was fascinating.//

"Boy, that looks interesting."

//He picked it up.//

Lucas picked up the book, examining the exterior. "Cool."

//He couldn't resist opening it.//

Lucas hesitated. "Waitaminute. Mysterious old books that suddenly just appear very seldom are as innocent as they seem."

Damn! He must read fan fiction. Gotta improvice fast. //It occured to him that such a volume might contain rare, vintage smut.// Lucas eagerly started flipping through the pages. //And he was sucked back into The Neverending Story!// A tinkling sound, a shower of sparks, and the book thumped to the floor, falling closed, Lucas nowhere to be seen.

Scribe picked it up and held it to her ear. From inside she heard faint cursing, then a surprised, "Awright! Fairies!" followed by surprised squeals. She dropped it, mumbleing, "He'll do all right. There's gonna be some tired fairies, though. Okay, next order of business... Getting off this tub."

She got a fresh sheet of paper, pulled up a chair, and tapped the pen thoughtfully against her chin. I really don't think this will work, but it's worth a try.

//Scribe closed her eyes, thinking "This is all a dream. It's a nightmare. I'm going to wake up, and be safe and snug in my own little home.//

Now. Scribe closed her eyes. This is all a dream. It's a nightmare. I'm going to wake up, and be safe and snug in my own little home.

She opened her eyes. Nothing had changed. "Well, piss." She looked at the paper. Something had changed. Right under what she had written were the words //FAT CHANCE. You think it will be THAT easy? Think again. THE POWERS THAT BE.//

"Why, you sons of... Oh, all right! Can I at least get myself off this submersible frat house?"

More words appeared. "Sure, why not? Go for it."

At that moment she heard steps again in the corridor, and someone saying, "I'm telling you, I don't trust him. He never came out of here, and I think he's trying to cut us out..."

"Ooo!" She scribbled hastily. //Luckily the water tank proved to be an interdimensional passageway. leading back to...// "Where, dammit, where?" The doorknob rattled. "Crap!" //...someplace her pusuers couldn't follow.//

Scribe dropped the pen and dived for the tank just as the door opened.

The amorous dolphin didn't prove to be too much trouble, as he didn't have any limbs to use for catching and holding. Scribe wasn't exactly sure that dolphin's HAD crotches to get kicked in, but she did her damndest. Boy, they made high pitched squeals.

She popped to the surface of what appeared to be a shallow pool in a large marble room. Dragging herself out of the water, she collapsed on the floor and just lay there a moment, gasping.

A pair of feet appeared beside her, and she looked up. She noted the dark haired man smiling down at her and groaned, "Curse you, PTB! You said you'd let me off the seaQuest! Look, O'Neil, can't we work out some sort of future activities agreement? I'm kinda stressed right now..."

She was hauled to her feet. "After the number of times you've dodged me? I don't think so!"

Scribe was dragged into a tight embrace and a wet kiss. It would have been rather pleasant except for the armor. Armor? She pulled back. "O'Neil?"

Joxer smiled. "Hey, call me Cupid, if it makes you happy," and dived in for another kiss.

Part 4
Fan Fiction Fan's Dream Come True

Scribe sighed. "Well, it could be worse, I suppose. At least you're not Dennis Skinner. First fic I read about him sorta blew me away. I thought, 'How are they getting turned on by a guy who's basically a psychopath who skins people alive, then tans their skins and wears them?' Then I went, 'Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal Lector... Duh.'"

Joxer squeezed her tighter. "I love you even when you make absolutely no sense at all, and that's a good thing, since it happens so often." He looked around, and started tugging Scribe toward a door.

"Where are we going?"

"I gotta find some place to hide you."

"Joxer! You sweety!" She kissed him. "You're trying to help me hide, and here I thought you were going to jump me!"

"Oh, I am. I just want to get you out of the open before one of the big guys come along and takes you away from me."

"Snot!" She kicked him, and yelped. "Damn! For such crappy armor that stuff has some pretty effective shin guards."

"I've added a brass cup, too, so you might as well save your knees." He grinned as he pulled her along a corridor, "since you may be spending some time on them soon."

"Pardon me while I swear."

"Why should now be any different than most occasions? Okay, let's see..."

*FLASH*

"Damn! Too late." Ares blocked the hallway before them, hands on hips, one booted foot tapping. "Hi, sweety! I caught Scribe for you."

"That trick didn't work for Gabrielle," Scribe informed him.

"Joxer," Ares cooed. "You dear thing! For me?"

Both Scribe and Joxer blinked, staring at him, then looked at each other. "Cooed?" Joxer said.

"Dear thing?" Scribe countered. They looked at Ares again. "What happened to the militant goth look?" There was still lots of leather, but it was white instead of black. There was also silk in a festive light blue, and tasteful accessories. "Um, not that this isn't a good look for you, but it's kind of out of character for the God of War, dontcha think?"

"Please!" Ares tossed his hair. "You're thinking of that beast, Cupid. I," hand spread on chest, "am a lover, not a fighter."

"W-a-i-t a minute. What do you think about Xena and Gabrielle?"

"One of my best couples."

Joxer gasped. "He can't stand Gabby," he whispered. "What's going on?"

Scribe squinted. "Lessee... I think the title of the episode was the same as a science-fiction novel... Um, I Sing the Body Electric? No. Dune? No. Ah! Stranger in a Strange Land."

"Huh?" Ares had sauntered over and was running a finger up and down Joxer's bicep.

"A single episode where someone enters an alternate universe, kinda like on Star Trek, where personalities are shifted. Ares and Cupid had switched jobs, thus Ares, God of Love." She winced. "Good God, now I've entered an alternate universe of my fan fiction universe! Will it never end?"

Joxer wrapped his arms tighter around Scribe. "I don't care! You can't have her this time, Ares. I've worked hard, and I deserve her!"

"All right, sugar plum," the dark haired god said agreeably.

Joxer looked at him suspiciously. "You're not going to zap me for that?"

"Olympus forbid, sweetcheeks. How could I deny anyone so cute? All I ask is that you let me tag along, and maybe keep things rolling when eventually you get tired."

Joxer gave Scribe a questioning look, and she made 'go on' gestures at him. He cleared his throat, and voice squeaking, said, "Wanna make out?"

Ares smiled. "I thought you'd never ask!"

Joxer took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and said in a tiny voice, "Can I top?" He flinched in anticipation of a zap, or at least a slap.

His eyes flew open when Ares groped him, purring, "Oh, I bet you can!" He pouted. "But you have to promise not to be too rough."

Joxer's mouth hung open for a minute in astonishment, then he gaped at Scribe. "I get to pitch!"

She patted him on the shoulder. "Go, get 'im, Nolan."

Joxer started to let her go, then hesitated. "But I just got you."

"Look, it'll probably take me a few episodes to escape, it usually does. And you've got a hot god just waiting to be ravished." She elbowed him, whispering, "Personally, I think that 'don't be too rough' bit was a little of the ol' Br'er Rabbit briar patch schtict." Joxer still paused. "Joxer, what's the thread count on Ares' sheets?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Well, I figured as many times as you've had your face pushed into them..."

Joxer let go of Scribe, grabbed Ares' arm and dragged him off toward the bedroom. "C'mon. I'm gonna show you why I'm called The Mighty One."

Scribe clasped her hands. "Such a sweet couple. Now, how the hell do I get out of here? And I'd better make it quick. If I remember correctly, the Xena and Herc-uverses are teeming with alternate characters. I can remember four for Xena alone. While the idea of being piled by a bunch of Lucy Lawless clones is intriguing, I just might not survive it. So, nearest exit..."

*FLASH*

"SCRIBE!"

"Crud." She found herself dangling from Ares' fist. "Hey, whatever happened to 'I'm a lover, not a fighter'?"

He snorted. "Sounds like something that wimp, Cupid, would say."

"Ah. God of War?"

"Who else were you expecting? I leave you alone for just a minute and you run out on me. I guess this time I'll have to make the cuffs solid. We're going right to my room, young lady."

"Now, you wait just... a... min..." She grinned. "Okay. But let's walk, huh?"

"I can just zap us there."

"I know you can, but humor me, all right?"

"All right." He started dragging her. "But I don't see why."

"Because I already have enough bruises, and if Joxer hasn't gotten rid of all the armor..."

They'd entered the room, and Ares stopped dead at the sight of the bed, and the activity taking place thereon. "Joxer!"

"Oh! Er, hi."

"What did I tell you about that?"

"It's not really cheating, honeybuns."

"What the fuck do you mean, not cheating? That slut..." His voice trailed off.

"Hi, studmuffin."

*silence*

Ares shook his head. "Okay, this is weird."

Scribe patted him on the back. "Coming from someone who travels in a flash of blue lightning, that's pretty profound. Be polite: tell him hi."

"If I talk to myself people will think I'm crazy."

"News flash--they already do. Of course they tend to use the word 'insane' more often..." Scribe cocked her head. "Joxer, aren't you even gonna slow down?"

"No."

"Damn, you were anxious, weren't you?"

Ares wandered closer to the bed, fascinated. "It's like watching myself have sex."

"Enjoy it," Scribe advised. "Once someone invents video over here it won't be quite so exotic."

He ignored her. Judging him to be sufficiently distracted, she carefully began prying herself loose, a finger at a time. He continued, not noticing, "Except I've never done that."

Ares, GOL sighed voluptuously. "Why have you been denying yourself?"

"It... uh... Are you enjoying that?"

*Moan* "Does that answer your question? Why don't you come closer and I'll explain things to you?"

Scribe quietly sneaked toward the door as Ares, GOW climbed up on the bed. She paused at the hall, peering back. "Whoa! Ouch!" She looked down, rubbing her ankle, and found a particularly debauched plot bunny leering up at her. "Yeah, right, I get the picture. But you have to get in line behind the song fic bunny." The nose twitched, and the bunny wiggled its eyebrows (which up until that moment Scribe hadn't even realized that they possessed). "Well, yeah, if you think you can kick his cotton tail and take first place, go for it. But I gotta get out of here or none of it is getting written."

The bunny jerked its head for her to follow and hopped off down the corridor. Scribe followed, tossing looks back to the room and muttering to herself, "I wonder if that qualifies as self-abuse?"

She had to duck behind a hanging tapestry again when two Joxer clones wandered past. That must be Jett and Jace. Lessee, one of 'em is supposed to be a psycho, but damned if I can remember which, and I'm not going to risk... Who-oh, they found the bedroom! Man, the logistics of three Joxers and two Ares simply boggles the mind! I could become legend in the annals of fan fiction. Maybe I should take notes... "Ow!" She reached down to rub her other ankle, to find an even sleazier plot bunny grinning at her with buck teeth. It was wearing leather. "Oo, now that's interesting. Look, just go wait at my place, huh? Have I ever neglected you guys before?"

A nose wiggle. "That wasn't my fault! I was in the hospital, okay? All I had to write with once they took out the IV was a Magic Marker, and it ended up so smudged I couldn't read it to transcribe to disk, but I tried, dammit!" The bunny ducked its head. "Okay, apology accepted. Now, how do I get out of here?"

The bunny led her to an open doorway. She peaked through. "Uh... What IS that big, blue swirly thing?" The bunny tilted its head so its ears pointed at a sign on the wall. "Generic Interdimensional Time and Space Portal. Figures. Will this take me home?" The bunny rolled on the floor, holding its sides. "Figures. I'm not so sure I want to do this."

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

Scribe turned to find someone who looked a lot like Hercules grinning at her from a few yards down the corridor. "You're not Hercules, are you?"

"That wimp? You can call me Your Worship. Now, come here and I'll show you divine intervention."

"Eep. That would be the Sovereign." She remembered some of the fan fiction she'd read about him, and unhesitatingly plunged into the blue swirl.

The blue flashes turned to sparkles, and she found herself dropping from a height of about three feet onto a raised dias. An indignant plot bunny squirmed out from under her, kicking her as he went. "Sex in a transporter beam? No way! You just go figure something else out and see me when you're done." The bunny thumped its foot angrily. "I mean it! Go find Mulder and lead him astray." The bunny looked thoughtful, and hopped off.

She hauled herself to her feet, dusting herself off as she looked around. She noted the high-tech interior. "Oh, crap! Space again. Dammit, I have to get more specific about my desired location when I ask for help."

Two people, a man and a woman, came through the door. "Okay, no mistaking those 'no visible fastenings' uniforms. What section of the Star Trek neighborhood have I dropped myself into now?"

"This is the Voyager," said a crisp red-headed woman. "Who are you, and why are you on my ship?"

Scribe did a Snoopy dance. "HALLELUJAH! Someone who doesn't recognize me!"

"Yeah, well, " said the blonde man, "Janeway's a little out of it, anyway. Hi, Scribe."

"Hi, Tom. Are you the Chakotay ship version, the Harry ship version, or the B'ellana ship version?"

"I'm the 'so horny he'll jump anything' version." He made a grab at her.

Scribe ducked behind Janeway, who froze Paris with a look, then turned to Scribe. "We'd better get you down to sick bay so the Doctor can check you out."

"I'm fine." she protested as they led her down the corridor.

"Yes, I'm sure. But there's no telling what hidden germs you could be carrying."

"Look just because I don't use protection in my fics... Hey, I don’t allow STDs, okay? And when I was in RL with Xander, I made him put on the raincoat every time there was a shower. Or even a sprinkle."

"She means, like, deep space oogie germs," Tom explained. "Stuff that will make you turn green, or cause parts to drop off."

"Well, from what I 've heard there are certain strains..."

They'd entered the medical bay. The Doctor stepped forward. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

"I thought that went out half-way through the first season? And am I the only one who's noticed that the actor playing the Doctor has a name only one letter off the name of the Enterprise's captain?" Silence and stares. "Well, I thought it was funny."

A slender, stern looking blonde woman came into the room. "Captain, sensors show that we picked up a fan fiction author, and I came to assess the situation myself."

Janeway nodded. "Yes, she seems to..." Janeway was interrupted by a wild shriek from Scribe. "What?! What is it?"

Scribe was pointing, horrified, at the blonde. "You!" The blonde did a quick look over both shoulders, then touched her chest in a 'Who, me?' gesture. "You... you... BITCH"

Scribe dived at the woman, fingers hooked into claws. Tom Paris barely managed to catch her around the waist, and he struggled to hold onto her. He panted, "What's you problem?"

Scribe did her best Tasmanian Devil impression, and got loose, diving for the woman once again. The handsome man with the facial tattoo who'd just walked in said, "All right! Cat fight!"

The black man with pointy ears who'd followed him said, "Yes. That form of altercation has proven most effective in increasing viewer rates, as first demonstrated in the great Alexis/Krystal fight on Dynasty..."

Scribe was chasing the woman around the room, and she screamed. "Exactly! Alexis... No, different Alexis, still a bitch!"

"What is wrong with the woman?" Janeway tried to catch Scribe on the next pass. Scribe took a moment to viciously mess up her smooth bun, causing Janeway to stop everything else and try to rearrange it.

"She appears to be suffering from a psychotic break," said the doctor.

"I would appreciate less analysis and more assistance," panted the blonde on her next lap. "Doctor, she's gotten a metal tray, please."

Paris, Chakotay, and Tuvok combined managed to run down Scribe, disarm her, and hang on to her while the panting blonde collapsed against a bed. "Hey, calm down!" Chakotay soothed. "What have you got against Seven?"

"What have I got against her?!" Scribe spat in her direction. "Evil! Pure and simple."

"No, no, you don't understand!" Jane way said. "She's no longer Borg, she's human. Sure, she's a little cold, still, but she's working on it."

"Fuck the Borg!"

Seven smoothed back her hair, "Actually, they don't. That's one reason why I didn't mind becoming human again."

"Will you people let me go so I can dismember her?"

Tuvok said, "Please, try to control your hostility."

"What hostile? This is a perfectly normal reaction. Ask any fan fiction reader. Ask any slash fan fiction reader, and they'll tell you to turn me loose and give me a chainsaw."

"Such violent emotion when the woman has done nothing to you is illogical."

"Logic, my butt! It's not what she's done to me! And she's evil, I tell you! Evil!" She stamped her feet, unfortunately missing every crew members' foot she was aiming at. Despite having her arms held she managed to point. "Bad Sentinel! Bad"

Everyone blinked. "Sentinel?" the Doctor inquired.

Janeway said, "You've mistaken her for someone else."

"No, I haven't! Alexis Barnes, evil, psycho sentinel! And jealous bitch!" She almost managed to get away again.

Seven said to Janeway, "Captain, she's obviously delusional. Have the doctor sedate her."

All the men nodded vigorously.

Scribe kicked. "Whatcha gonna do, Alex? There isn't a fountain around here to drown me in!"

Janeway snapped. "What, exactly, are you accusing her of?"

"SHE DROWNED BLAIR!"

There was silence. Everyone looked at Seven. She cleared her throat. "He came back."

Janeway looked at Scribe. "That cute little curly headed stud-puppy who pals around with the big, buff cop?" Scribe nodded. "The one who finds inventive uses for foodstuffs?" Scribe grinned and nodded again. Janeway looked at Seven, then looked at the men holding Scribe. "Let her go."

They shrugged and turned loose. Seven headed for the transporter room. Scribe paused only to snatch something off a table, then went in hot pursuit. Paris said to Chakotay, "Don't you think we should have at least taken away the scalpel before we let her out of the room?"

He shrugged. "There's probably an NC-17 warning on this thing, so why bother?"

They found them in the transporter room. Scribe was kneeling on Seven/Alexis, pinning her arms down, and had managed to half shave her head with the scalpel already. Tuvok said. "Ah, the traditional humiliation of shaving a woman's head. Very appropriate."

Scribe glanced at him scornfully. "This is just the first step in making her a Pinhead lookalike."

The crew exchanged looks and sighed. Chakotay shot her with a phaser set on 'stun'. As Seven crawled out from under her, he said, "I'd advise you to take a powder. Now."

"But where can I go?"

Janeway was scanning monitors. "There's a ship nearby. We'll send you there."

Straightening her uniform (which was mussed, but unripped, as polyester is damn tough), and smoothing what was left of her hair, Seven/Alexis got on the transporter platform. Just as the shimmer enveloped her she sneered. "As soon as I find a way back to Earth I'm gonna finish off that pipsqueak!"

Scribe sat back up just in time to hear this and see her disappear. "Oh, no!" she wailed. "Janeway, how could you! She'll make her way back to Earth and go after Blair again."

Janeway was smiling. "Oh, I don't think so."

"Why not? She'll find some way to get whoever is on board that ship to take her back to Earth."

"Not likely. Come look at the ship." Scribe scrambled up and went to peer at the monitor. Then she gave Janeway a grin and a big, smacking kiss.

"Hey, what did you do to deserve that?" Paris asked, curious. Janeway indicated the monitor, and he leaned over and looked. A slow grin spread across his face. "Oh."

Written across the hull of the rapidly departing ship in stories high letters was the name 'RED DWARF'.

Part Five
Space Escape Through Something We All Dread

Scribe rubbed her hands together happily. "This is cool. She has a low tolerence for sub-perfect physical and intellectucal specimens. Between The Cat, Dave, and especially Rimmer, she should be Jello brained in a matter of days. A fate worse than death." She patted Janeway on the shoulder. "That was worthy of Strife." Everyone in the room shh-ed her, fingers to lips. She blinked. "Damn, sounds like I got caught in a V fiction. What gives?"

Tom looked around nervously. "You don't want to mention his name too loudly. He has a way of getting around. We highly suspect that he masquerades here under the name of Q."

She nodded. "Yeah. Crossovers can be a bitch, and that sounds very likely. So, which way is off this space-bucket?"

Chakotay put an arm around her shoulders. "Before you go anywhere you need to center yourself." His hand slid down and around. "I can help you get in touch with your spiritual side."

She slapped his hand. "That's not my spiritual side you're groping. Don't try to pull that smooth bullshit with me, buddy." Her eyes narrowed. "Considering your previous experience, I'm surprised you didn't scam your way into head of security."

"What does she mean by that?" Janeway asked.

Chakotay was flushing. "Nothing."

Scribe snorted. "Help 'em protect their valuables?"

Now Tom looked interested. "Yeah, come to think of it, there was a flyer shoved under my door a while back about having my security code reset by an expert. What up with that?"

Scribe struck a pose, elbow in hand and said in a bright, false voice, "How much would it cost to have handcuffs set in the wall? You know, as a decorating motif?"

Tom started fanning himself. "I... um, don't have any handcuffs, but I've got some nice leather straps."

"I was quoting." She pointed at Chakotay. "Sound familiar... Raoul?" Chakotay hid his face in his hands. Scribe looked at the others. "Eating Raoul. Cult movie, early eighties." She shook her finger at him accusingly. "You turned people into dog food!"

"Only shallow characters who were disposable anyway," he protested.

"He was helping Paul and Mary Bland off swingers for their dough. Made the mistake of falling for Mary."

"Yes?" Janeway looked interested. "What happened?"

"He got eaten."

Tom shrugged. "Big deal. He gets eaten on a regular basis around here."

"No, I mean as in with fava beans and a nice chianti. Speaking of which, how can you be here if...?"

"It was a previous incarnation. Very handy things."

"Captain."

Janeway operated her com-link. "Yes?"

"You'd better get to the bridge. We're being approached by another ship."

"On my way. Who is this, by the way?"

"Well, in the credits I'd be listed as Crew Member One. Oops! Better make it the docking bay instead. Another one just showed up, and they've both launched shuttles."

As Janeway started toward the door, Scribe followed. "Maybe I can hitch a ride back to... to... Oh, wherever the hell."

Paris followed. "We can't get back to earth, what makes you think you can?"

Scribe rolled her eyes, and put on her booming, super heroine voice. "Because I'm Superauthor! Faster than a speeding fan boy, more powerful than a raging plot bunny, able to leap tall censorship barriers with a single snippet. Yes, Superauthor, disguised as mild mannered Scribe Mozelle, I..." Paris collapsed in laughter. "Yeah, I know, I know."

There were two shuttles in the shuttle bay, two very different types of shuttles, but the doors slid open at the same time. Both of the men who exited the seperate ships were blonde, both were handsome, both were wearing leather, but as different as the shuttles. The one on the left was a bit smaller, and looked impishly cocky. The one on the right was a lot bigger, and his cockiness had a touch of near arrogance. She looked at Chakotay. "Explain something to me: how is it that every other spaceman wears leather, but you never see a cow in space?" He shrugged.

Scribe looked between the two, frowning. "Oh, shit. Not the double-double bit again." She looked at the man on the left. "I don't suppose that Madman Murdoch piloted that thing, huh, Face?"

A charming grin. "You can call me whatever you like, sweetheart. I usually go by Starbuck, but Face will work fine."

"Uh huh." She looked at the spaceman on the right. "I suppose I can't expect to see Ioalaus or, say Joxer or Ares come out of that thing behind you?" He shook his head. "Okay, you're not Hercules. Who are you?"

"Dylan Hunt."

She frowned. "Damn, two fandoms I'm not all that familiar with. Battlestar Galactica was too long ago, and Andromeda is too recent. My cable has been out, and I haven't had a chance to get acquainted with it. All I know of it is what I've read in the fan fiction. Okay, I need information. Exactly how horny are you guys?"

Starbuck shrugged. "I do pretty good. There aren't many of us humans left, you know, so we're encouraged to breed."

Dylan growled, "I'm stuck onboard with three women: one hologram, one lavender, and one who acts like she has almost as much testosterone as I do. Other than that there's a smart ass Irishman and a hulking genetic snob, and I don't swing that way in this section of the fan fiction universe. What do you think?"

"R-i-g-h-t. Six of one, a half-dozen of the other. Maybe I'd be better off hanging here for awhile."

A voice came over the intercome. "Captain Janeway?"

"Yes, B'elana?"

"Is the scuttlebutt true? Scribe is onboard?"

"Yes, she is."

"Is she with you?"

"Yes."

*GRRRRROOOOOWWWWLLLL!*

"B'elana?"

Crewman One's voice came on again. "She just raced out of the room, Captain."

Scribe groaned. "Cripes, that was a Klingon mating growl. Well, that tears it--I have to get out of here, now. I'd do eenie, meanie, miney, moe, but I don't think I could deal with having the Three Stooges run out here and try to molest me." She clapped her hands. "All right, space studs! C'mon down where I can get a better look at you, so I can make an informed choice."

The two men strutted down their respective ramps. She twirled a finger. "Pose, y'all. Remember, I've seen everything this universe has to offer, so you'd better sell it."

Dylan and Starbuck obliged, preening and posing. Scribe started clapping and singing, "Ahm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it huuurts!"

She knew her fanfiction characters well--they couldn't resist. Dylan and Starbuck started stripping. It was a complicated process, given all the leather and hidden fastenings. The crew of the Voyager were getting into it. Some of them started looking for their personal handheld computers to transfer some credits, since they didn't have any physical money to stuff in their pants. Since everyone was preoccupied, Scribe didn't have any problem strolling up one of the ramps.

The dancing and clapping came to an end as B'elana appeared in the doorway and roared, "What the hell are you people doing, letting her get that close to a shuttle?"

Scribe was standing in the shuttle door. "Gee whiz, willikers, I wonder what this button does?" She punched the large button near the door, and the shuttle door slid shut.

From outside she heard someone say, "No problem. She doesn't know how to drive one of those."

"Oh, people," she shook her head as she sat at the control panel. "You should know me better than that by now." She started pushing buttons, flipping switches, and turning dials till the engine started rumbling.

Outside the crew looked at each other. Janeway said, "Well, we just won't open the shuttle bay door."

Paris sighed. "She really is out of it. Run!" They made it out of the bay and shut the doors just as Scribe gunned it and smashed through the doors.

"Off I go, into the wild blue yonder..." she warbled. She took a look at the viewscreen. "Wild black yonder? Whatever. Now, let's see... Where to? Oh well, why am I worried? The main character always ends up somewhere." She sat back for a little while. Soon she was twiddling her thumbs. "In space, no one can hear you yawn.

The ship started to shake. Whoa! What now? Something had appeared in front of the ship. It was sort of like the Generic Interdimensional Time and Space Portal back at Ares's temple, but those are blue, this is black, and... and... We're being sucked into it! Everything is being sucked into it! A cow flew past, disappearing into the swirl. Holy crap! Either they do have cows in space, or I just did a mini-crossover with TWISTER. An ugly woman on a broom swooped past, cackling, to slip into the swirl. Or the Wizard of Oz. Oh, squick! Munchkins and flying monkeys! She shuddered. They always creeped me out.

As she was drawn inexorably closer, she suddenly realized what this was. Good lord! It's not a Time and Space portal, and it's not a black hole! It's something much more insidious and dangerous. It's... it's... As the shuttle was sucked in, she screamed, "A PLOT HOLE!"

The shuttle suddenly appeared, popping into existence in a clear, blue sky (yeah, I know that it should have appeared in space, but this is fanfiction). It streaked straight into an equally blue ocean, and ended up bobbing on the waves. Scribe opened the door and scoped the situation. "A pristine beach." She looked toward the heavens and said loudly, "Too bad I can't swim well." The waves tossed the ship to within wading distance of the shore. "How convenient."

Scribe hopped out and waded to the beach. She plopped down on the warm, white sand, closing her eyes. "Oh, well, back were I started." She heaved a sigh.

*plop*

A muscular masculine body landed on top of her. "Oof! Crap!"

"Hi, sweetie."

Scribe frowned, then reached up and carefully felt the butt of the body on top of her. "Xander?"

*smooch* "Welcome back." *hump* "I missed you."

She opened her eyes and gave him a big kiss. "Boy, it's nice to get back to an all American, garden variety, boy next door vampire slayer after all the space jocks." She looked around. "Where's Fox?"

"I had to throw him to the castaways to get them off of me. When last seen he was up a coconut tree, surrounded by Gilligan, the Skipper, and Mr. Howell. The Professor was busy inventing something to help them climb up after him. But don't worry. While I was sneaking away some green eyed dude was swimming toward shore, yelling at them to go find their own toys."

Scribe nodded, "Alex will kick their butts, but if he's on the island I'd better try to get off. I avoided him through all three sections of the last proverb, and he may be a little pissed."

"We're not on the island anymore. We're in Hawaii."

"What? How did you manage that?"

"Well, while the castaways were preoccupied a speedboat came into the lagoon, and I swam out to it. There was this really, really fine guy with a moustache driving it, and he gave me a lift back to Hawaii." Xander shook his head. "He wore a shirt almost as funky as some of mine."

"Let me guess... he was a detective?"

"Yeah, how did you know?" Scribe rolled her eyes. "Anyway, he said he was considering taking a job as an entertainment reporter back in the states. Something about a chance to cover the Oscars when this hot new actor went up for an award for his role as a gay soldier."

"Fascinating. Lemme up, Xand." *hump* "C'mon." *humphump* "Xander, sand!"

"Crap." He got off of her. "Frankie and Annette never worried about that in the beach movies."

"Annette wore a bathing suit that nothing could penetrate--ask Frankie. Oo, wait a minute... Annette and Candy, the fringe girl. It would explain why Frankie never got more than a chaste hug and a closed-mouth kiss." A plot bunny popped up out of the sand, nipped her sharply on the ankle, then dived back down it's burrow. She sighed. "I'm going to have a month's worth of fics to work off before I get out of here. Let's book."

Xander followed her. "Speaking of that, I've been dodging some guy named Dano for the last couple of hours..."

END PART 6