Frank’s seriously going to kill me for this. Really. If you don‘t hear anything from me after this, assume the worst.

Disclaimers and credits to follow.

Rating: PG. Frank swears. He was cross.

Feedback: If you want to make sure I _am_ still alive, feedback me at Rossi@subreality.com

This one’s for Yasmin and Ana. Consider it a preview.

It was a Happening Night in the Writer’s Café. Many of the ‘older’ Writers, preferring to leave the Subreality Café to the current newbie invasion, had decided to make an evening of it. The Beast was at his best, smiling and joking and flirting with the female Writers, Mary Shiva was mixing drinks like a whirlwind, and if the aromas coming from the kitchen were anything to go by, Sailor Jupiter was outdoing herself. Even Peregrine had poked his head out of his office briefly to give a quiet nod of satisfaction. And the crowd of Cables wanting to discuss plot points with Alicia McKenzie had given Pinocchio an entertaining half-hour.

Over in a corner near the pool table (which hadn’t been there at the start of the evening), things were getting pleasantly rowdy. Yasmin, Yona and Ana were in a corner booth, watching Phil and Rossi play pool against Seraph and Dex. The fact there were four different sets of rules (Australian, British, Canadian and Subreality) being used didn’t help, but Yona’s well-placed zaps to Dex’s rear every time he bent to take a shot were tilting things heavily in Phil and Rossi’s favour.

"Best investment I ever made, getting Yona those Tim Tams," Rossi observed to Phil as Dex missed yet another shot. "Hey Dex, mate, you realise if you don’t sink a ball you’ll have to do a lap of honour with the trousers down?"

"If your little Gothic friend doesn’t stop zapping me, she’s going to find herself in a world of hurt," Dex growled, glaring at Yona. She batted her eyelashes innocently at him and took another sip of her drink.

"C’mon Angel, you can’t let yourself get beaten by these two jokers," Al remarked from the other corner booth, where he was drinking with Ieuan, Bronwyn, Frank and Lyssie. Victor had been dispatched to the bar for the next round.

"Thank you so much for your support, Al," Seraph replied through gritted teeth. She was seriously considering doing a little smiting of her own right about now. The only problem was deciding who would be on the receiving end- her opponents on the pool table, or her smartarse Muse.

"Yer up, Wings," Phil grinned, having neatly snookered her by bouncing the white ball off a temporal anomaly and into next week.

"Bastard," Seraph muttered, and teleported after it. A second later she reappeared, the ball bouncing off the table from a handy worm-hole in time-space, ricocheting off the bar (narrowly missing Victor’s head as he carried a tray of drinks back to the table) to bounce along the row of computer terminals along one wall, zipping around Kielle’s sushi plate and bouncing off the back of Jess Willey’s head, before landing back on the table and knocking one of her balls into the pocket. Rossi and Phil (and the spectators) applauded respectfully.

"Nice shot, ‘Raph," Rossi said.

"Very nice," Phil agreed. "Pity about the teleporting penalty."

"Yeah, real shame about that." Rossi’s grin was positively evil. "Drink up, ‘Raph." A mug of Phil’s home-made scrumpy appeared at Seraph’s elbow. The angel glared at the pair.

"You two are going to get yours, I promise," she growled under her breath as she took the mug with a shudder.

"My shot. Time to watch the master at work," Rossi crowed, lining herself up behind the ball. At least she’d stopped practicing staff fighting movements with the pool cue. The last time she’d almost knocked Acetal out cold as he’d walked past on his way to the bathroom. Concentrating on the remaining balls on the table, Rossi picked her shot and lined it up. She jerked the cue forward...

... and missed completely as a small green lizard shot up her leg and down the front of her shirt.

"Arrgghhh! Frank! What the hell do you think you’re doing?" she screeched, dropping the pool cue and fishing her Muse out of her shirt by the tail. Ana, Yasmin and Yona had collapsed into helpless laughter at the sight of Rossi dancing around trying to get her Muse out of her underwear.

"Hiding," came the reply, as Frank tried to crawl up her arm and back down her shirt again.

"Hiding? From what?" Frank stopped his mad efforts to escape long enough to point over her shoulder.

"From her." Rossi turned and looked behind her. Frank took the opportunity provided by the distraction to crawl into her shirt pocket, considering she objected (strangely enough) to him hiding in her bra.

The object of Frank’s terror was a rather attractive young woman with long flowing blond hair and a whimsical taste in clothes- pretty floral print dress in an off-the-shoulder cut, and dainty white sandals. She had a peaches and cream complexion, large artless blue eyes and cherry-red lips. There was, Rossi noted with amusement, a wreath of roses in her hair.

"_That’s_ what you’re hiding from?" Rossi hissed down at the bulge in her pocket.

"Yess," came the muffled reply. "You have no idea..."

"Old girlfriend?"

"Not exxactly."

"Hello," the woman said, coming up to Rossi. Phil and Dex were, for once, stunned silent. "I heard you were Percicus’ new Writer."

"If you mean Frank, I am," Rossi said warily. If Frank was afraid of her, there might be more to this woman than first appeared.

"Oh, he’s still being stubborn about that, is he? I rather thought the gesture would wear thin after the first couple of decades." The woman laughed, her voice a merry little tinkle. "Let me introduce myself. I’m Erato, Muse of Romantic Poetry."

"That makes sense," Seraph was heard to mutter. Over on the Muse table, there were snickers and snorts, and whispered explanations to Victor, who was looking completely mystified.

"The name’s Rossi. Care for a drink? We’ve pretty much covered everything you could want here..." Rossi waved her arm at the assortment of bottles ranging along the tables. Erato dimpled prettily, and gracefully took a seat after accepting a glass of summer wine from a very attentive Dex. "So, what can I do for you?" Rossi took a seat across from the Muse, and took a sip from her bottle of cider.

"I was rather hoping to talk to Perc- I mean Frank. It’s been rather a long time since I last saw him, you know. He was still human then, before he got involved with that dreadful science-fiction Writer." Rossi rather prided herself on her ability to read character (it was one of her Writing strong points), and she was getting nothing but good vibes from the Muse. She nudged the bulge in her pocket.

"Oi, you. Stop being silly and come out and say hello. There’s an old friend here who wants to speak to you."

"Pissss off." Luckily the reply was so muffled only Rossi heard it.

"Frank, if you don’t come out right now, I’m going to ask Lyssie and the Captain to tell me more stories about you as a student. I might even post a few. ‘Tales of the Floppy White Shirt’, how does that sound?"

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Sure I would. Stop being ridiculous. I’m here to protect you, if you’re that scared of her." There was a noise rather like a raspberry.

"You wissh," Frank poked his head out of her pocket. "You have no idea what you’re ssaying."

"Hello, Perc- Frank," Erato said, her smile so bright it lit up the dim corner. Frank scowled, an odd expression for a lizard.

"Erato," he muttered sullenly. She pouted, prettily. It didn’t seem possible for her to _not_ do anything prettily.

"That’s no way to treat me, after all this time. Where are your manners?"

"Don’t sstart..." Frank growled. He came fully out of Rossi’s pocket and took up his usual spot on her shoulder. "What do you want, Erato?"

"To see you, of course. It’s been a long time."

"A hundred yearss issn’t a long time, not for Mussess," Frank retorted. "What are you after?"

"Nothing, dear. Just a chat. It’s good to see you working again, although fan-fiction isn’t what I would choose for you."

"No, you’d rather I poncced around in that ridiculouss get up insspiring poems about how my love iss like a ssummer’ss day," said Frank scathingly. "Acccept factss, Erato, I’m not into that sstuff any more. I’ve moved on."

"A pity," sighed Erato, "You were so good at it. Then again, I would expect nothing else..."

Rossi took another mouthful of cider....

"...from my son."

...which promptly shot out her nose.

"Son?" At least three different voices squeaked the question. Ieuan nudged Al.

"Now Frank’s in for it," he chuckled. Victor, Lyssie and Bronwyn were already giggling at the expression on the lizard Muse’s face as he wiped cider off himself.

"Frank’s your... you mean you’re his..." Dex was stunned. Erato nodded serenely.

"Oh yes, ‘Frank’ is my son. Aren’t you, sweetheart?" Frank muttered something so profane even Rossi blushed to hear it.

"Oi, is that any way ter speak in front o’ yer Mum?" snickered Phil. Frank glowered at him.

"Up yourss, Hanky Boy." He turned to Rossi. "I can exxplain."

"What’s to explain?" Rossi finally managed to say, once she’d stopped choking on her drink. "Apparently your mother is one of the original Twelve Muses."

"Quite so." Erato smiled at her offspring. "Of course, he wasn’t always so... scaly. But Calliope was _most_ upset with him at the time."

"That’s one way of putting it," chuckled Lyssie.

"Absolutely livid, as I seem to recall," added Al. "Mind you, it was quite a show he put on." Frank glared at them.

"Thiss issn’t helping," he told them balefully.

"Wasn’t meant to," smirked Al, raising his glass to the furious lizard.

"Sso, what bringss you out of the woodwork thiss time? You musst be after ssomething," Frank asked Erato bluntly. "Or did you jusst want to embarrassss me in front of my Writer? Again."

"How could you ever think I would do such a thing?" Erato protested, her big blue eyes round with horror. "Can’t a mother visit her only son?"

"Erato, you have at leasst five other children that I’m aware of," Frank said, his black eyes on the elder Muse. "Sso don’t give me that ‘only sson’ crap."

"You were always my favourite, ‘though."

"Um, I hate to interrupt family business, but Frank does have a point," Rossi said hesitantly. "I mean, it’s been a hundred years. Why turn up now?" Erato’s winsome mask slipped for a moment to reveal a glimpse of something darker.

"Stay out of this, little Writer, or you’ll find Love can be cruel as well as kind," she hissed, before regaining her composure. She dimpled at them all again, but no-one was buying it this time: they were all old hands at Subreality, and didn’t fall for such tricks easily. From various pockets, bags and private dimensions, lap tops and notepads appeared.

"Sstate you bussinessss or leave," Frank said flatly. Erato glared at him.

"Fine, have it your way. I did think maybe you’d help me out, for the sake of family, but that doesn’t seem to count for much, does it?"

"What sort of help?" Rossi asked, just as flatly as her Muse: the pool cue had found its way back into her hand.

"Nothing you could do, little Writer," sneered Erato. "This is Muse business."

"Relaxx, Rossssi," Frank whispered in his Writer’s ear. "Erato’ss one of the original Twelve. There’ss not much you Writerss could do againsst her any way. Let me handle thiss. Sshe _iss_ my mother, after all."

"Are you sure?"

"Ssure. Put the cue down. You can’t hit thiss."

"I dunno, it’d be fun trying." Rossi grinned, suddenly and dangerously.

"Trusst me." With that, Frank gave her a pat on the shoulder, and turned his attention back to Erato. "What’ss happened?" he asked, his voice marginally more sympathetic.

"I can’t tell you _here_," Erato said with a gesture at the Writer’s Café in general. "This is a delicate matter."

Frank sighed. "Fine. Where then?"

"Mount Olympus."

"No. Not there." Frank’s voice was suddenly stern, as if he were the parent and Erato the child. "I won’t sset foot there ever again, and you know it."

"How about the Collegium?" suggested Lyssie, coming forward. "Neutral ground?" Erato glared at her for a moment, but Lyssie returned the look blandly.

"Fine, the Collegium," Erato said at last. "Provided we don’t run into Flame or Ambrosia."

"We can probably manage that," Frank said. He beckoned Lyssie closer and whispered something in her ear that Rossi failed to catch. Lyssie smiled and blew him a kiss, before turning to have a word with Ana and Yasmin. Frank looked at his mother. "Let’ss get thiss over and done with," he said. Erato nodded, and held out her hand. Frank stepped onto it, and the pair disappeared in a rainbow flare of light and the scent of roses.

THE END

Obviously this isn’t _really_ the end, but I thought I’d do a Seraph and leave you hanging... (evil cackle)

Disclaimers and Credits.

Subreality is brought to you by the letter K, for Kielle.

The Writer’s Café was renovated by Seraph (with help) and is maintained by Yasmin at: http://www.oocities.org/SoHo/Exhibit/5129/

Mary Shiva was donated to the Writer’s Café by Falstaff; Peregrine by Yasmin; the Beast, Sailor Jupiter and Pinocchio all belong to their respective copywriters.

Ambrosia (and the Collegium) were created by Farli, but are considered public domain.

Same goes for Calliope, although I’m not sure who actually wrote her first. Possibly Yasmin. She’s talented that way.

The following Writers and Muses all appear without prior permission. Apologies ahead of time:
Alicia McKenzie (and her Cables).
Ana and Lyssie.
Yasmin.
Yona.
Seraph, Al and Victor.
Dex.
Ieuan and Bronwyn (the Welsh Wonders) and Phil Foster.
Kielle.
Jess Willey.
Acetal.
Flame (who is Farli’s Muse).

Erato (as she appears here) and Frank/Percicus belong to me, although you can probably consider Erato public domain from here on in...