Dedicated to Phil Foster, who's comment about his Writer's block inspired this whole bizarre thing. See Phil, this is all your fault. ;)

Mary Shiva wiped the bar with a flourish, looking around at the gleaming cleanness with an air of satisfaction that was until she noticed the Writers of course.

"Oh God, not again," she muttered under her breath.

Sitting among the various tables, quietly talking among themselves and exuding an air of palpable angst were five Writers, the telltale Writer's block chained to their legs, or arms.

Phil Foster stared morosely into his pint of Guinness, his hand scratching at the spot where the Writers block manacle chaffed.

"A week, it's been a whole bloody week since those tossers gave me even a whiff of inspiration."

The other Writers nodded in sympathy, grumbling about muses and inspiration and the other various things that Writers blocked Writers do in these situations.

"You know what they came to me with last week? Buffy fanfiction, it's enough to make a bloke cry, I tell ya. Says it's what the kids want ta see these days. I told em, I said, give me some SWAMP THING inspiration or I'll toss ya out the nearest window. They laughed..."

"S'nothing compared to what my Muse said last week. He comes to me and he says 'I want some space'. He says that I was askin' too much of him, said he'd asked Calliope for a leave of absence. Utter prat, never did give me anything useful anyhow, good riddance to him, I say."

"Well, you had been writing Teletubbies fanfiction, you can't really blame the poor thing," Kielle said, looking up from her plate of Sushi.

"S'not the point, he should 'ave told me he didn't want ta do it."

"It was Teletubbies fanfic."

"There's a need out there."

"Sure there is, and when was it you last saw your psychiatrist?"

"Last week, he told me I'd better come see him twice a week from now on... S'not fair, really..."

The Writers looked around as they felt Beast's presence and he smiled reassuringly down at them.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked brightly.

Kielle and Phil looked at each other and then over to Rossi and the as yet unnamed fourth and fifth Writers.

"Um, no, that's all right mate, we're fine," Phil answered.

Beast nodded and glanced at each of them warily, you never could tell what would happen when a group of Writers blocked Writers decided to get together.  They'd had no end of trouble cleaning the blood off the walls last time, and it'd been the really thick green blood as well, which was twice as hard as the normal garden-variety blue.

Outside...

"Look, I told ya this once before doll, no Fictives allowed, can't ya read the sign? Go on down to the Subreality Café, sure they've got lots of work for your kind there."

Jessie looked down at the little wooden man in irritation; he was stopping her from getting to her Writer, the little man must die now. It wasn't until she'd reached down and found herself half way across the street, sitting in a mud puddle that she realised this little wooden man was more then he seemed. She glanced at him from under her sopping wet hair and he grinned, waving at her in that smug way that smaller people who have just handed a larger person their arse in a hat have.

"I think I need to go to the Subreality Café now, if only to bring back more weaponry," she thought, getting up and edging away quickly.

Back in the Writers Café... (Things have progressed a little.)

"So, I says to him, I says... you better give me that half kilo tub of Sushi or I'm gonna give ya a Chinese burn you won't soon forget," Kielle slurred.

"How many Sake's has she had?" asked Seraph, joining the table of Writers.

"Bout half a dozen I think, lost count after she started asking for it in barrels," Phil answered, looking up from his own pint.

"What's going on?"

"Pity party, we're all Writers blocked."

"Can anyone join or only the blocked?"

"Just pull up a chair, don't think anyone's sober enough to care any more," Phil replied amiably.

Over at the bar...

"Look, would you just give me a drink? I don't care what kind of drink it is, I just want one," Abyss said.

Mary Shiva placed a drink before the Canadian. "Will this do?" she asked sweetly, her smile the type you could put horns on.

Abyss watched her for a moment and then looked down at the drink, it was pink, with an umbrella in it. "Just what did you put in this thing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just drink it, it's good for ya," Mary Shiva replied, smiling again.

"I don't know if I should, there's laws against killing endangered species."

"They're only little microbes, no one's gonna miss em."

"One of them just winked at me."

"Trick of the light."

"It just started doing backstroke."

"Everyone's a critic."

Out back...

Dex was inspecting the rather lovely back alley of the Writer's Café, for no reason he could discern.

"Wings, you really do have to work on your plotting," he said to thin air.

"Dex, you're spoiling the suspension of disbelief!"

"I think you killed it about half an hour ago."

"Glad to see you have the strictest confidence in my writing skills, Telfer."

"Can I go inside now? The beer's probably missing me."

"Oh, all bloody right. I don't know why I bother anymore, I really don't. You all hate me, that's what it is, you're all out to get me, aren't you?"

"Ahhhh, that time of month is it, Wings?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Feeling a little 'less then fresh'?"

"..."

"How do you do that?"

"Angelic secret."

Once again inside...

Phil held the sobbing Writer with a look akin to panic, he gestured wildly to Rossi to help him but she simply sat back, smiling blissfully as the beer worked it's magic.

"I--I can't go on, I really, (hic) really can't."

"Um, mate, look, it ain't that bad."

"But... they hate me!"

"Come on now kid, you're muses don't hate you."

"They tried to throw me into a vat of bad grammar!"

"Um... okaaaay."

"Kielle!" Phil whispered.

"What?" Kielle whispered back.

"Would you please do something about this bloke?"

"Sure, what?"

"I don't know!"

"Why should I know what to do with the little prat?"

"You're the scribe."

"Yes, and this makes me know what to do always, does it?"

"It bloody well should."

"Why, (hic) why are you two whispering?"

"We're... We're not whispering."

"Yes, you were."

"Look mate, maybe you need to go have a chat with Calliope."

The Writer looked at Phil and Kielle and then sniffling softly, walked away. Kielle looked at Phil and frowned.

"Did you have to be so cruel?" she asked.

"Why are you looking at me for? You're the one that suggested we play pin the tale on the newbie."

"It's not his fault he wanted to write Teletubbies fanfiction, he got in with a bad crowd."

"It was Teletubbies fanfiction, there's no excuse for it."

"Fine."

Suddenly, with a crash and a bang and the sound of far off screaming, everything faded to black.

FIN (What, you expected an ending that made sense?)

Acknowledgments:

Teletubbies: Are evil and belong to the darkest depths of the Abyss. (No, not the one with the bunny slippers, the other one, the deep pits of dank decay one.)

Phil, Rossi, Dex and Kielle: Belong to themselves as far as I know, although these days you never can tell. Guys, you been brought out by a major corporation yet? I can see it now. Coming to a store near you. Generic Writer, wind it up and it angsts. Comes with three amazing phrases, fun for all the family.

Jessie: Belongs to Kielle, or is that the other way around?

Mary Shiva: Belongs to Falstaff, bless his sainted, platypus encrusted soul.

Seraph: Belongs to me since she is I, or is that she is me? I give up, the voices in my head tell me it's time to sleep anyway.