TAPSLAUGHT #5

Lyssie stared around. The club--if it could be termed as one--was filthy, dank, and full of grungy, nasty-looking types. "So, this is the place?"

Captain nodded, silently.

Alan looked around a bit nervously, "Um, are we safe, here?"

Lyss shrugged, "Prolly. I dunno, though." She walked up to the bar.

"What'll ya have?" It growled. Furry, covered in dirt and...other things, it was definitely an 'it'.

"Vodka sour."

It grunted and reached under the bar for a glass, filled it with vodka and a little citrus juice, and handed it to her. "Five bucks."

Lyssie blinked and pulled a twenty out of her pocket, "A little information, first. Have you seen any of the Tapcoterie?"

It eyed the bill and grunted. She pulled another out, waving them slightly. "They was round the Running Herring, last I heard."

"Ah." She handed the bills to him and grabbed her drink. "Thank you."

Downing the alcohol in one gulp, she walked calmly back towards the door. From behind she heard an odd sound.

"Lyss!" Captain hissed.

She whirled. Something--presumably a person of some sort, possibly someone's fictive. "Yes?" Lyssie asked it, warily.

"You're looking for *them*. I have a warning for ya, they don't take kindly to people mixing in their affairs."

"Right. We'll remember that. Thank you."

Lyssie waited till they were outside. "Captain? You get to go in the next place for info."

"Okay. What did you find?"

"They've been spotted someplace called the Running Herring." ---------------- Earlier in the day (night? afternoon?) the two Muses had unanimously decided on looking for the Tapcoterie on their own. And only if they failed, would they go to the Queen.

So, Alan, Lyssie and Captain were trolling pubs, bars, clubs and anything else they came across for the coterie. So far, no luck. ---------------

The Running Herring was a rather neat little building. Red shutters adorned the purple walls; red, blue, purple and green adorning the door in a swirling pattern. "Psychadelic, man," Lyssie cracked.

Over the door hung a sign. On this sign was a herring. With feet. And Nike running shoes.

"My turn?" Captain looked at Lyssie almost nervously.

"Yep. We'll be right in the doorway, you go in, get a drink, bribe the bartender, get info on the coterie."

Captain nodded and went up to the door. She opened it and disappeared into the darkness inside.

Lyssie and Alan stood there on the steps, waiting.

"Um, you don't think you should have gone in, do you?" Alan looked at her inquisitively, "I mean, you seem to know more about this than she does."

"Just because I appear to have read more Nancy Drew than Captain doesn't mean she can't do this. Besides, the last one bugged me."

He nodded and fiddled with the computer link-up. "They've started distracting the big t, but they're not sure how to get the computer into her."

"Damn." Lyssie stared off into the distance, "Alan, I can think of only one thing. It's what I'd been thinking of earlier. Ah...kinda like the Fifth Element. Anyone see that? I think they have. Anyway, the way the stones were in the singer--that's how they might be able to get the computer into Tappy."

"Ick."

"Yes."

She watched as Alan relayed this idea to those back at the hospital. Then, they stood there, waiting for Captain.

****

(Y) "I'm stumped, too," Yasmin admitted. She glanced at Mitai, who was enthusiastically munching an apple. Another landed near her feet, narrowly missing her shin.

"Are there any more of those?" Hunger was beginning to gnaw at her insides.

"You could try shouting 'Lobdell is better than Ellis' and see," Mitai suggested.

"Good idea. *cough* Lobdell is better than Ellis!" An apple hit Yasmin on the head. "Ouch! Hey, it's Golden Delicious! I love Golden Delicious! Thanks very much."

She ducked the airborne plastic flamingo and settled down to eat -- and think.

Problem: Getting the laptop and Guinness absorbed into TAPSLAUGHT. Turning her back into Tapestry.

How?

Solution 1: Rewriting Heroes Reborn. Analysis: (a) It's well nigh impossible to make that storyline cool. (b) While it may be "heroic" and "noble", it's also bloody stupid. (c) We'll be putting ourselves at risk, even with the midgets. (d) TAPSLAUGHT may be too powerful.

Solution 2: Get the laptop in, and wait for Kielle & Co. to write themselves out. Analysis: (a) How do we get the laptop in? (b) See S1(d). (c) It may take too long. (d) See S1(c). Addenum: Send a fictive out with the laptop inside him/her? Plausible.

Solution 3: Wait for Lyssie and the Captain to find Tap's Muse. Analysis: (a) See S2(c). This is, of course, assuming that they'll find the Muse. (b) We don't know howmuch influence she(?) has over Tap. See S1(d).

Solution 4: Build a time machine, stop her before she becomes TAPSLAUGHT. Analysis: (a) Time stream's always a tricky thing. (b) We don't even know the reason why, let alone prevent it. (c) It would deprive us of a good, drawn-out drama. Addenum: Find Reed Richards.

Fancy waved a hand in front of Yasmin's face. "Hello? Anybody still on Subreality?"

"Just thinking."

***

(Y) Well, thought the Captain. I've been here 5 seconds and no one tried to kill me yet.

A shuriken whistled as it spun in the air, neatly burying itself three inches from her right ear.

Note to self: The worst is always yet to come.

She took a deep breath, and immediately regretted it. The air (smog, really) in the Running Herring was thick with cigarette smoke and alcoholic fumes, obscuring any object beyond three feet of a light source. A greasy smell wafted from the kitchen. You're a War-turned-Fan-Fiction Muse, she told herself sternly. You can deal with this rabble, just as you can deal with those testosterone-poisoned writers who think that M16s make good automatic weapons, or your current Writer, whose idea of a good knock-down drag-out fight is "one that happens off-panel and I don't have to write about it". She took a deep breath again, marshalling her forces. The weight of her Sig Sauer pressed comfortingly against her side, and she thank the deities that she had the foresight to conjure up a trenchcoat.

"All right, you people. Knock it off. Now." The Captain crossed her arms, and glared into the gloom. There was a low swearing from behind the bar. As if by magic, the darkness disappeared. In its place was a... room... more suited to its exterior. Disco lights flashed, a spectrum of colours cutting through the slight haze of smoke like crystal knives. A multi-faceted ball of the kind she hadn't seen since Saturday Night Fever was suspended above the dance floor. The tacky furniture consisted of chromium and plastic twisted into fantastic, tasteless shapes. The only thing missing was an annoying dance remix of an oldie, and polyester-clad fictives gyrating to it.

"Bonjour, chere."

She casually focused her attention towards the speaker, confronting a lecherously smiling Gambit. And not just any Gambit, either.

It was a Gambit in drag.

"Dis lady's impressed, chere. Not even de Writers know de dif'rence."

"I'm a Muse. We have a highly-attuned sense of reality. Or non-reality, in this case." She permitted a small, malicious smile to curve her lips. The patrons, expecting a laugh at her expense, turned back to their drinks with more than a little unease. Carefully keeping a pleasant, relaxed face, she leaned forward and whispered, "I'm here for information."

The mutant snapped his fingers, and a noise vaguely resembling music blared from the speakers. He leaned across the bartop, inches from her face. An exotic, eye-watering perfume assaulted her nostrils. She began to think longingly of missiles and various weaponry that go 'boom!'.

"Ah, yes. Gambit's heard of it. Dem Muses, dey cause lots of trouble for de Writers." He was still smirking, an expression she knew was false as the sparkly eyelashes he wore.

En garde, she thought. She didn't bother to speculate how he knew of her mission -- in Subreality, sometimes walls literally have ears. "Do you have the goods, then?"

"Gambit always liked Muses, especially de ones dat come in groups." His smile widened, even as his red-on-black eyes narrowed into slits. "Mebbe Gambit know where t'find dem. Mebbe. Dey move 'round so much, non? De question is, how much is de femme willing t'pay for it?"

Fast as lightning, she grabbed the straps of his dress and hauled him over the bartop with surprising strength. Surprising, that is, to people who never had the misfortune to find out just how strong an angry Muse can be. Especially an angry Muse who was more irritable than a rabid wolf with toothache, and has a mean streak a mile wide.

The feel of cold steel on his forehead told Gambit he was in deep, deep trouble.

"Merde."

"Indeed. TAPSLAUGHT's still out there frying every breathing thing in sight, the Cafe's been destroyed, and she may be going after the survivors as we speak. I don't have time for a game of words, and guess what? I am not in a good mood. You have ten seconds before your bar has a new coat of paint."

"Can we negotiate?"

"No. You want to call my bluff?"

"Okay, okay! Lemme tell ya, chere, you welcome t'be de Herring's bouncer any time. Ouch! Okay, Gambit's talkin'!" He adjusted his feather boa, keeping an eye on the gun. "Merci. Las' time Gambit heard, de Tapcoterie's at the Crossed Swords. Something 'bout..." He lowered his voice. "... Sinister."

The Captain stifled a gasp. She tossed a twenty on to the bar, and exited the Running Herring with relief. Unconsciously, a broadsword appeared, strapped to her back.

"Any news?" asked Lyssie. "You've been in there quite a while."

"The Tapcoterie's been sighted at the Crossed Swords."

Alan groaned. "The tavern for the fantasy/medieval Elseworlds fictives? Great, just what I need -- two dozen Rogues and Remys slobbering over each other.

The Muses grinned. "Cheer up," said the Captain. "At least you get to swing a big sword around."

"But I don't even know how to use a sword," he grumble. "I was a rabbit in Tales from the Court of Miracles."

"I'm sure they have nice thick tables for you to hide under," Lyssie said, trying to sound comforting.

"Thank you very much."

The other Muse sobered up. "One more thing... Gam--my informant said that Sinister might be connected somehow."

"Sinister?! But..."

"I don't know," she said. "But I intend to find out."

****

(M) There is nothing like sitting on a hospital floor, surround by various versions of the same character, munching an apple, to help you think.

Except hopping up and down on one foot, that is.

Mitai sighed, winced, and applied an algorithm to the problem. She already knew Yasmin was. She could _hear_ the gears turning.

Big Problem -- Tapestry has become TAPSLAUGHT and is eating everybody.

Goals -- get a laptop into TAPSLAUGHT, survive.

Ripple Side Effects -- earthquakes at random intervals and impending doom.

Materials -- Five-ten computers with reality-changing abilities, five-ten Writers with reality-altering capabilities, a pocket dimension, fruit, an inexhaustable army of annoying midgets, a car, a sleeping bag, and a laptop.

Re: Tapslaught #5

Mitai sighed, then spoke.

"Yasmin?"

Fancy was waving a hand in front of Yasmin's face. Yasmin first answered the other writer before turning to Mitai.

"Yes?"

"How are _we_ going to get rid of the midgets?"

Five Writers blanched.

"Kick 'em all into my pocket dimension," Azzy grinned smugly.

There were five relieved sighs.

"Y'know, we _could_ surrender." Wow, subject change there. Musta been my Muse, Mitai thought.

Someone called a grocery store into Subreality, and with less than a minute the entire produce section was piled in one corner. For a moment, there was silence. An avalanche of mangos rolled to the floor. Silence. The pile heaved, as a mountain waking after eons of slumber. Stillness. Suddenly, as a volcano erupting, Mitai's head poked out of the pile.

"Ow owowowowowowowowowowow. I am so unloved."

Yasmin contemplated her apple, then took a big bite rather than toss it at Mitai.

"And why-" *chew, chew* "-would we want to do that?"

"To say we're sorry, of course. And then give her a fruit basket as an apology. With a laptop inside it." Mitai dug around looking for her half-eaten apple. When it refused to be found, she settled for fresh one.

"A...fruit basket?"

Mitai narrowed her eyes. "Yeah. A fruit basket. What, you _want_ to die? And I do NOT want to be trapped in a bubble with the SexGod of Subreality and beer. Or is that Matt? Waitaminute. Is Dex or Abyss the drunk?"

"Yes."

Mitai sank below the fruit with a pained sigh. A hand reached out from the nearby car, searching the pile of food before retreating with a few carrots.

(F) "You know, I kinda like the fruit basket idea," said Fancy jumping up and down on one foot.

An orange thwacked the wall behind her, narrowly missing her head.

"Who keeps throwing fruit?" shouted Fancy in exasperation.

Several pairs of eyes stared back at her blankly and innocently.

She sighed resignedly. "Well at least throw something I can eat."

"You don't like oranges?" asked Mitai with interest as she crunched on her apple.

"I don't like orange, period," answered Fancy. "The fruit, the color, the flavor, zip."

"Orange trauma as a child. You should seek help," said Mitai as she took another bit of her apple.

"It's a lifestyle choice," snapped Fancy a little irritably. Then she blinked in confusion. "Great, now I lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?"

"Fruit," supplied Yasmin as she intently munched on her apple.

Fancy still looked blank.

"Fruit baskets," added Azzy who was practicing drop kicks.

"Oh yeah," said Fancy as a pear sailed across the room and landed at her feet. She sighed and began hopping up and down again.

"Well I was thinking. You know, everyone loves gifts. Even evil people."

"Tappy's not evil, she's just not herself right now," interrupted Yasmin as she continued to eat her apple with deep concentration.

"Will you guys please stop interrutping!" wailed Fancy, wavering a bit on her one leg.

"Well you don't seem to making either a point or sense," chided Azzy. "Maybe you should hop faster."

"I can't get to the point because you keep interrutping!" cried Fancy in aggrevation.

"We really need to focus guys. We need to come up with an idea," said Yasmin as she contiued to crunch on her apple.

"I'm focused! I have an idea!" cried Fancy.

"I think we're losing cohesion," volunteered Mitai as she stared at her apple core hungrily.

"Yeah, I think it's because the Muses left," replied Yasmin. "We're losing our ability to be creative and think of new ideas."

"But I have an idea! I'm being creative!" cried Fancy franctically.

Yasmin looked surprised. "If you have an idea, then why don't you share it with the group."

Fancy stared at her in amazement for a minute and then shook her head in disbelief. "Okay, here goes," said Fancy hopping excitedly. "Okay, so everyone likes a gift, right?" Without waiting for an answer she gushed on. "So we pretend to give up and we bring Tapslaught a fruit basket, with a laptop hidden inside, as a peace offering. She eats the laptop and Kielle and Laersyn write a way out for us!" Fancy sighed contentedly, glad to have gotten her idea out without more interruptions. She slid to the ground and starting munching on the pear that had been lying at her feet.

"Um, If we're that close to Tapslaught, how are we going to get away? It might take Kielle and Laersyn some time to find the laptop and think of a way out of this. We'll probably get eaten in the meantime," commented Ramiel.

Azzy smiled. "We'll keep a pocket dimension nearby!"

Everyone smiled. Yasmin nodded slowly. "Hmmm...Hmmmm..."

Fancy began rummaging in her pockets. "I knew this stuff would come in handy sometime."

She tapped into her palm top and instantly it turned into a laptop. She popped several pieces of gum into her mouth and chewed furiously for a minute. She reached into her mouth and pulled out the sticky wad and stuck it to the top of the laptop. She pushed the penlight into the sticky wad and turned it on. With a satisfied smile she stepped back and admired her handiwork.

"Um, why did you do that?" asked Azzy with a look of distaste.

"Hey, I've seen Pinocchio. I bet it's dark in there. I want to make sure they can find the laptop."

"I can't tell you how disgusting that was," said Mitai shaking her head.

****

(Ly) Lyssie did not want to think about Sinister being involved, "Of course, it kinda makes sense. I mean--the big T's got one Sinny working for her already, why not another? And this one kidnapped the Tapcoterie."

It sounded plausible. A bit. "The question, though, is why would he do it?" Captain pointed out.

"Now there's a question just begging for an answer," she sighed, "The Crossed Swords, huh?"

Captain nodded, "Alan? A broadsword if you please?" She looked at him.

"Some Elven chainmail would be nice, Alan." Lyssie watched with interest as a four foot, two inch broadsword shimmered into existence in front of Captain.

"Not bad," Captain hefted it, swinging the sword about, then sheathed it in the sheath now hanging from her belt.

"Ermm. Alan? I'd like my sword a bit lighter, please. About three feet by one inch would be nice."

Alan nodded and mumbled lapinely under his breath about dotty Muses.

Lyssie inspected her sword, "Very good, Alan. Now, about that chainmail?"

Alan squinted and her clothing glittered and shifted into intricately wrought links of black chain. Patterns wove through it, making it look like normal cloth the detail was so fine. "Alan. Wow." Lyssie looked at him with new respect, "This is gorgeous. Thank you."

Captain glanced down at her own armor, which consisted of plate vaguely resembling a cross between the Space: Above and Beyond armor and Robotech. Though, it really looked mostly like the smart armor from Aliens.

Lyssie grinned as Alan conjured himself a hefty club and armor much like Captain's.

"Ready?" Captain asked the other two.

"As we'll ever be," Lyssie answered, slinging her sword across her back.

-- The Crossed Swords was a long, low building built of blackened oak logs and reinforced by iron struts. Windows dotted those walls, grimy, plastic coated windows. The roof was constructed of pitch, tar and thatch. Smoke rose from the chimney, curling thick and black.

"They're not here," Captain noted.

Lyssie sighed, "Damn. We need to make a plan, though." She shifted her sword and checked her gun while contemplating the various ways to approach this problem. A Browning Hi-power, it nestled under her left arm for a swift cross-draw. ~Two weapons. One for each hand. Peachy.~

"Right. I'll take the bartender. Alan, you sit by the fire and...mingle. Lyssie? Take some of the middle tables, okay?"

Lyssie silently saluted Captain.

Captain snorted, "We'll go in together. Separately wouldn't work. Let's go."

The interior matched the exterior. Oak beams extended overhead, blackened by decades of wear. A fire crackled warmly in the hearth. To the left a counter stretched. All around were patrons sitting at long, rectangular tables and benches. Other, smaller tables were scattered around. It was actually, rather empty. Of the forty or so spaces to sit, not even half were filled.

Most of the patrons merely glanced at them and ignored them. A few stared openly at the Muses--Captain's silent glare sent them back to their drinks.

A card game going on in the right corner never stopped. The men ranged about the table ignored the entrance.

"Allo, loves. Wot'll it be?" The bartender looked at them cheerfully, "An it please you, no fights? Right?"

Captain just grinned at him.

"Vodka," Lyssie said. "Please." Captain and Alan gave their orders and he quickly filled them. Alan took his drink and wandered over to the fire, shivering. Lyssie nodded to Captain and wandered off.

Behind her, she could hear Captain begin to question the man, "So, do you get the Mauraders in here often?"

She smiled to herself, ~That session is in good hands.~ She looked around her again. Her eyes kept straying over to the card game. ~Hmm. That looks fun.~ She sauntered over. Four men were sitting around the table. Three she could see, the fourth had his back to her. ~Hrm, they're all fictives. Nicky Legend, Bedevere, Space Ghost, and hrm?~ The three glanced up and watched her approach.

As she entered his personal space, the man with his back to her finally looked up. She grinned, "Hallo, love."

"Lyss!" A Methos fictive grinned up at her, "How've you been, you bloody little tart?"

"Well, thanks," she leaned over and kissed him gently. "How've you been, ya bastard?"

"That was not a proper hello--and I've been fine, thanks." He grinned evilly and stood. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. It was long, deep and required a lack of air. The fictive looked teasingly down at her, as he pulled back, "Well?"

"That was definitely a hell-o kiss!" She panted.

He turned back to his whistling tablemates, "Y'see gentlemen--I may call you that, mayn't I?--that is a welcome kiss." He released her and sat down. "Wot?" He yelped in surprise as she dropped into his lap, sideways.

"I wanna play," she grinned at him. "After that kiss, I need something to do with my hands."

Methos gestured at his tablemates, "Any objections, gentlemen?"

A chorus of "nos" was his answer.

"Oh, goody." Lyssie's smile got wider as she shifted to face the table. Methos whuffled as her sword dug into his ribs, "Sorry."

"'Sall right, love, I'll grow another lung." He gasped.

She reached up and shifted it around. "Better?"

"Much."

"Gentlemen? What's the game?" ---- Two hours and several thousand gold dubloons later, Lyssie shifted again and heard Methos yelp. "What?"

"I've lost feeling in my legs."

"Oh. Sorry." She turned to the men who she'd just finished fleecing, "Perhaps you gentlemen could answer some questions in return for another game?"

They all grumbled, but nodded.

"Good," she paused and began dealing, "Five card stud, threes are wild. Winner gets all the money and any questions he or she wants answered."

She picked her cards up and studied them, ~Erk. Nothing. Time to bluff,~ she flipped a coin into the pot. "I'm in."

Space Ghost looked at her, looked at his cards and chucked a coin, "In."

Nicky--he'd said to call him that--shook his head and folded in resignation.

Sir Bedevere tossed in his coin.

Play went like this for a time, with bets being made and raised, until Lyssie and Bedevere were the only ones still playing. Nicky having bugged out two rounds beforehand.

"I'll see you and raise you ten thousand," Lyssie shoved all the rest of her money into the middle.

Bedevere gulped, "I call." He pushed all the rest of his pile into the middle.

~Damn.~ Lyssie carefully spred her cards out, "Two Kings."

"You win." Bedevere tossed down his cards and looked at her, expectantly, "Ask away, my dear."

She grinned, "Right then. What do you gentlemen know about the Tapcoterie?"

"Why d'you wanna know about that, then?"

Lyssie turned to stare up at the man ~Man? No, Muse, definitely a Muse.~ that had interrupted her questioning. Tall, dark haired, thin. He wore a black velvet frock coat with a black silk waistcoat and white shirt and cravat. His Hessians gleamed underneath his tighter than decent black pants. He was also, glaring belligerently at her. "Because I need to ask them a question."

"Well, then, ask away, for I am part of the 'coterie." He gestured with his hand for her to get up and follow him.

"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure," she stood, and leaned over to kiss Methos again, "I'll see you some other time, love."

"Goodbye, Lyss." The fictives nodded to her.

The other Muse was looking bored and impatient, "Hurry up, I haven't got all day."

"Right. Gentlemen, please keep my winnings and distribute them evenly among yourselves." She turned and followed the other Muse to a table by the back wall. he sat down, facing the door, leaving her the other chair.

"Right then, what d'you want to know?" He took out a cigar case and pulled one out. She shook her head at his offer, he shrugged and lit it.

"I'd like, first of all, to know your name."

"Names are powerful things," he blew out smoke, "However, you're another Muse so no harm telling you, really. I'm Corin."

"Hallo Corrin, I'm Lyssie," she reached out and snagged a drink off a passing tray. "Why did the Tapcoterie desert her?"

"Desert. That's the actual word, yes." He paused to drag on the cigar again, "Well, we all just decided to, well, you know, leave." He shrugged, "No special reason."

~He's lying. There was a reason!~ "Really? Who are the others--or, actually, how many of you are there?"

"Quite a few. Thirty or forty I'd say. We all take turns, rotating, in and out of her head. Sometimes there're less than ten, sometimes nearly a hundred." He blew smoke again, "As for names, well, only those of us who have been here since the beginning really have names."

"How many of you would it take to--Scratch that, I think I know." She sipped the vodka, thinking. Around them the little tavern was beginning to fill up. Patrons, old and new were chatting amicably and tossing loud comments back and forth. It was rather a nice feeling. ~Nice place, maybe I should quit the Muse business and start my own? Nah... Too much fun making Writers and fictives work...~

"Tell me, why did Sinister ask you to abandon Tapestry?"

The abrupt question caught Corin off guard. He blinked, opened his mouth. Closed it again for lack of anything to say. Colour fled up his cheeks in a red wave, "Um... Well..." He trailed off, looking at her a bit miserably.

"Tell me."

He wiped a hand up his face, "All right. He wanted to see what would happen--whether Tappy would be fine without us, whatever. Plus," his voice dropped to a whisper, "plus, I think someone else is involved. Red heard him say at one point something about 'survival of the fittest'. And, well, you know Sinny, he don't give a damn about that stuff." He looked at her, worried.

"But, I know who does." Lyssie stared down into her drink, "Bloody hell. Look," she looked back at him, "can you get the rest of the 'coterie together? So we can attepmt to stop the big T?"

"I-I think so," he nodded, slowly, "Some of the rest of us who have names would love to help. I think." He stared at his dwindling cigar, dubiously.

"Thirteen. Just get thirteen, that should be enough."

"Okay."

She stood, stretching, "Have them all gather here, all right? Maybe in," she glanced down at the watch on her wrist, "five hours?"

He nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

"Peachy." She turned away and began to make her way to the bar. Captain was still there, leaning against it. Glancing round, she noted Alan leaving the fireside to join them at the counter.

End part 5