Hidden Agendas
by ALC Punk!

The Writer's Cafe is rarely visited, it seems. Sometimes there are Writers, more often it's Muses who frequent it. They just as frequently get banned. Pinocchio runs a tight ship, and Mary Shiva doesn't take shit from drunken reprobates.

Inside it's much like the Subreality Cafe, prone to fluxing into various shapes. Right now it looks like a wood-infested faux-Irish pub. Tall dark booths litter most of the area, and a small grouping of tables and tall-backed chairs sit in the farthest corner from the door. A capricious hand decorated the area, there's an easy chair in orange and green gabardine, and two posters of Marilyn Manson on the wall. Someone's drawn smiley faces all over him.

A black-leather clad Spike fictive sauntered in hours ago. He flopped into one of the straight-backed chairs and has since been nursing a glass of cloves and blood. Across from him leans a Cable, casually scanning the area while downing the half-pint of Guinness in small measured sips. The third member of this unlikely crew is a Lestat, surprised to find himself given form in Subreality--but then it takes all kinds, and he likes the easy chair.

"You sure it was tonight?" Spike demanded, feeling sort of grumpy at being dragged here. And Pinocchio almost didn't let him in.

"Indeed." Lestat replied, absently sipping at the wine glass in one delicate hand. "The night of a thousand stars, they said."

"Are there a thousand stars out there?" Cable wasn't really curious.

"You could have Dru count them all for you."

Lestat snorted, "She'd lose count."

"Oh, shut up."

The blond vampire shrugged, "Bite me, neutered-boy."

Spike half-started out of his chair, then shrugged, "You're not worth it, Ponce."

"Lestat."

"Ponce."

"Le--"

"Shut up, both of you." Cable snapped, "This is getting us nowhere. Besides, she isn't here yet."

Spike snorted, "When is she ever on time?"

"Quite frequently, you damned irritant." Snapped the Writer from behind them.

Cable smirked at her, "Yes, yes. You love us anyway, though."

"Right." She rolled her eyes and flopped into the other available chair, then winced. "These things are fooking uncomfortable. Buy me a drink, one of you."

Lestat lazily waved a hand towards the bar, "I'm sure if you go over that nice woman will give you whatever you want."

"Ain't moving." Ana replied, propping her feet up on Lestat's chair-arm. She yawned. "Tired."

"Well, I'm not getting up." Spike announced, "I got the last round."

Cable sighed. "My turn, then." He stood and began to head towards the bar, then paused, "What do you want, anyway?"

Ana opened one eye, "Two shots of irish cream, three slippery nipples, and a blowjob."

For a moment, the mutant from the future of a world that never happened just stared at his Writer. Then he blinked, and headed for the bar.

"Getting snockered?"

"Please. What amounts to seven shots of alcohol is only going to give me a nice pleasant haze." She sighed, shoulders and back cracking in the stretch. "And, damn, do I need it."

Cable came back with a tray, and set it down next to her. He retook his seat before asking the Question. "So. Why are we here?"

Ana cracked an eye, "I'm supposed to know?"

"You did sort of Write us all 'ere," Spike pointed out, as he toyed with an unlit cigarette.

"Light that, and I will have your guts for garters."

"Oh, poncey-boy doesn't like smoke?" the bleached clond vampire snickered, and place the fag in his mouth.

"Spike, sweetie, light that, and I write you into slashfic with Angel and Xander."

The vampire grumbled, but put the cigarette back into an inner pocket.

"Heheheh. Neutered-boy can't even smoke." Lestat leered at Spike, "Maybe you should disobey. I bet the Angel action would be the best thing you'd had in a while."

"Stop calling me that, you French ponce."

"Make me, nancy-boy."

"Git."

"Traitor."

Spike growled, "Take that back, you lousy excuse for a vampire."

"Whatcha gonna do, hurt me?" Lestat sneered, "You can't hurt humans, remember?"

"LESTAT!" Ana glared at the combating vampires. "Stop baiting Spike. Yes, I know he can't hurt humans anymore, but--"

Cable picked Spike up, and shook him, looking curious.

"CABLE! Put him DOWN!"

With a slightly saddened expression, the Askani'Son did as he was bid. Spike was sputtering as he straightened his lapels. "Stupid humans!"

"Stop whining, Spike."

He glared at the writer. "Why did you call us here?"

She downed three of the glasses on the tray, then paused and seemed to ponder the last two with an intensity unknown. "I wanted to ask you to stop."

"Stop?" Lestat raised an eyebrow from his chair. "What have we started?"

Ana shot the last slippery nipple, and burped softly. "'Scuse me. You started plot weaseling."

"Que?"

"Yes. Plot weaseling. Sliding into any little thing I was writing, trying to warp the plot to YOUR advantage." Ana glared at Spike. "Get that grin off your face, or I'll slash you with Lestat."

"Hey!"

"I protest!"

"That sounds like fun," Cable noted. "Can I watch?"

"I'll slash the three of you. How's that."

"You wouldn't dare. Alicia and Timesprite would murder you." Nathan replied loftily.

Ana smirked, "Watch me."

Lestat actually looked alarmed as he studied her, "You're serious."

"Yup."

"Oh, great. Why us?" demanded Spike. "I could have had a cushy deal boinking Buffy for some fangirl. Instead I get stuck with YOU lot."

"Don't look at me," Lestat snapped. "I wasn't here first."

"Uh." Nate looked sheepish. "That would be me."

"And then Spike joined you. And Lestat, you just slithered right in after I saw the end of Interview for the second time. All three of you are damned bastards. And you'd better start behaving, because there are things I need to finish."

The three sort of grumbled, but aquiesced. Ana sighed happily, and studied her last drink, the blowjob. "Now, I've seen this done twice, but I've never done it myself." Bending over, she wrapped her lips around the tall shot glass, then sucked and tilted her head back all at once, swallowing quickly.

It tasted of cream and coffee, and cherries, faintly. She sighed as she set the glass back down. "Very good."

Nathan was watching her, half-smirking.

"Don't say it, T-O-boy," she snapped. "I have two words for you. Shiny. Wonky."

He blushed, then settled back into his chair and took a sip of his Guinness. Lestat blinked, then snickered, while Spike chortled softly.

"...pay for this."

"No they won't. Now. The three of you play nice, and catch the bar tab. I have things to do." She stood and stretched, then sighed, "Damn, I wish I could stay longer. Sleep calls, though."

"Night, boss-lady."

"Night, you three loonies."

After she'd gone, Lestat snickered, "Play nice. Who is she kidding?"

"Dunno, mate." Spike slouched deeper into his chair, "So, who shall we stalk tonight?"

"She was working on Shadowlands," Nate replied, scowling at Spike. "You're already there, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. Maybe we can get Ponce into it."

"Stop calling me that, neutered-boy."

"Make me."

"Will you two shut up? We have plot-weaseling to do."

"Oh. Right. Cheerio, old French sod."

"Likewise, English twit."

-finis-

Disclaimers: Spike, Lestat and Nathan all belong to other people. Ana belongs to me, myself, and I. Subreality is a concept created and expanded upon by Kielle, Tapestry and Falstaff. The Writer's Cafe is open for business and was revamped by various people like Seraph and Yasmin.

Anyone else mentioned probably doesn't belong to me, either. Like, Timesprite, and Alicia Mc. They belong to their own Cable fictives.

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