Title: Spinnin' the Dial Again With Xena

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Xena

Pairing: Various

Rating: R

Summary: TW and various gods and demigods drop by to cheer Scribe up, and watch television.

Archive: Certainly. Just tell me where.

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

Sequel/Series: Sequel to Round the Dial With Xena

Disclaimer: I did not create the media characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them. TW and Phairway appear with her permission. Well, HER permission, anyway. I don't know how he feels about it.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Notes: This is for TW, who contributed sections and ideas. Thanks for the inspiration and friendship, doll.

More notes: ^See Round the Dial With Xena. Strife gatecrashes, Cupid is dragged in, and eventually Jett, Jayce, Apollo, and Eris show up. :)

Spinnin' The Dial Again With Xena
By Scribe

Scribe was sitting morosely in her room. She stared balefully at her walker, which was sitting
conveniently within reach. She was convinced that it was smirking at her. She snarled, "Don't get cocky. You can be recycled as a plant stand, you know, and there are dozens of kids in the neighborhood who'd probably be happy to have your wheels for go carts or Barbie Dream Car spare tires..." Her voice trailed off, almost sounding defeated (something that would have alarmed anyone who knew her.) Scribe sighed heavily. She really ought to get up and go into the living room. She knew it wasn't good for her to mope in her room so much, but since she'd come home from rehab, she just hadn't seemed motivated.

Suddenly she heard a yelp from the living room. *That sounded more like Mom than Miss Inga,* she thought. She levered herself up off the bed, grabbed the snarky walker, postponing its demolition for later, and headed laboriously toward the living room. She managed to shift sideways through the narrow bedroom doorway in record time.

Strife, her favorite Mischief god, was grinning at her mother, who was looking more stunned than she had the time Scribe (in 'I'm finding myself' mode) had mentioned that she was considering converting from Southern Baptist to Catholic. Strife had one arm tightly around TW, who was holding a wiggling weenie dog.

Mom cleared her throat. "Uh, Scribe? I think these visitors are for you. Would you care to explain to me why I heard a sizzling sound, then turned around to find a bunch of blue sparks--and them? I thought for a minute that your stepfather had been trying to rewire the ceiling fan again."

"Not since the last time, when it made his hair curlier than mine for six weeks. Strife, haven't you
ever heard of knocking?"

"Yah, I have," He made a condescending expression. "Quaint lil human custom. Cute."

TW pulled away from Strife long enough to set her dog on the ground with a, "Be good, and don't scare Inga." She turned to Scribes mother and held out her hand. "Lovely to finally meet you. I'm TW."

Scribe's mother might have been slightly freaked by her unexpected guests, but her mama had drilled good manners into her head (or more accurately, her butt), and she shook hands in a way that even Miss Manners could not have faulted. "How do you do." She glanced down to where the dachshund was sniffing her shoes. "He's housetrained?"

TW started to respond, but Strife broke in. "Yah, he's paypah trained, but he uses half a roll every
time, he nevah puts tha seat back down, an' we can't convince 'im ta flush."

Mom's eyes didn't quite cross. "Scribe, it's time for me to go do my volunteer work at the library."

"What?" Scribe looked puzzled. "You aren't a library volunteer."

"It's time I signed up. I'll be back late." Strife grinned at her and licked his lips. "Late tomorrow.
911 is on the speed dial, in case you need it for any reason." She left.

"Okay, Mom has LEFT tha house! Full speed ahead." Strife swooped down on Scribe, hugged her, and somehow managed to grope her around the walker. She swatted at him, but her expression was pleased. "Ya know ya love it."

TW's hug was of a different kind, but no less sincere. Scribe hugged back (she'd learned long ago that Strife didn't NEED any encouragement). "I'm happy to see you, but why are you here?"

"To cheer you up, of course," said TW.

"It's good that my Mom doesn't know where you live, because I'd have a hard time explaining why you'd come all the way from Florida just to cheer me up."

"Hey, ~I~ came all tha way from Olympus," observed Strife.

"Strife? Hello? Southern Baptist, remember? I'd sooner tell her you were a Satan worshipping communist recruiter for the Al Qaida. She'd be less freaked than if I told her you were a god."

"I remembered what a good time we all had on our last TV Day^," said TW. There was a pause while everyone got slightly glassy-eyed, remembering what had happened after the television had been forgotten. TW was the first to come out of it. She shook her head to clear it, and said, "So we're here to do it again."

"Possibly with a change in tha cast of charactahs," added Strife. "I issued an open invitation..."

"WHAT?!" "WHAT?!" *Female duet*

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, open house parties are tha most fun. Anyways, there's no tellin' who might show up."

TW slapped her forehead, but Scribe shrugged. "Oh, well... My step dad is on an overnight fishing trip, so we have the house to ourselves for awhile." She gave Strife a stern look. "But I expect a complete divine housecleaning before you go."

He laid a hand over his heart, and raised the other up, palm flat in the 'promise' sign. "Ya got it,
toots. Now, lemme just fix ya up with OGTV again."

"Wait, wait!" said Scribe. "The DTV is working, and there might be a few of our real shows I'd like to see."

Strife rubbed his palms together (never a good sign). "Tell ya what I'm gonna do..."

TW shifted nervously. "Stop it--you're scaring me. You sound like Salmoneus."

"Sorry. Scribe, I'll fix it so ya can get both OGTV programs AND yer own programs, BUT--and here's tha neat part--it won't be limited ta just what's on at tha moment. ANYTHIN can show up."

Scribe and TW stared. Finally TW said. "Yeah, neat. Confusing, but neat."

Strife pitched a ball of blue energy at the television. While the crackling died down, Scribe
said, "Okay, but remember to take the hoodoo off it before you leave. If Dite shows up in her usual state of undress it'll be a race as to what happens first--The Step having a stroke, or Mom busting the tube. Wait--snacks!" said Scribe. "Can't veg out without snacks!" She looked embarrassed. "Um, I'm afraid that all we have in the kitchen is lettuce and carrots."

"BLEH!" said Strife. "I ain't willinly eaten that shit since I had Impetua. Ya don't really considah
that snacks, do ya?"

"Do I LOOK like a health geek? No, of course not," responded Scribe. "But since I had the accident I pretty much HAD to get serious about my diet. Hell, how can I GET to the good stuff when it's a struggle to make it from one room to another. I sure can't make any munchy runs." Her expression, which had been gradually perking up, started to get gloomy again.

"Nevah mind, babe." Strife patted her soothingly. "Hava seat, cutie. Yer makin me stiff, watchin ya hobble on that torture rack--an' I don't mean in a GOOD way." There was a flash, and she found herself comfortably ensconced on the couch, with the remote in her hand. "I'll take care of tha goodies."

*brzap*

The coffee table was suddenly spread with bowls of buttered popcorn, plates of tacos and quessadillas, boxes of Pop Tarts, large bags of Hershey's Miniatures and M & Ms, icy cans of soda and bottles of beer, stuffed potato skins, and a box of Screaming Yellow Zonkers. Scribe looked stricken. "My blood sugar will go up to about 6000 if I eat any of that!"

TW shook her head, then looked up at the ceiling. "Yo, Scribe, explain this to yourself."

Voice from the ceiling: "It's okay, this is a fiction. All goodies are consequence free."

The visible Scribe perked up. "Really?" *blink* "Great, now I'm talking to myself." She grabbed a box of grape Pop Tarts and ripped them open. "But make my Pepsi diet. By some ungodly process I've come to prefer it."

The wiener dog trotted over in front of her and sat up, eyeing the Pop Tarts expectantly. Scribe
squealed. "Oo, TW, is that Phairway?" TW nodded. "Oh, he's so cute. He's a tortoiseshell, isn't he?"

"Trust you to come up with a cat reference for a dog. They call it a double dapple, and he's a very rare fella, and yes, he can have some Pop Tart. It won't hurt him any more than it'll hurt you."

Scribe handed the dog a bite of pastry. As he munched she said, "Aren't you a cutie! I'd introduce
you to my dog, but she's a lot older than you, and..." She trailed off. "Wait a minute--what am I SAYING?! Older woman, younger man--what's wrong with that? How old is he?"

"A year."

She looked disappointed. "Then he's only seven in people years."

"No, that's a fallacy. They grow so quickly in their first year that the first one is worth 21 of our
years, and AFTER that they're worth approximately seven."

Scribe brightened. "Twenty-one? He's legal! MISS INGA, GET IN HERE!"

There was the click of nails on the kitchen tile, and a black-and-tan dachsy came in. "Urf?"

Scribe waved her hand. "Miss Inga, allow me to introduce Phairway." Inga eyed the boy dog, and
sidled toward him. "TW, this could be serious--she's ignoring food."

Inga: *grrrrr* "Uff!"

"That means, 'I mean that grrrr in a GOOD way'. Damn, I'd swear she just grew long eyelashes and batted them!" Inga turned and started back into the house. She paused and looked back over her shoulder coyly. Phairway quickly sniffed at both forelegs, then followed her, disappearing into the depths of the doublewide.

The girls looked puzzled. "TW, what was that last move?"

"Search me. I've never seen him do it before."

Strife snorted. "Women. He was checkin his pits."

Snicky the cat came scampering from the direction the dogs had left in. His fur was bushed, making him look about twice his size. He stood in front of Scribe.

Snicky: "Rrrrrowr! Hisssss, owr row ow!"

Scribe translated. "He's pissed because Inga is getting nookie, and he was fixed. TW, let him out,
wouldya? If he can chase the neighbor's chickens for awhile, he should calm down."

TW opened the door, and the cat streaked out, muttering direly under his breath. Almost immediately they hear frantic squawks. As TW shut the door she observed, "I think he's gonna be coughing chicken feathers."

"Serves the neighbors right. They want free-range chickens, and the boogers ruined half The Step's garden this summer. C'mon, you two. Let's get this party started." Strife and TW dropped down on either side of her, grabbing for snacks and drinks. As Scribe pointed the remote at the television she said, "I'll start with OGTV, 'cause all they have on regular television right now is soap operas."

Strife paused in unwrapping a Krackle. "Scribe, ain'tcha learned yet that ANYTIME ya tune inta Olympus ya get soap opera?"

"Well, yes, but with you guys when you start groping, they don't cut to a commercial, so it's all right. Anything but soap opera, or game shows."

*click*

Narrator: "Welcome to Olympus' premier game show--Jeopardy!"

Scribe: *sigh* "Oh, well. I DO like Jeopardy. If I could afford to go to California and get on, I'd make a bundle."

TW: "But you guys STOLE that!"

Strife: "Sez you. Who's been around longah--us, or Alex Trebek?"

Scribe: "Speaking of--who are they going to get to host? For a cerebral show like this they need someone intellectual, dignified, and..." *Jayce flounces out to the host podium* "Ohhhh-kay."

Jayce: "Hola, chu beeyootiful, eentelligent peeples! Hit's Yeopardy, the show that shows that chu can be loved for chur mind as well as chur body, though WHY hanyone hwould CARE is beyond me. Let's hintroduce our beeyootiful, eentelligent contestants. First up, Iolaus." *Iolaus waves.* "He's a hunter and a sideckick. Next, Hercules. *Hercules waves* "He's a hero and a thorn in the side."

Hercules: "Hey!"

Jayce: "Look, chugar, hit's not my fault if Ares wrote the cue cards. And finally, Gabriella--bard and..." *He checks cue cards.* "Can I say that on the air? No, I don't THEENK so. She's got that damn stick behind her podium. Hokay, let's see our categories."

*Multiple bleeping and blooping as the categories appear*

Jayce: "Today we have--Things Zeus HASN'T Yumped. Salmoneus' Schemes. Colors Dite Would Wear BESIDES Pink. Peeples Who Like Hercules. Things Stolen by Autolycus. Name That Weapon. Thees ees a visual category, peeples. The Muses. And lastly, Times Gabrielle Has Actually Shut Up."

Iolaus: "But that's a trick category. The only time she's ever shut up has been when she was gagged or knocked unconscious."

Gabrielle: "Watch it!"

Jayce: *claps hands* "Peeples! No squabbling. Hercules, you won the toss, so you choose first."

Hercules: "I'll take Salmoneus' Schemes for ten dinars."

Jayce: "Hafter thees venture, angry customers wanted to tar and feather him, but they couldn't get enough feathers."

*buzz*

Iolaus: "What is larks' tongue on a stick?"

Jayce: "Chu got it! Next answer?"

Iolaus: "Colors for ten dinars."

Jayce: "Thees pastel, in large amounts, ees almost as sickening as pink."

*buzz*

Gabrielle: "What is lilac?"

Jayce: "Nope."

*buzz*

Hercules: "What is lavender?"

Jayce: "Correct!"

Gabrielle: "Hold on! Lilac and lavender are the same thing! I demand that I be awarded those points!"

Jayce: "I theek someone may be having her phase of the moon." *Gabby reaches down for her staff* *quickly* "But we'll ask the expert. Dite?"

Dite: *appears in a poof of pink sparks" "Sorry, Gabby. Lilac has pink undertones, and they said no pink. Herc gets it." *poof* *Dite disappears*

*Gabrielle curses like a sailor.*

Hercules: "I'll take Things Zeus HASN'T Jumped for ten dinars."

Scribe: *click* "My stomach isn't up to thinking about Zeus yet."

Narrator: "Now for the hard hitting medical drama--ER!

*Typical emergency room setting, except there's a lot more marble, and Ascelepius is the only one there.* *Ace is sitting on a bench, doing a crossword puzzle*

*BAM!* *The doors burst open, and Strife staggers in*

Off Screen Strife: *The girls look at him* "Pre-recorded, 'kay?" *they nod*

*On Screen Strife stumbles toward Ace, clutching his stomach* *He urps* *Intestines ooze from his mouth and down his chin*

TW: *spews a mouthful of soda* "EW! WARN a person, Strife!" *Scribe is munching a taco* "Scribe, how can you eat after seeing that?"

Scribe: "Hon, I'm the woman who's seen Dawn of the Dead ten times."

*Strife urps again.* *What looks like a lung appears*

Ace: *Ace glances up.* "Stop it."

On Screen Strife: *Strife sighs, and the innards disappear* "Yer no fun." *He disappears in a shower of blue sparks*

*BAM!* *Doors fly open an men rush in, bearing a wounded warrior on a stretcher.* *One leg is off, and laying across his chest* *blood is spraying around like someone plugged a garden hose into a bucket of red paint.* *TW turns green* *Strife materializes a bucket and hands it to her* *Ace marks his place, lays down the puzzle book, and stands up.* *He waves his hand* *suddenly the leg is reattached.*

Ace: *sits back down, picking up his book* "Pay the Muse on the way out."

Scribe: "I think I can guess how the rest of this will go."

*click*

Narrator: "It's the Dating Game!"

*click*

TW: "Turn it back! Maybe we'll get some eye candy."

Scribe: "That's a compelling argument." *click*

Narrator: "Oh, you've decided to come back, have you? Suppose I don't want to let the show go on?"

Strife: "Suppose I make you my pet project fah tha next year?"

Narrator: "On with the show! Bachelor 1 is a real catch! Iphiclese--a real, live king!" *Iphicles
straightens his crown and waves.* Iolaus--the Golden Hunter. Blond hunkiness. *Iolaus preens* And Caesar. *Caesar leers* "Perfect date if you're into S and M. Now, our bachlorette! She's a twentysomething Amazon queen and bard."

TW: *whispers* "They wouldn't!"

Scribe: "TW, remember the perverse sense of humor most of the gods have." *whispers* "Flee, boys! Run for your lives!"

Narrator: "Lately, though, she's been spending her time as a sidekick and bosom companion to a certain warrior princess." *Bachelors exchange horrified looks* *They get up and begin sneaking off stage* "Let's all welcome--Gabrielle!"

Gabrielle: *comes on and sits down* "Okay, bachelor Number 1--You've just heard my latest epic poem. Compliment me." *waits* "You're speechless. Pretty good. Bachelor Number 2?" *silence* "Have to grope for words, huh? I'll get back to you. Bachelor Number 3?" *sound of crickets chirping and wind whistling* "What's going on here?" *She goes around the screen* "Oh, you guys are SO dead!"

Narrator: "Not just yet. Save it for Dite Dishes, Gabby. She's planning on doing 'Men Are Such Dogs' next week, and you know how bloodthirsty the Bacchae in the audience get. And now a commercial. Friends, do your draft animals reek?"

*Scribe presses MUTE*

*There is the click of nails.* *Inga and Phairway come back into the living room* *Inga struts, Phairway swaggers*

Scribe: "Wench." *Inga gives her a doggie smile.* "It's a damn good thing you're too old to get
pregnant."

TW: "Oo, why? Puppies are soooo cute."

Scribe: "TW, take a look at her legs. How would you describe them?"

TW: *looks* "Um, stubby?"

Inga: "Yarf!"

Scribe: "C'mon, Inga, you know you're no Betty Grable in the legs department. Anyway, imagine her with a swollen belly, so big that those stubby little legs are bowed."

TW: "Yipe!"

Scribe: "You're telling me. I don't want to deal with a bitch who's spending several weeks getting her nipples scraped along the carpet."

Strife: "Damn, I love tha way this woman's mind works." *he grabs the remote* *turns sound on*

*click*

*A lab appears on screen, occupied by two men--one graying, one blond*

Grissom: "What have you got, Greg?"

Greg: *sings* "I got music, I got rhythm, I got my gal..." *trails off as Grissom stares at him* "Okay, just no cruel remarks about the gal bit."

Grissom: "I mean 'what have you got for me?'"

TW: "TELL HIM, GREG, TELL HIM!"

Scribe: "Sadly, they can't on network television."

*Greg begins to give Grissom information about some evidence. Author declines to try to reproduce technobabble.* *while this goes on, the couch trio speaks*

Scribe: "That boy's hair is ALL over his head."

TW: "Scribe, Greg's the one you have a crush on, right?"

Scribe: "Grissom is 'elder statesman' sexy, Nick is 'hunky' sexy, but I just want to EAT Greg."

Strife: "I'd pay ta see that."

Scribe: "I meant it more metaphorically, but since you mentioned it..." *Grissom leaves the lab* *camera starts to follow him* "Crap! They never give Greg enough screen time!"

*Strife points at the television* *screee* *Camera skids to a halt, then backtracks and focuses once more on Greg.*

Scribe: "Thank you."

Strife: "Ya ain't seen nothin yet, toots. Brace yerself."

Scribe: "Uh-oh."

*Strife points at Scribe* *sparkles*

*Scribe disappears* *Scribe suddenly reappears, cradled in a very startled Greg's arms*

Greg: "Whoop!" *His legs collapse, bringing them both to the floor, out of camera range*

Scribe: "Hiya, cutie!"

Greg: "Shit, maybe that stuff I tested a little while ago was a hallucinogen after all."

Scribe: "Why would you say that?"

Greg: "How else can I explain having one of my fantasies come true? A woman just appears in my arms."

Scribe: "Aw, you sweet thing!"

Greg: "Wanna provide me with some body fluids to test?"

Scribe: "What kind of test?"

Greg: "Oral."

Scribe: "Whoop! CHANGE CHANNELS, CHANGE CHANNELS!"

Strife: "Nah."

TW: *snatches remote* "We'll be back soon, hon." *click*

Strife: "Party poopah."

TW: "We're trying to put her in a GOOD mood, remember?"

*lots of pink sparkles* *Cupid and Aphrodite appear* *Cupid is carrying a large sheet of rolled up paper, Aphrodite is carrying a box, wrapped in pink paper with a silver ribbon* *They look around*

Dite: "Where's Scribe?"

Strife: *snickers* "She's doin a test with tha blond guy on CSI."

Cupid: *frowns* "I thought that science wasn't her strong suit."

Strife: "I think they're experimentin with shared body heat vs. friction, if ya know what I mean."

Dite: *puts box on table and claps hands* "Good girl! I've been working on the writers to fix that little doll up, but they're stubborn cusses. Son, I want their love lives to resemble those of Trappist monks."

Cupid: "Got it. No nookie for CSI writers till Greg gets a girlfriend."

Dite: *Slaps Strife's hands when he reaches for the box* "Cool it! You know darn good and well that's for Scribe."

TW: "What is it?"

Dite: "It's a surprise."

Strife: "If it ain't pink, I'll be surprised. Whatcha got there, Cupe?"

Cupid: "No need to keep mine a secret." *He unrolls the paper* *It's a big poster of one of the 1960's Keene portraits of a kitten with huge, sad eyes*

TW: "Cupid!" *she hugs him* "She'll plotz."

Cupid: *blinks* "What, exactly, is plotzing?"

TW: "Never mind. It's a GOOD thing--in this case."

Dite: *looking around* "This room is a little drab." *she starts to wave her arm* "Maybe just a little pink..."

Strife, TW, and Cupid: "NO!"

Cupid: *grabs her arm* "Mom, no insult intended, but mortals are not generally good about people
redecorating without asking permission."

Dite: *pouts* "Well, poo."

Strife: *grabs half bag of Hershey Miniatures and shoves it at her* "Dite--chocolate."

Dite: "Oo." *sits down and begins unwrapping.*

Strife: "If there's a hissy that chocolate CAN'T distract a woman from, I nevah wanna see it."

*burst of red sparkles* *Ares and the triplets appear, all bearing various presents*

TW: *blinks* "They're taking this open house thing seriously, aren't they?"

*Everybody makes themselves comfortable.* *Ares pulls Joxer onto his lap and starts nuzzling*

TW: "You two couldn't wait for Scribe to come back?"

Dite: *looks thoughtful, then giggles* "She's preoccupied right now."

Jett: *sits up alertly, scowling* "She only looks like that when someone's getting some. Where's my woman?"

Joxer: "Jett, that's another series of stories."

Jayce: "Yoxie, you trying to make SENSE out of all this?"

Joxer: *blinks* "Right."

Narrator: "HELLO! Listen, if you people aren't going to be paying attention, I could be doing something constructive--like buying lottery tickets.

Ares: "Lottery tickets?"

TW: "This IS Texas. Sorry, oh Paid Shill. Proceed."

Narrator: "Thank you. The next show WOULD have been Survivor, but the contestants did a 'Lord of the Flies' and killed and ate the whiney ditz, and we decided to be dignified and not show it."

TW: "Dignity from a reality show? I'm shocked."

Narrator: "We're saving it for a two hour Very Special Episode."

TW: "No, I'm not." *click*

Narrator: "It's Iron Age Chef! Our contestants compete to see who can come up with the most
sophisticated, complex dishes made from our theme ingredient. The contestants today are Xena and Falafel. Unfortunately you're tuning in near the end of the show, so you won't be able to see the dexterous skill and fierce concentration that went into the preparation of these delicacies." *everyone in the living room snaps their fingers* "Enough with the sarcasm. Our judges today are a group of people who'd mean absolutely nothing to you unless you actually LIVED in this time and culture, and then you probably wouldn't be too familiar with them anyway." *clears throat, uses pompous voice* If memory serves me correctly..."

Jett: "It always DOES, jerk."

Narrator: "Today's theme ingredient was--fish."

Jayce: "Giant sea bass? Perfumed Rainbow Trout? Big-Gutted Bottom Feeders?"

Narrator: "Just fish. We couldn't catch enough of one kind to be specific. First up--Falafel."

Falafel: "For my first course--sashimi."

Strife: "Prometheus get his ass chained to a rock an' gets his livah eaten every day ta bring fire ta
mortals, an' this doofus thinks raw fish is a treat."

Falafel: Next a fish salad, garnished with monkeynuts, chickweed, and Kadoka figs. Then a soup of the innards, laced with chili peppers and groats, to give it a silky texture. Filets gently sauteed with a delicate mango and cucumber chutney. And finally--for dessert, fish and mixed berries pie, with a garnish of candied scales."

*The judges stare at their portions, moving bits around on the plate.* *a couple of them eat the
parsley garnishes*

Narrator: "Next up--Xena. Yes, she has buns of steel, but is she worthy to be called an Iron Age Chef? Xena, what have you prepared."

Xena: "Roasted fish."

*silence*

Narrator: "Any special preparation techniques?"

Xena: *shrugs* "I gutted and scaled them first."

Falafel: "Didn't you use any exotic spices or condiments?"

Xena: "Salt and pepper."

Falafel: *looks stunned, as if he has just had a revelation* "Salt and pepper..."

Head Judge: "Okay, we have our results. We couldn't stomach Falafel's stuff, but we're supposed to be promoting elaborate, elitist cooking, so the winner is..." *Xena draws her chakram and runs a thumb over the edge.* *Judge's sense of self-preservation and good sense kicks in* "Xena."

Falafel: "I demand a recount! Everyone knows that only MEN can be real chefs, and..." *Xena glowers* "Eep!" *He runs, followed by a pissed Xena*

Narrator: "Next up, a new version of The Fugitive."

END PART 2
To Be Continued...