The Muse is on Strike

DISCLAIMERS: My first try at getting their voices and patter correct. My first attempt at humor. I think this only addresses Napasha's twinkling eyes, I'll have to work on the 'dry humor'.

No, they don't belong to me, but I'll take them! Yep. Yep. I have a nice room just waiting for them. Whips, chains and collars in the closet. Oops! Heh. Heh.

WARNINGS: Mary Sue-ism. No real story. Just a snippet while I'm waiting for the muse to hit me in this fandom.

Bewildered Author: Theresa aka Cheyenne
Keeper of the Twinkle in Napoleon's eyes
Keeper of Illya's dry sense of humor

THE MUSE IS ONE STRIKE

By Theresa aka Cheyenne

"Napoleon, what are we doing here?" Puzzled blue eyes took a moment to study the darkened room, the silhouetted figure sitting hunched before the garishly glaring computer screen and returning to look at his friend and partner.

"I thought we would just pop in."

"Trust me, Napoleon. You *don't* just pop in on her. She does not enjoy these kinds of surprises."

"I thought she was your friend?"

"She *is* my friend, Napoleon. That still does not explain why we are *here*." Illya shifted a bit, in an ill-fated attempt to hide his unease.

"I am bored."

"Bored."

A devil-may-care smile brightened the swarthy face, "And curious."

"Curious." Illya rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Come with me, quickly. She may not notice we are here."

"Illya, aren't you curious?"

"No. I have already *seen* what she has planned for Matthew. I am very satisfied that she has not remembered us, as yet."

"Matthew?"

"Yes, Napoleon. Matthew. Matthew Sikes. Detective on the San Francisco police force. His partner is George Francisco?"

Napoleon shook his head, watching the faint changes in expression that were often the only hint he received at his partner's moods and inner thoughts. "Uhm. I think I'm confused, Illya. That sounds more like a crime novel, or action story."

Illya's mouth thinnned into a grim line. "It will definitely be a crime."

"I thought she wrote erotica."

Illya made a sound in his throat.

"What?"

"Of course. You are bored. She writes erotica. Is that all you ever think about, Napoleon?"

"Only when I'm bored. And curious." Napoleon delivered a smirk, brows waggling.

Illya cleared his throat. "I did not say she wrote *heterosexual* erotica, Napoleon."

"No?"

"No."

"Ah." Napoleon's eyes twinkled as he began to prowl towards the smaller man.

"Napoleon? Napoleon, what are you doing?"

=30=