Welcome to AresJoxerCupidStrife

Part 1 Part 2

Title: Spinnin' the Dial Again With Xena, 1/?
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
Status: WIP
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:
and

Warnings:
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, 1/?
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."

Spinnin' the Dial Again With Xena, 2/?
By Scribe

*FLASH*

Eris: *Eris appears in a flash of red.* "Where's the gimp?" *Everyone throws various snack foods at her. Strife, feeling brave, tosses an empty soda can.* *Eris blasts it in mid-air* "Cool it, you snots. You know I don't mean her any harm. Although she COULD find a way to write me some tail occasionally."

Strife: "She don't do much femslash. Maybe ya could talk her inta settin ya up with Dana Scully. She did that Someone Outside story with her. 'Course Dana was a dangerous, obsessed, stalkah who tied up her roommate an' moletsted her repeatedly."

Eris: "Sounds like my kind of woman. I brought Scribe a leather brassier." *She tosses a crudely wrapped package on the table.*

Jett: "Nice. I'm gonna insist on a personal modeling of that when she gets back."

Strife: *snort* "Good luck, Scarey. She don't willinly wear a bra unless she hasta go out in public--like to a funeral."

Eris: *sits down and grabs a beer.* "Then the bra will be appropriate--it's black. No one answered my question." *Strife starts giggling, and Cupid smiles* "Oh. Getting some, eh? Who?"

Jett: *Scowls* "Some soon-to-be late dorky lab technician."

TW: "Don't even think about it. Greg has puppy dog eyes. Scribe will skin you if you make a move on anyone who has puppy dog eyes. You should see what she did to Angelus in one of her fics when he got medieval on Xander Harris."

Jett: "Hey, I could have puppy dog eyes."

Ares: "Like Greagus." *Jett scowls* "When he's in a bad mood. Anyway, this is her party--we ought to bring her back."

Strife: "Lemme! Lemme! Interuptus by remote." *He snatches up the remote*

*Click*

*Scribe and Greg, very much rumpled, are sitting on the lab floor together* *Scribe has both hands in Greg's hair, ruffling* *He is rolling his eyes, but isn't making a move to stop her*

Greg: "Just tell me when you're done, and I'll start checking your body to be sure I haven't left fingerprints."

Scribe: "I didn't know you could leave fingerprints on skin."

Greg: "I can TRY." *A colored shimmer passes over Scribe, and tinkling bells are heard* *Greg looks around* "What was that?"

Scribe: *sigh* "My virginity just renewed."

Greg: "Get out of town!" *He starts to get up.* "I gotta tell Grissom about this!"

Scribe: "Greg, have you ever considered having sex with Gil, or maybe Nick? Or maybe BOTH?"

Greg: "You are one kinky lady."

Strife: "That's our Scribe." *brrrzap*

*Greg appears on the couch, with Scribe on his lap*

Greg: "Hey! Whathafuck?"

Strife: "I like 'im."

Joxer: *offers Greg a beer* "Make yourself 't home."

Greg: *eyes assemebled gods, goddesses, and fanfiction authors* "Not till I have a chance to annalize all food and drink for possible hallucinogens."

Jett: *cracks his knuckles* "You want to unhand my woman before I have to get ancient Greek on your ass?"

Greg: "Shouldn't that be 'get medieval on your ass'?"

Jett: "The medieval are pussies."

Scribe: "Jett, down, or no cookie."

Jett: "Like I give a fuck about Oreos right now."

Scribe: *pats her crotch* "Okay, no pie, then."

Jett: "Crap." *sits back down* "Gimme the fuckin' remote. I want to see something getting killed." *takes remote* *click*

Narrator: "It's America's Funniest Home Videos Meets Fear Factor in a Dog-Eat-Dog World of Extreem Sports!"

TW: "That should do it."

Narrator: "But first, a word from our sponsor."

Jett: "CRAP! I said I want to see someone DIE!"

Scribe: "Uh-oh. I recognize this commercial. Given that they might act on natural impulses, you may get your wish."

Woman in Commercial: "Honey, are you constipated again? That's almost as bad as when you have diahreah. What you need is..."

Strife: "An axe. Or a really, really big gun. At least a kitchen knife."

Aphrodite: "Strife!"

Ares: "The woman is discussing her spouse's bathroom agonies in the middle of a supermarket, with the check out girl. I'd say this calls for murder rather than divorce."

Jayce: "Hied rule yustafiable homicide hif I were the yudge. Ho, look--hanother commercial."

Scribe: "What a surprise."

Woman in commercial: "See--it has wings!"

Eris: "The silly bitch is dicussing a sanitary pad at a cocktail party?" *raises voice to screen* "You in the little black dress--use the toothpick in that olive and go for her eyes!"

*click*

Jett: "Hey! Who changed that?"

Narrator: "Tonight on Buffy, the Vampire Slayer--Buffy is a bitch, and we bring back Angel, Tara, Oz, Giles, Wesley, and Riley simply because they're all too fucking awesome for us to leave their fate to Joss. Joss is currently tied up in a supply closet. We may let him loose if the brainwashing succeeds. Also tonight: Spike and Xander finally act on that UST."

TW and Scribe: "Change it and die."

Aphrodite: "A cute brunette and a blond Bacchae snogging away? You damn betcha leave it there!"

Narrator: "But first, some promos!"

Strife: *perks up* "Did he say 'homos'?"

Scribe: "I'd watch a lot more television if he had."

Narrator: "Will and Grace."

Jack: "Gaydar."

TW: "Are they ever gonna let Will have a boyfriend and do more than just flirt? He's the most celebate out of the closet, good lookin' gay man I've ever seen."

Scribe: "He DID kiss Jack in that one episode."

TW: "But that was 'we're making a statement' snogging, not 'damn, you're hot' snogging. There's a big difference."

Narrator: "Seinfeld!"

Scribe: "Jett, you can kill George if you want to."

Eris: "Damn, look at all the hair on that Elaine bimbo. You could tie her to a bedpost with that mop."

Greg: "Scribe, do you choose your friends from the S and M chatrooms?"

Jett: "Honey Bunny, are you SURE I can't show him a new and interesting use for a test tube?"

Narrator: "The Drew Carey Show!"

Jayce: "Drew can DANCE for a husky white guy."

Joxer: "Lewis and Oswald are so sweet together."

Scribe: "I bow before their writers. They had Oswald dating a male co-worker, then getting ready to visit a gay western bar. Granted, he didn't know what the hell he was doing, but it still counts."

Jayce: *squeal!* "Look! They're doing the 'Rocky Horror Picture Show' vs. 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert' dance off! FISH NET AND SEQUINS!"

Narrator: "3rd Rock From the Sun!"

TW: "Must be enshrined forever by slashers everywhere simply for the number of times they managed to work 'Dick' into their titles.

Narrator: "The Naked Chef!"

Almost Everyone: "YES! YES! YES!"

Scribe: "Wait a minute! Those aren't all on the same channel."

Narrator: *muttered* "Shit. They said the audience would be too stupid to notice." *brightly* "Back to our regularly scheduled programming. 'What to Wear', starring Aphrodite!"

On Screen Aphrodite: "Pink and see-through."

Narrator: "Next up on Maury--Cheating Men Who Actually Thought They Were Going to Get Fair and Evenhanded Treatment on Other Talk Shows."

TW: "I WISH they wouldn't exploit the mentally challenged like that."

Narrator: "But first--My Teenage Daughter is an Out of Control Slut Who Won't Share Her Drugs."

On Screen Mother: "An' then that lil *bleep* had tha *blooping* *blip* ta tell me that my *bleep* was so *blarp* that mah boyfriend would hafta *whooop* me with a *clang* justa..."

On Screen Teenager: "What-evah!""

Scribe: "Jett, kill her, too."

Jett: "Which one?"

TW: "Doesn't matter. Both of 'em are giving trailer trash everywhere a bad name."

Greg: "Look, it isn't that I'm not having a lovely time, but Grissom will have kittens if I'm not back soon."

Scribe: "Interesting concept. I've read a fic where he has SOMETHING, but it's just a single, normal baby girl."

Greg: "Do you have any concept of how bizarre that statement is?" *Scribe nods* "I think I may very well love you. I've finally found someone who makes me look normal by comparison."

TBC