Title: When Muses Attack
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general (strangefic)
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: PG-13 for language. No, there's no sex.
Status: New
Archive: You must send an email to me and let me know where you 
intend to archive. Private archiving allowed as long as you don't 
intend to publish. Behave.
Email address for feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequel: This should never, *ever* be sequeled.
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View 
Askewniverse. If I really get into this, I probably will too. Or at 
least go into hock when I walk into a video store, go into rut, and 
buy all the DVDS at once.
Notes: Right after telling ren I thought this was too strange to 
post, I go filch it out of the notebook and type it in. Okay, ren, 
now "Kilted Yaksmen" and this puppy are running neck and neck for 
strange. Psigh, sometimes I hate my brain. And I've been playing 
Diablo waaaay too much lately. No sex, weird clothing, *extreme* 
hair torture (Alex, I'm warning you now!), many many dead and 
unpleasant things.
Outline: What happens when Kel has a headache and takes rum, not 
ibuprofen, for the pain

"When Muses Attack"
by Kelandris


Jay was cold. The blond snuggled closer to Bob, reaching for the 
blanket which Bob always friggin' stole. That was the one thing that 
really bugged him about their new relationship, Bob always stealing 
the blankets. Still, he thought, smiling sleepily, there were 
compensations. He reached for Bob and the blanket at the same time, 
and only found Bob.

Huh? His hand patted cloth, but it was all cloth covering Bob. And 
as he dimly recalled, Bob hadn't worn anything to bed last night. He 
remembered last night now, and most of their clothes had stayed in 
the living room.

Blinking slowly, Jay opened his eyes, looking around.

"What the fuck is *this* shit?" he said in a sleep-clogged voice. 

Dark stone was everywhere: walls, ceiling, even the cold floor he lay 
on. Torches guttered on the walls, sending out sullen red-orange 
light. Dried blood spattered the stone, and stained bone fragments 
lay in small heaps in the corners.

"Fuck, this isn't right..." Sitting up, hearing clinking, he shook 
Bob, frowning at the bearded man's outfit. Bob wore what looked like 
a big grey dress, arcane symbols sewn down the front and on the 
collar, cuffs and hem.

"Hey uh... Bob?" Jay whispered, shaking him again. Bob sat up, shaking 
his head dazedly, looking around. A small squeak escaped him, but 
that was all.

When both men stood, Jay still clinging to Bob's arms, they nearly 
tripped over the collection of weaponry and coins at their feet. Bob 
leaned down, hand reaching past a great helm in steel and studded 
brass and an ornamental spiked flail to pick up a staff with dual 
blades. It was a beautiful thing. The blades gleamed like 
moonlight, their hilts gemmed with rubies set in solid gold rings, 
each blade socketing neatly into a finely crafted hardwood shaft, 
polished within an inch of its life. He twirled it, smiling, struck 
a pose with it held aloft, parried, snapped it back, thrust it out. 
He nodded, satisfied, then turned towards Jay.

All the air rushed out of him in a whoosh, and his eyes bugged out 
briefly. His mouth worked silently for a few moments, then he 
reached down, pulling free a longbow nearly as tall as Jay. 
Wordlessly he held it out. Jay's eyes widened as he stepped back.

"Oh, no, we are not playing the game here. We are sleeping in bed. 
Don't you remember?"

Bob gestured with the bow, and Jay looked blank for a moment, then 
looked down.

"FUCK!"

Bob looked away, struggling not to smile. Jay tightened his hands 
into fists and took a step forward, and the clinking sounded again. 
That was all it took for Bob to double over in silent laughter, 
leaning on the staff.

Jay folded his arms, looking at what he was wearing and sighing 
deeply. The ring mail he wore wouldn't be so bad, except it was 
built into a *very* form-fitting corset, and the twin steel cups at 
breast level told him it was tailored for a female figure. The only 
one in the game, as it happened. Long leather gloves and thigh-high 
leather boots with metal knee bracers fit as if molded to his limbs, 
and underneath it all, he wore a strip of leather that barely 
qualified as a loincloth. He realized suddenly that was what woke 
him, the cold air of the dungeon blowing across his exposed--

"Man," he said aloud, "my ass is all hangin' out here! We gotta do 
something!"

Silent Bob walked around behind him, and he could nearly hear his 
eyebrows raise. Jay whirled, and it was worse than he'd thought: 
Bob wore this dreamy little smile as he looked at Jay. Jay shook his 
head vigorously, setting the ponytail bound in a leather cuff to 
swing against both steel-clad shoulders.

"Fuck that man, who *knows* what could walk around the corner here--"

Come to think of it, there weren't any other openings, just two 
doors. One was made of the same stone as the walls around them, with 
a brass octagonal inset. Not thinking, Jay walked over to the door, 
reaching out to touch it. An odd tingling filled his hand, and a 
burst of blue-white light rose around him. The door opened with an 
audible click.

Inside six skeletons glowing with red fire turned, clacking their 
empty jaws and brandishing swords. They rushed forward and he 
screamed, hitting the door and jumping back as it slammed shut.

"Okay, wrong fucking door," he said in a high voice, and, wide-eyed, 
Bob nodded. He walked over to the other one, twirling the staff in a 
casual and highly dangerous manner. He looked at Jay, shrugging.

"Got me. Open it, Lunchbox."

This one was not made of stone. In fact, it looked like it was 
carved from Formica, spatter-painted in grey and black. A square 
black handle protruded from the center of the door, and shrugging 
again, Bob turned it. Glowing green light spilled from the opening, 
but nothing rushed at them. Bob stepped slowly through, Jay 
following closely.

Green light was everywhere, except in the off-kilter fireplace 
mantel, where a small compressed man with a large head stood in a 
patch of yellow light, staring at them with dead dark eyes. Two 
figures were bound in sluggishly moving concrete and wire sculptures 
off to one side. Two other people had been shot into the ceiling, 
their legs still twitching feebly. In the dining room behind them 
was a long black table, on which the remains of a withered wedding 
couple could be seen.

"Oh, you gotta be fucking *kidding* me..."

Jay looked down, shaking his head.

"Why do I *always* get the chick gear?" he wailed, lifting the skirt 
of multiple layers of transparent crimson taffeta. This shit had 
more flounces and bows than... oh, no. If he was Winona, then where was-
-

He turned, looking for Silent Bob, and yep, there he was, his eyes 
wide as he took in his burgundy tuxedo and the layers of ruffles and 
ruching on his starched shirt. He looked over at Jay, his hair 
standing out in frenzied tufts from his grey-green face, and Jay just 
shrugged.

Then Bob burst out laughing, and Jay whirled, the shirt swishing 
around his legs.

"Yeah, laugh it up, fat man," he said warningly. "You'll get yours. 
Now look for the next fuckin' door."

This one was harder to find, and the Danny Elfman soundtrack picked 
up pace twice while they were searching. Finally, up in the attic 
they found something out of place: a battered metal door painted 
beige, with red and black and pink and gold flecks, a brushed-
aluminum bar stretched horizontally across.

Auditorium door? School gym? Old department store? It was anyone's 
guess. Did he care if it got him out of the dress?

"Fuck, no," he murmured, pushing the bar down to open the door. As 
he stepped through, he heard music playing before and behind him, the 
twin themes jangling discordantly. Bob crowded behind him, and both 
men stopped. Now what?

Loud cheering startled them, and they jumped, hearing screams and 
yells and clapping in the darkness. Then the house lights came on, 
big flash pots going off, and they could see they were on a stage. 
Bursts of party string filled the air, and a young man with fangs and 
dark hair ran from one side of the stage to the other, dressed in 
lame 80's rapper gear--big sneakers, spandex running suit, colorful 
running jacket, huge gold medallions.

Jay beat a quick tattoo on a pair of drums that came up past his 
waist, then looked at Bob and fell down laughing.

Silent Bob looked absolutely miserable. He wore big sneakers too, 
and black spandex tights that hid *nothing*, and a tight black and 
yellow striped spandex unitard. One of those cheap black costume 
capes was tied around his neck, and he had a black headband on his 
head, the kind that had the antennas, these ones tipped in big yellow 
styrofoam balls.

He held a tambourine.

"Bzzz," was all Jay got out, pointing at him. "Bzzz, bzzz," as he 
collapsed in peals of laughter.

Bob threw the tambourine at him, taking a few steps forward, then 
stopped, a truly wicked smile creasing his face. Jay shook his head.

"Oh, what the fuck now?" he cried, looking down. He shrieked. Damn, 
this shit *had* to stop.

Jay wore black fishnet stockings over black platform heels, a black 
satin garter belt and suspenders, another cape, this one with batwing 
tips, and a little white, red and black dress with batwing cutouts. 
Long black gloves completed the look, the fingertips cut off and the 
fingers taped for drumming.

Great. They both looked stupid.

"Happy now, Lunchbox?" he growled, and Bob nodded gleefully. Shit, 
gotta find the door, gotta get out of here, one of `em's gotta 
fucking lead *home*...

Racing from the stage, they nearly ran past it, backtracking to walk 
into the wildest dressing room either man had ever been in. Zebra 
wallpaper, purple carpet with rippling lights, bright glittering 
lights around the mirror--and just to the right of that mirror, a 
small square door at floor level, painted a bright, gleaming pink.

Jay didn't wait. He flung the door open, diving through, praying Bob 
would follow, but damn if he was gonna wear chick gear four times in 
a row. Light blinded him, and he dove for the ground, wrapping his 
arms tightly around his head--

Something tapped his shoulder. He uncurled, just them realizing he'd 
been pressing face-first into grass. Brilliant, nearly translucent 
emerald grass, but grass. What the... ? And when he looked up the sky 
was no better. Saturated in an impossibly rich blue, the small 
scudding clouds that drifted by looked like puffs of cotton balls, 
impossibly fluffy. Perky, even.

"Where the hell we at now, Silent Bob?"

Bob shrugged, but pointed out the gear. Jay wore shorts and sneakers 
and a black tee and his black cap that said SNOOGANS. Bob wore that 
pale olive sweater that'd looked so fuckin' good on him when they'd 
run into Bethany the first time. He also wore khaki pants and a tan 
Mooby ballcap pointed backwards.

"Well, I'm fuckin' lost." Jay looked around, seeing nothing 
threatening here. No zombies, no evil cheering `80's clubbers, no 
weird Tim Burton snakes. So what was the big deal?

Then he saw little fuzzy shapes crest the gentle rise of the small 
hill on which they stood. At first there were only one or two, 
hopping in cute little patterns, then there were six, then a dozen, 
then more. Each was a different delicate pastel hue, and they kept 
coming--pert noses twitching, wide Thumper eyes batting, coy little 
fuzzy paws patting the acidly green grass adorably.

Jay's eyebrows rose. He looked at Bob. Bob shrugged, holding up his 
hands in confusion.

Then one of the rabbits hopped close, patting at Bob's sneakers. His 
eyes widened, but he leaned down. The small furry thing began 
speaking in a high, piping voice, its little nose wrinkling up.

"D'ya wanna hear about the time Mercy met Nick Knight? She had an 
assassin on her trail, and he had this really long knife, and she 
nearly *died*," it said with relish. Bob took a step back, shaking 
his head. Another bumped into him from behind.

"Or how about the second time she meets Odo, and he thinks she's 
killed Kira, and she runs through the station, Odo following faster 
than *anything*--"

Bob turned to run, but tripped over several of them. His feet 
tangled up in bunny fur, and he fell to the ground. Several hopped 
onto his chest.

"Or how about the time she was hung by frightened villagers outside 
of Swinburne in 1725, and it was ten years before she could utter a 
sound?" This one had patches of silvery grey mixed with the pastel, 
and Bob could count each rib in its shaking sides. With a shudder 
Bob tossed it to one side. Another promptly took its place.

"Or how about the time you and Jay go shopping, and you buy candles, 
and carrots, and cucumbers, and zucchini--"

"AAAGH!" Bob cried, throwing it high into the air. As it spun away 
they heard it giggle, and they both saw the long sharp fangs in the 
cute little mouth. That was all it took for them to jump over the 
bunny horde and take off running. Tiny piping conversations shredded 
the air behind them.

"--and Loki has some *really* interesting new equipment--"

"--she's in a shuttlecraft, and it's failing, and the toxic gases are 
making her drunk--"

"--and Jay's been arrested for stealing some stereo equipment, and 
he's so youuung--"

"--she meets Nicholas de Brabant again on Risa while they're building 
a brother house to Bilitis--"

They ran, sides heaving, and Jay's foot turned under him, and he 
rolled onto the bright green grass, Bob tugging his arm, gesturing 
wildly at the approaching rabbit army.

"--and you and Jay and Banky on the big red couch at Hold-Up--"

"--Bartleby visiting Shannon in jail--"

"--Angel nearly killing Mercy because Charis tied him to a wall for 
three days and drugged--"

"--him into dancing, and Jay gets jealous, and shows up with this 
comic book artist who picked him up named Hooper--"

"--except she's so tired of burying everyone she loves, and she still 
hasn't found anyone like her in--"
"--two parts, the first is where Mercy and Giles meet, and the second 
is where she goes back with the dagger and--"

"SHUT UP!" Jay screamed, then ran full-tilt into a door that hadn't 
been there two seconds ago. There was a signpost next two it with 
two long wooden arrows. One pointed towards the door and said "WAY 
OUT." The other arrow pointed towards the gathering horde of fuzzy 
rabbits on the far hills, and read "PLOT BUNNY DEPARTMENT".

"No shit," Jay mumbled, falling to his knees.

"They only look harmless," sad Bob, and helped him stand. Together 
they opened the door, covered in a wash of rich gold with big red 
swirls of burgundy and tiny, diamond-shaped mirror tiles twinkling 
like stars. Still holding onto Jay, Bob stepped through the door.

And both men leaped away from each other with a yell.

They both wore black this time, but it was distinctive. Bob had a 
long black ponytail pulled tightly back, strands of deep green hair 
hanging in tendrils around his confused face. That face also now 
wore heavy black eyeshadow and thick eyeliner, and silver-pink 
frosted lipstick. He wore a black PVC cape with red trim, lined in a 
similar glittering silver-pink, that came to his upper thighs.

He wore a tight pair of black PVC pants tucked into knee-high red and 
black platform boots, and a glittery black lurex top. He also wore 
bowling gloves, with thick black leather bracers covering the back of 
each hand, embroidered in silver with a curious logo: two crossed 
bowling pins behind a grinning silver skull. At his feet was a 
bowling back cut from gleaming silvery-pink mylar.

Jay also wore black, but his was dusty, torn and scuffed. Black 
combat boots that had seen better days, torn black denim pants, black 
denim duster, black tee. And--Jay reached up, patting the top of his 
head, then whirled, catching his reflection in an ornate wall mirror--
his hair was also black. Spiked, *short*, and black.

"This *better* be a fucking dream!" he yelled, nearly sobbing. They 
heard footsteps on the catwalk ringing the room.

"Baby bowler," said a familiar voice. And this strange man with big 
Elvis hair and bigger platform shoes than Lunchbox walked into view, 
sneering. There wasn't much of his clothing that didn't glitter or 
clash. Slowly, he walked down the main stairway, and Jay watched as 
Bob bent down, unzipped the mylar bowling bag, and lifted out 
something that loudly hummed in his hands.

"Whoa," Jay said, leaning back when he saw it. The ball Bob held out 
was transparent and pink, and held a grinning human skull. Bob 
released it, and it just hung suspended in midair, grinning at them. 
Then it rocketed towards the disco-wearing jerk, hitting him in the 
face and slamming him into the floor while the hum increased.

"Huh," was all Jay could come up with. 

**Door, door, where's the fucking door, before *that* weird thing 
comes back--**

A glimmering blue portal opened in the room, and Jay and Bob ran for 
it, running through concentric rings of blue and pink shimmer until 
they came out the other side and looked around. Dark stone 
surrounded them. Guttering torches, low moaning, and was that--
goats? Laughing?

Jay shook his head, then screamed, hitting Bob's shoulder and 
pointing. Three shambling corpses dripping green fluids moaned and 
hobbled towards them, yellowing rotted hands reaching out. Bob 
stepped in front of him, swinging the staff, neatly beheading all 
three. Showers of gold coins hit the floor, clinking louder than 
Jay's ring mail, when two of the decaying things dropped.

"Can we go home now?" Jay asked plaintively. "Please?"

Bob looked around, then pointed once more, nodding. Between two 
candles on heavy iron stands was a door. Just a door. Plain wood, 
brass knob. Varnished, not painted.

Great. Jay stepped gingerly over the bodies, rolling his eyes as Bob 
behind him inhaled at the expanse of pale flesh such a move 
revealed. Five more steps took him to the door, and he reached out, 
slowly turning the handle.

It was dark on the other side, and smelled of dust. Gentle rhythmic 
breathing could dimly be heard, and Jay shrugged, motioning Bob 
forward.

They walked through the door and paused a moment to let their eyes 
adjust to the dimness. Rigging, ropes, levers, hardwood floor. 
Heavy velvet draperies, their bases weighted with chain. **Oh, 
yeah,** Jay thought, shuddering at the remembrance of gingham. I 
know where we are.**

Pushing the curtains aside, they moved forward into the backstage 
area. Both seemed to be dressed in normal streetwear. Six of the 
cyclotron lights were on, shining blue down on the area like rain.

A large sleeping woman was draped over the soundboard. Patches of 
her hair were brown, burgundy, platinum and red. She wore black 
sweats, a grey t-shirt, and her eyes tracked rapidly behind her lids.

Jay nodded his head at her, rolling his eyes as he looked at Bob. 
Bob nodded, reaching into the pocket of his black trench and pulling 
out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, passing it to Jay. Lighting 
the second, he reached out, tapping the sleeping woman on the 
shoulder.

She started, shaking her head.

"I'm listening, I swear," she mumbled, then sat upright, blinking. 
Peering blearily at Jay, she pulled out a pocket watch with a broken 
face, handling it carefully.

"Jay, for chrissakes, it's 2:30 in the morning," Kel said 
irritably. "Don't you have anything better to do right now?"

Jay stared at her blankly, then scowled. He heard Bob sigh behind 
him.

"Hey, lady, we didn't ask to fight zombies and shit! And what the 
fuck is your kink for me in dresses? That's fucked *up*, believe me!"

She blinked, looking stunned.

"I put you in Diablo?" 

"Twice," Bob said softly. "Good weapons, though."

"Rogue or mage?" she asked, scratching her beard and thinking.

Bob opened his mouth and Jay stared at him, shaking his head. "Shut 
up," he whispered, jabbing him. He turned back to Kel. She spoke 
before he could do more than point a finger at her.

"I am really sorry, guys," she said. She shook her hair loose from 
unraveling braids, rubbing her eyes. "That game's starting to get to 
me."

"Yeah, well," Jay said, resentful, "I wasn't real crazy about the red 
wedding dress, but hey, the zombies sucked too."

"You should have been there for the goat demons," she murmured, then 
yawned. "Okay, lemme see if you're *supposed* to be anywhere right 
now," she said, shuffling through loose papers at the soundboard. 
Bob peered over her shoulder, looking interested. Jay quickly grew 
bored, and wandered around the back of the theatre, looking at 
various odd things.

One was a door in the back corner with "SP" spray-painted on it in 
olive-drab block letters, with what looked like red lipstick scrawled 
underneath. "DO NOT OPEN!" it said in jagged letters.

"Hey, what's this door back here, says `SP'?"

The shuffling of papers stopped.

"You don't want to know," Kel said.

Jay rolled his eyes again, opening the door. He stared out into a 
flat, nearly two-dimensional world. Green cutout mountains with 
white cutout caps of snow rose behind a white paper landscape, all of 
it placed on a black background, the sky dull without stars. As he 
watched, a small rotund figure walked from one side of his vision to 
the center of the scene. It had a recognizable dark cutout of beard 
and mustache, wore a backward ballcap, and a black cutout trench. 
And then it began to dance, moving its tiny animated figure from side 
to side and kicking its tiny animated feet.

Worse, it began to sing, in a high, pinched little voice.

**"I am not a German man
but I'll do a German dance
and if you'll just give me a chance
I might just take off my pants-"**

Screaming, Jay shut the door with a resounding slam, panting against 
it in utter fear. When he looked up, Kel and Bob were standing 
there. Bob looked horrified, staring at Kel as if she had horns. 
Kel shrugged, looking resigned.

"I told you," she said. "Personally, I'm waiting for that plot bunny 
to *die*."

"*Fuck*," said Jay, slowly straightening. He took a deep drag of the 
cigarette.

"We go *home* now," he said decisively. Then he looked over at Kel, 
lines of worry crinkling his forehead. "We go home now?"

"As it turns out," the woman said, reaching for a large switch on the 
back wall, "yes." She pulled the switch down, and the cyclotron blue 
slowly faded, the theatre fading with it.

When the world faded back in, he was snuggled next to Bob in a 
familiar large bed. He peered around anxiously, but it did seem to 
be Bob's room. Oh, that was good. He'd had enough of zombies and 
spandex for one night.

Then his eyebrows rose, and he looked towards the computer. The 
monitor was off, but he'd left the drive active. Stealthily he left 
the bed, turning the screen on and the sound down low, booting up 
Diablo. What had she said about goat demons?

Carefully, he moved his Rogue down to Level 3...

END
(In order, if anyone cares: Diablo, Beetlejuice, Rockula, the Plot 
Bunny Department, Mystery Men, Diablo again, and South Park. 
Apologies to everyone for this, creators and readers alike.)
**************