Subreality Cafe (Month Of Muses): Together Again
By Jewels

Hiya, okay, after lurking around for a while, I've decided to pipe up. So, here is my contribution to MoM and a little pic of my muse as well (drawn as a result of extreme boredom in biology). My first SC-related fic, be kind and please don't hurt me. :)

Disclaimer: MoM belongs to Farli, and Humbug is not mine, she's her own darling little character who will die if she tries to get me to finish that *terrible* crossover...

It had been about three weeks since my cat had died; this really sweet Tabby Cat I just adored. Of course, it was traditional for witches to have cats, but I had this cat just for fun -- besides, the fad is for owls now, creatures which have never particularly appealed to me. Although...I'm not a witch, per se...but that's a *really* long story...

So, I was understandably surprised when my apparently dead cat suddenly appeared to me, sitting on my chair with her nose in a book. I must have stood there for at least three minutes, making inarticulate noises before Humbug turned around and said,

"Are you just going to stand there until hell freezes over or you die? Whichever comes first?"

Somehow I managed to find my voice, but for the life of me, I have no idea why I came up with something as stupid as:

"What the hell are you doing in my chair?"

"Nice to see you again, honey," said the cat with saccharine sweetness.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, going for the usual clichés in startled questions. Hey, if it worked for Captain Kirk... "You're dead."

I didn't think it was possible for a cat to grimace. But Humbug did. "Yeah, I am."

"So I refer you to question one," I told her, setting the mug of coffee next to her and batting her nose to keep her from sipping it.

"You know Vicki, your friend that writes?"

"Yeah, she wrote that...oh what was it called, 'Brother Hunt' that's it." I shrugged. "So?"

"So, you became really determined to outdo her, didn't you? I mean, you became determined to become a writer, and outdo her. You do it with everything you do. If your friends can do something, you try and match or outdo them." Humbug shrugged. "A personality quirk I'd call it, or maybe you'd prefer character flaw?" she suggested slyly.

I felt like grabbing that little creep around her throat. "What are you? A psychoanalyst?"

"No, dear, just your muse."

"Muse? Hummie..."

"You became determined to outdo her, so you became determined to become a writer, and here I am."

I regarded her sceptically for a moment. "My muse?"

Humbug dipped her head. "Yep."

"But you've only been dead for three weeks...and how can you be a muse if you're dead?"

"Don't question these things, sweetie, it'll just confuse you."

"But...what about the time? Three weeks? I wouldn't have thought that enough time to become a muse..."

"Well," Humbug tilted her head. "The timekeeping's a little...variable." She caught my raised eyebrow and snapped. "What sort of explanation do you expect? I'm a muse not a temporal physicist." She sat back on her haunches and idly started cleaning her whiskers. "And when I heard you were in need of a muse...well...I just couldn't resist...even if my choice did piss Miss High-and-Mighty off."

"I won't ask," I said, and knew that I probably would at a later date, and would also come to regret it.

"Well," said Humbug briskly, snapping my thoughts back to the here and now. "Since you wanted to become a writer. Let's get you started."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, slightly amused.

"You know, dear," Humbug lay down on the desk, her head only slightly raised above her forepaws. "I have this great idea for a crossover fic..."