Michael, Lincoln, T-bag, and Abruzzi, had escaped successfully, and were taking temporary refuge in a dilapidated shack-house, waiting for things to cool down before looking for Westmorland's Utah cash. Lincoln and Abruzzi were out buying food and more importantly, tequila and sexy costumes to induce slashfics, leaving Michael all alone with T-bag. Upon leaving, Lincoln warned T-bag that if he harmed Michael, Lincoln would rip both of the Southerner's legs off and eat them with a smile on his face.
"T-bag! What are you doing?" Michael asked irritably, "I said to look up if we've been seen yet."
"Relax, Pretty." T-bag drawled, not even bothering to look up from the computer screen, "I already did that, they think we're in Florida."
"We're in Oregon."
"Well, I know that!" T-bag snapped, "Now go away, I'm trying to read."
"Read?" Michael asked, suddenly curious.
He read over the older man's shoulder, his eyebrows rising higher and higher until they disappeared. T-bag's grin seemed to get a little toothier with each word. Halfway through the paragraph, Michael quickly turned away. He kept opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, seemingly at a loss for words.
"What is this? Why are we in it? Why am I wearing a geisha outfit? Why is LJ totally hammered and wearing a miniskirt? Why are you wearing a panda suit?" Michael shot out his horrified questions rapidly.
"It's called Fan Fiction, Pretty." T-bag said, gazing at the screen almost lovingly. "And in it, the characters get to do whatever the hell the author wants them to."
"Like wear panda suits." said Michael, trying to imagine the rapist/murderer in a panda suit.
"Precisely." T-bag confirmed.
"That's weird."
"Says the male geisha."