Somewhere in the depths of the Heart of Rock 'n' Roll, a hippie girl is writing on a typewriter. Quite frankly, this typewriter is rather loud and it is, oh, ten o'clock at night. This isn't the best combination for the power of fanfic creation. Let's watch.

It the depths of a town called Ambrose

Dude. Why'd you stop?

PH5: The ink ribbon's out. *sob, sob*

Oh.

PH5: Not just "oh"! I have to do a ten page book report on this!!

Ooh. Well. The problem at hand is the creation of fanfic, not some life or death book report on Alas Babylon.

PH5: *writes in notebook*

In the depths of a town named Ambrose, in a large house worthy of any ghost story -----------

Dude. Why'd you write that line?

PH5: I got a paper cut. *sob, sob*

Man! C'mon! No more delays! We could make millions!

PH5: I'm not making money.

What?

PH5: It's fanfiction. I don't own it.

Right.... Well, good-bye, kid.

PH5: What?

Well, If we're not making money, I don't know why I should be here.

PH5: ... *sob*


Somewhere in the depths of a town called Ambrose, in a large house worthy of any ghost story, three people are sitting on a sagging couch watching "I Love Lucy" reruns. In reality this house isn't all that scary. It's just dirty. Like, so dirty you can't see the floor.

Les: ...There's some floor over there.

Shut up! You're ruining my description. At any rate, these three people are Lester and Vincent Sinclair and Morgan Daphne DelRossi.

Morgan: My full name? What are you, my mom?

Technically. I am the author, after all.

Morgan: Oh, yeah....

Anyway, these three people are sitting on their couch because they have nothing better to do, despite the fact that they are accomplished murderers. And, well, artists. They're versed in The Art of Death. That's a hint, you know. Go look at it. And review.

*there is silence except for the sound of the TV*

Do something!!

Les: What?

Anything! Look for the missing person!!

Morgan: Why would I want to look for him? That's stupid!

It's in your contract.

Les: We have no contract. You only own Morgue.

Morgan: Don't remind me. A fourteen year old hippie chick owns me.

...Deal with it. Now move.

And thus, the three search the town of Ambrose with no determination. They obviously could care less where Bo is. Especially Morgan. She'd dance on his grave. They soon are standing outside of the infamous House of Wax. There is piano music inside.

Morgan: That's my piano! It's been in my family for generationsssssssss!

Vincent: No.

In a dramatic attempt to save "her" piano, Morgan rushes into the House of Wax, followed by Vincent and Lester. She regrets it. Immediately.

For you see, Bo is there. Not only does Morgan hate Bo with a passion that rivals...a really bad rivalry, the circumstances make it worse. Said man is dressed in an outfit the screams "Tim Curry in Rocky Horror" and is holding a plastic microphone. Another man we know as Wade but is unknown to the rest because I haven't gotten that far in the rewrite yet is playing the piano. "Morgan's" piano. Out of nowhere, Bo begins to sing. Morgan hates it.

Bo: Would you dance, if I asked you to dance?

Morgan: No.

Bo: Would you run, and never look back?

Morgan: Hell, yeah.

Bo: Would you cry, if you saw me crying?

Morgan: I'd laugh.

Bo: And would you save my soul, tonight?

Morgan: What soul?

Bo: Would you tremble, if I touched your lips?

Morgan: Out of fear.

Bo: Would you laugh?

Morgan: If I was holding a knife, yeah.

Bo: Oh, please tell me this.

Morgan: ...What?

Bo: Now would you die,

Morgan: I don't plan on it.

Bo: For the one you love?

Morgan: I don't love you.

Bo: Hold me in your arms, tonight.

Morgan: Absolutely...not.

Bo: I can be your hero, baby.

Morgan: Don't call me that.

Bo: I can kiss away the pain.

Morgan: You're not kissing me.

Bo: I will stand by you forever.

Morgan: Oh, really?

Bo: You can take my breath away.

Morgan: By strangling you? Gladly.

Bo: Oh, I just wanna hold you.

Morgan: I object.

Bo: I just wanna hold you.

Morgan: Where's my attorney?

Bo: Oh, yeah.

Morgan: Oh, no.

Bo: Am I in too deep?

Morgan: Probably.

Bo: Have I lost my mind?

Morgan: That happened a long time ago.

Bo: Well, I don't care...

Morgan: You should.

Bo: You're here, tonight.

Morgan: ...I live here.

Bo: I can be your hero, baby.

Morgan: I don't need a hero.

Bo: I can kiss away the pain.

Morgan: I'm not in pain.

Bo: I will stand by you forever.

Morgan: What about when I'm ninety?

Bo: You can take my breath away.

Morgan: Sure. Just get me a rope.

Bo: I can be your hero.

Morgan: GODDAMMIT, WHAT DID I JUST SAY?

Bo: I can kiss away the pain.

Morgan: YOU'RE NOT KISSING ME!

Bo: And I will stand by you forever.

Morgan: I'M GOING BACK TO AMARILLO!

Bo: You can take my breath away...you can take --

*there is a sudden shot of Morgan strangling Bo with his own cape* Excuse us while we fix these technical difficulties.