Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Author's Note: Thank you, Ysolde. I love this idea of the Scafia. And thank you for challenging me to put it into the story. Oh, and say hi to Tristan for me.

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Muses Behaving Badly

Chapter Seven: The Scafia

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I stared at my nail polish, sitting on the dryer and waiting for my laundry to finish. I really didn't have to but I was bored. And the vibrations were kind of fun, I giggled to myself. I had, officially, nothing left to do. Well, except for clean up after THEM. They were officially THEM and they would stay THEM until after I had a lobotomy, I decided.

Thanks to a midnight IM chat session with a friend from Denmark, I officially understood why Cerdic and Tristan got on so well. It was the Scafia, the bizarre fact that Scandinavians tended to migrate to each other if for no other reason than they were Scandinavians.

Yes, the Scandinavian version of the Mafia without the criminal element. Hence the name. That was the only reason that I could come up with, honestly. Of course it had taken almost an hour for her to get me to understand that every nation in northern Europe wasn't part of the Scafia.

Hey, it was late and I was running on far too little caffeine. It didn't help that my friends had decided to see what was going on in my house and I'd had to banish the immortal nicknamed Death from my bedroom in haste.

Hey, I like Methos.

Sue me.

In any case, my friends had decided that what I desperately needed was a date.

Hence the nail polish.

In less than two hours I would be picked up by some blonde Adonis, according to my friends, who apparently spoke very little English and was just arm candy. I was under orders to get very drunk and possibly laid. Hopping down from the white appliance with not a little apprehension, I headed down the hallway, balancing on the balls of my feet so that my toes didn't touch the carpet and possibly smudge my polish. Laid. Wonderful, I groused, heading into the kitchen. It wasn't like I didn't get laid, I muttered to myself. I'd had sex last--that brought me to a halt.

And brought to me the horror-filled realization that imaginary muses springing from the darkest corners of my mind had far more sex than I did.

Sweet gods, I'm going to be sick.

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The house was blissfully quiet when I finally managed to push the door open and get inside. The date, if it could be called that, had been horrid. That's what I get for going on a date with--what the hell had he been? I knew a smattering of German and Danish and he hadn't spoken either. I hadn't been able to place his accent but I had been able to place his hands. They'd been everywhere.

There was an advantage to having muses who were big, strong, fierce men. It made self-defense second nature. That and I'd suddenly been struck with an Obi-Wan fic idea as I climbed into the taxi. Alone. It would have been hard for my so-called date to go anywhere with the damage I'd done to him.

There was going to be no second date.

"The Force is strong within you, little one," offered Obi-Wan from the doorway to my bedroom.

I raised an eyebrow and shook my head. I'd gotten used to the fact that all of my muses had taken it upon themselves to exercise the same liberties as my King Arthur muses. Though there were now ground rules.

No orgies.

No orgies unless I participated.

Which equated to no orgies.

"Well, Obi, don't know about the force but the Jagermeister is strong within me." I grinned at the padawan before me. "Ya know, I think I prefer you as the General," I admitted, leaning against the wall and watching as the muse morphed into his older version. "Very nice." Satisfied, I headed towards the kitchen before I came to a halt. "Obi, what do you know about the Scafia?"

Obi-Wan shuddered dramatically. "Enough. Why?"

I shook my head. It was bad form to mix fandoms, I knew. "Never mind. Hey, say hi to Qui-Gon, will ya?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi nodded and popped out of existence.

Just another night in my kitchen.

"From Jedi Knight to me," purred Lancelot.

Sweet Gods, I was going to have to take my brain and donate it. I wonder if they would take it used.

TBC...

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To My Wonderful Reviewers

Saxongirl345: No worries, just glad that you're liking this one. Never underestimate the ability of men to be dogs. And there's this wonderful thing called pay per view, which is how the boys got a porno. So glad that you liked the Cyrnic/Bridget chat--I was thinking of your stories when I wrote that scene.

Cleopatra32003: Oooh, bad visual of Cyrnic watching a porn flick with his dad. Eek. Fair enough.

Lady Marek: So glad you like this story. And, yes, I think that we all would love to be in the middle of that particular scene (damn, so tempting to turn this a Mary Sue but….must…resist). Well, yes, Arthur could demand to have it turned off but then again, it's all about learning. An exchange of ideas. And body fluids. So glad that you're enjoying.

Arden: So glad that you think I rock. Yay! So glad that you are enjoying the stories and I'm glad that you liked Tristan rocking out. Though I have it on good authority from another muse tender that he apparently sits in a corner with a small smile on his face. Oh, well. Had to get at least one thing wrong about the boy.

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