We don't own it. We don't own anything. We are unashamed squatters using stolen computers in an atomic wasteland. Please... enjoy. Your amusement is our last great form of nourishment. Our last best hope for peace.

xxxx

The cast and crew of Buttercup 5 were gathered together in their entirety for the first time since that long off day (Sinclair liked to refer to it as 'The Dawn of the First Age of Mankind) when they had arrived in the bizarre movie world.

The Directors – of which there were conspicuously two – had demanded this gathering. Constellation was garbed all in black. Her train was being carried by the usual flotilla of green-clothed goblins, and her hat was a collection of bat-wings and spider-legs all held together with strawberry-patterned pink lace.

Sythar was also dressed in black, a kind of frightening gleaming black with a lot of black medals and black jewels and even more black leather which all gave the impression that it could cause epilepsy – even though it was just black.

"My friends," Constellation began, ignoring Ivanova's unladylike snort, and Morden's hysterical laughter. "We are gathered here to day to mourn the passing of our dear friend and colleague Count Undrai Montana (not to be confused with the state. He's much thinner). I ask that we hold a moment of silence."

The moment was held, everyone bowing their heads respectfully. Only Marcus had the nerve to edge closer to Sythar and whisper, "Is he dead?"

Sythar glared. "No. Worse. He's teaching English to small children – in a far off land."

"Yes..." Constellation shuddered. "He will never be the same again."

Marcus nodded sympathetically and the moment of silence continued. Just as it was threatening to stretch to uncomfortable proportions, Constellation clapped her hands and beamed.

"And I also want all of you to welcome our new partner and colleague Montana Jr. The Midget Lord of the Underwolrd."

Fire and brimstorne gushed out of the ground to Sythar's left, and a small figure appeared. He was clothed in molten lava robes, and carried a small pair of sunglasses, which he wore periodically when the lava flared up. Small blue horns curved out of his forehead. He gave the crew a genial salute, and a spark flicked across the room and burned the faces of a few hapless technicians. "Wotcha."

Sythar smiled. "Hmm. Yes. I'm sure you'll go far. Just don't set the set on fire too many times, hmm?"

"Yes." Constellation said. "That's Sythar's job. Don't let him get the megaphone." She turned to the crew. "All right, it's time for the next scene. Ready Miss Ivanova? Ready Mr Cole?"

Ivanova and Marcus exchanged glances. They were still in their 'fire swamp' costumes, though the make-up department had thoughtfully provided Marcus with a large and truly disgusting looking wound on his left shoulder. Ivanova had been present throughout the whole process... just in case the make-up lady should happen to get ideas.

"I suppose so," Ivanova said. "Let's get it over with."

"Splendid..." Montana Jr. picked up the golden flaming megaphone to his right. "Places then, everyone."

xxxxxx

Ivanova and Marcus strolled cheerfully towards the edge of the fireswamp. The sun was setting (again) in the distance, and the deep blue sea could be seen on the horizon.

Ivanova smiled. "Hmm. Lovely air they've got around here."

"Shall I package some so we can take it home as a souveneir?" Marcus asked, skipping to avoid a mud-puddle.

"Oh no. Then everyone would want some."

Constellation snatched the megaphone from Montana Jr. and managed not to wince as it scorched her fingers. "Action, please! Miss Ivanova, do try to look like you're frightened and exhausted. And Mr. Cole, you're wounded. Please remember this when skipping along and whistling 'Three Little Maids From School Are We.' Thank you!"

Ivanova concentrated, molding her expression to one of sacharine disbelief. She glanced out towards the horizon and sighed, leaning against Marcus's shoulder. "We did it."

"Now, was that so terrible?" Marcus asked. "After all, we're still alive, still breathing, and we even fell in a couple more of those sand-traps on our way out."

Ivanova grinned. "I did like those things. Remember when we found an alligator in one..."

"And it dug a whole new tunnel trying to get away from you?" Marcus nodded. "Come on. Let's try and make it to my pirate ship... the Ivanova."

"It's the 'Revenge'."

"That's what I said!" He ducked as she swiped at him. "Ouch."

"I didn't even hit you."

"I know. But I like to make you feel better for trying. That way sometimes you don't hit so hard."

"Surrender!" A voice called from further up the path.

"I never hit you hard."

Marcus snorted. "I'm all bruises. Some nights I can't even sleep from the pain. I weep into my pillow."

"You don't have a pillow."

The voice repeated itself. "Surrrrreenderr!"

"Well if I had a pillow, you can be certain that I would weep into it. You scar my heart with your calous indifference, my lady!" he placed a hand dramatically over his eyes. "I fear I will die broken-hearted and alone... deserted by those I love..."

"I'll scar more than your heart if you don't stop with the melodrama."

They almost bumped into a large white horse. Ivanova side-stepped, and Marcus made a absent-minded little bow.

"Oh, hello Londo." He helped Ivanova over a log. "Really, though, I think we need to sort this violence issue out. Soon. While I still have limbs."

"Violence issue? What violence issue?"

"Ummm..." Marcus glanced upwards. "Let me see, a tendency to attack everything that moves. A deathly glare. And a truly formidable vocabulary..."

"And how is this any different..."

Londo cleared his throat loudly. "If you don't mind..."

Ivanova and Marcus both spun around and glared at him. "Please," Ivanova said. "We're trying to have a conversation here."

"Oh. Sorrrry."

"Quite. As I was saying. How is any of that different to your penchant for large piece of two-by-four, singing Gilbert and Sullivan, and participating in every bar-room brawl on the station?"

Marcus pondered, one gloved had stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It isn't. Hah. Never mind, forget I mentioned it." He beamed, and turned back to Londo. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"Surrenderr?" Londo said in a small voice. He was seated on a large white horse-like robot, and was flanked by three minbari in guard costumes, and Bester. Somehow Bester managed to look relaxed and calm. Even though he was dressed in black leather. And it was the middle of summer.

Marcus glanced from Londo to Bester to the Minbari. "Oh. You mean you wish to surrender to me? Ah. Very well, I accept. But on two conditions. One, you must promise to have your guards form a chorus line and sing Kumbaya. And two, you must swear to never again wear purple."

There was a pause. "But I look stunning in purrple!"

"That," Marcus said severely. "Is a matter of opinion."

Londo muttered under his breath, and then tugged out his script and scanned the next few lines. "I give you full marks for brrrraverry... and insolence... but don't make yourrrself any morre of a fool than you alrready have, yes?"

"Ah, but how will you capture us?" Marcus asked with a cherubic smile. "Send your charming assosciates into the fire swamp? We all know how well that worked out last time, don't we? Anyway, we quite like it in there. We have food, drink, a charming view from the living room window... Anytime you want to visit for tea and crumpets, feel free to pop in."

"I tell you once again," Londo folded his arms impressively and nearly fell off the horse. "Surrenderr!"

"It will not happen. Not in this lifetime. If it looks possible in my next lifetime I'll give you a call. We'll do lunch."

Ivanova glanced over her script and then looked from one side to the next. A small centauri was hunched in the shadows, pointing a vicious looking crossbow directly at Marcus. She raised an eyebrow, and glared. As though being warned by some sort of sixth sense, the centauri looked up and caught her gaze...

"For the last time, Misterrr Cole... Surrrenderrr!"

There was a thud. Marcus and Londo exchanged glances, and then looked at Ivanova.

"My sweet, what was that?"

"Oh nothing. Just a tree falling in the forest."

"Ah." Marcus nodded sagely. "In that case, nobody cares. Except maybe Londo." He turned back to the Emperor, and took a deep breath. "Death first! Preferably Morden's, but Bester's will do just as well!"

Bester smiled, and touched his forehead in a slight salute. "Charmed, Mr Cole."

Marcus nodded back. "Delighted, Mr Bester."

"Do you," Ivanova said firmly, walking up to Londo and eyeballing him. "Promise not to hurt him?"

"Hmm?" Londo was feeling slightly left out of the loop. "What's that? Prrromise?"

"Yes, what was that?" Marcus stepped to her side. "You don't need to do anything hasty, oh magnificent one."

"This isn't being hasty, this is me not wanting to sit around and watch you three banter for hours. I get plenty enough of that in the Council." She looked back at Londo. "If we pretend to surrender for tactical purposes – should really be called a strategic temporary retreat – and I sort of return with you as a spy, will you promise not to hurt this doofus?"

There was a short silence as all three men tried to decipher what she'd said.

"Doofus?" Marucs said. "Doofus?"

Londo placed one hand over his heart. "May I live a thousand years and never eat spoo again."

"What do you mean Doofus?"

Ivanova ignored Marcus. "He is a sailor on the Pirate Ship 'Ivanova'..."

"Revenge."

"That's what I said." She glared at Bester. "Promise to return him to his ship."

"Do you mean doofus as a term of endearment?"

"I swearrrr to you..." Londo took her hand. "It shall be done, yes?"

She nodded, and then pulled away from him and walked to Marcus's side. They exchanged glances. Marcus mouthed the word 'Doofus?'

"Well... you are."

"Is it even a word?"

"One of the best."

"So, it's a nice word?"

"Umm..." she shrugged. "Shut up and kiss me."

As has been said, even under the slur of 'doofus' no ranger ever misses a good oportunity. Marcus complied with alacrity, and both Bester and Londo groaned under their breaths and turned away.

Londo lowered his voice. "Once we arrre out of sight, take Marrcus back to Centaurrri Prime and throw him in the Pit of Despair, yes?"

"I swear it will be fun." Bester smiled. "Oops. I meant 'done'."

"Rrrright." Londo raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I'm surrre you rrealise that if you actually hurrrt him, Miss Ivanova will be verrry upset?"

"Naturally." Bester's smile didn't waver. "I know everything. At times. For instance, your mother's maiden name was..."

"Stop that!" Londo shook his head. "Stay out of my head, telepath."

"Psycop."

"Same thing."

"Do I," Bester asked. "Call you a king?"

"Emperrror."

"Same thing."

Ivanova cleared her throat loudly, and they subsided. The second longest kiss in the history of mankind had finally finished, so she looked into Marcus's dazed eyes. "I thought you were dead once – more than once if memory serves – and it almost destroyed me. I'll be damned if I'll let you do the whole life-sucking machine sacrifice thing again when I could save you."

"I know." Marcus kissed her cheek. "Reruns are a terrible bore, aren't they?"

With great care, Londo rode his robot-horse up to Ivanova and lifted her up behind him. The horse teetered away under the load, and Bester trotted up and surveyed Marcus ironically. He had a very large sword, which he was holding rather disdainfully in one hand.

"Come, Mister Cole. We must get you to your boat."

"Ship."

"Whatever."

Marcus grinned. "We are men of action, sir... whoops! No, sorry, I'm a man of action and you're a slimy murdering psychopathic telepath. But that works, too! Lies do not become either of us. You more than me, but even so..."

"Well spoken, sir," Bester said with a chuckle. "I admire your creativity, and thank my good luck that you do not have a thick plank of two-by-four handy."

"Ooo, ooo , ooo!" Marcus jumped up and down, pointing dramatically at Bester's hand. "Ooo! Look! Ooo!"

"What is it?" Bester glanced down. "Is it a spider, a small poisonous creature of death?"

"I have to read your fortune!" Marcus grabbed for Bester's right hand and peered at it intently. "Let's see here... this little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed at home – stopp tugging – this little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none, and this little piggy went whee-whee-whee all the way home, and came back with reinforcements! Another little piggy!" He smiled rather brightly. "Six little piggies, imagine that. Your future is clear before me – you're going to be horribly dismembered by a man called Inigo Garibaldi -"

Bester finally tugged his hand free and pulled at his sword. It came loose and fell to the ground. He sighed. "I am going to improvise, Mister Cole. Go to sleep."

Marcus froze, went theatrically rigid, and collapsed backwards onto the ground.

"Cut!" Montana Jr shouted...

"Ooo, mister Rugen!" a voice came from the ground. "I found your sword Mister Rugen. Lovely big handle... big enough for six piggies!"

Thud.

In the interests of keeping the rating of this program as low as possible... we will fade out here and leave Bester and Marcus to their own devices.