Sitting on the kitchen chair, Philip whistled to himself as he scanned through the Saturday morning comic strips in the paper. A cooling cup of coffee sat on the table, by his hand, sunlight shining in from the only window beside the sink.

Annie was humming to herself as she buttered her toast on the counter. "Anything interesting happening in the world?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, licking extra butter and jam from her fingertips.

"Nothing much." He replied.

Wearing only boxer shorts, he scratched thoughtfully at his knee as he moved onto the sports pages. His girlfriend put the butter and jam away, joining him at the table, cup of tea in one hand, their plate of toast in the other.

"You know if you're on tonight?" Putting the plate down next to the paper, she ruffled his hair as she sat down.

"I should be so lucky." Swatting her hand away and snatching one of her slices of toast, he started nibbling on the crust. A fond smile crossed Annie's face, as she started writing down the shopping list on a notepad, sipping from her mug.

Both of them looked down at a mew from the floor. A silver and black tabby tom cat that the couple had bought two and a half years earlier, shortly after they had moved in together, pawed at Phil's leg and he chuckled, bending to scoop the kitten up.

"Good morning to you too, you noisy little fuzzball." He rubbed his nose against Mini-Munk's, the cat bought and named on a night that Phil had been playing Munkustrap before he had left to join Starlight Express. "Do you need fed?"

Mini-Munk purred, pawing at Phil's face.

"No, he doesn't." Annie added with a chuckle. "I fed him already."

"Aww, is mummy being mean to you, Mini-Munk? Is mummy stopping you from eating lots of rubbish?" Swinging the purring tom up over his head he gave him a playful shake. "Mummy doesn't want you getting all fat, just like daddy."

"And you wonder why I don't want to have kids." Annie shook her head, grinning. Her boyfriend gave her a mock-offended look, sitting Mini-Munk in his lap, rubbing between the tom's ears.

"I would be a great dad! I'm so young at heart!"

"And at mind." She muttered against the rim of her coffee cup. Twinkling blue eyes glanced up at Philip, who dignified her with a mature sticking-out-of-his-tongue. "I think that just proved my point, dear."

"Morning."

The couple looked up as a third figure shambled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, her long, red hair tousled around her face. Maria had been living with the couple for nearly six months and had become almost an extension of their little family.

"Actually, its afternoon." Phil pushed a heap of papers off one of the remaining chairs with his foot, almost dislodging Mini-Munk in the process. Maria pulled a face, sitting down and opening her arms. Immediately, the little tabby scrambled to her. "You little traitor!"

Maria gave him a smug look, Mini-Munk stretching lazily against her, his paws kneading the red-haired artist's shoulder. "Just because I have charm, personality and good looks doesn't mean you should be jealou...er...never mind." She waved imperiously, her eyes dancing with glee. "Continue being jealous."

"Maria, you're evil." Annie snickered.

She looked shocked. "No! I'm nice!"

"Keep telling yourself that. No one else would believe it." Phil grumbled, dusting toast crumbs and cat furs off his boxer shorts and chest. "Are you two going to come and lurk at the stage door or is the gallery actually open today?"

The brunette pulled a face. "Its open all right." She replied, laying down her pen. "I'm on floor duty this evening, cos they've got some big show from Japan opening. They need people to serve vol-au-vents and drinks and muggins got roped into it."

"Poor baba." Phil pouted at her. "Does the poor Annie-being have to work?"

"And the Maria-being." Maria sighed, shaking her head. "Its ridiculous, I'm telling you. No one should ever have to work."

Phil chuckled, rounding the table to go into the living room. "At least you don't have to dance for five hours today." He paused to drop a kiss on the top of Annie's head. "For all I know, I could be on for both shows and I'll be all tired when I get home..."

"In other words," Annie muttered conspiratorially to Maria. "He's going to use all the hot water when he gets home."

"Hey!" He protested, trying not to grin. "Would I do such a thing?"

Maria frowned, as if thinking hard. Her eyes glinted with mischief. "Well, you did when you were on for both shows of Starlight and you locked us both out of the flat so we couldn't stop you, dear."

"Would I do something that mean?"

Chuckling, Annie reached up to bring his lips down to hers. "Repeatedly." She replied.

Grumbling petulantly, the sandy-haired dancer stomped huffily off towards the bathroom to get dressed for work, leaving his brunette girlfriend and their flame-haired roommate chuckling in the kitchen.

***

"I am electric, feel my attraction...Scuse me! Coming through!"

On brilliant blue roller skates, the dancer spun to a halt outside Covent Garden tube station, a grin on his face. He glanced down at his specialist footwear, the broad, plastic bands around his ankles invisible to the average observer.

If any fan of Starlight Express happened to pass by, though, they would easily recognise his stylised skates as those that mysteriously...vanished on the night that Phil Tennant had left the role of Bobo.

Jogging on the spot, he spun in a casual circle, glancing at his watch. He was meant to be meeting Menke and Demi for a coffee before the show, but – having skated instead of walked from the flat – he had reached their meeting spot early.

Reaching down into his massive pocket, he turned up the volume on his walkman, AC/DC blasting through his headphones, as he continued to boredly skate back and forth, his feet instinctively beginning to move in the familiar steps of the routine.

At least a dozen times in his run in the skating musical, Phil had been upgraded from the role of the French train to that of Electra and he knew the routine as well as he knew his own, much in the same way as he knew all his swing roles.

Despite being laden down with more clothing than a regular Starlight Express character would wear, he could still perform most of the steps, his jeans loose enough to allow a high-kick or two and he was grateful that - for a Tuesday afternoon - it was fairly quiet in Covent Garden.

Depositing his nearly empty rucksack on the ground at his feet, he cheerfully threw himself into the energetic routine out of sheer boredom, ending it with a dramatic spin, his arms spread at his sides.

In the silence between AC/DC and the next song on the CD, he became aware of muffled applause from nearby and looked around in surprise at a crowd gathered around him, hastily switching his CD player off.

His face flaming, he looked down at his rucksack, a pile of coins lying there. A slight grin made it onto his lips, and he bent and hastily gathered up the change. He shoved it in his pockets, swinging his rucksack onto his back and making a quick bow, receiving another smattering of applause from his audience.

"Nice to see you're not all about attention seeking, Phil." A familiar voice spoke from just inside the station. Phil twirled to come face-to-face with the smirking Menke. "Since you're such a hotshot, you can pay for coffee."

"Its not my fault!" Phil protested, unable to quash a grin. "Can I help it if they like me shaking my bonbon?"

Demi peered over her husband's shoulder, her gold eyes dancing. "You would probably have got a whole lot more if you were naked." She remarked dryly, then squealed in surprise when Phil smirked, peeling off his Starlight Express Bomber Jacket. "Phil!"

"What?" He gave her an innocent look. "I'm broke."

"But you can't strip in Covent Garden!"

He mulled over it for a few minutes, his brow wrinkled in thought. "You're right, of course, Dem." Sighing, he pulled his jacket back on properly. "I would have to start at Trafalgar Square and move up."

"You're terrible, Phil." Menke couldn't help laughing, as he brought his pregnant wife alongside him. She was almost six months along and was just starting to show. "I can't work out what Annie sees in you."

"It could be my wit." Phil gave them an angelic smile. "Or my large..."

"Large...?"

"Rubber duckie."

Demi snorted. "So that's what they're calling it now..."

"Of course." Phil flashed a devilish grin at her. "But, now, mes amis, shall we adjourn to the coffee house?"

"And get you jazzed on caffeine?" Menke's face twisted into an expression of worry.

The sandy-haired dancer grinned, showing all his teeth. "Zactly!"

***

"Yello?"

"Afternoon, Tommy-chuck!"

The Oriental dancer lowered the book she and her over were reading together. She was sitting against the arm of the couch, her left leg stretched along the cushions, her right dangling down, her toes twisting in the thick carpet.

Sylvie was sitting with her back resting comfortably against Tommy's chest, the dark-haired woman's right arm loosely looped under the blonde's firm breasts, Sylvie's fingers twined through hers.

"Good afternoon, Menke." The darker of the pair replied, smiling and shaking her head down at Sylvie, who tilted her head back to raise questioning eyebrows at Tommy. "What can I do you for?"

"Shouldn't that be how much can you do me for?" She could see his broad, impish grin and replied with a familiar and colourful expletive that drew a chuckle from him. "Such language from a little lady!"

"Wait til I get started, stripey."

"No time, Tommy-lady! I'm ringing to ask if Andy is there."

Chuckling, she retorted. "Where else would the big loon be, you daft bugger? He has a choice of his step-brother's box room or he has a cosy bed with a small and cosy person in it. I know which I would take."

"Only if I'm the small and cosy person in the bed." Sylvie murmured, teasingly nuzzling under Tommy's chin, receiving a swat from her lover. "Whaaaaat?" She whined plaintively, before receiving a silencing kiss from Tommy.

"So he's there then?" Menke was clearly trying to ignore the feminine giggling.

"Indeed he is. Want me to get him?"

"Actually, Tommy, you wonderful vixen of a person, you," She could hear someone egging him on in the background. "Phil and I were both wondering if you could break one or both of his legs in the next half an hour."

"Any reason why?"

There was a pause. "Well...uh...cos we want to go on as Munkustrap."

"And you want me to break his legs? Isn't that a bit drastic?"

"Break both of his legs...dislocate his shoulders by pushing him down the stairs...feed him a curry that has him on the toilet for a week...whatever works as long as Phil and I get a chance at playing the big stripy guy."

Tommy chuckled. "You two are very ambitious."

"Nope!" He replied. "We're just desperate not to be playing the kittens tonight. And everyone knows I'm the best Munkustrap anyway, so there's really not much of a point letting Andy go on while I work at the theatre."

"So modest."

"Aren't I just?"

"Fraid I can't help boys."

"CHICKEN!"

Tommy cleared her throat. "Menke, tell Phil I will choose to ignore that for the time being." She said calmly. "For his information, I'm not at all afraid of Andy, the management, or God striking me down with a lightening bolt. Tell him that I live with Blue and that's reason enough."

There was a brief moment of conference on the other end of the line before Menke spoke again. "We now agree that it would be far too dangerous for you to harm the lover of the endangered species of blue-haired kneecap-biters." He said gravely.

"Aaaaaaaaaaand?" She prompted.

"Is there any possible way you could make it look like an accident?" A voice spoke, muffled, to him on the other end of the line. "Phil suggests a roller skate at the top of the stairs is always a good option."

"No, I'm not helping Andy fall down the stairs." Stroking her girlfriend's cheek as she spoke, she laughed softly. "He can do it well enough on his own."

"Not even a little push?"

"Not even a breath of air."

"Spoilsport." Menke groused.

Tommy snickered. "Boy, you and Phil better hope and pray that neither of you have to face the Bomb-machine this afternoon." She smirked, as Sylvie steered one manicured hand to her breast. "You're going to pay for calling me names."

"Phil says you don't scare him."

Tommy's brow arched. "Remind him," She suggested, her smirk widening. "Of the summer of 1994, when he forgot to close the bathroom door properly, when Malcolm had just moved in with the pair of us."

There was a long silence.

"Okay. Phil says that he's justifiably scared of you. I, on the other hand, have no fear!"

"Matches your brains, sweetie."

"Did you just insult me?"

She chuckled. "Would I?" Menke snorted. "Well, sweets, sorry to talk and run, but I have a horny blonde with her boob rubbing against my hand, so you'll excuse me if I hang up right about now...and no! You can't watch!"

"Why on earth not?" Sylvie murmured, pulling herself up to the level of Tommy's face. "You're getting to be quite the prude."

Weaving her hands through Sylvie's long hair, she claimed the blonde's lips in a fierce kiss. "I only said no," She murmured. "Cos it would have taken them half an hour to get over here and I really don't wanna wait that long."

"Uh, guys?" Menke's voice rang through the phone. "We're still here."

"Never said you couldn't listen, sweetie." Tommy murmured huskily into the mouthpiece.

In a matter of seconds, the phone rang off, the lovers chuckling as they sank down on the couch together.

***

"Guten afternoon, people-types!"

Jordan and Rachel looked up from the couch in the common area, both nodding a greeting to Phil and Menke as they entered. The two male dancers had just left Demi at Covent Garden minutes before and had reached the theatre in record time.

"How goes?" Menke added with a smile, snatching a drink from the counter.

"I'm pregnant." Rachel murmured serenely, a peaceful smile on her face. Menke's drink bounced all over his feet, soaking right through to his socks. Phil gawped, uttered an expletive and gawped some more.

"Uh...how far on?"

Rolling her head on her shoulders, her body perched in her husband's lap, his arms around her, she touched her stomach lightly. "Three nights." She replied huskily, Jordan's hand overlaying hers.

Menke and Phil exchanged looks and rolled their eyes. "There has to be something in that wall." Phil remarked dryly.

"Going to show it to Annie?" The black- and silver-haired dancer suggested with a wicked grin.

"Actually, no." He pulled a face at his friend. "For some reason, she doesn't think I'm mature enough to be a father yet."

Menke feigned shock. "I can't imagine where she gets that idea from!"

"Shut it you." Phil tried not to grin and failed. "So, guys, who knows whose on tonight?"

Jordan looked up from placing gentle kisses to his wife's neck. "I'm not on for a couple of days." He said. "I sprained my ankle last night during the Ball." Raising his right foot, he waved it as emphasis. "Looks like one of you two will be on."

"Spiffy! Coricosplat is one of my specialities!" Phil rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I've played him before."

Jordan's pierced eyebrow rose. "What did you call him?"

"Uh...Corico...pat?"

"May I remind you that he is my character." Stone-faced, Jordan's eyes revealed nothing. "I would advise you to play him seriously. No messing with the make-up. No smiling. No stealing sweets from children."

"But I..."

"No stealing sweets from children."

"Not even...?"

"NO stealing sweets from children."

Phil pouted. "But with the make-up and the staring, they get freaked and feed you to make you go away!"

"You're missing the point, Phil." Rachel remarked, running a hand over her husband's head with a smile. "You're meant to keep freaking them until they start crying. You're not meant to give into bribery."

Phil's face fell. "Oh."

"Cheer up, Phil." Menke nudged his friend cheerfully. "I'm sure that a smiling, naughty Coricopat is a... very... normal...th...thing..." He slowly trailed off as Jordan's cool stare turned towards him. "Uh...on the other hand, maybe not."

Phil had backed behind the taller dancer. "Menke..." He whimpered. "He's scaring me...can we go and hide in warm-ups already..."

The older dancer seemed to agree with this assessment of the situation, both he and Phil backing away towards the door and gripping each other's hands, staring at Jordan with sheer terror on their faces.

As the door closed, Rachel turned to her husband and kissed the tip of his nose. "You really are far too good at that."

"Naturally." He murmured, reaching up to kiss her gently. "Make sure you scare them for me during the show. I'll try and get tickets..."

"See you later, hon." With a last kiss, she got to her feet and ran after the two other dancers for the warm-ups. Jordan chuckled, getting to his feet and gathering his crutches up to hop towards the door.

***

"Mind if I sit down here?"

Leo raised a brow. "Aren't you meant to be on in, what? Twenty minutes?"

"Probably."

"Any reason you're sitting down here?"

"Can't face sitting up there."

Leo gave him a sympathetic look. "Makes sense. Make yourself at home. And don't get make-up on the furniture."

"Thanks, man."

"Not a problem."

***

"Phil?"

"Menke!" Covering her chest with both hands, Joely squealed.

The older dancer winked at her, his face make-up free. "Looking good, Jo." He glanced around the room. "Have any of you lovely ladies seen Phil?"

"Not unless he's hiding under our desks, Menke." Miranda replied. She had arrived late because of a family emergency and her two-piece Armani suit was in the process of being stripped off.

Leona Wallace, the new Jennyanydots, shrugged. "Last I saw was when he was being given his role. Sorry Menke."

The black and silver haired dancer groaned. "This is typical! If I don't drag him up to the stage area soon, we won't have a Tugger this afternoon!"

"Any reason why?" Rachel asked.

Menke nodded. "He's the only swing, apart from me, who could play Tugger today and I can't, cos my costume isn't ready yet and all the other Tuggers and Tugger understudies are so skinny I can't fit into their costumes, so he's the only one we have left." He looked at the four women. "If you see him, tell him we need to see him in the green room."

"Sure, Menke." Rachel replied, in the final stages of her make-up.

She and Ron Watts, the new Coricopat understudy had done an extra run through of some of their routines after the warm-ups, just to boost his confidence a little, which meant she was one of the last to start doing her make-up.

Making sure the door was shut after the dancer, Joely lowered her hands. "I hate it when they do that!" She exclaimed, then released an ear-splitting shriek when Menke flung the door open again and there was a click and flash. "Menke!"

"Still lookin' perky, Jo!" He called, laughing, before disappearing out into the hall again, his camera in hand.

"Note to self, kill him slowly and painfully after the show." She scowled at her reflection in the mirror, then reached for her burgundy unitard which was hanging over the back of her chair, waiting to be donned.

Miranda snickered. "You could always start wearing a bra under your costume, Jo." She suggested, blue eyes dancing. "It would make it a bit harder for him to get pictures of you half naked, y'know."

"Wear a bra?" Rachel pretended to look horrified, pulling her own unitard on quickly. "When her boobs are flatter than pancakes? Surely that's a bit too much effort...I mean, putting on one extra piece of clothing..."

Giving the two women a look that was pure Cassandra, the dancer's lip curled. "I don't find that very amusing."

"Well we do!" Miranda shouted with laughter. Rachel nodded and grinned, Leona chuckling to herself as she dusted the powder from her final attempt at the make-up and the first she had actually liked.

Pulling a face at the trio, Joely sat down on her seat, bending at the waist and smoothing the legs of her costume to remove any unsightly wrinkles. "And to think that everyone outside this room thinks that you three are the wise, mature ladies..."

"I am!" Miranda grinned, adding her brows. "I'll have you know that I'm a consummate professional! I even wear Armani!" She smirked, leaning back from the mirror. "And hot damn, I look good in it too!"

It was true.

Miranda – prior to her arrival at Cats – had worked in modelling as well as being a classically trained Opera singer, although she had been told as a teenager that she was simply too tall to be a ballet dancer, her dream career.

In spite of that, she had still learned ballet, tap and jazz dancing, although her voice skills had gradually taken precedence, as she developed a reputation as a classical singer with a powerful three-octave range voice.

Her looks helped there as well.

Statuesque, with a stunning, hourglass figure, deep blue eyes and always impeccably groomed golden hair, she always turned up for work wearing business suits, which meant that she was regularly ignored by fans at the stage door as she departed.

Most seemed to think she was someone at management level and only the incredibly alert ever realised who she actually was. Fortunately as she saw it, she looked so professional that most people backed away in terror, lest she sue them for blocking her path.

"Randa, I hate to remind you, but you also wear a bodice and feathery trousers and sing to a pirate in Italian." Leona put in dryly, eyes dancing with mischief.

Miranda sniffed. "And your point is?"

"That you aren't exactly the most normal of people."

"Preaching to the converted, sweets." The golden haired singer cooed, finishing her make-up and grabbing the powder puff and dashing powder all over her face.

As the powder cloud around her head dispersed and the powder settled on her face, she started singing scales to warm up her voice, in preparation for the show, as she removed her black skirt and carefully hung it up.

It went without saying that it looked very strange: Her golden hair caught in a wig-cap, her face covered in white powder and her body clad only in a large and very loose England football shirt and black tights, while she warbled her way through three octaves of scales.

"And she says she's a professional." Joely muttered under her breath.

***

"Its your first night on as Mungojerrie!" A hand pretending to be a microphone was thrust under Adam Lanai's nose by Nicky Jonson, the shortest of the male dancers backed up by the other kittens, all of whom were grinning widely at the new Mungojerrie. "How do you feel?"

"Like I need to puke all over the front of a certain Carbucketty's pretty costume." The young Phillipino Dancer replied, wiping his sweaty palms down the front of his unitard.

Jenni threw a friendly arm around his neck, grinning at him. "Don't you be a-worryin' about it, guv'na!" She cooed, cheerfully. "Oi'll be dere wit' ya and Oi'll be makin' sure you ain't not trippin' on yer tail"

"I don't think that was quite the comfort he was looking for, Jen." Steffi drawled, chuckling. "On the plus side, Adam, you got through rehearsals without falling for any of Menke and Andy's booby traps."

"Unlike...well...everyone else." A softly-accented voice added, slightly Jamaican in origin, the pile of kittens spinning to find the new Gus standing there, smiling.

Senke Jorik was the least likely Gus to ever tread the New London stage, with a frightening mass of dreadlocks hanging – uncontrolled – over his handsome, dark face.

Or at least, they had hung to his waist until he had been cast, then he been forced to shave his head for the first time in twenty years.

Most of the cast had been astounded to learn that – between singing for fun in various musical groups and being an actor in the Royal Shakespeare company – he had found time several years earlier to earn a doctorate in Psychology and Philosophy at Oxford.

"Hey! Gusmon!" The fond nickname had been given to him during rehearsals, where he continually had lapsed into character to chastise the kittens who were 'playing' too enthusiastically.

"Ya, mon?" He flashed a brilliant grin at them. "Dats what you be wantin' to hear, eh, mon?"

Georgina cracked up, leaning against Steffi. "Oh man...a rastafarian Gus..."

"Hey, mon," Exaggerating his native accent, the dark-skinned actor smiled broadly, his make-up looking strangely natural on his features. "You be tinkin' dat di Growltiger is h'escapin' from di pirates of di Caribbean?"

"And to think that I ever thought it was hard working with John..." Malcolm groaned, shaking his head miserably. "All I want is one show when I can keep a straight face..."

Nicky Jonson punched the Goth fondly on the arm. "Mal, you're a kitten." He reminded him playfully. "You're allowed to grin when...er...Mal?" Blue eyes blinked at him innocently. "How long have you been doing your make-up like that?"

"Like what?" All eyes turned to the tallest kitten in the group's face. Malcolm took a nervous step backwards. "What?"

"Is it meant to look that good?" Adam inquired. "I thought Bill Bailey was meant to have a boring square of brown and that was it..."

"He was." Nicky nodded. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinised Malcolm's make-up. The brown patch on the right side of his face was no longer a random blob. Instead, the edges had been given a strangely 'furry' look that blended smoothly into the white.

The delicate lines surrounding his pale blue eyes had been thinned and neatened, making his eyes look frighteningly feline. The corners of his lips had risen in an awkward grin as he tried to edge out of the group and make his escape.

"I...uh...was experimenting...that's all..."

"You're trying to make my brother look bad!" Nicky screeched vehemently, swatting at Malcolm's wig. "You're gonna pay for that!"

"Is that so, short stuff?" A deep voice rumbled from above the smallest dancer and he nervously raised his eyes, to find Raymond looking down at him, a barely masked smirk on his black and white features.

Reaching up, the smallest of the group hastily smooth the fluff of wig Malcolm was wearing. "In as nice a way as possible, Ray." He flashed a cheesy grin at the bigger dancer, then darted off and out of sight.

"Gotta love having a big boyfriend." Malcolm chuckled, looping an arm around Raymond's narrow waist. Raymond simply chuckled.

***

"Menke Strep contact stage door. Menke Strap contact stage door."

The phone on the desk rang almost instantly and Leo picked it up. "Stage door."

"What's up, Leo? Better be important." Menke demanded raggedly. He sounded like he had been running around, breathless, his voice clipped and sharp and, on the whole, he sounded like he was ready to go crazy.

"You're missing a certain Tugger character, aren't you?" Menke's garbled sentences contained sounds of confusions, explicit expletives and general urgency. "I'd suggest you get down to stage door."

"Leo, I don't have...what do you mean?"

"Think – how else would I know that one of the cast was missing?"

The telephone went dead instantly and Leo replaced the receiver in it's cradle with a chuckle. Less than two minutes later, footsteps could be heard thundering down the long flights of stairs from the dressing rooms.

"Okay..." Panting, Menke fell against the desk. "Where...?"

Leo simply nodded towards the closed door by the desk that opened into the fire man's sleeping room and into Leo's little 'box' of an office. Menke stared at him and the door man nodded with a smile.

Yanking the door open, the dancer gawped in surprise.

Sitting on the small bed in the dimly-lit room, Annie Lawson was sitting in the costume-decked Phil's lap, his arms around her waist and his face buried in her neck. The artist looked up at him with a faint smile.

"Hey Menke." She murmured, the fingers of her right hand stroking the nape of Phil's neck gently. "Wondered when you'd get here."

"Um...what's going on?"

Phil lifted pale blue eyes. "I'm on as Tugger this afternoon and tonight, Menke...you know I've never played him..." He shuddered. "Any other role, I could do with my eyes closed, but no... my first proper night back and I end up playing him."

"Nervous?"

"Petrified."

Menke joined the couple on the bed, wrapping an arm fondly around Phil's shoulder. "You'll be fine, Phil. If you can play Munk and Electra, then Tugger should be no problem." He looked up at the woman in Phil's lap. "And you, Miss Lawson, I thought you were meant to be working."

"I was on my way." She gave him a weak grin.

"And you took the tube, changed stations three times to get on a different line and accidentally walked into the stage door?"

"Technically, you could put it like that..." Running a hand over Phil's wig, she smiled down at him. "I dropped in to wish him luck and Leo told me I should come in here. I did and my dear little dumbie was sitting in here, looking miserable."

"And instead of telling him to get off his arse and upstairs in time for the show, you walk in and sit on him?"

Phil smiled faintly up at his lover. "She was trying to seduce me...told me she'd never had a Tugger before..."

"Annie, you and your chat-up lines never fail to amuse me." Menke snickered. Annie pulled a face at him. "Phil, c'mon. You have to come upstairs. We need you."

"And you say my chat-up lines are bad?"

"Shut up, Annie."

She blew a wet raspberry at him.

"How about it, Phil?" Menke's green eyes were pleading, a near-pout on his lips. "If you're not up with us in five minutes, we won't have anyone to tip Tommy on her bum and embarrass her during Tugger's song."

"Embarrass Tommy?"

"Thought that might interest you."

Phil's lips curled in a grin, his eyes sparkling with glee. "You know, Menke, you always seem to know the right things to say to make us get our arses in gear."

Getting to his feet, Menke laughed. "Let's just say that's my talent, Phil-bo." He waited for the younger dancer to get to his feet, receiving a light kiss from Annie. "Shall we ascend to the Heaviside, my dear chap?"

"As you wish." Phil chuckled.

Menke grinned widely. "Oh, Phil! I didn't know you felt that way about me!" He cooed, prancing out of the room.

"What's he talking about?" Annie muttered.

Phil shrugged. "I have no idea, but I think its probably safer not knowing."

***

"Never let me do that again."

The evening show had just finished and Phil was twitching as he took his mane off. Menke gave him an amused look. "Whyever not?" He inquired, wiping off his make-up with one of the baby wipes from the box on the desk.

The silver and black-haired dancer had been forced to change and run on as Alonzo in the second half when Raymond had taken a bad fall when going down the back of the set during the lead in to Growltiger's Last Stand and hurt his calf.

Phil scowled sulkily at his friend. Menke had just moved into the same dressing room as him and two other male swings and Phil was starting to wish his long-time best friend hadn't. "Because I was Tugger."

"And that's a bad thing why?"

"I was Tugger. Enough said."

Ron, the brown-haired teenager who was the most recent swing acquisition, raised a brow. "I think you did good."

"You didn't have to deal with Tommy grabbing you by the butt any time you walked past her or by your front when no one was looking." Phil grumbled. "And if she wasn't bad enough, I had Jordan to annoy me as well."

"Jordan?" Menke and Ron exchanged glances. "Was he there?"

Phil's scowl deepened. "The poncy git was sitting right where I ran out into the audience," He replied sulkily. "He made sure I saw him then he stared at me and when people stare at me, I have to stare back...and it was Jordan..."

"He won, didn't he?" Ron laughed.

"Doesn't he always? Its like he has some weird control of his eyes that he can stop them from doing anything at all." The sandy-haired dancer complained. "I tried everything to get him to crack, but he just sat and stared and stared and stared and stared..."

"And that's what makes a Gumbie cat," Menke cheerfully sang. "That's what makes a Gu-um-bie caaaaaaaaaaaaaat!"

Ron gave Menke a puzzled look, then turned to Phil. "Is he always like this?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Phil rolled his eyes expressively as Menke bounced over and rubbed his head up the younger dancer's arm, making a sound strangely like a purr. "I'm pretty sure the midwife dropped him on his head."

"Actually," The oldest of the trio straightened up with a grin. "She took one look at me and slapped my mother."

"And the worrying thing is that I can believe that." Ron muttered.

Menke grinned broadly, wiping off the last traces of his make-up and pulling his hair free from the loose ponytail at the base of his neck, letting it spill around his broad shoulders. "Well, mam always did say dorfin bol ridgier."

"Eh?"

"That sounded like Afrikaaner." Phil remarked.

"Actually," The green-eyed dancer laughed. "That was gibberish, but its funny watching you trying to pretend to be smart, mate." Phil waved a single finger at him. Menke looked at it. "Y'know, I always wondered why it was that finger that was considered rude..." He raised a thumb. "I mean, this isn't rude, but that is... why?"

Ron opened his mouth to ask a question and Phil raised a hand, guessing what he was about to ask. "Yes, Ron, he always does that too. I think the strangest one was when he asked why sodomy was called that."

"I still think its cos the first person who had it done yelled 'Sod! Oh...meeeeee....!' and it took its name from that."

"Why 'Oh meeeeee?'?" Phil asked with a grin, clearly knowing the answer, but wanting to tease the long-haired dancer.

Menke sniffed. "Because, obviously, he was either dating someone whose name sounded like 'me' or he was completely in love with himself." He frowned slightly. "Or he was dating someone called Sod and he was a Geordie about to comment on a part of his anatomy, like 'me willy' or 'me arse'."

"And the worrying thing is that it actually does make some sense." Phil noted.

"Shocking, isn't it?"

"Positively terrifying, Menke."

"And I'm a genius, aren't I?"

"Positively not, Menke."

The black- and silver-haired dancer snickered, pulling a T-shirt over his head and smoothing it down over his chest. "One day, you'll admit I am, Phil, and when that day comes..." He gave them a knowing grin.

"What?" Phil asked, dreading the answer.

"You'll all be bowing down to me on my kushy throne, for my evil plot to take over the world will be complete!" Releasing a bout of maniacal laughter, he marched out of the dressing room, leaving the two staring after him.

Two minutes later he marched back in, just as impressively.

"Forgot my trousers." Was all he said.