A/N: See? A faster update! Once again, reviews are replied to on my blog, the address of which can be found on my author's bio page.

Chapter Four: Wrestling Match

"Wonderful," said SarahBelle, throwing her hands up in the air. "Four chapters into the story and the person responsible for this whole mess has completely lost her mind."

"She had one to start with?" inquired Kay Erik with a thin facade of politeness. "I ask merely for information."

"Oh shush," said Hoshi aggravatedly. She pushed her stricken boss into a chair, and waved a flashlight in her eyes. Random shut her eyes against the light, curled up in a ball, and started muttering to herself about horticulture. "You alright, Ran?"

"God in heaven, not the corset!"

A slight pause.

"Okay," said Hoshi tentatively. "This could be normal. Can we have a little more information on that, boss?"

"Normal?" repeated Kay Erik. "What about that is normal?"

Hoshi blinked at him. "Its Random," she said.

He raised an eyebrow— not that you could see this, on account of the mask he wore, but there was a definite eyebrow-raising implied in his voice when he spoke.

"I repeat the question," he said, "as it hasn't been answered. What about that is normal?"

Hoshi sighed. "Someone explain it to him?"

"I will," said Adison, jumping in like a good PR Agent should. "You see, Kay Erik, there comes a time in every woman's life when they just— wait." She glanced at Hoshi. "Is this the right explanation?"

Hoshi shrugged, and MindGame held up a finger, telling them to wait, while she pulled a large book out of her bag. "Explanations for Random Actions," she said, and opened it, flipping slowly through the pages. "Which one are we looking for again?"

"Well, I think I was explaining the biological clock. Give 'Randomness' a try."

"Hang on a sec."

"No matter," said Kay Erik quickly, for it looked to be a long wait. "I shall just assume the worst, shall I? I've never been disappointed yet when doing that."

"The gist of it is," said Adison, "that life is too short to be sane. So. She became Random instead. She wasn't always like this, you know— at least, that's what she tells us."

"I see," he said.

Random opened her eyes to peer at a seemingly incidental Writer— Color Me Gray, it turned out to be, one of the newer minions. "You," she said.

Color Me Gray peered back at her.

"Me?"

"You," said Random, and went back to sleep.

This inspired Color Me Gray to no end; she went off and became the next Mother Theresa, except in a slightly different way. For one thing, she was taller, and for another, her name wasn't Theresa, and for a final difference, she was horribly mean to people. However, that is another story and shall be told another time. Or possibly not.

"Not good," said Hoshi, now looking worried. "Not good at all."

"Will she recover?" asked letthedreamdescend worriedly.

"Who knows?"

"So we're stuck in the middle of a phic with no idea where its supposed to go?" said Chanson d'Obscurite, trying hard to understand.

"And this is a new situation how, exactly?" scoffed Ridel.

"But this time there's no writer!" pointed out Marianne Brandon.

Everyone took in a deep breath.

"Everybody panic!" shouted Jennyfair. Most of the Writers duly complied, and the chaos that ensued would have pleased Random immensely, had her brain not taken an abrupt vacation. Most of the Eriks watched the proceedings with disgusted appreciation, if such a thing is possible— it cannot be truly said that any of them were surprised. Keeping in mind what a mess Whose Lair had been, this subsequent screw-up wasn't exactly a shock. However, it was entertainment, and the alternative being, at the moment, another cold and lonely evening spent flicking cards into their fedoras in their respective lairs, they were marginally content to sit and watch, especially when the panicking Writers started running into each other.

"I'll handle this!" said Stalker Erik, Celtic Heart, and Mandy the O, simultaneously, and reached for Random's notebook, which she'd dropped on the ground on the occasion of her first episode of head-banging. Of course, they all had terrific timing, and as they lunged together (it looked rather acrobatic, and had they done it on skates in time with a Celine Dion song, it would have garnered a round of applause) their heads collided with a sound like "BOINK."

(The exact sound was, of course, much debated for weeks afterwards. The Writers and Artists separated into camps, half insisting it was "BOINK," the other half holding out for "CONK" and a very small faction, led by Lizzie Black, who presumably had experience with these things, contended that it was, in fact, "BoNk." Let the record show that it was eventually decided to be officially "BOINK" and then the matter was promptly forgotten about, since it was of no importance whatsoever— forgotten, that is, by all except Lizzie Black, who went on to write a long and fantastically boring book about the subject.)

Most of the Writers, despite the lack of an accompanying music, decided to applaud anyway.

Hoshi stepped over three prone bodies and snagged the notebook. Straightening back up, she opened it in the middle and began to search for some idea as to what Random had planned for the phic.

"Tomatoes sound familiar to any of you?"

"I don't know," said Crawford Phantom, slightly confused. "What does a tomato sound like?"

"How about squirrels?"

"Squirrels!" shouted Killthefop, and got strange looks from everyone else, because everyone else was wishing that they had thought to shout "Squirrels!" first.

Hoshi frowned and flipped through a few more pages. Stopping on one, she started to laugh hysterically.

"What?" asked Gondolier alertly.

"Nothing."

"If its nothing," Boat went on keenly, "then why are you laughing like that?"

"Nothing, nothing, its nothing—" She caught Stalker Erik's glance, pointed at him, and slowly doubled over, chortling.

"Stop chortling," said Stalker Erik irritatedly. "Is it about me?"

"God, no, why would you think that?" she said, sobering a little.

Stalker Erik huffed and rubbed his head, helping Celtic Heart and Mandy up off the floor. "Have you got some sort of outline yet?"

"I don't think Boss deals in outlines," said Hoshi, sobering gradually, flipping through a few more pages. "All I can gather so far is that we were supposed to bring all the Eriks in—"

"Done that," pointed out TennisFanatic21.

"And— some crude sketches here— er, crude in the 'badly drawn' manner, not crude as in 'crude'— was there, at some point, a major fist fight between MPS and Kay Erik?"

MPS stood in the corner and did her best to look angelic. Hoshi shot her a narrow-eyed glance.

"Not that I am aware of," said Kay Erik.

"No? There's a definite reference to sucker punching here."

"Perhaps that was meant to come later," he suggested.

"Yeah, that could be. Alright— here's something."

The Writers sat up alertly; the Artists faction, led by Jennyfair, continued painting a mural on the wall.

"Um— Ad and Tori?"

Adison and VictoriaTai stood up, shoulders squared.

"Reporting for duty and determined to do what we have to and do it well," said Adison, with a salute.

"Provided, of course," said Tori, "that it doesn't involve any actual work."

"Right. Or anything gross."

"Or anything we don't feel like doing."

"And as long as we get paid for it."

"And she has a good dental plan."

Hoshi blinked at them. "Are you finished?"

They exchanged glances.

"Is there a possibility that we could get paid in Patrick Raoul?"

Hoshi snickered. "You want to be paid in fops?"

"Fops!" said Gerry Phantom. "New currency, are they— what is the world coming to?" He shook his head. Most of the Writers in the room couldn't help but notice the looks of outrage on the Erik's faces, and several began to back away slowly.

"Its not just that he's a fop," Adison attempted to explain. "Its that he's—"

"Shmexy," said Tori quietly.

"Yes, that."

Hoshi coughed violently, and Becky shook her head. "Probably not a good thing to say to a busload of Eriks, hons," she said kindly.

The Eriks took in deep breaths, and all took one step towards Tori and the unfortunate PR Agent, who began to look slightly unnerved. Then Leroux Erik held up a hand.

"What," he said, "is this shmexy?"

"'Ponytailed,'" said Adison quickly. "It means 'extremely ponytailed.'"

"Ah."

"So then," said Gerry Phantom, looking slightly puzzled, "why did that girl shout 'Shmexy' at me when I came in?" He indicated Grace. "I mean— I do not have a ponytail. I've never had a ponytail. I've never even thought about having a ponytail. My hair is highly trained never to grow past my collar."

Everyone glanced at Grace, who had the decency to look embarrassed.

"It was a mistake," she said. "I'm terribly terribly sorry."

"I see," said Gerry Phantom, though clearly he didn't.

The Eriks returned to their seats, Ad and Tori relaxed visibly, and Stalker Erik snorted and said, "No it doesn't mean that anyway, it means—"

Adison tackled him.

"Anyway, you were saying?" asked Tori of Hoshi.

"Right," said the Chief Minion, frowning at the notebook and ignoring the sounds of the minor wrestling match that was going on behind the table. "One of the ideas she kind of mentioned here was you and Adi going to find Patrick Raoul and bring him back here."

Adison had been getting the worst of the fight; however, these words rejuvenated her efforts, and in a very few seconds she had shoved Stalker Erik underneath the table, tied his wrists together with his own overshirt, stuffed a sock in his mouth, stolen his wallet, and scrambled up, panting slightly, eyes shining.

"I think I've always known," she said, rapturously, "that there's a God up there, and he likes me."