Justby-the-by: that note about my laptop crashing was not a pack of lies! If anyone wants my PC World bill emailed to them, they are welcome to it :D. If I DID get too busy or lazy to update, I would simply say so - without false modesty, although I massively appreciate the feedback , I'm sure a little laziness over a few online scribblings is hardly a matter of life and death!

'Your Silas is dead'

There was a pause, and then the other voices started up:

'Hey, not fair! My Silas is dead too!'

'AND mine'

'Man, that's awful – we should take them back to the shop and complain!'

'Yeah!'

'''Fully Poseable'', my arse! I want a replacement Silas - our Silases are all broken!'

And so, in the fevered dreams of Silas, the surreal figures stomped back off angrily to 'the shop' and out of his aching mind. He was not dead, of course - he just felt like it. He had dreamt a dream; and this time it wasn't the one involving the giant hamster and two pounds of purple stilton. He lay there, dazed. Fingers pointed, voices muttered and his wound felt as though it was being dressed with all the gentleness of an octopus in boxing gloves.

Silas awoke.

An angel was bending over him. It was a tall, slim, beauty of an angel with bewitching violet eyes. To be fair, there are probably small, fat, balding uglies of angels withmouth ulcersas well - it's just nobody ever wants to write about them.

'Hello,' she cooed breathily, 'I'm Amaria Susquehanna Roseheart Longbottom'

'Bonjour,'replied Silas, 'I'm someone who doesn't care'

Amaria sat back, affronted. She hauled her front back and put back a bold front.

'Well, you should care! I just saved your life!'

'No, you didn't. Those doctors did. You flapped about in circles screaming, until you ran into a wall'.

'Oooh, I'm Mister Nitpick, I nitpick everything!' she mimicked, rolling her purple eyes, 'Big deal. The point is, you're here. We had to come here, because it's here. Yeah. It's mine. And the decor is way better than the hospital'

Silas regarded his surroundings from his position on the living-room couch. They were in an apartment, an apartment so achingly cool and trendy that it actually hurt. Shades of ice-white, indigo and black abounded, with armies of chrome CD racks and a whole herd of black leather chairs moo-ing in the corners. Nobody who looked as though they spent that much time applying lipgloss and that little time at work should have been able to afford it.

'Are you alright?' Amaria asked, pasting her 'anxious' face back into position, conscious that this was all taking a very long time and maybe she should've soulfully stroked his forehead a few times by now.

Silas gaped at her.

'Am I alright? I have just been shot in the...well, actually, of all the strange places to get shot, someone managed to directly hit my left inner thigh...'

'Hah,' blared Amaria, slapping his knee chummily, 'Imagine if they'd hit you three inches higher!'

Silas stared at her, lower lip quivering. What was this woman ON?

'Hey, that was a joke...!' she began to retort, but then remembered he HAD spent the last twenty years in situations that didn't exactly call for rib-tickling Monty Python renditions. It was understandable that he posessed about as much sense of humour as a depressed turnip.

A tumbleweed rolled by in the silence.

'You would not know...who shot me, would you?' Silas quizzed.

'Who, me? Naaaaaah!' she flicked the question away with a wave of her hand, 'Not a clue! ANYWAY, let's swiftly and totally not in any way that says I'm hiding something change the subject...we should get you out of these clothes'

It was a good idea. Any female, probably including tiny ten-legged ones that lived under rocks, would have seen the wisdom of it.

Still, Silas shrank back miserably, like a saddened puppy from its worming pills.

He did not want to be naked with this lunatic of a woman, however much messy red strawberry jam his robes were covered in! The way she stared at him, tongue lolling like a dead starfish, eyes rolling like ping-pong balls, drool puddling gently across her cleavage...well, it was scary. She was precisely the kind of lascivious, apple-sucking Eve he'd been warned to avoid, and he wasn't stupid enough to wander around with no fig leaf on.

'That's a bad idea,' he said firmly.

'Oh, now you're being silly! We can't have you wearing these bloodstained robes...'

'Well, thankyou for your concern...'

'...you'll really mess up my couch!'

'Oh'

'Plus it'll probably be uncomfy for you. So come on, no nonsense now...'

Silas, feeling extremely sick, drew the blankets up past his nose and peeped over the top in utter horror. His stilton-mould-coloured eyes, small and shining, peered at her in fright as she advanced on him, legs akimbo and a grim expression on her pale face.

'Now, let's just whip this out...'

Silas closed his eyes and prayed for death.

'...the thermometer, that is'

Amaria turned to look at him in puzzlement, hands on hips ,'Are you ok?'

'Yis!' he squeaked, then lowered his voice to its proper 'I-vant-to-zuck-your-blood' Draculaccents, 'I mean, yuuus'.

She read the thermometer.

'Sorry, I stuck it under your arm while you were unconscious. Lucky you didn't roll over! I'd kind of forgotten it was there...'

So kind, thought Silas, loving the way he'd nearly had 6 inches of broken glass and quicksilver stuck into his arm. As if he didn't have enough worries already.

'Anyway, the good news is that there's no fever here!'

But Silas, eyeing up her panting, heaving, dribbling form, thought I'm not too certain about that...

'Oh, but I am tired,' he said suddenly, faking a huge yawn and snapping back into a pretend sleep as though elasticated. Even she wouldn't be weird enough to whip all his clothes off whilst he was asleep. Hopefully.

Amaria gazed mistily back down at him, as he curled fretfully up into the blankets, exhausted by pain and by being repeatedly freaked out. So beautiful, she thought dreamily, so delicate, so pure, his glorious malebino form just lying there oozing testosterone...

'Hey! Clean that up!'

'Sorry,' Silas said, mopping up the puddle...

---------

With many grateful, blushful thanks to: Aljinon, LaRosaAzul, ShyFX, Kelly Tolkein (Are your...insides alright now, my dear?), singleframes, Serina, BelleEve, Lycanthropia, Schemergirl, sweetgirl99 (perfectionism? Hey, good excus...I mean word, yes, WORD. I like it! ) Elaine, Cleopatra Selene, and Jack Aubrey's lovely, enormous breeches (for no particular reason. I just felt they were something to be thankful for).

And once again, I say that I hope I haven't offended anyone, and anyone who percieves fics like this as a) an attack or b) not affectionate, has really misunderstood the nature of parody. I've added a note to my profile that should clear it up for anyone still feeling this way - it is never my intention to bully, upset or otherwise hurt another writer.