Man of Conscience
As always, BOLD is the character, ITALIC is the conscience.
No Place Like Gnome
Ow! What the hell was that? I just bumped into something.
It was a gnome.
A gnome?
Like Pierpont.
Pierpont?
The gnome with the pipe. The one in your arms.
Babette's got more than one gnome?
Look around. See their beady little eyes? Gnomes.
That's a little creepy.
Not as creepy as the one over there who just blinked.
Gnomes can't blink. They're made out of plaster.
Oh, OK. Whatever you say.
Are you sure one blinked? Let's get this done and get out of here.
I saw you look over at Lorelai's house. You're not afraid of a living-dead gnome, you're afraid she's going to come out here and mock you.
She'd have every right to mock me. I'm standing in Babette's yard in the middle of the night, trying to figure out where Pierpont belongs. All because the young hoodlum who lives with me thinks stealing gnomes is funny.
Of course, she could come out on the porch wearing a sexy nightie, see you standing there so macho, and jump you in the middle of her front yard.
There is nothing macho about this moment. I'm sneaking around an old woman's yard with a gnome in my hands in the middle of the night. It could almost be interpreted as a little freaky. Anyway, she'd probably be wearing goofy pajamas, not a sexy nightie.
You know that goofy pajamas turn you on, and that Lorelai's just freaky enough to appreciate the idea of gnomes in the dark. Maybe you should ring the doorbell and ask for her help.
No good. Rory's there, sleeping. Can't wake her up.
So toss some pebbles at Lorelai's bedroom window and see if she wakes up.
OK. Hmm. Nothing. She must sleep like a rock.
Try a rock.
A rock would break the window and wake Rory up, too, defeating the whole purpose.
The purpose being getting Lorelai down here in the front yard to jump you?
No, figuring out where Pierpont belongs.
Sigh. Put the gnome down and go home, then. Maybe you can tell Lorelai tomorrow the gnome story in a sexy way and she'll want to get her freak on when she hears how wild you are.
Or maybe I just pour her coffee and tell her she was right about Jess.
Telling her she's right and you're wrong? Now that ought to get her to jump you. Every woman loves her man telling her that.
Going home now. Feel free to stay here and keep watch for blinking gnomes.
A/N: Someone wrote a spicy story about the gnome, but I can't remember who. Any ideas?