[pshrynk]

Several people sat around a large tent in the tropical sun. Vivaldi was lying on his director's chair, worrying a bone. Harv was lying under the shade of the light screens. Several of the grips were losing at poker to Hugo as Lefty tried to figure out how to use his cell phone in a foreign country. This was hampered by the fact that they were shooting on location in Peoria. Vera was practicing her shooting with Colonel Edwards. Biggles was getting in the way of three people simultaenously. Slite laid on his back, paws in the air, snoring softly. Le Terrible and Remi Addyerowndamnaccents were going over their scripts and wondering why there were no French subtitles. In the distance, a cage with a cover over it emitted beeping sounds in an almost continuous way. Hilda and Miyatake were walking hand in hand around the decorative pond.

Harv awoke with a start. "ARGH! The clowns!" he yelled and looked around.

"Bad dream?" asked Vivaldi.

"Another night in Adrian's Bar."

"Never a good sign."

"So what the heck is going on here? Where's the director?"

"In his trailer arguing with the writer about salary and getting the script knocked out."

"Isn't pshrynk the writer and director?"

"Yeah, the tricky part is when the negotiations get heated and someone resorts to violence."

"Where's the Goose?"

"M.A.R.V.I.N. said something about residuals and having another gig and took off."

"Are we still looking for the Golden Orb?"

"That's another reality over. Speaking of which, I've got to run. The part where I save the day is coming up and I don't want to miss it. Chow!"

Vivaldi ran off in the general direction of Springfield.

"Huh. I wonder why I didn't get a part in that story."

"You weren't created by the author, so rights didn't connect. M.A.R.V.I.N. has to work under a pseudonym," said Vera, settling down to clean her revolver.