Disclaimer: I own nothing. Trust me, I own nothing. I am just a slave on the wheel of destiny. Okay, maybe not. But it's still not worth a nickel to sue me if you don't like the stories I write. King Arthur and all of the non-original stuff belongs to other people and their depictions in my stories are in no way meant to bring about lawsuits or therapy.

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Author's Note: No, I am not actually the character in this story, it's just in first person. My muses are not tangible. If they were, my husband would probably divorce me. This story is just something for fun. I don't know if it's going anywhere and I just hope this makes my readers smile.

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Muses Behaving Badly

Chapter One: Raiding The Kitchen

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I sat on the back steps, bored as I took in the empty yard. My family was visiting my grandparents in Massachusetts and I had no idea what to do with myself as I had been left behind to work on schoolwork and was officially school worked out after three days on my own and more than three weeks left of solitude. I could always write fanfic--Lord knows that I had four stories in progress and hadn't made any headway on any of them.

That's when I felt the tap on my shoulder. Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes widened as I came nose to nose with Lancelot. He smirked as a blush rose in my cheeks and damned if the man wasn't watching my ass as I stormed back into the house. Sure enough, my kitchen was being raided by the remaining five Sarmatian knights and their half-Roman, half-Briton commander.

"Everyone stop!" I shouted, hands on hips in my most intimidating stance. Heck, it worked on my two-year old sister, it should work on seven burly, gorgeous men, right? Ah, no dice.

"Bridget!" shouted Galahad, seizing me around my waist and spinning me around, his youthful face glowing with pleasure.

I grinned down at the youngest knight. "Hi. Um, mind putting me down?" I asked, realizing that my feet were dangling about three inches above the ceramic tile of my kitchen. Did I mention that I'm short?

Galahad's grin widened and he set me down. Now I should explain something. My muses have a habit of showing up in tangible form. They tend to appear out of nowhere whenever I get the urge to write some more about whatever genre I'm writing on. Most of my other muses have the courtesy to just show up in my dreams, turning them X-Rated as often as not.

My King Arthur muses are not like that. They appear wherever they damned well please, play with my baby sister, eat my food and watch my DirecTV. Which explained why I now had seven knights in my kitchen.

I spotted Dagonet eying my chocolate ice cream with curiosity. "Don't even think about that, Dagonet. That is PMS medicine right there," I warned, grabbing the ice cream and pulling it to my chest. He grinned and reached into a box of Godiva chocolate truffles that was in the refrigerator. I groaned--I had forgotten about the truffles and since I hadn't told him that they were off-limit, he had every right to take one. I looked up and met his teasing blue eyes just before he popped the truffle into my mouth.

I chewed thoughtfully, allowing the chocolate to melt on my tongue, and nodded my thanks at the Sarmatian healer. Sticking the ice cream back into the freezer I stepped to the sink and began to wash dishes, chewing as I worked.

"Bridget?" came the commanding voice of Arthur.

I swallowed the chocolate and smiled at the future king of the Britons. "Yup?"

"Why haven't you written about us?" he asked, leaning against the kitchen island.

I glanced over my shoulder and found all the knights listening intently. "Well…" I couldn't come up with a good reason except that I was completely swamped with term papers and had gotten distracted watching Titus Pullo on Rome. "I have a lot of work to do."

Tristan paused in taking a bite out of a pear and shot me a questioning look. How he could communicate a hundred questions with those brown eyes was beyond me. I suddenly felt very guilty.

Great, I was getting interrogated and made to feel guilty by hallucinations.

"And this work has more allure than us?" asked Gawain, powerful forearms resting on the granite countertop.

I blew out an exasperated breath. Was he kidding? "According to my professors it is." I turned on my heel and ran smack dab into Lancelot. "I need to put a bell on you," I muttered darkly as I stepped around him, ignoring his smirk.

I headed into the living room, eyes widening as I saw what Bors was doing.

Bors had taken up his normal spot in the recliner in front of the television and was clicking through the channels. Hitting the button for the DVD player, he started one of the episodes of Rome where I had left it. "DAG!" he shouted.

I groaned, covering my eyes as Dagonet strolled into the living room to find the actor who portrayed him ravishing a prostitute and pouring wine on her back in one of the early episodes of Rome. I was so going to hell.

Dagonet cleared his throat, trying to get my attention.

I peaked through my fingers. "What? I need inspiration for your trysts!" I sputtered. I did not need to justify myself to imaginary but flesh and blood men, I reminded myself. Turning I found myself facing Gawain, a tawny brow raised.

"And where do you get the inspiration for the rest of us?" asked the golden-haired knight.

I blushed, hating myself for blushing, and stomped past him. I had things to do, I reminded myself. "You all have to leave. I have a paper on sharks for historical geology, a paper on Langston Hughes for English, and a paper on Roman art for art history that all have to be done before the end of break," I admitted, ticking off the half-finished projects on my fingers. "I do not have time to explain myself to you."

Bors paused the DVD and looked at me. "What do you mean you do not have time?" he roared, rising from the recliner.

That got me to turn, fear registering on my face. That man could make Hannibal Lecter shudder, I decided. "Okay, I will make time. Just not right now?" I begged, backing up from the oldest of the knights.

He leaned towards me, one hand braced against the wall behind me that I had backed up into. "On one condition," he growled.

I blinked nervously. Bors was not the one usually who gave me this much trouble. Then again maybe I deserved it. I had, after all, given him twins in my last story.

"No more children."

I nodded and slipped sidways away from Bors. "No more children. I promise," I babbled, still backing away. "Thirteen's the maximum," I promised.

Dagonet came out of the living room, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, that explains a lot."

I looked at the normally silent knight with more than a little trepidation. "What makes sense?"

He grinned wickedly.

I was in so much trouble.

TBC...

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