Title: The Play from Hell, Take 1

Type: Pointless mutated humor with some fluff thrown in for what its worth. Not to be taken seriously, but an interesting light read.

Possible Pairing: A itty-bitty BeckyRaz (you know, Becky from Gloria's mind? Over worked, orange hair, blue skin? Yeah, her.) But mostly implied RazLili fluff.

Disclaimer: I own absolutely NOTHING!

Warnings/SPOILERS: If you haven't been in Gloria's mind, it won't make sense.

"QUIET! QUIET ON THE SET! OH MY GOD, WHERE'S STANDBY NUMBER THREE?" Becky was having a major freak out. "Oh great. Fantastic! Why the HELL do I even bother working here!"

She hadn't been expecting an answer, as the actors were all looking at the floor of the stage feeling that, once again, they'd let her down. But a voice did answer, a young man's voice she hadn't heard in nearly five years.

"Because you're a great director," Raz said, smiling at her and pushing his goggles up off his eyes. "How's it going, Becky?"

Becky smiled, a rare event for her unless Raz hit her with a confusion grenade, and ran a hand through her hair. Her smile vanished almost immeadiately however. "Well, I'm writing my own scripts now and I can't seem to get anything right! I'm useless!"

Raz was now fourteen, and tall enough to be on eye level with Becky. His goggles were still there, as the strap that held them on was stretchy, and he'd donned a larger helmet, but he was still just like she remembered him. He had relatively the same clothes as before, except larger. Sasha Nein had given Raz a dark brown trench coat that Raz wore open, and Milla had given him a bright green scarf, both of which accented him nicely, but the most noticeable thing that had changed was that he was a lot more handsome, and a little depressed looking.

Becky, Raz noticed, hadn't aged at all, being a muse or figment or something. Her orange hair was still in its weird puffs, her eyes still were bloodshot, and she still had a hand on her hip as she shouted out directions. He grinned. It was good to see her again, even if she was just a muse or something. What he needed right now was a friend, preferably one who didn't know him either as "The Amazing Razputin" on the highwire or "Agent Aquato" of the Psychonauts.

"Let me see your script, Becky," he said in a friendly sort of way, standing beside her. "If you wrote it it can't be all bad."

Maybe today won't be ALL bad, Becky thought. Raz always did know how to make me get the plays right, no matter how long it took…

"Who's that?" one of the girls in a flower suit whispered. Her name (though it was rarely used) was Flower. How original.

"That, my dear," theatrically whispered one of the guys who got stuck with a flower suit, "Is Razputin. He got rid of the evil Phantom and brought stunning new plays to the stage!"

"Wow!" Flower said, staring at Raz.

"That's not all," the guy in the dog suit whispered conspirationally. "I heard that Razputin is secretly in love with Becky, but his job with the government keeps him from seeing her too often. They're star-crossed lovers!"

"How romantic," they all sighed. And then, weirdly, they all said at the same time, "We've got to get them together!"

And so it began…

Author's Notes: This may or may not be a Becky/Raz fic, I'm not sure. I just thought it'd be fun to write this, 'cause how many other weirdos would think of this? XD Review and enjoy, my friends, for my spellcheck is working again! W00t! –Does Raz's victory dance–