[We open up on a blank white screen. This is due to the author feeling like too much of a lazy bastard to really describe anything.]

[A short thirty-year-old woman with brown hair that occasionally tries to take over her head like a good little hostile lifeform walks on and tries to face the screen. She then gets distracted by muttering as shortly thereafter Trish, Dante, and Anne wander on. Dante happens to be wearing the new outfit Devil May Cry 2 put him in, and seems to be quite vain about it given the way he's strutting even more than usual. Trish and Anne seem less than impressed.]

Dante asks, "Soo, what do you think?"

Anne looks at it critically. "Hmm. Okay, Dante?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember when I said the old version made you look like Michael Jackson's version of a pimp?"

Dante bristles. Behind him, Trish gets the very special look of someone fighting down a monster guffaw. "...Yeah?"

Anne looked at him evenly. "This makes you look like a Goth gigolo."

Dante's eyes widen and his mouth works a few times. "HEY!"

Anne continues unruffledly, "I mean, the whole bare chest thing, geesh. Yes, you're attractive, but there's only soo much of your wishbone one can take seeing so often. Doing something moonlighting you didn't tell us about?"

Trish suddenly belts out "IIIIII----AIN'T GOT NO BOOOOOODAAAY!" Then falls down laughing, only to promptly bolt up and well, bolt as Dante irately charges her. The two dash offscreen, Dante yelling profanity as he goes. Anne just watches this all with a vague traffic-wreck interest.

The fourth person, being the woman with the curly hedgerow hair, watches all this boggledly. "God, they're gaining dementia as well as life."

Anne watches. "Don't ask me, o great and mighty creator. You were saying something?"

Glower. "Um, okay, bugger off. Er, that wasn't it..."

Dante runs back through, chasing Trish with Alastor and trailing interesting electricity and a reek of ozone behind. They disappear again.

"Er, okay, um..... All right, to the fine people of Fanfiction.net, even the ones that excluded the NC-17 ratings...."

"Hentai."

"I ONLY READ THEM FOR ACADEMIC INTEREST! Plus, dammit, I have library training, you know, First Amendment, blah blah blah..."

"I'm Welsh. Bugger the first amendment and get out the blowtorches, we go for direct."

"Shut up. ANYWAY! Okay, Fanfiction.net people. Anyway anybody that's read _Rake at the Gates of Annwn_ and have wondered where the hell I've gone off to. Contrary to popular opinion, I haven't been taken out, shot, or mauled. I have, however, been incarcerated in retail. And stuff."

"Who assumed you were mauled?"

Dante and Trish run back through again, this time Dante being chased by Trish, who's screaming obscenities in demontongue and waving the Sparda. She's also apparently had a good portion of her long hair fried off. Dante runs like hell, but gets bits of his coat chopped off in the process.

"SHUT UP, Anne, you're distracting me. All right. I've lapsed. I admit it. Having been a reader myself, I know it sucks when you don't get your fix. And heck, I'm glad you people like _Rake_. I really feel bad I haven't kept up to speed. I just haven't been on my game recently. The problems being that being a retail slave, worrying myself sick over my finances and anger at my lack of life, Fanfiction.net's projectile vomiting in June, and dealing with a sudden death in my close family in early July kind of put the creativity through the blender and turned it into one hundred percent pure barf. Will do my dangdest to get back on track, honest. I know where I'm going with stuff, it just takes some time to get it together."

Trish runs back through again, being chased by Dante. For some reason both are now respectively dressed as Kaori and Ryo Saeba from City Hunter, though Trish still has Kaori's mallet and the Sparda and is trying for enough turn around time to smack Dante without getting throttled by him first. He's red-eyed and screaming something incoherent about his new coat.

General Chaos gives this scene her full, fascinated attention. "I must be tired."

"I *don't* ask how your thought processes work, o mighty and inscrutable author."

"Thanks *so* much for the sarcasm."

"I *don't* mean sarcasm, damn it. Once you get stoked on Coke it's a land man or woman should not comprehend. Your brain, that is."

"Oh, shut up.

The General looks at her notes some more. "Er, anyway. That was just an explanation of what's been going on. Lemme know I'm still loved and all, it might help. Also liberal donations to Paypal--OW!" She turns to glare at Anne, who's looking very innocent. "What's wrong with a little mooching?"

Anne singsongs, "I thought you weren't going to shamelessly prostitute yourself for money on something copyrighted..."

"Oh, YEAH, well, YOU try living with fifty thous in loans and crappy wages, bint."

Trish comes dashing through again, yiping as her behind is now on fire from what seems to be Ifrit, which is merrily blazing on Dante's hands as he froths close behind her, back in his old outfit. Apparently now frustrated beyond all endurance, he slams the ground in an Inferno move, which has the effect of unfortunately incinerating not only Trish, but Anne, his author, and himself in a blast of flame.

Dante stands there wobbling and nicely Cajun-blackened, and then giggles loopily to himself. "Ooops."

Anne stares out from a face now mostly carbonized, and then slowly, calmly turnes around and smacks him in the face before kicking him in the uh....knee. Dante folds, whimpering. Trish elects to lie there and smoke.

One other blackened figure stands up again and coughs several times. "Okay. Maybe that took care of the haircut bills for a few more months. Uh.....CUT!"