“Depends on what you mean by ‘wearing,’” a familiar voice replied from across the table. Paulette looked up to see two outfits of clothing standing at the other side of the table, filled out to shapely feminine contours — one completely pink (unzipped hooded sweatshirt over a tube top, gloves, miniskirt, sheer leggings, sandals), and the other a baseball uniform, with batting gloves at the end of its sleeves. As the pink outfit waved one of its gloves, the voice continued, “I think we talked about this a bit earlier.”
“Oh, hi, Vik,” Paulette said. “I wondered where you had gone off to after you led me here.”
“Well, as soon as you stepped inside, my old friend Mary here caught my attention, and we got to talking…”
“…and you know how that goes, when two old friends get to talking,” said a cheerful voice from the baseball uniform. “I’m… well, they call me Mary Prankster. Vik and I go way back, and I’m also one of the other Paulette’s partners here in the Unseen Scene. And I’m responsible for some of the *ahem* animation you see around here. Let me demonstrate.” The uniform and the pink outfit turned toward one another and their gloves grasped one another, left-right and left-right. The two pairs of gloves floated free of their respective outfits until they were at least two feet higher than they had been when they first grasped, and then each grasping pair drifted back to the owner of the left glove. As each left glove came to rest at the end of its original sleeve, it placed its mismatched opposite at the end of the outfit’s right sleeve, so that both outfits wound up with a mismatched pink-and-white pair.
Mary’s voice continued, “Vik and I were actually right here when Bryan asked about getting a waitress’s attention, so I sent a pair of gloves in here to take your order, which should be ready any minute now. Then we filled up these clothes, and here we are.”
“That’s pretty cool,” Paulette said, a bit of awe in her voice. “I wouldn’t mind being able to do something like that.” Then, turning to Paulette2, she continued, “And I knew you had to have some help getting this place up and running so well in such a short time.”
“Well, hon,” Paulette2 said, “that’s another one of those strange things about this place. Time doesn’t work here like it does at home. I’ve actually been here a lot longer than however much time has passed Out There.”
“Huh?” Bryan interjected. “You mean I haven’t actually been here for two days?”
“Well, you’ve been here for two days, Subreal time. That could translate to two days Out There, or it could be five seconds — it’s totally up to you to decide, when you go Back.”
Bryan turned to Paulette2. “Could you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” Paulette2 replied, with some puzzlement.
Wiggling his fingers to make air quotes, Bryan said, “Speaking in capital letters. You’ve already said ‘muses,’ ‘writers,’ ’subrealizens,’ ’subreal,’ and ‘out there’ like they were titles or something.”
With air quotes of her own, Paulette chimed in. “Well, aren’t you ‘doing’ the ’same’ ‘thing’?”
“Not at all,” Bryan said. “I’m just trying to find out–”
“Well,” Paulette2 interjected, “you won’t learn anything by arguing with me — um, I mean, with her. Anyway, the Capital Letters” — she couldn’t help smirking — “mean that I’m talking specifically about what those words mean here.”
After a pause to let her words sink in, she continued. “I mean a writer is just somebody who puts pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, and writes something. But a Writer” — another pause — “is specifically someone who writes creatively, who writes superhero fanfiction or something related for Subreality. They actually have powers here… kind of. Muses are even more specific, because anyone can be someone else’s muse to inspire them to creativity, but Subreal Muses inspire Subreal Writers.”
Bryan replied, “So you mean, for instace, that Sharon Stone’s character in that movie, The Muse, doesn’t count?”
Before Paulette2 could answer, a voice replied, “Excuse me?” Everyone turned towards the source of the voice when there was a sudden flash of light. There stood Sharon Stone, or her exact double, wearing a gold silk blouse and tight jeans.
Once the woman had everyone’s attention, she spoke. “Ahem — one two three, four five, six seven eight nine — oh yeah, and ten. Thank you very much.” And with that she promptly disappeared in another flash of light, leaving everyone dumbfounded.
“OK, that wasn’t exactly what I meant, but I guess it answers the question,” Bryan deadpanned.
After a couple more moments baskets of fresh baked biscuits floated up to the table, followed by water pitchers, glasses, silverware, and various condiments. A set of silverware set itself by each of the diners, while condiments and additional baskets of bread placed themselves at various spots around the table.
Bryan took an appreciative whiff. “Mmm, those biscuits smell good,” he said, and immediately a biscuit floated up out of the basket and deposited itself on his plate, followed by two pats of butter.
“Uh, thank you?” Bryan said, unsure of which of his invisible hostesses were responsible for the service.
“Thank who?” said Mary Prankster. “Think about where you are, Bryan. Here, at least in this restaurant, no one really has to do anything for something to happen.”
“Hmm… so if I wanted my roll buttered –” Before Bryan could continue, a pat of butter unwrapped itself as the knife floated over and cut the biscuit open. The pat of butter floated over and smeared itself on the steaming biscuit, after which the knife spread the melting butter over both halves of the biscuit.
Smiling, Bryan said, “Now that’s what I call service!”