Chapter Text
"I'm sorry to tell you, Octavius, but this is complete and utter shite," said Dr. McPhee.
Octavius looked up from the Caesar salad he had been moodily pushing around his plate with a fork and groaned. He had been putting off lunch with his editor for weeks now and this was exactly why. His newest romance manuscript (if you could call the cheap, gay smut peddled by the publishing company McPhee worked for 'romance') was only a quarter of the way finished, and certainly lacked the panache that his first three published paperbacks of the same kind had possessed.
You wouldn't think that a man with a Master's degree in History would be in this situation, Octavius mused, but after finally publishing his first real book, a thick non-fiction volume on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire--something he had been working on for years--it hadn't brought in the money that he had expected. Maybe the fact that there were already hundreds of books on the subject had something to do with it. Maybe.
Regardless, the study of Ancient Rome was his passion, and he had found a somewhat quicker, and more importantly, more lucrative literary route when he turned to writing gay historical fiction. Regardless though, he wasn't planning on quitting his day job anytime soon.
"Well, it's...all I have right now," Octavius finally replied with frustration, compulsively rubbing the side of his jaw. "I've just...gotten into a flunk, I suppose. I do want to finish this series, but I just don't know where to go with these characters."
"Well, there are only so many ways that two Roman gladiators can shag," McPhee said flatly, causing an older woman at an adjacent to table to raise an eyebrow in their direction.
"But, I do need something half-way decent from you by the end of the month," he continued, leaning forward and steepling his fingers, "maybe you should start a new series, something different, cowboys or something, I dunno..."
"Isn't that a bit trite? Like Brokeback Mountain and all that? it's all been done. Besides, I thought werewolves were the new big thing." He rolled his eyes. He did write cheesy erotica, but at least his novels were (somewhat) historically accurate...and didn't involve anything as cliché as vampires or werewolves.
Suddenly McPhee started giggling, in that obnoxious tittering way he did sometimes. "Now I remember why I must have cowboys on the brain. You wouldn't believe what I won at the office's anonymous holiday gift exchange."
He pushed his lunch plate aside, and rifled through his leather briefcase, passing a certificate and a pamphlet to Octavius.
"A free two week holiday at...an American 'dude ranch'?"
McPhee nodded, grimacing, "really, I would have been quite fine with Starbucks giftcard, or a box of chocolates. You couldn't pay me to go out and...ride horses...and hike, and what not." His face lit up. "Why don't you go?"
"What? Absolutely no-"
McPhee cut him off with a shushing noise "I'm serious, Gaius," he spluttered, "Take it! Go to the states! Meet some hunky...rancheros, get inspired, and write me a damn novel!"
"I'm not going t-"
McPhee glanced at his watch, "Now, I've got another client to meet up with, see you in a few weeks."
Before he could argue further, McPhee had gone, leaving him not only with the certificate, but with the lunch bill.
"Fantastic," Octavius muttered, upon realizing.
On the tube ride home he warily studied the pamphlet. He /had/ been thinking of taking some time off eventually, getting out of the dreary grey cityscape of London, though New Mexico hadn't been the first place to come to mind.