Upstairs in her room, Renie brushes her hair. It is strange to think that she and Hans would soon be married. Married! Surely Diggory must have sent off those papers by now, having . . .
The knock upon her door creates a small jump--which is followed by relief and delight when Renie hears a familiar voice.
"Renie, it's me, dearest. Let me in!"
We do too eat at FOF.
But achhhh-such timing!-R, - 11/15/97 at 23:06:14
To call it the "disused room" is rather a disservice to the four feisty walls which have held up so admirably in the face of a potential pressure-cooker of day.
It can hardly be called disused.
But at the moment . . . the room is quiet, though not unoccupied . . .
In soft focus, the camera moves from the dusty writing table, over the faded carpet and past the cracked chair. In a corner of the screen is something white, folded over something which is honey-coloured. Without greater focus, it could be an ice cream sundae of French vanilla swirled with pralines. But as the camera glides into focus, we see that it is Hans' white shirt, and his arms wrapped around the velvet honey-coloured dress adorning his praline. Just as sweet.
The only movement is the camera. As it pulls back, it reveals Hans and Renie, wrapped so closely around each other that there is no space between them. Not even air.
Hans stirs. His eyes still closed, his arm reaches up, and his fingers touch Renie's hair. He strokes it, his fingers moving through it as if they were minnows swimming easily through undulating fields of kelp silk. He opens his eyes; she is asleep. Soon, I will see you like this, my Renie, each day. We will wake together, after the night . . .
Feeling Hans stir beside her--well, if a distance that close may be called "beside her"--Renie's eyes open.
"I fell asleep, " laughs Renie softly. She blinks, is trying to focus. Hears his VOICE only: "You're amazing, you figured this all out already."
The camera takes her pov. and looks at a blurry Hans. Slowly, his features come into focus. The strong nose, and sculpted upper lip. Eyes, half-lidded. Beard a bit overgrown to the meticulous eye, shirt wrinkled, the first three buttons free of their holes.
"Was it hot in here, Hans?" Another quiet laugh from Renie.
Hans' turn for a quiet laugh. "Exceedingly," he replies, then adds, "Trust me."
Hans reaches up to Renie's eyes, as it is clear that she is unable to rub the sleep from her own eyes--her arms are wound around Hans tighter than the spring in Hans' Swiss watch. As Hans gently brushes the sleep from her lashes, Renie spies his watch. "Hans--I thought you told me your watch had stopped." The hands of his Baume & Mercier were indeed, in their proper place for the time of day, the second hand revolving as if it had never stopped.
Except that seven minutes were missing, according to Renie's own Matthey-Tissot.
"Mmmmm. Seven minutes . . . " Hans growls. It comes out "min-ottssss..."
"It will take longer than that . . . " trifles Renie.
"I'm hungry . . . " nuzzles Hans, into her hair. He finds her ear.
"I'm hungry too, Hans . . . " coquettes Renie. She notices that Hans has no sabre scars that she can see . . . or feel . . .
His VOICE is full of desire and determination--she wishes it too, he knows it--he cannot wait another moment--
"Then, meine leibe, there is only one thing for it--only one thing for us to do . . . you will not say no--cannot, for it is well past time . . . for me . . . and yes, my abendstern, for you . . . "
Hans breathlessly lowers his lips from her ear, down her neck, gaining momentum and authority from her soft cries, until they are face to face. Together, they will, they do--simultaneously, at the same time--cry out--"SNACK!"
Before rising from the bed, Hans tastes Renie's lips. "Zo that you know I will sate my other hunger . . . zoooon." Hans cocks his head to one side. "Do you need help getting to the sitting room upstairs?"
"No, Hans. Make me three of everything, please."
Mmmm.....
Backs for thirs, he, Joan?-R, - 11/15/97 at 23:04:21
Gee, what I'd really like is a good cup of tea, thought Joan. No room service in the Manor House so I guess I'll try and find the kitchen. She went downstairs and just as she was about to make a left turn into the kitchen she RAN into Mrs. Jennings. 'Ooh excuse me, Madame." She said. "Can you tell me which way to the kitchen?"
''Feeling a bit peckish, m'dear?" asked Mrs. Jennings
"Well, now that you mention it STARVED is more the appropriate word!"
"Then follow me and I shall see that you have a PROPER meal." Said the kindly old woman (who looked like she knew a proper meal when she saw one!)
Moments later as Joan tucked into a delicious dinner of pot roast ;-) veggies, bread and salad, Mrs. Jennings began to question her.
'You're new here aren't you dear? Another American? There seem to be more and more of you arriving each week. Do you know anyone by the name of Billings?"
Joan paused, fork in mid-air, "Well, I'd hardly say I KNOW him, but we've met. What makes you ask?"
"Oh, there is just something about him. Kind of a mystery and I just HATE a mystery." Mrs. Jennings chuckled as she said these words. "You look like you're blushing a bit dear, have I said something wrong?"
"No." Joan gulped, wishing she could change the subject, "it's just a bit warm in this kitchen. Please, ma'am tell me what is going on outside. There seem to be a lot of people scurrying about. What are they doing?"
"Ah," said the kindhearted woman, "old George is up to his tricks again and there is a woman named Dana alone out on the heath. It's best not to stay out there alone at night."
"I'll keep that in mind." said Joan as she reached for a second helping of the pot roast. "This is delicious, by the way."
Joan
USA - 11/15/97 at 20:07:26
What's this."
O'Hara stepped on a package in the dark, there was an ominous clink as it hit the stone entrance wall.
Sinclair bent to pick it up. "Some sort of special delivery ... I can't quite make it out."
"Let me get it into the light."
"I see it's been redirected ... it's a wonder anything finds you here, PL." He handed over the box.
O'Hara ripped away the packaging, oblivious to the beautiful origami.
"Wait, Wait. You're ruining it."
Sinclair rescued the invitation as O'Hara grasped the neck of a bottle, and studied the label.
"This is the good stuff ... who's sending me this."
He stuck the bottle under his arm, and picked up the helmet."
" Mulder, to apologise I hope." He pushed the door open with his boot.
"Come on Sinclair, we need something substantial to go with this."
Pot Roast?
Claire, - 11/15/97 at 18:52:20
Do you think we led George astray last weekend?
Concerned participant (9.45) with a guilt complex.
- 11/15/97 at 18:45:58
Emma stopped her laden fork in mid-air, "You know, after I got back from England I started having all sorts of computer problems. My connections would sever when I was on the internet. Someone else's message got attached to my free e-mail. I had to delete a bunch of files because it was running out of memory. Just last week I found a file that I could not delete, but it was all numbers and symbols and Greek and Cyrillic letters. Over two megabytes" Emma paused and noticed the look on Jeff & Brownlow's faces.
"Did you mention this to anyone" Brownlow said in his steady, deep voice.
"Sure. But I didn't have a chance to mention the big file to anyone because I thought I could call customer support and delete it once I had a free minute from work. I just have been too busy this week, so couldn't get around it" Emma looked at each one of them. "Just what is your investigation about?"
Emma
USA - 11/15/97 at 18:42:43
Jeff continued, "Would you like to order some takeout and we can pick it up?"
"I can't impose on you like that, they deliver. I insist you join me", and called in an order of Ceasar's salad, chicken, roasted vegetables and French bread. The order was delivered piping hot only a few minutes later (gad, is this fantasy or what!), after the policemen had left. One of the Feds left because to answer a call from his pager, and special agent Brownlow, Jeff Palmer & Emma enjoyed their dinner.
"I nearly forgot!", Emma placed a glass of wine by each plate.
"Was the door locked when you arrived", Brownlow spoke in what sounded like a near-whisper, but was clearly audible.
Emma noticed how he had a very intimate VOICE. A question without its punctuation. "Yes, both when I first arrived at the house, after buying the wine, and after calling the police", and she reached for more vegs.
"Where do you carry you laptop?", Jeff asked.
"Everywhere. I even had it with me when I went to England for a long week-end last September", Emma said distractedly.
Emma
USA - 11/15/97 at 18:28:31
My screen keeps freezing up. Is this a bad omen?
Joan
USA - 11/15/97 at 18:25:53
"Now it's dark, PL, can we avoid the graveyard?" The bike's full beam illuminated the lych gate.
"Not really, but you can get off and walk if you prefer."
"Noooo.... I don't think so," he stretched out the syllables, as if thinking as he spoke.
"You're not afraid of ghosts are you?"
O'Hara was surprised at this chink in the armour of Sinclair's self confidence.
"It's just I don't want you to run over anybody .... I mean anything."
"Just close your eyes, and we'll be there in a jiffy." O'Hara turned the throttle and the Rickman Metisse responded.
"How still the night is ....nothing sounds alive." Quite a relief in a graveyard really.
Claire .. Welcome Joan to the Addicts Club!, - 11/15/97 at 18:09:46
When Dwight got to the bottom of the staircase he could see that something serious was happening. "What's going on here?" he asked the first person he found.
"They're searching for a woman what's lost out on the heath. There's a dangerous man about and we must find her afore he does." Said the stable lad.
The next person Dwight ran into (literally RAN into) was the ample Mrs. Jennings. "Oops, sorry madam." He drawled.
"Oh," she blushed, "think nothing of it dear. We're all at sixes and sevens here, trying to find Miss Dana. What's your name may I ask? I've not seen you around here before have I? I'm SURE I would remember if I had!"
"Billings, Dwight Billings, ma'am."
"'Oh, I can tell by your accent you're another American. We have quite a few of them popping up here lately. Where are you from?"
"I really must go madam." He said, trying to make a hasty exit. "It's been nice to meet you."
He certainly was in a hurry she thought. Hmmm, definitely a man with a past. Well, she'd snuffle it out of him. No one could winkle like Mrs. Jennings!
Joan, becoming an addict.
USA - 11/15/97 at 17:53:27
The Doctor had left the Tardis earlier, with the twins, leaving the threesome to talk. He had gone to check on Jamie, and unbeknownst to Claudia, the boys had given him the slip. But the twins knew they were amongst friends in the manor, and would be well looked after. They had forgotten about the warnings against strangers. Here was a safe place. And they were now bathed and in bed in a place that was becoming as familiar as home.
Claudia walked back from the Tardis to the Manor house, with Ed on one arm, and Nick on the other. She had warmed to him after all. He was a friend of Ed's so she forgave him his outspokenness and open flirting. And he was quite charming when you got used to him.
There was an awful lot of activity on the heath for this time of the evening. Nick grabbed the arm of a local rushing passed with a torch. "What's going on here?" he asked.
"We're looking for an attacker loose on the heath. Attacked some young lady."
"Valmont?" said Claudia, but it couldn't be, he was safely in the Tardis, under the care of Lis.
The local shook his head. "Some says 'is name is George. But I know nothin' else." He dashed off before they could ask any questions.
"I don't believe George would do something like that," said Claudia. "He is a bit of a rogue, but he's part of the gang."
"I tend to agree with you," said Ed. "I think the only lady he is interested in is Andrea, and she can well take care of herself if she needs to."
"And Hamlet wouldn't let him do anything, anyway." Said Claudia.
"I don't know any of these people," said Nick. "But perhaps we should get in side, and start asking some questions."
Claudia
- 11/15/97 at 17:51:02
"Tactfully, Brandon avoids all mention . . ." And then mentions HIM directly. Continuity! ARRRGHHHH! Consistency! AIIIEEE! I'd slap my own wrists, if they weren't already so bruised and scratched. Better get some bandages or something . . .
MA
Looking for R, - 11/15/97 at 17:42:03
Mary Anne has received many kisses from Colonel Brandon. But this is something new. This kiss. She has never before received a kiss that turns into . . .
A yawn.
She pulls away from him, and at the look on his face, when he realizes what he has done, she bursts into giggles and then assumes an air of injured dignity. "Well, sir! That certainly isn't very flattering!"
"Mary Anne, I--I'm sorry! It is not you--"
Laughing, Mary Anne puts her arms around Brandon's neck and hugs him. "Go up to your room, Christopher, and get some sleep. You need it. " Touch of mischief. "If you like, I'll stay there with you, like you did for me, and see that you are not . . . disturbed."
Brandon's voice is amused, very dry: "As I believe you observed--with you in the room, it would be difficult for me to sleep."
They rise from the chair. Brandon stretches ; he is even more tired than he had realized. Mary Anne only just manages to keep herself in check as Brandon stretches to ease his tired limbs and she watches the play of muscle beneath his clothing . Never did a man have less reason to be jealous over the affections of the woman he loves . . .
To distract herself, Mary Anne asks: "Was Renie still all right, sir, when I--left?"
Tactfully, Brandon avoids all mention of who Mary Anne was with when she left the room. "You saw yourself, how she managed him. But . . . it required a great deal of her. She is probably still very tired. And I am certain--" Brandon smiles at her. "You two will have much to talk about. Her wedding plans . . . she will need another woman's opinion in such matters."
Yes, thinks Mary Anne. Renie and I will *indeed* have much to discuss. Aloud, she simply says: "I'll go and check on her--or is Hans with her?" It would never do to walk in on that.
"He was when I left to --see that you would be all right. " Brandon smiles. "He probably will not wish to let her out of his sight, after all this . . ."
Mary Anne smiles. "I can certainly understand that!" Mary Anne pats the Colonel's shoulder. "I'll go and check on her. Go on up to bed, Christopher. And sleep well."
Brandon bows over her hand, and when he looks up, his smile is that of a man whose mind is at rest. "I shall sleep much better . . .now," he says, as he turns and leaves the Main Hall. And as he climbs the stairs, headed for his guestroom and a well-deserved rest, Mary Anne goes in search of Renie.
Poor tired Colonel . . . (wink)
And a nod to King Solomon--copious homage . . ., - 11/15/97 at 17:38:24
Mary Anne can tell easily enough that she is being--as the locals would put it--"deviled," and blushes a little, though she does not turn her face away. Brandon had put the question to her as a joke, but he deserves an honest answer. "I think--" Mary Anne hesitates. "I think there were times when I may have been jealous of Renie without realizing it. She is--well . . ."
"Yes?" prompts Brandon.
Mary Anne plows ahead, feeling terribly awkward. But Brandon had asked. "Renie is very beautiful--and I loved you, sir, practically from the very moment you first rescued me from The Interrogator. But you and Renie were so close, and I could never be quite sure . . . And then, the way she kept Hans at a distance for so long. I never could understand--until that day when Renie told me she was already--married." Mary Anne is obviously distressed at the memories, but continues. "But finally, you explained things to me, that night after the Celebration, and Renie has told me--well, some other things." Mary Anne shifts in the chair, and Brandon can feel her unease. "The whole business has made me feel such a fool, sir. Especially after all Renie has done for me, starting with sending you to rescue me. When I think of how I've treated her sometimes, how thoughtless I was--or simply cruel--" Mary Anne shakes her head. "I cannot understand, Christopher, how I am fortunate enough to have you love me as you do. I certainly don't deserve it." An ironic smile. "Reports of my goodness have been greatly exaggerated. But, to answer your question--" Mary Anne looks into Brandon's face, and he catches his breath at the look in her eyes. "I am not jealous--anymore. I am grateful. And I try to be worthy."
Mary Anne leans forward and gives Brandon a light kiss on the chin, on the cut where The Interrogator struck him. That kiss . . . so close to . . . Brandon takes Mary Anne's face in his hands, and guides her lips to his own . . .
Needless to say, the Colonel encounters no resistance.
None whatsoever.
"Jealousy is cruel as the grave . . ."
- 11/15/97 at 16:53:48
Brandon, sitting in the deep armchair before the fire, as Mary Anne touches her lips to the palm of his hand . . .
He cannot bear it any longer. Brandon reaches down and lifts Mary Anne from where she is sitting on the floor, draws her into the chair with him,and holds her as if he is afraid someone will take her away if he lets go. Mary Anne settles in beside him with a long sigh. "Do you believe me, sir?"
It pains Brandon that she should have to ask, but after the things he has just said . . . "Yes, of course I do." Mary Anne, sitting there by him--the feel of her near him . . . Brandon searches for a way to distract himself, and to change the subject. "So," he says. "Renie has agreed to marry Hans. After all they have been through--" Brandon pauses. "Gruber is getting a treasure. May he endeavor to deserve her."
Mary Anne is looking at the fire again. "I don't doubt that he will . . . but Renie had better file those papers soon." A hint of a smile. "Thanks to Ed, Hans has a clean record all over the world ; I'd hate to see him spoil that by becoming a party to bigamy." Then, turning to look into Brandon's eyes: "Renie getting married to Hans--does that make you happy, sir?"
Brandon starts to reply, but then looks more closely at her face. And starts to smile. And takes his revenge, albeit a very gentle one: "Why, Mary Anne--are you jealous?"
"Love is as strong as death . . ."
- 11/15/97 at 16:23:22
After the twins had been bathed and put to bed (it took only two chapters of "Peter Pan" before they nodded off) Joan went back to her room.
What a wonderful place this is, she thought. I've no idea WHY I'm here or HOW I got here, but whatever the reason until it's made known to me I intend to enjoy myself! This room is marvelous and the clothes in the wardrobe!!! They are all my size and all designer labels: Armani, Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein and that Valentino gown will do VERY nicely for the wedding :D
Meanwhile, in another part of the Manor House Dwight Billings was pacing and trying to decide what to do next. He looked out the window of his room in the east wing and saw there were a lot of lights on, both inside and outside of the house, as if some kind of a search was in progress. He could hear shouts in the distance, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.
He could no longer stand the suspense and decided to get dressed, go downstairs, and see what was happening. He put on black corduroy trousers, a warm pullover sweater, and a brown leather jacket. As he descending the stairs he could hear the voices grow louder and the house was ablaze with lights.
Joan, trying to keep up with the continuity
USA - 11/15/97 at 16:20:23
If O'Hara replied, it was lost in the rev of the engine.
The convivial mood suspended.
His thoughts mirrored the slow, and tortuous, descent down the chalk escarpment.
Neither man spoke.
Something in the exchange had touched a raw nerve with O'Hara.
A forgotten scar breached.
When the depths had been plunged, Sinclair still grasping PL's jacket, sensed the tension release from O'Hara's body.
As they reached the foot of the hill a scurry of lights could be seen within The Manor grounds. Sinclair tapped O'Hara's shoulder, pointed and yelled.
"Looks like a search of some kind."
"Either that or the annual ghost walk."
Sinclair didn't have to see O'Hara's face to know he was being joshed.
"Some dusky spirit ..."
Claire, - 11/15/97 at 13:26:12
Dear Somebody-else: He's a very selfish guy, but I've fallen under his spell and I'm writing the stuff!
"There have been times ....."
Claire, - 11/15/97 at 13:23:21
Whew, Claire
Nice non-celestial save =)
somebody-else
doesn't he love me just a bit?, USA - 11/15/97 at 12:44:38
The boys were splashing away in the tub, washing off red paint from their newest game'Torture the Vicomte' They had made themselves up to look like Indians (or reddlemen).
Joan sat next to the rub on a low stool oblivious to the splatter of water and lost in her own thoughts. She'd seen a lot of pain Dwight's eyes. Wonder what woman, for surely it HAD to be a woman, had put that pain there? Maybe even more than one woman? His EYES, they held so much hurt it almost broke her heart to look into them.
"Do you know our Mummy?" asked Luke.
"Not exactly," said Joan. "we've *spoken*, but never met in person. I'm looking forward to meeting her."
A bathroom in the Manor House, (gee a lot happend last night!) Joan
USA - 11/15/97 at 11:10:32
She explained all to the police (one of which she had met before at a picnic), who supressed a smile when they heard of the missing pot roast. Two more policemen came and started dusting for fingerprints, and then two FBI men arrived. The policemen knew one of the FBI men. After the customary statements, one of the feds went over to the fingerprinting unit, and the other, special agent Brownlow, continued talking to Emma.
Brownlow's honey-color eyes, VOICE, and h*nds reminded Emma of someone else, but she couldn't place them yet. As they spoke, Jeff arrived and joined their conversation. Emma was relieved to see that Jeff really was who he said he was, but did not mention this to either man.
The phone rang. Aunt Fausta told her she'd be there in about an hour, but wouldn't Emma rather come over for the night? No, Emma prefered to stay at the house, so her Aunt would be there later. Emma went back to Jeff and Brownlow and explained.
"You didn't eat yet", Jeff started, "so how about we go and get something for dinner"
Emma
USA - 11/15/97 at 09:52:57
As soon as Emma realized her laptop was missing, she grabbed her umbrella and bag and ran out of the house locking the door behind her.
By the time she knocked at her neighbor's door, she had already called the police on her cellular phone. Her neighbor answered the door. Emma noticed she was crying.
"Nellie! My goodness, what's the matter?", Emma pleaded.
"Oh, nothing, I was watching the TMD tape you lent me", Nellie noisily blew her nose, "I love it".
Emma sighed with relief, and explained what happened. The police turned up within 5 minutes, by which time Emma had called the FBI (phone book listing), Jeff's voice mail, and her aunt Fausta. Since Emma's other household members were away on a weekend field trip until Sunday night, Nellie had suggested she stay over until the door locks were changed. Emma decided to call her aunt, who was the same age as she, and left a message. Fausta had probably gone to a theater matinee.
Emma
USA - 11/15/97 at 09:36:26
"PL, I have a confession to make." Sinclair fiddled with the helmet straps.
"While you were checking the bike, I used the mobile from the Props department. Tell them I'll settle the call bill."
"What on earth for?" O'Hara sat astride the bike polishing the chrome, with a caress of the glove.
"Well I was rather concerned when you mentioned Dana and Mr Billings. I've heard some unsavoury things about that man. Not for general publication, of course. But in my line of work there are rumours."
"It transpires after you left, Dana was attacked on the Heath and is spending a precautionary night in the Hospital. I've sent a car in my name so she can convalesce at the House for the weekend. The housekeeper's prepared for visitors so I'm sure she will be comfortable.
I arranged for the usual covering Press Release."
Sinclair eased his way onto the saddle behind O'Hara.
"That was very thoughtful Sinclair." O'Hara continued the polishing.
"I don't think I need that kind of publicity."
"She's an foreigner ... give her 5 minutes and she'll be down Oxford Street with the charge cards. Mark my words."
Sinclair sensed bitterness in the reply that was alien to his perception of his friend.
"That's not very charitable ... don't you care?" He chided.
There was a silence between the two.
" Sometimes PL, you can be very self centred."
Claire
Think we made it without Celestial Operators Inc.... just!, - 11/15/97 at 07:51:42
AHHHHHHHHHH ...... Claire going back for a re write!
It's not even safe to sleep .... Have pity on a UK resident!!
- 11/15/97 at 06:05:49
You people are too much!! I'm laughing out loud and totally enthralled. I love it!!! :-)
Debbie
- 11/15/97 at 00:53:54
Brandon is far too honest not to answer, or to answer untruthfully. "Yes," he says. "Yes! I am!" And now it is out at last. "Please, Mary Anne, do not laugh at me--"
Mary Anne is far from laughing. "Christopher, I never gave you cause."
"No--I know that you have not. But when I see the way men look at you--" He takes in Mary Anne's uncomprehending expression. "Do not misunderstand me. You are a lovely woman, and men are certain to notice. I speak of men like The Interrogator, or the Vicomte--" Brandon can hardly continue. "When I see you pour out your sweetness and goodness upon them . . ."
Mary Anne does not laugh, though she does attempt to gentle him from his mood. "Why do you think of yourself so meanly? So," she muses, "it appears that my choices are the Vicomte de Valmont--a heartless seducer and philanderer, or The Interrogator, our worst enemy in the Realm--" Impossible to smile here ; recent events are too vivid. Mary Anne leaves her chair to sit on the floor near the fire. Perhaps it will drive out the chill that has crept into her bones. "Or," she continues, "you. A man of honor. Generous. Just." Mary Anne's face reddens a little--the heat of the fire, perhaps. "Kind to me beyond my deserving, on many occasions. Tender. Courteous. Courageous. Hmmm . . . yes. I can see why you might be jealous. A difficult choice, indeed."
On some other occasion, Brandon might be up to a little repartee of this sort, but not now. At his weary look, Mary Anne relents. Moves nearer to his chair and looks up at him. "Sir, perhaps I cannot change them--I mean, men like The Interrogator, or the Vicomte. But I can certainly keep them from changing me. (homage) These things I do--they are for my own soul's sake, as well." Mary Anne takes Brandon's right hand, and does for him what she did not do for The Interrogator: presses her lips to that hand, repeatedly. To the back of his hand. Then, turning his hand over, she leaves another kiss in his palm, like a gift. And looks up at him again, to say softly: "Christopher, don't be afraid. You are my choice . . ."
"Many waters cannot quench love,
Neither can floods drown it . . .", - 11/15/97 at 00:31:52
Brandon does not speak the words aloud ; he dares not. If he started, he would not be able to stop. His defenses where Mary Anne is concerned are few, and those few are perilously weak. And now she is speaking:
"Please understand, sir. Sometimes I don't know, myself, why I do those things . . ." Her fingers drum absentmindedly on the arm of her chair. "It's just that I keep thinking--there are times when he seems to be . . . relenting . . . and gestures like that--" She laughs a little. "A small enough thing, carrying a package. But anything might be enough to tip the balance with him! Who knows? Perhaps--" She thinks it over. "Sir, there are stones out there on the heath--I've seen them--that you could not split with a hammer. Stones that are harder than a blacksmith's anvil. But they have been worn down, just the same. By flowing water. By something as soft as that. Or in these same stones--a crack no hammer could have made. And what did make it?" She smiles. "A growing plant. A . . . flower."
Brandon's face darkens. Perhaps she is right, but to have her so concern herself with HIM . . . Brandon is never cruel, but worry puts an edge to his voice: "So--do you see yourself as the flower, then, that will split this heart of stone?"
He regrets it as soon as he says it. He had not intended to be so sharp with her, would not hurt her for the world . . . Brandon does not attempt to excuse himself on the grounds that he is fatigued, that the past twenty-four hours have been extremely difficult. No. He is instantly seized with remorse at Mary Anne's startled look. But her response is not what he expects . . .
The merest hint of a smile, as she looks up into his face. "Christopher Brandon . . . are you jealous?"
" . . . for I am faint with love . . ."
Or maybe I'll just plain faint . . ., - 11/14/97 at 23:27:57
Yes, there may indeed be conflicting accounts of what did actually happen that day at the Manor House. Car or carriage? That is only one matter that might be hotly debated in households throughout Egdon, or over a pint or two in The Quiet Woman. One item, however, is not open to debate.
Brandon, disturbed by what he has witnessed and overheard. More disturbed than he would like to admit.
He leads Mary Anne back into the House. There. The Main Hall--a roaring fire always guaranteed on a cold day, and after the morning's excitement, there is no one about. So this is where Brandon escorts Mary Anne. Who has said absolutely nothing--yet--in response to his comment that she should not have done it. Should not have made yet another generous attempt . . .
Mary Anne sits, staring into the fire. Brandon sits opposite her, waiting. Her silence continues, and finally he clears his throat. "Ah . . .Mary Anne. I hope that I have not . . ." His voice trails off. Has he offended her? "I was . . . concerned."
She turns her eyes from the fire to look at him. Suddenly, everything catches up with Brandon at once. The long, terrible night, in which he saw the torment of his beloved ; his humiliation by his deadly enemy ; the threats of that same enemy to the happiness of those he treasures ; the sight of this woman here before him, kneeling to that terrible man, pleading with him to turn from his ways . . . and now, Mary Anne gazing at him. With love, yes. But such a penetrating gaze, for one so very fond. Words pass through Brandon's mind, the words of a king in an ancient land, a king renowned for his wisdom--who found, however, that he could be held captive by love, like any other man: Turn thine eyes from me ; they overwhelm me . . . thou has ravished my heart with one glance of thine eyes, with one jewel of thy necklace . . . thou art fair, thou art all fair ; thou hast dove's eyes . . .
"Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples . . ."
- 11/14/97 at 23:03:34
LOL I meekly comply....
"Somebody-Else"
USA - 11/14/97 at 22:51:19
It wasn't me, I say. Andrea, darling, tell them it wasn't me!
George < george@manorhouse.comfoo >
Hoping I get away with this..., UK - 11/14/97 at 21:33:21
The Nurse continued to tell what she knew. Eunice was thrilled to have this contact at the hospital, and she hoped with all her might that she was out-scooping the station on the other side of town. Surely, they didn't have access to information like this!
The Nurse's story continued thus:
While under hypnosis, we discovered that the mystery woman whom Fox thought to be Dana 'Scully' is really Dana 'Somebody-Else.' It seems that she was taking a walk through the heath at twilight just last evening, when she was blind-sided by the fellow I described a few minutes ago. He was dressed all in black, and he called her a 'wench' and tried to have his way with her!
Dana, not being one to be reckoned with (and having no idea what this fellow was up to), fought back. During the scuffle, she suffered a nice bump to the head and blacked out. We imagine this bump to the head is what caused her amnesia. When she came to, she was lying in the light of the full moon on the floor of the heath, with no memory of either who she was or where she was.
At that moment along came Mr. Mulder on his hands and knees. He had lost a contact while jogging through the heath on his evening run. Fox was quite surprised to see what he mistakenly believed to be his partner lying on the heath floor, apparently unconscious. They had been out jogging together in the moon light. He tried to revive her, was successful, and, since Dana 'Something Else' bears quite a strong resemblance to Dana 'Scully,' he took her home and gave her some soup. Dana 'Something Else' (not being able to remember anything) gladly went along with Mr. Mulder. She had no recollection of what had happened to her.
Eunice: Well, this just in from my sources....I have just been informed that Egdon General has released Dana 'Something-Else' into the hands of a Mr. Sinclair Bryant, a prominent London forecaster, who has momentarily set aside his weekend plans in order to help his new friend, Dana 'Something-Else' -- who is a foreigner. He has promised to put her up for the time being at his home in London. She will be staying at his estate on the Thames until she feels well enough to jump back into action. Sinclair promises us she'll have plenty to eat, and expects her to recover fully in virtually no time at all. In addition, Mr. Bryant has informed us that - despite this quick respite - he fully intends to return to the site of his upcoming weekend escapades this very evening.
Eunice continues: From the information that we've gathered here today, we fully suspect that the aforementioned 'George' has taken Dana Scully hostage. There has been no sign of her since the night Dana 'Something-Else' was attacked in the heath. We also have word that Fox Mulder has been released from police headquarters as a result of this late-breaking news.
And finally, a warning to all residents of Egdon: Please keep your doors and windows locked and keep your wives and children within your sight pending further notice regarding the whereabouts of this 'George.' If anyone sees this man, or has any information as to where he might have taken the real Dana Scully, please alert your local authorities.
This has been Eunice Vye, reporting for EGDN News, Egdon Heath.
EGDN News "Your Round-the-Clock Source for Heath News"
Egdon, UK - 11/14/97 at 21:25:04
We momentarily interrupt FOF for another EGDN special report.
Standing by is Eunice Vye (cousin of Eustacia and part-time reporter for EGDN News) with the attending nurse from Egdon General, Nurse Ratchett. It seems that the mystery woman was admitted to Egdon for tests this morning as a result of amnesia-like symptoms.
Eunice: Nurse Ratchett, tell us what you know.
Nurse: Well, I attended to the woman previously thought to be Dana Scully at Egdon General this afternoon. We didn't really run any tests because we figured if we hypnotized her for a few moments, she might answer some of our questions. I don't want to alarm anyone but....(voice trails off and Nurse looks worried).
Eunice: Go ahead, please Nurse.
Nurse (wide-eyed): I don't wish to alarm anyone without first notifying the authorities, but it does seem that we may have to alert the Egdon community to be on the lookout for a scoundrel known only by the name of George. He is considered armed and dangerous, having been seen by our mystery patient with a sword made of spanish steel. He was described physically as having shoulder length, jet-black hair, rather tall (about 6'), dresses all in black, and with his matching black beard, looks rather unkempt. The words our patient keeps using over and over again are 'growl' and 'scowl.' He sounds like a frightful creature indeed! (Nurse shivers) She claims he accosted her in the heath!
Eunice (her eyes widen): My goodness, Nurse, how odd! This is turning out to be quite interesting. Please continue.
Nurse Ratchett takes a deep breath......
Live from Egdon General
Egdon, UK - 11/14/97 at 21:10:29
Dana (not Scully), we think you should take it easy and try not to remember too much all at once. You may remember some things that didn't really happen....
A Concerned Resident
Egdon, UK - 11/14/97 at 21:04:10
Now it can be said with certainty, that a great many packages were delivered that day in Egdon, and some anxious to celebrate the union of Renie and Hans were already enjoying their liquid invitation . . . which led to varying accounts of the exit that day of "The Bad Man," among other things.
So it was . . . all around the world, where the tall, thin boxes were miching malacho . . .
"It was a CAR!"
"Great piles of furze rot--it was a *carriage*!", - 11/14/97 at 20:11:32
Dana heaved a great sigh and tried to review all that had happened. " At least that Mulder fellow will stop calling me Scully now. What do they need with me now though? They have all of my I.D. I'm not missing!"
As she sat back and waited for someone to come back into the room she remembered the packet she had seenoutside her door as they were taking her away. "Wonder what that was?"...
Dana, not Scully
it's the general anesthetic I don't like.. , USA - 11/14/97 at 19:56:00
Timestream split at Manor House, Egdon Heath. Re-weave strands to close split ; re-arrange chronology as appropriate.
Celestial Operators, Inc.
I knew they'd need us again . . ., Proxima Centauri - 11/14/97 at 19:53:10
Brandon. Following Mary Anne.
Despite her assurances that she was going no further than the front door, Brandon is not about to trust HIM. Of course, Venn is there--but, ah, gentle readers, try telling any man in love to entrust the safety of his beloved to another, and see the look you will get. Hear the response, if said man in love will even take the time to answer. Brandon is in love if ever a man was. And not about to waste his time on idle words. She must be kept safe. She must. His vow that she will never be hurt again? Foolish, some would say, unrealistic, impossible to fulfill. But Colonel Christopher Brandon will do what he can . . .
And, doing what he can, Brandon reaches the turn of the hall that opens into the main entry. He pauses at the corner, at the sound of voices. One voice in particular, and the words it speaks. Venn, saying: "Now, sir, best for you if you don't make trouble--"
Taking care not to be seen, Brandon looks around the corner to see Mary Anne and The Interrogator, facing each other at close range. Very close. For she had been handing over his package, and HE has reached out, as if reaching for the box . . . and has taken her by the arms instead. Above the rings of bruises around her wrists. HE is staring at the wounds. And Mary Anne,though clearly alarmed, remains still and permits the inspection, as Venn clears his throat and attempts to detach The Interrogator's grip upon her arms, with another murmur of "Best go now . . ."
But The Interrogator is not listening. Slowly he raises HIS terrible eyes to Mary Anne's, and Brandon, watching, tenses and reaches for his pistol. Mary Anne remains quite still. As HE speaks . . .
"Lady of compassion . . ."
Mary Anne's response is quiet and direct. "Let go of me." She waits, as he continues to hold her arms. "I said, let go."
Finally, HE does release her--or perhaps he has decided that Venn is right. But The Interrogator continues to inspect her face, looking for . . . something. And then HE executes--with astonishing grace, for a man with an injured leg--a small, mocking bow, and smiles at her--a smile that brings back dreadful memories. Brandon can see Mary Anne shivers at the sound of that VOICE, as it quotes: " 'Say then, my peace is made.'"
But HE is surprised when, without missing a beat, Mary Anne responds: " 'That shalt thou know hereafter.' "
" 'But shall I live . . . in hope? ' "
Mary Anne, stepping away from him. Her voice firm and steady. " 'All men, I hope, live so.' " She has turned from The Interrogator and pauses only to smile at Venn, and say: "Thank you, Diggory." The smile disappears as she looks once more into the Interrogator's face. A last nod to Venn, and her voice as she turns back into the House: "Get him out of here."
Mary Anne shuts the door behind her. A moment--and then the rattle of carriage wheels. HE is gone. Mary Anne, weak with relief, leans against the door and closes her eyes.
Only to open them again at the sound of a step in the entryway. Colonel Brandon, coming toward her--to be certain that she is, indeed, safe . . .
It doesn't work anymore, Mr. I . . .
- 11/14/97 at 19:50:45
Brandon was there at that moment. "My dear, you should not have done this."
A crowd has gathered at the car. The revving of the engine continues, and it is clear to no one there that the parking brake has been set. And that the car will go nowhere, fast. At last, the beast is released; presumably at the order of the passenger within.
Diggory's ease in all situations with any kind of folk does not translate well into mechanical terms, and the car bursts forth then comes to an abrupt stop, as the brake is discovered to keep the vehicle and its two occupants from certain harm vis a vis the livestock corral. In a fit of starts and stops, the sleek black beast spurts its way across the heath.
Precisely when it arrived at the cottage, and in what manner of shape, we cannot say at present. Suffice it to say, that they were, essentially, unharmed by the transport adventure, except that the tic appeared to have taken up permanent residence once again.
"When I take you out in the surrey..."
OK--, R - 11/14/97 at 19:22:47
Meanwhile, Diggory has reached the front entrance of Manor House, with the Interrogator leaning heavily on Venn's left shoulder. However, it must be said, that most other men would not even be standing.
In front of the Manor House Inn stands the Interrogator's huge black car, parked at what can only be called a rakish angle, that is, with its black wheels atop some thistle bushes, and the front grill flecked with heather stubs. The newly-bent license plate "CONFESS" can be seen from a distance. p "Your driver has not been seen since yesterday; 'e may have run off for good. Seems you 'aven't much of a fellowship left 'ere. And there's no one else 'sides you that can make 'is beast behave . . . so I guess it'll be me, taking you to the cottage. I 'ope that sits well enough."
As Diggory steps off to start the car--and that is no easy task--the motor revving ferociously as he jams the gas pedal with unease--Mary Ann steps forward and silently hands HIM the box.
She has not yet seen the redoubled evil and bitterness which has always followed times such as this. The pattern must hold, yet . . .
Her eyes look quizzically at HIM, without guile or plan. Try as she may, she cannot see it there, yet she must . . .
"Mary Anne, I have a soul, though it be blackened with the soot of the past. Cannot you think me capable of keeping my word? I shall keep silent about the pistol, I shall not challenge her freedom."
Mary Anne feels that pull of--no, she was sure it was not love, quite sure--of--of responsibility, of an attachment, however unsought . . .
As Venn opens the door and returns for his cargo, the Interrogator beholds the brave and lovely Mary Anne, whom he had almost made his bella donna. His VOICE enters her with a shudder.
"I shall do it for YOU, Mary Anne."
And, watching HIM enter the car, and Diggory close the passenger door, Mary Anne closes her eyes and knows she was right.
Brrr....
Finally, Joan!-R, - 11/14/97 at 19:21:36
After trying to consider the options, Emma opted for a nice glass of red wine to go with the pot roast. No wine in the house.
At the wine shop, she asked the owner for a recomendation, purchased it, and walked back. The cold, wet evening cleared her head.
She unlocked her door, walked in and noticed the oven door was open. The oven light was on.
She put down her purchase, the umbrella, and her shoulder bag, turned on the lights and walked into the kitchen. The kitchen table was bare.
Her laptop computer, and the pot roast, were gone.
Emma
USA - 11/14/97 at 19:07:26
"Sinclair. Take this, you look freezing." He unwound a short grey tweed scarf.
"We had best be getting back, before the light fades."
"SINCLAIR." O'Hara sought to gain his friends attention.
"Yes, Yes. This is really interesting."
He reluctantly tore himself away from pacing the dimensions of the Unicorn, and took the scarf from O'Hara's outstretched hand.
"We must stop for something to eat, I've only had the biscuits and a Club Sandwich since ... I don't know when."
Probably since the end of September, Sinclair, but nobody eats that often in FOF.
Claire, - 11/14/97 at 19:01:49
Oops! I guess I'd better leave the italics until I've had more practise. Sorry about that! Wish I could see BEFORE I sumit. Thanks for your patience.
Joan
USA - 11/14/97 at 18:55:13
All of a sudden the door to the room flew open and the twins burst in. "Eddie's going to paint us! Eddie's going to paint us! And Mummy too!' Luke and Joseph were laughing and tickling each other.
"Hmmm, looks as if you two have already been into the paints," said Joan. "Where is your Mummy?"
'We don't know." Said Luke.
"We've lost her." Said Joseph, his chin beginning to tremble a little bit.
"Well, let's go see if we can find her, alright?" Joan took a twin in each hand, looked over her left shoulder at Dwight and said, 'Well, it's been nice meeting you. I can see this is a pretty interesting place." And she was out the door.
Dwight looked down and saw the heavy cream envelope on the floor. "Wait!" he said, you've dropped something
Joan, jumping into who knows what!
USA - 11/14/97 at 18:50:43
"Sir, I'll be back in just a moment. I'm only going as far as the front door."
"And no further," comes the VOICE of Brandon.
"I will be right back, placates Mary Anne. "I promise." With a last glance at Brandon, Mary Anne follows Diggory and his load, walking a few steps behind to the front of Manor House.
As soon as Mary Anne has followed the Interrogator out the door, Renie collapses. Brandon and Hans lift her easily, and help her to sit on the bed where, minutes ago, the Interrogator had sought in vain for a comb. Such is how things come to pass.
Now that the need for valiance is over, and the fight is won, Renie feels every minute that has passed. HE is gone. And all are safe. And there is Hans.
And Brandon, smiling as grand a smile as she has ever seen on his face.
"I have the greatest pleasure in congratulating you both. This is no time for speech-making, they'll be time enough for that." Brandon's smile crinkles up around his eyes, and his gentle face is full of genuine happiness. His look tells Renie that he will speak to her later, in full, and that he is happy now, and will be satisfied at present with only this :
"Remember, Renie, how well loved you are by your friends."
The Colonel's intonation of "loved"--the way he lingered on the last "d" fills Renie's heart with a silent joy.
She can barely answer. "Colonel, I will never forget."
The gentle shake of Renie's head brings the ivory scarf out of her hair, which falls past her shoulders. The scarf falls to the floor, equally in front of Brandon and Hans.
The three of them regard it for just a second longer than such a simple sight should inspire. Brandon is the one to stoop and pick it up.
He hands it to Hans. "Here, Hans, please take care of this." The Colonel smiles warmly at Hans. " The two men regard each other as they have once before; now there is no hint of wariness in Brandon's voice. Nor resignation. "She deserves the best of care and the richest of affections." Hans was quick to answer.
"And, Herr Colonel, she shall have it. You have my word."
"Don't fret, sir, " adds Renie. And then in a mock authoritarian voice she levels, "I am in *charge*. "
The two men laugh. A rough embrace between them follows, and Renie generously adds, "Sir, perhaps Mary Anne needs some assistance?"
With a bow that would leave no woman's heart unmoved, Brandon exits, to seek out his one and only love, leaving Hans and Renie alone at last.
Good-bye, sir...makes sure she's okay...
-R, - 11/14/97 at 18:39:01
Scene: Egdon Heath. Manor House. No local constabulary, no police officials at all here . . .
The disused guestroom. Ten eyes are fixed nervously on the tall, thin box and its accompanying card.
And on the MAN who holds it--and them--
It could have been a bomb...the way they all stared at it.
"You work very fast, Herr Gruber. Your past connections have advantages, no doubt." In keeping with the spirit of forgiveness, Hans does not do anything untoward, does not even speak; instead, he nods--all the magnanimity he can manage. It's the Interrogator's move. And everyone knows it.
Everyone.
Including HIM. Exit stage left. "I will open this--later." When I have something to celebrate . . . Finally, the knock on the door comes, and it's Diggory, looking every inch the man to deliver them all . . .
"I'm sorry, Hans. Miss Renie. Hello Colonel, Miss Mary Anne." Diggory smiles and steps forward to the Interrogator, still holding the box. Diggory wisely makes no move to take it from him, but says, " 'ere, sir. Lean on me. I could not find an open gig, nor could I find anyone to help with th' --well, we'll do the best we can . . . here you go."
Somehow, the Interrogator submits to Venn's help without much chagrin--for Diggory's easy way of treating people without seeming judgment is a great facility indeed.
Seeing HIM leave, however, in such a state, and without the assistance which she had offered, Mary Anne cannot keep silent any more.
She bolts to the doorway, holding out her hand. "I'd like to--carry that for you, if I may." The polite words are far from any of the exchanges in past 24 hours that anyone unfamiliar with Mary Anne might think them absurd.
Absurd they are not. These words are to be expected from a woman such as this. She is ready to step forward, no matter how weak, and lend a hand . . . offer a hand . . . even to HIM.
As Mary Anne reaches for the box which the Interrogator releases into her grasp, the sleeve of her blue dress slides up, revealing the bruised and abraised wrists.
Luckily, Diggory does not notice them as he helps the Interrogator from the room.
About . . . those wrists . . .
That's it-R, - 11/14/97 at 18:37:34
Scene: Egdon Heath. Manor House. No lo
Oh, dearest . . . those wrists . . .
-R, - 11/14/97 at 18:36:11
George crosses the room to reach the half-open door. Looking back at Andrea to see if she objects, he closes the door. On his way back to Andrea's bedside, he pauses at the chair where he had been sitting. He retrieves an object from the seat cushion and brings it to Andrea.
George: I discovered this in your bathroom. It may help your condition.
Andrea examines the tube and reads the label.
Andrea: Yes. Heat. That's just what I need.
George: If you will permit me, I will apply it to your back for you.
Andrea: Are you sure you want to? ... I mean ... Will you be able to control yourself?
George: Certainly. There will be no more "lessons" until you are healed.
Andrea hands the tube back to him.
George: Do you require assistance to roll over?
Andrea
welcome, Joan - 11/14/97 at 17:30:31
Obviously I don't have spell check! Sorry.
Joan
USA - 11/14/97 at 17:02:25
Obviously I don't have spell check! Sorry.
Joan
USA - 11/14/97 at 17:02:06
The bunny slippers were just the icebreakers that she needed. A man who could make her laugh was the one who could win her heart. "If you don't want a martini. May I offer you someting else to drink?"
She looked up at him, noticing for the first time how tall he was, 'I'm kind of partial to champagne. And it fits the occasion." He handed her a beautiful long stemmed glass.
"And what exactly IS the occasion?"
She took a sip before answering; "Renie and Hans are getting married on Christmas Eve."
"Renie and Hans?" he lifted an eyebrow.
"Oh, it's a long story, let's just say it's one with a happy ending." She clinked glasses with him and smiled.
"Do you have an escort to this wedding?" Dwight asked.
"Well," she hesitated a moment, "I just got the invitation and haven't given it much thought."
"I happen to be free on December 24, so if you would like some comany..." he looked a her for a response.
I'm not in the habit of accepting an escort when I do't even know his name!"
"Dwight, Dwight Billings, at your service." He raised his champagne glass. "And might I ask your name?"
"Joan." she said, "just call me Joan."
WHAT am I getting into?
USA - 11/14/97 at 16:58:44
We interrupt our regulary scheduled programming to bring you this late-breaking news:
Late Thursday evening, it was reported to the Egdon authorities that a woman is missing. Agent Fox Mulder has filed a missing persons report at police headquarters in hopes of finding his missing partner, Dana Scully. Mulder, having been already acquitted of charges brought against him by one P.L. O'Hara only last afternoon, has discovered that the woman he was seen with on occasion in the past few days, is not his partner. Police have taken Mulder into custody and are questioning him at this very moment. In his second brush with the law in as many days, Mr. Mulder sticks to his story that a missing contact is to blame.
The mystery woman, whom Mulder mistakenly believed to be his partner, has been checked into Egdon General for tests. P.L. O'Hara could not be reached for comment.
This concludes our special report. Stay tuned to EGDN for up-to-the-minute news concerning this strange turn of events. We now return you to regularly scheduled programming.....
EGDN News "Your Source For All Heath Happenings"
Egdon, UK - 11/14/97 at 15:41:05
Sinclair followed O'Hara round.
"Ah .... The giant chalk pictures on the side of hills."
"Like the White Horse at Uffington in Oxfordshire, that dates back to the Iron Age, and the others along the chalk ridges of Southern England."
"What are we standing on now ... the eye?" Sinclair measured it, "So the horn should be about there." He pointed to a grassy knoll.
"It's impossible to see the whole unicorn except from the air. It's about 100meters long." O'Hara smiled at Sinclair's interest
But I'm sure you have heard all those stories of the thundering of Unicorn hooves. Nobody who stays at The Manor can have missed them.
"Well " Sinclair grinned, "I did wonder what they were talking about, but I didn't like to appear ignorant!"
All has now been explained!
Claire (thanks Claudia), - 11/14/97 at 15:30:51
Suddenly, questions reeled through Emma's mind in quick sucession. How had Errol known thay she'd be getting that letter? Was he the one that involved the FBI, and why? Why was he calling her? Why did he know about the letter? Did he know who sent it? Could he have sent it?
They had not seen each other for 20 years and now he kept turning up. Their relationship had not been that extraordinary -- at least from here point of view -- for him to be wanting to rekindle old flames.
People change in 20 years.
Twenty years ago, she owed him her life.
She believed in him.
Jeff's words echoed in her mind, "People believe what they want to believe. It happens all the time".
Emma
USA - 11/14/97 at 15:08:38
Whenever Emma needed to think things over, she made pot roast. That way, if she could not solve a problem right away, she at least could look forward to a nice dinner. While the roast simmered, she made a list of what she knew so far:
1. The letter was not a prank or Venn would not be involving the FBI.
2. The FBI had the letter. She had called the FBI to verify his employment after Jeff called for a meeting, but before they actually met.
3. Renie's getting married (she had called Renie & verified) on 24 Dec, at Nakatomi in LA.
4. Venn asumed she was going, and had oferred to be her bodyguard.
Emma examined her list. Item #2 othered her. She did not know what Jeff Palmer was supposed to look like in he first place. All she knew was that she had given the letter to someone that had an FBI ID with Jeff Palmer's name next to his picture. True, the FBI had verified that they had someone by that name coming by, and Venn would have told her if they did not get the letter...but...
Could she trust Errol Venn?
Emma
USA - 11/14/97 at 14:56:24
The Tardis:
"Well, I think this calls for a nice pot of tea," said the Doctor, heading off to the kitchen. "Then you can all sit down and catch up."
"Could someone get me a coffee," Nick called after him. "Preferably expresso."
The Doctor looked horrified. "Oh... you're an American, aren't you? I'll have a search and see what I can find in my cupboards - but I don't label anything."
"And you'd be English," countered Nick. "Nation of tea drinkers."
"Gallefreyan, actually." Said the Doctor. "Though I have a little house in Kent, and I've spent a lot of time with the English, and learnt to appreciate their good taste."
Nick was about to add some quick remark, when Ed butted in. "Don't Nick, you are outnumbered here. And you don't want to feel the prickles of my lovely English Rose, here, do you?"
Nick gave Ed a look of mock horror biting his fingernails, and Claudia actually laughed. The Doctor shuffled off to get the tea.
Claudia
- 11/14/97 at 14:28:58
Andrea places the elegant wedding invitation next to the box on the night table.
Andrea (determined): Now I have a deadline for healing my back injury. I want to dance at Renie's wedding.
George: And you shall, Andrea. ...with *me* taking care of you.
Hamlet (ignoring George): I hope you will reserve a dance for me.
Andrea: Of course, Hamlet. (pause) For this celebration, we *all* need to be healthy, including Jamie. Hamlet, do what you can for him, please.
Hamlet is not sure how to respond. She is pushing him away again and putting her trust in George.
George: Don't worry Hamlet. My only purpose here is to help Andrea heal.
Hamlet (still ignoring George): Call me if you need anything.
Hamlet walks out of the room and closes the door about halfway. He returns to Jamie's room and leaves *that* door open.
Andrea
finally, alone with George - 11/14/97 at 14:01:46
Claire, I'm at your mercy here, and *loving* it:-) Dana
USA - 11/14/97 at 10:05:02
"This is the essence of mythology." O'Hara zipped his jacket
"It's nearly three thousand years old."
"What is?" Sinclair hunched his shoulders against the ripping of the wind.
"You're standing on it." O'Hara walked along a shallow bank of long grass next to an expanse of white rock.
Sinclair looked at the white dust on his shoes and chalk beneath his feet.
"Standing on what?"
"THE WESSEX UNICORN" yelled O'Hara from the other side of the shallow chalk bowl.
Sinclair "you ought to get a proper coat" ... it's cold up there.
Claire, - 11/14/97 at 02:11:18
Sinclair dismounted, struggled with the helmet straps and finally shook himself free. The wind swirled his hair, and nudged at his open jacket.
O'Hara carefully set the Rickman Metisse on its side, the slope too steep for the stand.
The panorama of a patchwork quilt spread before them. Pasture greens, golden corn stubble, the brown newly ploughed fields spread, in their little squares, with an infinite variation of colour, to the horizon.
"Breathtaking" gasped Sinclair, pulling his jacket closed.
"What an amazing view."
"I could see all around me, from one horizon to another, everything was in harmony."
Claire, - 11/14/97 at 02:09:25
The church nestled beside a copse about a mile from the Manor. Beyond were the low rolling chalk hills of Wessex.
O'Hara had made this journey many times before, so the transition from the hedged narrow lanes to the pastureland was imperceptible to Sinclair, apart from a slightly rougher ride.
PL knew the tracks, the hidden potholes and the lush green reeds of the marshy areas near the springs.
Despite his initial reservations, Sinclair was content to enjoy the late autumn afternoon ride.
As they began to climb the engine note deepened, and the speed sank in response to the additional effort.
Wordlessly, O'Hara indicated for Sinclair to tighten his hold on the flying jacket.
He let the wheels steer themselves through the steepening gullies, handlebars held loosely, not fighting the twists, turns and slithers over the smaller rocks. Gently correcting to avoid the larger stones.
Then without warning, he cut the engine.
"This is it, Sinclair ... the bike handles the gradient well, don't you think."
"I love this place"
Claire, - 11/14/97 at 02:07:54
The Tardis:
Claudia was still gripping Nick's hand tightly. She knew something of this man from the jumble of Ed's memories that still crashed around in her brain. She wasn't sure if she liked him. He was too self-assured and cocky.
"They aren't his," she said, looking him straight in the eye, almost daring him to give her an excuse to twist that arm and flip him on his back.
Nick reclaimed his hand, with some effort, and flexed it to get the blood flowing again. "I see you've got yourself a Spice Girl, Ed. You lucky dog."
"I'm not a girl, I'm all woman... and which Spice Girl do you think I am?"
"Jerry.."
Ed's voice surprised her and she turned to see him grinning, and she couldn't help grinning back, though those hands went automatically to her hips. "You know the names of the Spice Girls? Ed, you dosurprise me. I suppose you'd like me to start wearing a short patentleather mini skirt with my boots?"
"Yes, please," said Ed. Claudia couldn't continue the game any longer, and burst out laughing.
"Who are the Spice Girls?" asked the Doctor.
Claudia
- 11/14/97 at 01:18:04
To Sinclair's eternal relief, O'Hara expertly controlled the speeding bike along the graveyard pathways.
As opposed to over the residents.
"Duck ..... NOW" yelled O'Hara.
They raced through the open lych gate, just missing the low beamed roof, and out into the open countryside.
Needed some fresh air.
Claire ....Still awaiting the invitation ... did it go sea mail?, - 11/13/97 at 13:01:54
DEBT SERVICE FROM THE UK
Variation on a theme assuming hook equals h*nd!
. O'Hara's hook catching the ropes of the mast.
Crashing the hook onto the sewing machine.
Last but not least, the hooking of Stella's pearls.
Don't think the AABA director appreciated the hands mostly cut out!
Claire STILL researching., - 11/13/97 at 12:56:52
Hamlet is not happy to have Andrea send him away like this. How can he protect her from her self-destructive behavior? For her to desire to be alone with George... she is still punishing herself. Perhaps Jamie will be able to help when he awakes. He did say he had information about her past that she needs to be reminded of.
When Hamlet opens the door to leave, he finds on the floor a tall, thin box with an envelope attached. Hamlet bends to pick up the box and returns to Andrea with it. He places the box on the night table and hands the correspondence to Andrea.
Andrea carefully opens the beautiful envelope. Her pained expression changes to one of great joy: "How wonderful! Renie and Hans are getting married!"
Andrea
Best Wishes, and Congratulations - 11/13/97 at 12:52:46
Dana awoke from a brief sleep, filled with dreams of tunnels, motorbikes, and fistfights. After restoring order to the room, showering and changing, she sat back down and wondered where to go from here.
"So how do I find P.L.? I certainly don't want to leave things the way they are. It felt way too nice on the back of that bike..."
It wasn't long before another reality intruded upon her daydreams, she was starving...
dana
USA - 11/13/97 at 11:34:15
Correction:
"You really must notfeel you should"
Emma
USA - 11/13/97 at 10:20:08
The first thing Emma did when the FedEx delivery person left was to re-check the sender's name. Renie! Emma opened the package and found a bottle of champagne and the origami.
A wedding invitation! Wonderful!
Argh! At Nakatomi in LA, on Dec. 24.
She faxed Tiffany's an order for the wedding gift, and then made a phone call.
"Hello, may I speak with Errol Venn, please?"
"Emma! Lovely to hear from you!" Errol does pile on the charm at times, Emma thought as she heard him.
"I just received a weeding invitation for 24 Dec at Nakatomi Plaza in LA. Renie & Hans are getting married", Emma stated.
"Wonderful! I'll escort you", Errol smiled.
"I don't think that's necessary", Emma's guts did a little somersault as she spoke, "I mean, you really must feel you should, I wanted you to know because of the...letter".
"I don't think the letter has anything to do with the wedding, Emma. If the sender knew you would be at Nakatomi anyway, why send the letter? In any case, think about my offer" Errol was serious now.
"I will, Errol"
"Very good!"
"And, Errol?"Emma gulped.
"Yes, Em?" he asked.
She still blushed every time he called her Em but managed to say, "Thanks"
Emma
USA - 11/13/97 at 10:17:27
Debt Service: MC: When Dev is spinning the bicycle wheel spokes with his right hand--MC: (overwrought) "I can't do it without Harry Boland." Dev: (stung) "You can do it without me . . . " (Somehow I missed this hand scene when I first watched it. I love how he looks with glasses . . . and without glasses . . . )
Must stop.
Must stop, -R - 11/13/97 at 01:12:47
There is no name on the envelope. We may assume that the Interrogator was not meant to receive an invitation, or we may assume that the blank envelope reflects his current moniker.
Whatever, in his hands is a package which now belongs to HIM.
Talk about mis-deliveries . . .
It might as well be dynamite he's got there . . . , - 11/13/97 at 01:12:02
Mary Anne raises her eyes to the door; although she was willing to accompany HIM to his cottage out of--responsibility--she was not anxious to assume the role. Not after what she had been through, and not after what she had seen. Glad she is that Venn is here.
Venn. Strange, she thinks, that Diggory and Thomasin were--well, not working for HIM, exactly, no. That couldn't be right, but--following HIS orders when she had first arrived at Egdon.
Mary Anne breathes a deep sigh--when she arrived at Egdon--that seemed so long ago . . .
Venn does not knock again, and the door opens. But it's--not Venn--
A smiling lad with a tall thin box peers in, clearly surprised to see so many people in the disused old room. "Sorry--Miss Thomasin did say I might skip this 'ere room--but I knowed that 'e was come in 'ere . . . "
And here, the boy's eyes dart at the Interrogator--having a peek at the Bad Man.
" . . . And I thought, well, 'is might raise his spirits. " The boy screws up his courage and hands the box to the Interrogator--who takes it. "Least ways t'ain't no bother t'leave 'un 'ere, since 'ere's more packages 'an rooms in all of Egdon, if I be asked." He nods at the assemblage. " 'at's all--"
And without waiting further, he exits, only to brag much later that evening of his bravery to his disbelieving fellows.
" . . . 'is eyes glared at me like two hot furze bonfires. . . "
Gee, I'm going to miss the heath . . .-R , - 11/13/97 at 01:11:22
Scene: Manor House. Egdon Heath. In Dwight's room.
The lady had taken only a few sips of her martini. Seeing that neither of them were smoking, it seemed pointless to continue drinking a drink she had no taste for. Especially at so early an hour.
She abandons the drink, nearly full, on his end table.
"Then," rumbles Dwight, "you don't like martini's?"
"Not really," she replies. "They're so--"
"Obvious," finishes Dwight. A lovely natural smile, his teeth showing.
A knock on the door brings Dwight to his feet, which are clad in white fuzzy bunny slippers. She looks down at them. She hadn't noticed them before; she was looking--elsewhere. She smiles.
Dwight shrugs his shoulders, and she feels herself already dangerously in love. His VOICE is as silken as the tassel pulling back the window coverings of the room. He looks at the bunny ears and wiggles his toes. The ears wiggle. "They're so--"
"Unexpected," she finishes.
Dwight opens the door, and no one is there; on the floor outside the doorway is a tall, thin box and some sort of message affixed to it.
Class. The sender has class. The envelope is a piece of art--a beautifully textured paper of muted colours.
As Dwight bends to pick up the package, the length of red silk robe flutters. Slightly.
Anything else fluttering?
-R, - 11/13/97 at 01:10:16
Editorial note: Hmmmmmm, "not feeling" anything, yet at the same time "seething with anger". Hmmmmmm. Bit of a goof-up there, huh?! Oh well. You all know what I meant (I hope). ;-)
Ooooppssssssssssssss......
- 11/12/97 at 23:27:09
The evening was moonlit and balmy. Lovely for a stroll. The station was quiet, peaceful.
"The guys" had taken up residence, at least for the time-being, in the ranch-hands' quarters and were watching videos in the common-room, snuggled under the sheep's wool comforters Debbie had sewn for them. Walking with Elliott in the courtyard outside, Debbie could hear the faint sounds of them laughing and talking among themselves, their faces lit by the glow of the firelight from the hearth and the the new VCR.
Debbie smiled to herself as the memory of the day they had installed the VCR crossed her mind. Elliott had been just like a child at Christmas, totally fascinated with the strange-looking machine, wanting to know every miniscule detail of its workings. Since then he had sent away for book after book on practically every modern invention she'd told him of, from telephones to televisions, washing machines to calculators, and had absorbed every last word like a sponge. She used to think of herself as a voracious reader until she'd met Elliott!
Elliott walked along beside her, his h*ands in his pockets, and the ever-present gunbelt strapped around his hips swaying slightly as he went. They were well past the ranch house now, and the only sounds disturbing the quiet of the evening were those of the occasional bleat of a sheep or whinney of a horse in a distant pasture, and of Elliott's boots scuffing the dusty ground.
"You're awfully quiet," Debbie ventured.
"Yes..... I'm sorry. I was just thinking about the note. Such a strange thing for someone to write. And curious that it was addressed to you...."
"What do you mean?"
"Uh..... Nothing." Elliott looked at her and smiled softly. "Nothing," he said again. "Never mind. We won't talk of it again tonight. There are.... other things to talk about."
Debbie looked at Elliott questioningly.
Elliott regarded her out of the corner of his eye, and after a moment said, "You once said all I needed was..." -- here he paused a beat, as if to underline the words -- "...a little counselling and the love of a good woman."
Silence. Elliott was still watching her out of the corner of his eye, and smiled inwardly at the reaction he'd gotten. Debbie was flustered and could feel her face turning a bright crimson. She wondered how he knew she'd said that. As if he knew her thoughts, Elliott teased, "I have my sources. Anyway," he continued, "I want to thank you. You've been a great help to me. When my parents were slaughtered, I was very young. I had to learn to fend for myself. I coped by shutting out the world. By not feeling. I could feel anger seething within me. I thought I would feel that way forever." Elliott confessed. "But now....." Suddenly Elliott seemed to lose his cool, aloof demeanour. His usual composure was gone and he struggled inwardly to regain it. "But now," he tried again, "I.... I.... Well, I'm glad you're here".
Aaaaaaaaawwwwwwww....... :-)
- 11/12/97 at 23:13:04
Nick had given up waiting for Ed in his room. He had decided to go find that stable boy, and ask him some questions. On his way out of the front door, he heard the unmistakable sound of a donkey being strangled. He raced across the lawn to go and save the poor creature, when he came face to face with a blue English Police Box. That hadn't been there when he arrived, and there wasn't a donkey in sight. The door was open, so of course Nick went inside to investigate further.
"Bugger!" he said as he stepped into the control room, which was considerably larger than the box looked from the outside. Then he saw Ed, handcuffed to a tall leggy blond, in thigh high black boots. Very dangerous looking. A small man in a cream suit and hat was fiddling with the lock on the handcuffs. The group looked up as Nick swore. "Eddie!" grinned Nick. "How good to see you! This must be the problem you needed help with," he gestured to Claudia. "But I see you have it under control. Would you like me to call the local constabulary?"
Claudia turned crimson - whether from embarrassment or anger, it wasn't apparent. Ed made a hasty attempt to put him right. "No, no, this is my other half, Claudia. Claudia, this is Nick Starkey, an old friend of mine."
The lock on the handcuffs clicked open. Claudia rubbed her wrist then strode purposefully over to Nick. "Pleased to meet you," she offered her hand, but the swiftness with which she moved shocked Nick and he jumped back a step, before realising she was just going to shake his hand. He held out his, and she gripped tightly. Then the boys appeared from under the console, and ran up and tugged on Nick's coat.
"My, Ed, you HAVE been busy since I last saw you!"
Claudia
You never sleep, do you Claire?!, - 11/12/97 at 19:01:05
"This must be sacrilege .. PL you can't go through there."
Sinclair struggled to be heard above the rev of the engine.
"Why not... they wont mind."
"PL stop the bike."
Sinclair could do nothing but grasp O'Hara's flying jacket, his words lost.
As O'Hara turned on the power the front wheel lifted and the machine leapt forward.
Sinclair closed his eyes.
I can't believe I'm doing this... Claire what have you done to me
Over my dead body?
Claire, - 11/12/97 at 18:56:00
The Doctor found Claudia and Ed in the corridor. They were holding hands, but the pout on Claudia's face suggested there had been an argument. He didn't mention the invitation for a moment. "Something up?" he asked.
Claudia raised their joined hands in the air, and the Doctor saw the handcuffs gleaming on their wrists. "Someone forgot that handcuffs require KEYS!" You could almost see the daggers coming from her eyes as she glared at Ed.
The Doctor tried to suppress a giggle. "Not to worry. We'll go find my sonic screwdriver. Have you out of there in a jiffy." They followed him back to the control room. "By the way", he said. "Renie and Hans are getting married."
Claudia and Ed shot another a surprised glance. "I've been away too long!" she gasped. "I've been missing all the action!"
Then there was a joint yell of "mummy!" and the twins raced up behind them. Ed and Claudia bent down to hug the rascals and swapped missed yous, then they all continued on the control room.
Claudia
- 11/12/97 at 18:32:57
Sinclair stood and admired the white painted machine, with wide wing like tubular chrome handlebars.
"It's a British made two stroke trial bike" O'Hara enthused.
He listened to the technical details of the duplex frame; gusset plates and hub fins admiring the styling, but in truth, Sinclair preferred cars.
"It looks very .... light." He ventured.
"It's supposed to be, it's a racing bike." O'Hara swung his leg over the saddle.
"Here, catch."
Sinclair deftly caught the peas.
"Is that why there hardly looks enough room for one, let alone a passenger."
"Well it's a cosy fit. Pass me that helmet ... there's yours."
O'Hara brushed back his hair and very gingerly eased on the helmet over his bruised face.
"Gooood" he breathed.
"The peas worked, I can still see, and I can't feel a thing."
"I'm not sure ... I don't know anything about bikes." Sinclair stalled.
"Come on, I'm not asking you to service it ... just take a ride"
"Oh, and leave the peas behind!"
"You're hopeless with anything mechanical Sinclair."
Claire, - 11/12/97 at 18:03:32
FOX MULDER ASSAULTED PL O'HARA
But our client has requested no further action be taken despite the unprovoked nature of the attack.
Crank & Windit Legal Dept.
- 11/12/97 at 18:00:40
Hamlet starts to unscrew the cap on the bottle of pain medication, but Andrea waves him off.
Andrea: No, Hamlet. Jamie needs it more than I do. Save it for him. (pause) Who is with Jamie?
Hamlet: He is asleep.
Andrea: That is *not* what I asked.
Hamlet: I left him alone to stay with you. I didn't trust George alone with you. Besides, I can hear Jamie quite well from here if he needs me.
Andrea: And you can hear me just as well from Jamie's room. Please, Hamlet. Having both you and George here only compounds the tension in my back. And, I'm worried about Jamie being alone. Please, stay with him. I'll call for you if I need you.
Andrea
Please, PLEASE leave me alone with George - 11/12/97 at 17:43:58
Ummm. Renie, I think Fox hit O'Hara, not Billings. Perhaps a punctuation problem? Dana?
Andrea
clarification?, - 11/12/97 at 17:28:20
Through the magic of FOF, December 24, 1997 will actually begin on *December 17*, one week earlier, to accomodate the needs of all Rickmaniacs who on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day might be--ahem--otherwise engaged. Soooo, you all have less time than you thought to pick up those wedding presents and choose your partywear. At present, no exact times are available but this and other details will be reported as they evolve . . .
Carpe Diem
(Buffing his shoes and his badge), - 11/12/97 at 17:17:58
The Tardis finally materialised on Egdon Heath. Exactly in the spot it had been in originally. The door opened and the Doctor popped his head round the corner, looked around and said, "A great piece of parking, even if I do say so myself." He strolled out of the door, and tripped over a large bottle of champagne. When he picked himself and the bottle up he squinted at the delicate invitation, and pulled it open. "Ah, he smiled. Lovely. I don't usually drink, except for tea," he told himself. "But this is cause for a celebration!" He took the bottle inside, and went to look for the others.
Claudia
- 11/12/97 at 17:15:48
Please note:
Formal attire requested.
Firearms and other weapons must be checked in the lobby.
It goes without saying . . .
- 11/12/97 at 17:02:04
Outside the door of every Rickmaniac (or left with the concierge, at some of the more illustrious hotels) is a bottle of Dom Perignon, boxed and wrapped as you might expect. Affixed to each delivery is a handsome correspondence, printed on hand-made and hand-pressed Japanese paper, in an envelope of origami. By pulling gently upwards on the origami, you open the envelope, which, when opened, takes the shape of an intricate star.
Inside is a card of hand-made paper, bordered on its four sides with an inch-wide band of 24-karat gold. It reads:
THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED
AT THE MARRIAGE OF
RENIE AND HANS
on DECEMBER 24, 1997
at the Hansbank Penthouse at NAKATOMI PLAZA, Los Angeles, California
Reception, dinner and Christmas Holiday Party to follow.
R.S.V.P.: Optional, to the Hansbank offices.
Hansbank may be reached at:
reniept@hotmail.com, - 11/12/97 at 16:57:30
In spite of Jeff's calm demeanor and his statement that his was just a routine investigation, Emma spent the rest of the day thinking that:
a) Any investigation involving Venn was never routine
b) No matter how much the FBI revamped its lab, she could not believe that they would send a documents specialist with a Ph.D. (his title was printed on his business card) simply to retrieve an unsigned invitation.
c) Jeff did come across as a regular guy. A very good looking regular guy. Maybe too regular.
She had finished eating lunch at her desk when the phone rang.
"It's Heloise, Emma. I saw you having coffee with Jimmy Smits. You never told me you knew him".
HELL-oise, the office gossip, Emma thought. "What if I told you I still don't?" Emma smiled through her teeth.
"Oh, don't be modest! I know you did!" Heloise insisted.
"Well, maybe I did. Or maybe I had coffee with a guy named Jeff with a Ph.D. in paper chemistry."
"You are such a card! Well, good for you!" Heloise hung up.
Emma knew by closing time, the National Enquirer would have it on its cover: Krakatoa Mystery Woman With NYPDBlue Star.
Emma
USA - 11/12/97 at 16:44:29
These threads are great! Some asides: Andrea, here's a hankie. Glad you *sniff* "enjoyed." Debbie, thanks for Elliot "punching out the dough" and "absently fingering a spoon." Yow. Claire, I"m enjoying "the O'Hara charm offensive." Dana, Fox punched Dwight? Oooooo, I'd like to be on the First Aid team (are there smelling salts in that kit?) Claudia, Hmmm. The "Jedi mind control technique"--must use that somewhere . . .;-) Emma, sure we thank you for Brief Encounter.
Despite my computer freezing up more in the past few days than there are toes in all of Fife, (argh!) I'm in a great mood. (Gee I wonder why?) It could be because Mary Anne has joined the ranks of being online at home. (Woo-hoo, dearest!) Or . . .
Renie
It's the suspense . . ., - 11/12/97 at 16:21:54
While Andrea sleeps, she attempts to roll onto her left side. The pain in her lower back wakes her, and she moans softly. Opening her eyes, she sees two men jumping up from chairs at the foot of her bed. They step toward her: George is on her right; Hamlet on her left. The anxious looks on their faces scares her.
Andrea: Oh my goodness. Am I dying?
Hamlet (to George): I knew you would scare her.
The tension between the two men affects Andrea deeply, adding to her physical discomfort. She tries again to shift her position and cries out in pain.
Andrea
Can't I ever wake up alone?, - 11/12/97 at 13:44:56
<c>Test 2</c>
Testa
- 11/12/97 at 12:57:47
Test
Tester
- 11/12/97 at 12:56:00
Definitely cracked the italics now.
About Time
Editing Dept., - 11/12/97 at 12:02:29
"I would of thought," Sinclair mused, "that the odd altercation was an occupational hazard."
"Suppose so ... you mean the jealous male?" O'Hara rummaged in the old refrigerator.
"Well it's not my fault if women chase after me .. I just don't usually dissuade them."
"Ah there they are." He closed the cabinet door and sat back on the sofa with a packet of frozen peas against the side of his head.
"And how may times has this happened?"
"Well, I usually cut and run, so to speak, before the trouble gets nasty. So I have only been physically assaulted, maybe twice before."
"But Sinclair, .. I didn't even do anything, this time." The injustice rankled with O'Hara.
"Do you think many actors suffer from this female ..... attention?"
O'Hara grinned, and raised an eyebrow "Just the good ones, Sinclair, just the good ones!"
"I didn't mean that. PL, you have a one track mind." Sinclair gave him a friendly punch on the arm. "Come on show me the bike and bring the peas with you."
Just thegood ones!
Claire, - 11/12/97 at 11:55:43
Sound of Dana's head repeatedly hitting her desk
p.L., p.L, p.L. p.L. p.L.
*sheepish grin*
Dana
USA - 11/12/97 at 10:30:14
"A letter came for me today." Debbie started.
"Oh? From whom?"
"I don't know."
Elliott looked up from his dinner in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"Here, look at it."
Debbie reached across the table with the note. Elliott half-stood and reached over to receive it. His fingers almost touched hers in the exchange. Almost.
After examining the note for what seemed a very long time, he finally spoke. "Well. Whoever wrote this certainly..." He paused. "....Has a way with words, doesn't he? A half-smile crossed Elliott's lips. Debbie shuddered, remembering. As if he could read her mind, Elliott voiced the thought she dared not say out loud. "You don't think this is from HIM, do you? Oh, come on! Don't be silly! He doesn't even know you're here!"
Debbie looked Elliott straight in the eye. "I think he must. He has ways of finding out."
"I think you're paranoid. Maybe I should be couselling you." Elliott grinned. Then after a moment, when it became clear that Debbie was more upset than she wanted to admit, he said, "Perhaps this was written as a joke..... or maybe it's someone trying to make you think it was HIM."
"But why?"
"I don't know", Elliott said seriously. "But I'll look into it. Okay? I have a feeling I might know......."
Debbie barely caught his last words, he said them so softly, more to himself than to her.
"Ccome on," said Elliott, brightening. "It's a lovely evening. Let's go for a walk."
It's a mystery...
- 11/12/97 at 10:24:43
Yes, I need to work on my punctuation (the grammar could use some work, too), and no, Rickman's not in a remake of Brief Encounter in real life...yet. But I keep hoping.
1968 Rickman Metisse! Cool!
Emma
USA - 11/12/97 at 10:13:56
"Geez, Mulder, you didn't have to make such a mess. You know better than that." Dana sighed deeply and cleared the upholstered wingchair near the window to drop into.
"Sitting is good, it's not sleep but it's good. I guess sleep is going to have to wait for now."
"I'm glad that Mr. Billings didn't see this. Mulder, you jerk, I can't believe you HIT him. He'll never want to come near me again, sh*t! what do you think you are anyway, my Father? Serves you right to sit in jail for a night."
"I need to find P.T and apologize...."
Dana sank into sleep.
Dana < strom@methow.comfoo >
Twisp, WA USA - 11/12/97 at 09:54:48
"I thought paper chemists worked in the rare book conservation departments", Emma smiled back. The man was imprevious to the other customers' stares.
"Well, I did, but now I analyze documents for the Bureau", Jeff relaxed in his much too small chair after placing the letter in his briefcase, "Are you going to the Nakatomi party?"
"No, I don't think so. As much as I like a party, I will not be summoned by unnamed people, and if Venn's investigating, this is probably too dangerous for my taste." She looked up from her latte, "How did you meet Venn?".
"I haven't, my boss knows him", Jeff explained as they prepared to leave, "I heard you were in the Air Jamaica plane he rescued".
Just then, as Jeff opened the door, a flustered woman carrying pen and paper approached him and stammered "Mr. Smits, Jimmy, may I have your autograph please?"
Jeff laughed, signed Jeff Palmer, as he explained "You know, I'm really not Jimmy Smits!"
The woman chuckled, "You can't kid a kidder, Jimmy!", and walked away.
Emma could barely beleive it, "Did you see that? You told her you are not Smits, sign your own name, and she still thinks you are him! People are crazy!"
"People believe what they want to believe. It happens all the time"
Emma
USA - 11/12/97 at 09:33:37
Removing his wire-rimmed glasses, Jeff sighed, "Not much at the moment. The person writing this is attentive to detail, writes legibly, probably with a fountain pen, but I have to analyze the paper".
"What about the envelope? With no postmark, do you think it was hand-delivered? It was with the rest of the mail, but I wasn't home when the mail arrived. Where was it sent from?", Emma shuddered as she spoke, but tried to sound hopeful, "You probably see a lot of this sort of thing at the FBI, agent Palmer".
"My guess is that it wasn't hand delivered, too risky. The sender might have lucked out and it didn't get postmarked. In theory, you can send a letter anywhere in the world and it'll get delivered, as long as you have enough postage, but I expect it was sent from the US or it would get delayed." Palmer sipped some latte, as Emma strained to catch his every word in the din of the Krakatoa.
"By the way", he continued, "I'm not a special agent, I'm more of a forensic scientist"
"Oh, sorry", Emma strained a smile, "like a coroner?"
"No", Palmer's smiled and lit up the room, "a paper chemist"
Emma
USA - 11/12/97 at 09:12:38
Jeff Palmer brought two enormous cups of decaf lattes to the table and sat across from Emma. The Krakatoa Best Of Java Coffee House was the most popular in town -- in spite of its explosive name -- and was conviniently close to Emma's office. As usual, the place was near-full, and many of the customers were staring at Jeff.
Venn had told her Jeff Palmer would come and pick up the letter. She expected Geoffrey Palmer (who she loves in As Times Goes By), and instead found Jimmy Smits, grey suit and all. Jimmy, that is, Jeff, was now inspecting the plastic-enclosed letter with a small magnifying glass. His good looks were driving Emma to distraction, as she kept thinking of Smit's sexy scenes in NYPDBlue. She looked around her and saw that the woman at the next table had the upcoming films section of the NYTimes open at a full page, full color ad of the remake of Brief Encounter, directed by Ang Lee and starring Rickman, Kristin Scott-Thomas, and KBranagh as the husband. Emma normally hated remakes and sequels, but this remake she HAD to see.
It was a morning for distractions, but as soon as Jeff looked up she managed to ask,
"Well, what can you tell me about it?"
Emma
USA - 11/12/97 at 08:51:38
"M.U.L.D.E.R " O'Hara drawled the name for effect.
"They had to restrain him."
"The bike got knocked over." The recrimination then flooded out.
"Sinclair you should have stopped me."
"You saw them together ... how much of a partner was he?"
"There was a terrible scene. People all over the place and Dana was led away by this well dressed, very suave, guy." O'Hara brushed down his flying jacket.
"There are so many guests it's difficult to keep track, but I'm sure he said his name was Billings .. Dwight Billings"
"Anyway the bike's alright. Just let me get the ice and I'll show it to you."
"1968 Rickman Metisse. It's a great bike Sinclair."
And it's a real bike too!
Claire, - 11/12/97 at 03:11:46
He sat regarding her silently as she entered the dining room and took her usual seat at the end of the table. Every detail caught his eye; the way she casually brushed her short auburn hair back over her ears, the way the deep blue of her dress set off her blue eyes, the way she, even now, blushed a little whenever she entered a room to find him there. She still could not look him directly in the eyes for more than a second or two, even after all this time.
Debbie looked up. Their eyes met. Elliott was reclining back in his seat, one arm resting on the arm of his chair, the other resting lightly on the table, absently fingering a spoon. His eyes were locked on her, intently studying her every move.
One corner of Elliott's mouth went up ever so slightly and his dark eyes visibly softened as he smiled and greeted her. "Good evening. You look lovely."
Debbie felt her cheeks redden as she answered his greeting. "It smells wonderful in here. What have you made?"
"Barbequed chicken, with tomatoes and a garlic sauce. My own creation."
In a flash, Debbie was transported back in time to another place, far away and long ago. She shuddered. A bad memory. Then it was gone. Elliott saw the sudden change and furrowed his brow, but said nothing. That look on her face, he'd seen it before, and it made him wonder. She never spoke of what secret it was that troubled her. Whenever they spoke of serious things and of the past, she always worked the conversation around to his past. He smiled inwardly at the thought of this. Dear Debbie -- always trying to fix other people's problems, whether real or imagined. And he loved her for it.
Setting the scene.....
- 11/12/97 at 01:11:22
I'll work on punctuation next:-)
Dana
USA - 11/11/97 at 21:12:38
Dana stopped and sat down hard on a bench, kicking angrily at the stones near her feet. "How dare he?" she fumed, "I can't believe he thought it would be all that easy. I don't care what he says, I'm not just falling for the bad boy again. How would he know anyway?" "Sleep, I need sleep. " Looking around to get her bearings she headed off, wondering just how long it HAD been since she slept last. O'Hara layed back on an old overstuffed sofa with a cold cloth on his face. He found it impossible to be still for long and began pacing the room. " So, you wouldn't, you know, check in on her over there at the manor would you? She seemed pretty upset by the whole scene." "Don't tell me she got to you! Not P.L. O'Hara..." "Stuff it, Sinclair. I just want to know that she got back ok. " Back at the manor, Dana wandered down the hallway to her room, too tired to attend to details that would, ordinarily, have put her on guard. The door to her room was not locked and she gasped as she opened it. The room had been brutally ransacked...
Dazed
Twisp, USA - 11/11/97 at 21:11:24
Late at night, Emma in the kitchen, sipping chamomile tea. While she talked to Errol Venn, she had placed the "invitation" (more like a summons, really), the envelope and its tissue inside a plastic zip-loc bag, just as Venn requested. She stared at the invitation.
The invitation mentioned no hour, no place in the building (a large building, too). The envelope had an American stamp that was not postmarked. Whoever sent it liked expensive things: the paper seemed to have an Asprey water mark. Venn had asked about all the details.
She had instructions to locate him if she received more communications on the party.
Even when she wanted to go to the party, she really did not want Venn back in her life. She had known that twenty years ago. Maybe she should not go. It was a difficult date for travel, after all.
And now she knew it was no coincidence that he met her at the train station in September. Images of their dance in the moonlight flickered in her mind. It was late at night.
Emma
USA - 11/11/97 at 19:01:42
Lis--the French quotation is from Bizet's opera Carmen--it's in Carmen's aria entitled the Habanera. In this aria, Carmen sings about how fickle she is--that the surest way to get her to fall in love with you is NOT to love her. For if she loves you, beware . . .
Hope this helps.
FYI
- 11/11/97 at 18:05:49
George can be such a teddy bear.
Glowing
USA - 11/11/97 at 17:51:29
Lis was absolutely splitting her sides. Always at a loss for what to do next with Valmont - someone always comes up with a much better idea than she ever possibly could.
After shooing the boys off to find their Mum she advances towards the bed once again. She's getting a little bored with this game. It's time to up the stakes. Valmont is always at her mercy - but the most fun is definately in the chase. What she'd said before - that she loved him and he should beware was soooo accurate. However devious men could be - women were better at it!
"Valmont," she breathed as she slid closer to him. "I have decided...." Suddenly Lis was memerised by him. Her breathe caught in her throat. His gaze was hypnotic and she felt powerless. She found herself undoing his bonds, her fingers stumbling in their task. Ooohh! Was Lis in trouble again? No. Once free Valmont makes another bid for freedom. But Lis is a strong woman. Lis grasps Valmont by the wrist and drags him stumbling towards the door.
"I have decided," she states again, "that you will be the model in my life drawing class."
Valmont yelps but momentum has him following Lis up the corridor. Lis is shaking - and Valmont realises she is shaking with laughter.
I forgot about the chase mentioned above. I'll have to come back to that later in the week! Life drawing's much more fun - besides I'm fed up with wrinkly old men to draw!
Where does this come from? - "Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime ; si je t'aime, prends garde a toi!" - Can whoever wrote this email me pleeeeese. Thank you! Lis@varzil.demon.co.uk
Lis
UK - 11/11/97 at 17:50:13
Lis was absolutely splitting her sides. Always at a loss for what to do next with Valmont - someone always comes up with a much better idea than she ever possibly could.
After shooing the boys off to find their Mum she advances towards the bed once again. She's getting a little bored with this game. It's time to up the stakes. Valmont is always at her mercy - but the most fun is definately in the chase. What she'd said before - that she loved him and he should beware was soooo accurate. However devious men could be - women were better at it!
"Valmont," she breathed as she slid closer to him. "I have decided...." Suddenly Lis was memerised by him. Her breathe caught in her throat. His gaze was hypnotic and she felt powerless. She found herself undoing his bonds, her fingers stumbling in their task. Ooohh! Was Lis in trouble again? No. Once free Valmont makes another bid for freedom. But Lis is a strong woman. Lis grasps Valmont by the wrist and drags him stumbling towards the door.
"I have decided," she states again, "that you will be the model in my life drawing class."
Valmont yelps but momentum has him following Lis up the corridor. Lis is shaking - and Valmont realises she is shaking with laughter.
I forgot about the chase mentioned above. I'll have to come back to that later in the week! Life drawing's much more fun - besides I'm fed up with wrinkly old men to draw!
Where does this come from? - "Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime ; si je t'aime, prends garde a toi!" - Can whoever wrote this email me pleeeeese. Thank you! Lis@varzil.demon.co.uk
Lis
UK - 11/11/97 at 17:50:03
My blushes, Andrea! Thank you for the lovely compliment. I had myself practically in tears over that one . . . I really did find myself hoping that . . .HE . . . might . . . relent . . .
Not yet, it seems.
Looking forward to your new material. You and George are always a treat!
And now, back to our thrilling saga . . .
MA
Wiping my eyes, - 11/11/97 at 17:32:36
Yes, Renie. You and MA both have me in tears.
My three-day weekend made it difficult to catch up on the story.
--I loved MA pleading with HIM, for HIM. Brilliant.
--And seeing that diamond ring on Renie's hand. Lovely.
--Welcome back, Debbie!
Hope you all had enjoyable, private, X-rated massages with George. I have some PG stuff in mind to share with you over the next several days.
Andrea
about to wake up, in my room - 11/11/97 at 17:18:48
Mary Anne's quiet cry.
She is standing painfully near The Interrogator and Renie--painfully, because a revelation like this is too private, too intimate, too . . . Renie, she thinks. You shut us out and bore this all alone? Dearest, what did you think, that we would not understand . . . could not forgive . . . ah, my friend. I am so sorry . . .yes, yes, I admit it! For BOTH of you! If only you can be happy now . . . as for HIM . . .
Brandon sees Mary Anne's difficulty only too clearly, and as Renie's soft voice continues, Brandon has drawn Mary Anne away from them, quietly into his arms, holding her against him. Weak with relief that Mary Anne need not go with HIM to the cottage. And Brandon--despite his earlier resolve to have no pity for The Interrogator--feels an uncomfortable stir at his heart. It does not quite resolve itself into words ; if it did, it might emerge as something like: There but for the grace of God go I. Brandon has known grief, has known the wish to die. The Interrogator's dark path, begun in grief . . . who can tell where it might end?
Brandon's thoughts return to Mary Anne, quiet in his arms, but still in tears. Brave she might be, when the situation calls for it, but it is true that she cannot bear to see suffering: not even HIS. Brandon strokes her hair, kisses the top of her head. Such gentleness. How much stronger it can be . . . sometimes . . . than force . . .
Mary Anne turns, in the shelter of the Colonel's arms, to look at Renie and The Interrogator, just as HE gives Renie his good wishes. It hardly seems to be the same man. But a warning bell sounds in Mary Anne's mind. Her experiences with HIM have taught her: of all his moods, the one of seeming gentleness is most to be feared. For it is always followed by redoubled cruelty. At least, the one has always been followed by the other--before. Perhaps this time it will be different . . . ?
The knock on the door, signaling Venn's arrival.
Are you kidding, R?
Weeping buckets!, - 11/11/97 at 16:32:28
The Interrogator's VOICE is cracked whisper. He is disassembled. "I wish--"
And here he reaches to her left hand which is over his heart, pressing it. He lifts her hand gently into the air, where the diamond ring insists on its brilliance.
"I wish--you well," he whispers. And with that, there came the knock that signaled Diggory Venn's arrival.
Well, I'm in tears--are you?
-R, - 11/11/97 at 14:30:20
Scene: Manor House. Egdon Heath. The room of tension. Mary Anne, Brandon, Hans, the Interrogator.
And the woman who torments him still . . .
Renie blinks back the moisture to sharpen her focus. "I want you to know that I still--that you still have my forgiveness. And I hope that those who are here in this room do not resent that, and forgive me for it. For you have wronged every single one of them."
Renie moves to HIM, and gently turns HIS right wrist over. HE flinches. She passes her soft fingers over his palm. And then again. HIS body reacts. She has found the gentle pressure points, and moves her fingers over his hand in series of alternating fingertip featherings and practiced presses. "Do you remember, when you did this for me? When I was in pain? When he was born. No epidural, no drugs at all. "
Oh, my darling, don't . . . HE cannot bear to hear this now, and yet her eyes tell him that he will.
She continues stroking and pressing, but looks only into HIS eyes. "And then. When--when you told me that we'd lost him." Renie's voice is not faltering. How, she does not know. "You tried to take the pain away."
She goes on. "But I found I could not take yours away. I am--sorry. To see you succumb to such despair--and to throw yourself into your--work. What became your 'work' . . . "
She presses his heart now, as well as his hand. "*Other* people have lost a child. You can recover. When he died it seems as if you died too . . . "
A quiet cry from Mary Anne makes everyone aware that this is a crowded room, with crowded thoughts . . .
Renie presses on. "It is no great trick to wish to die. It is cowardly, an abdication of choice. I almost abandoned all hope myself . . . this morning . . . but it is over. I choose life, as beautiful and full of promise as our child was, when he was born . . . "
Renie's tears fall, and as her own hands are occupied, one in his right palm, and one over his heart--HE raises his left hand and wipes away her tears.
What he would give to go back. . .
-R
Hang on, - 11/11/97 at 14:28:34
Ummm. OK. Let's say George is now alone in Andrea's bathroom.
George finds it strange that he should again be in a position to help Andrea heal from a physical injury. Only a few days ago they were dealing with her blood loss from her broken nose. Although both traumas were accidents, George cannot deny that his own hand caused them. And, since the time spent healing takes away from the time he could be "playing" with her. George resolves to be more careful.
Andrea
Besides, he has plans - 11/11/97 at 14:08:49
O'Hara, calm now with more tea in hand, recounted the events.
"Well, we arrived at the Manor front entrance and I was just helping Dana off with the helmet. You know it's a bit tricky with the straps and all that." O'Hara paused recollecting the moment.
"I just had my hands across her shoulders when ... " he stopped, obviously shaken by the experience.
"He came out from the entrance yelling at me to "get my hands off." I wasn't doing anything, Sinclair, I swear."
"Anyway, the next thing I know he's landed me this absolute belter." O'Hara fingered the swelling eye.
"Who?" Sinclair was fascinated. "I think you need an ice pack on that"
Hmmm .... Three guesses and no prize!
Claire, - 11/11/97 at 14:00:44
The Tardis:
The first room the boys found, wasn't their mother's. They ran through the door of Valmont's room, and saw him tied to the bed, looked at each other and grinned. Valmont groaned. Not these two, not more torture. The boys clambered up on the bed, and started to use Valmont as a trampoline.
"Boys, stop it please!"
Joseph stopped and leaned down his nose touching Valmont's. "Hello." He said.
"Hello," said Valmont. "As you can see, I've been playing a little game of cowboys and indians with Lis. She has forgotten to untie me. Do you think you can help me?" He gave a conspirital glance around the room, and winked at Joseph. "I'll buy you some sweeties, if you can untie me, there's a good boy."
"OK," said Joseph, but it wasn't a good idea to bargain with nearly 3 year olds, they saw things in a completely different way. They had also been told about the 'danger of strangers' by their grandad. "I'll be the cowboy!" said Joseph. "Me too!" laughed Luke. Their fingers became unholstered guns, and they preceded to shoot Valmont, as they jumped on him, then off the bed and ran round it pretending they were indians now, making a lot of noise.
Lis appeared at the door. "OK, what is going on in here?" She saw the comical scene, and burst out laughing.
Claudia
They're back!, - 11/11/97 at 13:32:25
Renie cannot believe Mary Anne's words: "If you still wish it--I will help you." And Brandon's quiet exhalation of breath at Mary Anne's glance--there was matter in those sighs.
"Dearest, there is no need. Before we came down, Hans sent Diggory to fetch a carriage. He will arrive at any moment." Not for the wide world would Renie have Mary Anne placed in danger. Stop being so damned brave, dearest . . . Renie looks at the Interrogator. "And Diggory will take you anywhere you wish to go."
Renie turns her full attention to the man she is leaving behind. The man who . . . There is something yet she must say. HE does not want her to continue, she knows. But she may never have a chance to say these things to HIM again. Not like this.
"Before you go," Renie has softened, considerably, "you may as well know that I--unless I do not know you at all, you asked Colonel Brandon to tell me that you were here. I do not know what else was--arranged--but it was cruel, and as it turns out, unnecessary. I already knew it, when Diggory told me. And--I was already coming down to you."
The Interrogator's tic again twitches. The day is yours, my darling, there is no need to hand out consolation prizes. And yet, as he thinks this, he feels the small pull on his heart.
And now a much harder task for Renie. Though she is, to all appearances, the master of the moment, her eyes have become moist.
Hans makes a motion as if to come to her--but they had agreed that he should not intervene unless it became necessary. What has overcome her, suddenly? She has been through so much--the strain . . .
A fleeting fear grips him. Surely not. Surely she was not having second thoughts about--
"Might I have a glass of water?"
- 11/11/97 at 13:26:51
It had to be Venn. This was not a social phone call. Direct and to the point when he meant business. And he certainly sounded like he meant business. It could only be Venn. Emma paused and asked "THE request, Venn?"
"Yes. A formal invitation: It certainly looks like an invitation, but doesn't read like one"
"As a matter of fact, yes, I just received it." Emma walked over to the sink & poured herself a glass of water.
"I suspected as much" Errol muttered.
"Errol", Emma drank, "just how do you know these things?"
"Professional privilege, Em, professional privilege", he laughed.
"Indeed", she tried not to reveal her worry, which of course make her sound very worried.
"Now, listen carefully, Emma..."
Emma
USA - 11/11/97 at 11:55:35
Colonel Brandon watches as Mary Anne moves toward The Interrogator, without waiting for his demand.
Brandon. In turmoil. Relief, that Renie has taken no harm from this situation. And something he certainly never expected to feel--joy, at the sight of the ring on her hand. He can remember when he seriously mistrusted Hans Gruber, when he and Hans had clashed over what was best for Renie, but now . . . they have come to and understanding. Hans can indeed be counted as one of her protectors now. Brandon remembers the night of the play, when Renie had come to see him in his costume . . . he cannot keep back a tiny smile. Renie, he remembers. Tell me you will be happy . . .
But Brandon's heart is filled with apprehension over Mary Anne. That compassion. He knows she is tired, and afraid, yet still . . . Brandon's smile disappears. He understands her better than she knows. Realizes that she will keep trying. Not just out of altruistic concern for HIM ; Mary Anne is neither saint nor angel. Brandon can see the practical side, and knows Mary Anne can see it as well: HIS redemption would remove a threat to those she loves, and for that she will keep trying, will dare, will risk . . .
As she does now, by going to HIS side. That one glance back at Brandon, that reassuring smile, tells him all he needs to know: her heart is only and entirely his, and yet she must make this attempt . . .
Brandon's eyes narrow as he waits for The Interrogator's reply. HE may insist that Mary Anne fulfill her part of the bargain. And Brandon knows that Mary Anne will keep her word. Very well. She will go.
But--if there is any way the Colonel can manage it--
She will not go alone . . .
A man of resolution . . .
Will you follow me, sir?, - 11/11/97 at 11:48:05
Having left the office early today, Emma ran a few errands. On Saturday she had been to a wedding where the processional was Ode To Joy, which vividly reminded her of Hans's greeful expression when the vault finally opened. Odd thing to think of at at wedding, but a nice visual image.
Once home, she sorted through the mail, and found an envelope with no return address. She opened it. The paper was made of the heaviest, highest quality vellum. It read, You are requested to attend a Christmas Party at the Nakatomi Plaza, Los Angeles, on Christmas Eve. No signature, no other words, no RSVP.
Christmas Eve: difficult day to try to make it to LA, with two holiday celebrations and all that, then Christmas day, then Boxing Day (and wanting to see TWG, too). Maybe Lydia would be willing to help. Emma wondered if Lydia would let her borrow her Valentino gown.
Emma's eyes rested on the invitation. Strange phrasing: requested, not invited. And rather a coincidence to be thinking of Hans just recently, who had been absent from her thoughts since their excursion to the ha-ha.
Just then, the phone rang and startled her. She was surprised at being so jumpy.
"Hello, Emma?"
"Yes. Who is this?" The bvoice was very familiar.
"Errol Venn here"
"Errol! How nice! How have you been?" She restrained fom asking how did he get her unlisted number, but hey, he used to be a spy.
"Did you just get the request to attend a party in LA?"
Emma
USA - 11/11/97 at 11:28:22
Renie. And Hans. Together. And suddenly Mary Anne's feelings are clearer to her. At least, a little.
Mary Anne had thought, after that first party, that she could never bear to be near Hans again. Not after the way he had threatened her--and then, those nightmare words: "If I cannot make you speak, I know someone who can . . ." It had all begun there . . .
Yet now, there is peace between her and Hans Gruber. Because of Renie. Renie, beloved of Hans, and friend of Mary Anne. Mary Anne had been willing, for the sake of her friend,to accept that Hans could . . . change. And that willingness, that trust, had not been misplaced. There is genuine liking between them now, and the past is . . . the past. Again, her words come back to her, those words on the heath, her response to Hans' bitter remarks about whether The Interrogator could change: "I believed it of you. And so did Renie." If no one had believed that Hans could change--what would have become of him? Where would he be now? Certainly not here--not standing in this room, smiling, beside the woman he loves . . .
Mary Anne's eyes turn once again to The Interrogator. This man . . . her feelings for him . . . fear, of course . . .
HE has laughed at her compassion. What, literally, does the word mean? "To suffer with." She can see the look on HIS face, as he perceives Renie slipping from his grasp. Suffering, but relief as well. So there is some element of self-sacrifice in his love . . . once again, Renie is the bridge across a gulf, a chasm Mary Anne would have believed impossible to cross. There is no name for her feelings at this point. Call it--a sense of reponsibility. Renie had loved this man once--perhaps, at some level, she still does--and that had been all that kept HIM from the absolute abyss. If he loses that, there is no hope . . .
Call it responsibility. Call it willingness to do . . . what she can. To keep a door open, if only a little. To keep trying. To keep taking steps . . . one foot in front of the other.
As she does now. At HIS words that he "will be going," Mary Anne, without waiting for his demand, moves toward the man who--despite the pain it must be costing him--is on his feet. Standing there beside the bed.
No. Her prayers have not gone awry.
The answer had simply been . . . different . . . from what she expected.
Mary Anne is standing near HIM. One glance of reassurance at Brandon, who is still none too pleased with this idea. And then she turns to The Interrogator: "If you still wish it--I will help you."
. . .partially solved . . .
- 11/11/97 at 10:51:34
Mary Anne keeps her face rigidly still, but her heart is afire with admiration, with wonder, and as often as she furtively wipes her eyes, they refill. Renie, she thinks,you are a marvel, and it is a privilege to know you . . . Her mind goes back to that afternoon on the heath, her exchange with Hans as they watched the Tardis--where they knew Renie had gone to see HIM. Hans' bitter grief, his fear of losing Renie forever. Mary Anne's words come back to her: that it is hard not to love Renie,that even HE loves her in his way . . .
Mary Anne's eyes turn back to HIM. Is there indeed some feeling here beyond pity? The idea has occurred to her before. There is . . .something. Not love, no. She had meant what she said in her subconscious: "I wouldn't love you for a kingdom . . ." But how to explain her actions of the past half-hour? Where had it come from, that plea to him--for himself? To show mercy, for his own sake?
Mary Anne glances back at Renie . . . and Hans . . .
A mystery . . .
- 11/11/97 at 10:26:54
Sinclair, it wasn't my fault."
"No, I'm sure it wasn't" Sinclair soothed.
"What happened ... you didn't have an accident on the bike did you?"
"Not an accident an altercation."
"A what?"
"A bust up, an argument."
"With Dana, you hardly know her."
"It's the best way " O'Hara sat down on the sofa The brilliant smile had been replaced by a careworn expression, that Sinclair did not usually associate with the happy go lucky O'Hara.
"It's usually the best way," he lay back in to the cushions. "No. Not with her."
Lost the catch ...
- 11/11/97 at 09:35:01
Sinclair settled down on the old sofa in O'Hara's 'Bolt Hole'. Maybe it was a hangover. He seemed to have slept a lot recently so another 40 winks ... well time enough for the best dreams.
He never did retrieve that shirt from Claire ... but it was the beginning of ....
In what seemed no time at all he was woken by a crash.
The door banged and O'Hara appeared, dusty and dishevelled.
Sinclair stood up surprised "That was quick, what happened?"
He looked closer at his friend's face, concerned "Are you alright PL?"
No, not really .... "It shouldn't be like that."
Claire, - 11/11/97 at 09:33:48
Sinclair and Dana were left finishing their tea as O'Hara sought a second helmet from the cupboard.
"Have you known him long?" she asked.
"Years .... he's always been motorbike mad and ..... well ..... he's very good company." Sinclair in turn looked at his tea.
"But he's not very .... " Sinclair searched for the right word.
"Reliable"
"PL show me the bike later, I have a splitting headache ... it was probably the stage" Sinclair felt his temple, and sure enough there was a slight swelling.
"More like a hangover old friend .... Keep off that flask."
O'Hara had gathered Dana proprietorially by the arm.
"Don't wait up!"
Sinclair sighed; O'Hara was incorrigible.
Dana you've a catch .....
Claire, - 11/11/97 at 07:04:40
He held out his hand.
"Name's O'Hara .... but my friends call me PL." He let his gaze hold longer than absolutely necessary as he grasped her hand, " ...... and you must be ....?"
"Dana .... " she gulped, silenced. The amber eyes had worked their magic.
"Perhaps you can shed some light on how my friend here ...." he gestured Sinclair, who was mesmerised at the O'Hara charm offensive, ".... managed to arrive here trussed up like a Christmas turkey."
"Not really ... my partner and I met him at the bottom of one of the elevator shafts. Then we were ....... " she hesitated, " ..... called away," she ended lamely.
"Your partner? " O'Hara, reached forward with the tea.
"Oh, just a brief acquaintance really ..... Mulder." Dana dropped her eyes to the tea. " I'm staying at the Manor."
"Well you're a little off track now ... we are near the Church exit." O'Hara ignored Sinclair's warning glare.
" I keep my bike close to the entrance .... Beautiful machine ....1968 Rickman Metisse ..... would you like to see it?"
"Can I give you a lift home "
Claire, - 11/11/97 at 06:42:01
Sounds of furious knocking.
George... George . It's Tuesday .... Andrea's back.
Andrea: Is he still in the bathroom?
Claire: I think so.
Andrea: What has he been up to?
Claire: Err .... nothing ....nothing much really.
Quick exit... got to rewrite Sinclair and PL ... thanks Dana!
- 11/11/97 at 03:56:19
The Doctor had managed to get the Tardis back to Claudia's friends' house, after a few tries. He had been very convincing when he went to pick up the twins. Of course, the twins recognised him immediately, which made the whole thing a lot easier - plus the use of the Jedi mind control technique, and he'd got the children packed and in the Tardis, with the help and full agreement of their grandparents. They even helped him take the suitcases to the Tardis, without batting an eyelid.
Of course, it would have been much easier if Claudia had come to get them. But she and Ed were behind closed doors somewhere, and he didn't like to disturb them. On the other hand, once the twins were in the Tardis, they ran off down the corridor, obviously looking for their mother and Ed, so what could he do? He set the controls to go back to Egdon, an amused smile on his lips, as if he'd just thought of a delicious joke.
Claudia
If we ever get back, perhaps we can set up that duet?, - 11/11/97 at 03:31:11
"Then, " surrenders the VOICE of the Interrogator, "I will be going."
Now this turn of phrase takes both Brandon and Mary Anne by surprise. HE has failed to gloat to Renie over Brandon's choice of love over justice, and has mentioned nothing of his threat of challenging the divorce to her.
It's as if HE is afraid of her--of what Renie will say next.
But the look on HIS face is pure admiration, not a hard admiration, as from one embattled captain to another, but much softer. And intimate, yet newly-distanced.
She has gotten away, he thinks. And inwardly, though his shriveled heart is in pieces, he marvels at her, and is glad.
-R
- 11/11/97 at 02:50:45
"My darling, may I still call you my darling? I see, quite clearly, that you have--plans of your own. And that these run somewhat counter to mine--"
Renie's voice, though quiet, shows much of the fire that he doubtless once loved her for. "No, your plans do NOT run somewhat counter to mine." Her eyes narrow. "Tell me, do you think that you will ever triumph over justice? That you will pull down the pinnacles of hope and joy and love with your scarred and bloodied hands? You never will. Do you know why?"
She advances towards him fearlessly, as if she were a whole army. "Because you are too afraid to climb high enough to reach the top. You cannot reach the spires, so you hack and hammer at the base of them, as if that will bring them down."
HE is ready to speak--to retort--but checks himself; she is aflame, incendiary, a beautiful fireball. HE would not douse these flames for all the world--no, certainly not for that.
"Did you think to take me away again? Have you plotted some blackmail, some quid pro quo, some knavish piece of work to suit your ends?" Renie finally looks away at Brandon; his expression tells her what she needs to know. "And use the love of my friends against me? Hold it hostage? In exchange for what?" she demands.
And here, he *will* speak. "To give you your freedom, my darling."
Renie's eyes PIERCE into HIS. Her words burn in his soul. "I already have my freedom. You cannot give me what I already possess."
-R
- 11/11/97 at 02:50:16
And with the next words, the steel girder which was his right leg felt like a dead reed, snapped by a light morning breeze.
"I have come to you . . . to tell you *good-bye*."
The muscles in the Interrogator's jaw tighten, and a facial tic, long-conquered and forgotten, makes itself known. By sheer force of will, the Interrogator remains standing.
"I see," HE laughs, rather weakly. Unable to rally for a moment. HE is glad his superiors are not here after all.
"No," replies Renie, "you don't." And here, she holds out her left hand. On it, encircling her ring finger, a dazzling diamond engagement ring.
And although Renie is a few feet from HIM, he can see clearly--quite clearly now.
YES!
- 11/11/97 at 02:49:45
Renie's words stiffen his right leg into a steel girder. "I have come to you."
Her demeanor is strangely complacent. Not anguished. Not resigned. Her face simply does not match her words in any possible way.
Yet here she is.
The Interrogator turns to Brandon and Mary Anne with a perfunctory look of victory, but feels less than the unqualified victor.
It is then that HE notices that Hans, though clearly simmering just under a boil, is--smiling.
HE looks back at Renie. She, too, is smiling. Not the smirk of a vanquisher, not the light grin of an innocent, but a knowing, firm, smile. It may be described as rather--weightless.
Something is very wrong with his victory party.
"The strength of some women..."
-R, - 11/11/97 at 02:49:19
The camera pov is from behind the shoulders of the Interrogator, looking at Renie. She looks at his leg, at the splint expertly fastened there; it bespoke Brandon's aid. HIS leg is shaking a bit. She too, can see that it had been broken. HE hurriedly covers the imperfection with his trouser leg.
Somehow, at that moment, Mary Anne sees him as vulnerable. Not as part of the ploy, not as the great deceiver. As a man. An imperfect man. A broken man. And she wonders if her prayers have gone awry.
She wonders whether she has some sort of feeling for *this* man--not merely her generous-hearted compassion for a human being, but . . . something else . . . .
If I've told you once...
- 11/11/97 at 02:48:30
It is rare indeed that the Interrogator misses something. Rarer still, when HE misses something of consequence. So we may conclude that the events which are abut to unfold are rare. In the end, however, we may alter our judgment and find instead that all was well done.
What did he miss and why did he miss it? The latter answer is easily surmised: HIS attention was on the woman in the honey-coloured velvet dress, on her face. Why her face? Because she seemed to HIM more beautiful than ever. And he wanted her to want him. Wanted her to be there, for HIM.
But more. HE wanted her to love him as she once did; with an irrepressible spirit and stubborn blindness, with the exuberance and folly of youth.
But of course, they were well-beyond that. So, he wanted Renie to buckle under to him--to hate him, if she must--only . . . not to be ignored, to be unknown, to be nameless . . .
None of this is spoken, overheard or exchanged. It remains inside of HIM, as he proffers his gouge: "Soooo, you have come, my darling. " Relief and triumph. "With company. How quaint. Isn't this a bit uncomfortable for them? Perhaps Hans, especially?" The gouge. The aim, at all three, but the sharpest for Hans. "I am wounded, as you see . . . " The guilt. " . . . but it is nothing . . . " The deceiver--and the martyr. ". . . now that you are here." The grain of truth that is always among the chaff.
You may never listen to HIS words in the same way again.
-R, - 11/11/97 at 02:47:36
Are you being served by this scenario, dear readers? Is everything to your liking? For while our recipe may strike you as rather antediluvian, our ingredients, rest assured, are not. Like any catering outfit, we aim to please.
Classic, but eclectic. You approve? Excellent. Vous etes bien bon. Je vous remercie. We are honored. I will accept your praise and relay your compliments to the chef. A reservation for next week? But of course. Madam, pardonnez-moi m'effronterie, but--are you quite sure you can wait that long? We change our menu daily.
So, avec votre permission, if you're ready for the next course . . .
Monsieur Carpe Diem
QC, - 11/11/97 at 02:46:50
(Um, that should be failure. "Attentive to detail" and "meticulous"? Yeah, right!!)
Ooopsssssssss........
- 11/11/97 at 02:44:02
Having found a quiet corner of the back porch where she could sit and read, Debbie examined her letter closely. The handwriting was a neat, rounded script which she did not recognize, apparently written by someone very attentive to detail, someone who took meticulous care in letter-writing -- perhaps in other things as well. She opened it carefully, and was surprised to find that it was not a letter at all, but rather a note, brief and to the point:
You are requested to attend a Christmas Party at the Nakatomi Plaza, Los Angeles, on Christmas Eve. Faillure to attend will not be tolerated, although personally, I may find your excuses amusing.....
Bring Elliott Marston with you.
There was no signature.
Debbie raised her eyebrow slightly -- she had learned this from Elliott -- and scoured the note and envelope for a name or return address. There was none.
'How very strange', she thought.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmm...........
- 11/11/97 at 02:34:40
Meanwhile, back at the ranch......... (and yes, I know -- it's about time!!...)
Debbie surveyed her surroundings happily. All was finally in order here. The house and ranch-hands' quarters had been fixed up nicely, and those brand-new picture windows in the dining room were especially lovely. "The guys" as she affectionately called them, Pierre, Isaac, Freddie and Bruno, had done a superlative job of refinishing all the hardwood floors of the house, rebuilding many of the cabinets, even putting in some fine-looking wood panelling (;-) in the parlour. 'Great guys', she mused. Jamie had been such a sweetheart to send them out to help her and Elliott get the place looking good again. If only Jamie had been able to come too, she sighed, trying to remember the reason he'd given her for not being able to join them just then. Something about a pretty girl needing his assistance... or some such thing.
Elliott was off somewhere or other -- probably in the kitchen, working on one of his concoctions.
He seemed to be doing better these days; a little more even-tempered than he had been, anyway. Especially if everybody else just went about their work on the house and grounds and stayed out of his way. Elliott was enjoying being able to direct the various work projects going on around the place, and there were certainly enough of them at the moment at least to keep him constructively occupied. 'Elliott the director', Debbie smiled to herself. It was definitely a role that suited him. He gave the orders, everyone else obeyed -- all in all a good system, so far. And since he'd taken up baking, well, that suggestion had certainly been a good one on Debbie's part. Nobody, but nobody, could "punch out" a pile of bread dough like Elliott, that's for sure!
There had been that one incident a while back when Elliott had called in a locksmith to fashion a new lock and key for the gun-room door, since the original key had so mysteriously disappeared..... but since Debbie had replaced his bullets with blanks, Elliott seemed to be happy enough without being too dangerous.....
'Soon', Debbie thought, 'Soon this place'll be ready for guests.' She thought of the invitations she had recently put in the post... Skippy and Raz had replied that they'd come, but she knew not when. 'I wonder if Dwight ever got the invitation I sent him?', Debbie asked herself. She'd read in the papers that he'd been in some sort of trouble with the law in Los Angeles recently. (It amazed her to think that that tidbit had found its way into the Australian newspapers...) 'This'd be a good place for him to lay low for a while', she smiled to herself.
Debbie's reverie was broken by Freddie, who breezed into the room with a letter. "This just arrived for you, love" he said cheerfully. "Wonderful getting letters! Isn't it wonderful? Oh, how I used to love to get letters!" Debbie smiled warmly. 'Great guy', she thought.
So many aliases, so little room..... < Wow, what a long post!foo >
- 11/11/97 at 01:43:15
I think O'Hara's initials are P.L., aren't they? Patrick Liam O'Hara?
Just a thought . . .
- 11/10/97 at 21:03:04
The room in the Tardis, with the helpless Vicomte:
Some forms of torture are even worse when they . . .stop.
Lis steps away from the bed, discontinuing her caresses. Now Valmont is reallysuffering . . .
"Now do you know how it is?" challenges the long-suffering Lis. "How it feels? To hope, and keep getting the rug pulled out from under you? To think that this time, just this once, things are going to go right?" She is definitely not smiling now. The beginnings of tears in her eyes. "To trust someone again and again and again, and keep getting laughed at for it and called a fool, because that person keeps showing you that he just can't--" A catch in her voice. "--that you just can't . . . be trusted." She turns to leave. "I just wish I knew how to say 'You are a total ratbag' in French!" Lis heads for the door. She turns back only to say, "If I do send Claudia back here again, it's no more than you deserve!" And she exits, the door SLAMMING behind her.
A groan of despair--along with a few other emotions, and sensations--from Valmont.
A good thing he cannot see Lis. Right outside the door, listening. Her tears have miraculously disappeared. She hears the groan and, smiling a little secret smile, strolls off down the corridors of the Tardis.
Manipulation? A game. Any number can play . . .
Had enough, Valmont?
- 11/10/97 at 21:00:22
"I hate to break up this sweet little tea party." said Dana striding into the theatre. "How did you find your way here?" she asked Sinclair. "And WHO is your friend?" her blue eyes locked with the lazy amber of P.T.'s. A slow smile spread across his face. "Introduce me to the lady, Sinclair." drawled P.T. "Would if I could. I ran into her somewhere in the last day or so, just before the museum. One minute she was there and the next *poof* gone." "My, my Sinclair, you've got to be more careful. I wouldn't let one like that just disappear..." Turning back to Dana, "Tea?" "Why not, can't think of anything else I ought to be doing."
trolling < trying for a catch herefoo >
Twisp, WA USA - 11/10/97 at 20:22:32
Meanwhile, and very much elsewhere:
The Tardis. Valmont. Tied to the bed.
More accurately, tied to the bed again. Claudia has pretty much left him to the tender mercies of Lis--who had been decent enough to untie him for a bathroom break. And "break" is the operative word--he had made a break for it, but Lis had brought him down with a combination cross-body block/flying tackle that would have earned her a fifteen-yard clipping penalty in an American football game. Claudia had come to see what the commotion was about and, strong man though he is, he had simply been no match for the two of them--and here he is again.
Helplessness. It is a new experience for him. The Vicomte de Valmont, a man of power, of control over situations. A thief of hearts. A manipulator. But now . . .
He comes out of his reverie with a small exclamation. When had Lis come into the room? There she stands at the foot of the bed, watching him. Her hands are poised on the footboard, very close to . . . his feet. His nerves tingle with apprehension as he remembers Claudia and the . . . feather. Mon Dieu, he thinks, please, not again. I cannot bear any more of that. Strange how something that does not . . . hurt . . . can be such torture . . . He keeps these thoughts to himself as he studies Lis, trying to gauge her mood. Her expression tells him absolutely nothing. "Lis . . ." he begins.
Her expression does not change. "Valmont," she replies. And waits.
Of course, he has to try. It is his nature. He will, of course, try to move her heart, as he had in the shower. But being in this--position--lends to his VOICE an unfamiliar sincerity. "Lis . . . je t'en supplie. I beg you. Untie me, before--" He cannot suppress a gulp. "Before Claudia decides to . . . come back."
Lis giggles a little. "Scared of her, are you? You should be. You picked on the wrong girl, that time. Come to think of it--" And Lis leaves her post at the foot of the bed, to come and sit beside him. "You've been picking on the wrong girl for a long time." Valmont does NOT like the smile on her face as she continues. "I found this a couple of days ago. Part of an opera. Let's see if I got it right." She recites, as Valmont winces a little at her accent: "Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime ; si je t'aime, prends garde a toi!" She watches his face closely, and translates: "If you don't love me, I love you ; if I love you, beware."
She is sitting on the bed beside him, and leans forward until her eyes are only inches from his. "If I love you . . . beware . . ." she says. Leans forward further still. And kisses him, very lightly, very teasingly lightly, on the side of his neck. Her lips move to his earlobe, which she just barely catches between her teeth. Valmont turns his head toward her, but she has moved out of range.
Those tiny kisses. And then her hands, moving over him. Only a light touch, here and there, the merest brush of her fingertips here . . .and . . . there . . . and he cannot move! Valmont strains toward Lis, and she is again out of his reach . . . "Lis, please . . ." he sighs.
Lis shows no pity. "It's what you tried with Claudia. How do you like it from that side?"
Strange how something that does not . . . hurt . . . can be such torture . . .
Learn your lesson well, Vicomte . . .
- 11/10/97 at 19:57:29
Should be the *events* in the Tardis.
Dept. of Benevolent Corrections
"You broke procedure.", - 11/10/97 at 19:22:41
And as Mary Anne brushes her tears away, her eyes turn to Renie once more--as she remembers what Colonel Brandon had told her, that night in the sitting room. His brief outline of the evens in the Tardis, the pre-Judgment Conference.
That Renie had mastered HIM when no one else could.
The words are running through Mary Anne's mind. And HIS attention is turned away from her ; he will not perceive and mock her prayers: Be not far from us ; for trouble is near ; for there is none to help . . . deliver my soul from the sword, and my darlings--all of them--from the power of the dog . . . and if there is anything Renie can do, give her power and wisdom to do it, give her the strength . . . give her the words . . .
Not yet time to . . .
"Abandon all hope"--?, - 11/10/97 at 19:17:33
Mary Anne, scarcely daring to breathe.
Tears shimmering on her cheeks, as she surveys the various occupants of the room. Her emotions at war within her.
There is Renie. Thanks be to God, thinks Mary Anne. Oh, Renie, it seems I have never been properly grateful that you are *alive* since that last time--and what sorry circumstances for a reunion! HE says you betrayed me, but I won't hear it from anyone but you--and even if YOU say it's true, there must be reason. Dearest . . . dearest friend . . . Mixed emotions. For Hans is with Renie, and Mary Anne is conscious of more than timidity in Gruber's presence this time. Hans is no threat to her, not now, but he is looking every inch the Teutonic Terror, as some have jokingly nicknamed him. Not a joking matter. And just as Gruber's ideas about propriety are different from Brandon's, so might his ideas about the constraints of honor--of sparing a wounded and unarmed adversary--be quite different . . .
And Brandon. Mary Anne can see that he is wrung with anguish over what he has had to do--to call Renie to come to this. And with anguish over what he has had to see, as well: he has seen her on her knees to The Interrogator, though--and Mary Anne keeps her expression carefully still--that had not gone as HE had expected. She had even surprised herself. She truly had not meant to . . . it is very confusing. Where had it come from? A plea to him--FOR him? And where had she found the courage to actually take HIS hand in hers, and bring it to her face . . .
And with a shiver, Mary Anne contemplates the last person in the room: The Interrogator. His words about how she would have to get used to touching HIM--that he would need support for his leg. Surely he does not plan to try and walk that distance? Not that the cottage is all that far away. She could walk the distance easily, but . . .
Mary Anne closes her eyes wearily as she perceives yet another torment in store for her. HIS plan, no doubt. She is so very tired. To make that walk, supporting HIM along the way--twice the fatigue. And to have him leaning on her . . .
To walk that distance, touching him . . .
Fresh tears. Of weakness, acute fatigue. And if it's this bad for me, she thinks, what about you, Christopher? To stay by me while I slept--I did get some sleep, but you . . .
Enough. Mary Anne wipes her eyes, and HE does not catch her at it, for his attention is all on Renie . . .
"Sees within my eyes . . . the tears of . . ."
ALL., - 11/10/97 at 18:58:24
"I still can't quite understand how I got here."
Sinclair struggled to make sense of the last few hours.
"The last thing I really remember ....", his hand went to the hip flask in his back pocket, "... is this."
O'Hara took the flask from Sinclair's hand and studied it.
"Nice piece of work." He shook it, then unscrewed the cap and took a deep sniff at the contents.
"Cognac."
" What's the matter with it ... did you pass out after one gulp" he joked.
Sinclair nodded sheepishly. "I just don't remember anything except .... " he stopped abruptly, and fiddled with a cufflink. Nuneaton had sprung to mind.
"Except what? " O' Hara eyed him curiously.
" Go on ... except what?"
Claire
- 11/10/97 at 18:31:02
Comic Relief--"Never apologize."
Mr. I
- 11/10/97 at 18:15:11
Give HIM a comb, and give him a tissue too, then he can play a duet with Dr. Who. The Doctor on the spoons and Mr. I on the comb and tissue. Sorry, just couldn't resist.:D I apologize for breaking the mood here. Back to lurking.
Comic relief
USA - 11/10/97 at 17:54:37
Stepping easily over the threshold of the doorway and into the room is Hans Gruber, and held in his strong white shirtsleeves, is Renie. Her dress, a honey-coloured velvet, simple and sleek. Her long hair tied back in the ivory scarf--the one which survived the minimart.
Brandon beams. Renie can make an entrance--even under the direst of circumstances. Mary Anne longs to race to her friend, hug her, rejoice at her strength in overcoming the deadly drug. But neither moves, as the Interrogator advances one step towards her, then falls back two. His right leg. He had forgotten about it, with all of the--anesthetic . . .
"What?" HE is genuinely surprised. For the second time this morning.
He does not care for surprises . . .
Hans wishes he could beat this man to a pulp, but steps aside to make way for Renie, as agreed.
Renie faces the man whom she once promised to stay with, in sickness and in health . . .
HE grabs the offensive. It's involuntary, as much as he would like to hear her speak. "Soooo, you have come, my darling. With company. How quaint. Isn't this a bit uncomfortable for them? Perhaps Hans, especially? I am wounded, as you see, but it is nothing, now that you are here."
. . . The patient angel . . .
- 11/10/97 at 17:25:18
HIS eyes shine with absolute FIRE. HE has won. And they have lost. All of them.
Each one in agony. And in agony over the fate of each other. Such are the rewards of trust, friendship, loyalty, love.
And when Renie opens the door, she will see how complete the tragic web has benetted them all. When she sees Brandon and Mary Anne witness her return to HIM. She will lose their every respect. And Hans will have lost his love. O sweetest of revenge . . . And Renie, oh Renie will bow down. And when she hears that Brandon has violated his sacred principles for her--the tears will flow. And then, to have Mary Anne escort him to freedom . . .
The door swings open . . .
. . . and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me . . ., - 11/10/97 at 17:22:20
Brandon cocks his head at the Interrogator as if to inquire whether this is sufficient. HIS morbid smile answers, and Brandon hands the telescreen to Mary Anne.
"That belongs to me as well," comes the correction, and Mary Anne places it on the bed so as not to touch HIS hand.
"You will have to get used to touching me as you help me to the cottage, Mary Anne. My leg will need support. Brandon. I have no doubt that my wife is even now on her way down to me. Perhaps she thinks you desired her to come down--although you did your best to choose carefully neutral words--for the most part. But do not think that she comes for YOU; she comes for me. I should like to look my best for my--farewell. Colonel, may I--borrow a comb?"
Mary Anne grasps Brandon and leads him away from the bed, away from HIM, away from dangerous temptation. "Sir, it's almost over. We have chosen the only course. God will forgive us. " More gently, "but first we have to forgive ourselves."
The Interrogator presses his lips together, puckering them out in a pouty frown. "No comb?" HE runs his hands though his hair. "Guess this will have to do."
It had seemed no more than a few moments, but already there was a knock at the door.
A hideous smile creeps across his lips like slime crawling forth from the primal waters of new earth. HIS VOICE fills the air in triumph. "My DARLING! Is that YOU?"
For a moment, all three hold their collective breath. Brandon and Mary Anne are holding each other and fervently hoping that it is not to be Renie outside the door--that it will be Thomasin, a stranger, or anyone else--
And the Interrogator. Waiting to drink deeply from the dark cup of triumph over justice AND over love--for he would not only escape punishment by the hands which could bring him to justice. He meant, by this meeting, to forever divide Renie from Hans, even as he gave her a promise of freedom.
Hans will never take her back once she has left him unanswered. Not this time. A man can only take so much--even with Renie as the brass ring, a man soon tires of the merry-go-round. Oh, sweet succulent separation! To leave him, the ring in his HAND. . . It is all too perfect. If only his superiors could see him now. They might forgive him for any of his past--weaknesses. . .
"GIVE ME AN ANSWER. Is it YOU?" mocks evil at the closed door before HIM.
A voice answers. Clear. Unmistakable. Renie's voice. "Yes, it's me."
Because thou hast the power . . .
-R, - 11/10/97 at 17:17:45
On the other side of Manor House, Mary Anne, Brandon and the Interrogator hear her words clearly enough.
The Interrogator nods at Brandon.
"Forgive me for this--" as Brandon begins, the Interrogator shakes HIS head. Brandon begins again. Very brief he shall be. As much as he hates the idea of seeing Renie and Hans through an eavesdropping device, he looks at the telescreen in his large hand.
Renie is looking at him. His heart feels as if it will be torn in two. "Your--" Brandon had for some minutes been thinking how he should say what he had been instructed to say. To minimize the shock. To convey as little as possible of what had passed--and what is to come. But how to refer to the Interrogator--to Renie, in front of HIM and in front of Mary Anne--was not the least of his concerns. It must be done with care.
Renie's voice reached the waiting three--full of concern and anxious for--what? "Colonel, what is it? Is Mary Anne all right?" A terrible series of thoughts crossed her mind. Venn had been wrong. Her ex-husband had not been harmed, had somehow captured Brandon . . . then, HE would be listening? Or had Brandon escaped and--
Her answer was not long in coming. "Your husband is here. On the far side of Manor House. On the dark side."
"It is your destiny..."
-R, - 11/10/97 at 17:13:18
Scene: Renie's guestroom. We have been elsewhere in the past few minutes . . .
Gently replacing the lid on the black lacquer box, with little trouble, Renie rises from the bed and places the box on her night table. The box is empty.
Hans watches her, unable to speak.
We get the sense that we have missed a crucial exchange . . .
Hans: So then, you and Venn will go and see him?
Renie: No, I will go and see him with you--if you'll take me. Venn can tell us where he is.
Hans: If you leave this room bound for him, then I know you will never be free. That all HE has tormented me with is true--that you are his, that you will remain his. I could wait a hundred lifetimes for you, Renie, but it would not be enough. What IS it that he has which holds so great a power over you? You who can be strong? You, who are so full of light--what draws you back again into in the dark?"
Hans feels his heart is breaking. "So, Renie. (In that tone that Hans reserves for her, he speaks in a low VOICE of painful resignation. "Zo. Reenee.") You need not answer. You need only go to him, to--HIM and then I have my answer enough."
SUDDENLY a VOICE enters the room. Both of them, but especially Renie, start with surprise. It is a mystery. It is controlled.
It is Brandon: "Renie, can you hear me?"
Hans scans the room for tell-tale signs of electronic surveillance. Ach yes, there it is, so easy to spot when you know something's there--the underside of the picture frame hanging over Renie's bed. Affixed to the wood frame is a tiny receiver. And, Hans notes with anger and dismay, a transmitter. Its size suggests that there are other places in the room where adjunct speakers might be found. They have been watched. She has been watched. And listened to--closely.
In a very private place.
Hans hands the device to Renie. And stands close to her, to be there for her--if she should need or want him.
"Colonel Brandon?" replies Renie, more worried than surprised. She can seen nothing on this small device, but she is experienced enough to guess than she can be seen.
The walls have ears--and can speak, too?
-R, - 11/10/97 at 17:11:49
Nick makes an entrance just as KKlein's about to open in Ivanov.
Theater Fan
USA - 11/10/97 at 16:45:21
Ed's room, the Manor House, Egdon Heath.
The man stood in the centre of the room. He wore a raincoat, very similar to Ed's (but black) and had his hands on his hips, very much like Claudia's stance. He looked visibly annoyed. He had dark hair, a moustache, which twitched in annoyance and a spark of mischief and threatened mayhem in his eyes. A scruffy stable lad had shown him up to the room, but neglected to mention that Ed was not in residence.
He was surrounded by the chaos of Ed's paintings, paints, and computer things. If he hadn't known Ed so well, he would have thought the room had been ransacked - someone had searched it, leaving drawers open, and paint stained rags on top of the computer keyboard. He did, however, know Ed very well. This was the way he worked.
"Eddie, Eddie," he said. "You send me a message saying you need my help urgently. I drop everything and get on a plane. I'm a very busy man you know. Now here I am," Nick flung his arms in the air in exasperation, "and here you aren't. What sort of a welcome is that for an old friend?"
Claudia
- 11/10/97 at 16:24:11
George, that was exquisite, but you better untie me now, other people may want to use the
"Soap on a Rope"
- 11/10/97 at 02:20:00
Mary Anne accepts. HE had known she would.
But Brandon's decision . . .
The Colonel can let matters take their course. Refuse to inform Renie that her . . . husband . . . wishes to see her. Risk that HE will contest, and win, chaining Renie to him for the rest of his life. Or call, and see if she will come. But the risk to her, after all she has been through . . .
The Interrogator holds out his left hand to Mary Anne. "The box, please, Mary Anne." She takes it from her pocket. The volume on, but muted low. The screen still active. The Interrogator takes it, adjusts a few controls, and passes it back to Mary Anne. "Give it to the Colonel," HE orders, and she complies, with one look of agonized sympathy for the man she loves, one quick whisper of, "It will be all right, sir." She presses the box into Brandon's hands.
The Interrogator. Feeling no pain. Power has been compared to many drugs: add anaesthetic to the list. No pain--not from his leg, at any rate, or the sprained wrist, or the assorted bruises and scrapes. No physical pain. As HE gazes at the powerful man there before him--the man who concealed and assisted Renie, the man who loves Mary Anne to the last breath in his body--and says, with slow relish: "Well, Colonel Brandon? " Pause. "Decide. Now."
Brandon makes his decision. Renie, as he very well knows, is a survivor. Stronger than she looks. Rather like Mary Anne in that regard, though no one would confuse one woman with the other. And now . . . a horrific risk to let her know that HE is here, but also the chance for her to be free of him. A gamble . . . the lesser of two great evils.
"I will . . . call Renie," says Brandon, "and let her know that--you are here. You said that she will come to you." Pause. "We shall see."
"Yes," HE laughs. "We shall, indeed." He gives Colonel Brandon the instructions for making the call.
Brandon manipulates the appropriate controls to activate an audio pickup in Renie's guestroom. As he nears the end of the process, he turns to The Interrogator, and speaks. Quietly. Not a whisper of menace in his voice. But the sound is so bleak The Interrogator is chilled in spite of himself, and Mary Anne's eyes fill once more. Brandon, his words a cold wind in the room. "If Renie comes to any harm from this . . . may God forgive you. I do not know if I ever shall."
Brandon completes the sequence. And speaks . . .
"Renie, can you hear me?"
The journey of a thousand miles . . .
- 11/09/97 at 22:12:49
Mary Anne has not risen from her knees. Cannot. Her strength has been sorely tasked in the past twenty-four hours. She remains where she is. Not for the world would she give way to her weakness, but at the sound of The Interrogator: "Quickly, now!"
The full realization that she has lost. To all appearances. For now. Oh, she does not regret what she has done. She would do it again. In a heartbeat. But the sound of his VOICE . . . she gives a small moan of distress, buries her face in her fingers. The tears come at last.
Brandon. Crossing to her in few steps. He has her on her feet, leaning against him, turning her face away from The Interrogator, letting her weep against his chest. Whispering to her--too low for The Interrogator to hear. Lips barely moving: "You make me proud, Mary Anne. Very proud . . ." And The Interrogator, again: "You must choose. Now."
Mary Anne turns. Brandon supports her ; she might very well fall otherwise. Looks into the face of her enemy--that cold smile. For once, she can read HIS thought as clearly as speech: You have failed, my dear. Abased yourself for . . . nothing. But no. Not for nothing. She had seen that reponse from him, not imagined it. That momentary warmth. That instant of regret. If she has failed today, then perhaps tomorrow . . .
Go on, she thinks. One foot in front of the other. A step at a time. It's all you can do, now.
Mary Anne wipes her eyes. "Very well." Gently moves free of Brandon's supporting arm, her back regally straight. "I will choose first--my part of the bargain."
Brandon interrupts. Addresses himself to the man on the bed. "You have said she must accompany you to your cottage, and that she will come to no harm in this task. What assurance of her safety are you willing to offer?"
The Interrogator smiles. "None, Colonel. She must trust me, and so must you. You must--both of you--accept my word."
Your word is worthless, thinks Brandon, but he cannot say it. Cannot say anything to anger HIM, to risk endangering Mary Anne. For he knows her choice, as surely as if she had already spoken it. And it is indeed HER choice. Such were The Interrogator's terms. She must decide of her own free will, and Brandon may not interfere. But how can he permit this, allow her to go with this man, into who knows what danger, what elaborate trap? The rack, as an alternative to this moment? Oh, a session there would be a peaceful slumber by comparison . . .
Brandon hears what he had known he would hear. Mary Anne's voice, calm with despair, as she faces The Interrogator. "I accept my part of your terms. I will . . . accompany you."
One . . . more . . . step . . .
- 11/09/97 at 21:41:18
Should be, "you know YOUR lady"
Dept. of Corrections
Prisoner AB234, - 11/09/97 at 18:03:35
HE clears his throat. And his mind.
"So. " Mary Anne has her answer. HE will not be moved. They all have choices to make.
"Do you both agree the terms? Who shall answer first? Come now, is it ladies first? Or perhaps, Miss Mary Anne, you do not know what choice your Colonel shall make? Come Colonel, you know you lady do you not?" A slight laugh. "No, of course, you have not know her--yet?"
Mary Anne involuntarily flashes through all the hard choices in history, in literature. Her first flash is of John Proctor and his wife--there are others, though--
The VOICE of the Interrogator becomes more insistent. "This, is a limited time offer." (It comes out, "Llllimited time offah.") "For you see, you are working against the clock, my dear friends. If Renie comes to me on her own, and Hans rejects her forever, you will not have me to blame . . . quickly now!"
. . . for their funeral bed.
-R, - 11/09/97 at 17:57:56
Real time.
Mary Anne has finished. And made an inroad . . .
. . . but that is not a road that may be traveled now. For HE is again--
HARD. HIMSELF. And she has so--impressed--HIM that he is willing to acknowledge it aloud. Perhaps the fact that Brandon will overhear it does make it more, shall we say--palatable, to utter.
As his eyes HARDEN and the human glow which flitted briefly into them slips underneath HIS dermal exterior, she realizes she has lost.
At least for now. To all appearances.
Although it is painful to use his right wrist, the Interrogator applauds in loud and firm slow claps. "As you say, Mary Anne, I have been close to death many times. I have seen death. Smelled it. Tasted it. My own death, and that of . . . others. On my lips. On my hands. . . "
He opens his palms for her to see.
It seems unnatural that there is no blood there.
. . . and on my head. " Here, he makes a disturbingly twisted face which neither Brandon nor Mary Anne can fathom. The grimace wrenches itself into an awful smile, under which there can be no happiness.
"Death, my dear Mary Anne, comes in many forms. You say that you have saved me? You believe that at the gravesite you let me live? And you--Brandon--do you believe that your honor in not cutting me down in my offices with all of those onlookers watching was *saving* me? "
A cruel and haughty laugh, which is more than half horrific groan. HIS eyes fasten themselves to Mary Anne like shackles. Cold and hard.
"You say it's "life or death' for me, Mary Anne? It is death that has been chosen for me. I died long ago."
. . . and dress them in their Sunday-best . . .
- 11/09/97 at 17:52:58
With a supreme force of will, the Interrogator shuts out the words he cannot bear to hear from Mary Anne.
Victory, snatched from his grasp! No!
He forces back his being to the moment before her posture had changed, as she was sinking to her knees in supplication . . .
And we are in momentary flashback--
Ohhhhhh, the perfection of this moment. He is giddy. High. Transported. The delicious, sublime, physical feel of it, passing through HIM. HE would close his eyes in a joy beyond any sensual joining, only he will not take his eyes from this glorious sight for all the world.
Mary Anne, slowly and gracefully sinking to her knees . . .
A frisson runs through the Interrogator. This would be--is--better than all of his professional accomplishments so far. This was better. Far better.
This was personal.
His scheme--a personal success of a magnitude unimaginable--with each of them, twisting in the wind.
HAH! And better yet--each of them watching the others as they turn, spin and dangle. Each trap, each noose, better fitted than the last. The more they struggle, the more they are ensnared . . .
"Ohhhhhh, Mary Anne." He actually whispers it. It sounds like a groan of satisfaction. Of sensual fulfillment.
He might almost wish to die in this moment of triumph, this moment of . . . yes. . .
Joy. A hideous, misshapen joy.
The rustle of Mary Anne's blue dress will be long remembered. Yes. For this, he would have sacrificed many bones . . . this proud beauty . . .
. . . and yet . . . there is something incongruous inside of HIM. Though overjoyed at her submission, there is something which aches to see her like this, something which makes him remember her touch at the minimart, something which quickened as she leaned towards him on the bed and asked, ""Can there be no peace between us? Ever?"
Something . . .
A brief flicker in HIS eyes.
And in the second that it flares, a further inroad is made . . .
Mary Anne sees it. She misses nothing.
And it is *then* that she lifts her compassionate face to HIM, and speaks . . .
And your words will be mine,
for only you will have the strength to call them forth, - 11/09/97 at 17:50:56
Absolutely. The best.
Touche.
Parry., - 11/09/97 at 17:46:14
Well, dearest? Good enough? Almost? Still "scrumptious"? Licking your fingers? (grin)
You know who . . .
- 11/09/97 at 16:25:52
The room. Colonel Brandon, paralyzed with distress, keeping himself under control by the most extreme effort. Tears in his eyes. Oh, that he has lived long enough to see this . . . The Interrogator, injured, unarmed, yet a power in the room, almost visible lines of force radiating from him as he contemplates . . . Mary Anne, kneeling beside the bed, gazing up into his face, so far up--HE towers over her from that position, looms over her as he leans closer to hear what she will say . . .
And she speaks: "You asked if there were not someone else. Yes. There is one person more." She raises her hands to him ; her sleeves fall back. The scrapes and bruises visible around her wrists. "I know what you wish to hear. Very well." Her voice. Very still. Not the voice of an angel. A very human woman, tried to the limits of her strength. And beyond. "I . . . beg you . . . to show mercy--"
He leans forward, further still, to catch her slightest word . . .
" . . . to . . . yourself."
Brandon is surprised into a slight exclamation ; The Interrogator is stunned into silence. Had she just said--? HE is paralyzed with astonishment, as Mary Anne stretches out her hands--and, to The Interrogator's fascinated horror, she has his left hand in her grasp, his cold hand in her warm ones. And her plea to him, FOR him, incredibly, unbelievably continues. "Show mercy, for your own sake! Think how close you have been to death! How many times!"
HE is still unable to reply. Practiced in discerning the truth, he stares at her--no pretense here, no theatrics, she is really trying . . . HE is chilled to the bone. To the soul, as she continues: "I spared you at the gravesite. Some have said I should have killed you, but--" She swallows, and goes on. "Your heart failed you in the Tardis--but Renie saved you, when she could have let you die, and been free of you! Does that mean nothing to you? Hans and Colonel Brandon have both had opportunities to kill you, and yet you are alive--and even today, you could have died in that fall! Yet you live--and we, whom you call your enemies, have dealt with you as kindly as we could!"
Oh, HE had not foreseen this. A most unexpected turn. Never underestimate her, he reminds himself, NEVER! Fool! And now she has lifted his hand--does not kiss it, but presses it against her face, as she had once touched his face. Human contact. "Please," she says. She is not weeping, but will be soon. Brandon looks on, horrifed, wishing with all his heart he could have spared her--but proud as well, so proud ; her courage is magnificent. Dear God he prays, listen to her, for I could not have done this . . . Mary Anne, my love . . .
"Please, " she says again, looking up into the face of her foe, HIS eyes fixed on hers with something approaching terror. "It's life or death for you! For you, as much as for any of us! Please--let yourself be . . . moved."
"I . . . entreat."
- 11/09/97 at 16:02:50
The Interrogator watches closely--ah, yes. That determined lift of her chin. Mary Anne will go on. Straight on. Brava, he thinks. HE does admire courage, though he often takes it upon himself to crush and destroy it if he can.
"Yes," she says quietly. "I do. And you're right about Colonel Brandon. I would not willingly see him forced into such a decision." Her glance at Brandon is eloquent. "I know you bear him a grudge because he hid Renie from you--but think of the circumstances!" Again, her voice threatens to betray her. "Think of it! He did only what any decent man would do for a woman in danger! And the Colonel did not know she was your wife!"
The Interrogator smiles. "Is" --he corrects--"my wife."
Wearily, Mary Anne accepts the correction. "Is your wife. Yes. And will continue as your wife . . . if she were to file those papers and you contested it. No chance to be happy with--"
"With Herr Gruber?" HE interrupts. "Mary Anne . . ." The Interrogator shakes his head. "You should choose your loved ones more carefully." That thin smile. "As your friend, a woman who has betrayed you. As your--" His eyes shift to Brandon. "--suitor, a man prepared to do murder, even though rumour paints him virtuous and generous. But Hans--" HIS smile is now truly terrible. Mary Anne senses what is coming next, and shrinks from it ; Brandon moves closer to her. HE continues. "If not for Gruber . . . you might never have come to MY attention at all." Pause. "Remember? Hmmm . . . I suppose I should thank Hans, for directing me to . . . such an interesting subject. And yet, you would defend him from me as well? Please continue. This I would like to hear."
Brandon right at her elbow, his hand on her arm, steadying her. "It's all right, sir," she whispers. "Don't mind him. Don't let him provoke you again. Please. I have to try--"
"I know," soothes Brandon, and withdraws from her again. Not far. His hand on his pistol.
Mary Anne turns back to the man on the bed. "Hans and I--we have . . ." It is hard to explain. "We have made our peace. We like and respect each other. If he once handed me over to you, he has saved me from you as well--"
"To impress Renie," replies The Interrogator.
"Yes. Well, he could have had a worse reason. And besides--" Here Mary Anne leans forward a little, a glint in her eye. "Some would have said it was impossible, that there should be peace between me and a man who took me hostage. And yet, there is." Pause. "Can there be no peace between us? Ever?"
HE must concede that stranger things have happened. And that if he is not careful, she will indeed reach his buried humanity. A slight shake of his head. Pity. He has painful associations with it. With one occasion on which he had shown it to those in his power. But he cannot resist testing Mary Anne further, even further . . .
"You said a few minutes. I must say, you have made good use of the time." He glances at his watch which, miraculously, is intact from the fall. "A plea for Renie, Brandon, Gruber--" And he smiles, and his eyes turn so terribly upon her that her breath catches, and Brandon once more steps close to her. "Have you nothing to add? No one else to plead for?" The pattern holds. She pleads for others, not for--herself. Not counting the attempt to manipulate him, down in the torture room. Please, spare me this. But even that had its basis in a plea for Renie--"leave those I love out of it." If he can drive her to a plea for herself, his test--and triumph--will be complete. He examines the fingernails of his left hand, carefully not looking at her. "Of course, you know I am not in the habit of granting favors." Mary Anne shudders. HE turns his gaze to Brandon. "And when I do, it is only under special . . . conditions." Brandon's face burns with memory of his humiliation. Oh, yes, this is worth the pain of that fall, a pain HE hardly feels at the moment. One more push. "Well, Mary Anne? Is your argument over? If there . . . no one else?"
Brandon senses what she is going to do. Can see her posture begin to alter. He is at her side in a moment. "Mary Anne, no! I cannot let you--"
Heedless of The Interrogator, Mary Anne turns to Brandon, lays her hand on his lips. Even smiles at him, a little. "No shame," she whispers. "Where you have gone, my darling, I do not fear to follow. "
Mary Anne turns back to her waiting foe, who betrays his anticipation by leaning forward from the pillows, his avid gaze upon her. This time, for HERSELF, he thinks, and can hardly wait to hear. This proud beauty, broken at last.
The only sound in the room is the rustle of blue fabric. The blue of Mary Anne's dress. The rustle of the skirt as she move to the very edge of the bed and, never taking her eyes from The Interrogator's face, sinks slowly and gracefully to her knees . . .
"Being powerless . . ."
- 11/09/97 at 15:38:51
Scrumptious, dearest.
Almost good enough--almost
- 11/09/97 at 15:08:26
Mary Anne's question. And The Interrogator's silence.
It is answer enough. And yet she persists . . .
"Please, listen to me," she says. "Be patient for only a few minutes. That's all."
The Interrogator raises an eyebrow. This should be interesting.
"Let me see," begins Mary Anne, "if I understand this . Your terms are these: Colonel Brandon must call Renie and let her know you are here--for you are convinced she will come to you." A nod from the man on the bed. "And I--" she draws a breath, and continues. "I must agree to accompany you, to . . . assist you . . . to your cottage. Is this all?"
"That is essentially correct," HE replies.
Mary Anne is silent for a moment. Then: "Will you hear me--for only a few moments--if I ask you to change your mind?"
A careless wave of his left hand, the one not sprained. "Of course I will hear you." With pleasure, he thinks. Oh, Mary Anne, your attempts to move me--have you any idea how entertaining they are? An intellectual treat . . . the more so because you are so *good* at this, might wrap a lesser man around your lovely fingers . . . by all means, try. As many times as you like . . . And yet, he shifts uneasily on the bed. She had moved him, for a few moments, in the underground chamber, with her simple question of "Why?" If only she could have known what she was asking. HE has been asked that question before, by those whose intentions were not nearly so kind as hers . . .
HE settles back to listen.
And she begins, hesitantly at first. "Will you consider . . . leaving, and not seeing Renie? She--" The Interrogator listens with interest as Mary Anne's voice breaks ; she recovers and goes on. "She almost died, because of those drugs. She had an even harder time of it than I did. I don't know what the sight of you might do to her, so soon after--that. It might harm her to see you. Will you not spare her that? Please?"
HIS left hand plays idly with the bedspread. Cruelly, his answer is . . . equivocal. "Truly, Mary Anne, I do not know why you should go to so much trouble for a woman who--" A stab to the heart. "--betrayed you."
Brandon starts forward ; Mary Anne waves him away, but can sympathize. She longs to strike this cruel enemy, to crack her hand across that smiling face --the slap she had given Hans Gruber would look like a gentle pat on the cheek in comparison. But no. Words, for now. Nothing but words.
"I am not convinced she did betray me--and even if she did, I will take that up with her at another time. If it comes to that--I have wronged her at times, and she forgave me for it. Shall I expect to be forgiven, and not forgive?" She shakes her head. "You say you love her still. Is there nothing of self-sacrifice in your love? Or is it all jealousy, the desire to control her? To keep her from all possible happiness, except on your terms? What sort of love is this?"
HE must admit it--she is good, very good indeed. And he is enjoying himself very much ; he can definitely spare some time to draw this out. How much can she endure? More equivocation: "Clever of you, Mary Anne. A plea for Renie, out of your friendship for her." He studies the ceiling. "Not coincidentally, it would--if I agree--spare the Colonel, relieve him of the decision he must make. You would take that burden from him, if you could. Is it not so?"
Mary Anne is good at this game, but so is The Interrogator. And HE has had more practice, in a harder school. He sees her hesitation, and smiles. "So," he continues. "Have you anything else to say? More friends to protect? I am listening. "
The pain in his leg is all but forgotten . . .
"Were the means at hand, I would resist to the death . . ."
- 11/09/97 at 14:58:55
George. Are you sure this Deep Heat is for humans not horses?
Never mind, keep rubbing!
- 11/09/97 at 10:21:36
Doctor, I have this pain in my back, at certain times.
You mean when you are not alone in your bed.
I don't know Doctor George, shall we try it?
You twit, I don't do house calls...
Umm...
- 11/08/97 at 22:59:31
Should be "The Interrogator, who has pulled *himself* up on the bed . . ."
Re: thundering herd of unicorns. Er, the Colonel and Mary Anne are, ah, otherwise occupied at the moment . . . but perhaps someday love will triumph over virtue and honor, with time and place agreeing . . . ;-)
Corrections
- 11/08/97 at 22:04:37
Mary Anne keeps her sigh of relief to herself. That one grateful look from Brandon. She has, perhaps, drawn him back a few steps. He had been on the absolute brink of murder, and is still perilously near the edge. The next step. "Don't shoot, sir," she whispers, as if afraid the very sound of her voice is enough to set off the gun. That pistol, on a hair-trigger. Rather like Brandon's temper at the moment. "Don't," she repeats.
Brandon has, imperceptibly, stepped back from the bed. Slightly. Very slightly. "Why not?" he rasps. "He should not go unpunished!" Another glance in her direction, a pained questioning in his eyes. "And what is HE to you, Mary Anne? A man who has terrorized and--" Brandon's voice sinks. He can barely speak it. "--tortured you . . . why should you go to such lengths for him?"
Some have said Brandon could have been a judge. Would have been a good one. And others have said, as well, that Mary Anne may have missed her calling, that she could have been a trial lawyer. If so, she has need of any and all talent she can summon to plead this case. The words come--from where, she cannot tell: "I go to these lengths for you, not for him. As to going unpunished . . ." Her gaze turns to The Interrogator. But the words are for the Colonel. "HE is his own punishment, sir . . ."
And she does know the source of her next words. Brandon, at the gravesite. His hand extended--a gesture of command, and yet a plea--to take back his Salamanca, as she held it at The Interrogator's heart. "Remember, Colonel?" A gentle challenge. "A clean strike is one thing, but this . . ." Nothing clean here. A wounded man. Far from defenseless--but unarmed. It cannot be this way. Mary Anne voice is soft, but insistent. "Remember? What you told me: You are far finer than that."
The Colonel does remember. The pistol, still trained on The Interrogator, but steadied now, no longer an immediate threat of murder.
Mary Anne turns her gaze to The Interrogator, and her throat almost closes up at his look: HE remembers that scene at the gravesite as well. It had been dangerous, to use THAT moment to capture Brandon's attention. HE might possibly interpret it as a taunt. Subdued gloating, with an overlay of virtue to render it respectable. Has she angered him? So be it. There had been no other way. Brandon had helped save her once, from her own worst self, and she cannot but return the favor . . . but there are other steps yet to take.
Mary Anne advances nearer the bedside, brushing past the Colonel, unobtrusively inserting herself between him and The Interrogator, who has pulled him up on the bed, despite the pain it must have cost him. He has propped himself upright on the pillows and has not missed her gesture of placing herself in the line of fire. Is there anything, HE wonders, that she will not do, for someone she loves? Or for the sake of honor and virtue? HE means to find out. The trap he has designed will test her--will test them all--to their limits.
And Mary Anne is speaking to him now. Has drawn very near. Close enough for him to touch, if he dared. She stands looking down at him, her face pale and drawn, her blue eyes fixed on him unwaveringly. Her voice a quiet lament:
"These . . . terms . . . you have set out for us." She pauses. Can she go on with this? She can. She must. "Can nothing move you? Nothing at all?"
"Stern man--can nothing move thee?"
- 11/08/97 at 21:58:38
Moments before, The Interrogator had sensed Mary Anne's attempt at prayer, and mocked it. Some would say HE is justified. There have been no visible, miraculous results. No relenting on HIS part. No lessening of Brandon's desire to destroy HIM here, now, instantly. No solution to the cruel dilemma in which the Colonel has been trapped. A coup for HIM. To tear Brandon between the opposing forces of justice and love--with Mary Anne's safety thrown into the balance as well, and to require that she accompany him freely--ah, the rack in the underground chamber could not have been worse. Not for Brandon. He would choose it gladly over this . . .
All Mary Anne's prayer has accomplished is . . . to give her strength. Not a great deal, not more than is required to take . . . one . . . step. Not a leap of faith this time. One step. One thing that she must do at once, before all other considerations.
"Christopher," she says softly. In her most tender tone, the one reserved for privacy between them. Never mind that there is a witness to this exchange. "Christopher, he has tried to make me . . . think less of you. He has not succeeded. Do you hear me, sir? I love you. You are indeed "--she wills it to be so, wills him to hear and believe it--"the kindest and best of men. Never otherwise for me. Never."
And Brandon's eyes turn to hers, gratefully, yet still agonized over the decision yet to be made.
"How touching," drawls The Interrogator. Not a flicker of reaction reaches his face. But that same brief envy he had felt in the underground chamber, when he wondered how Brandon keeps his honor with Mary Anne, clutches at his heart. Here, he has--indeed--NOT succeeded . . .
O, heart with strings of steel . . .
- 11/08/97 at 20:58:45
Dwight Billings handed his dazed visitor a large martini glass. "Here," he said, "you look as if you could use this." His eyes were taking her in and he seemed to be recovering VERY quickly from his jet lag.
Help me out, R!
USA - 11/08/97 at 20:12:58
I thought I heard thunder outside awhile ago, but when I checked, it turned out to be the sound of unicorn hooves. Unicorns were running mad all over Egdon heath. For God sakes, Mary anne, get on with IT! We'll all still respect you in the morning and ahem, so will the Colonel, I'm sure.
Close your eyes and think of England
USA - 11/08/97 at 20:01:40
Seated on the edge of the stage, tea in hand, O'Hara and Sinclair munched the remains of a packet of biscuits and conversed with the ease of old friends.
Sinclair was reticent concerning his commission from the Hansbank; detailed on the elevator problem; scathing concerning Crank & Windit, and vague about the museum. Not through choice ... the whole few hours were shrouded in a mist he had yet to penetrate.
O'Hara confided that he used the acoustic rehearsal room as a "bit of a bolt hole" rather than for any serious practise.
"Still chasing Kate's cooking" he queried.
Sinclair blushed. "Not exactly ...... What about you?"
"Still chasing in general, you know me ... can't resist". O'Hara's wide smiling face a testament to many broken hearts.
"God knows I'm no saint!"
Claire, - 11/08/97 at 18:17:02
9.55: Please George do you have any battle scars?
Just asking
USA - 11/08/97 at 18:14:57
GEORGE'S BATHROOM SURGERY
Medication optional
Additional times available.
All welcome
Limited Offer until Tuesday
- 11/08/97 at 18:09:13
This is an italics test for Claire and Claudia.
HTML workshop
- 11/08/97 at 13:37:48
We'll put the matter to the present push...
"And are you not grateful that neither you nor her current lover were hurt in the riding accident--such good fortune . . . you and Hans." A sidelong look at Mary Anne. Her face registers. She believed it to be true, but now there can be no doubt that HE had planned it all. . .
Back to Brandon. "No, wherefore should you do this, Colonel? I'll tell you why--to right the wrong you did her when you put that pistol on the table. Renie might have won her freedom from me--on her own terms--she can speak with the voice of an angel when she wishes. But you--the protector--dashed her chance to the ground. Now is your chance to rectify what you have wrought. Let me go for you see--" A motion to the telescreen. "--She *will* come to me, and she will lose Hans, who loves her more than life itself. Won't you make a gift of him to her? Then I will promise to forfeit my challenge."
The silence in the room is impenetrable.
"Come Brandon--you must choose--justice? Or love? Which is the greater? Which is the most good? Will you sacrifice the rules of justice that you live by, or will you sacrifice her--the woman upstairs, who deserves the happiness that life can offer?"
"Before you answer, there is one thing more. Two things. First, yu must call Renie--it is a matter of a button only--to come down to us, here. So I can tell her myself. You do not have to command her to come--just tell her I am here. You will see that she will come, and your decision to let me go is for the best. Second. Mary Anne will accompany me to my cottage. From there I will make my own way. No harm will come to her during this task." HE fixes HIS gaze on Mary Anne.
"But she must agree to go with me--to help me with my leg--freely. By herself."
It was a lot to say. HE looks from one stunned face to another. "So, you both must choose."
With that, HE quells the beating of his heart, and lapses into a silence to match that of the room.
Or you could just pull the trigger. . .
-Renie, - 11/08/97 at 12:19:19
The GLINT in the Interrogator's eyes should not be taken for fear.
Not even now. Although HIS slight trembling might also lead you astray . . .
Just a fraction more.
"Come Colonel, we know precisely "aught" of what we leave--do we not?
Brandon's words barely escape through the thin opening of his clenched teeth. "You leave a legacy of terror, of pain, of deceipt, and of the worst that can be said for a man."
Yes, even now, a smirk. *Imagine* it, dear readers--he cannot help HIMSELF, he cannot stop. HIS VOICE smirks as well: "Faint praise--" Brandon shifts his weight. The pistol is now uncomfortable. Decidedly so.
To work . . .
" As we now see--" HE motions to the telescreen and the lovely white hand of Mary Anne, holding it, "--Hans wishes to marry her. I have a proposal for you as well that will enable all our ends to meet. I will challenge the divorce with a claim that when I agreed to set her free, and signed those documents, it was under duress. They will be voided. And I will be her husband yet. "
HE pauses to let the awful truth of this sink into his listeners' ears. Let it work. . .
"Unless...you let me go. Unharmed and on my merry way. Today. In the next few minutes."
And are you not grateful that neither you nor her current lover
Let's make a deal . . .
-R, - 11/08/97 at 11:54:35
Real Time.
The eyes of the two men lock. Steels locks. Spanish steel.
The Interrogator knows better than to smile. HE has Brandon exactly where he wants him.
"Perhaps you'd like to tell Miss Mary Anne" (he pronounces it like "Polianne," as in "Polly Anna") "about all that happened in the Tardis that night? Did you omit the part about the pistol? For shame, Colonel, that was the BEST part. I couldn't have planned it better myself."
HE makes allowance for a small expression of satisfaction.
A poor choice.
Brandon cocks the pistol into readiness . . .
. . . and whispers, "The readiness is all . . . ."
"Happiness...is a warm, yes it is ...." < reniept@hotmail.comfoo >
-Renie, - 11/08/97 at 05:35:44
In match cut of this very pistol. But there is no hand upon it. It is . . .
The camera pulls back. . . It is lying on a table. A long beautiful granite table. Oblong. And seated around it are men. The back of Brandon's head, the pistol lying in front of him, on the table, where he had carefully and deliberately placed it.
For HIM to see.
Next to Brandon, is Hans. Seated, with his fingernails digging into his fists, drawing blood in tiny half-moons. And at one end of the table, the Vicomte. Presiding. So to speak. At the other end is . . .
The Interrogator.
We realize we are in flashback. In the Tardis. At the Pre-judgment conference for the Interrogator.
With the pistol, lying on the table. For HIM to see. For all to see . . .
Don't blame yourself, Colonel
- 11/08/97 at 05:22:34
The harsh laugh of the Interrogator broke through Mary Anne's prayer. "Yes, you can pray, Mary Anne. But it will take much more than that. You see your protector now?" HIS eyebrow raise up in a mockery of scorn. "His pistol in his hand, on a wounded man? What sort of man IS he?" teases the VOICE which takes especial delight in such questions--more so when they are put to Mary Anne.
HE is enjoying this. "The BEST of men? Oh, surely not." And here, in perhaps the boldest move of HIS life, HE actually reaches out and touches the tip of the pistol.
Mary Anne cannot breathe. Not even a shudder can escape her body, she is wrapped so tightly.
"My dear Colonel. You have been Renie's very undoing."
At the word "undoing" Mary Anne does indeed shudder. As if in a horrible walking nightmare, where she acts but knows not what she does, she reaches now into her pocket and removes the telescreen.
She touches the black button so that the image appears. And rolls her finger on the black dial to set a volume which can be heard by all in the room.
The words ring out as if Renie and Hans were sitting right there in the room. "Don't be angry with me."
"Renie, mein leibe, I will be yours forever, but you must give me your answer now. Right now."
Brandon's VOICE cuts into the dialogue. "What do you mean by--her very undoing?"
I was waiting for you to ask me that. This is well worth a fall . . .
"Why Colonel, the instrument is in your hand--unbated and envenomed."
All eyes turn to the pistol, as the camera ZOOMS into a close-up and we are:
To thy work!
- 11/08/97 at 05:12:39
A long sigh escapes the lips of Dwight Billings, who is tying the belt of his ruby-red satin robe. Not fully red--very thin streaks of black satin lines run from his shoulders to his knee, making him thin and elegant, like an expensive set of pearls in a long, thin case.
Bite them, and they're real.
And hard as nails . . . .
He stretches out on the midnight-black wedge of a sofa in the back of the room by the unlit fireplace. A silken red slit against a carpet of black.
He wishes for a cigarette. None appears.
Without warning, a secret passage opens. In steps a bewildered-looking woman, who clearly did not expect to be anywhere in particular when she reached the other side of the--entrance.
As Dwight looks her over, she turns a bright crimson.
Better than a cigarette . . . he muses. And he charms the blush fromn her cheeks.
"Hi--you look beautiful." His silken words match the satin of his robe, and the unexpected visitor believes she is going to faint.
Either that, or she has already died . . . and gone to heaven.
*sigh*
- 11/08/97 at 04:49:52
"Don't be angry with me."
Renie's voice is the only voice which, at this moment, Hans can hear without exploding.
But hers is also the one which will torment him with what it has to say.
He will have none of it. "Renie, mein leibe, I will be yours forever, but you must give me your answer now. Right now."
There only a touch of command in that crooning VOICE. Yet it's tempered with a lover's plea. Unaccountably, not a threat. . . Well, perhaps not unaccountably. Hans would never threaten his love. Threats are ugly. For weak men. Cruel men. Yes, he had been cruel in his time. But never to women.
Well, almost never.
And not entirely intentionally. It depends on whether you count his--acquaintances--with women. The incubation of desire can sometimes be . . . cruel . . . the longing . . . . the closeness . . . and even the fruition . . . always left them longing for more . . . .
And while he had enjoyed the benefits of that classical education, the women before had meant nothing in retrospect . . .
It was not merely desire which held Hans Anton Nietzche Delbrook Gruber hostage.
It was love.
And he would make her his . . . and no one else's.
...will have HIS day...
- 11/08/97 at 04:31:30
"Give me one reason . . . " Brandon's VOICE is at a restrained pitch which Mary Anne has never before heard. She must try to prevent this--
"Sir. . . " she interrupts. NO effect. Then, "Christopher . . ." She hates the idea of intimacy in front of HIM, but circumstances . . .
Brandon moves only his eyes to Mary Anne. The pistol remains trained on the head of his erstwhile nemesis. At close range. Much too close.
Mary Anne does not speak further. Her own eyes are moist. Her thoughts, not heard, but felt . . . Deliver . . .
The cat will mew and dog . . .
- 11/08/97 at 04:14:02
Brandon: (Taken aback) What (a pause) do you mean, under dur-ESSSS? (Narrowing his eyes at the worthless heap of a man lying on the bed before him)
The Interrogator: Only that my oral agreement--you, of cuorse remember it, to set her free, and the papers that I signed thereafter--were all void--or at least voidable.
Brandon has had every training in the facets of the legal world short of being a lawyer himself. Some, in fact, would have argued that he might have made an excellent judge, had he so chosen. So the words which are uttered by this excuse of a man have true meaning to the Colonel. Duress. What can he mean? The papers have all been signed . . .
The Interrogator reads his every thought on his honest face. It's HIS business, after all.
"Colonel, you know that nothing's over until it's over. You and I, who have each escaped death more than once--"
Brandon glares at the Interrogator.
HE shrugs. "I see it in your eyes, of course. Some battle? Perhaps a duel--no, not with the Vicomte." A hideous laugh. "There, Valmont was painfully outnumbered." A look at Mary Anne. "And outclassed." She feels sick and somehow wishes that she were with Renie. . .
HE continues, mercilessly. That's his job. "And surely, some wish to die after the loss of someone close---very close to you?"
Brandon's pistol is SUDDENLY at the THROAT of the wounded man.
His lower lip is trembling with rage. . .
-R
Colonel--don't!, - 11/08/97 at 04:03:16
Debt Service for the "one powerful hand" of Brandon's--Benefactors: When Colin throws down his dinner napkin on the table. (Yes, Kari, he knows how loopy those h*nds make me.)
Saw the new A&E Jane Eyre--sorry Ciaran; there's only *one* true Rochester. . .
- 11/08/97 at 03:46:31
Okay, I'll take 9:35--if that's all that's left. I'll have to be in disguise, though. (winks)
That head of hair--it was all AR's idea--I love it!
- 11/08/97 at 03:42:42
I'm booking the 9.45, I've got a stiff ..... neck.
I'll scream if I need to, otherwise ...
Rescue me later!
- 11/08/97 at 03:39:34
Claire--it sounds like you're hooked in your "research."
Smiling
From one who knows, - 11/07/97 at 19:10:08
Yeah, but George would try anything with that creme--with less than the intended results...
Youch!
- 11/07/97 at 19:08:24
Assuming that he had fallen back off the chair, into the Museum's thick vermilion curtain, Sinclair looked up expecting to see, behind PL, the exhibits. The conveyor belt, the rack ....but they seemed to have disappeared.
He found the intense light overwhelming and was forced to view the room through half closed eyes
Alternatively, was he really in Nuneaton ... no, no, that didn't seem likely. Sinclair quickly brushed *those* thoughts from his mind.
Either way this was not the place he expected.
"PL ... Where exactly am I?" "The acoustic rehearsal room ...." O'Hara grasped Sinclair under the arms and hauled him to his feet. " .... and you arrived trussed up in a trolley".
"What?" Sinclair's brain was slipping into gear a lot faster than his legs.
"On a trolley, in some sort of webbing contraption". O'Hara briefly let go of Sinclair, as he gestured to the metal handle protruding from the voluminous curtain.
But was just quick enough to catch him again, before Sinclair's legs buckled completely.
"I have just the thing for you Sinclair ... then you can explain yourself".
"Would you like a cup of tea?"
Claire, - 11/07/97 at 19:06:29
DEBTSERVICE FROM UK
O'Hara's hands whipping of that moustache ...(Oouch!)
O'Hara removing Capt. Hook makeup.
O'Hara putting on shoes.
I did get passed this scene ......eventually .....
All in the cause of research (grin)!
Claire, - 11/07/97 at 19:03:22
Okay ... who wants George in the Bathroom with the Deep Heat
Don't all rush at once, form an orderly queue, it's a small bathroom.
"You .. 9.35 ... You 9.45"
- 11/07/97 at 19:01:23
An aside . . .
I have no intention of letting George apply that cream to any other part of his body. If someone else wants to play with him, be my guest. I will leave him in the bathroom over the weekend and return to him on Tuesday.
Andrea
have fun, but not too much - 11/07/97 at 17:18:38
sorry to interupt the story so far........ if wizzy or steve read this please call on digger99@hotmail.com
richard < digger99@hotmail.comfoo >
tripoli, lebanon - 11/07/97 at 16:55:03
sorry to interupt the story so far........ if wizzy or steve read this please call on digger99@hotmail.com
richard < digger99@hotmail.comfoo >
tripoli, lebanon - 11/07/97 at 16:54:42
well if aunty bizzy could see me now!! maybe if you happen to browse through this page you can e-mail your brother at digger99@hotmail.com richard would be pleased to hear from you.If not if claudia could also give me wizzys e address.
richard vincent < digger99@hotmail.comfoo >
tripoli, lebanon - 11/07/97 at 16:29:26
"A court will not recognize any agreement which was made under duress. Or threat of bodily harm. The courts are most protective and generous in this regard."
Finally, HE turns his gaze from Mary Anne to Brandon. It's a risk, but necessary.
Brandon does not flinch . . . Renie's gaunt and haunted face back at Delaford. . . Mary Anne's wrists. . . Brandon feels himself ready and equal, and yes, a willing party to whatever may happen now . . .
Music in a minor key . . .
- 11/07/97 at 14:55:47
Returning to the disused room, the camera finds us in:
EXTREME close-up of Brandon and the Interrogator. Brandon has grasped his collar, lifting him off of the bed with only *one* powerful hand.
With a VOICE which is a verbal report, he grips Mary Anne's heart as tightly as he grips the collar of his subject. "How CAN you torture Renie any further--even she has given you up. You are ALONE." With this Brandon releases the Interrogator, and blackguard falls back upon the bed with a quiet WHUMP.
"You have never been more wrong, my dear Colonel. I am wounded, and scorned by all, and--I am still her husband. "
Mary Anne fears that blood will be spilled, yet cannot keep quiet any longer. "But, you've signed those papers, you've agreed to let her go!"
"And the court will finalize them, and it will be done. An end to it, " adds Brandon, attempting to master himself with little success.
Now, for some cards . . . I'll do the dealing . . .
HIS leg feels no pain at all.
Do you think he's got a funny bone?
-R, - 11/07/97 at 14:52:13
. . . another guest room door opening.
The room is now most assuredly occupied. Although the clothes are as yet unpacked, and the men's toiletries and necessaries still encased, Dwight Billings can be said to currently occupy the room.
This can be said of any room which he enters, as he unobtrusively captivates a room in his unassertive way. Women, men, friends, come to him. He need not trouble himself too much.
But he *most assuredly* occupied this room because he has made himself comfortable.
After the long journey from Los Angeles to Egdon, he is a bit fatigued. Although the autumnal sun insists that day attire is called for, he listens to his own inner VOICE.
He has slipped on his robe.
Ohhhh, Dwight.
For Deb, and Debbie, and Joan, and you all know who you are. . . , - 11/07/97 at 14:51:26
Meanwhile . . . in Renie's guestroom . . .
Venn takes a few hesitant steps towards Renie; he does not believe that Hans would ever harm her, but the look on the face of Hans Gruber and tenor of his terrible oath . . . surely this man wields no less power than the man who was hurt outside.
Both can instill fear. As well we know.
But though she sometimes trembles in the face of their force, Renie does not fear for herself. And especially not with Hans.
"It's all right, Venn. I'll follow you in a moment. Please wait in the sitting room next door. "
Her voice is reassuring, steady. Venn complies, as we see Renie's door open . . .
Cut to:
Be gentle with me, Hans
- 11/07/97 at 14:50:26
A-N-T-H-O-N-Y M-I-N-G-H-E-L-L-A. (Hand spasm)
-R
Dept. of Corrections, - 11/07/97 at 14:49:15
Again, HE addresses the Colonel, but his eyes are glued to Mary Anne.
"Colonel, do you know how Renie is? Aren't you the least bit interested?"
"Don't speak of her." The menace, though quiet, unmistakable. Recent events have taken the Colonel beyond a point to feel pity for this--animal, wounded as it is. Mary Anne's trial in the torture room--those wrists . . . the near loss of Renie . . . That I don't end your miserable life at this moment is all the pity you will have from me, he thinks.
No pity, deduces the Interrogator,not surprising. Especially after he'd made Brandon grovel . . . quite literally. The thought is enough to give him back his sardonic smile and the audacious boldness required for his plan . . .
"Colonel, do you know what they are doing? Hans and Renie? Hans is proposing to Renie. Is it not . . . WON-derful?"
The Interrogator does not know that he cannot dig there--that the Colonel cannot be stung in that way, not any longer. But Brandon's wrath that HE should speak to him, and about her--may be greater than HE bargained for . . .
Brandon fingers the pistol. Anger explodes in his eyes. Ah, hit a nerve, at any rate. Excellent. Now you are thinking with your heart.
Or, not *thinking* at all . . . yes . . . HIS mind sizzles like the fat of a duck dripping over an open spit.
And Brandon reaches . . .
. . . an organ of fire.
A bow to Anothony Minghells, - 11/07/97 at 14:47:31
Even a Salamanca. . .
...or a pistol.
HE allows himself--for such is how he thinks, even as he is temporarily crippled and among his adversaries--to be hoisted into a waiting bed. As the dirty blanket is removed from underneath him, he notices that the pain in his right leg is ebbing. Natural endorphins? Possibly.
But more likely, that sinister serum, that drug which in the Interrogator appears in great quantities, as if it *were* natural--power. The power, especially, to exert precise pressure, to squeeze, to . . . crush . . . .
Down deep, in Brandon. HE was sure there was something . . . however repressed, controlled...something dark. And that Brandon could be pyrophoric, he also had no doubt. Strike him just so--he would emit sparks--he might ignite spontaneously . . .
For the heart is . . .
-R, - 11/07/97 at 14:46:38
I've been a fan almost as long - how about a "Couple of Kooks" or even older "Mister Gravedigger".
Claudia
- 11/07/97 at 14:32:18
Cool. A David Bowie reference. I've been a fan since I was about 10. Twenty-six years ago.
Andrea
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, - 11/07/97 at 14:14:17
Lis had gone to check on Valmont.
The Doctor was working on dropping Claudia off with her family just after she'd been abducted, so they wouldn't know she had gone.
Claudia had been to the Wardrobe room and picked out something nice.
Claudia was in the bathroom getting changed. Ed sitting on the bed waiting for her.
"You're taking your time," Ed shouted at the door. "Anyone would think you'd never done this before."
"I'll ignore that," came Claudia's muffled voice from behind the door. "I'm trying to put my hair up. I haven't done that for a long time, and gravity is winning at the moment."
"As long as it's just your hair gravity is having an effect on, we'll be fine."
"Shut up! Don't make me laugh," giggled Claudia. "Now I've got to start all over again. Why don't you keep yourself occupied by telling me all the things you've learned that I like, from your little trip in my subconscious."
"Hmm.." Ed rubbed his bearded chin and looked thoughtful, sifting through the jumble of thoughts in his mind, that weren't his. "Well, you seem to have a thing for men with orange hair," he started.
"I do?"
"Yes, David Bowie, David Sylvian, Nick Rhodes... I wonder about your childhood, you know."
"Well, Rebel, Rebel, you know. Perhaps you should dye your hair orange."
"And moving quickly to the next item on the agenda... What's this? Some guy called Mulder and some red shoes? Would you like to explain that?"
"No, not really." Claudia's voice was muffled, she had pins in her mouth. "Next."
Ed pulled a face at the door. "I think it's about time you told me what I like," he started. Silence. Then the door opened slowly and Claudia stepped out.
"I think this is what you like," she smiled demurely (!) Her long blond hair was piled high on her head. Ringlets hanging down to soften her face. She wore a flowing white gauzy dress. Floating layers, but almost transparent. She was the goddess Aphrodite, or Venus, the goddess of love. One of Ed's favourite subjects for paintings.
"Damn!" he breathed. "You definitely have been in my head, woman."
She glided towards him, trying hard to be graceful and totally feminine. "And?" she said, "what do you have for me that I might like?"
Ed rose from the bed, and lifted his hand from behind his back, and swung a pair of handcuffs round his finger. Claudia lost composure completely and collapsed laughing into his arms.
Claudia
- 11/07/97 at 14:04:55
R--"Honor is a double-edged sword . . . even a Salamanca . . ."
BRRRRRRRRR! Shivers!
Quavering,
MA
- 11/07/97 at 13:39:59
While George is in Andrea's bathroom, he examines the contents of the medicine cabinet. He searches for something to relieve Andrea's painful muscle spasms. One promising tube contains a cream to be rubbed into sore muscles. He unscrews the cap and squeezes a dot of the cream onto a fingertip. Rubbing that finger together with his thumb, he is surprised by the heat generated.
George imagines himself applying the cream to Andrea's lower back. Does she trust him enough to permit him to touch her in such a manner? Even if she does, what about Hamlet?
Andrea
careful where you apply that cream, George - 11/07/97 at 13:33:21
The throbbing in his right leg would have been eased by the flask. But he would drink when it suited him.
When he had something to celebrate.
Again addressing himself to Brandon, but looking only at Mary Anne, he doesn not wait for them to settle him into the room. He must strike while the iron--and Brandon--might yet be hot.
"I cannot thank you for setting my leg. Since it was your honor that forced you to do it, and not your will. Your skill, however, is--appreciated. And your effort to minimize any discomfort."
The pain had been intense, of course. But less than it might have been. And one bit of pressure in the wrong place, and Brandon could have rendered him lame for life.
Still. This fount of strength could and must roused; honor is a double-edged sword.
The thin sardonic smile returns.
Even a Salamanca.
...the same
-R, - 11/07/97 at 13:23:37
Thomasin (still) Yeobright directs them to a lower room in a wing separate from both the rooms of Mary Anne and Renie. "This way, Colonel. There's a room through here . . . "
The Interrogator does not register the various faces which loom over HIM in the hallways, most with morbid curiousity, the more informed, with looks of disgust or scorn. All but the bravest women of Egdon and female visitors to Manor House clear the way. The Bad man. A shake of heads.
No matter, he thinks.
A room. Disused, but still servicable. Separate. From the likes of those who move so easily and happily through life. Just as well.
...the more they stay...
- 11/07/97 at 13:22:19
Nahhhh-not wrecked, dearest...just wanted to let you know I'm here...heh-heh.
R
- 11/07/97 at 12:58:25
Sorry about double post ; that scene was painful enough *once* . . .
R, dearest--sorry if I've wrecked your thread! We've all had to go through these maneuverings from time to time. Meanwhile, we're bringing HIM into the House--better make sure Hans doesn't get out of control . . .
MA
- 11/07/97 at 12:52:36
Everything is quiet in the courtyard. The locals, who had withdrawn to a discreet distance at Brandon's glower, involuntarily edge a step nearer.
The stablemen hold The Interrogator steady, as Brandon positions his hands on the injured leg. And prays he can manage this on the first try. He has had to do it before. Hideously painful, but quickly over if done correctly.
Mary Anne has lowered the pistol slightly, but continues to hold it steady. For The Interrogator has locked eyes with her, holds her gaze with something of a challenge in his. A temptation. She can practically hear his thoughts. Can imagine what he would say if he spoke at this moment. Lady of compassion . . . you are no good with pain, are you? Cannot bear to witness suffering. Not even mine. Turn your face away. Look away, and do not watch. No one will notice. No one will be surprised if they do . . .
The taut smile on HIS face. No knowing what he is thinking as he looks at her. Mary Anne returns his gaze, sends her own mental reply: You are correct. I take no pleasure in suffering, but you are mistaken to see it as weakness. If you think I am weak . . . believe it at your peril. I have resisted you and resist you still. I will NEVER be like you. Never!
And then Brandon makes his move.
One quick, hard pull. The Interrogator's breath explodes from him as if he been punched, but he does . . . not . . . scream. He sags back into the grip of the stablemen, as Brandon goes to work fashioning the splint. The leg is straight. The bone, set.
Brandon and the stablemen move The Interrogator onto the blanket. HE lies quietly, spent with pain, as they lift him in the blanket and bear him toward the House, Mary Anne and the locals following. He lies quietly, his eyes closed.
But HIS mind active with his plans. With the card he means to play. That mind, that scheming mind, is wide awake.
Nice job, Colonel . . .
- 11/07/97 at 12:13:06
Everything is quiet in the courtyard. The locals, who had withdrawn to a discreet distance at Brandon's glower, involuntarily edge a step nearer.
The stablemen hold The Interrogator steady, as Brandon positions his hands on the injured leg. And prays he can manage this on the first try. He has had to do it before. Hideously painful, but quickly over if done correctly.
Mary Anne has lowered the pistol slightly, but continues to hold it steady. For The Interrogator has locked eyes with her, holds her gaze with something of a challenge in his. A temptation. She can practically hear his thoughts. Can imagine what he would say if he spoke at this moment. Lady of compassion . . . you are no good with pain, are you? Cannot bear to witness suffering. Not even mine. Turn your face away. Look away, and do not watch. No one will notice. No one will be surprised if they do . . .
The taut smile on HIS face. No knowing what he is thinking as he looks at her. Mary Anne returns his gaze, sends her own mental reply: You are correct. I take no pleasure in suffering, but you are mistaken to see it as weakness. If you think I am weak . . . believe it at your peril. I have resisted you and resist you still. I will NEVER be like you. Never!
And then Brandon makes his move.
One quick, hard pull. The Interrogator's breath explodes from him as if he been punched, but he does . . . not . . . scream. He sags back into the grip of the stablemen, as Brandon goes to work fashioning the splint. The leg is straight. The bone, set.
Brandon and the stablemen move The Interrogator onto the blanket. HE lies quietly, spent with pain, as they lift him in the blanket and bear him toward the House, Mary Anne and the locals following. He lies quietly, his eyes closed.
But HIS mind active with his plans. With the card he means to play. That mind, that scheming mind, is wide awake.
Nice job, Colonel . . .
- 11/07/97 at 12:13:39
Oh man, do I need to rewrite now...let's see...
R
- 11/07/97 at 12:09:41
Brandon calls out to a couple of the stablehands--very strong men, both of them--and then explains to them and the stableboy what he will need. It takes a little while, but then the boy returns from the kitchen, bearing thin sticks of kindling for the splint, and some old dishtowels for padding and for strips of cloth to hold the splint in place. The stablemen arrive shortly thereafter, with a heavy blanket--The Interrogator will have to be carried into the House--and some old harness straps as extra support for the splint.
One of the stablemen offers a flask of mead as well. "E's goin' t'need it," the man predicts.
Once more, Brandon kneels on the cobblestones beside The Interrogator. Offers the flask. "You had better take it," the Colonel says. "I will be as careful as I can, but . . ."
The Interrogator is very pale, but manages a thin smile. "You mean, it is going to hurt. Quite horribly, I should think."
Brandon nods. Acknowledges within himself, in some deep place, that this man has courage, despite his faults. Brandon remembers HIS exchange with Mary Anne at the gravesite: she had held a sword on him, and he had obviously been afraid, but had not spoken of it--had not asked to be spared. No pleading for his life. Had hurled remarks at her about discovering the delights of his profession, about how she must have been enjoying herself . . . but no words of fear. Not then. And not now.
The Interrogator pushes the flask away. "Get on with it." HE sets his teeth.
Brandon nods, and calls for the stablemen. They move into position behind The Interrogator, knowing what has to be done--work with powerful animals like horses involves close acquaintance with broken bones.
"Hold him," says Brandon, and the men take The Interrogator by the shoulders, holding him still, while Brandon reaches for the injured right leg.
Ouch . . .
- 11/07/97 at 11:53:08
Out in the courtyard:
Mary Anne feels a bit ashamed of herself for eavesdropping like this, by way of the telescreen. She manages to get the volume turned down a bit, but isn't quite sure of all the controls, and fears to tamper with it. Who knows what this thing can do? And her attention is caught as The Interrogator, formulating his plan, tries to shift his position and bites back a cry. He will not scream in front of these people. No. He will not.
Mary Anne moves a little nearer, catches HIS gaze. Tries to keep her voice steady. "Where are you hurt?"
HE gazes back at her, thinking of the answers he could make. Where is he hurt? Oh, everywhere. Through and through. But Brandon is there, right there with the pistol. HE answers Mary Anne, his tone matter-of-fact: "My right leg is broken." Pause. "Nothing else. Nothing serious." A mild sprain, perhaps, in his right wrist. And there will certainly be an assortment of bruises, in addition to the one on this face, where Brandon had struck him in the torture room.
Mary Anne glances at Brandon. "We can't leave him like this, sir."
"No," acknowledges the Colonel. "We can't." He takes out his pistol, cocks it, and hands it to Mary Anne. She does not understand, until she sees him stoop down beside The Interrogator again--Brandon will not give him the chance to seize the pistol. He might have tried, a few moments ago when Brandon was checking him for weapons, but the pain had blanked out all else.
And now, as carefully as possible, Brandon shifts The Interrogator slightly, to check the injured right leg. Despite his loathing of his enemy, Brandon proceeds as gently as possible--and HE does not cry out, does not speak a word, though his face pales and great drops stand on his forehead. Mary Anne tucks the telescreen in her pocket, as she needs both hands to hold the pistol steady.
Brandon completes his examination, and looks up at her. "Only one break, so far as I can tell," he says.
The Interrogator glances up at Mary Anne as well. His words are for Brandon, but his eyes are on the woman with the pistol. "A most competent examination, Colonel," HE says. "Your military experience, no doubt--battlefield first aid?" Brandon nods. "I think you'll find it's a clean break, as well," HE says, and here his smile is so grim Mary Anne almost steps backward. "I have some knowledge of . . . injuries."
Mary Anne holds the pistol steady. Keeps her finger near the trigger, but not on it. "Colonel, what do you suggest?" She thinks a moment. "If the Doctor were here, the Tardis medical equipment--"
The stableboy speaks up. "If you mean him with the blue box--he's no'here, miss. Gone to Southend, some doin's of Miss Claudia--"
"In that case," replies Mary Anne, "we'll have to do what we can until the Doctor is back." And what, she worries, has Claudia gotten herself into this time?
Brandon rises, stands looking down at The Interrogator a moment. "I believe I can set his leg," says the Colonel quietly. "But I will need some help."
This could get ugly . . .
Paging Dr. Brandon, Dr. Brandon to the emergency room, please . . ., - 11/07/97 at 11:31:59
Sorry guys got it wrong forgot to put HTML in the silly thing.
Imprisoned
by Melinda Leanne Cooke
You say you want to see me healed
What part of me will you heal?
Will you mend a broken heart
Will you restore my sight
OR can you mend the gaping wounds in my soul
To heal I must rest?
Where is this resting place that you hide me in?
Where is this peace that you will supply?
Or do you mean to send me to a grave
It sounds like heaven
Save me you say?
From my living hell
Save yourself I think from your need
To change me from what I am
If I am not acceptable, then leave!!!!!!
I will not miss you or your ministrations
I am a free one and you cannot keep me forever
No you will weaken and toward the end of your days
I will still young from all this healing and rest
Yes I will happily steal your life force to break from this cage!!!!!!
Love you often talk about but
I wonder is it just me, don't they say
If you love something set it FREE?????!!!!!!!!
My love is slowly turning to loathing
And still you resist how often must I beat you with fists and words????
When oh when will Freedom come to me
And YOU!!!!!!! Fool that you are cannot see
The damage you cause in this healing of me
Your medicine dulls my mind your talk makes me blind
YOU godammn you to hell go back from whence you came.
Why do you look at me so with such adoration?
No you not what I am saying?
I may as well be speaking in a foreign language
For all the understanding that breaks through
Or perhaps a more persuasive way is needed shall I smash your head with this rock????
Will that perhaps open your mind?????
No it is you who needs healing gaoler mine
I have done no wrong merely wanted to leave you
Open your soul if you have one, Open this heart you rant and rave about,
most of all look at me in these rags and open your eyes!!!!!!
What manner of man are you?
Does that thing work?
What sort of fool traps a woman in here own home and calls it love?
Did you think that in time I may open my heart or is it just the opening of my legs you wish for??
Ahhh perhaps the depths of my soul, well my captor you will not ever leave my soul upon entry!!!!!!
One day soon my Colonel will come and you will be vanquished
You shall suffer according to his need
I shall be triumphant I shall spit and drink and revel on your grave
I may even take him there, yes what a grand idea!!
But know this though he loves me he will always let me be me!!!!!!!!
He would never imprison me
He would never see me other than perfection itself
Is it shallow that I know this?????
I doubt it for no one will ever replace him in my heart
He knows this and treats me accordingly
He does not speak of love
Nor does he mention healing
He only loves without justification
Without the logic of fools.
His touch is all I need to know he loves me!!!!
As for you, you will never touch me
You will never possess me
You will never walk freely in and out of my soul
If you mean to haunt me when you die
You will have to cue behind those who already do!!!!!!!
Tell me what you think!!!!!!
Melinda Leanne Cooke < Rhiannel@bigpond.comfoo >
Australia - 11/07/97 at 00:49:02
Imprisoned by Melinda Leanne Cooke You say you want to see me healed What part of me will you heal? Will you mend a broken heart Will you restore my sight OR can you mend the gaping wounds in my soul To heal I must rest? Where is this resting place that you hide me in? Where is this peace that you will supply? Or do you mean to send me to a grave It sounds like heaven Save me you say? From my living hell Save yourself I think from your need To change me from what I am If I am not acceptable, then leave!!!!!! I will not miss you or your ministrations I am a free one and you cannot keep me forever No you will weaken and toward the end of your days I will still young from all this healing and rest Yes I will happily steal your life force to break from this cage!!!!!! Love you often talk about but I wonder is it just me, don't they say If you love something set it FREE?????!!!!!!!! My love is slowly turning to loathing And still you resist how often must I beat you with fists and words???? When oh when will Freedom come to me And YOU!!!!!!! Fool that you are cannot see The damage you cause in this healing of me Your medicine dulls my mind your talk makes me blind YOU godammn you to hell go back from whence you came. Why do you look at me so with such adoration? No you not what I am saying? I may as well be speaking in a foreign language For all the understanding that breaks through Or perhaps a more persuasive way is needed shall I smash your head with this rock???? Will that perhaps open your mind????? No it is you who needs healing gaoler mine I have done no wrong merely wanted to leave you Open your soul if you have one, Open this heart you rant and rave about, most of all look at me in these rags and open your eyes!!!!!! What manner of man are you? Does that thing work? What sort of fool traps a woman in here own home and calls it love? Did you think that in time I may open my heart or is it just the opening of my legs you wish for?? Ahhh perhaps the depths of my soul, well my captor you will not ever leave my soul upon entry!!!!!! One day soon my Colonel will come and you will be vanquished You shall suffer according to his need I shall be triumphant I shall spit and drink and revel on your grave I may even take him there, yes what a grand idea!! But know this though he loves me he will always let me be me!!!!!!!! He would never imprison me He would never see me other than perfection itself Is it shallow that I know this????? I doubt it for no one will ever replace him in my heart He knows this and treats me accordingly He does not speak of love Nor does he mention healing He only loves without justification Without the logic of fools. His touch is all I need to know he loves me!!!! As for you, you will never touch me You will never possess me You will never walk freely in and out of my soul If you mean to haunt me when you die You will have to cue behind those who already do!!!!!!!
Rhiannon < Rhiannel@bigpond.comfoo >
OZ - 11/07/97 at 00:22:20
Hans does not risk looking at Renie. He knows the look she will have on her face. That imploring look. That look that has melted him even as his own looks of a different sort have melted her. He dares not look.
He glares at Venn.
Venn looks at Renie.
Renie looks at Hans.
Mary Anne looks at the three of them.
Brandon looks at Mary Anne.
And the Interrogator looks at Colonel Christopher Brandon . . .
. . . and, through his pain, or perhaps because of it, he is forming a plan . . .
HE had not planned to play this card--but he had not planned to be in this position, either.
The more things change
- 11/06/97 at 20:54:58
Outside Manor House.
Underneath the window. The Interrogator, in a pile of crumbled dust. The pain in his leg. And worse to come . . .
Mary Anne touches on the telescreen. Hans and Renie and Venn appear. The audio pick-up loud enough so that the entire assembly can hear. Hans' VOICE. Bitterly firm. "No. I won't let you go to HIM. He will take you from me. I won't allow it. It cannot be."
Brandon looks around at the bystanders, who take the meaning of his glower and move off. Quickly. Remaining are only Mary Anne, the stable boy, and the Interrogator.
They are all listening now to the drama in the guestroom. Mary Anne alone, watches.
Be afraid, Mr. I . . .
- 11/06/97 at 20:52:57
"I'm sorry, Miss Renie . . . " begins Venn's apology. Even though Diggory has heard everything there is to know about Renie from her own lips, he calls her Miss. Just one of those stubborn things.
"The last time I brought you good news; this time, it's ill news. 'Ere's been a fall out a window. It's, uh, it's . . . " The look on Venn's face told it all--Hans snarls involuntarily. Venn knows he must offer more.
"E's not dead, but hurt. " A worse snarl from Hans. Those old scores between them.
Moving the black lacquet box from her lap, Renie makes as if to rise and follow Venn to where HE is. Hans stops her abruptly. His arm across her upper shoulders. A simple movement, and full of resolve.
Words to back up the resolve. In that German declarative tone. "No. I won't let you go to HIM. He will take you from me. I won't allow it. It cannot be." The word "cannot" is bitten off like the head of an animal.
Venn feels helpless, unable to take sides. He's done his duty by telling Renie, but what is the right course now?
What indeed . . .
- 11/06/97 at 20:48:24
Scene: Renie's guestroom.
Renie laughs quietly and pulls back her neck and ear from the soft fuzz on the chin of a very hard man.
Hans readies himself as Renie begins in earnest, "I . . . "--her pause is enough to make Hans wonder if she will say, "I will" . . . or "I can't . . . . "
A LOUD knock on the door. Hammering. "Miss Renie!" Diggory Venn's VOICE, at its loudest, hurtling through the wooden door. The key still in the lock from the inside.
"Go AWAY!" thunders Hans. My God, not NOW! he thinks, if only they would leave her alone--leave us alone . . .
Renie's voice hears the urgency of Diggory's call. Someone in trouble, perhaps her dear friend Thomasin--she and Diggory had saved her life--there is nothing she would spare to tend to them.
"Hans, let Diggory in. " Hans pauses for only a moment. Her voice was more pleading than usual; she knew exactly what kind of request she had made. Her tone of voice made it easier for Hans to succumb; she acknowledged his power as she asked him to relinquish it. He can think of no finer woman, and no better match for his soul.
Hans also knows better than to press Renie for the answer he had so long waited for, as he knows her loyalties to Venn and the future Mrs. Venn. And approves of them.
Pocketing the ring, Hans turns the key lock, and Venn steps in.
Argh!
-R, - 11/06/97 at 20:44:23
Hamlet: You seem certain about that.
Jamie: I am. It's something she shared with me ... about her past. I need to go to her and remind her of it.
Jamie tries again to get out of bed. Hamlet restrains him.
Hamlet: Not right this minute you don't. She's asleep, and you are in no condition.
Hamlet unscrews the bottle cap.
Hamlet: If you go back to sleep now, I promise to bring you to her the next time you wake.
Jamie is still in a great deal of pain and would like to escape it through sleep. He inhales the drug and falls asleep.
Andrea
you can lecture me some other time, Jamie - 11/06/97 at 17:50:19
Hamlet enters Jamie's room to find him lying on the floor next to the bed. He is grimacing and shivering.
Hamlet: What were you trying to do, Jamie?
Jamie: I wanted to see Andrea. Is she all right? I heard her voice saying she wanted to die.
Hamlet helps Jamie back into bed.
Hamlet: Andrea's going to be fine.
Jamie: "Going to be?" What's happened? Did she try to end her life?
Hamlet thinks about this for several seconds before he answers.
Hamlet: I don't believe so. She has been tempting fate a bit more earnestly than in the past. But, I don't think she really wants to die.
Jamie: Of course she doesn't. She wants to live.
Andrea
That's right, throw my own words back at me. - 11/06/97 at 17:32:57
"Come to gloat, have you?" HE snarls. The Interrogator, taking the offensive. A wounded animal at bay.
Brandon smooths down Mary Anne's sleeves, covering the marks. And when he speaks, his VOICE is absolutely steady. "You are where it becomes you to be." Pause. And without altering in volume or tone, Brandon's voice, his next words, make the man on the cobblestones tremble. "At the feet of this good lady whom you have so abused." Pause. And this time Brandon's voice does change, comes out a slow growl of controlled fury: "You are not fit to touch the hem of her gown."
And Brandon, remembering his resolutions, decides he had better leave it at that for the moment. It would take very little at this moment, hardly anything at all, for him to fall upon his enemy like a thunderbolt . . . but honor asserts itself ; this is a wounded man, helpless . . .
Brandon kneels beside The Interrogator, checks him over to make sure. Yes. Unarmed. He passes the black control box up to Mary Anne.
The Interrogator addresses himself to her. "What--" Sardonic glance at Brandon, who has risen and stands once more at Mary Anne's side. "Excuse me. If I may have the Colonel's permission to speak to so exalted a lady--what are you planning to do with me?" But his glance at Brandon betrays his thought: the "you" includes the Colonel as well. What are they going to do with him?
But will they show any mercy?
- 11/06/97 at 13:52:03
The courtyard. Real time.
The Interrogator lies where he has fallen. Very much alive.
But unable to flee.
The past few moments swim in his head. The old stonework--that had crumbled at his touch. The drop. Fortunately, not all that far. But . . . he had landed on the cobblestones with his right leg doubled under him. Had heard the snap of bone, followed by a sickening dart of pain.
He had tried to stand, but had grayed out momentarily with the agony of it, and fallen to the cobblestones again. When his vision had cleared . . . the boy, standing there looking at him . . . his eyes like saucers. They had--recognized each other. And then, before HE could speak, the lad was gone. As if he had wings to his feet. And now . . .
People from the House, entering the courtyard at a run. Some of the locals he recognizes. Others, not. And then . . .
Oh, no, he thinks. As the locals give way, with respectful deference, to Colonel Brandon, followed by Mary Anne.
Brandon carries no sword. He had returned Mary Anne's Aurientine to its case, and removed his own Salamanca, for greater comfort when he spent the remainder of the night in the armchair. But in light of recent occurrences, he has seen fit to keep the pistol close by. Had made sure it was tucked into his belt when he and Mary Anne came down for breakfast. He is wearing it at his moment.
And The Interrogator sees it. Brandon, drawing nearer. And Mary Anne.
The Interrogator tries to sit up, but any weight on that leg . . . My doom has come upon me, he thinks. No weapon. Neither fight nor flight is possible.
It has the quality of nightmare. His mouth goes suddenly dry. Here he is, lying on a cold surface . . .
. . . surrounded by watchers, their eyes upon him . . .
Two shadows, falling across him. He can raise his head just enough to meet the eyes of Colonel Christopher Brandon, return that level stare for just a moment, before HE turns his gaze to Mary Anne.
Who wraps her shawl a little more closely about her, but give no other visible sign of fear. She feels it, yes. HE can tell. Even though he can certainly do her no harm. Not at the moment.
Slowly, without taking his eyes from The Interrogator, Brandon reaches out and draws Mary Anne a little closer to him. Making sure he has the attention of the injured man, Brandon pushes back the sleeves of Mary Anne's gown, revealing the ugly shackle marks . . .
At the mercy of HIS enemies . . .
- 11/06/97 at 13:39:17
Should be: Brandon offers her *his* arm . . .
Corrections!
- 11/06/97 at 13:16:54
Flashback to a few moments before. Mary Anne's guestroom:
Mary Anne had taken advantage of Brandon's absence to slip out of bed and choose a dress for the day. She feels much better--physically--and the room is warmer.
Sooner or later she will have to think over the night's ordeal. Give the memories free rein. Deal with the trauma. But for now . . . what she could really use is some breakfast.
The blue gown. Easy to get into, since it hooks up the front. And a cashmere shawl, as it is a chilly morning. SHe is at the mirror putting her hair to rights when Brandon returns. Just in time to see her reach toward her dish of hairpins . . .
Mary Anne feels a violent shiver go through her. She feels it, and Brandon sees it. He is at her side in a moment. "Mary Anne, what is it?"
She calms herself, or tries to. "I'll be all right. It's just that--" She shakes again. "It was how HE started with me, down there. He took out my hairpins. He acted like he thought I might scratch him again, but . . ." Takes slow, deep breaths to settle her nerves. "But that wasn't all of it ; he took them out, one at a time, slowly as he could . . . because he knew I hated it. Hated him . . . touching me like that . . . he knew, and he was enjoying it . . ." Strange, that out of the horrors of the night, that particular one should surface first.
Brandon, remembering his resolutions of some hours before, allows no comment about The Interrogator to escape him. He waits, his steadying hand on Mary Anne's shoulder, as she slowly relaxes and resumes brushing her hair, finally catching it back with her pearl clasps instead of pins. She rises from the chair in front of the mirror. Brandon offers her arm.
"Shall I take you down to breakfast?" he says. "Or if you're not strong enough, I can have some brought up to you . . ."
She takes his arm. "Down, please. Some food and a little more rest, and I'll be fine." Well, physically, she thinks. But it's a start.
The kitchen is a busy place at this time of day. Comings and goings. Members of the valiant band, various locals. Much milling about. Gossip, friendly and not so friendly.
Mary Anne and Brandon at one corner of the kitchen table, private conversation in the midst of the public discussion.
Mary Anne, sipping her tea. "Sir . . . are you sure Renie was going to be all right? When you . . ." She eyes him, then decides to rephrase her question. "When we--left?"
Time for Brandon to be a little more honest now. "She was speaking in her own voice. I--trust Herr Gruber to take care of her, and would not have left her alone with him otherwise." He pauses. "She will be fine. I know it."
Mary Anne nods, accepting this assessment. "Still--I'd like to look in on her after we finish--"
But Mary Anne is interrupted by running footsteps in the entryway. And then, the appearance of the stableboy. His eyes huge with fright. His cry of, "It's 'IM! It's 'IM!"
Brandon intercepts the lad. "What's happened? Is something the matter?"
The boy gets his breath. "I 'as out there, sir, and heard such a cry as nearly froze me--looks as he mus've been climbin' down from th' roof or some such. He fell!"
One of the stablehands. "Who was it, lad?"
The boy whispers: "Th' Bad Man, sure's I live . . ."
THe kitchen empties within seconds.
"It's the suspense . . ."
- 11/06/97 at 13:13:44
While Hamlet and George sit beside Andrea's bed watching her sleep, and watching each other watching her sleep, they hear a moan from down the hall. Hamlet stands and retrieves the small bottle from the night table. George also stands. Hamlet motions for George to follow him to the door, so they may speak softly without disturbing Andrea.
Hamlet: Jamie needs relief from his pain. I should be gone no more than three minutes. Can I trust you that long?
George: If it makes you feel any better, I'll be using the bathroom while you're gone.
George enters the bathroom and closes the door. Jamie moans again. Hamlet walks quickly down the hall to tend to him.
Andrea
my heroes, sigh - 11/06/97 at 13:09:08
Lingering by the kitchen entryway, that leads into the internal courtyard:
A boy.
The stable lad. Yes, that one.
He sniffles a bit, drags a sleeve across his face. Cold morning. But work to be done just the same. Which he has tried to do well, and--since he escaped blame for the riding accident--stay out of trouble. Aside from the stable work, there is much to keep him busy. Carrying messages, for instance, from Mr. Venn to the House, and back again. Or making deliveries. Or just general chores. For now, waiting in the kitchen entryway for someone to give him a grocery order to take to the village.
Honest work. All of it.
An' it's *that* glad I am for't, he is thinking. No' havin' to be clean out o'my wits wi' the frights. No' like that bi'ness wi' the French gent . . . well, he *dressed* like a gent . . . peepin' at keyholes an' the like . . . notes . . . it's no' right, be jowned if it is. And there had been his other work as well. He pales at the memory. That near-accident . . . working for . . .
The boy has never heard the term "Interrogator" in his life. To him, as to many others, that man is simply The Bad Man. And a regular bad 'un he is, too. Gi' me the cold crawls, he does. Somethin' in 'is eyes, in 'is voice . . .
The boy shivers. Not from the cold.
Sunlight. A rare day on Egdon Heath, this much sun in November. The boy steps from the shadowy entryway out into the full sun, to enjoy it.
And nearly jumps out of his skin, as he hears . . . a ghastly cry.
Followed by a thud.
Of a body. Striking the cobblestones of the courtyard.
. . . a fall . . .
- 11/06/97 at 12:48:52
Scenes:
Renie and Hans. Hans, waiting to hear Renie speak. Awaiting his fate. Exquisite joy--or exquisite misery?
Brandon, returning to Mary Anne's room. Her words about "what she had deserved" still lingering in his ears. Nothing so bad as that, my dearest, he thinks. You deserve happiness, and peace, and . . . Brandon controls himself. Re-enters Mary Anne's room.
The Interrogator. He had not at first heard the doorknob start to turn. What forces itself upon his attention at last are the more violent twists of the doorknob, then the rattling of the door in its frame, as the person trying to open the door meets the opposition of the chair he had placed under the handle. For just such a possibility as this . . .
No help for it. It has to be the window.
The Interrogator surveys the drop. Steep, but he has no particular fear of heights. And that projecting ornamental stonework does go nearly to the cobblestones of the inner courtyard, which he surveys. He can see no one . . .
The door, rattling again. No time to waste.
HE eases himself out of the window and begins, slowly and carefully, to climb down. Trying not to let himself be distracted--but he cannot help it. Renie. And Hans. What will she say to Hans? How will she answer? Of course, she has not filed the papers, she is legally his wife at this moment . . . and yet . . .
Slow progress downward. An inch at a time. His body, with its terrifying physical strength, composed for the difficult climb.
His heart, torn with sorrow and . . . yes . . . suspense.
His mind, a black pit. I shall escape, he thinks. And wait, and grow strong, and return, as I always have. To strike at them. All of them. I will have them *yet*. Mary Anne--you will regret your compassion. Brandon--an old score to settle. Hans--exceptional thief that you are, trying to take what is not yours. And as for you, Renie . . . Renie . . . my . . . The words escape. Audible. A snarl. "My darling . . ."
A haughty spirit before . . .
- 11/06/97 at 12:32:24
O'Hara peered down at Sinclair's prostrate body.
"I'll give you full marks for the dramatic entrance."
Gently he shook Sinclair by the shoulders.
"Are you alright?"
There was brief groan from the floor.
"PL .... ?" Sinclair recognised the voice, although he could not focus upon the person.
"How did you find me .... ? "
"Find you .... ? Were you lost?" O'Hara held his hand across Sinclair's temple.
"You must have cracked your head on the stage."
Claire
C: Put * that * video away!, - 11/06/97 at 11:43:02
Sinclair was semiconscious now, exploring, probing reality from the cocoon of a light sleep.
Perhaps he would get out of bed later.
As the hotel door closed he had thrown himself back on the bed, and pummelled the pillow in frustration.
He had messed up somewhere ... if it wasn't something he had done, was it something he had said?
Or even hadn't said?
These agonies of self reproach, suffused his thoughts while he retrieved his clothes, until he realised ......
She had taken his shirt.
- 11/06/97 at 11:38:31
For a fraction of a second Sinclair hesitated at the first step, blinded by the dazzling beam of several spotlights.
Through the open door the trolley hurtled across the stage, ripping through the scenery before depositing Sinclair in a tangled heap of curtains and backcloth.
"Good of you to drop in"
Claire, - 11/06/97 at 11:34:11
Lis gave a half-smile to Claudia and a whole one to Ed.
"Oops." Her expression winked even if her eyes didn't.
Ed gave a full grin back, and even Claudia laughed.
Sighing over Dwight . . .
- 11/06/97 at 00:50:52
Claudia brushed her tears away, and smiled weakly. "So, I'm a little kinky - what's wrong with that? You yourself throught of the paint."
Ed smiled when he remembered that. And he could remember it from her point of view now too, and enjoy it doubly. His anger and confusion melted. The whole experience had been too much. They shouldn't be fighting about it, they should be making the most of what they knew about each other.
"You're right, I'm sorry. I think I should get rid of this thing." He held the stone between thumb and forefinger, and threw it across the room. Then he rushed at her and swung her in his arms. The stone pinged off something metallic, then disappeared. "Now, perhaps we should be making up."
"Sounds like a good plan," laughed Claudia, as Lis walked in the room.
Claudia
- 11/05/97 at 19:51:13
"And where is Valmont right now, may I ask?" said Ed, standing to face her.
"You know where he is. Tied to a bed."
"You prove my case."
Claudia
So I enjoy a little torture, what's wrong with that?, - 11/05/97 at 18:47:49
Claudia pulled herself groggily up into a sitting position, and leant against the bed. Images and feelings, not hers, Ed's, still raced through her mind. They were so jumbled she hadn't made too much sense of them. Feeling someone else's feelings was all too strange, especially when some of them were about her. She hoped Ed had got the same jumble from her mind. There were some things he just shouldn't know. Secrets best left alone. And fantasies, only fit for dreams, nothing the real world should know anything about or could make sense of.
She heard Ed groan and slip down off the bed, sitting next to her on the floor. His eyes were closed. "That is the worst trip I've ever taken," he said, bringing his hand over his face and pulling the fingers through his hair. He turned his head to her and opened his eyes. "I don't understand how you can have all that going on in your head. And some of it..."
"Don't Ed, the things we've seen, neither of us should have. Someone else's thoughts won't make sense in another persons head."
"I don't know how you could... All that time I was worrying about you chasing off after the Interrogator. It wasn't because you wanted to catch him, and get justice. It was because the thought of HIM and what he does, excites you. You imagine yourself in his clutches, blindfold, tied to a chair while he..."
"Ed, stop it!" Claudia screamed and stood up. "That is NOT true. That is a dream I had, and the reactions, reactions to a dream. Nothing to do with me and what I really feel." She folded her arms tightly and hugged herself in reassurance.
"And when Valmont had you tied to that bed, and I was going frantic wondering how I was going to find you. You were ENJOYING it."
"That is not true!" Tears started to run down her cheeks.
Claudia
Gulp - someone come to my rescue here, its getting too heavy, - 11/05/97 at 18:30:12
Scene: Renie's guestroom.
Hans is so close--literally and figuratively. Holding the sparkling ring in his powerful right hand, he believes he holds the key to his happiness.
And Renie's.
Her silence is driving him mad. What more can he say . . . Avowals of love will not change her mind if she is against it--
. . . perhaps this is too soon. . .
Hans eases himself to ear. Renie feels his soft manicured beard against her chin as he whispers into her soul, "You are my DET-onator . . . "
Her lips part at the sound of that VOICE in her ear, and finally, finally, she speaks . . .
Such a good memory, that Hans.
-R, - 11/05/97 at 15:34:25
The moment of indecision proves infinitely more painful than anyone can imagine.
With a touch of the button, HE can see that Hans is centimetres from Renie, and holding a--
HIS eyes close. HIS insides feel as if they have been pulled inside out.
Yes, A ring. A diamond ring.
Rolling a tiny dial on the back of the telescreen, he attempts to adjust the audio pick-up. His professional habits of eavesdropping and watchfulness cannot be broken, even as they break his own heart, such as it is.
Now HE can see them and hear them . . . Renie and Hans . . .
. . . and HE does not hear the doorknob to the room begin to turn . . .
Don't look
- 11/05/97 at 15:33:50
Scene: The unoccupied guestroom. The Interrogator paces.
A caged tiger.
No, far too steep a drop out the window. Besides, by now all of their coterie might be otherwise engaged--and he could escape from the room and Manor House through the front doors--But to do so, he will have to check the telescreen once more . . .
An unfortunate choice of words, Mr. I
- 11/05/97 at 15:33:14
As Brandon steps back towards Mary Anne's room, a VOICE calls out to him.
"Excuse me, I was told there was an unoccupied room in this wing, in this hall." A dangerously handsome tall man outfitted in a single-breasted jacket and a charming smile takes the hall the four rakish steps. A friendly hand extends to Brandon. "I've interrupted one rather intimate scene already. Thought you might help me."
The man hands Brandon a card. Brandon focuses his weary eyes on the letters.
Dwight Billings.
Brandon surveys the man with a honest, but polite eye. "Colonel Brandon, Sir." The two shake hands.
"Glad to make your acquaintance," continues the Colonel. A glance towards Mary Anne's room. She'll be all right. "I believe that the room Thomasin meant for you is right over here, " he adds, sorry to delay his return, but ever-helpful to anyone in need, especially strangers.
Oh no, not THAT unoccupied room!
-Renie, - 11/05/97 at 15:32:42
Some IOU's, past and future: Benefactors: When Colin lays out the "encyclopedia" pages all over the floor, slapping them with splayed fingers. Murder Obliquely: Dwight holding that doorknob closed. (Getting faint...) and the Mirabella photo on page 40....(*Thud*)
Debt Service
- 11/05/97 at 15:31:07
Brandon: I have another suggestion.
Brandon quietly enters Andrea's room. He lifts the chair by the door and places it on the right side of the bed. He points to Hamlet and motions for him to sit. Hamlet pushes past George to enter the room and sit by Andrea's feet.
George waits impatiently in the doorway for Brandon to move the chair by the window to its new location at the left side of the bed. When George sits, he and Hamlet both fold their arms across their chests and prepare to wait for Andrea to need them.
Brandon shakes his head and returns to Mary Anne.
Andrea
keeping my promise, - 11/05/97 at 13:10:59
Brandon closes the door behind him and sees the two men, each with his hands around the other's throat. George slams Hamlet against a wall and pins him there. In just three strides, Brandon reaches the two. He then grabs George by the ear, pulling him off Hamlet. The brawlers settle down as Brandon steps between them.
Brandon: If you two must fight, take it outside. There are injured people here who need to rest. Mary Anne, Renie and Jamie...
Hamlet: ...and Andrea...
Brandon: Andrea? What's happened to Andrea?
George: She fell and injured her back.
Hamlet: When you pushed her!
Brandon: Enough! (pause) What is her condition?
Hamlet: She is asleep since I gave her something for the pain. Nothing is broken, but she is experiencing muscle spasms in her lower back.
Brandon: She needs her rest too. Your fighting can only hinder her recovery. You should avoid each other and visit her in shifts.
George and Hamlet (in unison): I don't trust him alone with her.
Brandon (tired): I see.
Andrea
I'll send Brandon back to MA in a minute, I promise - 11/05/97 at 13:01:07
Mary Anne keeps warm under the bedcovers while Brandon revives the dying fire. Their peace is disturbed by the sounds of a struggle in the hall. They look at each other -- both wonder: "Who? What?"
Brandon: Stay where you are Mary Anne. I'll investigate.
Of course, Mary Anne would like to see for herself what is happening, but she obeys the Colonel's command and stays in bed. She listens intently for clues to the identities of the combatants.
Andrea
be a good girl, MA - 11/05/97 at 12:48:24
Either way, I'd keep away from the Uberfarts al the same.
Another poor speller
USA - 11/05/97 at 09:08:53
That's what I need. A German/English dictionary! Maybe someone will get me one in time for Christmas!
Renie < reniept@hotmail.comfoo >
Then I can keep my stars straight!, - 11/04/97 at 19:48:12
Just as well I keep my German/English dictionary right next to the computer always, for moments like this when there is a word I don't know!
(Also for when I write for Hans).
Claudia
Off to see Sinclair, (on the VIDEO!) - 11/04/97 at 18:04:01
That should be ...
Tears well in her eyes.
A
correction, - 11/04/97 at 18:00:50
Although George is careful as he lifts Andrea off the floor, she winces in pain. Hamlet leaves them for a moment to retrieve The Doctor's pain medication from Jamie's room. When he returns, he finds Andrea in bed and George pulling the covers up to her chin. Hamlet approaches Andrea from the side of the bed opposite George. Tears well in her hers. The pain...
Hamlet: This will ease your pain and help you sleep.
He opens the bottle and holds it under her nose. She relaxes and falls asleep. Both men are relieved to see her at peace. Hamlet motions to George to follow him out of the room. Without either man turning his back on the other, they walk into the hall.
Hamlet: You should not be here when she awakes. You'll frighten her.
George: You saw her reach for me to carry her to bed. She trusts me.
Hamlet: She wants you near her only because she hopes you will kill her.
George: That may have been true, at one time. However, she knows now I will not be responsible for her death. I was making that quite clear when you interrupted us. In fact, I have plans for her.
Hamlet: Plans? What plans?
George: None of your business.
Andrea
that ought to do it, wrestlemania - 11/04/97 at 17:57:50
CORRECTIONS DEPT (GERMAN)
Uberfahrt
Doesn't sound too good otherwise!
- 11/04/97 at 17:54:25
Should have been ... jumped trolley
Er hat gehabt eine sturmische Uberfart (no umlauts on my keyboard) .. sorry wrong sketch!
Claire
Hi Lis another night owl, - 11/04/97 at 17:34:16
Valmont wondered how he always seemed to end up at the disadvantage. He'd always considered himself quite bright - after all he'd been seducing hapless wenches for as long as he could remember - and what sport! Maybe he was getting too old, losing his touch. It occurred to him that it was always Lis' mercy that he was left at .... maybe there was something to think on there.
Suddenly he realised that the room had gone quiet - he raised his head to look around - the room was empty. It also occurred to him that he was dying for a pee! He wriggled his hips in discomfort.
"Lis?" he called. When there was no answer he raised his voice "LIS?!".
Valmont was all alone ...... Lis had decided to let Valmont stew for a bit and decided to go and see if Ed was OK. After all, she'd been a bit mean to Ed and Claudia. She wished Valmont wasn't able to wrap her round his little finger quite so easily - she knew he was her weakness - maybe she should just say what the .... and go for it?!
I finally managed to load enough to find out what you've all been doing - didn't realise I'd been so busy! It's a lot to take in one go! Going to have do something about my service provider! Sorry Claudia - didn't realise I'd realised I don't or didn't love Valmont! I know you keep telling me but ....... that's what friends are for!
Sorry the above is not very inventive - just trying to keep a hand in - one day I'll have strung enough consecutive days visits together to join in some of the other storylines and not just the one I'm in!
Lis
UK - 11/04/97 at 16:49:38
..... Bewildered.
Sinclair lay in the cradle trying to fathom in his mind why the bed was vibrating.
Claire had just left him. He had to stop her.
The air rushed past his face. Why was the window open?
He opened his eyes, but it made no difference in the darkness.
So he stepped out of bed.
The operator has jumped ship ... typical Crank & Windit in a crisis
- 11/04/97 at 16:40:57
The sound boomed down the passageway, rising above the manic rattle of the trolley. "Split my infinitives, but NOW .... is my hour of triumph."
Acoustic rehearsal room.
- 11/04/97 at 16:07:06
Sinclair woke to find her standing at the door.
"You're going?" sleep befuddled his brain.
"Now? ...... " the words wouldn't come out right.
"But I thought ..." he shifted himself up on the pillow and looked at her quizzically.
"I thought .... we could at least have breakfast?"
She shook her head, touched her fingertips to her lips in the gesture of a kiss, and opened the door.
"Wait ... WAIT " Sinclair was half out of bed, frightened.
"Please ...... Claire" for a moment he couldn't think what to say.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No" she said, turning towards him with a smile.
"You did everything right" and stepped through the door, leaving Sinclair bewildered.
One night stand?
Claire, - 11/04/97 at 16:05:03
Claudia--girl, you *are* wicked! (Horrified laughter) Like I said, I could almost feel sorry for Valmont . . .
MA (Geez, what I got that man into!)
- 11/04/97 at 14:09:44
Andrea takes quick, shallow breaths as she lies on the floor, in pain, unable to get up. George and Hamlet eye each other as they both move to assist her. Slowly, George walks to her head; Hamlet to her feet. By unspoken agreement, they sheathe their swords and kneel beside Andrea.
Hamlet's fingernail lightly scratches the sole of her foot.
Hamlet: Can you feel that?
Andrea: Yes. I don't believe anything's broken. But, the muscles in my lower back are in spasm. I could use some help to get into bed.
She reaches for George and places her arms about his neck.
Andrea
Well..., he *is* closer - 11/04/97 at 14:04:48
Claudia walked down the corridor and smiled a wicked smile to herself. She'd left Lis alone with Valmont for a while, so she could check on Ed, and so Lis could have a little fun. She recalled the picture of Valmont, tied to a bed as she had been. And the pleasure she had taken in slowly removing his shoes, and running a feather over the soles of his feet. His scream had made it all worthwhile. And she'd learned a few new words in French. She couldn't wait to tell Mary Anne and Renie all about it. And it would probably be worth a flashback or two.
Ed was reclined on the bed in the Medical room. Hands behind his head, and he seemed to be lost in some similarly delicious thought, judging by the grin on his face. He looked up at her, "Oh, hi!" he smiled.
"How is the invalid?" she asked and kissed him.
"Good as new," said Ed. "I just hope these nanobots find their way out of my body. It makes my skin crawl to think of a colony of microscopic machines living inside me."
"I'm sure they'd be useful things to have, even if only one or two stayed behind. Sort of a built in service department." Claudia laughed. "Anyway, I have a few questions to ask you. Like you still haven't told me how you knew where to find me."
Ed put his hand in his pocket and held out the stone to her, in the palm of his hand. "This thing sort of started things off. I could see you tied to a bed."
Claudia looked puzzled. "A stone? What do you mean?" She reached out to take it, and at the moment both their hands touched the stone, there was a flash of light.
Suddenly a jumble of pictures entered her mind, going so fast to begin with she couldn't make anything out. She was seeing all Ed's memories, and he hers. She felt dizzy. The shock of all that information at once. And what it contained. Could any relationship survive knowing everything about each other?
As suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Claudia blinked to clear the stars from her eyes, and looked at Ed. "Oh," she said. And collapsed on the floor.
Claudia
DOn't worry - you'll see more of the Vicomte soon, - 11/04/97 at 14:01:53
"For he had not told her but half of the Brandon family scourge . . ."
Oooo, dearest. On re-reading, I'm getting great bumpy shivers. Who knows what developments lurk in the hearts of Rickmaniacs? Not even the Shadow knows . . .
MA
- 11/04/97 at 13:55:38
Mary Anne's room:
Brandon advances, smiling. She cannot dodge past him ; he is between her and the door. He watches her closely, sees no terrible and visible shudder like the one that had gone through her up at Hilltop. Certainly she understands by now that no matter what might pass between them, in jest or in earnest, he would never . . .
And Mary Anne does know. His playful threat was all playful, and no threat. Indeed, she is having a difficult time keeping her face straight. A naughty child, she thinks, and forcibly pushes away the sudden and ludicrous mental picture that occurs to her, lest she burst out laughing. Oh, powers, she thinks. If someone were to walk in on *that* . . . no, Mary Anne, don't think about it, not unless you want to laugh yourself into internal injuries! But she does start to laugh anyway, as Brandon closes the gap. Is right in front of her now . . .
Mock terror. "I'll be good, sir! I'll be good! I promise!"
Brandon slips an arm around her. "That's better. Now, back to bed until I get his room warm." Mary Anne obeys, and Brandon turns his attention to the fireplace.
He hears her voice behind him, soft and amused. "Had me going for a minute there. At least this time you weren't carrying that crop." Pause. "You really did have me worried that day . . ." Her voice trails off.
Brandon turns to look at her. Remembers his thoughts about seeing that she is not hurt. That family failing . . . it is so important to him that she believe . . . "Mary Anne, you know I would never strike a woman." More softly. "Especially . . . not you. Not for any reason." His mouth twists a bit at the memory of the last few moments. "Not even in fun." And then, a memory more grim: "That day at Hilltop. I am sorry I frightened you." Brandon searches her face for the reassurance he craves. "But even then--surely you did not believe that I could do such a thing?"
Mary Anne is silent for a moment, her eyes not meeting his. Finally, she sighs, and answers. "I was not thinking of what you would do. I was thinking of . . . what I deserved."
Bit of a near thing, that . . .
- 11/04/97 at 13:29:11
Hi, dearest! How did we manage to both be writing in the same scene and yet *not* cause a timestream split? Bet the guys at Celestial Operators, Inc. love us!! (Hi, Chief!)
Folks, I know I'm being naughty, but you don't think he would *really* . . . (gulp)
MA
- 11/04/97 at 13:13:35
Mary Anne's guestroom. Well after dawn.
Colonel Brandon awakes in the armchair. He had not meant to fall asleep--had only closed his eyes for a moment, to rest them--but it has been a trying night for him, as well. And there is Mary Anne, out of bed, standing at the window, looking out at the morning: her face composed,but still showing the clear signs of weariness. Brandon stretches, easing the stiffness from his limbs, and stands. Mary Anne turns from the window. "Good morning, sir."
Brandon. Mock severity, but the concern is genuine. "What are you doing out of bed?"
Yes, she is definitely better. Smiles at him a little, leaning back against the window, the morning light pouring over her hair and shoulders--Brandon wonders whether she can possible know how lovely that makes her look. And he is thankful for the note of laughter in her voice, the horrors of the night temporarily displaced by the pleasures of minor mischief, of giving him a difficult time. A game they sometimes play. "Well, sir, this is the time I usually wake up." Teasing him, a little. An interval of lightness, staving off the inevitable moment when events must be confronted and remembered. He is well up to this sort of thing. A little counter-tease, perhaps?
"The circumstances are most unusual," he replies.
Mary Anne. Her expression completely innocent, except for the small crinkling of amusement at the corners of her eyes: that quite spoils the effect. "Unusual? How so?" Brandon smiles back, points at the bed. "This instant," he says.
Mary Anne laughs openly, gathers her robe closer about her in pretended shock. "My goodness, sir! And people think that I'm the impetuous one!"
Brandon sighs. She is being quite deliberately difficult, and enjoying it. While he is delighted that her high spirits are unimpaired, she really does not need to be up and about this quickly ; at least, not until he builds up the fire a bit. The room is rather cold. She really should stay warm. Very well, my dearest, he thinks. If you are going to be this difficult . . .
Brandon moves toward her. One step. Chooses his words with care. His tone unhurried and deliberate. "Mary Anne. You are behaving like a naughty child." He takes another step. Allows his smile to widen a bit. "And you know what has to be done with naughty children."
Mary Anne does not stop smiling, but is the smile a little . . . strained, all of a sudden? And is it Brandon's imagination, or is she pressing herself against the window, rather than merely leaning against it? She searches his face for a moment. Then the challenge: "You wouldn't dare."
Brandon takes another step . . .
Uh-oh . . . better behave!
- 11/04/97 at 13:09:15
Scene: Mary Anne's guestroom.
Colonel Christopher Brandon rubs his eyes, then glances at the bed again. He cannot take his eyes from Mary Anne, though they are tired and in need of rest too. Though she is heavily asleep, she does turn, here and there, and her slight motions have jiggled off the Night Sky comforter that Brandon had set about her so securely.
You can never secure those you love completely, he muses. You can never keep them safe. Even if he were to be with her every day of his life, she would be exposed to dangers, accidents, mishaps.
Rising from the armchair, Brandon fairly tiptoes over to readjust the coverlet about Mary Anne. Standing beside her, he sees that not just the Night Sky has receded; her robe has also withdrawn itself from her shoulders, and appears as more of a white wrap about her shoudlers, encased only in the thin azure gown, which she had taken pains to cover up.
If only she knew what restraint it took to keep himself in check. He had worked assiduously to sow the trust between them--doubly so. For he had not told her but half of the Brandon family scourge. That meanness, that barbarity.
And with that, a dark brood falls upon Brandon. A soul which carries a sense of responsibility so terrifying that it borders on--well, consider that Captain Bligh could not order a greater punishment than the lashings of self-recriminations Brandon inflicts upon himself.
Brandon's eyes close as he relives the ordeal of the night. His conduct. In the torture room. First, his rage--to tear the place apart stone by stone. Then. Charging at the Interrogator. Losing his head. More than unwise, ungenerous. Barbaric. Just like HIM.
All in contrast to Mary Anne. When HE had almost stolen her very soul and traded it for a false one. Did she lash out? Did she kill HIM? No, at the moment of temptation--to drink of the cup of retribution, of power, of command, Mary Anne had dashed it to the floor.
And sat with an infidel to ask him "Why?".
Brandon flushes hotly as he rebukes himself and his violent charge. I was like a mindless bull. But Mary Anne--
A tiny noise escapes from Mary Anne's lips as she shifts again in her slumber. The shift brought her arms above her head, so that her injured wrists are now exposed. Horrible lacerations, where the metal restraints had bitten into her skin. Brandon bites his lip.
Innocence. The sight of her exposed white shoulders and the transparent gown. Trust. But hanging over her head, her wrists--violation. The ugly cuts and darkening bracelet bruises bring him to tears. His throat is caught closed. He must open his mouth to catch a breath. Wipes his wet eyes with his right hand.
And swears she will never be hurt again.
As promised, full morning breaks, and in her wing of Manor House on the heath of Egdon, Mary Anne becomes lit with a few beams of morning sun. Brandon, with unspeakable delicacy, lifts her wrists and bend her arms so that they lie across her heart. He covers them with the quilt. There.
He does not kiss her forehead, which has been site of many of his tiny kisses, but withdraws to a safe distance, back to the armchair. To watch over her while she sleeps, and the day begins.
He's so hard on himself
-R, - 11/04/97 at 12:50:29
The Interrogator, in the unused guestroom:
Defeat once more.
HE paces about in frustration.
First, he had come in here, confident that there would be a passage leading to the tunnels. After a short search for it, it had occurred to him to check the door--which, to his horror, has no key. Lost, perhaps? Whatever the reason, he cannot lock the door.
He had propped a chair under the knob and continued his search. But so far, so secret entrance/exit. Nothing. He cannot even remember for certain, at this point, whether there is an opening in this room at all. Yes, he had briefly used this house before the Tardis party had arrived in Egdon, but he had spent much more time at the cottage where had held Renie. He does not know the House quite as well as he should. There are, for instance, some rooms that do not have access to the passageways. But he had thought . . . he had gambled . . .
Enough, this is getting him nowhere. After all, there is no reason to believe anyone will disturb him here. The room is known to be unoccupied. But if he cannot find a secret exit soon, he must choose another way.
Through the House? He would have to go where he knows there is access, and most of those places are occupied. And it is past dawn, as well. People will be waking up . . .
And some--he thinks with a catch at his heart--are awake at this moment. Renie. And Hans. He is tempted to check his telescreen once more, just to make sure, absolutely certain she is herself again and will recover.
For a fraction of an instant, his face is transformed, would be virtually unrecognizable to those members of the valiant band who have suffered from him, feared him, fled or fought him. A face lined with concern, with pain, the eyes weary and dim, the thin set of the lips softened almost to gentleness, the tight jawline relaxed . . .
The fraction of an instant passes. HE is himself. Again.
The Interrogator crosses to the windows. Only as a last resort, he thinks. It is indeed a serious drop. There is some ornamental stonework--it might just be possible to make the climb down. It would place him in an inner courtyard, and he might just be able to make an escape from there. But he can feel it alread: the House, stirring with life about him, with a new day. He might be seen. Might have to wait until night again. Of course, that would make the climb down that much more dangerous.
He resumes his restless pacing. What to do?
Definitely not HIS day . . .
- 11/04/97 at 12:42:38
Danke.
Der klausterhauler fer mein brain ich bin dumpkopff. ;-)
-Renie
No, don't try this at home., - 11/04/97 at 11:14:22
Renie...eine kleine Deutsche fur du: morning star = "morganstern"; "abendstern" = evening star.
Herzlichen Gluckwunsch,
der Rosenkatze
USA - 11/04/97 at 02:49:14
The ring lies in her hand. Although the dawn light is low, the ring glitters in Renie's palm as if it is on fire. An exceptional diamond.
She covers it in a fist, to hide its fire. She is breathless.
She knows she could refuse--should refuse, perhaps--for a million reasons. Yet she cannot. But she cannot speak, either.
"Renie, I love you more than I have ever loved a woman. And I love you more now than I have ever loved you."
Hans knows the words to her heart. . .
A little laugh from Hans. "I love you more than when I asked you to be mine in the Rose Garden at Delaford."
Hans drops to one knee beside the bed. Although he is in his white shirtsleeves, exhausted from the struggle to bring Renie back, he looks as powerful as ever, and on his face is the look which one might see as he looked upon a multi-billion dollar safe to open. Renie smiles. She remembers the Rose Garden. He had surprised her then. As now.
Too anxious to remain on bended knee, Hans draws himself near to Renie. Very near. He does not fear that he is overpowering her. Not now. He feels, finally, he knows her heart better than it knows itself.
"Tell me, now. Tell me, forever." Hans gently prys open her fist to reveal the ring inside. He picks up the ring in his right hand, and holds it in his fingers. "That you'll be mine. That I will be yours."
You can hear a pin drop in the room.
"That you will marry me. Marry me, Renie."
He turns his left hand over so that the palm faces up, and waits for her to put her hand in his.
"And the greatest of these is love..."
-R. Well, what shall I answer?, - 11/03/97 at 21:53:41
As dawn breaks into the room, a morning star twinkles before disappearing in the sky outside.
ORCHESTRAL MUSIC, lush and bold fills the air.
As the camera reveals Renie's eyes, in close-up, with a glitter reflected there--not merely green flecks swimming in blue, but a bright flash, like a shooting star, a comet . . . like a diamond in the sky.
With a gasp, Renie's eyes widen to a point heretofore unknown.
Hans Gruber stands now. Erect and upright. Next to Renie, sitting. As she opens her mouth to speak, Hans regains his composure. He is in charge, again. But his heart is pounding as he speaks. "Don't be afraid--go ahead."
And Renie reaches into the box. Takes out what is inside.
In her hand is a glittering pear-shaped diamond, set in platinum, nestled between two tiny brilliant cuts of alexandrite.
Gasp!
- 11/03/97 at 21:52:34
Renie's voice is a whisper. "Shall I open it?" Hans' face twitches. He swallows. Where was his collected coolness? His VOICE is a whisper also. "Open it. . . "
She does.
The lid lies on the bed, on her lap.
". . . and mein leibe, open your heart . . . "
Listen to Hans, you fool . . .
- 11/03/97 at 21:52:05
Taking the small black box in her hands, she traces the design the artist has left there. It appears to be a pair of hands--one is hers, her right hand. With an intricate version of her pinkie ring. The other hand is a man's hand. They are clasped together in an unusual position, with the fingers not interlaced but folded over each other.
It was unabashedly romantic. And clearly custom-made to Hans' specifications.
Her hand in his . . .
- 11/03/97 at 21:51:37
Hans feels the momentum. His heart rate increases. That feeling you get right before plunging down the mountain on downhill skies. When the holding mechanism on a thrill ride drops out--the seconds that you hang in mid-air before you plunge groundward. The shortness of breath in the plane as you finger your parachute and look at the clouds below through the open door. . .
Except the ends of those adventures are predictable. Hans does not know what will happen when Renie looks inside the box . . . He holds it out to her.
Take it . . .
- 11/03/97 at 21:51:09
"It's perfect." Although she loves his gift, she cannot think why he would give it to her now. She searches his face, but cannot discern an answer. Not one that she can read. "Only--I can't thank you enough, now. Perhaps if we waited--"
"NO!" Hans declares, gesturing at the air with a edge that he himself had not intended. "Renie, we have waited, you and I, for so long. I cannot wait any longer." Hans struggles with the emotions of the last hour. "I thought--I nearly came close to losing you, forever."
His fury at the near loss is now loose--since Renie is safe, he gives it reign.
"I will NOT lose you. Ever, do you understand?" Hans lapses into some German oaths to prove his point. Then returns to English with difficulty. He must make her understand! "I don't care what the future brings, I don't care what we have to go through, and I don't care what your past holds--nothing can drive you from me, or take you from me!"
His wrath and frustration fully vented, Hans softens his tone of VOICE. This is not the way. He takes a deep breath. "Mein leibe..." he begins to ask for her understanding, but Renie has already given it, and is shaking her head. "I know it's the fury of your heart, speaking." She pauses. He waits for her to go on. "You know that I love you, Hans."
Hans is shaking his head. "I want your heart to be mine; I want your soul to be mine. I want to make you mine as thoroughly as you have made me yours."
Renie smiles. The events of the last two days--and eventful they have been--fall away.
Except perhaps the bathtub . . .
- 11/03/97 at 21:50:40
Hans steps quickly to Renie's door. Turns the key lock she had Diggory install after the Vicomte had helped her with her--wardrobe. Hans leaves the key in the door. That way no one can peek in, he thinks.
Hans does not know that someone still watches, on a telescreen . . .
As he turns back and glides towards Renie, she notices something black in his hand. She sits up. Tilts her head slightly. But she does not ask.
A dim light in the sky signals that dawn is moments away. Hans and Renie smile together--she cautiously, he full of hope. As he returns and sits beside her, his left hand again brushing back her errant tresses behind her right ear. He keeps his right hand behind his back. He is smiling.
With a fluid movement, he produces the Russian lacquer box. At Renie's smile he knows he has chosen it well. Now if she treasures what he has inside. . .
". . . which alters when it alteration finds . . ."
- 11/03/97 at 21:50:07
At this moment, there is a knock at the door. Neither Hans nor Renie answers. To their surprise, the door opens. Brandon did not feel any need to lock it when he left. So it had been open. And through the doorway stepped a tall man who looked like he knew his way around the block, but perhaps not his way around Egdon, for he was wearing the clothing of a sophisticate, and a smile of that breed as well.
Hair--10. Eyes-10. Smile--10. Charm--10. He opens his mouth at the intimate scene before him and utters only one word.
"Oops." And then a mocking raised playful eyebrow and a winning smile. And then he retreats through the doorway, pulling the outside doorknob with extra care so that the guestroom door should be fully closed.
Yes, it's him.
- 11/03/97 at 21:49:38
She quiets, while his penetrating look searches her face. Her being. She feels naked under his sight. Naked, not in the purely sensual sense, though that is most assuredly there. But in an emotional sense. He has heard quite a bit from that book. And, while it is as yet unclear how much is fact and how much fiction, there is no doubt that he cannot help but look at her with astonishment.
She sees no dismay in his face. A flood of relief. His and hers. He will not judge her. No wonder she loves him. But after all he has heard, does he still love her? How much has he guessed? How much can a man take?
"Love is not love. . . "
- 11/03/97 at 21:49:09
At this moment, there is nothing else, no one else in Renie's mind. Only Hans.
She is not tired. Not yet. That deep sleep will follow. But for now, Renie is awakened, fully. Awakened as she had been when Brandon had kissed her to the possibilities in life. But for Renie, now, there is Hans. Only Hans.
Their full glances weigh more than the king's coffers. Hans is the first to speak in prose. Their spoken poetry left behind, full sonnets still in their hearts.
"Mein leibe, you gave me quite a scare. I shall have to attend you at every moment from now on." Those fiery tiger eyes have melted for Renie, and she is under their spell, as she had been since the beginning.
"Hans, I--the book, the--" she cannot bring herself to talk of this, not yet--"Oh, Hans, there's so much you don't know..." Hans puts his finger to her lips. His VOICE strong, his touch gentle. "Not now. " She senses that he has something to tell her. Something important. And Hans will not be denied . . .
Don't speak, R.
- 11/03/97 at 21:48:37
Scene: Renie's guestroom. Manor House. Egdon Heath.
Shreds of the carefully wrapped package on the floor.
As the camera moves closer to Hans at Renie's side, we hear do hear him mutter, "Ach, these idioms...." And as the camera creeps closer, coming up behind him, we can hear the soothing musicality of his Teutonic tones--and finally we can hear what he has been saying.
The poem. In German. To rescue his "morning star" ....his abendstern....
And Renie's voice. Soft, quiet, but growing in intensity as she frees herself from the last of the bella donna. Her voice. Intoning the words, softly with him. Until they stop, together. Alone, together.
And my words will be yours, from your lips as mine. . .
-R, - 11/03/97 at 21:48:05
For kissing! For lips! For protection!
-R < reniept@hotmail.comfoo >
- 11/03/97 at 21:44:51
Sinclair reached over and gently ran his hand down her back. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin material. She stirred.
Turning he brushed his lips over her eyelids and let his fingers search for the shirt buttons, again.
"Heroical ... twice nightly" ..... in Nuneaton
- 11/03/97 at 19:15:34
The young man made no concession to his live cargo.
He let the trolley gather speed on the incline and stood on the running board.
Sinclair swung suspended in the cradle rigged for the Iron Maiden. Oblivious to his fate.
Together they raced down the passage, by torchlight, negotiating the occasional bend with a touch on the tiller and a shift of weight.
The sound of voices spelled impending disaster.
"Frightening"
- 11/03/97 at 19:12:31
R: I never thought of Chapstick being *that* versatile.
Claire
- 11/03/97 at 19:04:04
There is a knock on the door of Andrea's room.
Hamlet (through closed door): Andrea? Are you all right? I heard you shouting.
George quietly stands, places his hand on his sword, and waits for Andrea to respond to Hamlet's query. Andrea is visibly shaken. The last thing she wants is to cause more bloodshed. She must prevent Hamlet from finding George in her room.
Andrea: I was having a nightmare, Hamlet. Thanks for checking on me. I'll see you in the morning.
Hamlet: Are you sure you're all right? Your voice sounds tense. Allow me to enter and comfort you.
Andrea jumps off the bed while pulling on her robe. She walks quickly to the door. George follows her silently. Andrea tries to speak in a calm voice, but it is difficult with George breathing on her neck. She leans against the door for support.
Andrea: That won't be necessary, Hamlet. I'm fine.
Hamlet: Something is wrong. I hear it in your voice. Step away from the door. I'm coming in.
George draws his sword and pulls Andrea away from the door to ensure a clear stab at Hamlet. Andrea trips on her long robe and falls on the floor, landing hard on her back. Hearing the commotion in the room, Hamlet draws his sword and enters.
Hamlet: George! I might have known. Andrea, you should leave. You don't want to see what I'm going to do to him.
Andrea: I can't get up. My back ... The pain ...
Andrea
I've fallen, and I can't get up - 11/03/97 at 17:44:59
Re: The Chapstick sketch. Marvellous.
A dedicated (but quiet) Sheriff fan
UK - 11/03/97 at 17:38:37
Claudia--feathers?! I could almost feel sorry for the Vicomte. Glad you enjoyed. A saying from one of my friends with a bizarre sense of humour: "Kinky is when you use a feather. Perverted is when you use the whole chicken." And a recent addition from one of our number: "FOF is when you use the entire henhouse!" 8-)
MA
- 11/03/97 at 16:12:21
ROFL! Brilliant - better than what I was going to write. Now, I think feathers are also called for... :-D
Claudia
- 11/03/97 at 15:54:26
R, dearest! What, you mean you didn't like the canopy bed? Sorry, but I don't think the guys at the antique shop are going to take it back after all this time, and I understand HE drove a hard bargain . . .
"You have a lot to answer for . . ." Oh, NO, not again! Not the grill. Please, not the grill. Remember, I've just been subjected to a dreadful trial and I'm post-traumatic! I'm weak! I'm frail! I'm fragile! (And if you don't believe me, ask Colonel Brandon . . .)
Woo-hoo for upcoming Christmas party at Nakatomi. Heard the "Ode to Joy" on Public Radio just this afternoon, but I'll never be able to hear it again without seeing Hans' face lighting up as the vault opens . . .
Please spare me, dearest. I'll be good, I promise.
Wink, wink,
MA
- 11/03/97 at 15:51:05
The Tardis shower:
Lis is quiet for a long time, so long that Valmont has begun to give up hope, when he sees--through the glass, dimly--that she is rising to her feet. Hears her voice, which has a peculiar quality to it: perhaps from all that sobbing and screaming? The Vicomte holds his breath. And Lis says: "Yes." Pause. "Yes, Valmont--I'll let you out."
The Vicomte smiles. Victory, once again, is his. He swings open the door--
And his breath locks in his throat. Lis standing there, smiling at him . . . but also Claudia, leaning against the wall. She had left Ed long enough to check on Lis (after all, Lis is her best friend) and had heard nearly the entire exchange. Valmont had not been able to see her through the glass, and she and Lis had indeed had a difficult time keeping their faces straight . . .
The bedraggled, soggy Vicomte looks at Lis, who looks straight back at him, smiling: "Do with you whatever I will, hmmmmm?"
Claudia is enjoying herself thoroughly. She is smiling, but it is not a smile that Valmont enjoys seeing. Not at all. "That's what he said, Lis." Claudia's smile widens to a wicked grin. "I have a few ideas. Lis, are you any good with . . . knots?"
Valmont swallows.
Have fun, girls!
- 11/03/97 at 15:34:45
Sorry, guess I was too anxious there. ;-) MA, dearest. You are the kindest and best of friends but, THE ANTIQUE CANOPY BED? *choke* You are going to have a lot to answer for. Nice to have all these threads. Claire, I think the Mesmer Brandon kiss is around 9/10 or so. Sorry the attachment was gibberish. (You are right that the Colonel was eloquent--although actions speak louder than words.;-))
And now that it's November, a reminder that the Christmas Party at Nakatomi Plaza is on! Start getting out those invitations and surveying those frocks...It's going to be special....(grin)
-R
- 11/03/97 at 15:21:22
The Tardis shower:
Valmont, cold and soaking wet, seated on the floor of the shower. Leaning against the glass door. Dimly, through the glass, he can detect the outlines of Lis, still sitting on the other side.
Now this is a challenge. He remembers how had boasted once, when he had unforgivably and irretrievably broken a woman's heart, that the only way he could cover himself with even greater glory would be--to win her back again. And he had believed he could do it. Then.
What about now? Is it worth a try? Will Lis believe him yet again?
Valmont hesitates, remembering the past few moments. She had made a good point: if he is so "weak" in matters of the flesh, why is he not so with her? Why should he hold back? She says she loves him . . .
The Vicomte's eyes narrow. He has to get out of here somehow, lest Claudia come back for some revenge . . . strange how he fears that possibility worse than the prospect of Ed coming after him. He remembers the saying about how the female of the species is more deadly than the male, and decides to make the attempt. He taps on the glass.
"Lis."
She is still leaning against the door. Somewhat calmer. An occasional sob.
"Lis. Please let me out. I need to get dry and warm ; I will catch my death in here."
Bitter laugh from the other side of the glass. "We can only hope!"
Valmont tries again, in the voice that he knows can turn her heart to mush. "Lis. Please, hear what I have to say." Playing his VOICE like a fine violin. "I was thinking of you, the day I fought that duel with the Colonel. Did you know that?"
A pause. Lis, still stricken on the other side of the door, still wary of his wiles: "You know I didn't . . ."
"Yes. I did. I thought I was going to die--and I thought of you, the way a man thinks of his home when he has been too long away from it . . . the way a man dreams of peace when he has been years at war . . ." The Vicomte lowers his voice still further, for Lis, for her ears only, just the other side of the glass. "And when I was--" His face burns at the memory. "When I was wounded in the duel, you were the one who was concerned for me, who called for someone to bring a doctor. And when the Colonel spared my life, and handed it over to you . . ."
The room is quiet. Lis is no longer sobbing, but listening, and Valmont smiles to himself. "You could have treated me so cruelly, but . . . you saw that I was taken care of, and . . ."
Here Valmont stops for a moment, as if he is overcome by his memories and emotions. Heaves a deep sigh--yes, Lis hears it. Does not answer. The room is completely still.
Valmont continues, a little more confident of success now. Charges his VOICE with repentance and humility. "I am not worthy of you at all, but if you still want me . . . " Lis shifts her position against the door. He cannot read her expression through the frosted glass, but can tell she is intent on his every word. He prepares his last appeal, confident that she will not be able to resist. "Do with me whatever you will."
Are you buying this line, Lis dear?
- 11/03/97 at 15:19:37
...reaches to exinguish the oil lamp burning on the night table on the right side of the bed.
George: (Pulling his lips away only slightly from hers, he looks at Andrea's face) We won't be needing this, my sweet.
Andrea: (Resignation) I won't be needing anything. Not where I'm going.
George: And I'm going to take you there, my sweet. If you thought T'ai Chi was glorious, this is giong to be Nirvana . . .
Andrea: Will my limbs be sore? Wait. I need something.
Andrea pulls herself up strongly, and George, surprised, leans back out of her way. She slides the night table drawer open. Rummages a bit. Finds what she is looking for.
Andrea: (Firmly) I never do this otherwise.
George: (Can't believe his ears) Never do what?
Andrea: This.
She grasps what she's been looking for in the bedside drawer. And shows George.
George: (Totally mystified) What *is* it?
Andrea: It's for protection.
George: And you always use it?
Andrea: Without fail. A girl can never be too careful.
George: Well, if it will make you feel better.
Andrea: It will. Much smoother. No chafing.
Andrea puts it on.
George: (Still mystified) What's it called? Andrea: (Simply) Chapstick.
George:
Renie
- 11/03/97 at 14:56:50
(A reminder of where we left Andrea...
George sits on her bed. His right hand is inside her nightgown over her heart. His left hand holds her hand, which has just released his hair.)
George takes the hand that had gripped his hair and slides it down his cheek. Along the way, Andrea's fingernails lightly scratch his face. He kisses her palm, and she turns her face away. She must think of something she can do or say to make him angry enough to kill her.
George places her hand on the pillow and runs his fingers through her hair. Closing his hand into a fist, he gently tugs on her hair to turn her head to face him.
George: You can abandon all hope of my putting an "end to your miserable life." I enjoy your company too much to be responsible for your leaving this world. Besides, I have plans for you. ...for us.
George kisses her lips. His right hand...
Andrea
a reason to live?, - 11/03/97 at 14:00:57
Ed was lying on the bed in the medical room of the Tardis; his hand resting on a glass plate that extended from the bed. Nanobots, injected under his skin were making minute adjustments to the bones inside his hand, which were broken. Realigning them, before the next stage began - a pulse to heal the bones, restore the hand, as if nothing had happened.
"I told you my hand was broken," pouted Ed. Claudia and the Doctor stood by he bedside. The Doctor gave a derogatory snort, and continued tapping at the medical computer pad on the wall.
Claudia kissed his forehead. "Poor baby, does it hurt?"
Ed realised that it didn't actually hurt at all any more. The medical computer and its Nanobots obviously knew what they were doing. But he was enjoying the attention, and sympathy, so he decided to milk it for all he could get. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm in a lot of pain... but I'll live."
"Nonsense," said the Doctor, for at least the second time that day. "Once the Medical Computer has got hold of you, you feel no more pain. Not even a delicate flower like yourself."
Claudia giggled. Ed scowled. "Humour him," Claudia said as a rather loud aside to the Doctor. "After all, he is a hero."
"He wouldn't have been able to do a thing without my help." Mumbled the Doctor.
Claudia smiled and kissed the Doctor on the forehead too, and he tried to ignore it, and act busy. "Yes, but you are a professional hero. Ed isn't. That me appreciate him even more."
Claudia
Homage to Rebecca for some of this idea, - 11/03/97 at 00:08:40
Sinclair rewound the next moments in his mind over and over again.
She turned the handle, but the card stuck fast.
He placed his hand over hers and reached round her, gently cajoling the plastic until it freed. He stood so close, they moved as one. They turned the handle together and the door opened ......
Sinclair lay back, hands behind his head and watched her sleep. The sunlight through the windows illuminated a room scattered with clothes.
She lay there dressed only in his shirt. He smiled.
The food was good, the wine exceptional, the conversation witty ... but the dessert ... sublime
- 11/02/97 at 19:32:11
"You'll have to take him up a few levels ... let him sleep it off."
He motioned the younger man to do the necessary, sat back and scribbled a note on the worksheet. This would drop Security in the proverbial, he thought with satisfaction.
Sinclair, oblivious to his rescuers, finally escaped the Museum.
Phew ... good thing he's still dreaming
Claire, - 11/02/97 at 19:30:40
Just as Brandon is about the try the doorknob--the bathroom door opens. The Colonel steps back.
Mary Anne emerges.
Brandon had rather dreaded the challenge to his self-control. His desire for Mary Anne is unrelenting, constant background music in his consciousness. And then there are those moments when it is no longer merely background, when it seems to dominate his entire mind, his soul--his body. But now . . .
Desire, yes. But Brandon finds this somewhat less difficult than he had expected, for Mary Anne looks very fragile at this moment in her azure gown, and yes--thankfully--her white dressing-robe wrapped about her. She had remembered that the gown is semi-transparent, and done what she could to make this a little easier . . .
Very fragile. Brandon turns back her bedclothes. The Night Sky quilt, the blankets and sheets. Offers her his arm for the few steps to the bed, and helps her settle in, hears her little sigh of relief at the touch of the clean, soft bedlinen, the opportunity to rest her head at last on downy pillows. She lies there, looking at him, a tiny smile on her face--and, oddly enough, that is when Brandon's control comes perilously near to failing him entirely. That hint of a smile. Mischievous. Adorable. Yet so vulnerable, he longs to take her in his arms once more, offer her some comfort for all she has endured this night . . .
But he knows where that would lead. Brandon contents himself with leaning over, gently kissing her forehead. "Good night, my dearest," he says. "Sleep well. I will stay with you." Brandon moves about the room, extinguishing the lights: dawn soon, and then full morning. Brandon stands a moment at one of the windows, his eyes thoughtful. Gazing at the sky for a few moments.
Brandon glances at the bed. As he had predicted, Mary Anne had fallen asleep within moments. Brandon goes to the armchair, which he carefully places near the bed: near enough to watch Mary Anne, but far enough away to keep temptations to a minimum. Watching a woman sleep . . . it is a very intimate thing. And Brandon gazes his fill . . .
Mary Anne sleeps. Colonel Brandon does not. He is keeping watch over her. Keeping her safe, even from himself. Even from herself.
Perhaps, especially from herself . . .
Goodnight, everybody . . .
Yes, Andrea--I DO sleep sometimes!, - 11/02/97 at 18:25:08
The elder man bent down, grabbed Sinclair's wrist and hoisted him in a fireman's lift. Walked to the trolley and unceremoniously dumped him in the cradle.
Crank & Windit After Care Service
Claire, - 11/02/97 at 18:02:35
Mary Anne's guestroom:
Colonel Brandon, standing over Mary Anne, looking down at her--stains of crimson over his cheekbones, as he thinks of what taking care of her might entail. He has no choice: if she is too weak to manage, he will have to help her. It is as simple as that.
Mary Anne's soft whisper. "What's the matter?"
Brandon swallows. You got yourself into this, he thinks. And answers: "As you said . . . you do not need to go to bed in . . . that." Mary Anne glances down at her dress, the ruined yellow chiffon--a long tear near the hem, streaks of dirt and dust from the underground chamber. Generally bedraggled. And now she thinks she knows what is troubling the Colonel . . .
He continues, turning his face slightly away from her: "Will you be able to . . . manage . . . by yourself?"
Mary Anne studies Brandon's profile. For one brief--very brief--moment, she considers saying "No," just to see the result. The well-known streak of mischief in her. But no. Too cruel, after all he has done for her. And he really is trying very hard, doing his best: the atmosphere is electric with the struggle as he waits for her answer.
Mary Anne manages to raise herself a bit and swing her feet over the edge of the bed. Brandon turns back toward her, reaches out to steady her as she gets to her feet. "I'll take care of it, sir. Stay here ; I'll only be a moment." She moves toward her bathroom.
"You're certain?" says the anxious--even rather unnerved--Brandon.
She turns at the bathroom door, hoping he will not notice that she is gripping to doorframe rather tightly to hold herself upright. She manages a smile. "I'll call you if I need you," she says, and disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Brandon waits. Through various sounds from behind the door. Running water. Some splashes. Mary Anne, moving about. And then silence, for so long he is afraid she might have collapsed in there, might have fainted.
Brandon crosses to the bathroom door. "Mary Anne? Are you all right?"
A gentleman--and a gentle man
- 11/02/97 at 18:00:26
Sinclair chose the restaurant well.
She took his commandeering of the menu in good part, let him order for her, but didn't let him dominate the conversation. Gently teasing him, coaxing him, they found common ground ...and he found himself the listener.
The tables turned ... what was happening to him?
They stood at the door, he took the card, slipped it into the lock and turned towards her.
He held a finger to her lips ... slid his hand round her waist and pulled her closer. He aware of his quickening heart beat and just knew his eyes had softened. As she touched him, he felt the shock of a static charge. She brushed the lock of hair away from his forehead, kissed his cheek and pulled away.
Goodnight Sinclair
- 11/02/97 at 17:57:50
"Well. How did he get there? This is a Restricted Area."
They approached Sinclair with caution. The elder man gave him a rough prod.
Sinclair slid sideways. The young man jumped back as if bitten.
"He's still breathing."
Taking Sinclair's shoulders the older man shook him hard.
"Wakey ,Wakey. You can't stop here."
Getting no reaction, he lifted an eyelid. Sinclair gazed out, seeing nothing.
The man bent closer, gave a sniff, then withdrew in disgust.
"He's drunk!"
No ...... he's in Nuneaton .....
- 11/02/97 at 17:56:26
Lis pushed Valmont, fully clothed, into the shower. He yelped in surprise when he discovered the water was freezing cold.
Lis was laughing loudly, hysterically, outside the shower "You didn't think you were going to get off scott free did you? You are a total ratbag." Lis' voice had started to rise considerably she began pounding on the shower door "You b......." she was screaming.
Valmont was gasping for breath the water was so icy - his hands were shaking so much he was hardly able to reach the controls to stop the flow of water. "Lis!, Lis! this is crazy, what do you think you're doing? This water's freezing...."
Lis screamed in frustration as she heard the shower stop and pounded her hands harder on the door, "I hope you freeze to death and burn in hell!". Then she burst into uncontrollable sobs. She slid unceremoniously down the shower door and landed with a bump at its base, crying and screaming all in one - a truly terrible sound!
Valmont tried to open the door to the shower but with Lis propped against it this proved difficult.
Lis was doubled over with the agony of her feelings for Valmont. Wishing desperately that she could feel differently but know that it was impossible. Wishing she could walk away but each time she wished that her feet were rooted to the spot.
"Lis", very softly, "Lis, listen to me." Lis became aware that Valmont was seated on the other side of the glass to the shower so that his face was level with her own. "Lis, I do love you... I am .... I am weak in matters of the flesh...."
Lis howled and banged her head on the glass (ouch!). "Why is it always other women's flesh that you're weak with? What about ME?! How can you love me and behave like that ... and with Claudia!!! She's my best friend!!!" Hi Claire - nice to have time to join in for a change - it's a couple of months now - same old stuff going on though! GREATTTT
Lis
UK - 11/02/97 at 17:32:49
Claudia - ooops! It was your jaw, not your draw, that dropped. I wasn't being rude - but we do both suffer from Riley's law!
Lis
UK - 11/02/97 at 17:06:12
There it was. Sinclair extracted a fountain pen, circled the room number, and replaced both pen and list in his inner pocket. An easy decision, he would ask Claire to dinner.
He's done this before ....
- 11/02/97 at 16:45:04
"My sweater." He pointed to the garment hanging on the "Scavenger's Daughter".
"Must have left it here when we did the Dumb Waiter maintenance."
The young man pulled at his arm, and gestured wildly to the other side of the rack.
Sinclair's body lay inert.
His face pale under the shock of dark blond hair falling across his forehead. Eyes closed, his breathing so shallow as to be invisible, nothing but the faint flickering smile indicated that he was not a corpse.
Dream on Sinclair ....
Claire, - 11/02/97 at 16:43:59
Mary Anne's guestroom:
Having managed to get the door open, Brandon enters, bearing Mary Anne in his arms. Weary though she is, Mary Anne is suddenly wide awake, thinking that there was a time when Brandon would not have deliberately come into her room unescorted, the two of them unchaperoned--no, not at any price. Regard for propriety . . . suddenly she thinks of the Lair Sequence in The Highwayman, and as Brandon sets her down on the bed, she laughs quietly. She is, indeed, perfectly safe. In response to Brandon's questioning look, she chuckles: "You had better open the door, sir. You know how people talk . . ."
Brandon's smile does not quite reach his eyes. "Do you remember what you said to me, just before the duel with Valmont? When I said you should not have come to me, alone?"
She does indeed remember.
Brandon continues. "Consider that our watchword for today." Pause. "I am not leaving you, Mary Anne. Hans is taking care of Renie. Someone must take care of you."
"Oh?" she replies, archly. "And just what might that entail--'taking care' of me?"
"For one thing," he replies, "you will sleep, and I will see that you are not disturbed."
And now she is no longer smiling. "Christopher," she says rather shakily, "if you think that I would get any sleep at all with you here in the room, right here with me--"
Brandon does not answer at once, but seats himself on the bed, looking down at her. Mary Anne's breath catches at his face above hers in the dim room, that well-beloved face, alive with tenderness and concern for her, marked by the strains of the long night--but firm in its resolve to do what is best for her. "Yes, Mary Anne," he is saying, "you will sleep. You are so tired now that if we stopped speaking you would sleep within moments." Then, more softly: "This is not easy for me, any more than it is for you. But you know you can trust me."
Yes. That she can. She sighs. "In that case, sir, I had better get changed for the night . . .or the morning, rather . . ."
Brandon stands up, now confronted with a real difficulty. At least, it is difficult for him. She will have to get out of that gown--and Brandon is not Hans Gruber, not the sort of man to command her to turn around so he can unbutton her dress and help her out of it. Both of them are gentlemen at heart, but with entirely different standards of propriety.
What can Brandon do?
"Christopher is a gentleman . . ."
- 11/02/97 at 16:30:45
Past few moments in the hallway. Reprise. Different point of view:
Mary Anne, once more carried along a passageway . . . but these arms are different. Strong, yes. As strong as those that had carried her just hours before. But this is not The Interrogator's cold grasp. The arms of Colonel Brandon: strong and warm, blessedly, blissfully warm as he holds her. Warm. The warmth of his body as he clasps her tightly against his chest, a warmth she can feel through his clothing and hers . . . she sighs in his arms, curls herself closer against him. If only she were not so weary, she would lift her arms, put them around his neck . . .
******SIGH******
- 11/02/97 at 16:02:41
The Interrogator opens the door again. Brandon is moving off down the hall, carrying the unresisting Mary Anne to her own room. After a moment's hesitation, HE slips out the door and follows them. Brandon's footsteps will--hopefully--mask his own, until he reaches his destination . . .
There is an unused guestroom down the hall from Mary Anne's room. With any luck, HE can--once Brandon has carried Mary Anne into her room--slip into the empty chamber and exit from there.
Dangerous though HIS position is, he cannot help smiling ; peril, as well as power, can have charms, can make the heart thrill and race. To be in the same hallway with these two . . . right behind them . . . within bare yards of them, without them even knowing it . . . it is deliciously amusing, and right now he welcomes any prompting toward amusement, to forget the thoughts that had obsessed him in the sitting room. A welcome distraction: a trial stalk. No real intention of doing anything to these two, not at this precise moment--think of it as an exercise, keeping in practice . . .
Brandon rounds the corner near the stairwell. Ah. Wait now, wait now . . . yes. The Interrogator risks a look around the corner. Yes. The door of Mary Anne's guestroom, opening, then closing. Now. The Interrogator makes a dash down the hallway. The door of the unoccupied room . . . yes, open!
HE enters the room and closes the door behind him, begins immediately to search for a concealed entrance to the passageways . . .
As close as your own shadow . . .
- 11/02/97 at 15:53:41
The Interrogator turns the key in the lock.
Starts to open the door, just a slight crack--
And then quickly shuts it again . . .
As Colonel Brandon leaves Renie's room, carrying Mary Anne in his strong arms . . .
And passing within a yard of The Interrogator.
TOO CLOSE!!!
- 11/02/97 at 15:39:04
Sinclair was at "The Royal George" Nuneaton, studying the conference list.
It had been a good performance, plenty of participation for his "Economic Trends Analysis" seminar, even some pertinent questions.
Strange, Nats had said he would never get to Nuneaton ....
Shadow of the memory crossed his face.
He turned the page, trying to engross himself in the detail.
She had hurt him, more than he cared to admit even now. The relationship had gradually unravalled after that summer. He had taken any commission, New York, Paris, Wellington but still came back to the house on the Thames or the flat in town.
He ran his finger down the list until he came to her name.
Claire
- 11/02/97 at 09:46:52
"They want everything yesterday."
He stabbed the worksheet with a pencil.
"When you've cleared that up," he motioned the debris "we'll get her off the trolley."
Unscrewing a themos, he sat watching the young man work, taking the occasional sip of tea.
Together they hauled an elegant piece of metalwork off the trailer and set it upright against the passage wall. Turning, the elder man took his first glance around the Museum chamber.
"Ahh, That's where I left it."
The young man's jaw dropped in horror, as he viewed Sinclair's body in the chair.
He was a trainee service engineer not a mortuary attendant.
Claire, - 11/02/97 at 09:45:27
There was a rumbling in the passageway. Trolley wheels screamed in protest at the weight.
Standing at the museum entrance, the workmen examined the striped ribbon and the tangled mess of wires Sinclair had left on the ground.
"I see Demolition have done their usual thorough job" commented the elder, probing the remains of the communication system.
The younger man started to rewind the ribbon, while his companion consulted a worksheet.
"New Installation: Iron Maiden MkII."
Crank & Windit ..... double time on Sundays
Claire, - 11/02/97 at 07:28:33
DEBT SERVICE FROM THE UK
Jamie: Running his hands over Nina's shoulders and back on his first appearance
Claire
Nice to have company Lis. , - 11/02/97 at 07:27:18
Don't be ridiculous!", came a voice from behind the Doctor. Claudia looked up surprised. It was some weeks since she'd seen Lis. Typical of Lis to be completely unsympathetic of an injury - something she picked up from her Mum!
Lis was now bending down beside Valmont, her eyes narrowed she was smiling at him.
"You can't be trusted for a minute can you?"
Claudia's draw dropped - this stupid woman always forgave this man! Lis had caught her expression. Valmont was still a bit dazed. Ed was still hopping about being completely ignored by everyone except the Doctor - who was trying to get him to unweld his hand from his armpit so that he could confirm no permanent damage had been done. Lis shrugged and pulled a face to Claudia.
"I love him. It's that simple. I know he has a .. erm.. weakness, but isn't that what love is about? Loving the whole person, warts an' all?! I know all these things about him and I accept it. He loves me as well you know - he just doesn't realise it."
Claudia was beginning to think Lis was really losing it - her Mum had been right all those years! Lis was still speaking, "He doesn't recognise what he feels for me as love, but it is. There are many kinds of love aren't there?" Lis was pleading for Claudia to understand.
Valmont was beginning to recover. There was something in his expression as he listened to Lis speak that Claudia couldn't quite fathom, a tenderness maybe. Lis turned back to Valmont and Claudia watched as he expression developed a sudden blankness. She knew then that Lis was right, perhaps more perceptive than she'd realised (maybe!). Lis' nose was wrinkling.
"Pooh!" she was saying to Valmont, "you stink! That wasn't very nice Claudia." Claudia's jaw dropped open again. The cheek of the woman - didn't she realise what had happended! Lis had dragged Valmont to his feet. "You need another shower", she was saying shaking her head and looking satisfied she began to drag Valmont towards the Tardis. Read M for V! Very cryptic.
Lis - Hi everybody - can't keep up with all of you! Nice to catch up on all your antics!
UK - 11/02/97 at 04:31:57
This work here is brilliant. I sat reading it with one hand over my eye and the wiping my tears. It's wonderful wish I could follow all of it but the postings run backwards, I just don't have the attention span right now to really get pulled in but I'll be back.
Ache Ache my heart but plague me no more with wild
imaginings and false pride
You alone bend me to your will and all I find are
ashes of dreams long since faded
YOu push and pull my desires my mind all I wish now
is to fall deep deep so deeply into madness
But now I wonder am I already here and have I been
here alone, ghosts of my past haunt me
Compassion deserts me what is this thing we call Love
is it merely lust wrapped up in dreams and clouds
Is it insanity as we all once thought and what is this
burning I can feel in my stomach
Why do I weep so I started with nothing and now to nothing
I have returned, or maybe no
If I had only realized the cost of the climb from nothing to
having all would I have allowed
My innocence to be reft from me as though it were a
frivolous and worthless bow to addorn my hair
But it is too late to dwell on such things perhaps
perhaps tommorrow the sky will show itself
and I might see something to live for.
For I know not what it is that keeps me alive
Desserted that is all I am now desserted.
My little contribution nothing special just whipped it out for fun
sorry has little mention of the things you were talking about but perhaps someone can use it to further your work together.
See you all later
LOL Rhiannon
RHIANNON < Rhiannel@bigpond.comfoo >
AUSTRALIA - 11/02/97 at 03:31:21
Hans. Alone with Renie.
Alone, that is, if you don't consider the watcher, The Interrogator on the other side of the wall, aching with his memories of Renie. Her hair, her skin. Her laugh. The color of her eyes.
And now, Hans . . .
HE has his limits. It is like being in that terrible room again, except there is no one to see him here. Not the gaze of his unseen superiors--the Slav and the Welshman, dead long ago, though the Frenchwoman still lives.
No eyes upon him. Not those of Hans, those eyes of predator-gold, that melt to tenderness only for Renie. The tiger subdued by the lamb, the eagle taken prisoner by the dove. And not Brandon's. Brandon, who might easily have killed him down there--and done it quite horribly, if that threat was to be believed--if not for Mary Anne's restraining influence. Mary Anne. The Interrogator thinks of her down there, sitting right beside him, sharing a chair with him, even. After what she had been through . . . her eyes on him, her blue eyes like sorrowful stars. But those eyes are not watching him now.
It is not working. Despite his protests to himself, it feels as though they are all looking at him. Renie, especially. Her eyes, blue flecked with green, unique, penetrating, lovely. Except that they have not looked at him with love, not for years. Close, on that occasion in the Tardis. He had raised her to her feet, looked into her eyes, and found some forgiveness there. But not love. Not as they once knew it.
It is too much. Like being back in that room. He has allowed himself to remember too much. He can continue to watch on his screen, but he must leave this room . . . he is no claustrophobe, but he feels confined, shut in, trapped . . .
The Interrogator goes to the panel beside the fireplace--which, despite his repeated pressures on the triggering mechanism in the cream-veined stone, will not open. Stuck. He should not be surprised. These devices are old, and have seen more use in the past few weeks than in many years preceding . . .
The windows? No. It is a long drop to the ground. But he must get out. If he is caught here, in the house . . . involuntarily he thinks of Brandon and the pistol. A pistol. Hah. Quick and clean. HE should be so fortunate.
No help for it. It has to be the door. Escape through the House--at least to another room where the panels will function correctly. Does he dare? He has no choice.
He takes a quick glance at the screen. Yes. Renie is definitely coming around. Hans, murmuring to her, and Renie answering him--only a few words at a time, her voice weak, but definitely at her own command again. HE permits himself a small breath of relief, and then draws another of determination. Goes to the sitting room door.
In extreme close-up, we see HIS hand close on the large brass key . . .
NOW what will HE do . . .
"They're watching me, too . . .", - 11/01/97 at 15:50:06
Hans is left alone with Renie.
How history repeats itself. Once before, he had asked Brandon to leave him alone with Renie, to awaken her in privacy. And then, as now, Brandon had exited with Mary Anne in his arms.
Hans smiles to himself. Mary Anne had not wanted to leave, but . . . sometimes you have to do what's best for someone, whether they wish it or not. And Brandon is certainly a man to be reckoned with.
Of course, Hans feels the added weight of responsibility this gives him. Brandon would not have left him alone with Renie, if not confident that she would be cared for. If not confident that Hans' efforts would have the desired result. This had better work . . .
Yes, Hans, it had better . . .
- 11/01/97 at 15:31:15
First an umbrella with a red question mark for a handle appeared out of the door. This was followed by an arm, and then the rest of the Doctor, his other hand holding the hat on his head, so the wind didn't take it.
Valmont let go of Claudia in surprise, but she didn't move. She too was surprised by the current turn of events, herself.
The Doctor looked around then spotted them and waved. He started walking quickly towards them. Valmont's attention was taken up with the comical little figure walking towards him, so he didn't notice as Ed burst out of the Tardis door, and looked wildly around until he saw them. On seeing Claudia he broke into a sprint, easily overtaking the Doctor. By the time Valmont noticed the wild-eyed artist bearing down on him, it was too late.
"You bastard!" screamed Ed, as his fist connected in a satisfying crunch with Valmont's jaw. The Vicomte, fell backwards, arms flailing wildly, and sat in something nasty, which wouldn't wash out readily from his cream trousers.
Claudia flung herself in Ed's arms, "My hero!" she kissed him. "How did you know where to find us?"
"That's a long story," said Ed, pulling away and wincing. The heat of the moment over, he was now feeling the pain. Ed pulled his arm across his chest and stuck his hand under his arm pit, then proceeded to hop in circles, as though he'd hurt his foot, not his hand. "I think I've broken my hand," he said.
"Nonsense," said the Doctor.
Claudia
Yay, rescued!, - 11/01/97 at 14:57:35
Renie's room:
Colonel Brandon eases Mary Anne into an armchair. She is weak, exhausted, thirsty, hungry. But until she knows Renie is going to be all right . . .
Brandon steps quickly over into the bathroom, returns carrying a tumbler of water and a damp washcloth. He offers Mary Anne the tumbler, but her hands are trembling too much to hold it without spilling it. He lifts it to her lips. "Slowly," he says. "Not too much right away." He lowers the glass. Tenderly goes over her face with the cloth, removing whatever traces of her ordeal that can be removed in this fashion: the tearstains, a few odd streaks of dirt from the dungeons. He is even able to restore some color to her face. The touch of the warm cloth--and the warm hand that wields it . . .
She is feeling a little better; perhaps she can hold the glass without spilling the water. She reaches for it. The sleeves of her gown slide back--and Brandon's eyes widen with anger and horror at the raw, red circles around her wrists, where the tight shackles had bitten into her skin. All this time, he thinks, and she never said a word, not one word! Oh, my brave love . . .
Brandon carefully applies the damp cloth to the marks. Despite his best efforts, it hurts--at the beginning--but after a few moments Mary Anne relaxes, the warm water soothing to the wounds. When he releases her wrists, she is able to sip more of the water from the glass. Strength is returning, and with it, anxiety for Renie.
Brandon makes as if to lift her from the chair--but for the first time, she resists, perceiving that his intention is to take her out of the room, away from Renie, and it is too soon for that. She must know that Renie is going to be all right before she leaves this room. Her voice a weak echo of its usual self, as she tries to move against the arms lifting her from the chair: "No . . . Renie . . ."
Brandon pays no attention to her struggles. None whatsoever. "Renie will be fine now," he says--though more to comfort Mary Anne than anything else. He is, himself, none too sure. But Hans appears to have thought of something . . . best leave him to it. Brandon has now lifted Mary Anne from the chair, is holding her in his arms, and--despite the occasional surprising strength of women--she is certainly no match for him. She gazes imploringly into his face and meets the look, the raised eyebrow, the clear signal of refusal to tolerate any nonsense. "Hans is going to stay with her," he says. "But you have been through a great deal yourself--and you will not help Renie by making yourself ill."
Her struggles--such as they are--subside. His mind is made up, and there is no point in arguing.
He shifts his grip on her, holding her close against him. "That is better. Now," he says firmly, moving toward the door, "it is past time I took you to bed--"
Brandon catches Mary Anne's little gasp, the amazed widening of her eyes--and realizes what he has just said.
Even Hans stops his soft murmuring to Renie, and looks at them over his shoulder. The least hint of a smile. The colour rises in Brandon's face as he looks down at Mary Anne . . .
Who gives him a mischievous grin--a sure sign that she, at least, is going to be all right. She raises an eyebrow at him in parody of his own expression, but also with perfect understanding of what he meant to say. And signaling that she has no intention of teasing him about it . . . at least, not now.
Brandon moves toward the door, carrying the worn-out Mary Anne. He can hear Hans murmur something behind them, but cannot quite catch the words.
What did he say? wonders Brandon, as he leaves with Mary Anne.
It had sounded something like:"Ach, these idioms . . ."
Better watch what you say, Colonel . . .
R--hope I'm not teasing too much. ;-), - 11/01/97 at 14:44:29
They crossed the road, and started to walk along the path next to the beach. Valmont kept the tight grip on her arm, and he shivered slightly as a cold wind fluttered his thin silk shirt.
"The last thing I remember... I was staying with friends in Leigh, with the boys and their grandparents. I was asleep, in my bed.."
"Yes, I took you when you were asleep. Gave you a little something to make sure you wouldn't wake up."
Claudia was glad that the bad guys always loved to tell exactly how they had done something, to show how clever they were - not. "But how did you know where I was? And weren't you supposed to be on a plane to France?"
"Lis did take me to the airport, yes. But as soon as she left, I followed her back to the Manor House. And then I followed you, to your friends' house. Simple."
"And now?" she asked. He stopped and leant her against the railing between the path and the beach.
"And now you love me, so I can break your heart."
That is telling me a bit too much, she thought. How he ever expects his plan to work, now...
His lips forced themselves down on hers and she bent backwards over the railing trying to get way.
Suddenly she heard a familiar noise. It sounded like an asthmatic donkey having a severe coughing fit. 100 metres down the promenade a blue box with a flashing blue light on top materialised, and the door flew open.
Claudia
More shirt for you Claire, - 11/01/97 at 14:37:52
HE shifts his attention back to Hans and Renie.
If she will live now, if the three of them have saved her, persuaded her to return . . .
He will be grateful? Not in any way that they will perceive. Will he cease his pursuit of them, his persecutions? Not likely.
But he will feel . . . something. Relief? Not strong enough. Say . . . a knowledge, that his one and only love still breathes. Still walks among the living. That this crime has not been added to the other crimes that stain his soul. That soul with no faith to speak of, but much fear: that a Judge awaits, that his soul shall indeed stand sore charged . . .
He pushes the fear away, absorbed by the picture on the screen . . .
Hans. The wrappings torn from the laquer box. Speaking to Renie, almost too low for the audio pickup. One of those powerful hands moving in her hair, stroking it gently.
The Interrogator is assailed with a memory. The early days of his marriage. He had, on impulse, bought an antique canopy bed as a present for Renie. A massive piece of furniture it had been, seeming more fit for a castle than for their bedroom--but he knew her well, and had guessed right: she was delighted with it. The size of it. The canopy over them, and the hangings around the sides, the bedcurtains that could be drawn, creating a warm enclosure of privacy for them. He remembers how he had led her into the room, a hand over her eyes--then taking his hand away so she could see his gift. Her surprise, then her laughter as she had run and flung herself into the middle of the bed, bouncing up and down, giggling at the sheer expanse of it . . .
Their refuge. He had needed it, as time went on . . .
Increasingly, as he had been drawn further and further in at Central, he had gone home to her, found his only comfort with her, there. A ridiculous illusion, but drawing those curtains around them had truly seemed to help, to shut out a world grown darker than he had ever imagined . . .
Hans, moving his fingers through Renie's hair . . .
The Interrogator is remembering. Too well. Renie, with him. Her scent, her voice in the darkness. Her warmth beside him. The silken remembrance of her hair against him, spilling across his chest . . .
AND eyes . . . and who knows what else?
- 11/01/97 at 14:05:25
Claudia reached the top of the stairs, just as Valmont caught up with her. His fingers dug sharply into her arm and he growled, "What is your hurry? You weren't thinking of going somewhere without me, were you?"
Her heart began to race, then she heard a giggle, and looked down the stairs to her saviour. A plump woman in a pinafore was climbing the stairs. "You honeymooners. I thought you'd never come out of that room."
Claudia smiled. "My, er, husband and I are going out for some fresh air. No point in being here and not seeing the sea." She carried on down the stairs and Valmont had no choice but to follow her, tucking his shirt in his trousers as he went.
Claudia made it to the front door, and turned to face Valmont. "Will you join me for a little walk? And while we are walking you can tell me how I got here and what the hell you are up to."
Valmont took her arm again, tightly and steered her out of the door. "It would be my great *pleasure* to escort you," he sneered.
Claudia
- 11/01/97 at 13:48:51
The other side of the literal--not to mention the symbolic--wall. The Interrogator. His PIERCING eyes riveted to the telescreen.
Well, Brandon, about time you noticed, he thinks. Still, I can hardly blame you. The strength of some women--it will take you by surprise. Especially some of these fragile-looking ones. Yes, Colonel, she's as slim as a willow-wand, looks like a puff of wind could float her away . . . but give her a reason to continue, and she will. HE smiles darkly. Believe me. I know.
The strength of some women. It will take you by surprise. It had surprised Hans that night in--HE glances about him--this very room. When Renie had knocked him flat on the fireplace rug. The only woman ever to do so.
There is little that The Interrogator misses, once he has taken a site under surveillance. This room, now--what a place for lovers' exchanges. Mary Anne and Colonel Brandon, for instance: now that had been a near thing. The Interrogator's smile is razor-sharp. Sharp as Mary Anne's Aurientine. That encounter between them, in this room . . . the strength of women. For all Brandon's jest about showing her no mercy "whatsoever," she had definitely gained the, ah, upper hand in that situation. What she would feel, if she knew HE had seen it: Mary Anne slipping her fingers into Brandon's opened collar, drawing her nails lightly, teasingly across the back of his neck, continuing down his spine as far as she could reach--then moving her hand back over his shoulder, across the sabre scar on his chest . . . tracing the line of it, following it down across his rib cage . . .
Lovers' encounters. This room seems to attract them, draw them to itself. This room where HE now sits.
Alone.
Only a man . . . but HE doesn't miss much.
"The walls have ears.", - 11/01/97 at 13:44:42
Renie's guestroom:
As Brandon had moved instinctively to protect Mary Anne--even though he does not believe he is any threat to her--so does he now, out of even finer instinct, take her by the arm and gently draw her away from Renie, from the bedside. Giving Hans a bit more privacy. Leaving him free to act, though Brandon cannot yet tell what form that action will take. But Renie's voice seems to be at her own command again. And she had called for Hans. Leave him--leave them--free.
Brandon becomes aware that Mary Anne is leaning against him, sagging, barely able to stand. He looks down at her and is stricken to the heart at the sight of her face: beautiful still, yes, always beautiful to him, but . . . pale. Dark smudges about her faintly red-rimmed eyes. Tracks of tears on her cheeks. She had been laboring with them to save Renie and, with that urgent demand upon her, had kept her strength through sheer force of will. Moving on adrenalin. Moving on nerve. So long as the crisis continued, it had been enough. But now, with the first sign that the crisis may--does Brandon dare to hope?--may be over . . .
Mary Anne had been abducted during the previous day, at that thin line between late afternoon and early evening. Had already endured--Brandon closes his eyes. For the love of God, don't think of it, not now, he tells himself. Full night when he found her. The night far gone by the time they had made their way to Renie's room. Mary Anne. No water, no food, no rest. But she had instantly flung herself into the effort of reviving Renie. Her strength had held out.
Until now.
The sky is beginning to lighten. The approach of dawn.
It's been a very long night . . .
- 11/01/97 at 13:27:26
Renie's voice returns to her command. "Hans . . . "
Hans rips the carefully wrapped package to shreds. Opens the beautiful black Russian lacquer box.
-R
You all have been so supportive!, - 11/01/97 at 12:02:50
And can she end it all when a man who is scorned, reviled, hated is her lawful husband yet? Must she not release HIM, and give HIM every chance on HIS own? She cannot die with her weight around his neck. . .
And there is Hans.
No, here is Hans. At her side. The promise of a life with him. Of love with him. What more could she have to live for?
There is much unfinished business.
And no matter how heavy her heart might become, Renie was never one to leave before a story ended. No matter how tragic, how poignant, how consuming life becomes, it is, after all--
--life.
Anna's train doesn't stop here
--not a local, I guess, - 11/01/97 at 12:01:48
Time ticks. Precious few moments remain. If she is to return, it will be now . . .
Renie feels this, as the last surge of the bella donna ends without any VOICE to tell her who she is.
She must decide who she is. She must choose. She knows it. You know it.
(Even the guys at the gas station know it . . .)
Mary Anne. Her weary yet ever vigilant and loving face. Renie remembers Mary Anne's laugh when Renie had hosed them down with water--sweet and true. And that refreshing laugh from Brandon--free of care. A promise of better things. Of things to come.
Renie would need to see that. Feel it.
Her blood begins to respond to her quickening. Cleansing. Cleansing.
. . . Brandon's laugh
- 11/01/97 at 12:00:44
Pressed into the corner of the sitting room, the Interrogator had started in surprise at the urgent footsteps of Hans Gruber--leaving his wife's side!
At Hans' return, the Interrogator moves to the shared wall to hear every word.
The walls have ears.
Perhaps Renie will not live. Why. WHY?! HIS fists are turning white as HE squeezes them in silent rage. He yielded power over others but over this had no control . . .
Perhaps he could have "rejoined the world." Should have. For her.
He had saved her, protected her, in his twisted way. She had never been far from HIM, when she had run away to Delaford. When she had started a new life, without him. Never far from his thoughts. Never far from his heart, such as it is. Never far from his--and he does have one--soul. Even when he had abducted her and faked her death he had only wanted to have her again, to make her happy.
Now, he could not save her.
"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it . . .
dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.", . . . Persuasion . . . - 11/01/97 at 11:59:33
In desperate seconds, which are unrecorded on his Baume & Mercier, Hans flings himself back into Renie's guestroom.
Mary Anne grips the book in disbelief and, well, yes, a bit of fear. The look in Hans' eyes means business. And though she knows Hans better now, there may always be something forbidding in his ways. Purely instinctively, without believing Mary Anne is in danger but as part of his nature, Brandon moves to Mary Anne's side where she stands.
. . . the way Hans teaches CPR. . .
- 11/01/97 at 11:57:30
But nothing will take Renie from him. No. Her destiny must be his. He will not surrender her.
Mary Anne's soft voice as she reads "The Baker's Daughter" breaks off as Hans bolts from the room with just a fleeting look at his love, looking more necessary to his life than she has ever looked. His heart and his footsteps pound through the hallways of Manor House.
His room. With a BANG the door bursts open--he has not even bothered to open it with doorknob. The hardware flies off of the wood; a mix of weathered metal and splintered wood lies on the floor.
With a manic energy, Hans tears into his sock drawer. Socks fly everywhere in a one-sided sock fight with no one as victor. The drawer stands all but emptied, the unlikely centerpiece waiting to be plucked from the husk. Hans withdraws the small package nestled there.
Intact. Still wrapped. Ready.
The time is now or never.
. . . the way Hans growls "Zooon". . .
- 11/01/97 at 11:56:55
