Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

The Imperial Palace:

Rupert Cadell would not be chief adviser to Her Majesty The Empress if he were a man easily intimidated, or quick to lose his temper, or discouraged by wearisome duties. But on days like this he is tempted to exit the Palace through one of the secret sally ports and keep walking until his cane wears out. Failing that, he might hijack Her Majesty’s special copter, or stroll down to the Imperial menagerie and throw himself to the lions.

Strong temptations, but momentary. Rupert refrains from sighing as he spreads the sheets of a graph on the table; sighing would not inspire confidence in the two people seated with him. Mary Anne, though composed, is pale as chalk—and an observer far less perceptive than Rupert would be in no doubt, no doubt, as to Brandon’s opinion of these proceedings.

While appearing to busy himself with the printouts, Rupert studies Mary Anne and Brandon and indulges in a moment of profound sympathy, a luxury he can seldom permit himself. White-faced and shaken as Mrs. Brandon might be, Rupert can feel the almost physical impact of those blue eyes as she glances toward him, then back to Brandon, who takes her hands in his reassuringly. And Brandon, that poor devil—to have to sit and watch. Could I have borne it, if it had been the woman I love? To sit and watch her face The Interrogator, alone . . .

But perhaps some good will come of it after all.

The door opens and The Empress enters. Brandon is automatically on his feet, followed by Mary Anne, though she waves them all back to the chairs as she seats herself and comes directly to the point. "Well, Rupert?"

"Your Majesty—" The words for her, yes, but his gaze includes Brandon and Mary Anne. "If I have interpreted these scans correctly—The Doctor should review them to be absolutely certain—then Mrs. Brandon should suffer no lasting ill effects if we must . . ."

A silence falls.

"If you must execute The Interrogator." Brandon, low and quiet.

Rupert nods, as Mary Anne and The Empress exchange glances.

"You say there should be no lasting ill effects." The Empress holds out one slim hand for the papers, and Rupert passes them to her. "Can we anticipate whether there will be any at all? And if so, how severe?"

Rupert hesitates, and Mary Anne replies in his stead. "Oh, I’ll feel it, all right." A bleak smile. "It won’t kill me, but I’ll feel it." The smile fades. "And it would be worth it."

Rupert catches Brandon at it, then—those warring emotions too visible in his expression. Yes, let HIM be crushed, but not at any cost to Mary Anne. Rupert shakes his head. He would not trade it for anything. Nor would I.

Calmly, The Empress peruses the graphs. "The Doctor and I have spoken of these matters before. I believe he said that in terms of human illness, it was like the difference between having a cold and having cancer. A grim analogy. But—" The Empress turns to Mary Anne and smiles. "I trust you have had a cold before, Mrs. Brandon?"

It is not in Mary Anne’s warmhearted nature to resist that smile, and the flash of humour in her face is like the sun emerging from the clouds. "It’s been a while, Your Majesty, and thanks to The Doctor, I may never have another!"

"I would be envious," replies The Empress, "if the cure were not so . . . radical."

Mary Anne nods. "I wouldn’t recommend it, myself. Most people would far rather have the cold."

"Exactly. Unpleasant, but not fatal."

"However," puts in Rupert, "if Your Majesty would look at the charts for The Interrogator—"

The Empress glances over the graphs. "I see. The response is more . . . marked."

"If I may—" Brandon extends a hand and The Empress obligingly passes over the report; even to Brandon’s untrained eye, the differences in The Interrogator’s readout are obvious. "So, may we reason from this that if any ill should befall my wife, HE would be affected by it?"

"That is how it would seem." Rupert stacks the pages in a neat pile as Brandon passes them back to him. "Of course, HE might be rather hard to convince."

"Of course."

Rupert glances up, at that. Brandon’s face is blank, set like granite, but there is an uncharacteristic spark in his eye as he meets Rupert’s gaze. Intelligent men, both of them, and capable of appreciating irony. But for such an irony to involve his wife—the sooner this is over, the better. For Brandon and for all of us.

Meanwhile, The Empress draws Mary Anne into further conversation about her encounter with The Interrogator, and Rupert allows himself to relax, though only slightly. A trying day, and it is not nearly over. This matter with the Brandons would be a difficult day’s work in itself, to say nothing of his discussions with Miss Gellert—another woman for whom he feels profound pity and admiration. But he must admit that the presence of Eamon de Valera causes him no small amount of unease. There is a man, no less than Brandon, who though intelligent and reasonable is also unpredictable if his beloved is threatened. No lengths to which he would not go—he and Brandon. Men of action, both of them.

The day had started badly, yes. But as Rupert listens to Mary Anne’s soft voice explaining that, no, she had not meant to do that with her voice, it had seemed to come from nowhere, and yes, she does have some ideas of how it might have happened, he finds his interest piqued and is drawn into the conversation, feeling that this bad day might turn out better than he expected.

Rupert, however, has yet to see how much worse this day can become.

MA
Errrr, Therese--better rein in the Irishman, before HE is all over the dungeon floor in about a thousand pieces . . . ? =8-O, - Tuesday, April 30, 2002 at 19:40:44 (PDT)

Both knew exactly where Lucas was off to, but he said it aloud anyhow. " I am going searching for Diane. She is my…guest, after all." He grabbed his black jacket and slung it over his shoulders and did to buttons to hold it shut. He placed a shiny silver revolver in his h***, then stuck it into his holder, patting it as if for safe keeping. Lucas made way towards the door, and picked up his ebony hat on the rack as he called back out to James one last time. " Keep watch over the ranch, I trust you. If I am not back in five days, find a way to contact me!" With that he disappeared outside, leaving James still clutching the drumstick.

Lucas rounded the bend that led him to the horse stables. He instantly noticed Old Maid missing, the same mare she had ridden the other day. A knife was digging deeper in his heart, but he pretended to feel nothing of the sort what so ever. After cascading a saddle and tightening the halter over Mic’s giant black head, Lucas mounted and dug heels into the sides. Mic reared up, gave an alarmed whinny, and galloped away into the moonlight.

Lucas felt into his pocket and smiled, pulling out a bag of biscuits. He was always prepared, and though they would not last long, he also had a saddlebag full of travel food and 4 canteens full of pure water. Diane, he thought, wherever you are out there, I am coming, and you darn well better be okay…

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Determination....courage....and soul.... , - Sunday, April 28, 2002 at 18:19:44 (PDT)

“Who’s the pretty girl? Hmmmmmm. Did her miss me?”

Patrick… yes, I missed you. Are you home now?”

“Her is daddy’s little princess, yes her is.”

What are you talking about, why is your voice so high? Daddy’s princess?

“Daddy missed his pretty kittykins. Yes he did. She’s sooooo pitty, yes, her is a pitty kitty.”

Slowly, Cindie floated back to consciousness. It took her a moment to realize that she’d fallen asleep in Mistral’s bedroom and Annabelle was no longer there. It was dark outside.

And Mistral was talking to his cat.

Correction, he wasn’t simply talking to his cat, he was baby talking to his cat like nobody’s business.

“Did her like the nice lady?”

Cindie started at that one. What was worse, she half wanted to hear what Annabelle had to say about her. She slipped off the bed and went to the door. Light was coming down the hallway from the living room and she supposed that he must have just gotten home. Naturally, Annabelle would have ditched her in a heart beat once her human was back. She walked to the end of the hallway and leaned against the archway which led into the living room. Mistral was seated in the black leather chair, from here she couldn’t see her but presumably Annabelle was on his lap, and the cat was purring so loudly she could hear it across the room. She watched for a moment as his long fingers lowered past the arm of the chair to stroke the animal’s fur. From this angle she was looking over his shoulder and could see a partial profile. The light from the street glinted off his glasses. It seemed odd that he should have those on. His hand lifted and he petted Annabelle again. It seemed to sooth him as much as it pleased her. “Did her bring you fish and play with you? She’s a nice lady, isn’t she?”

“I’m glad you think so, Patrick.”

His hand paused in mid air and he slowly, very slowly, turned to look at her. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his expression. Dawning horror wouldn’t be far off the mark. Carefully, he placed the little spotted cat on the floor, turned and stood.

“Cindie.”

“Yes.” She gestured back down the hallway, “I’m afraid I pulled a Goldilocks again. Fell asleep petting Annabelle.” He did not look pleased to see her. “I’m sorry. You must be done in, I’ll go now.” Conscious that she had not been invited, Cindie started to move to the door.

“No. Don’t go.” Recovering his poise he stepped around the chair and moved towards her. The tone of his voice held the please that he hadn’t spoken, and she stopped moving, waiting to see what he would do. He stopped in front of her and said blandly, “You fell asleep on my bed.” It seemed he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact of her presence.

Mistral saw the uncertainty in her eyes as she nodded her assent. Her hair was mussed and her cheeks flushed from sleep. How could this have happened? He should have realized something was amiss when his keys were not in the mailbox. It wasn’t like her to be so careless. He ought to have checked the rooms for her or called out, but then, this was the last thing he had expected, or wanted. No, that wasn’t true at all, he wanted her here all right. In fact right this minute would do nicely.

He looked around the room, suddenly acutely aware of how unsuitable it was for entertaining a guest. “Why don’t you have a seat at the table? I’ll fix us something to drink.”

“Thank you.” Before she could take a step towards the small dining set he swept her up into a crushing embrace.

“God, I’m glad to see you.” His voice was buried in her hair and he pulled her close. Her arms went around him and he could feel them tighten around his body. “What am I to do with you? Go away for two days and I find you camped out in my flat.”

When he finally relaxed his embrace she tilted her head back and smiled up at him. His eyes glittered behind the lenses and he shook his head at her in mock severity. It sounded like she was striving for a light tone when she said, “I’m happy that’s settled, the part about being glad to see me, I mean.” Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, “As for the rest, we’ll have to figure something out.”

He smoothed down her tousled hair. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I didn’t mean to be. I was looking at the rooms, and sat down on your bed, and Annabelle came in, and I petted her, and the next thing I knew I heard your voice…”

It occurred to Mistral just what it was that she had heard and he moved over to the drinks cabinet and came up with some brandy that he poured out for them both. Cindie sat down at the small table and he joined her. Perhaps she hadn’t really quite heard him…

She took a sip of her brandy and then said, oh so forlornly, “So I guess this means I’m not your wittle princess. . . ” Smiling at him, she continued, “Her did miss you very much though.”

Blast.

“But her thinks the pitty kitty missed him too.”

Mistral opened his mouth. Mistral closed his mouth.

Cindie snorfled into her brandy and resolutely did not let him off the hook. She continued, “he wuvs his kitty kins and the nice lady thinks that’s sweet.”

Finally, Arthur Sidney Patrick Mistral did something of which most people would not believe him capable. It happened very quickly and was there and gone in a tick. But it was enough for Cindie to have seen it. The slightest hint of pink tinging the tips of his ears made up the blush that graced his noble countenance. Then he did something that would not have overly surprised those that knew him as much as he allowed, he chuckled at himself even as she joined him. “I suppose I’m a marked man now.” The sheepish expression he wore was a delight to his erstwhile cat sitter.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. If I had placed myself at your mercy before, now I am doubly so.”

“Oh, that. Well, I never divulged to anyone about you having a cat. You don’t think I’d make a spectacle of you over this …do you?” Was it very wicked, she wondered, to relish having so completely busted him?

“Am I doomed, then? I’d best make the most of it if I am to be so completely exposed. Perhaps I should dance with Annabelle and make a complete show of it.”

“No, I think not. Your live in female and I have come to terms with each other, best not to go out of your way to make me jealous. I’d like to think that I’m your first choice in dance partners, even if I am only deluding myself.”

“I am fortunate indeed that my girlfriends get along so well.”

“I’m not sure I could maintain such equanimity if Annabelle weren’t so obviously a wonderful girl. How did you come to have her?”

“That, my dear, I think is a tale for another time.” Cindie winced at the pun. “But tell me, did you find my bed to your …satisfaction?”

“Apparently I did.”

“I trust that you’ve not made off with my pillow case?”

“Stripped it to the bare springs I’m afraid. You might need to bunk in with kitty.” Cindie indicated to a little pet basket bed in the corner which look as if it had never been slept in.

“I shouldn’t wonder.” He was smiling but Cindie could see that, as he had last week at this time, he looked tired and drawn. These weekends took their toll. She so wanted to take his hand and lead him back to that bed she had just vacated and soothe those worried lines away. “How is your mother?”

“About the same.” Would she have left the imprint of her body on the down comforter? It would be so easy to simply take her by the hand and go back to that room and hold her and kiss her and love her until dawn. So easy….

“Oh. She wasn’t in too much pain?”

“No, not too much.” Mistral finished his brandy in one long swallow.

“Patrick.”

“You have to go now.”

“You can tell me what it is. I’ll do my best to understand.”

“Go. Now.” He looked up at her now with that look of entreaty in his eyes. “Please.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Just. Go.”

Cindie reached into her pocket and extracted his keys. Placing them on the table between them she stood up and bent to brush his forehead with her lips. “Goodnight Patrick.” She closed the door closed gently behind her and did not see Mistral put his face in his hands.

Cindie
- Sunday, April 28, 2002 at 16:56:19 (PDT)

Lucas sat down to his dinner at the oak wood table, and rubbed his h**** together with glee at the sight of the delectable feast. He hungrily eyed the large chicken stuffed full with wild rice and the sides of red baked potatoes (with toppings of sour cream, margarine, salt, or BBQ sauce), green beans, apricots, and a desert of peach cobbler. The aroma encircled within the air, and since Diane was absent, James Hiker (we have not forgotten him!) was invited in. James smiled wry as he placed a silver napkin in his lap, and held up the wine glass. Lucas only stared straight ahead and into space, his appetite slowly inching away. Why did he feel so worried, so forlorn, so…distraught?

" A toast, to a wonderful meal indeed!" James called out, and raised his glass even higher. Lucas forced a tiny turn of the lips, and held up his own filled with red wine. He had forced himself to slave and labor today, wanting to take his mind off of…off of …what was he thinking about, all these hours? He denied that he did not know again and again, but it did no use. Lucas was worried about Diane. James seemed to read his thoughts and said aloud, but as if wondering, " Where could that Diane girl have gone off to, and so quickly at that! I have seen that one of our horses are missing, for sure she has taken it away. Has she left no notice telling of when she will return?"

Lucas’s eyes went dark with sorrow. " No." He sipped some of his wine.

" Nothing at all…"

Hunger tore at him so, but yet he ceased to eat one bite. James went on inhaling every thing he could, and soon all the wild rice was gone and half the chicken. While grasping a drumstick in his hand, James noticed his boss not eating, and a cross-looking frown at that was spread across his face and a burrowed brow. He leaned foreword, and arched both eyebrows up. " Eh, Mr. Marston?" James got no reply in return. " Mr. Marston, sir?" Still not a peep, Lucas was knocked out of reality. James didn’t know what to do, and almost considered hitting him with the drumstick, when he called, " Mr. Marston, I see Diane!" Lucas sprang up out of his chair, huddled over the table, and grabbed James by his collar.

" Where?" he demanded. " Where???"

James only pushed him back slightly, and pushed aside a stray lock of brown hair. " Diane’s not here, sir. I said that to get your attention."

" Oh…" Lucas murmured, and settled again into his chair. " What did YOU want?"

" Only to offer you some dinner."

" No thank you."

" But Mr. Marston, there is no need to worry about her. I am sure she is fine, having the time of her life galloping along the road!"

" I will do as I please."

" Come now and have a bite…"

" I SAID NO THANKS!!!" James became very inferior feeling and shriveling within his chair, munching quietly on a potato. Lucas glared at his bare plate, his reflection on the shiny glass gleaming back. He suddenly came to a conclusion, and stood up.

" Where… are you…going?" James inquired cautiously.

" Where do you think?"

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
I'm taking your advice, Sandy, - Saturday, April 27, 2002 at 12:58:54 (PDT)

Silence reigned around the campfire. The four sat close together in the darkness sharing warmth and companionship, heads bowed in thought.

Flat, meandering river bottom had given way to a seemingly endless uphill grade. The path of the river had grown narrower now and there were more and more trees, eliminating the ability to judge distance and gauge progress. A frustrating day of one foot in front of the other, each step appearing the same as the last, had given the group no cause for pleasure.

"The summit can't be much farther. They say the trip can be done in a week and I allowed us two." Small bits of the twig Sinclair was snapping arced into the fire as he spoke.

"We have to take a day to rest and hunt, Sinclair. There's less visibility here and game isn't going to just wander across the trail in front of us." PL felt Dana stiffen beside him and knew she didn't want to be given as the reason for them to slow down their progress yet again. That being exactly what he'd had in mind, he was quiet a moment, looking for an alternative argument.

Two pairs of eyes met, there was no challenge or aggression in either. The stakes were higher than before, two wagons traveling alone were vulnerable. Extra male bodies for driving, guarding, hunting, scouting, repairing breakdowns, and a hundred other tasks, were a luxury no longer available. Both knew that Sinclair's decision would be binding, but the words of others in this small company carried more weight than the opinions of a dozen men in general discussions previously had.

"Claire?"

Claire started and blinked. She'd fallen asleep where she sat beside him.

Subtle signs of malnutrition were beginning to show on all of them. All was quiet again as Sinclair studied each of his companions in turn, noting dull hair, hollow cheekbones and dark-circled eyes. In an unconscious gesture he slowly flexed once card-nimble fingers, now stiffened by cold and hard work.

"I'll take first watch.

Dana
- Thursday, April 25, 2002 at 18:05:37 (PDT)

O’Hara stoked the fire, idly pondering the past two days. It snapped to attention immediately, hissing, fed by the pine twigs that now scattered the trail. If only he could capture the same vigour he mused, but the trail days and nighttime watch were inevitably sapping his strength. Only 10 miles today.

Sinclair had his trust but even a Wagon Master must see that it was impossible to continue in this manner. Wagon Master, a hollow title now after loosing the last of their companions at the Tollgate, this was a journey of four friends bound together by circumstance and recent history.

None had slept easy on this road since the body.

Certainly it was no Indian attack; no trail haunting robbers had taken advantage of their unprotected wagons as they passed in the dark; in fact nothing indicated even which way the riders had passed only where they had camped for that single night.

O’Hara, having juggled the facts about in his mind, surmised they had inadvertently stumbled on another man’s quarrel. His body, lacking the brain's agility, just craved sleep of any kind.

Claire
- Thursday, April 25, 2002 at 14:19:11 (PDT)

Alexander's apartment, continuation of slight flashback:

"I'd say not," Sandy agreed softly, gazing into Alexander's eyes. "You don't have to continue if you don't want to. I don't mind."

Alexander shook his head and reached out to caress her cheek. "I've gone too far now *not* to continue," he murmured. "Actually, in a small way, it's kind of a relief to talk about this to somebody who wasn't there for a change," he admitted.

"Poor Guy must have freaked at first," Sandy said as she put her empty mug on the table.

Alexander rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers against his coffee mug. "Ah, Mister Fleegman... Well, let's just say he initially wished that he didn't get out of bed that morning," he said, lips twitching with suppressed amusement.

"ALEX!"

The Englishman chuckled naughtily. "Don't get me wrong. He's a great guy, if a little too overenthusiastic and flighty." He paused as Sandy fed him a cracker topped with warm Brie. He reached over and returned the gesture, his lips brushing over hers after she swallowed the offering. "He handled himself pretty well, all things considering..." he trailed off, eyes drifting away.

Sandy nodded and kept silent until his eyes re-focused in on hers and he smiled warmly. "You should smile more often," she murmured huskily, slipping her arms around his neck and trailing them over his back.

"I'll put it on my 'to-do' list," Alexander replied. "If I actually *did* write up such nonsensical things," he mused, drawing his head down towards hers and closing his eyes as they kissed again.

"Organized chaos. I like it," Sandy said when she was able to draw breath again.

Alexander laughed and tweaked her nose gently. "Would you like me to tell the rest to you some time tonight?" he whispered in her ear.

"I'm not in a particular hurry, love," she reminded him and laughed when he scowled. "But continue, by all means. I just wanted to give you a little break."

"I like your idea of a break," Alexander murmured and sighed. He paused for a moment as the CD player changed from Billie Holliday to Miles Davis. Hazel eyes focused in on blue-gray and he continued his tale for some time. Sandy never said a word. She didn't need to - the ever-changing expressions on her face said it all - astonishment replaced by anger then by concern. "...and that's pretty much all of it," he concluded, finishing the last of his now ice-cold coffee.

"Wow," Sandy murmured after a minute's pause. "Where did you guys end up landing?"

A wry expression crossed Alexander's face. "Would you believe in Roswell, New Mexico? Talk about bad clichés..." He rolled his eyes.

"Well, why not? It would have been pretty hard to cover up a spaceship landing at a convention center or a sports stadium," Sandy giggled. "Although maybe it could have been explained away as a publicity stunt for the movie," she suggested.

"Only *you* would find humor in a situation like that," Alexander replied, shaking his head. "If there actually were any plans to have a reunion movie at that point in time. Besides, what studio would be willing to shove out the big bucks like that, at any rate?" he pointed out.

"True!" Sandy acquiesed, still giggling.

Alexander's eyebrow rose. "No more chocolate for you," he said, closing the Tupperware container with a flourish and laughed when she raspberried him. "Or maybe you really *need* something to giggle about!" He reached out and tickled her again before she could react.

"ALEX! STOP IT!" she gasped between her giggles until she could catch his hands and entwine her fingers in his. She breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath. "*Now* who's the incorrigible one?" she murmured breathlessly.

"Can I take the Fifth?" he teased, his mouth centimeters away from hers.

"Any time, Alex. Any bloody time you want," she whispered before his mouth descended on hers.

"I'll take your word on that..." Alexander's voice was a muffled purr as he leaned his cheek, slightly rough from stubble, against her smooth one. "It's getting late."

"I know," Sandy replied, moving her head to gaze at him intently. "You don't have to worry about..."

Alexander nodded. "You kept quiet until now all this time. I wouldn't expect you to say anything to anybody else. I *trust* you," he said as he rose to his feet. He held a hand out to her and pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Besides, we don't want anybody on the set to think that you're *really* insane now, do we?" He laughed at her scowl, which quickly turned into laughter. The two walked over to the door and Sandy pulled on her boots as he retrieved her jacket and purse.

"Thank you," Sandy said as he held the jacket open for her to slide her arms into. She smiled as he put his arms around her and leaned down to kiss her. She returned it and turned around to face him. "Good night."

"Do you want me to walk you to your car?" Alexander offered.

I'm fine, Alex. I'm parked right out front and underneath a light," Sandy reassured him, opening the door.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive, love. I can have the security guard take me out to my car and you can watch from the window." Sandy smiled at his unsure expression and stood on her toes to kiss him. "Really, I'm fine!"

"All right," Alexander replied, agreeing reluctantly. He returned the kiss and the two hugged in the doorway for a minute. "Good night then and drive safely. See you in the morning, love." Sandy nodded and headed down the hallway. Alexander quietly shut the door and quickly put the locks back on. He walked over to the bay window and waited until he saw Sandy walking to her car, chatting with the security guard. He continued watching, a slight smile on his face as the guard waited until she opened the car door and started the motor. She drove away a few seconds later and the smile faded from his lips, replaced by a worried expression.

Alexander strode over to the telephone hanging on the wall in the kitchen, picked up the receiver and punched a number. He waited impatiently, idly tapping his fingers on the wall as he heard the phone ringing on the other end. He growled when an answering machine picked up on the sixth ring. "Hi, you've reached the number for Fred and Laliari. We're not available to answer the phone at the moment, so if you'll leave your name and number, we'll get back to you as soon as we can," Fred's mellow voice echoed in his ear. BEEP!

"Damn it, Fred! Answer the bloody phone! I know you're home! Cut out whatever nonsense you're up to and pick up!" Alexander snarled.

A moment later, he heard the receiver get picked up. "Hey, Alex. What's up? Isn't it late where you are?" Fred asked. Alexander could hear Laliari saying something to Fred in the background.

Alexander rolled his eyes and growled, "What time it is where I am isn't important. Put me on speaker." He heard a slight clicking noise. "Can both of you hear me?"

"Yes," the two answered.

"Sandy was over here tonight and she told me about an incident..." Alexander said, trailing off.

Laliari gasped loudly, realizing what Alexander was referring to. "Alex! I'm so sorry! It was all my fault! I should have told you right away."

"Uh, am I missing something?" Fred's voice cut in lazily. Laliari briefly described the incident in the ladies' room. "Oh. Wow. That could be a problem."

"Really? No kidding!" The sarcasm in Alexander's voice cut through the line like a knife. "Especially if others were to find out."

"Alex..." Laliari's distress was evident and Alexander sighed.

"It's not your fault. Accidents happen," Alexander said in a soothing tone. "Sorry. I let my temper get the best of me." He paused for a moment, thinking quickly. "Can you get in touch with the others? In person, preferably."

"Sure, sure. No problem, Alex," Fred agreed. "We're seeing Jason and Gwen before we fly out. I'm sure they can spread the word after."

"Good," Alexander sighed again.

"Okay. Um, we'll see you in a few days, all right?" Fred cleared his throat loudly. "You uh, kind of caught us in a bit of a..." He cleared his throat again. "...thing, Alex."

Alexander blinked, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "Oh. Sure. Have a good night then."

He could hear the smile in Fred's voice. "We plan on it. 'Night, Alex."

"Good night," Alexander replied, hearing Laliari giggle before he rang off. He stared at the phone for a moment before turning around to pick up the dishes and remaining food from the evening.

A block away from Alexander's apartment complex:

"Did you get all that?" a gravelly-voiced man, roughly in his mid-forties and dressed in rumpled clothes asked. He leaned back in his chair and frowned at the dark brown-haired young man sitting in front of a computer with a headphone set over his ears.

"Yep," the second man replied. He looked up from the screen he was studying intently. "Do you think we need to tap into his girlfriend's phone line?"

The first man shook his head. "At the moment, no. All the personal e-mails we've intercepted so far are pretty innocuous in nature - no secret coding, according to the cryptologists. She's kept quiet up to this point, too. Keep up standard surveillance on all related parties until we hear from up top." He sighed again before taking a drink from his coffee cup and frowning at the decidedly foul aftertaste.

Sandy - thus endeth the flashback
Next stop - the reason why you should *never* eat sushi in Egypt..., - Thursday, April 25, 2002 at 12:02:25 (PDT)

A piercing scream rent the quiet, dusky air. Travelers settling in for the night dropped everything and ran to the trees at the edge of the clearing. White faced and shaking, a young woman met them and pointed silently into the trees behind her.

"Get her back to the wagons." Sinclair ordered tersely as Claire and Dana approached. "Make sure she's not hurt."

Minutes later, having determined the woman unharmed and dosed her with strong tea, the women were rejoined by Sinclair. His face was grim. Lines of worry, newly etched into his face by the past weeks of leadership, were deeply set. A small movement of his head called Claire to his side.

"Dead body by the stream. Shot in the back. Mangy looking fellow but he was well armed, looks like a hired gun to me."

"Who killed him?"

"I'd feel much better if I knew. PL is trying to make sense of the tracks but it's getting too dark to make much sense of anything. We'll get him buried."

Claire looked over to the hobbled horses and oxen dozing neaby. "The animals are quiet."

"A good sign. We'll have two men at a time on watch tonight; I'll take the first shift."

Dana shivered as Claire shared the information quietly with her. "I hope Sam Barlow knew what he was doing when he built this road. I hate the feel of it.."

Dana
- Thursday, April 25, 2002 at 08:24:50 (PDT)

Thursday
FoF Offices

Erika worked on balancing a large box full of files, a pile of memos and assorted documents to deliver around sets and cubicles and an envelope to put in the mailbox. It was hard to see over the top, so mostly she tried to bob her head around the pile. Her nose twitched, the familliar itch of allergies and she stopped in her tracks. A tickle of a sneeze began to register in her nose.

"Oh no..." she moaned softly, begging she could keep it in so the pile wouldn't go flying. She attempted to wiggle her nose back and forth, a gesture like a rabbit, but the sneeze wouldn't go away.

"Ah-," she began, squeezing her eyes shut to try and keep it in. The pile seemed to teeter with apprehension. "Ah-,"

'Please...please don't...' she silently begged.

"Ah-CHOO!" a sneeze like an elephant burst from her but before anything she was holding could go flying, firm hands had grabbed the envelope and papers from the top. The box, however, fell to the ground with a thump. Her eyes watering, trying to sniffle in, Erika looked around and saw-

"Jaques," she sighed, relieved, "Thanks." Pulling a tissue from her back pocket, she blew noisily. Jaques raised a disdainful eyebrow. "What? Haven't you ever had allergies?"

"Not pachydermal sized ones..." he said dryly, handing her back the papers. Erika rolled her eyes.

"What are you doing in the neighborhood?" she asked lightly, straightening them out in her hands.

"I need to give you this. Tomorrow night," he handed her a memo and she slumped.

"Inventory? Oh no...I can't do this tomorrow night! I promised I'd babysit for Izzy..."

"No one else can make it, maybe you can arrange something. It's just going to be the props and checking in laptops. They just want to make sure nothing get's stolen," Jaques shrugged. Erika nodded determindly.

"Well, alright, I'll see what I can do. Could you bring this box down to Costuming for me? It just got here. Thanks a ton!" She cried out to him, already down the hall. Smiling, and thankfully not sniffling, she made her way downstairs.

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Oh no! Poor Diane...you need the hot-climate equivalent of a St. Bernard :), - Thursday, April 25, 2002 at 06:54:52 (PDT)

I miss Snape too! He's a wizard, he can't have just disappeared. *wink*
Carmen
~*Achoo*~ Need more tissues....~*snuffle*~, - Thursday, April 25, 2002 at 06:39:05 (PDT)

Note: A message coming from one bored FOF member, who could actually do 50 posts a day, but can't, cause...*Lucas spreads tape over Diane's noisy mouth.* " There..." he says, standing back to inspect his work, " That should shush up this chit-chattery girl for a while. I swear! She could go and live with Mrs. Jennings!" Grins slyly. " Diane is certainly know for not having patience." Diane struggles a bit, and through tape, muffles, " Why Lucas you idiot, you'll pay for this!" But it came out, " Buhat Huyass Whodf Fidget, Gfofoy Sfro Drids!" Lucas ignores her and lights a candle in the room. Maybe this will teach Diane a lesson, and smiles again...

Meanwhile...

Diane is still laying down in the grass, so weak she is unable to move. She groans with a sigh. Food....water... The horse is far away now, she no longer sees it, and supposes it must be grazing. She wishes she was a horse, having plenty of food all around. Diane begins to wonder exactly how grass tastes anyways... but pushes the thought QUICKLEY aside. She had wondered to herself, but, hadn't she heard something? Oh well, she said in her mind, might as well work on some more "beauty sleep."
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
My my my! That fan is going to come in handy for more than ONE thing... like, cooling me off in the hot Austrailian sun! , - Wednesday, April 24, 2002 at 20:33:08 (PDT)

Therese's Quarters--The Imperial Palace

Therese had felt a curious numbness as she watched Rupert and the AR Guard leave her room. A small tangent of her mind wondered at the guard's presence. Had it been expected that she would fight them on this? Wasn't she here of her own accord? That small issue occupied only a small corner of her mind, however, and when the fact that HE was in the same structure, that they were once again occupying the same space, and breathing the same air, truly hit home, she began to shake. Somehow the fact that she felt she needed to be here, that she'd brought this entirely upon herself, and had gone against the express wishes of people she well trusted--Sir John, Dr. McCoy, and her beloved Eamon--in order to fulfill this need, no longer seemed to matter.

"What have I done?" she whispered to Eamon, her knees giving out as she wearily sank back into her seat.

Eamon crossed the distance to her in mere fractions of a second, and lifted her into his arms. He crossed the room, and laid her gently upon the bed, reaching behind her head to support her with a large pillow. He would have stood then, for what purpose she knew not, but all she wanted now was the oblivion to be found in his embrace. Reaching up to him, Therese drew her arms around his neck, pulling him down beside her on the bed.

He rested beside her, one arm holding her close to his side as the other hand played along her body, stroking, caressing, and soothing. Soon her trembling was no longer an indication of her fear, but had altered to that of the yearning and need that she felt for this man who held her, who loved her, who, from the moment she had first met him, had begun to define her world.

When his lips closed over hers, and she was absorbed in his taste, and touch, and scent, she could forget about everything else, if only for a short time. And she needed that now, needed to lose herself in the security of love and passion, so that she was whole and safe again, and could forget that later she must face the fear and terror that were comprised of HIM.

Later, when Eamon was sure that Therese slept soundly, he gently extricated himself from the warmth of her embrace, and slowly removed himself from the bed. Quietly, with a stealth he had not called upon for many months, but which still came to him easily, he pulled the sheet up around her sleeping from, pressed his lips to the sensitive area below her ear, and then soundlessly left the room.

It took him only moments to enter the adjoining area to which he had been assigned, and he quickly found the articles he sought. Old habits had not died, not with this man, and soon he was clothed head to toe in clothes of muted black, several wicked looking weapons strategically placed upon his person.

He knew that what he planned, that what he felt he must do, would not be welcomed, and, God above forgive him, he knew that it would probably mean further pain for his beloved Therese. But what he could not deny, was that the ends he wished to transpire tonight, would certainly justify the means.

For if The Interrogator was no more, Therese's suffering could finally cease.

Therese
Cindie--mmm, indeed I do, I just hope I got ol' Rupert right. Snuggling up in Mistral's bed, hmm? mmmmmmm Diane--Shax was born in 1564, I'll let you do the math, - Wednesday, April 24, 2002 at 19:49:41 (PDT)

Sunday afternoon, Cindie sat staring at the keys of the electric typewriter willing them to put something clever on the white sheet of paper curled around the roller. The paper was very white and the knock on her door very welcome. She opened the door and Chandos entered at her invitation. "Have you written some terribly witty lines for me?"

"I haven't written any witty lines for anybody, Chandos." She moved towards the kitchen, "Would you like something to drink?"

"No. I'm going to meet Mansel for a concert and I thought I'd see if you'd like a lift to the other woman's flat."

"You're cheeky today. All right, let me grab my coat. How late will you be or shall I take a taxi back?"

"Couple of hours. Up to you."

"I’ll take the tube back, the station isn’t far. If its raining maybe I’ll call for a taxi.”

"Fair enough. What's in that?" Chandos indicated to a package she was taking out of the refrigerator.

"Turkey. This cat eats better than I do."

Chandos dropped her off and she went up to Mistral's flat. After feeding Annabelle her turkey, changing her water, adding fresh kibbles to the dry food bowl, taking care of litter box detail and engaging Annabelle in rousing game of fetch the mouse, Cindie became suddenly very aware of her surroundings. There she was, alone, mostly alone, in Mistral's flat. Friday evening she had simply done her duties, sat down for a bit in the unusual black leather arm chair and petted and played with Annabelle. Saturday had been much the same, as she had squeezed in time to play with her between errands and a routine dentist appointment. Now, in the light of the dwindling afternoon, with no pressing time constraints, she felt the situation. It had occurred to her at the time he broached the idea of her watching the favoured feline that he was giving her more than the run of his flat while he went back to Wales for the weekend. It felt intimate and a huge leap of trust on his part.

She stood up and looked around at the part of the flat she could see from the living room where she and Annabelle had been playing. The room itself seemed to breathe him. There was a desk and a stereo system that looked horribly complicated, a large window overlooking the street, the black leather chair, a place where a couch ought to be and a dining nook with a small cherry dining room set and a breakfast bar and kitchen. The kitchen implements on the counter were all stainless steel and looked expensive. Then there was the hallway. Debating only a moment she decided to check out the other rooms. There was a bathroom with a shower stall and a large bathtub, another room that had a day bed and some boxes. She crossed to the last room, knowing it had to be the bedroom. Her hand paused on the handle to the door as her mind conjured an image of him on the other side of it, waiting for her, his tie loosened and his white shirt cuffs undone...

Cindie opened the door and stepped in. It seemed anti-climatic, somehow. The bed wasn't overly large, a full sized sleigh bed in some sort of dark wood, mahogany perhaps. An old fashioned full length mirror that swung over to a magnifying mirror on the other side was in one corner. A highboy, a dresser and a night stand and valet chair completed the furnishings. Somehow she had expected the bed coverings to be black, but instead there was a snowy white down comforter. There weren't any photographs on the wall and only one on the dresser. It was of her. She sat down on the bed, surprised. She hadn't given him a photo and it hadn't occurred to her that he would have one here. The fact that he did brought her a surge of pleasure. If she had known he had a photo of her she would have expected it to be the one they had taken of them together at the anniversary party. Instead it was a candid shot of her that had been taken at the office. The background was unfocused but she thought it was at one of the sets. One of the grips was a shutterbug and was always snapping pics of someone or something on set. She'd drafted the agreement he'd had to sign regarding use of the pictures. Mistral must have gotten it from him.

Finally, she tore her eyes from the photo and perused the rest of the room. The furniture was very nice, new but with classic lines. There was a wooden box on the highboy, an oil painting of what she thought was Welsh countryside over the bed and some odds and ends on the dresser along with the photograph. There was a telephone on his nightstand and another large window with shear draperies drawn closed. The idea of checking out his sock drawer came and went. She just couldn't do it. She pulled back the down comforter a bit and saw that the pillow cases and sheets were black. Her fingers stroked the satin and she continued on, turning down the bed. This was were he slept.

Fully formed, the image of him appeared laying there with his head reclining on those pillows, hair tousled and the black satin sheet pulled up just enough… He had one arm tucked casually behind his head and LOOKED at her. As she watched, he raised one eyebrow, as if to say, "Well?"

Knowing it was silly, or at least counter productive, Cindie shook her head. Still, it was impossible to resist the lure of laying on the bed. She could smell him as she settled her head on one of the pillows and was immediately no longer alone. Mistral's usual sleeping companion had come in to investigate. The cat came up next to her and laid down purring. The last vestiges of sunlight came in through the shears and warmed the room. She stroked Annabelle’s fur and listened to the gentle thrum.

Cindie
Therese, don't you just love Rupert?, - Wednesday, April 24, 2002 at 17:51:33 (PDT)

What happed to Jutta? I WANT SNAPE BACK!!! *wimper*
Lynda <bsingingbear@msn.com>
Fremont, CA USA - Wednesday, April 24, 2002 at 13:09:13 (PDT)

O, I didn't know it was Shakespear's B-day today! What a coincidence, today I went to my school library and used the copy machine to copy all of Shakespear's Sonnets! (*reading, WITH passion, so Mary Anne won't get on my case, lol...j/k ;) (Oh, and, hehehe *cheesy smile* hope the librarian won't be TOO mad that I used his last ink, and last sheet of paper! :) Well, anyhow, off subject...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHAKESPEAR (anyone know how old he is???)

(Oh, yeah, STILL waiting for the TARDIS to arrive...*motions to waiter for a Dr. Pepper*)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Why, thank you Therese! , - Tuesday, April 23, 2002 at 19:16:54 (PDT)

The Imperial Palace--Therese's Quarters

Eamon and Therese had only recently been seated in the sitting area, Therese half-heartedly pushing around a bunch of grapes on the small plate that Eamon had set before her. He watched her, noticing that few, if any, pieces of the fruit actually made it past her lips. Her complexion was still wan, and her body still comprised of angles and planes. It brought to mind yet again the issue of her presence here; when she still had not regained her physical strength, should she be allowed to so test her emotional ones?

He was not allowed to further contemplate this thought, but was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door, which caused Therese to first start, and then look profoundly irritated at having done so. With several long strides he crossed the room, and pulled open the door.

"Mr. de Valera?" a slight, dark haired figure looked up at him, his weight supported by a sturdy cane. "May I come in?"

Eamon stepped back, and allowed the man entrance, but halted the towering AR Security Personnel who accompanied him. "And you are?" he requested, his voice cool.

"My assistant, Mr. de Valera, please allow him in as well."

Eamon turned back toward the first man, his figure was slightly stooped as if from an old injury, and his dark hair streaked with grey, but clear, intelligent eyes regarded him with distinct authority. At Eamon's slight hesitation one knowing brow arched questioningly, then returned to its normal position as Eamon stepped back a half pace, allowing the AR Personnel entry.

Therese began to rise at the presence of the two men, but was waved to her seat before she could reach her feet. "Please Miss Gellert, there truly is no reason for you to get up." The older man crossed the room to where she sat, and bowed slightly before her. "I am Rupert, Her Majesty's advisor, and I'd like to both welcome you to the premises, as well as discuss with you some of our expectations during the trial. Do you feel strong enough to continue, or has your journey here tired you such that you'd prefer to rest?"

Therese had noticed Eamon's movemnts out of the corner of her eyes as Rupert spoke, and felt now the pressure of his hands where they rested lightly upon her shoulders as he stood behind her chair.

"Have you an objection, Mr. de Valera?" Rupert eyed the large Irishman, and his defensive stance behind the small woman.

Have I an objection? Dev thought to himself in disgust. You can be blessed certain I have an objection, several in fact. I object that I couldn't prevent what happend to her. I object that she still suffers from that hideous creature you've harboured in your antiseptic white cells. But most strenuously I object that I can't bolt down those steps, throw open the door to HIS cell, and finish this the way I'd like! "I've no objection, sir, to what must be done, so long as I am by her side throughout."

The older man paused for a moment, and the AR Personnel took a cautious step forward at Dev's obvious animosity, but Rupert stayed the gaurd with a slight gesture. "Any accomodation which will make this difficult time easier on Miss Gellert will be implimented, without fail," he replied smoothly. It did not escape anyone's notice that his response in no way answered to Eamon's declaration, but a gentle squeeze from Therese's hand elicited a slight nod.

"Could I ask you to call me Therese then, Rupert?" she asked, pleased that her voice sounded clear and devoid of any tremor. "I'm afraid I'm not much for unwarranted formality."

Rupert turned toward her, a smile creasing his face, and Therese took in her breath. She'd not considered him beyond his purpose here, and at first had been more concerned with Eamon and his protective tendencies, but now that she truly looked at him, she returned his smile, feeling more calm than she had since her arrival. Rupert, though she wouldn't have immediately considered him as such, was breathtaking, and the warm, open smile he bestowed upon her brought an immediate sense of calm and well being. Without any objective reason for feeling as she did, Therese inherently knew there was excellent reason for his post as advisor to Her Majesty. "I should be delighted, Therese," he responded smoothly, and reached forward to clasp her hand. "Now then," he continued, "we've important things to discuss, don't you think?"

Therese felt Eamon's hands grip her shoulders more tightly, and the dread which had been building within her brought the sour taste of bile to the back of her throat as their thoughts returned to her purpose here. "You refer to the trial, of course. When is it scheduled?"

Rupert's clear gaze held her own, and she could almost feel the strength and support radiating from within him. "We've an issue that we're working on along with that, and believe we have the information we seek. As soon as that is clarified, we'll begin."

Therese
MA--ah yes, one order of enraged colonel, thankyouverymuch! Cinidie--Annabelle was *priceless* Diane--my, you're a prolific young writer, good to have you aboard., - Tuesday, April 23, 2002 at 12:35:42 (PDT)

JUTTA!!!

Thank heavens you told me to look--I've had computer troubles and I was bouncing. Well my mail was bouncing. Actually, now that I've heard from you again and you're back, both my mail and I are bouncing!

Email to follow--check your inbox.

Sorry for the OT interruption, we now return you to your favorite virtual show.
Therese
29 days left till school's out, 47 days till MA, Cindie and Therese descend upon NY, and 49 days till said troublemakers sit down to their first viewing of PL!, - Tuesday, April 23, 2002 at 11:00:47 (PDT)

And now, in honour of one who has had great influence here (clearing throat):

Happy birthday, dear Shakespeare,
Happy birthday to youuuuuu . . .

MA
Salute to Shax!, - Tuesday, April 23, 2002 at 05:43:05 (PDT)

MA-- Thanks for the info! Though, this does prove some things rather difficult (now I'll NEVER wear high heels again! OMG, snow???) since I have no idea where to go... oh well, someone just come pick me up in the TARDIS, OK? You can't miss me, bright colored clothing, laying down basking in the sun in the grass, getting a good tan. LOL (surprise surprise when I meet the good old snow though!)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Yeah, I could just PICTURE me as a terroist, uh-huh, SURE....lol *testing my fan as I watch DH*, - Monday, April 22, 2002 at 18:47:40 (PDT)

Therese, you´ve got mail! Speak to me!
Jutta
- Monday, April 22, 2002 at 08:24:15 (PDT)

Diane--the geography of The Realm isn't exactly . . . specific. *grin* I don't think there's an exact location given so far for The Palace; we know that it's further north than Delaford, since Brandon and Mary Anne had to dress warmly to travel there and at the moment there's snow on the Palace grounds.

As for the Tardis, when last seen it was operational and at The Palace. However, Cindie had a thread going with Anton Gruber showing up there and The Doctor's presence will be important to the way some threads are developing, so best not go kidnapping him or hijacking the Tardis, hmmmmmm? ;-)

MA
Anyone for more brandied tea? *hic*, - Monday, April 22, 2002 at 07:59:13 (PDT)

(Flashback. Scene: Hazelnut Creek Ranch)

BRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG

Lucas Marston flipped over on his side, eyes still closed, and reached out feeling around for the brass knob of the old alarm clock. His h*** finally clinked down upon the button, and it silenced its rather annoying tone. He cuddled closer into his covers, so sleepy and tired, and any woman would admit he looked just like a little child, so sweet and innocent, just laying there. But the alarm clock had done its job, once he was awake he could not go again to the dream world, and forced himself to rise, revealing a gray sleeping shirt and some boxer shorts to match. (Hmm, odd taste, don’t you agree?) He smacked his lips together and wetted them with his tongue and stretched lazily. He blinked absentmindedly for a minute or two, trying to keep them from sticking together closed and slumped into his bathroom. He turned the water faucet on and threw some cold water onto his face, later drying it with a towel. He smiled to himself in the mirror, but it turned to a frown. Deep down Lucas felt unhappy and alone, but what could he do about it? Surely, by her actions, Diane seemed no more than a woman who had come for a visit, nothing to get excited about. Was his life forever doomed to be living here on a ranch, working hard day and night, scratching together what he had to provide himself a living? Lucas was not a rich man, he had a nice enough estate indeed, but he was not wealthy. He shrugged to himself, and ran fingers through that honey hair of his (that matched his eyes) and sighed. For now, he needed to pretend to be content, but one was growing tired of the loner game… And even as Lucas undid the buttons on his shirt to take a shower, he could imagine soft hands undoing them for him, and a sweet giggle in his ear, and a tempting kiss to the forehead…

(OK I'll ask one last time...PLEASE SOMEONE TAKE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THIS... Is the TARDIS still running, and, where is the Emperial Palace located? For all I know, it could be floating around in space! And also... it'd be cool if someone could like...you know...roam into the scene or whatever...oh ok, just don't mind me, I'm babbling away here...lol... *toying with a spoon*)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Ladies, I found myself a fan! ;) (An Italian one, actually...), - Sunday, April 21, 2002 at 20:50:17 (PDT)

The Imperial Palace:

"Will you have a little more, Mary Anne?"

"Y-yes." That hesitation in her speech, ever so faint. "Thank you, Christopher."

He had found her in the corridor, her face pressed against the cold stone wall—pressed so hard that the marks have not yet faded. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wet.

Moments later, the guards, accompanied by Rupert Cadell, had shown them to this room to wait and recover. No, Brandon corrects himself. For me to wait, but for her to recover.

Carefully, Brandon half-fills Mary Anne’s cup. Rupert had ordered in a pot of strong tea with a dash of brandy. The Colonel sips from his own cup and grimaces. Brandy with a dash of tea, rather. He is cautious, confining himself to little more than a taste of the restorative brew; though it is meant to be—and is—comforting, spreading a tingling fire all the way to the fingertips, Brandon is wary of too much relaxation at this moment. Brandy has been known to have a marked effect on him and controlling himself is already an effort without succumbing to the blandishments of Her Majesty’s private stock.

Only by the line between his brows and the unnaturally thin set of his lips does Brandon betray that he is seething. And Mary Anne knows it. Of course she does. That unhappy look over the rim of her cup . . . she would have to be far more distracted than this to be oblivious to the look he must have on his face. Brandon avoids glancing at his reflection in the polished metal tea service. Would it show him those amber eyes turned yellow-green with fury?

Brandon holds his teacup, gripping it in both hands—something to do with his hands—but does not drink. That Mary Anne should have to do what she did . . . but she did well. He can remember when she—well, never mind what he can remember. Past is past, and this is the brutal present.

"You did well." His voice, rough, abrupt, but Mary Anne does not seem to mind it. Her cup is empty. She does not ask for more.

"So, you saw it all, then."

"We . . . heard everything, yes." Slowly, schooling his movements to quietness, Brandon puts down his cup and takes Mary Anne’s from her, setting it aside. "What you did with your voice . . ."

"I don’t know," she replies, though Brandon has asked no question of her. "It just happened. I’m sure there’s a reason for it. Maybe something will show up on the scans."

"Yes. Perhaps." All this, to be certain that no harm will come to her, if justice is done to HIM. Brandon has heard of being in a towering rage, but is suddenly more aware of that exact sensation than he has ever been—Mary Anne had jokingly mentioned to him once that he seems to grow taller when he is angry, or so it seemed to her. Had it indeed been a joke? To Brandon, this small room seems hardly large enough to contain the presence of his anger. The overhead beams must strain at it; the walls will surely collapse. And the only thing that would ease his heart is to walk back to the dungeons, step by deliberate step, down the corridor to that cell . . .

The door opens. Brandon’s eyes flick toward Mary Anne, noting the instant stiffening of her posture, alert and upright, and that defiant lift of her chin.

Another old saying brought to vivid life, the sensation of his heart melting . . .

Rupert beckons from the doorway. "We have the results of the scans. If you will come with me, please?"

MA--yes, Annabelle did a very nice post. 8-)
Therese--you said you always enjoyed Brandon in a temper, so long as it wasn't directed at you; how's this? Barbara--that "old time religion," *SNORFLE*!!, - Sunday, April 21, 2002 at 16:50:56 (PDT)

i forgot to say homage because archy and mehitabel taught me how to type. but we don't have any cockroaches in this building or the man wouldn't live here.
annabelle
- Sunday, April 21, 2002 at 16:48:40 (PDT)

What a talented feline!
Barbara the Wallpaperer
annabelle, archy and mehitabel...., - Sunday, April 21, 2002 at 15:06:58 (PDT)

Diane awoke, stiff in the neck, and rubbed her shoulders painfully. She blinked as her eyes began to adjust to the first glimpse of the morning sun as her pedal pushers glowing with slight tints of light. Her face, it looks outwards to the south, and the horse carried on, barely walking at all, but still moving. She ordered it to halt with a tug of the reins and noticed its tongue hanging out the side. Poor thing, it was in desperate need of some water.

She didn’t have that little "technology" for finding water with a stick, so instead had to do it the hard way: by following the most abundant vegetation till she came to a spring or water hole of some sort. She swung herself off the saddle (hard to do with high-heels indeed, she swore that she’d NEVER EVER wear high heels again… why did she have to be so daft on these things?) and walked the horse off the road (uh, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all…) in search of water. The mare was ready to collapse by now, it was already growing hotter in the day, and the tips of the rays of the sun were out-stretching farther and farther. Soon all would be awake in Australia, and quietness was not to be expected, even out in the middle of no where.

Diane trudged along, beckoning the mare onwards with each tempted step of its lifted silver hoof, and scanned all about for something. Shade, food, water, anything! Her stomach growled in complaint as well. Plus now she had no way to turn back, unless hoping the horse hadn’t taken any turnoffs in the road. But, as Diane cast a glance over her shoulder, she could no longer even see the road. She was lost, hungry, thirsty (the canteen was almost bone dry) and sore. Diane stopped suddenly and fell to her knees. Why had she run off like so? For justice, for adventure, for fun, for amusement, or to get away from Lucas and once again run away from her past and thoughts? No, it was not one of these things, but all, yet all had resolved in becoming disastrous. Perhaps the outcome would have been more profitable if she had planned better, but the intriguing thought of coming clean with Mr. I once and for all was too golden and good she jumped in without thinking. Now, she believed, she was destined to a miserable death.

Diane wrapped her arms around her body, biting her lips intensely. She hadn’t even ever known love. What was it like, how would one feel? Most had described it as a wondrous and powerful thing, and now, it looked as if she would die a loner, a non-lover, an outsider. What was love? The words rang in her head, and she rolled into the grass, unable to take one step further, and cried softly. What was love? Possibly there could have been someone out there for her, but not now. She was dumb, she was careless, she was a true blonde. (Had to add that, lol, which actually isn’t a true statement at all) So, thus, she cried and wept, sobbed and sniffled, till she could urge no more suffering outpours. Now she just lay, frozen like ice, stiff as a rock, waiting, motionless, drifting in a dreamy world thinking of what had could been…

But only did Diane raise her head when she heard a noise, a faint one at that, coming from behind her…

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
This would be a REALLY good time for someone to jump in... , - Sunday, April 21, 2002 at 10:32:53 (PDT)

It was time for herself to be a bit surprised. Being an American (who had lived in England for a short time) she had not ever encountered with dingoes before or knew how they reacted. Sure she had seen them in movies, but filmmakers could not be trusted on such things as animal behavior (or on Indians for that matter, tell any Native American hello and I guarantee that they won’t say " How" back.) and did not know whether to go looking for a good beating stick, gallop off with her horse, or stay calm. She rummaged around in her bag, and was down-hearted to realize she had no weapons upon herself.

" Good going," she told herself, " all you managed to bring along was your dull-witted mind and a bag containing a pencil, pad, and your wallet. How much more daft could you get?" She slapped her forehead and turned around again, more stiffly this time. The dingoes were closer now, and she could clearly spot at least three, and since they traveled in packs, there was most likely to be even more. She gritted her teeth and searched her thoughts for a ‘bright idea’ and continually road on. But she heard a sharp yelp from behind, and the mare spooked. It started running off the trail in the speed of light, kicking up its heels and bouncing Diane madly up and down, up and down, up and down. (She closed her eyes, she enjoyed things like a good roller-coaster, but this was stomach-flipping, not to mention, there was no big metal bar holding you into the seat either.) The dingoes run alongside, striding within the horse’s powerful stride, and she urged it on with the tapping of her heels. It pressed on downwards on the path, sand flying up behind, as her golden hair came undone from its ponytail and whipped in her face. She looked down with dismay and wanted to cry aloud, one of her sandals was missing! She turned around to see a dingo, carrying it diligently in its mouth, trotting along. Was it tearing it to shreds? No, just simply holding it like a bookcase. Diane grumbled, you can’t get far without a shoe, and decided to do something even more stupid than this whole trip in the first place.

She was getting her shoe back from that dingo if it was the last thing she did.

Diane suddenly pulled on the reins and leaned back in the saddle. The mare was sweating and panting all over, she could feel the muscles tensing beneath the blanket, and it cautiously began to slow, then finally came to a long last halt. Diane dismounted from the mare, still holding the reins in one hand, and turned to face the dingoes. They had stopped too, and were staring at her, cocking their dog-like heads to the right side. She cast a glance over her shoulder, and picked up a stick. With pursed lips. She trailed over, her mind continually telling her, " You are dumb, SO dumb! You are going to DIE, do you know that??? These are wild beasts, they can KILL YOU!!!" Yet she went forward, till only standing an inch away from the dingo with her high-heeled shoe.

The dingo blinked, Diane glared back, grasping the stick with all her might. It took another glance, and if they liked human girls for dinner, it must have been full, and silently dropped the shoe to the ground and backed a foot or two away. Diane didn’t know if they were smart enough to play some kind of trick or pull a trap on her, and eyed the shoe. She limped over (what, you think it’d be pleasant walking in rocks and sand?) and grabbed it in a microsecond. The dingoes made no attempt to attack.

Keeping her eyes on the wild dogs she mounted the mare once again (with both shoes) and went off in a trot. She did not know whether it was fate or because this was fiction, but she was thankful to be alive. The dingoes turned away, she wondered why they had chased her in the first place and shrugged, oh well, she better find some shelter soon, and some food for that matter.

The night sky was as black as could be, the stars glimmering jewels, and she rode on, the feeling like the most ridiculous person in all of Rickmania… (though, this is a note outside of the story folks, Claudia and I have more in common than what is known as far… (meaning, doing funny and out-going type of things (Does that mean Ed may like me?) but then again, that Skippy character was playful too. Does she write here anymore? Hmm, apparently not… Man, I wanted to go roller-blading!!!)

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
could someone PLEASE tell me where the Emperial Palace is? I can't continue without knowing... and oh, is the TARDIS still in action as well??? , - Friday, April 19, 2002 at 18:21:58 (PDT)

the door opened and you’ll like her came in. the man had said she would feed me so i didn’t hide even though i could have and she’d never have found me. i was sitting on the black chair even though i’m not supposed to unless i’m on the man’s lap. she wouldn’t know any better. she came in and said here kitty. i pretended that i didn’t know she meant me and just blinked at her and watched. it was the package that got my attention, i could smell it before she put it on the counter and opened it. it was the fish that the man brought me sometimes, the good kind that he had to use the long silver thing to make it in little pieces for me even though i could eat it big. you’ll like her got out the silver thing and made the fish small on the wooden block and then put it on a plate and called here kitty again. this time i stood up but i stretched first so i didn’t look too anxious for the fish and also so she could see how clean and pretty my fur was. i’d spent quite a bit of time on it that day and it seemed a shame for someone not to see it. when i was done stretching i went over to the plate. she bent down and petted me while i ate some of the fish and i let her. she seemed to know the right places to pet and scritch and i even purred a little bit. she had the scent of the man on her and the part that was her smelled o.k. too. when she was done petting me, too soon, she sat down in the black chair so then i went over and sat in her lap so she could finish petting me. she petted my fur and looked out the window, one time she let out her breath loud like the man does sometimes when he’s in a certain mood. i went and got one of my fuzzy balls, the one with the string, so we could play. we played and then it was time for me to nap and wait for the man and she left out the door.
annabelle
- Friday, April 19, 2002 at 18:15:31 (PDT)

Jamie and (ta-dum-de-ta-dum!) Diane (sorry couldn't resist that ladies) were crouched around the TV, again, munching on popcorn. There eyes grew wide as numberous stories were unfolding slowly, inch by inch.

Diane: Can't believe some of this, how amazing! How wonderful! What beautiful melodrama...

Jamie: Diane, say one more exagerrated word and I shall go away...

Diane: Nay, I think not. Don't you enjoy them as much as I?

Jamie: Foresure.

Diane: Then show some passion or feeling, why don't you? Geez... *stuffs in a load of popcorn*

Jamie: One, I DO love the tales, but I don't go on and on about them constantly. Go have a Dr. Pepper why don't you?

Diane: I think not! You'd still all my popcorn! *hugs the bowl*

Jamie: *lifts eyebrow* WHOSE popcorn exactly???

Diane: *sticks out tongue* Ok ok ok, OUR popcorn...

Jamie: Where in the world is Lucas? He is missing some good stuff...

Diane: *mouth full* Who fidphumt foo phere?

Jamie: Dear, SWALLOW.

Diane: *blushes a bit* I said... Didn't you hear? He just got word that his brother Elliot is alive. Can you not believe what a shock that would be?

Jamie: It would be astoundingly great.

Diane: Precisely. He is up in bed, trying to overcome his almost-heartattack, poor dear. I offered to be up there with him, but he begged for some time alone, and I was obliged to leave him be. I feel for him, I do, Jamie.

Jamie: *sigh* Death tis' be a heart-breaking thing...

Diane: Now, now, don't you go on that again! *throws popcorn kernal, it hits him in the nose*

Jamie: Hey!

Diane: Either shush on that sordid subject, play your lovely cello, or flip through some more channels!

Jamie: Why? So you can watch yourself some more?

Diane: Kiete!! (ki-et-aye) How could you say such a thing! Way, I am almost inclined to call yourself heartless! I have done quite well, if I do say so myself... besides, I haven't been working on set for years and years like many others here.

Jamie: Diane, have you discovered, you are terribly vain?

Diane: Not so! Why, I shall pour this bowl right over your head, I shall!

Jamie: So you can lick all the salt out later?

Diane: *wrinkles nose* Jamie, you are pushing your limits TOO far, I do say...

Jamie: *changing the subject* Are you in a mood for music at all?

Diane: Si, Senor, me gusta mucho eschuchar musica.

Jamie: *pulls out cello from its case* I have not played in a while, so forgive me if I am a bit rusty.

Diane: Don't be so droll Jamie, I perfectly well know of your talents! But, may I have the pleasure of finding an appropriate poem to sing (yeah, I sing poetry at times when it suites me)?

Jamie: You need not to ask me that Diane. For certain, sing away...

Diane: Warning, I am not very good...

Jamie: *shrugging* I can always take up to earplugs. *grins as Diane ignores him* *He begins to play a sweet and mellow song, so even and smooth, not missing one beat, as Diane searches her mind for a poem she had read or written herself. She thought of one she recently read, and began aloud.*

Diane: Wsst, and away, and over the green,

Scampered a shape that never was seen.

It ran without a sound, it ran without shadow,

Never a grass-blade in unmown meadow

Stooped at the thistledown fall of its foot

I watched it vanish, yet saw it not-

A moment past, it had gazed at me;

Now nought but myself and the spindle tree.

A nothing! - Of air? Or earth? Of sun?-

From emptiness come, into vacancy gone!...

Whsst, and away, and over the green,

Scampered a shape that never was seen...

The music faded and both smiled.

Jamie: Lovely, my dear...

That Really Tall Blonde <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
If any of you are sleeping over my tales (hopefully not) here is some coffee...hope you like vanilla cream..., - Wednesday, April 17, 2002 at 20:31:45 (PDT)

Hey, I know this sounds dumb and all (yeah yeah yeah, I know, I do and say dumb things a lot... that is why I have a 4.0....) (hoping one of you got the humour in that) but, exactly WHERE is the Emperial Palace located? And, is the TARDIS still in action, or I am oblivious and missing something here?

Thanks
Not Dana <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
The-Girl-Who-Is-Reading-Shakespear's-Sonnets , - Wednesday, April 17, 2002 at 19:59:01 (PDT)

Off Set:

After work Cindie and Mistral met up as agreed and she followed him to a restaurant near his flat. They dined and afterwards, as they sipped their Sumatra Mandehling, he took up the ring of keys which had been laying on the table to his right. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Your landlord is gone for the weekend and I’m not going to let Annabelle go hungry and be bored.” She smiled at him as she set down her cup, “besides, a bored Bengal? Goodness knows what state your flat would be in when you got home Sunday.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he remembered Mary Anne’s very artful confrontation of him with respect to his misleading her as to the nature of his Bengal. “There is some truth to that you know, as a breed they are very playful.” His eyes lit on hers, “it is good of you though.”

“My pleasure. I miss not having a cat. Are you sure you don’t want to introduce us though? I’d hate for Annabelle to think I’m a burglar or something.”

“I do need to get going. But don’t worry, I’ve told Annabelle you’re coming and you’ll have the passkey …both of them.” He nodded to the parcel next to her wrapped in white butcher’s paper and tied with a string. Tuna fish. At this his fingers deftly selected and removed the proper keys from the ring and slid them, one after the other, across the table to her with his index finger. “This unlocks the door to the flat and this the front door.”

Cindie placed them in her handbag. They would be left in his mailbox on Sunday to be collected by him. He would get in late but would ring a neighbor to be let into the building, unlock his mailbox, which had a separate key and retrieve his house keys. He had told her to make herself at home, raid the fridge, watch the telly and to feel free to look about. “This is crazy but all I can think of is ‘what if she doesn’t like me’. This is even harder than meeting your mother.” The words naturally evoked the reason for his imminent departure. There wasn’t much to say that wasn’t trite so Cindie left it alone for now.

“I think you’ll find Annabelle can very critical but she is also very discerning. I expect you two will get along fine.” He finished his coffee and looked at her across the table. It was good of her to take this on. Of course the cat would be fine for the weekend on dry food and a full water bowl, but he felt better about his weekend visit home knowing she would be cared for and checked on. This was even better than the landlord, who was fond enough of cats but who he suspected Annabelle actually didn’t like. “I must go.”

“I know.”

She stood up and they walked out the door together. “You will let me walk you to your car, Mistral.”

“Very gallant of you, my dear.”

While she offered her arm to him, he quickly put it the other way around as she replied, “All part of the full service pet sitting, seeing the proud owner safely off.”

“You can make yourself at home there while I’m gone. It’s fine, there’s nothing there I don’t want you to see.” Did she know that giving her the run of his City flat was akin to him baring his soul?

“Rummage through your sock drawer and see what you have lurking in the back of your freezer?”

“You are a brave woman.”

How odd, he really didn’t seem to have any concerns about her being there. And he knew what she’d done, with his personnel file, it was a miracle that he’d trusted her at all after that. Her fears that he’d been less than truthful had overridden her common sense. But he obviously did trust her and she knew it. “I suppose you keep the truly incriminating stuff in a secret lair.”

“Naturally.”

When they reached his car he gave a quick but thorough look around and pulled her close. He held her tight for a long moment, though it wasn’t long enough. He kissed her cheek and opened his car door. “I will see you in a couple of days.”

“Drive safe.”

“Yes.”

She watched his taillights recede and headed over to his flat. Time to meet the other female.

Cindie
Don't worry, Mistral has been very busy filming and won't be gone long. , - Wednesday, April 17, 2002 at 18:07:33 (PDT)

Now Diane wasn’t too fond of horses, and certainly a bit afraid of them at times too. But this, she decided, even she could do, and looked around for that mare she had ridden the other day. It was found in the last stall on the right, munching some hay, happily enjoying its dinner. It was easy to put the halter on, the mare didn’t mind as long as it could still eat. Diane then clipped on the lead rope, and lead it to the outside arena where she saddled it up. She was now grateful for reading that book on horseman ship before she arrived here at Hazelnut Creek, and looped the ladaso one more time around its belly. She patted it on the neck (avoiding to pick the hooves… you never know when a horse could kick you right in the face) and the mare gave a soft nicker. She lifted her leg (with a sigh, she KNEW she shouldn’t have worn those high heels!) into the stirrup and swung onto the saddle, grasping tightly to the horn. She gathered the reins in her hands, looked around with a small pang of guilt (Lucas won’t mind me using her again… will he? *gulp*) and slightly tapped her heels into the side of the mare.

The mare started off slowly at a walk at first, and as Diane noticed the sun getting lower in the sky, she nudged again, and felt the mare speed up to a trot. Another nudge, then a canter. Diane was already uneasy in the saddle (hanging on for dear life too) and did not dare to go to a full gallop. Besides, a gallop would most likely kill her, and wear out the poor horse. So, thus, she went on down the sandy little trail, (trying to avoid rather BIG rocks) and hummed a little song aloud as the sun went behind the hills at last…

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Now Claudia, you may be good at horses, but how do you fare at archery?, - Wednesday, April 17, 2002 at 14:41:38 (PDT)

Police Station
Evening of Day Five of the Investigation

"Hans Gruber." Graff snorted. "That apple didn't fall too far from the tree," he said. "Yes," Silvert's lip curled slightly. "Herr Anton."

Graff's mouth quirked. "Did you notice how much the two of them sounded alike?"

Silvert's eyebrows rose. "In voice?"

"In everything," Graff replied. "Phraseology, manner, vocal tones, you name it."

"Attitude." The word was precise. Clipped. Cold. "Exactly," her partner said. "Hans Gruber is most certainly the son of Anton Gruber. They have that same air of courteous formality."

Silvert pursed her lips. "That Old World charm?" she asked, a sardonic glint in her eye.

"Better than that Old Time Religion."

"Miles..."

Graff started to sing:
"We've been worshipping old Venus,
Man, you really should've seen us,
Now I've got bruises on my --"

"Miles...!"

"-- And that's good enough for me!"

"MILES!"

He blinked at her, owlishly. "What?"

Silvert was shaking her head. "Miles..."she said, cradling her forehead in her hand, halfway between laughter and mortification.

"What did I say?" (homage)

"Let's just get back to the Grubers, shall we?"

Her partner heaved a sigh. "All right." He paged through the transcripts. "Mr. Hans Gruber was a bit snarky, wasn't he?"

Silvert flipped through her notebook. "That's one way to put it, certainly." She glanced over the interview transcripts. "You have not subpeonaed me to speak my concerns to the world." Indeed. How pleasant of him. How helpful. How considerate." Silvert's voice was edging to ice.

"Be fair. He wasn't as obstructionist as de Valera," Graff replied. "He just didn't want to talk about himself or his family."

"Including Ms. Renie?" Silvert asked, a harsh note in her voice.

"What, Ekaterin?" her partner said, mildly. "Jealous?"

"Don't be absurd, Miles," she said. She twiddled her pen between her fingers and tapped the ballpoint on the text. "He did react to that," she said. "We're speaking with Ms. Renie later today," she quoted. She glanced up at the rumpled little detective. "That was well done, Miles."

Graff smiled. "He couldn't quite help himself, could he?" he asked, preening a little.

Silvert gave him a small, satisfied smile. Then her expression grew serious. "Ms. Renie did not have that problem."

Graff's own face became grave. "No. No, she didn't."

*******************

"Daddykins."

"Who?" Graff asked, his mouth half-full of sandwich.

"Herr Anton Gruber." The syllables rolled off her tongue with almost native ease. The warm gutterals (homage) belied the cool disdain in her eyes.

"He wasn't that bad, Ekaterin."

"The actor's actor," his partner replied. The utter stillness of her face gave him his only clue. Livid. Graff sighed. He knew how she was coming to feel about actors.

"I can't think of why he'd be on the list, Ekaterin." He pushed the transcript over to her part of the table. "No motive."

She sighed. "Yes, I know. Neither of them have motive." She flipped through her notebook to the interview with Anton Gruber. "Anton Gruber." She clicked her pen a few times. "He's financially solvent. This new storyline gains him an action figure, which he wasn't slated for originally. He has a solid reputation in the theatre community and doesn't need to play oneupsmanship with his son. He hasn't had any real interaction with Ms. Claudia."

Graff eyed his partner carefully. "True," he said, slowly.

"Hans Gruber." She swallowed and flicked away a crumb from Graff's sandwich. "The same factors apply. He is more than financially solvent. We've seen the concept for his action figure -- he didn't seem to find it offensive. He has a congenial relationship with his father. His interactions with Ms. Claudia have been strictly professional; her storyline affects his character, but only in absentia, as he's no longer on-set.

"That puts him off-list."

"Indeed." She rolled over to her desk and leaned over the keyboard. "Ms. Renie, on the other hand."

"Indeed." Graff sighed. "What was it you said to Hans Gruber, Miles?" Silvert asked.

"What? Oh -- 'Pleasure to meet you.'"

"In Latin?"

Incredulous. "Of course." Graff, non-plussed. "One of the benefits of a classical education. (do I need to say homage?) I may not know German, but I'm not completely savage, Ekaterin."

Barbara the Wallpaperer
The Real Old Time Religion is a parody.... see Locksley.com for all 900 stanzas...., - Wednesday, April 17, 2002 at 13:22:27 (PDT)

Cindie--"No, he didn't know what accessories were planned for his."

*muffled snorfle*
R
- Tuesday, April 16, 2002 at 08:59:39 (PDT)

Munching on a cold biscuit, Dana watched Sinclair moving slowly around the area, studying the ground. "So why would someone be traveling by night? And not stop?"

He glanced at Claire then tossed over his shoulder, "I'd say it was the sound of your snoring that scared them away, Dana."

"I do not."

"Suit yourself." Sinclair hid a smile, Dana was so easy to wind up. PL moved to untether his horse from the back of the wagon, dropping a kiss on the top of Dana's head as he passed. "You ok to take the reins for a bit? I'm going to scout ahead."

"See what you can find for tonight O'Hara. I'd say we have another five miles in us today."

Dana
- Monday, April 15, 2002 at 20:15:08 (PDT)

Dishonourable,dishonest conniving, two faced !!!!!!Loved it.
Magda
Still crying with laughter, - Monday, April 15, 2002 at 12:13:21 (PDT)

"Sounded just like George" - I think that's a compliment. And I like Joya too. As for what George is going to do - well, let's just say that it's shared experiences that make up a truly committed relationship. No matter what else happens.
Magda
- Monday, April 15, 2002 at 04:21:08 (PDT)

You sounded just like George--"satisfied?" I do hope George isn't going to be unfaithful to Lady Joya. I do like her.
thanks
- Sunday, April 14, 2002 at 22:06:58 (PDT)

Correction made.
Oh, boy. The anticipation! :-)
Suz (D.o.C.)

DoC: In the following sentence, "...I could keep our eyes on the same leave", please change "leave", to "level". Thank you.
Magda
- Sunday, April 14, 2002 at 17:18:55 (PDT)

Further entries from the obtained journal, submitted to the Board of Commission Investigating the Recently Completed Disturbances in the Shire of Nottingham During the Reign of Our Glorious King Richard Lionheart

Joya stretched her arms over her head, moaning languidly. Then she rolled over on her side to better look at me and propped herself on one arm. "So we have more guests, do we? My goodness, Nottingham Castle is becoming quite the tourist attraction."

I grunted in agreement. We were sprawled on our bed, luxuriating in the warm sunshine of early afternoon that poured into the room. It was the best place for a quiet conversation in the whole castle since the place was crawling with visitors. Privacy was now a rare and treasured commodity.

"Well I suppose we should have expected it. Dear Brother Richard always did like to move fast." She regarded me with a steady gaze. "I agree with your idea that any solution requires the co-operation of Robin of Locksley. When will you see him?"

"Now. Before we all have to be together for the evening meal." I sat up. "That would be a nice surprise, wouldn't it? 'Lord Robin of Locksley, I'd like you to meet your future wife.' I wonder what Marion would have to say to that?"

Joya snorted in a most unfeminine manner. "She'd have a lot to say. Any woman would."

"You'd fight to hang onto me?" I made a show of shaking the creases out of my tunic so I didn’t have to meet her eye. "My dear, that is very flattering. I didn't know I was so attractive."

My head had barely cleared the neckline when a firm hand grasped the hair on the back of my head and yanked me down to the bed. I blinked in amazement as Joya leaned over me low enough to bump noses.

"You are to me, George. Do you remember how we were almost late for our wedding ceremony because you’d come to my room early to examine my gown? How my veil was ruined because you had to cut me free when we couldn’t untangle it?" Her eyes smoldered with blue fire. “Or when the new bishop held his first mass in the cathedral and was annoyed when he thought we hadn’t attended? We never told him we’d been there all along and heard every word of the service from the choir loft.”

The familiar heat that enveloped my body was matched by an uneasy feeling that Joya knew about my heightened awareness of the Lady Christina only a few hours earlier. Reason told me that it was impossible but the feeling wouldn't dissolve. In the normal course of events I would have hurled my tunic to the floor and spent the remainder of the day until the supper hour in the resumption of amorous delights. But some instinct told me that the sooner I got away, the better. I yanked myself out of bed and strode across the room to find the boots I'd flung off in such a hurry.

“Of course I remember." The left boot was under the table; I retrieved it and scanned the carpet for the other. "And as soon as we settle this marital nonsense and find out who has been sending those absurd letters, we will resume those activities that we both enjoy so much. After all," I saw a black leather toe peeking out from behind my chair and pounced on it. "After all, we still need an heir or two and I won't say 'no' to a few more daughters if the present one is any indication of their quality."

Joya smiled at me from her pillows. I was pleased to see that the worried frown was gone from her brow. This strange passivity she'd fallen into recently worried me a great deal. I had no idea how to combat it. I was determined to solve at least one of these tangles so that she would be more like the old Joya, feisty and affectionate. And energetic. I flexed my shoulders, remembering marks of passion from days past. Everything would be fine, I promised myself. It had to be.

On my way over to the Locksleys' apartment, I considered the best way to explain the latest development. Marion would grasp the situation immediately but I had my doubts about him. I was prepared for a long discussion.

My footsteps echoed down the long corridor. Men who were strangers to me leaned on their spears and eyed me suspiciously as I passed; Locksley's retainers were on duty again. I ignored their presumptuous stares. The two on duty at the door tensed visibly as I strode forward and pounded with a hard fist. For long minutes nothing happened, then the door creaked open slowly. No one appeared. The two guards nudged each other. Wondering what Locksley was up to now, I stepped over the threshold and banged the door shut in their faces.

The outer chamber was empty and I was just wondering who opened the door when out of the corner of my eye I caught a slight movement by the tapestry. I jerked my head around and glimpsed a woman peeking out from behind the hanging cloth. At my sudden movement, she disappeared again. I was annoyed. Serious problems confronted us all and this foolish servant wanted to play hide-and-seek. I did not have time for this.

"Woman," I announced to the room at large. "I am here to speak to Robin and Marion of Locksley. Summon them now or I will demonstrate the ease with which my blade can cut through the thickest brocade hanging."

There was an audible squeak from behind the tapestry followed bare seconds by the appearance of a woman apparently shot from a catapult. She was bent almost double under a trailing brown cloak and had her veil and wimple were wrapped tight around her face and neck but she was on her way to the inner door so I let her go without comment. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that there were some very strange people at Locksley manor.

She vanished from view and I prepared for a longish wait but Locksley entered almost immediately. He stopped just inside the room and regarded me without affection. "Well?"

"No," I said. I could be curt too. "Not well at all. We have a new problem that we have to deal with."

"Oh really? What now? Have the horses' hoofs fallen off and we have to wait until they grown new ones before we can leave?" He smirked at his own wit. "I sent a messenger to my manor ordering new horses. They'll be here tomorrow."

"You can't leave even if they arrive in the next hour. As I said, there's a new problem." I didn't wait for any more sarcasm but launched into a description of the Ladies Suzanne and Christina and their reasons for coming to Nottingham.

He didn't interrupt but listened in stolid silence until I finished. He scowled when I pointed out that the international interest in the marriages was increasing and not to our advantage. "Poitiers, eh? Next to Anjou, there couldn't be a more powerful county to offend."

I nodded. "Exactly. So before we all get together for a jolly supper, we have to put our heads together and come up with a way to get rid of them without offense."

Locksley crossed to the hearth and dropped into the chair in front of the fire. "It will be impossible not to offend Poitiers if the marriage doesn't go through."

Without waiting to be invited, I took a seat on the bench by the table so that I could keep our eyes on the same level. "It will indeed. But it's not Poitiers I'm worried about offending, it's King Richard. We have to come up with some way that the king won't be offended when - not if - the marriage doesn't happen. And remember, the Lady Suzanne doesn’t want to be married either, so as much as she's able, she's on our side."

"Yes, but," Locksley's brow furrowed in an effort of concentration. "King Richard has arranged the marriage himself. Why would he not want it to take place? Do you think he'll change his mind before he arrives?"

I bit back the only appropriate response to such dimness. I told myself that it was possible to reason with Locksley; it was possible to reason with a barnyard animal too, for all the good it did. With a deep breath to get a grip on my temper, I put it to him in simpler language. ""No, I don't think he'll change his mind. I think that we have to come up with a reason why the Poitiers connection won't please him when he gets here. Now let's consider this situation carefully. You spent some time in France on the king's business some time ago. Did you hear anything - any gossip or rumour - about Poitiers favouring the King Philip of France instead of King Richard?"

He stared. "No, I didn't. Poitiers has a child ruler; it's stayed strictly neutral in its own interests. It doesn’t favour either France or England that I know of."

"I see. That's very unfortunate." I considered. "Unfortunate but not insurmountable. If the possibility of antagonism doesn't exist, we'll just have to invent it. When the king comes, you tell him that you're surprised that he wants you to marry a woman whose brother is conducting secret negotiations to marry King Philip's niece. That should be enough to get up the Lionheart's nose and put paid to your marriage plans at any rate."

"Marry the French king's niece?" Locksley's eyes rounded in shock. "But where did you hear that?"

I took a tighter grip on my instincts. "I didn't hear it; I invented it. It would be nice if it were true but under the circumstances I'm prepared to be flexible. Just make sure you sound credible when you tell the king. It all hinges on your acting skill."

"Me? Why do I have to be the one to tell him?" He considered a moment, then his face darkened ominously. "Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You want me to lie to King Richard? To our sovereign lord?"

"Yes. That's it exactly." I felt more kindly towards him. He had been listening after all. "I'd do it myself but it wouldn't work. You went to France on official business and it would be more believable coming from you. If he asks you why you didn't mention it before, just tell him that it had nothing to do with your mission and you didn't think it was relevant."

"You vermin. You cretin." Locksley seemed to be having trouble with his breathing; it was coming out in harsh wheezes. "You'd do it yourself, would you? Yes I just bet you would. That's you all over, isn't it, Nottingham? Dishonest, dishonorable, conniving, two-faced, opportunistic and scheming."

I blinked in surprise; I hardly knew how to respond. Locksley had never been so complimentary to me before.

"Well let me tell you that I will have nothing to do with such a plan as this." He stood up so abruptly he knocked his chair over. It crashed to the ground behind him but he didn't seem to notice. "My relationship with King Richard depends on honesty and truth, as I told you before, and I will do nothing to besmirch that. When King Richard comes I will appeal to his judgement and mercy to make the right decision. That was my plan from the beginning and it remains my plan now. What you do is your own business but leave me out of it."

I suppose I was prepared for this response; it didn't really surprise me. Leave it to Locksley to let his over-sensitive scruples get in the way of a perfectly sound idea and mess it all up. I got to my feet and brushed down my tunic. "Very well. We will meet for supper in a few hours and I look forward to presenting the Lady Suzanne to you at that time."

"The door's behind you. Don't slam it when you leave." Locksley didn't move.

I bowed, turned on my heel and left. While I didn't slam the door, I did let it bang behind me; it was my door, after all. Locksley's retainers jumped to attention but I didn't bother responding. My mind was full and I had to think.

So Locksley would not help me help him out of this marital entanglement. His idea of appealing to King Richard made as much sense as it had before - or even less, because now another county was involved. But what had I expected? You'll never get an intelligent response from a fool.

I swept down the spiral stairs to the corridor leading to the other tower. It was a pity because it was a good idea but there was no use weeping over spilled ale. Possible disloyalty was not the only thing that would make Lady Suzanne unappealing to the king. There was another reason why a royal marriage could be disallowed. As I followed the familiar route to my bedchamber the foundation of a new scheme began to arise in my head. It would be dangerous and it might bring additional problems in its wake. But it would ensure that there would be no marriage between Poitiers and Locksley.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs, one hand against the arch. If I undertook this new plan, it would be something I had to do entirely alone. No Locksley or Marion, and not even Joya could help me. Especially not Joya. For the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that it was the only way. If a woman were not a virgin, no count or duke or king would expect a man to marry her.

I had to get Lady Suzanne alone somewhere and seduce her.

Magda
Happy now?, - Sunday, April 14, 2002 at 17:13:28 (PDT)

Well, she HAD though the tires were in perfect condition, but apparently not. The back tire was slowly going down, till it got lower and lower. Finally, it was completely dead flat, and Diane could not go one more inch further. She got off that bike and grumbled fiercely, prodding it with her finger muttering hasty words under her breath. She turned it around, and on foot, started wheeling it back to the ranch.

It was becoming later in the day, and she almost considered staying at the ranch one more day for dinner. But she shook her head, no, this time she was going to get it done, and get it done right.

" I’ll take another vehicle… one WITHOUT wheels.." She grinned and as she set the bike back down in its proper place (good thing she hadn’t gone TOO awful far!) Diane rummaged into the stable and came back out again carrying a halter and lead rope.

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com >
*still reading the Back Issues* *eating my broth with a *SPOON*, - Sunday, April 14, 2002 at 11:31:33 (PDT)

“Whenever we find a really sweet spot for a break there are always .. “ Dana parted the grasses “…. these for company.” Two small rough crosses nestled at a cairn of small stones. “Truly I never imagined death would be ever present on this journey, as it has been” she mused.

The carcass strewn plain of bleached animal bones had given way to an intermittant trail of graves. “I try not to think about it.” Claire turned away to see what had caught Sinclair’s attention.

“Well?” she demanded.

“We have neighbours.” Sinclair announced, passing his hand over the charred wood. “This is no more than a few hours in the cooling.” He stood up. Perplexed. Had he missed these obvious signs at dawn?

“Could they have past us in the night? Trail riders. Looks like three horses to me….” PL called as he climbed back up through the long grass ” …tethered over there, see the area is well flattened by the tree.”

As they peered in the river direction to the solitary aspen, the bright light raced away.

“I’m sure I would have wakened.” Dana shivered, slipping her arm through that of O’Hara’s as the four stared at the blackened circle.

“My dear. A herd of buffalo and twenty wagons could have rumbled through and you would not have heard a thing. If ever a woman was dead to this world …. “ PL stopped suddenly feeling in the circumstances death was not a jesting matter.

A solitary dark cloud glistened at the edges as it moved over the sun.

Claire
Wagons slowly rolling to the end of the trail !, - Sunday, April 14, 2002 at 06:22:12 (PDT)

Diane slipped to the back of the house, leaving a short note for Lucas.

Dear Lucas,

I have gone away for a short time being, do not fret, I will return as soon as possible.

Yours Truly,

Diane

She looked around scanning the perimeters, till she noted what she was looking for. She waddled over to it, a Schwinn bicycle, never been used just laying there in the grass on its side. Diane paused for a moment and wondered how a bicycle could be in such a place as here, shrugged, and told herself, beggars cannot be choosers, and besides, this WAS fiction after all. She stood it up, gently taking the side of her sleeve and dusting off the handlebars. She paused for a moment, looked down, and took a second glance and tore off an old sticker saying, " Support your local sheriff." She blinked for a second or two, and laughed out loud. Shaking her head slightly, she threw the sticker to the ground and placed herself on the cushioned black seat. Diane tipped down the edge of her sunglasses, and pushed off pedaling with all her might. She may not know how to drive (yet) but was a bold bike rider, and fast too. A tiny grin formed across the tips of her mouth at the speed and surpassing wind shield factor as she sped off down the road. The bike went smoothly, the tires in perfect condition (she swore that bike must have magically appeared there before her eyes) and switched gears as she turned the corner. It might take a little bit of time, but she would get there soon enough… wherever it was that she was going…
Diane Ferra <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
GIVE ME A DR. PEPPER, I RENTED ROBIN HOOD!!! (time for some Sheriff goodness...hehehe), - Saturday, April 13, 2002 at 16:56:44 (PDT)

sup ppl? :)
cammie <?>
?, - Friday, April 12, 2002 at 17:31:20 (PDT)

I apologize for the delay but it's tax time again and I'm busy writing out my excuses and preparing my plea-bargaining. However, I will post again by Sunday and it will be an extra-long one. By next week I should be back on schedule again. Sorry again for the delay.
Magda
- Friday, April 12, 2002 at 05:43:31 (PDT)

Magda, where is our George and Joya story? Isn't there supposed to be one each Sunday? It's difficult enough to wait a whole week, let alone any longer
in withdrawal and suffering
give me an occupation, or I shall run mad, - Thursday, April 11, 2002 at 21:22:15 (PDT)

She gave a wry smile, her eyes gleaming with sudden mischief. Diane picked up the badge, glimmering with the sun strokes, and undid the clasp. " Good thing I decided to keep this…" she thought to herself, " even thought it was from over 5 years ago! Yes… the first job I got after… after I left HIM. Alas, the newspaper company itself closed down only after two months on board… but no one else will know that… Now, for the trimmings…"

Diane again trailed over to her closet, and searched high and low for something to wear. She at last picked out a rather jazzy and flashy outfit: A tie-dye tank top, colored flower printed pedal pushers, a pair of snazzy black sunglasses, and a pink hand purse to match her high heels. (She seriously considered about the high-heels. She wasn’t the most careful of people… meaning, she had lots of clumsy "accidents".) She popped the sunglasses along the edge of her nose, turned sideways in front of the mirror, and though you could not see it through the darkness of the glasses, winked. " Time for some action, coming your way!"

The Young Rickmaniac <crescentmoonluna@aol.com >
*sigh* Well folks, I started my new job this week...I may not be able to come here 2 hrs a day anymore! (lol), - Tuesday, April 09, 2002 at 20:43:44 (PDT)

Alexander's apartment, continuation of slight flashback:

Alexander took a sip of his coffee before he spoke again. "You're right about the movie just being the tip of the iceberg," he told Sandy. The writer nodded and silently gestured for him to continue. "You also don't seem to be particularly freaked out about Laliari either."

Sandy looked up at him. "I *do* watch science fiction movies and TV, plus I've cut my teeth on several sci-fi novels too, so the idea of life on other planets isn't exactly a foreign concept to me," she reminded him. "After the initial shock of seeing her in her 'natural state', I thought it was, for lack of a better word, fascinating." Her lips curled up slightly at his frown. "Sorry Alex, but I know that you're stalling," she added in gently.

"Hmph!" Alexander snorted. Sandy's eyebrows rose in response. "All right, I am stalling, I suppose," he admitted reluctantly. "I never thought I'd be telling someone anything like this. 'Sci-Fi Actors Abducted By Aliens Save The Earth From Total Annihilation,'" he said with a shudder. "That's not the way any of us wish to be remembered."

"I understand. I really do, Alex," Sandy reassured him as she settled her head against him and he squeezed her briefly, staring into the fire.

"The way Mathesar and the rest found us at a sci-fi convention is true," Alexander began explaining softly. "It's also true that the Thermians originally thought that the TV signals they were receiving were historical records too, but that's pretty much where the similarity ends." He paused for a moment and sighed.

"Just one question before you continue, if you don't mind," Sandy requested.

"Sure. What is it?"

"When they showed in the movie how you got to the ship - cased in all that bluish goo... Was that accurate?"

"Yes - and that's something I *never* want to repeat," Alexander shuddered again. "The aftereffects were awful. Double vision, extreme nausea, equilibrium shot to hell... It's a good thing that I'm not claustrophobic," he paused for a moment. "But what I saw up there was so beautiful that it was worth it in the end," he mused softly, his lips curling into a soft smile as he turned to gaze at Sandy. She returned it and shifted position so that she faced him.

"There was an extremely small percentage of Thermians that didn't want to have peace - ambitious types that wanted power - power at any cost, no matter who got killed or stood in their way. So, those ones infiltrated the government at various levels and recruited youngsters that could be easily persuaded to - " he paused for a moment to make air quotes with his fingers, "'change their peaceful ways.' Disgruntled types, I guess you could say."

"Rebels without a cause," Sandy observed quietly.

"Actually, in this case, they were given a cause," Alexander growled. "Sarris' people managed to intercept some transmissions between the 'disgruntled types' and decided to secretly contact them, offering their 'help.' Civil war broke out on the planet - with Sarris' people providing the weaponry to the rebellious types while the rest of the planet had to learn very quickly how to defend themselves. Naturally, Sarris' people had their own agenda. The Thermian homeworld was rich in natural resources, and they wanted it for themselves." He looked at Sandy and she nodded, her eyes fixed on him as she listened intently.

"Eventually, there was so much destruction - over three-quarters of the planet was unlivable, from what I understand - that the ones who were still alive decided to leave in ships and hoped to find an uninhabited planet where they could live in peace, far away from Sarris and his group..." He rose to his feet, took their empty coffee mugs and refilled them.

"Whatever happened to the insurgents?" Sandy asked curiously, rising to her feet and stretching luxuriously as he walked back over and gave her mug back to her.

"Honestly, I really don't know. Mathesar wouldn't say - but I'd reckon their fate wasn't pleasant," Alexander replied as they sat back down.

Sandy
You knew it would happen some time, MA! Time to throw a few more monkey wrenches while I'm at it too, *snerk*., - Tuesday, April 09, 2002 at 18:16:57 (PDT)

Anton’s Office:
The Investigation continues:

His son had telephoned so Anton knew that his name would be coming up soon on the detectives' list. He and his co-stars had been lucky that the interruptions and delays that had plagued the set had not affected their thread. So far. When the detectives arrived, he was prepared for them and greeted them with courteous formality.

Though he maintained his composure he became more formal and less courteous as the interview wore on.

Yes, his son did procure this acting job for him.

No, he hadn't been particularly well known as an actor before he began this role.

Yes, his son had had a larger part than him for some years.

No, in fact he was very proud of Hans.

Yes, he was involved as a key part of new thread now. Had in fact been doing two, before the introductory flashback had concluded.

No, he was not aware of any resentment from other cast members.

It wasn't sudden, he and Cindie had been discussing it for some time before they broached the idea to the Director.

He had been interested and quite supportive as witnessed by the thread's progression.

The Director would give anyone a chance that had a good idea for the show.

No, he didn't think they were coddled because his writer was the Director's Assistant.

No, he didn't pursue Cindie to write for him because he thought it the way to get a bigger part.

She wasn't unproven, hadn't they watched any of their story line?

Yes, he knew they were asking the questions.

His name did appear in front of the show now.

Before these threads? Some guest star appearances, some stage work.

He was financially secure, thank you very much.

His co-workers? He had good rapport with everyone as far as he was concerned.

Of course, some more than others. That was largely a factor of how much they'd worked together.

He did miss Renie, but saw her from time to time.

No, he did not pry into such matters. Especially where Hans was concerned.

Cindie? Yes, they'd known each other casually from show functions.

He did approach her about it. They worked well together.

No, he'd never been to her home or she to his. Strictly professional.

Chandos, her neighbor he believed.

He did his job well, that was all Anton cared about.

Rivalry? Ach, no.

Action figures? A tawdry if profitable aspect of the business.

No, he didn't know what accessories were planned for his.

Unfortunately, he had no light to shed upon the thefts.

Anything unusual? No. Well, one detail he had noticed some weeks back. Probably nothing. Before Therese returned from her …hiatus, he'd heard someone on a call in her office. No, he couldn't tell, he'd thought it was probably a co-worker wanting a bit of privacy. The stein? Original. Yes, worth quite a bit of money now. No, he didn't just purchase it. It had been left to him by his father.

When they finally left he sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples. Then he opened his bottom right drawer and pulled out a bottle of cognac and a tumbler. The single drink he poured himself was a generous one.

Cindie
Mistral would make a stunning engrrrrrrrraving., - Tuesday, April 09, 2002 at 17:18:25 (PDT)

Diane straightened up in her seat, and blinked for several moments longer. The sun was high in the sky, a bloomed flower giving lengths of rays into the room and casting long shadows against the walls. Her face was colored into two parts, one side dark the other light. She seemed to be engulfed in continuous thought, till, her light bulb clicked on and a small smile erupted across her lips. She stood up and walked over to her closet, flung open the two doors, and began rummaging through some old boxes, making dust fly up into the air and so she tried her best not to sneeze. At last she came to one, and stretched out with a triumphant, " Aha! Eureka!" while holding an old pink shoebox (the color terribly faded away).

She took it over to her bed, and set it on one side and opened it up to reveal a perfectly shining badge with one simple word written through the middle: Press.

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Though I'm not COMPLETELY caught up with everything here yet...Maryanne, you have me rolling on the floor laughing!!! *poke in the side*, - Sunday, April 07, 2002 at 19:10:18 (PDT)

FOF set, the dungeons:

Mary Anne leans against the wall, hiding her face and taking deep breaths. This is where Brandon finds her . . .

. . . as The Director calls, "Cut!"

Mary Anne turns from the wall, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief and rolling her eyes. "Holy cow!" she exclaims, much to the amusement of the set techs who are hooting their approval. "I’d almost forgotten what it’s like."

"Better rest up for a few minutes, then," comes The Director’s sardonic reply, but he is grinning and seems to share in the general release of tension. "Can’t have you getting all traumatized. We’ll pick up again in about ten minutes. Brandon, Suzanne, if I could see you two for a moment . . ."

Left to her own devices, Mary Anne strolls toward the other side of the set, chuckling to herself as she sees Mistral leaning casually against the wall of his "cell." She points at him and chants like a taunting schoolgirl, "Mistral’s in jail, Mistral’s in jail . . ."

"We’ll see about that," he retorts, reaching out to grip the bars in front of him . . . which part easily, as they are constructed of composition foam rubber. He steps through and advances on Mary Anne.

"Mistral!" commands the Continuity Girl. "Put those back like you found them!"

"Oh. Sorry." With a half-bow of apology, Mistral turns and grips the bars once more, pushing them back into something like their original position as C.G. hurries over to make her customary meticulous adjustments.

Mistral offers his arm to Mary Anne. "Would you care for a turn about the dungeons?"

Mary Anne smiles up at him. "I could hardly ask for a better guide."

"Nor I for a better sparring partner. You were quite good, you know."

"Why, thank you. That’s quite a compliment, coming from someone who isn’t exactly chopped liver, himself. But good heavens, Mistral, do you know how exhausting you are? That has to be the most intense twenty minutes I’ve been through since Richard seduced Lady Anne!"

Mistral smirks with satisfaction. "I think Lady Anne had the best of the fight, this time . . ."

The good-natured needling continues as the two of them wander about the group of dungeon sets, until Mary Anne spots the mock-up of the rack shoved over in a corner, half-shrouded by a tarp. "Ah-ha! Now we’re in the proper setting for your character!"

Mistral raises an eyebrow as he fingers a plank of the ominous device. "You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But don’t forget, my character was himself interrogated here. HE—" Mistral pauses. "Mary Anne, what on earth are you doing?"

Mary Anne makes a square of her thumbs and index fingers and peers through it. "Just trying to imagine a portrait of you, next to that thing. Wouldn’t that be a perfect gift for Cindie, sometime?"

"Oh." Mistral sweeps aside the tarp, then strikes a menacing pose next to the dread instrument, one hand gripping the crank. "Will this do?" His voice shifts into the plush, ultra-cultured registers of a museum guide. "A work commonly attributed to Dore’, here we see the famous Interrogator with Rack . . ."

"Oooooo, say it again, Mistral; say it again!"

"Rrrrrrrrrrack!" he growls obligingly, as Mary Anne pretends to swoon away in her knuckles-to-forehead posture, though it is rendered much less effective by her outbursts of snorfling.

"Well enough for you to laugh." Mistral affects to pout, though the wicked gleam in his eye betrays him. "My character never gets to have any real fun, not with something like this. It’s dreadfully unjust, you know. Mary Anne gets to savage The Interrogator when she has HIM in her power, but all HE can do with her is hint and suggest and threaten." Mistral looks down at himself ruefully. "And she gets the best costumes, as well."

"Well, Mistral, you’re welcome to try on my costumes if you think they’ll fit--"

Grinning, Mistral takes a threatening half-step toward her, but Mary Anne refuses to be intimidated. "Oh, no, you don’t!" she laughs. "I’m tall enough as it is—all my costumes would have to be altered!"

"Perhaps they’d come closer to fitting me, then."

The Director’s voice cuts across the set. "If you two hyenas would cease that ungodly howling over there . . .!"

Mary Anne and Mistral exchange glances. "Break’s over," they agree, and begin to make their way back.

Mary Anne, however, cannot resist further mischief—and when she can resist, then chaos is come again. Smiling sweetly, she turns to Mistral. "Listen, to even things out, sometime I’ll write a nice juicy torture scene just for you, all right?"

Mistral chuckles. "I appreciate the thought, but I don’t know if the viewers would stand for it. They seem to enjoy the tension between our characters, but if HE actually went so far as that, there’d be the devil to pay. An honest fight is all very well, but—"

Mary Anne gives him a sidelong glance through her thick, dark lashes. "You know as well as I do that there are all sorts of ways, Mistral . . . without leaving a single mark . . ."

A long, level stare from Mistral. "That is true." A slow smile, exquisitely slow, that lifts one corner of his lips and summons shadows to pool about his eyes. "That is very true, indeed. Take care, Mary Anne. I may hold you to that, one day."

"If you two can trouble yourselves, today would be a good time—!"

Mistral breaks the spell with a wicked wink, which Mary Anne returns, though she cannot shake the uneasy feeling of having started something she may not be able to finish . . .

MA--after a scene like that, there MUST be some silliness! 8-)
Diane: "giant black rock of The Interrogator," brrrrr! Sandy: Oh, so the secret's out, now! I was wondering when that would happen. *grin* , - Sunday, April 07, 2002 at 17:03:53 (PDT)

As to finish what I was saying BEFORE I accidently hit the wrong key.. Ms. Ferra here, getting sinister... don't hold me back ladies... no more Ms. Polite and nice...
The-Person-Who-Submits-Every-Day <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
*cheesy smile* , - Saturday, April 06, 2002 at 20:11:26 (PST)

That had all been in the beginning, the day she had fallen into his trap. Things happened from there on (and daresay, not for the better either!) and she HAD become an official author after publishing a couple of books, but then, things got worse, and he changed.

Diane pushed away the memories for now, enormous blocks that were filling her mind with some horrors of the past. She didn’t wish to go on with the flashbacks… and much she herself could still not remember much. (and for the better at that) Maybe, she thought to herself, this letter was the key for her revenge. She was older, and stronger, and smarter, and quicker, while he was alone and helpless in a cell. She licked her lips. Perfect, absolutely perfect. " I will NOT forgive you for what you had done to me… now I find you in a rather grand state at present. Trust me, this will be most appetizing for me… and to you, colder than the Antarctic frozen over solid in a blizzard of snow and pelting crystals of hail… Watch out, Mr. I, the only place in my heart and mind is your pain, some torture, possibly death for, which, I am sure, might bring happiness to all, c
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Ms.Ferra here, deciding to get sinister... don', - Saturday, April 06, 2002 at 20:09:11 (PST)

He sat down on the edge of the bed, she scooted back so far that Diane was practically hugging the walls. The room seemed so small and tiny now, with no path to escape, but the only light to be seen was behind the giant black rock of the Interrogator. Her lamp flicked, the light bulb went out. They were surrounded in sudden darkness.

" I need you Diane, I want you. I loathe your writing abilities, for YEARS (he emphasized this word) I’ve been looking for someone, someone like yooooouuuuu… (he drawled out the you) Thus now, I have you, found you, a precious jewel laying abandoned in the street. I took you in Diane, and I’ll treat you like one of my very own. All I ask is for you to write…"

She blinked stupidly for a minute or two. So, this was her talent, writing? She completely disagreed, there were many more out there in this vast blue planet who had more experience and strategy than her, she was certain of it. Why, there were hundreds, THOUSANDS of writers who could take the simplest set and turn it into an amazing story filled with adventure and suspense. That not-so-rare question came up in her mind: why me?

The Interrogator acted as if he could read her thoughts, which, maybe he can, but I will not be the one to ask him so. He chuckled carelessly, eyes burning with a scheme, she could clearly see. " Why you? For YOU, YOU are the one I have CHOSEN. YOU are the one who will make ME (he paused) and YOU famous. We will go far, Diane, if you just follow me and do what I say. I chose YOU for YOU are young and inexperienced, just right and prime for my modeling. All I need is your acceptance…" He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. Even if she denied his proposal, there were others ways of getting what he wanted (which, I may add, we shall not discuss here) and no 11 year old was bound to stop him. He had a plan, for many years, and this girl just may be the key…

Diane glanced to the floor, heaving a sigh, a burden of bricks on her shoulders. " What must I do?"

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
yeah yeah, I know, a tad confusing, but I gotta leave some holes to fill in later... *takes a sip of Pepsi One, nope, no Dr. Pepper today folks*, - Thursday, April 04, 2002 at 15:19:32 (PST)

O, and by the way, that was NYC*** (not NYV! lol)
three guesses <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
*whistles off to go clean house*, - Wednesday, April 03, 2002 at 18:40:21 (PST)

As not to confuse everyone... currently my story is in flashback.
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
*cheesy smile, takes a bite off Easter chocolate, yumm...* O, and I'd rather win a trip to London (or NYV actually) right now!!! ;) , - Wednesday, April 03, 2002 at 18:39:09 (PST)

She shook, scared half to death, almost wanting to scream, " Just kill me and get it over with!" Being only 11, she might have a advanced personality for writing, but her mind was still that of a child’s. But even the strongest of men would fall to their knees before this man, pleading and begging for mercy. All Diane wanted to do was cry.

" Diane… Diane… I will not hurt you…" He came closer, reaching out a hand, and thinking to himself, I will not hurt you for now. " But I have seen your work, and am astounded. We can go big Diane, you and I, with the kind of talent you have. What do you say?"

Diane simply didn’t know what to say. She was confused, her mind a blur, a wheel that seriously needed repairing, a broken down car the mechanic could not fix. What was he talking about? She had no talents… as for becoming famous (yes, in what way?) all she wanted to do was run away, to get out of this place, this cell, this cramped hole in the wall. " I don’t understand…"

" No, I didn’t think you would. Let me lay it out for you… quite simple actually."

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Hope I'm not boring anyone! ;), - Wednesday, April 03, 2002 at 18:37:29 (PST)

The Palace:

The Doctor continued on, talking as if he hadn’t heard her. “Peculiar, most peculiar,” he muttered, picking up what looked to Claudia like a metal peppermill with antennae, and beginning to scan her leg. “There’s no energy output at all now.”

“So its broken? Maybe the lightning or whatever was affecting the power has turned it off.”

“Perhaps.”

“So you can take it out now.” Claudia had made her choice but she wanted it to be on her terms. The thought that HE was still influencing her was hard to shake. One permanent souvenir of her time with HIM was quite sufficient.

“No.” The Doctor returned the peppermill to its drawer. “It cannot be risked – it may simply be dormant or it may be in a state of flux, and we can’t chance activating it without knowing more.” He cocked his head to one side. “We’ve got company.”

“Ed?” Claudia said eagerly before she could stop the words. Cursing herself for being twice an idiot she knew that Ed would be long gone by now. She’d said goodbye to him for the last time.

The Doctor, however, didn’t answer, only headed for the door and told Claudia the tea would be ready shortly. Claudia paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, and hopped out of her chair and followed him. At least she could enjoy her tea without having to look at stone walls.

Anton’s certainty that he would find what or who he sought led him to the police box that he’d heard so much about. “So you’re it. . .” he murmured to the blue box. He hadn’t known that the Doctor was at the Palace but it certainly came as no surprise. The little man seemed to turn up with little provocation. Never having actually seen the TARDIS he walked around it until he was back at the front of the door. Not being certain of the etiquette, he felt that one could hardly go wrong with knocking upon any door at which one sought entry, so he rapped sharply. He waited and was considering a second knock when the familiar umbrella toting figure opened the door and beckoned him in. In very short order he was ushered into what looked like sitting room, given a seat in a very comfortable Queen Ann chair and had a cup of tea thrust into his hand. The Doctor was prattling on about unnatural phenomena and Anton was thinking he needed to ask some pointed questions when the door opened again and none other than Miss Claudia breezed in.

Cindie
- Wednesday, April 03, 2002 at 16:38:20 (PST)

Early next day, Chris and Hamlet were approached by a large white unicorn with ivory horn and hooves. Chris looked at the mare, and thought she resembled the Healer who had made her headache go away after the attack, but wasn’t sure. She tensed a little, almost unconsciously, worried that it might be an attack again, but glanced around and saw the other unicorns grazing peacefully nearby. She forced herself to calm down and realised she was holding her breath. Embarrassed, she reminded herself to breathe again, but her shields were ready to go up at a moment’s notice.

The unicorn bowed her head briefly, and introduced herself. “I am Za’ni, a Healer,” she said. With that brief introduction, Chris knew that this was not the mind that attacked her, and she relaxed visibly. “Ki’li mentioned that one of you had Healing potential, and I am here to assess you both, and train you if needed.”

Chris and Hamlet glanced at each other briefly. How had Ki’li known what happened the night before? They had decided not to tell anyone at the moment, not really certain what it entailed. Yet it appeared that the unicorns knew anyway. Za’ni, seeing the confusion, and perhaps sensing the turmoil in their minds, smiled gently. “Allow me to explain. You know about our ability to do magic and you have been introduced to the more rudimentary mechanics behind it. What you were probably not told is that each time you perform a task with magic, others with the ability can sense it. Several of the unicorns felt your healing from quite a way away, but as it was a successful channelling, no one interfered.”

The two humans looked at each other thoughtfully. Chris frowned for a moment, not sure if she liked the thought that her magic would be subject to everyone knowing what she was doing. She smiled as she realised that some of the feelings she was feeling actually came from Hamlet, who was letting his emotions run riot. This was getting confusing.

Chris <why1040@aol.com>
Okay, so it's been a while again...but what can you do when you win a vacation to Jamaica?, - Wednesday, April 03, 2002 at 00:20:02 (PST)

The Interrogator pocketed a pair of keys as he slithered through the darkened hallways. Some of his men stepped aside or made a slight bow as he passed, he had truly gained some respect (actually, they feared him) these past few years. He stopped at number 384 and peered in, glancing about. The girl was flopped on her bed, smothering her face into a pillow. He opened the door with a squeaky swing, thinking to himself, should get one of my boys to come down here with a can of WB40 … (couldn’t resist)

Diane looked up, her stomach growled, could they be bringing her food? No, it was a man, a man who made her shiver just at the sight of his heartless glowing eyes. He wore no expression at first, till it turned to an evil half-smile.

" I hope (he chuckled) that you have been enjoying yourself … (he paused for effect) Diane." She sprung a look upwards.

" How … do you …" She was stuttering horribly, yet he seemed to get what she was attempting to say.

" How do I know your name? Oh Diane, I know much more than that…" She gulped, he inched closer, she slid backwards. Her heart pounded in her chest fiercer than a drum, lines of sweat tinkled down her back, he folded his arms, and glared down. " You’ll be surprised at what I have in store for YOU."

(Yeah, I know, again, dumb, but hey... ;)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Getting the show on the road.., - Tuesday, April 02, 2002 at 19:10:02 (PST)

Italics fixed MA - you can come out the slammer!

Diane check the Quick Guide to Punctuation and HTML linked at the top of the page.

Claire
Dept of Corrections, - Tuesday, April 02, 2002 at 12:06:09 (PST)

He placed down a mug of coffee, smacking his lips so the soundwaves echoed from wall to wall. Had he actually found a prize, one he could use to his own good will? (Good … hah, that is the last thing he’ll ever be) He once again glanced back at the scanning he had done on the notepad, such detail, such life, such enthusiasm! And she was only 11! Thus he read over just one simple page, it may seem boring to practically anyone, but, to him, it meant a little bit more …

The sun had crept up, the morning star, waking me from my vast previous night’s sleep. I yawned and trailed northwards from my cushioned bed, to retrieve a set of clothing for the day.

I had walked on down my navy blue carpeted stairs to meet up with none other than a pistol, laying on the countertop. I fingered it carelessly, wondering, why had it been laid here? I looked about, Mom and Dad were still sleeping soundlessly, and ran a finger along the polished barrel. I was curious, like most kids my young age, and I couldn’t help but wanting to pull the trigger …

What an exquisite entry! He thought to himself. Maybe he could use her in more than one way … but no matter what, he had to talk to her, to encase her in his web of delusion, to make her his for the taking, a grand buffet with all you can eat cuisines …

(yeah yeah yeah, I know corny... but hey...)

(also, I don't know how to do italics (HUH MARY ANNE???) but Diane's entry is supposed to be in them... so, use your imagination ladies!)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
from SAS DVD audio commentaries: " Well, Alan would be mysterius playing as the milkman.." *bursts out laughing and falls over, no, this time the chair stays where it is..*, - Monday, April 01, 2002 at 20:52:16 (PST)

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