Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

Mistral had watched the exchange between Mary Anne and this Snape character with interest. He hadn’t meant to overhear their encounter at all but having observed Mary Anne leaning precariously over the rail he’d placed the drinks he’d gotten for himself and Cindie upon an obliging table and moved toward her with an admonition ready on his lips. When she’d seemed to lose her balance his call to her still remained unspoken as he observed the black clad arm snake out and pull her back to her feet. At that point he had stopped and watched the scene unfold from the doorway where he was standing, ready to proceed to the foredeck. Afterwards, he picked up the cold beverages and resumed his journey back to where he had left Cindie, who, he expected, was still shaking her head in amazement over the slap that had reverberated throughout the ship.

He hadn’t proceeded far when a voice assailed him with a frigid snarl, “What were you doing spying on me?”

Mistral pulled up short as the black clad newcomer with the ponytail blocked his path with arms akimbo and a look that would freeze the flippers off a penguin. Mistral merely nodded complacently at his accostaire. The man’s black eyes narrowed and Mistral felt as if the other man expected him to cower. “Sir.” he began curtly, “If I’d wished to spy on you I would have taken pains to hide my presence. As it was, I merely observed some interaction between yourself and my friend.” If Mistral placed a slight emphasis on the last word of his reply it was subtly done.

Snape’s eyes narrowed further and he seemed to loom up as he stood in the passageway. “It is just as well for your friend that I was there.”

Mistral now narrowed his own eyes. “Yes, it was most fortuitous. If you wish to discuss this matter in greater depth I would be pleased to do so. However, I would deliver this drink to my …another friend, before the ice melts. If. You. Please.” Mistral managed to sweep past Snape with imperious hauteur despite the fact that there did not seem to be sufficient space between the other man and the bulkhead manoeuver. After he was past, Mistral turned and addressed Snape again in a voice teaming with cordiality, “Why don’t you join us?”

Numerous reasons for not joining this man and his …other friend marched through his head but Snape nodded his acquiescence. “Yes. I will do that.” He had after all, just saved one of the muggle women from going overboard and had carried on an extensive conversation with her after. He knew the Director, to whom he was indebted for his room and board just now, had told the muggle healer to bring him along. The man had ordered him to relax and mingle with his cast-mates. He wasn’t quite sure what a cast-mate was but clearly he was expected to expend an effort and be social around these people. Very well, he could do that. He was not convinced that this man was not in fact sent by Voldemort to track his movements and hadn’t been spying on him. Beyond that, if he was to survive to confront Voldemort he had to learn to blend in and function long enough to find a way to reverse this curse. Much as it galled him to have to play along with the charade, at his point, it was, as the muggle expression went, the only game in town.

Accompanying the man who introduced himself as Mistral, Snape begrudgingly admitted to himself that he seemed fairly intelligent and did not seem to require the inconsequential prattle that so many people, wizard and muggle alike, seemed to seek refuge in at balls and such. They arrived at the foredeck and Snape observed a woman wearing red pants that didn’t even cover her ankles and a red short sleeved shirt that was open at the throat. It was difficult to adjust to the amount of flesh muggle women displayed but he had ceased staring and had to admit that, on the whole, the women who worked on this tee fee show were a very attractive lot. She had reddish brown hair with streaks of gold which he suspected came from a potion bottle and was reclining upon a collapsible chaise of the sort he’d observed scattered about this ship. When she heard them approach she sat up and he saw her smile at the sight of Mistral. He noticed her eyes were a soft brown, rather like the colour of a Disburdening Draught, and that they were entirely for the man bearing the drinks. They greeted each other and Mistral placed the drinks on a round table next to the chaise. At her enquiring look, Mistral then undertook the introductions.

Snape took Cindie’s extended hand and bowed over it. The table next to her chaise had chairs around it and Snape and Mistral sat down. Snape was grateful he was not expected to lay about in broad day light in front of other people. It seemed absurd and self indulgent not to mention completely lacking in dignity. The woman didn’t seem concerned with her dignity as she sipped her beverage and let out a contented sigh. “Sangria. . .” she pronounced the word dreamily, “I’ve only had it once before and it wasn’t anything as good as this.” Snape peered over at her clear plastic cup. It seemed that they had taken some unsuspecting red wine and plopped assorted fruit into it. He suppressed a shudder even as the sun shone full upon him. How would he ever manage to distill anything among these barbarous people.

Mistral had a glass of wine, sans fruit, but noting Snape did not have anything took it upon himself to walk over to a small cabinet and take out a bottle and some glasses. He returned and poured out a generous quantity of the amber liquid into a tumbler and placed it next to Snape. Then, ignoring his glass of wine, he poured another tumbler for himself and took a sip. Wishing to appear at ease, Snape sniffed the liquid and did the same. His eyes widened involuntarily as the liquid seared his throat and took up residence in his belly. A small fire began to smoulder and he took another sip. Mistral smiled and said, “Glenfiddich.” Snape wasn’t sure if that was the drink’s name or some sort of muggle toast so he simply nodded and sat back with the glass in hand. Perhaps this mingling wouldn’t be so bad as he had thought. He noticed that while Mistral had brought over three tumblers, he had not served the woman he had introduced as Cindie. Snape smiled, or rather ceased to scowl and taking a gamble that it had been the name of the beverage, asked if she wished some Glenfiddich, pronouncing the word carefully so as to be sure to get it right.

Cindie demurred and replied that she’d rather drink rocket fuel. Snape wasn’t sure if she was making some sort of jest so again did not reply. “What did Mary Anne catch back there?” She addressed her question to both of them.

Snape, knowing both who Mary Anne was and what she had caught, took another sip of his drink and seized this opportunity to describe the shark in detail and was continuing on, “I was planning on speaking with the crew because the fins are useful in. . .” He stopped speaking, suddenly aware of what he had been about to say. “… soup.” He finished lamely. Will I never learn, he castigated himself, but the two of them simply nodded and continued to discuss fishing. Mistral it seemed had spent a good deal of time fly fishing. This made no sense to Snape but he nodded at what seemed appropriate intervals and continued to sip his beverage. He liked this Glenfiddich but felt that he’d best not indulge in another lest he begin to recite limericks about potion’s ingredients. After he finished it, he stood up. “It has been a pleasure meeting you both.” To his surprise, he found that, along with his conversation with the woman with the amazing blue eyes, it had been a pleasant interlude.

Mistral stood and extended his hand. Snape knew this gesture now and shook it. Cindie extended her hand as well but when he took it Snape bowed over it as he had before. It seemed to him that the women liked that better. He took his leave and went in search of the people who had taken the shark. He really did have uses for several parts of it and didn’t wish to allow this opportunity to pass. As he walked away he wondered about what else might be available in the depth of the water.

Cindie
Whisky & homages.
Jutta, thank you for the use of your Professor. , - Saturday, August 31, 2002 at 16:01:38 (PDT)

"What I still don't understand," Hamlet complained as Alexander poured brandy into a snifter and handed it to George. "Is why you attacked the shark in the first place."

The heap of towels shifted as George shrugged his shoulders. "It was quite simple, really. Only the need to defend itself will stop a shark from attacking. I grabbed hold of the dorsal fin and when it veered away to shake me off, I punched it in the eye several times. People say that you should hit the nose but eyes are even better."

"And the shark swam off without finishing its attack. Incredible, really." Hamlet shook his head. "You're a damn lucky man all the same."

"Am I?" George started morosely down into his drink.

"Well, what did you expect?" Alexander poured a drink for himself and reclined on the deep cushions. "The woman was ready to dive into shark-infested waters and all you were worried about was whether people were looking at her chest. You should feel lucky she didn't clobber you with the oxygen tanks."

George closed his eyes and leaned back against the cushions. The taste of seawater was still strong and his arms and shoulders ached from his experience. But it wasn't the physical ailments that troubled him the most. How could he begin to explain to his colleagues his relationship with Joya?

He would never forget the day he met her. Driving through the Cotswalds country on the way back to London, he'd become aware of motor trouble and pulled over to the side of the road. He knew nothing of the interiors of cars and had stood fuming in frustration at the uncooperative vehicle until the sound of an approaching motorcycle penetrated his mood. He'd expected to find an ordinary citizen who would be overwhelmed with his celebrity and anxious to help; instead he'd met a magnificent blonde goddess in dusty black leather with long legs and huge blue eyes.

She'd taken in the situation with one glance and taken over immediately. First a cell phone call to the garage in the nearest village to arrange for the car to be picked up and then he'd found himself on the back of her vehicle speeding down the road. She talked vaguely of staying at a country house for the weekend but he'd not been prepared for the Georgian mansion set in its own parkland. A chauffeur had departed immediately to retrieve his luggage. A rather intimidating housekeeper appeared to inform him that his room was being made ready for him and that an evening meal would be served at his convenience. The whole thing had made his head spin.

But by the time his luggage had arrived and he'd had a chance to shower and change, he was in control of his faculties again. She was incredible. He had to have her. She'd disappeared almost as soon as they'd arrive but if he had to search every room he'd find her again. But it proved to be unnecessary. The housekeeper had met him at the bottom of the stairs and escorted him to a private parlor where a cold meal awaited him with two bottles of fine wine.

And two glasses.

As he looked around the room the door opened again and the blonde goddess entered. They stared at each other for long moments. Then she shut the door firmly.

And locked it.

It had been almost a full month before he got back to London.

George blinked and resumed sipping his brandy. And now they were both on a yacht with an ocean between them. Somehow he had to get her back.

Alexander and Hamlet eyed him warily. They weren't used to seeing him so silent and pensive. It could only mean trouble for someone.

Magda
- Saturday, August 31, 2002 at 12:29:32 (PDT)

On the sailboat . . .

The Director doesn't speak, his eyes searching the water . . .

"Then just tell me if you're all right." She pauses. "You know how I worry."

"I'm okay."

This is the stock answer between them. Meaning anything from I'm in a jam but don't worry about it, to I'm keeping busy but something is missing from my life, to things are pretty much okay with me but now I'm wondering if you're okay . . . .

"Alan."

She rarely addresses him this way; it reminds him of Topanga Canyon.

"There they are," he answers, and, satisfied in his appraisal of the situation, he turns now to look to her.

They? Who could . . . oh yes, the yacht. The party. "Have we found our way back?" Now it's Renie's turn to look--and indeed there is a craft growing on the horizon.

"I expect we will--those are some of my friends, who are making sure I arrive at the party. I have a constant escort. I've got a Graff. I've got a Trudchen. I've even got a dog. I imagine the police are half worried I'd try to slip outside the radar."

Hans' navigation is true, and the strong wind pulls the catamaran quickly towards the two ships, one small plain boat, and, beyond it, but now nearing them, the grand ship. Its letters gleaming in the sun.

The DAKOTA.

She takes his hand, almost unconsciously, and squeezes it. He wraps his fingers around hers.

"Please, be careful," she murmurs softly, though he could hear her speak if she were a million miles away. "You don't have to go to the party--you could--"

He shakes his head, and releases her hand, his fingers sliding across the inside of her palm. "They need to see their fearless leader, in action. I refuse to let this attack cause any more disruption on my set."

She can see that he is right, and doesn't argue. The cast and crew need to be together now. In times of trouble, a family comes together. And he needed them as much as they needed him to be there. It was all a matter of support. Of love.

The Director shakes his head, and true laughter escapes his mouth--low in melody, and a joy to hear. "I can see those wheels turning!"

She laughs, freed, for the moment, of everything else.

"Then let's enjoy ourselves, shall we?"

A perfect landing, as Hans draws alongside the yacht, and helping hands bring them all back aboard . . .

Glad you're here, Clods!
At least it was an unmarked Coast Guard cruiser...give Graff & co. some credit--R, - Friday, August 30, 2002 at 10:32:36 (PDT)

Oops. *gulp*

You know, Mister I, you don't have to accept every challenge . . .

MA
Claudia, dear, I meant to say how good it is to see you, too!! 8-), - Thursday, August 29, 2002 at 17:04:21 (PDT)

A welcome challenge.
I
- Thursday, August 29, 2002 at 15:59:24 (PDT)

Renie, liebchen, email me please....
Barbara the Wallpaperer
I have to talk to a woman about a Director...., - Thursday, August 29, 2002 at 12:00:53 (PDT)

Just a side note--I was chuckling to myself over the comments about Voldemort hexing people's computers. What, you mean we now have someone besides The Interrogator to blame when thing go wrong? ;-) I'm not sure whether HE will consider this a welcome change . . . or a challenge.

MA
Good to see you back, Jutta! , - Thursday, August 29, 2002 at 05:04:14 (PDT)

She stretched, as she climbed the steps from the cabins below up to the main deck. She wore a frilly crop top over a long tie-dyed skirt, and on her feet were plain leather flip-flops. Her blonde hair flowed freely about her shoulders. She pushed at the door at the top of the steps and turned to hold it open for her companion, who wore a very loud red, orange and lime green Hawaiian shirt, paint-stained cut-offs, and had bare feet.

They blinked as they came out into full daylight. “I wonder if anyone is here yet?” said Claudia. “You should have woken me up - I only intended to close my eyes for a minute.”

“Looks like we’re all at sea,” grinned Ed. “So if no one is here, we’ll have to be content to party by ourselves.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. There was no sign of anyone, but the rumbling noise of people laughing and talking floated to them on the sea breeze. “We’re on the wrong side of the boat!” she exclaimed. “Come one, I hope we haven’t missed anything!”

“This is Flights of Fancy, me dear. Get this lot together, and mayhem is sure to follow.”
Claudia
I said I wasn't coming, but who could resist all the sunshine?, - Wednesday, August 28, 2002 at 19:31:05 (PDT)

Question marks replaced.
Voldemort's been busy. He hexed my computer yesterday.
D.o.C.

Dear DoC, Voldemort seems to have hexed my computer so it's writing question marks where there shouldn't be one. Shall I email the entry to you or do you think you can figure it out without?
Thank you so much.
Jutta
I really hate to be such a know-it-all, but *I love you* in german is written *Ich liebe Dich*., - Wednesday, August 28, 2002 at 08:44:25 (PDT)

At the yacht:

"Therese?" Jutta looked around the corner.

"Oh, hello, I had looked for you when I came, but I couldn't spot you." Therese smiled.

"I managed to pour juice over my shirt instead of into my mouth." Jutta gestured to the hem of her white shirt which was wet. "But I managed to get it out with water and soap. And then I stayed in the coolness of the lower deck until it was too cold even for me."

Therese nodded at her friend: "Inevitable trousers."
Jutta wore her beloved Marlene Dietrich-trousers, this time made of light cotton material, blue as always. She grinned: "Yep. Did you exspect anything else?"

"No. But at least your partner is wearing a dress."

"My WHAT??" Jutta's scream turned several heads.
Therese gestured to the bar where a bad-tempered looking Snape was terrorizing the young barman who had just presented the drinks list which in Snape's view left a lot to be desired.

"He's NOT my partner. The Director asked my to bring him with me as we are both living at the accommodation house. That's it! And it was a piece of work to bring Mr. Misery Guts here, I can tell you. I had to drag him kicking and screaming. He behaved like the first man on Earth! And he?s not my partner!"

"Oh suuuure." smoothed Therese, "of course not, how did that idea ever get into my head?!" She took a sip of her drink and remarked: "He should be getting on with George: eccentric black clothing and should be avoided when in a temper."

"The Professor? Temper? The temper of an ice cube perhaps."

"You should hear the rumours flying around the set. He scared an makeup girl nearly to a nervous breakdown."

Jutta thought for a moment: "Minnie Walston?"

Therese looked astonished, then smiled again. She sometimes forgot that Jutta saw the entire crew every other week: "Yes. She surely came to you, asking for valerian pills, didn't she?"

"Even if she did, I'm not allowed to tell you. So, what are we to do until supper time? Just chatting and drinking? I've heard rumours of a pirate's treasure to be found."

"I know someone who could play the pirate." Therese enjoyed this. Jutta had definitely blushed when suspected of having Snape as her partner. This could be a lot of fun. "Your friend looks the part easily."

Jutta's eyes narrowed: "You're doing this on purpose."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I happen to know that you like men like that."

"Men like what?"

"Dark-haired, sarcastic. You had a crush on George once. By the way, he seems to have broken up with Joya, you still have a chance. 10.15 and don?t bring a friend."

"Who has friends like you doesn't need enemies."
Therese laughed. Jutta laughed too: "Come on, let's get another drink and a bit closer to this dark-haired, sarcastic professor of mine?"

Jutta
I neglected Snape in the last weeks. Mea culpa. I hope it won't happen again. BTW, does anyone have contact with Julie? , - Wednesday, August 28, 2002 at 08:36:23 (PDT)

Gleaming sun. Sparkling waves.

Three glasses, not one--but two--men, and one bottle of Veuve Cliquot.

Ssssssssshshhhhhhhhhh. The sailboat sluices through the waves, and a neat little spray shoots upward, as the catamaran cuts through the water like the Director's voice cuts across the set.

Cleanly, with no effort wasted.

"Ready about!" comes the Director's warning, and Hans and Renie comply by switching their champagne flutes from right hands to left.

Laughter.

"You are both of no assistance at ALL." A-TALL. "Now I've lost my wind." The Director casts them both a look which warns them off of any wise crack.

"Don't sailors ever say please?" inquires Renie, as she watches the Director bat at the tell-tale.

Hans answers loudly enough for the Director to hear. "CAP-tains do not say please, Renie." Hans pours nearly the last of the sparkling wine into her glass. He whispers to her, and the words are lost at sea.

The Director peers in the direction of where the yacht ought to be.

"Hans, will you take a turn at the helm, or aren't you game for a go?" Hans shrugs at Renie, hands her his glass, and moves confidently towards the aft of the boat. The Director rolls down the sleeves of his white shirt, and pours the remains of the bottle into his virgin glass.

Within seconds, the wind blows into the main sail, and the tell-tale stands straight out.

"A better SAILOR than I!" calls the Director back to his leading man. A clink of his glass against hers. And a pleased expression.

"Why, you've done it on purpose. Does the rest of the cast know you're such a sneak?"

"A toast," offers the Voice, by way of answer.

"To?"

No answer.

The sailboat skips over the water, and no more words can be heard.

R
See, I knew you all would be on the same side of the boat! LOL! , - Tuesday, August 27, 2002 at 17:59:08 (PDT)

The silence stretched out endlessly. Joya looked up at the faces surrounding her. "Where's George?"

Alexander Dane knelt on the deck. "My dear, we must get you out of that wet dress before you catch your death of cold. Come downstairs to the cabins."

"Is George down there?" She stared at him in confusion. "I thought he was behind me."

"He was indeed behind you. He saw the situation clearly and did what he had to save you from that shark." Alexander took a deep breath. "He was a brave man. You should always remember him that way."

"Shark? He was a brave man?" Joya struggled to her knees. Water cascaded from the multitude of folds in her dress. "Where is the steward? Was a large crate delivered to the docks in my name this morning? Where are my suitcases? Oh, damn this dress!"

Joya erupted out of the small crowd, holding her dress up with both hands and padded barefoot across the deck. The startled steward jogged beside her, babbling answers to her questions. They disappeared down the ladder to the cabins below.

The others stared after her, then looked at each other. Alexander cleared his throat. "Well, I must say she's being very plucky. Could have dissolved into tears or something." The men made various noises of agreement, relieved not to have been subjected to a woman's emotional excess.

"'Plucky'? Is that what you call it?" Sandy hit his arm hard with her fist. "Try 'heartless'! Try 'cold-blooded'! She didn't even look over the side of the boat!"

"Well," Alexander shrugged. "This is George we're talking about. Maybe she's actually relieved. It must feel like being paroled. She's free again."

The truth of that statement struck everyone else forcibly. They cast their minds back over the previous months. They'd all witnessed George's almost despotic efforts to keep Joya all to himself. He'd discouraged any effort at social mingling and displayed an almost clinical obsession with her clothing. The most casual greetings were watched over with a brooding intensity that surprised even those who'd known him for years. Yes, perhaps Joya was better off. Still, the women thought to themselves, after all that time together, all those hours of passion, she could have shown a little emotion...

The sound of metal striking metal startled everyone. Joya surged up the ladder from the cabin area, two tanks of oxygen dragging behind her and a facemask and flippers dangling from the other hand. Her lips compressed into a firm line and she ignored the remonstrations of the captain following in her wake. But it was not the gear that caused every male jaw to drop in amazement. It was her outfit.

Every man on board the yacht was committed to another woman, fully and irrevocably. But at the same time, every man on board the yacht was human. And only a corpse - and a long dead one at that - would not have been affected by a skin-tight tankini with cut-off diving briefs. Her long legs were accentuated by the lethally long dagger strapped to one of them. The women were affected too - it was hard not to appreciate the successful application of engineering principles to the diving suit.

She strode across the deck and dropped her equipment on the deck beside the rope ladder. The captain, pale with agitation, whispered urgently to her. Joya listened as she stepped into the flippers, then slung the tanks over her should and attached the straps securely. Finally she looked the captain full in the face. "No. That is my last word on the subject. I am going to get that shark. Now stand aside."

Almost in spite of himself, the captain retreated. Joya examined the facemask and adjusted the strap. A tense silence held the observers in its grip. They glanced helplessly at each other. Was she serious? Shouldn't they try to stop her? (The men.) Couldn't she put that huge dress back on? (The women.)

Joya placed one hand on the railing and looked down into the water with a grim scowl. Then she froze, her hand tightening until her knuckles were white. A series of thuds could be heard, then one hand appeared, flailed the air and then grasped the railing. Someone was panting heavily, drawing in gasps of air almost painfully. Joya laughed with delight and tossed the facemask aside. Crew members ran forward to seize the hand and pull as hard as they could. A tousled black head of hair, now soaking wet and stringy, followed and soon George was on the deck being attended by most of the crew.

He lay for some moments, breathing deep and often. Joya set her oxygen tanks aside and fell to her knees beside him. Her long fingers stroked his hair tenderly and a sweet smile curved her lips.

Finally he opened his eyes and stared at the sky above. At a sign from the captain, two of the crew gently lifted him to a sitting position. George examined them curiously, as if he could not understand who they were or where he was. Joya sat back on her heels and smiled fondly when he finally looked in her direction. He eyed her from her hair to her knees. She stroked his arm, her hand trembling slightly. He blinked, his breathing becoming more erratic, as he struggled for speech. Joya leaned forward, her lips parted. With an herculean effort, he finally managed to talk.

"Are you out of your mind? What happened to your dress? Get down to that cabin and put some clothes on! Immediately!!!!" He whipped around to face the stunned observers across the deck, shoving a crewman forcefully aside. "And all of you animals better just put your eyes back in your heads! She's spoken for already!"

Joya frowned. Lightening flashed from her blue eyes. "George. Look at me."

"Eh? What?" He glanced back at her. "Why haven't you gone to change -"

WHAP! The sound of the slap echoed in the silence. Joya rose to her feet and crossed the deck to the ladder. At the top, she glanced over her shoulder. "You no longer have any right to express an opinion on anything I might do. We are finished, George." She turned her back with finality and disappeared into the cabin area.

Behind her, the crewmen rushed away to other tasks that were safely on the other side of the boat, the FOF actors grinned at each other and some pumped the air with their fists, and George sat with his jaw hanging open, staring at the place where Joya had stood only seconds before.

Magda
Joya NEVER shrieks - outside the bedroom, anyway, - Tuesday, August 27, 2002 at 16:17:58 (PDT)

Scene: The Gruber home.

Avoiding the mirror of her dressing table, the wife of Hans Anton Gruber finishes her preparations for bed. The long night closing into the early morning hours of the day to follow.

She slides the thin silk champagne skirt down her hips. Her dinner meeting had been a success, the documents duly signed, and glasses raised to seal the deal. And the after-dinner Hansbank appointments that Colin had scheduled for her had gone well . . . as well as could be expected.

As she slips into her long caramel-coloured nightwear and wraps herself into her dressing gown, she reflects on the night's events . . . The financial world was difficult for the titans to rule; and Renie, though proud of her intelligence and talents, was surely no titan.

Truth be spoken, she had felt unequal to the men who tonight had sought the might and soundness of the Hansbank. While she could speak for its intentions, and relate critical and even complex information, her word was not the word of Hans Gruber. Perhaps it was more that she felt unequal to her husband.

No one was better aware that the Hansbank was flourishing because it was perceived as the leader in the financial world. And Renie also knew that the power was not only perceived, but real, and based on the hard work of men and women like Colin, and many others, besides Hans.

But.

The keys to the kingdom belonged to Hans. Volatile players. Sensitive information. That certain way to handle it all. That way of kneading everyone and everything into a comfortable fit, was a skill at which her husband excelled. To Hans, it was all he knew. There was no other way but to win.

And if he didn't win on a particular day, he would win the next day.

He would see to it.

A smile forms at Renie's lips.

He had seen to it. He had pursued her, without interruption, without complaint, without equivocation, in the unflagging belief that she would be his, despite the odds, despite all she had been through, and at whatever the cost.

Her bracelets, save one or two which she nearly always wore to bed, begin to make their way into their covered glass jewelry box. Though box it had never been; it was a bowl: in size, more like a tureen, with glass ridges which waved up from its floor of translucent pale green and blue, the bottom of the glass piece formed an ocean, and its divisions undulated and rose up from the bottom, here and there, with grace and beauty, to carry her favorite glittering passengers, each evening, safely until morning.

Hans had given it her today. Before he'd left for . . . .

In flashback: Hans' private office.

. . . "And will you give my special love to Mary Anne."

"And to Herr Brandon. I shall not leave anyone out." Crossing the short distance, between them, Hans had his hands behind his back.

As he approached her, Renie nearly begged him not to go, to stay instead, to forget all she'd asked him do. She settled for three words instead.

"I love you."

"Ich leibe dich, meine Abendstern." His hands came out from behind his back. A large carefully wrapped package, so large, in fact, that Renie wondered how she could have missed it, there behind his back . . . she had been looking at his face . . .

"What is it for?" As if everything had to be for something.

Hans lifted his chin only once to tell her to go ahead and open it. "Do I need an excuse to give my wife a gift?"

The lid was wrapped separately, and bore the signature of the master glass blower of the Gruber Glassworks, Max von Hofstätter. To say the design and quality of his work was exquisite was to funnel the talent and experience of his apprenticeship and traditional technique into a glass thimble. Yet this she did.

"Exquisite. Oh, Hans."

"Open the base, meine leibe." She unwound the padding. "You remember the glass treasures at the Kunstpalast Ehrenhof in Düsseldorf? This man could name every influence on every piece of glass in that collection. Yet he proudly claims he has the hands of a craftsman, not an artist. And his pedigree--he's a descendant of Franz Hofstätter, and named for Max von Spaun. He knows the work of the Glasgow School, the Vienna Succession designers, and of course the Wiener Werkstatte in 1903 . . . "

"I don't know my Loetz from my elbow . . . " She smiled, softly, and he wanted her, then and there.

"You mean you've never heard of the Thuringian glass blowers?" He slid the sleeve of her silk suit up without losing a beat. "This is your elbow, by the way." He kissed it. One. Twice.

"Ferengean??" Hans hadn't stopped at her elbow. "I--I think I can find the rest of me . . . "

She was not at all sure she could, though, without his help . . .

. . . Now, she is alone, sitting at her dressing table. With Hans far away. She gently lifts the lid back onto the glass base, her bracelets to set sea . . . when she spots an envelope, leaning against the mirror, addressed to her.

The writing she recognizes.

Sorry, you know how you just have to post what you have to, when you have to . . .
R, - Tuesday, August 27, 2002 at 13:35:36 (PDT)

On the yacht:

Brandon steps away to round up iced drinks for Mary Anne and the others who have helped to land the shark, and Mary Anne hurries to the rail to see if she can get a glimpse of whatever commotion is causing Joya to shriek George’s name with such excitement. Or is it excitement? Perhaps it is terror?

Mary Anne leans out over the rail . . .

And at the exact moment of realizing that she has leaned too far and is about to lose her balance, she finds herself hauled away from the rail by an iron grip on her upper arms and set down firmly on the deck. Heart fluttering after her narrow escape, she turns and breathes, "Thank you-"

And then stops at the sight of the man before her. She had expected it to be Brandon, or perhaps Mistral. Maybe Dev.

What IS his name? I saw it on the schedule . . . Severe something. Snape, that’s it. Severus Snape.

Mary Anne collects herself. "Thank you, Mister Snape."

"Professor." The correction is instantaneous and acid.

Mary Anne goes crimson but keeps her temper in check-after all, the man did help her. "Thank you, Professor. I’m glad you happened to be there."

Almost any other man would smile and reply with something along the lines of, I’m glad, too, but this man does not; he simply scowls down at her from his considerable height as if he were having second thoughts about the rescue.

Mary Anne lowers her gaze as though in confusion and quickly appraises him in one sidelong glance. Not a handsome man, but then again, not an ugly one either. His height accentuates his thinness and the sallow tones of his skin might give an impression of ill health-but then Mary Anne recollects the strength of his grip upon her upper arms. Nothing sickly about this one, that’s for sure. It must be the clothes.

Snape’s clothing does accentuate his pallor. Mary Anne has caught glimpses of him about the set as he stalks about in a long black robe, but it seems that his taste runs to black for all occasions: in his loose dark trousers and long-sleeved black linen shirt, Snape appears much the same as he does on set. He is an ominous and unsettling presence, but a striking one, nevertheless.

His eyes are his best feature, Mary Anne decides. Deep-set, but wide, penetrating, and black as ink. Black as his dead-straight hair, which is shining clean for the occasion and tied neatly back with a black leather thong.

Mary Anne makes all of these observations in a matter of seconds, before she lifts her head once more, smiling at Snape and consciously widening her eyes in the full force of that deep blue gaze. "What are you a Professor of, sir?"

Mary Anne has seen all sorts of responses to that look. Even The Director is not proof against it. It has been known to send tremors through most of the males on set, even the formidable Grubers and the sardonic Mistral. What it does to Christopher Brandon could hardly be repeated in polite company.

Snape’s only visible response is a slight widening of his own night-dark eyes. "Chemistry."

Mary Anne sighs. "How fascinating. I have the greatest respect for scientists-and you’re a chemist, yet. I’ve always admired Marie Curie. What that woman accomplished in chemistry, and under such conditions!"

"I have heard of her," replies Snape, and Mary Anne wonders for a moment if she has understood him correctly. Heard of Madame Curie?

"The conditions did not matter. What did matter was her skill and dedication. She did have brilliance, of course, but with such will one can thrive even in a . . . dungeon."

For a moment, Snape had been positively animated. No longer. But Mary Anne is unwilling to lose that moment; something had happened to his face when he spoke with such intensity on a subject so obviously dear to him. Then, that strange hesitation in his speech . . .

"I know I don’t have that sort of brilliance," laughs Mary Anne, "but I did enjoy my sciences at university. I think it was C.S. Lewis who said that he was interested in science, but found that whenever you try to study a science, sooner or later you find the lion Mathematics lying in the path . . . is something the matter, Professor?"

Snape grimaces. "Nothing serious." Those eyes: dark, but full of fire, somehow. "I have a few unpleasant associations with . . . lions."

Mary Anne attempts a bit of gentle teasing. Very gentle. "Not bitten, I hope."

"Almost," comes the unexpected reply. "But not by a lion. This was . . . different."

Snape’s scowl is so threatening that Mary Anne hastens to distract him, even though she can sense that his ire is not directed at her. "I’m glad you were able to join us for this outing, Professor."

"Glad? And why should you be?"

Startled, Mary Anne looks up at Snape. Is he trying to be rude? If so . . . but no, he really wants an answer. "Why-because I like to meet all my coworkers and . . . get to know them. You never know when we might have to work together, do you? The storylines take some unexpected paths at times . . ."

"Yes. They do." A look from under those dark brows. "Yes, at times you do find yourself working under . . . unusual conditions."

"All the more reason to try and prepare in advance," declares Mary Anne.

For the first time, she gets a smile from him, though a more grim and saturnine smile could hardly be imagined. "And how would you suggest preparing for unusual conditions? By definition, it would be hard to prepare a defense against something you could hardly anticipate."

Mary Anne tries again. "Maybe." She summons her most charming smile-and her most charming smile is definitely on the high end of the scale. "But I find that plenty of sound sleep, good friends, and good food can fortify me against almost anything."

"Sound sleep is a luxury," replies Snape, and though there is not one iota of self-pity in his tone, Mary Anne feels her throat close up in sympathy for him, without having the least idea why. "Good friends are a luxury and a rarity, as well. I shall have to settle for good food."

Mary Anne lowers her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Do you like chocolate, Professor?"

"Only after an attack by a De-" Snape halts abruptly; again, that curious hesitation in his voice, and Mary Anne wonders if his defensive and stand-offish attitude could be due to a speech impediment.

Snape clears his throat and rallies. "-by a demanding day," he finishes.

A line of poetry from Thomas Hardy, there and gone in Mary Anne’s mind:

The smile on your face was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die . . .

She shakes it off. "Next time you’re having a demanding day, stop by my cube. We’ll raid my secret stash."

"I may hold you to that."

If only he’d smile more-but when he does, it’s frightening. Leave it be. "Please do." She offers her hand. "It’s been pleasant to speak with you, sir."

He accepts her hand, but only for an instant as he bows over it. "Wonders never cease," he replies, and then steps away to inspect the shark as the crew finishes securing it. Unnerved and puzzled, yet intrigued by her conversation with the mysterious Professor Snape, Mary Anne curls up in a lounge chair a good distance from the rail and waits for Brandon.

After a moment, she moves her chair from the shade of the awning out into the full sun of the deck-UVA and UVB to the profoundest pit. She dares immolation.

Snape had only touched her hand for a moment, but she is still shivering. His fingers had been as cold as ice.

MA--thought Snape could use some time out in the sun. 8-)
So, has everyone fallen overboard?!, - Sunday, August 25, 2002 at 20:39:29 (PDT)

FoF Party -- The Yacht
Morning of Day Seven of the Investigation (slight flashback)

The Director scowled at the police officer standing at parade rest by the foremast. He turned to Trudchen, his administrative assistant. "This is his idea of discreet?" he sneered.

"Discreet, sir?" Trudchen asked, her accent thickening her voice.

"Detective Graff," the Director replied. "Get me his number."

"Yes, sir," she said, and hurried off.

The Director simmered until she came back with her dayplanner. He handed her his cellphone. Trudchen punched in the number as he continued to glare at the police officer -- who was pointedly ignoring him. The phone dialed and she handed it back to him. He lifted it to his ear, waiting to connect. He introduced himself to the switchboard. "Get me Graff," he snarled into the phone. "No, I want his cellphone." The switchboard operator spoke in his ear. "I don't care," he told her. She spoke again. "Then you tell him to call me. Immediately." She started to speak, but he overrode her. "--I don't care if you wake him from the dead. I will speak to him. Good day." The Director turned back to see Trudchen watching him with wary eyes. He looked her in the face and she lurched an involutary step back. "Sorry," he said, an apologetic half-smile.

"Not a problem, sir." Trudchen looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, thank you." The Director frowned in exasperation. "Will everyone sope asking me that. I can't walk down the street without tripping over police officers every time I turn around; I've got a dog in my flat, with someone who's allergic to them; I've answered the same bloody question 50 times in the last 20 minutes." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Perhaps you should make an announcement, sir, so we do not ask you anymore," Trudchen offered.

"Thank you, Truchen," the Director said after a moment. "I believe that would be an excellent idea." He moved off to the wheelhouse to speak to the yacht's captain.

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

Annie sidled up to Trudchen. "So?" she asked timidly. "What'd he say? Do they know who did it?"

"No, Anne," Trudchen returned, coolly, "he didn't say. He may make an announcement later. I suggest you don't approach him about the incident. He's a little -- touchy -- about it at present." She sipped water. "Now, why don't you go find Melyssande and talk about... clothing... for a while?" With that, Trudchen moved off to join others at the front deck -- where a three-piece jazz group was warming up, leaving Annie behind, with downcast eyes.

Annie went to the rail and leaned on it, her tiny hands dwarfed by the metal pole. She looked out over the side and down at the wake of the bowsprit cutting through the water; she could hear the shrieks of laughter as Sandy tried to pull in her catch. Tears welled up in her eyes and she began to cry, silently, in the shadow of the mast. A soft touch on her shoulder brought her back to herself.

"Ma'am?" Annie turned to look up at a tall, cheerful woman -- who was looking down at her with concerned eyes. She wore sailor's whites. "You really shouldn't lean so much on the rail, especially without a life preser-- are you all right?" Her voice was so gentle, so caring that Annie began to cry harder. The crewwoman led her down the deck to a quiet area behind the galley.

Annie fell into a chair, sobbing and trying to talk. A glass of water appeared at her elbow. "She always does that," Annie said. "It's like I'm just not smart enough for her. It's always her who gets to decide what we're going to do. It's always her who everyone asks for advice. It's always her ideas that everyone listens to -- even when she steals them from me. No one ever listens to Annie Ledbury. No, it's always, 'Trudchen has it all figured out; we'll go with her plan.' If Trudchen wanted to jump off a bridge, everyone would do it. What makes her so smart, anyway, huh?" Annie sniffled and drank the glass down. "Just because I don't follow the Director around all day with a clipboard doesn't mean I'm stupid, does it?" Annie looked up at the crewwoman, who she discovered was holding out a box of tissues.

"Of course not," the sailor said.

Annie took a tissue and blew her nose. "Thank you, uhm..."

"Elena," the woman said and held out her hand. "Elena Bothari."

"Annie Ledbury," Annie took her hand and smiled.

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

Elena Bothari shook the tiny woman's hand. She'd worried about a suicide. She still did. This little creature had no self-confidence at all -- Elena cringed at how grateful the little thing had been just to be listened to for a few minutes. Tiny Annie Ledbury obviously had no idea how pretty she was -- that smile transformed her face.

"Will you be all right?" Elena asked.

Annie Ledbury nodded. "Yes. Thank you... Elena?"

"Yes," she said. "My pleasure."

Annie Ledbury left the room, making her way back to deck. Elena Bothari sat at the table, frowing at the pile of tissues. She rose, abruptly, and crossed to the emergency medical box. Pulling out a pair of latex gloves, she pulled them over her fingers. She snapped open a clear plastic bag and gingerly dropped the tissues inside. She opened another bag and placed the now-empty waterglass in it. She sealed both tightly and wrote on the attached tags. Ledbury, A. 11 a.m. Crew galley. She placed the two plastic bags in a small locker at the end of the galley and locked it with a padlock. Then she pulled off the gloves, and threw them away.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
MA -- what, professional courtesy?, - Tuesday, August 20, 2002 at 22:57:37 (PDT)

On the yacht (slight flashback):

Though peripherally aware of the turmoil all around her, Mary Anne works steadily at landing her catch, and with the combined help of Brandon, Mistral, and Dev has finally brought it alongside the boat and heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief as uniformed crewmen scramble to get ropes on the shark to drag it aboard.

"Mako?" she asks one of the crewmen, and he pauses in his labours to look down at the creature still thrashing in the water below.

"No, miss, mako’re kind of a steel blue colour on the top, not gray-brown like that. Looks like you caught yourself a porbeagle."

There is a scatter of laughter, and even Brandon cannot help smiling. "The perfect shark for you, Mary Anne."

"Well, if I dropped one of those in The Director’s lap, he wouldn’t find it so soothing," chuckles Mary Anne, flexing her red, aching fingers. "How big is he, do you think?"

"A good two metres or more," replies the crewman as the shark is hauled up from the water. "Fine catch, miss! He put up a right fight for it, but you got him."

"I’ll have to get my picture made with him-" begins Mary Anne, before she is interrupted by Joya’s cry of "George! George!"

MA
Maybe the sharks won't hurt George--they might have a lot in common! ;-), - Tuesday, August 20, 2002 at 18:03:11 (PDT)

Joya stared at George with wide eyes. "What did you say?"

He thought fast. "I said it's getting dark."

Joya looked up at the clear blue sky where the sun shone brightly. "Did you hit your head on something?"

Fortunately, George was not listening. He was watching the fight between the fishing rod and the shark at the end of the boat. That one looked well and truly caught but where there was one shark there was bound to be more and there had been doing a fair amount of splashing around. It was only a matter of time before unwanted company arrived.

He tightened his grip on Joya and stroked through the water as well as he could with one arm. She did not look good. Her lips were almost blue with cold and her teeth were chattering in between gulps of air. He could feel her own efforts dwindle until she was simply hanging onto the lifesaver and letting the others pull her along. Thank God the yacht was only yards away now. Not much further...

"George!" Joya stiffened and her head snapped around to glare at him. "This is no time to get romantic! Let go of my leg!"

"Your leg?" He stared at her. "I didn't touch your -"

At that moment renewed screams and shouts erupted from the deck of the yacht. He glanced over his shoulder. Just below the surface of the water a white-gray shape seemed to be stalking them. He had only seconds to make a decision. It didn't take that long.

He pulled Joya close for one quick kiss and released her. The removal of his weight gave an added impetus to the rescue and Joya shot forward as the rescuers hauled with even more fervour on the rope. The action churned up the water. The white-gray shape appeared again, closer to the surface.

George tread water as he waited for the beast to get closer. Then he yanked apart the ties of the life preserver and slipped the orange vest over his head. The shark veered away from Joya to investigate the closer movements. George took a deep breath, dove forward with all his might and seized the dorsal fin with both hands in a strong grip. The shark bucked and twisted at the unexpected assault, then dove under the water with the man clinging to its back.

Joya reached the safety of the rope ladder. Hands seized various chunks of the acreage of her dress and hauled her over the railings to safety. She slid to the deck, exhausted, and tried to push her hair out of her face. "George? Where's George?"

Silence greeted her question. The men and women on the yacht exchanged helpless looks.

Magda
Email me, Sandy, - Tuesday, August 20, 2002 at 17:10:12 (PDT)

Everything was a mess, a giant catastrophe. Flights of Fancy members and crewmen had skittered themselves all over the boat, the largest portion peering over the edge of the ship at the two figures bobbing below. On the other end Mary Anne was fighting constantly with the shark, and Joya was doing her best to scoot away from the popping up dorsil fin. It was at that time when the life savor decided to reveal the hole in its side and begin to deflate ("Bloody thing! Can't those morons ever make ANYTHING correct anymore?" "George!!!") while the rescue ropes got continually wound and tangled up, until they gave up and tossed them aside into a heaping pile. Screaming and yelling came from above and below, echoing in the air as many paniced. Mary Anne dare not try to give up her struggle now, though her arms were starting to ache and strain, even with the help of Mistral and Brandon tugging on as well. Sandy with Alex, Chris, Cindie, and Hamlet were all trying to play rescue- but it only ended up in Sandy almost toppling overboard herself arms flailing in the air, and she would have fallen if not caught the last minute by Alexander.

In the background three other members hovered: Jamie, Diane, and Jasmine. Diane felt herself little of help, as her vision had not fully been repaired; Yet she HAD tried to be of use and throw down another life savor- but her aim was poor and had ended up as shark chow. Jasmine, on the other hand, was shocked and terrfied at the same time. Her hand was placed over her heart to stop it from beating so fast, eyes wide. What had happened to the relaxing massages and getting a sun tan? Jamie himself was also scared- and revealed to the others that since his *death* he had never gone near a big body of water- he didn't know if he would sink, float, or somehow disappear into a mist or what-not. Besides, there was enough confusion at the one side of the boat that they would be more of a problem rather than help- and, as Diane had mentioned, smiling, "Not everyone should run to the one side of the boat anyhow."

It was now that these three had become restless, and quite bored. No longer was it pleasurable to sit and mock at the worried expressions pasted on the others faces, nor joke at what would happen if Sandy HAD flung over the railing. Diane twitched in her seat, wishing she could DO something, and Jasmine kept pulling out a hairbrush, attacking her long head of hair. Jamie, on the otherhand, had something else in mind.

He rose from his seat, mittens and all, and trudged to where Mary Anne was still holding on with the shark- though she looked rather fatigued. Opening her mouth to say thank you for his offered help, he instead pulling up his OWN fishing rod, a bucket of bait, and trotted back to his former companions. She gave a slight huff and turned back to the line, which was tightening and retracting every moment.

"Jamie," Diane started, blinking. "What ARE you doing?"

"Thought I'd try my own hand at fishing."

Jasmine rolled her eyes. "Honestly, at a time like this?"

"I've got nothing better to do."

"Well, he's got a point," mumbled Diane, frowning. "But from some previous events with fishing, I'd much rather do something else. Care to join me Jasmine and take a tour of the downstairs?"

"Sure, heck, why not?" Jasmine stuffed her brush back into her totebag and the two ladies waved to Jamie, who was too busy baiting his hook. Finally satisfied with his work, he cast his line, and waited.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. It seemed like the fish at this time weren't biting- probably from the sharks hanging around. But he didn't give up, and once or twice re-casted and stood at the edge, waiting.

He looked down, blinking. Had there actually been a tug, or was he imagining it? Nope, there it was again! Unlike Sandy's line, it was merely pulling- but not away. More like... someone ringing a bell. Astonished, he began to crank in the reel, and though he did not feel any forceful straining to get away, there was indeed a weight set upon it. Pulling, he brought up the line to reveal... A fish. Yes, it was a fish, for certain. But he swore under his breath, goggling, as the fish before him was the most unusual thing he'd ever seen: It was STANDING on the hook, two fins like hands placed on its hips- that is, if a fish had hips. And... was the fish... glaring at him?

"Please, honestly, don't you humans have ANYTHING better to do?" Jamie's eyes went wide and round. He gagged for a minute, stepping backwards and almost tripping over a lawn chair.

"Look. I ask you a simple question, and I'd like a simple answer." "I'm dreaming..." muttered Jamie. "I'm dreaming... must be..."

The fish rolled its eyes, and gave a, yawn? "Oh stop it with all the jabbing and stupid nonsense, you worthless being. Must be a real idiot, if the only thing you try and do is scoop us out with that curved metal piece of yours. If that's the best you can come up with, you humans, then I'd suppose you all go and drown yourselves in sorrow, in shame," spiffed the fish. "Trying to go and catch ole Joe here like that, well, I'm telling you now, sonny, you've got eggs for a brain!"

"Now see here!" roared Jamie, furious. "I won't take any insults from seafood!"

The fish (supposedly named Joe) waved a win in a ignoring manner. "Now, I command you to release me at once, you insolent twit."

Jamie felt foresure this was something due to being dead. But... for some reason, he didn't want to throw it back.

"I told you to release me! This instant! Or you will pay, dearly!"

It was quite a funny site, to see a fish shouting its large mouth at you, flopping in your hand in a fury, eyes glowing red. Jamie snorted. He'd show this fish who was the idiot.

"I'm warning you..." growled Joe. "I have friends..."

Jamie, still amazed yet at the same time enjoying this, pulled a nearby pail of water towards him by edging it with his foot. He dropped Joe in with a slight SPLASH and put a lid over the top.

"WHY YOU STUPID IDGET, YOU IDIOTIC DUFUS OF A MAN!!! I'LL TAKE MY REVENGE, I SWEAR IT THAT I WILL!!!" But his voice was now muffled, and Jamie was left, laying back in the lawn chair, smiling. Though, as he now thought to himself now, I swear never to eat seafood again.
Diane <imaaalanrickmanfan@harrypotternetwork.zzn.com>
Thanks to a bit of help from Sandy! ;) , - Tuesday, August 20, 2002 at 16:52:00 (PDT)

Aboard the Party Yacht:

"Are you sure that's not Valmont that you caught down there?" Sandy's voice broke in.

"Ouch! That was harsh," Chris laughed and turned around to face her friend. She saw that there was no trace of merriment on Sandy's face. In fact, she looked rather - perturbed - as she stared down into the water as the shark's dorsal fin cut the surface again. "What's up? I know he's not one of your favorite people in the world..."

"It's not important," Sandy answered curtly. Her hands clenched tightly around the fishing rod, the knuckles turning white.

Alexander overheard the conversation and he turned in their direction. He blinked in surprise at the barely contained anger on Sandy's face. He walked over and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Are you all right?" he murmured. He brushed a lock of hair that had strayed over her left eye.

Sandy's face softened. "I'm fine 'Lex, really," she replied in the same quiet tone. She was about to say something when she heard a loud thump. She turned around just in time to see an overnight bag come flying over the rail. It barely missed hitting a crewmember's head. That was followed by a larger suitcase that the other crewmember standing next to him just barely managed to catch before it slammed against the wall. He stumbled a bit, but kept his balance.

"It seems we have another arrival," Hamlet murmured, an eyebrow rising in curiosity.

"Drop that suitcase, you incompetent twit, and I'll see that you get sacked on the spot!" a voice snarled.

"George," Sandy and Chris chorused, exchanging glances and rolling their eyes.

"That man *really* needs to take an attitude readjustment pill," Chris observed, leaning against the rail and shaking her head.

"In all honesty, I don't think it'll help him," Alexander replied darkly, putting his arm around Sandy's shoulder. She immediately slipped her arm around his waist. The four of them watched as the dark-haired Englishman stormed onboard, giving the crewmember who had caught the larger suitcase his best glare.

The four of them then leaned over the railing and saw that Joya was about halfway up the ladder, a look of intense concentration on her face as she continued her climb onboard. "What the hell does she have on? It looks like a tent, for crying out loud!" Sandy gasped, completely forgetting about her fishing rod and the activity going on next to them.

"A very expensive tent too, by the looks of it. Mister Jealous and Insecure has struck again," Chris replied, rolling her eyes. "She looks none too pleased by it either."

"I don't blame her," Alexander added in, turning his head in George's direction. George stared back at him, his face a dark cloud of fury before the dark-haired man turned away and snapped at the hapless crewmember again. "Get over yourself!" he muttered under his breath.

The young man piloting the water taxi suddenly revved up his engine and pulled away from the yacht. The noise startled Joya and she lost her grip on the ladder. She let out a loud shout as she fell into the water with a loud splash. "Good Lord!" Hamlet cried.

A loud cry went up. "WOMAN OVERBOARD!"

Startled shouts went up from the others, and Christopher and Mary Anne frantically re-doubled their efforts to get the shark she had caught onboard. Sandy almost fell from her seat as she hurried after Chris, Hamlet, and Alexander. She looked over the railing and saw that Joya was splashing next to the moored yacht, but she couldn't reach the rope ladder no matter how hard she tried. In the meantime, Alexander had managed to pry one of the life-savers from the side of the boat and was tying a rope Chris had found nearby onto it, while Hamlet tied the other end securely around several rails. A crewmember threw a lifejacket down to Joya, who immediately put it on and continued to splash. "Hold on, Miss! We're coming for you!" he shouted as grabbed another lifejacket for himself.

George pushed the crewmember away, snatching the lifejacket from his hands as he fell onto the floor. "Don't even *think* about it!" He put the lifejacket on over his shirt and tied it to him securely.

"George, STOP IT! I don't care WHO gets me! Just get me out of here!" Joya called out. "Hurry! This water is freezing!"

"Joya, catch this!" Alexander called out as he threw the lifesaver over the side of the boat. It landed with a splash next to her and she swam towards it as quickly as she could. The material of her dress, because of its sheer volume, slowed her progress dramatically, but she was able to get over to it eventually. She grabbed hold of the lifesaver and held onto it for dear life. Sandy and Alexander held the rope steady and began pulling Joya to the ship.

Hamlet grabbed another lifesaver. He and Chris frantically tied opposite ends to the railing and lifesaver respectively while George slowly made his way down the rope ladder, one arm left free so he could grab Joya's hand. The crewmember who had been pushed away before got to his feet and started to put on another lifejacket. Two more crewmembers also had donned lifejackets and the first one got ready to climb down in order to assist them.

"Be careful, George! The ladder's..." Joya called out and her blue eyes widened in shock when George lost his grip in the same exact spot she had. She watched as he fell into the water with an equally loud splash. He came to the surface a moment later, sputtering and coughing. He swam over to Joya and grabbed her, intent on rescuing her.

Alexander and Sandy's arm and back muscles strained as they began pulling the two of them towards the ship. "HOLD ON!" Hamlet yelled and threw the second lifesaver over the side. George managed to catch it and slipped it over his head. He and Chris began pulling also.

George saw the splashing over where the others had been fishing earlier. His eyes darted up towards the boat and he saw Mary Anne's blonde hair glistening in the summer sunshine, Brandon by her side. The two of them were clearly fighting to pull up whatever was caught on the line. His eyes widened when he saw a dorsal fin cutting the water's surface and he yelled, "SHARK!" before he could stop himself.

"WHAT?!" Joya yelled back.

Sandy
~ picking it up from where you left off, Magda..., - Monday, August 19, 2002 at 08:10:54 (PDT)

The water taxi buzzed over the tops of the small wavelets of the bay. None of the occupants seemed to mind the bumpy ride: the pilot at the wheel because he was only nineteen and had left high school before they got around to "fear" and "self-preservation", the passengers in the small cabin because they were too wrapped up in each other to notice anything short of being capsized.

George reclined on the cushions, his arms crossed behind his head, smiling tolerantly while Joya proffered her most sincere thanks for the present now lying on the floor beside them. The bundle, carefully wrapped in the official paper of one of the most exclusive designers in France, was torn at one corner enough to provide a glimpse of azure blue cloth, shot through with almost imperceptible gold threads. It had landed on the floor within seconds of Joya's glimpse of the colour.

"Oh, George, I still can't believe you bought it for me." She lifted her head and smiled down at him lovingly. "I was wild about that dress! How did you know?"

"Just because I had shopping doesn't mean I don't pay attention." He tilted his head back to allow her greater access. "Hmm, that was nice. So I can take it that you like it?"

"Yes!" Joya bounced to her feet and retrieved the partly open present. "I'm going to get changed right here and wear this to the party. Can you pull the curtains, please?"

He pushed himself on one arm and adjusted the drapes obediently. A smug smile curved his lips. His plan was working better than he'd anticipated. A good rule to follow, he mused, lying back on the cushions and crossing his arms behind his head again, always spend the necessary cash for a really special present to make a point.

Joya tore off the paper and let it fall to the floor. For several seconds she held the folded dress in her lap, admiring the colours and the fabric. All that was immediately discernable was the shoulders and neckline but they were worth pausing to admire. The neckline was square and edged with small gold seashells strung along lines of blue and green beads. They were spaced far enough apart not to jangle vulgarly when the wearer was in motion. The sleeves were attached to the shoulders with small flutes, indicating billowing folds of cloth. She remembered that they extended only to the elbow and shivered in anticipation of the wonderful feeling. Holding the dress by the shoulders she stood up and shook out the folds -

- and stopped dead, a ludicrous look of dismay on her face. The dress cascaded to the floor in a waterfall of vibrant colour and what looked like acres of cloth. Great pleats big enough to hide a fist in hung from the neckline. It didn't look at all like a dress but rather a tent.

A satisfied voice came from behind her. "The only size 34 in the whole shop. I checked."

With an effort of will power, Joya schooled her face to remain calm. "It's certainly - unique. Um, what made you decide to buy this size?"

A lazy chuckle answered her question. "We're going to a party on a yacht in the middle of a large bay and there will be several men present."

"I see." Joya lowered the dress and reflected for a moment. She turned around slowly. Holding the dress in one hand, she began to unbutton her shirt with the other. George lay back on the pillows and concentrated on the view.

The pilot pulled up to the side of the yacht with a final roar before cutting the water taxi's engine. People peered over the sides and the captain shouted instructions to his crew. Rope ladders appeared and swung in the winds just beside the prow of the water taxi.

The door of the small cabin opened and George stepped out, an overnight bag in one hand and a larger suitcase in the other. He squinted around and then looked back into the cabin. "I've got your suitcase. Better hurry."

Joya appeared in the doorway. One hand holding a huge bundle of cloth, she stepped out on the deck and followed George to the ladders. She examined the ropes and wooden rungs carefully, and then looked down at her dress again. With a deep sigh, she put one sandaled foot forward and began to climb.

She was about halfway up the ladder when disaster struck. The sounds of excited men and women came from the far end of the yacht and she paused briefly to look over in that direction. Bobbing heads and fishing rods were the only visible signs of activity. She shrugged, took a firmer grip of the excess cloth, and resumed climbing. So intense was her concentration that she did not realize that the water taxi was leaving until the pilot revved the engine. The rope ladder slapped against the side of the yacht, Joya's grip slipped and she fell backwards into the water, landing with a loud splash.

Magda
Anyone want to pick up on this?, - Sunday, August 18, 2002 at 15:26:17 (PDT)

On the yacht:

Mary Anne walks over to inspect the fishing rods. "I think I’ll give it a try."

Cindie grins. "I wouldn’t have thought you were the deep-sea fishing type, Mary Anne."

"Well, I’ve never tried deep-sea before-"

Dane passes over a fishing rod and Mary Anne bends it between her hands, testing it, then frowns and hands it back. "Too much give in that one."

"Well," offers Dane, "you want some give in your rod or it will snap on you-" At the smothered giggles of Sandy and Chris, Dane rolls his eyes. "I did NOT mean that the way it sounded!"

"I should hope not," snickers Mary Anne, when she can be heard above the roars of laughter from all within hearing. "I mean, that would hurt, wouldn’t it?"

"Oh, what’s the use?" huffs Dane. "Here, try this one."

After testing, Mary Anne nods approval of the fishing rod, rubbing the heavy-grade line between her fingertips and laughing over the size of the barbed hook. "I could snag the white whale with this!" Without waiting for Dane’s assistance, she lifts the lid of the bait chest, then turns back toward Cindie. "I’ve never done deep sea, but we used to spend two weeks every August in a fishing camp when I was growing up." She strikes a swaggering pose. "You’re looking at a woman who can bait her own hook, thank you very much."

"Euuwwww!" exclaims Sandy. "You mean with worms and everything?"

Mary Anne grins. "Worms, minnows, live crickets . . . of course, the trick is catching those long enough to get them on your hook . . ." She giggles as Sandy, Chris, Cindie and Therese all make assorted gagging noises. "Okay, so I skipped the crickets if there was anything else available. Let’s see what we have here . . ."

"What all did you catch?" asks Cindie as Mary Anne inspects the contents of the bait box and selects the largest cut she can find.

"Oh, some speckled trout sometimes. Catfish. A few times I caught a fair-sized bass."

"I’m a fair-sized bass," quips Mistral.

Mary Anne looks up from the bait array to grin at him. "I’ve heard you sing, Mistral, and there’s nothing ‘fair-sized’ about your bass. It would fill the Royal Albert Hall without a mike!"

"I didn’t know you could sing, Mistral." Brandon’s mild surprise causes everyone to look expectantly at Mary Anne, sensing a good story.

"It was-" she begins, and then pauses at Mistral’s intent, narrow-eyed gaze. Though he is still smiling, there is something disturbing about that look: not a threat, but . . .

"It was one weekend on the set," she goes on, hastily, after baiting her hook and making her cast. "He was working in his cube and I suppose he didn’t know anyone else was there, because when I passed by he was doing the grandest job you ever heard on Men of Harlech!"

There is a wave of laughter: not mocking, but warmly appreciative as Mistral shrugs and retorts, "Well, and if a good Welshman can’t sing a round of ‘Hark! I hear the foe advancing’ when he feels like it, then I would like to know who can!"

Immediately, there are many requests for Mistral to regale the company with a song and he smilingly refuses, taking it all in good part and claiming that he doesn’t want to scare away the fish. Mary Anne, meanwhile, concentrates on setting her fishing rod in one of the stands that allow anglers to lock a rod in position on the deck and not have it snatched from their hands if there is an unusually strong strike. Having secured the rod, she glances up to find Mistral watching her; catching her gaze, he crinkles his eyes reassuringly at her and Mary Anne feels her heart skip a beat as she grins back.

Snick.

Instantly, Mary Anne swivels in her seat to look at her fishing rod.

Click. Click. Slowly, the reel turns.

Dev strolls over. "It looks as if you have a bite."

Mary Anne shakes her head. "Maybe, maybe not. That was a big bait I used; he may just be pulling at the end of it and not have the hook in his-"

ZINNNNGGGGGGGG!

The rod lurches and fishline begins playing out so swiftly that Mary Anne gives an exclamation of dismay and, keeping her fingers well clear of the heavy line, slams down the locking mechanism on the reel to set the hook. With a jerk, the rod springs upright and then bends almost double, rocking madly in the stand.

Brandon moves to stand by her, staring out at the water. "What on earth-?" he begins as Mary Anne releases the reel once more and the line plays out so fast that it seems to smoke on the reel.

"Be careful, Christopher; that line is heavy enough to cut your fingers off! I have to let him fight and get tired or I’ll never be able to land him. He’d have snapped the line or the rod if I’d kept him locked up like that."

Dane has moved to stand nearby, after gathering up a long bait knife with a serrated blade. "Just give me the word and I’ll cut that line, if you think it’s going to be too much."

"Thanks, ‘Xander, but I’d like to try," answers Mary Anne, never taking her eyes from the water. "Christopher, I think he’s slowing down-when I give you the word, grab that lever and crank as hard you can. He’d knock it right out of my hands, I know."

At the signal, Brandon obligingly turns the reel as hard as ever he can, though the resistance makes even his strong fingers ache; never mind what it would have done to Mary Anne’s. Near the boat, the water foams up suddenly.

"Holy mackerel!" exclaims Therese as a grey and white body breaks the surface, with a flash of dorsal fin.

"That’s not a mackerel," replies Mary Anne. "That’s a shark."

MA
My character just attracts predators, doesn't she? ;-) , - Sunday, August 18, 2002 at 08:27:06 (PDT)

Barbara, Does that mean we're on the seven day year plan? Sounds about right.
Cindie
Therese, are you out there?, - Saturday, August 17, 2002 at 19:42:31 (PDT)

"That will feed us all tonight." Jasmine grabbed a fishing rod. Alex handed her the bucket of fish peices to put on her hook. "Come on you guys. It looks fun." She walked over to where Sandy was. Jasmine cast her line.

The sun was pounding on them with its heat. It was getting rather hot on the yacht.
Jasmine
- Saturday, August 17, 2002 at 18:30:46 (PDT)

Italics fixed.
D.o.C.

Fudge! Suz, I did it AGAIN! The error is after "Austen."

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Who shouldn't be allowed to italicize any more...., - Saturday, August 17, 2002 at 16:57:56 (PDT)

Barbara's Flat
Morning of Day Seven of the Investigation, the day of the Party

Barbara was brushing her hair out when the doorbell chimed. "Uno momento!" she called, then smiled to herself. "One moment!" Clutching her hair in one hand, she peered through the peephole and saw Anton Gruber in the hallway. He's so elegant, she thought. I hope I don't embarrass him. Twisting hair around one hand, she used the other to click open the deadbolt.

"Entrada," she said and swung the door wide.

"Danke," Gruber said, stepping in. "I see you are not yet prepared to go."

Barbara flinched, inside. "Sorry," she said, "it's the hair."

Gruber's eyes lingered on her hand full of hair, like a headmaster's on a recalitrant pupil. "So I see." Zo I zee.

Barbara's heart beat a little faster. "It'll only take me a minute," she said. "I'll be right back." She rushed back to the bathroom.

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

Anton glanced around the front room of Ms. Vanders' flat. Three walls were covered in bookshelves; the fourth was dominated by a gathering of portraits. He stepped closer to the paintings. Each was signed with a florid BLV One was of a smiling man with sleepy blue eyes. Another of a pair of women, one dark and one fair, holding hands. But a pair of portraits commanded the center of the grouping. In one, a woman smiled at the viewer, her thick dark hair curling around her ears. Her light green eyes refracted the light. She sat in a high-backed Shaker chair. Behind her, within the painting, a window looked out into a paddock of horses. In the facing painting, a burly man grinned out. He was bald, and his head shone in the light streaming in from the window behind him. His eyes were bright blue, and merry. A brown mustache curled on his upper lip, a bushy beard covered his chin. White teeth flashed between them. He looked about ready to burst into laughter. The window behind him was filled with trees.

He moved on to the bookshelves. His mouth quirked at one corner. The books were arranged in alphabetical order, by author's last name. Aaronsen. Adams. Austen. He skimmed further. Bradley. Bujold. Cherryh. There was a large section for Connelly, Peter. He glanced further, touching on names that, more often than not, were unfamiliar. De Lint. Norton. Pini. Smith. Tarr. Turtledove. Large books at the bottom proved to be glossy reference books, with titles like Pompeii in Pictures and Thermopylae. A low table in the middle of the room was stacked with books as well. "Coffeetable books," Renie had called them. Anton leaned over and picked up the book on the top of the stack. Egyptian Architecture: The New Kingdom the cover said. He flipped a few pages before the quiet smile moved his mouth again. The set and prop design for Alexander Dane's storyline had been obviously inspired by this book. He lay it back on the table and returned to gaze at the portraits.

He was still doing so when Barbara came bustling back in, an overnight case in one hand and a soft duffel in the other. Her dark hair lay in a heavy braid down the middle of her back, the short tail at the tip brushed her hip.

"Are these your work?" he asked.

She swallowed. "Yes." She glanced at him delicately and touched the raised rim of the frame. "This was my mother," she said of the dark-haired woman. She touched the frame of the facing portrait of the laughing man. "This was my father." She smiled gently at the merry blue eyes.

Anton nodded. "I can see the likeness." He gestured to the sleepy-eyed blonde man. "And this?"

Her smile faltered. "My late husband. He -- passed on -- six years ago."

"Ah," Anton "My condolences."

She smiled, pained. Then shrugged. "It was six years ago... oh, dear," she said. "How would you prefer to be addressed? Mr. Gruber? Herr Gruber?"

"Anton will do," he said, calmly. "And you, Ms. Vanders?"

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

"Anton will do," he said, distantly. Vill do. Barbara melted and almost missed his question. "Und you, Mz. Fanders?" Barbara puddled.

"Barbara, please," she managed faintly.

He nodded. "Barbara." Barrrbarrra He spoke all three syllables, and rolled the 'Rs'. He moved to the door, with a prowling grace. "You are ready now?"

She stared at him, rooted for a moment, by her incomplete ability to make melted muscle reform. "Yes," she breathed. She caught herself and commanded her feet to the door. Go, go, she told them. "Yes, Mr. -- Anton." She smiled at him. "Quite ready."

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

She was a lovely woman, Anton thought. She wore a white blouse and a navy-and-white floral skirt. A pair of white sandals were laced around her ankles and up her calves under the skirt. He took the bags from her and placed them in the backseat of his Aston. He opened the door and she slid in, tucking her skirt around her knees. She smiled up at him as he closed the door. Crossing to the driver's side door, he saw her lean over and unlock it. He smiled at her in thanks, started up, shifted and they drove away.

He didn't see her swallow and flush at the smile.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Do you realize that this is my one-year anniversary for the Investigation of the Missng Laptop?, - Saturday, August 17, 2002 at 16:56:33 (PDT)

A Brief Flashback:

FoF Sets -- Offices
Morning of Day Six of the Investigation, immediately after the sketch artist works with the Director

"You didn't even try to stop that man from going to a party." Detective Ekaterin Silvert murmured to her partner. Her inflection of party left Detective Miles Graff in no doubt of her opinion.

"It would be pointless, Ekaterin," Graff replied. "He'd fight me on it and do it anyway." Graff lowered his voice. "Besides, we need him out there, active."

Silvert frowned, briefly, before her face cleared. "Bait," she said, flatly. "Wriggling bait."

"Worm on a hook, Ekaterin." He leaned toward his partner. "He's not going anywhere without a tail. I've got Thorne on him."

Silvert snorted, but relaxed. "Thorne's half-bloodhound. Who's his backup?" She held up a hand, forestalling him. "No, let me guess. 'Bulldog' Jesek. They're the best."

Graff nodded. "I've always admired their dogged persistance," he said.

Silvert groaned. "Miles...."

Graff grinned.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Therese, I think that idea for a self-help group would be a great idea. How does The Society of Negligent Posters sound to you?, - Saturday, August 17, 2002 at 16:54:53 (PDT)

Aboard the FOF Party Yacht:

"Come you two! You can do it!" Chris yelled in encouragement. "That's a pretty big fish!"

Jamie sneezed as he looked over the side of the boat to see what kind of fish it was. "This one's putting up quite the fight - and I think that's a haddock you've caught."

"You think they'll be able to get it onto the deck? They've been fighting with that for almost half an hour now," Diane said. Jasmine shrugged her shoulders and continued watching.

The only response was a loud grunt from Alexander. The two continued their slow pulling of the fish up onto the deck. Diane could see his back muscles straining as they struggled. His knuckles were white as he continued reeling in the fish while Sandy pulled. "On the count of three..." he muttered.

"One... two... THREE!" With a hoarse cry, the couple pulled mightily on the rod. The fish was slowly hauled onto the ship and it landed on the deck floor with a loud thump. The others stood back as the fish flapped about violently on deck. Alexander's face broke into a huge grin. "That's a beauty!"

"Nice job, you two! I'm getting the cook. Excuse me," Hamlet said and strode quickly towards the galley.

"Well done!" Chris called out over the scattered applause. She stepped away a couple more paces as the fish continued its struggling to get free from the hook. "That's almost as long as you are tall, Sandy!" she exclaimed with a grin.

"Whew..." Sandy murmured, wiping her forehead. She rubbed her forearms in an effort to give her cramped muscles a chance to relieve themselves. "The most I thought I'd catch is that old cartoon fishing standby - one of those big rubber hipwading boots!" she said with a chuckle. Everyone else laughed at that as she turned to Alexander. "Ready to get that hook out, Alex? It looks like it's finally slowing down somewhat."

"Yes, but be careful! That fish is none too pleased with its predicament," Alexander replied. The two approached the fish warily and knelt down next to it. Sandy took position close to the head and put her hands out to grip it while Alexander knelt in front of the head.

"Make sure it doesn't bite you," Sandy said.

Alexander glared at her and she giggled. His face broke out into a soft smile. "I'll be careful," he promised. Sandy nodded and returned the smile.

Hamlet, in the meantime, had returned with the ship's cook and the two knelt down to assist. "Nice size fish there," the cook grunted, watching as Alexander carefully removed the hook from its mouth. "I think I'll be able to do something quite tasty with it." The four of them rose to their feet holding the fish, who had finally ceased its struggles. A couple of the cook's assistants had also come up onto the main deck and they took the fish away after Chris insisted on taking a picture of Sandy and Alexander holding the fish.

"Does anybody else want to try their hand at fishing?" Alexander asked as he watched Sandy put another piece of bait onto the hook and cast her line out with amusement.

Sandy
- Saturday, August 17, 2002 at 04:26:01 (PDT)

Alex and Sandy held on as tight as they could, struggling to keep their balance. The top part of the golden fish was now visible throught the almost clear water. Everyone watched the war between the huge fish and the 2 people. Sandy and Alex were loosing...
Splash!
- Friday, August 16, 2002 at 19:21:48 (PDT)

Soon everyone from the sun-deck was gathered around the fishing equipment at the rear of the boat. Several rounds of drinks had been brought down, and there was much giggling as Alex was ushered up to the head of the group to start the instructions.

“Now, for those of you who hadn’t realised,” Alex said as the group quieted down, “this is a fishing rod.” As everyone laughed, Alex lifted one of the rods up and held it up for everyone to see. “The bit we catch the fish with is this hook,” he said, holding a nasty-looking hook at the end of the line up so the group could see it. “The idea is that we attach some bait to this, which will lure a fish into thinking that dinner is served, and it’ll grab it. Since the hook is inside, with a bit of luck, it’ll get stuck and we haul it back in, with the fish attached. That means dinner is served for us instead.”

A few minutes later, he pulled Sandy forward to have a go. He gave her a rod, and took the lid off a bucket hidden to one side. “I don’t have to put a worm on it, do I?” Sandy asked tremulously. Alex laughed and showed her the bucket, which was full of fairly large scraps of fish.

“I have never seen a worm that’s big enough to go on that hook, anyway,” Hamlet said with a smile.

Alex went back into lecturing mode, and explained. “Deep-sea fish tend to be much bigger than the freshwater fish you’d be used to thinking of when you think of fishing. So a worm would not even tempt it to the surface, never mind that the hook would be too small to be of any use in hauling one in!” He turned to Sandy, who was grimacing a little as she went to pick up a piece of fish. “Don’t worry Sandy, you can wash your hands once you’ve finished. Come to think of it, we may all need a freshen-up before dinner at this rate, but it’s fun!” He grinned, his face lighting up.

Sandy cast out her line, and everyone was quiet for a few minutes as the look of intense concentration on her face indicated that she was hoping for a fish. However, it soon became apparent that nothing was going to occur immediately, and so the group started talking quietly.

Just as Chris, Hamlet, Diane and Jamie had ended up in a discussion of temperatures, and Jamie was again complaining that it was cold, when Sandy gave off a surprised “Oh!” Everyone saw her being jerked forward as the reel started spinning furiously, slamming into the railing with a bit of a thump.

Everyone crowded round to see what was happening, as Alex put his arms around Sandy, grabbing hold of the rod’s now spinning reel and slowed it down. He locked it in place, ensuring that whatever she’d caught was held fast, before the two of them started to reel it in slowly.

The crowd was almost jumping with anticipation as the catch got closer and closer to the boat. The couple were clearly struggling, despite the combined effort, and there was an excited murmur as the group started to speculate as to what Sandy might have caught.

There was a collective gasp of surprise as they caught a first glimpse of the catch.

Chris <why1040@aol.com>
- Friday, August 16, 2002 at 08:04:52 (PDT)

hey... I guess you all updated this site. Good job.. I found somewhere else to write my stories.
mandy
hey, - Thursday, August 15, 2002 at 10:55:54 (PDT)

Renie....

His father is just as bad.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Wha-? No, no.... Barbara isn't a clothes horse -- it's easy for her to dress...., - Thursday, August 15, 2002 at 10:48:34 (PDT)

Oh Magda. *Thanks* for that. Needed it.

R
Hans always takes soooo long to get ready (yeah, blame him!), - Thursday, August 15, 2002 at 10:40:51 (PDT)

Flashback

The young woman turned every head as she walked through the store. Some people were discreet, casting sidelong glances at her magnificent figure as she paused to examine some merchandise that had caught her attention. Others were more open in their admiration; not coincidentally, most of the latter were young men. They stopped dead in their tracks and gaped slack-jawed across the racks of brightly coloured outfits. Even the sales clerks - who must have seen hundreds of customers, including dozens of beautiful women, every week - were affected, staring in open-mouthed awe. But it made no difference to the object of their attentions; she ignored them all.

She seemed to be searching for something special. Rack after rack of customized apparel were sorted through and rejected one after the other. A dissatisfied pout tugged at her full lower lip. Across the now silent store, men of various ages, professions and incomes yearned to provide whatever comfort she required.

The young woman paused at the end of the last rack and gazed thoughtfully at the merchandise displayed on the wall. Her scrutiny was thorough and intense. Finally she selected the item to her left, examined it closely for a few more seconds, then slung it around her shoulders and secured it at her waist. She adjusted her arms and wiggled her shoulders experimentally (three of the watching men almost fainted at the sight) and then looked around for a mirror.

The young man popped up between the racks so quickly and quietly that she gasped when she stopped in her tracks. For a moment they stared at each other, then the young man licked his lips and burst into speech. "I just wanted to tell you - I think they're beautiful! The most incredible pair I've ever seen!"

She blinked and retreated one wary half step. "Thank you."

Emboldened, he relaxed and grinned sheepishly. "I suppose you think I'm an idiot - or even worse."

She smiled in response; he was really only a youth, after all. "Not at all. I was just startled, that's all."

"Could I - that is, would it be alright if -" He licked his lips again, his fingers twitching. "Could I - touch them? Hold them? Just once?"

"Of course." With the slow, sensuous smile that had brought grown men to their knees, she shrugged first one shoulder, then the other. The straps slid down, then stopped at her elbows. The young man moaned in excitement.

A low, harsh voice cut into their conversation. "What is going on here?"

She looked around; her smile widening. "George! What wonderful timing. If you could just catch these things before they fall -"

The tall, handsome, depraved-looking man frowned suspiciously but obeyed her request. He lifted the double tanks of oxygen that she was wearing off her back. She nodded at the young man who eagerly stepped forward and began to caress the sleek metal cylinders. Vague mutterings about "pure zinc alloy" and "double module oxygen scales" filled the air.

George kept a wary eye on the young man but addressed his remarks to the woman. "So this is where you've been. I might have known. We've already missed the yacht so I've rented a water taxi to get us out to it. Late as usual, Joya."

"I'm so sorry, George." Joya slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and pouted up at him. "But I really need some new diving equipment and they are having a sale and it would be so wonderful to swim back to the dock after the party is over and I just couldn't resist. Do you forgive me?"

He glanced down at her briefly, then back at the ecstatic young man, who was now running the shoulder straps of the tanks through his fingers. "No."

"George!" She tugged at him playfully, then seemed to melt against him from ankle to hair. "How delightful! So you're going to make me beg for forgiveness?"

He looked at her again, more intensely this time. "Yes."

She sighed happily. "Let's go, George. It's going to be a wonderful night."

He smiled for the first time. For some seconds, neither spoke, absorbed in the other's feelings. Then George reached for the oxygen tanks, yanked them out of the young man's startled grasp and followed Joya to the cash register. The stampede of nervous men for the exit almost caused a breeze in the small store.

Magda
It's been a hectic summer; sorry for the delay, - Wednesday, August 14, 2002 at 17:00:28 (PDT)

Aboard the Party Yacht, Sun Deck:

Hamlet's face grew beet-red and he turned away. Chris rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle slap on the arm. "Get your mind out of the gutter, you nut!"

Mistral's eyebrow shot up as Sandy finished pulling off her tank top to reveal a pink, blue and purple flowered bikini top. He watched her as she neatly folded it and placed the shirt on the table a slight distance away from her bottled water. "Sandy, I don't think that was quite what Cindie had in mind when she asked that question."

Sandy chuckled as she and Cindie exchanged amused glances. "No, but this is a cotton top. Don't want to ruin the fabric," she replied. She uncapped her bottle of suntan lotion and quickly applied it to her lightly tanned face, arms, neck area and torso.

"That's your story, huh?" Alexander murmured.

"That's right, and I'm sticking to it." Mary Anne overheard the soft conversation and she snickered.

"Let me do your back for you," Alexander offered.

"Thanks," Sandy turned around and gave Alexander the bottle. She scowled at him sternly. "One bikini bra back snap and I'm throwing you overboard!"

"I'd like to see you try!" Alexander winked at the others as he squirted lotion into the palm of his hand. He began applying the lotion in slow, languid motions, making sure that the lotion was thoroughly rubbed into her skin.

"So wouldn't the rest of us!" Chris giggled. Sandy stuck out her tongue and raspberried her loudly, to merry laughter.

"I'm freezing!" Jamie grumbled when the laughter died down again. He pulled his coat around him tighter and began shivering. "I don't see why you wouldn't let me wear my scarf!" he exclaimed petulantly.

Diane rolled her eyes and sighed. "Jamie, stop being such a grouch! We're here to have fun, not listen to you complain about how cold you are!"

"Have you ever thought of taking an iron supplement? That might help," Jasmine supplied helpfully. Jamie gave her a baleful glance and she shook her head.

"Watch it! He'll blame the government again," Mary Anne quipped and the others laughed.

"Have you been reading up on what the government has been doing - or not been doing about the greenhouse effect?" Jamie growled.

Diane put her head in her hands and groaned, "Jamie..."

Brandon, sensing that a change of subject was sorely needed, broke in with a soft, "Jasmine, you're working with Metatron, right?"

Diane looked up, squinting in Brandon's direction and smiled. She mouthed a fervent, "Thank you!"

Jasmine nodded and smiled. "That's right. We're just starting." She gazed at the others and saw that Alexander had finished applying lotion on Sandy's back, following it up with a gentle kiss on the cheek, making the writer blush. "Cindie's right. Looking mahvelous and lying around can't be the only thing to do on this ship."

Alexander gave Sandy her bottle of sunscreen lotion and she put it inside her tote bag. "Did you see those fishing rods down on the main deck?"

"Yeah. What about them?"

Sandy turned around and pointed her thumb at Alexander. "Apparently, Alex has kept another hobby hidden from the rest of us - as in deep-sea fishing."

"Really?" Cindie gazed at Alexander, surprised.

Sandy nodded. "Alex said that he was willing to teach me how to fish."

"Brave man," Mistral rumbled. Chris began giggling and Alexander grinned wickedly at her.

Sandy rolled her eyes and rose to her feet. "Everybody's a comedian!" She tilted her head to gaze into Alexander's face. "Shall we 'meep' down to the main deck?"

Alexander groaned loudly as laughter broke out once more. "You're going to torture me today, aren't you?" Sandy smiled winsomely. "Stupid question." Alexander shook his head and slowly returned the smile. "We need to check with the Captain first to see if we're far enough out yet. If anybody else wants to give it a try, I'm more than willing to give lessons." He offered Sandy the crook of his arm and she slipped her arm inside it after grabbing her water bottle and the two began walking towards the stairs.

Hamlet turned to Chris. "Are you going down?" he asked as he rose to his feet. "I'm not a bad fisherman myself, although I've never done deep-sea fishing before."

"Are you kidding?" Chris replied excitedly as she also rose to her feet. "This is something that shouldn't be missed!" She and Hamlet followed the pair down the stairs.

Sandy
No Cindie, I'm quite all right, thank you very much ;-) Okay, Chris. Your turn!, - Wednesday, August 14, 2002 at 06:51:40 (PDT)

“Well hello there.” The shirtless man that Jasmine had noticed smiled at her. With his words the rest of the group looked up and saw the trio standing at he head of the stairs.

Mary Anne smiled and beckoned them over, “Hey there, Jamie and Diane, are you going to introduce your new friend?” The threesome walked over, pulling up lounge chairs as they joined the six cast members who were themselves lounging in varied states of relaxation about the sundeck.

Jamie settled Diane in a chair before making the round robin of introductions. “Jasmine, it’s nice to meet you.” Chris looked at the two ladies, “I wondered if you were both new since I’ve been gone so long.”

Diane began to update Chris on the new plot lines for the show that had sprung up during her absence. Jamie proceeded to stretch out full length on one of the lounge chairs and soak up the sun like a very contented reptile. Cindie reached in her bag and pulled out some sunscreen and rubbed it on the portion of her arms and legs left exposed by her red cotton crop pants and short sleeved shirt. “Anyone else?” She enquired, holding out the bottle.

Christopher Brandon reached for the bottle and Cindie passed it over. “Mary Anne, hadn’t you better. . .?”

Mary Anne sighed, “yes, I suppose so. I put on some SPF bazillion and one this morning but I’d better reapply since I’m out in this.” She gestured to the sun, which was at its zenith. “I’m such a delicate flower, I might wilt. Besides, the FoF viewers tune into see Fair-Skinned Beauty Mary Anne, not Boiled Lobster Mary Anne.” Her mischievous wink was directed entirely at herself.

“Just as long as its Maine Lobster,” chimed in Sandy. “Allow me the pleasure, dearest.” Brandon had already placed some of the lotion on his hand and extended his other for Mary Anne’s arm. She complied and then shifted to gift him with her other arm when he was done. Brandon also stood to apply the lotion to the back of her neck being careful not to get any on the frock lest it mar the fabric. He allowed Mary Anne to apply the cream to her throat although his fingers wished that task for themselves. Alas, another time. His smile at her when he resumed his seat bespoke this thought.

“Jamie, what about you?” Cindie asked when Brandon returned the bottle. “I mean, do you…?” She was not at all sure about the etiquette of the situation so she let the question trail off.

“I don’t know.” He sneezed.

“Bless you” the group chimed in unison.

“I’m never outside for that long like this.”

“Well, you’d better put some on. You don’t want to have your nose turn red.” Cindie tossed him the bottle and he covered what little exposed skin there was. Sunbathing in long pants and a coat seemed a bit odd, but then, this was Jamie. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” She turned to Mistral, “do you want to go exploring?”

He smiled, “my dear, you know I am always ready to be a party to your explorations.”

“Well, I don’t want to run off this minute, but I’ve never been on a yacht before. Besides lounging around looking mahvelous what does one do?”

Sandy gave a wicked grin and began to peel off her shirt.

Cindie
With kind help from the usual suspects.
Sandy, I'm sorry, was there something else you wanted to add at the end of this?, - Sunday, August 11, 2002 at 19:12:04 (PDT)

I knew nothing about Alan Rickman and his work until I saw "Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone". I was fascinated by Professor Snape's voice despite his being the villain. After rewinding the tape over and over I looked AR up on the web and then started watching his other movies. It was "Sense and Sensibility" that really reeled me in,though. I thought he was great as Colonel Brandon. Since then I have seen "Die Hard"; "Blow Dry"; "Galaxy Quest"; "Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves"; and "Michael Collins". I am waiting for some others I ordered to arrive.
Diane <bobbalu475@aol.com>
It is great meeting so many other Rickman fans!, - Sunday, August 11, 2002 at 10:20:25 (PDT)

"Wait, do you hear that?" Jasmine put her index finger to her lips to quiet Jaime and Diane. "Laughter.Other people are here. Lets go see." She turned on her heel and walked around to the other side of the yacht, followed by the other two.

The laughter was louder now, men and women. Jaime had managed to take the scarf from Diane and was now wrapping it around his cold neck. "You would think the sun had frozen over.Really, it is so cold. Who is that laughing?"

He strolled up the stairs to the sun deck. Jasmine and Diane followed him, rolling their eyes as he complianed, yet some more, about the weather. They emerged at the top, looking at a group of people.

Jasmine had never seen any of them before. They all seemed to be laughing, except this one shirtless man. Jasmine smiled as the group noticed that the 3 of them were standing there.
Jasmine
It starts..., - Sunday, August 11, 2002 at 00:13:32 (PDT)

Diane waddled around the yacht, her sandals flopping on the polished wood floor. Jamie kept stopping to look at it and smile.

"This is very nice wood… brilliant… just look at it…"

Jasmine rolled her eyes, hands still stuffed with bags. "Well, you can bend over and kiss the boards for all I care, but I need to SET-THESE-DOWN," she growled through gritted teeth. Diane nodded, head turned to Jasmine but then walked straight into a metal pole. She moaned with a wince. "Don’t worry," she continued looking to Jamie’s alarmed face. "She used to do it ALL the time at school." Diane’s eyes became murderous, and Jasmine instantly closed her mouth.

The trio had now trailed over much of the boat, yet no one was to be seen. Laughing was heard off in the distance though, but right now with the ladies arms about to give away they needed to find their rooms. (And perhaps lock Jamie in one. "Diane, I forgot my medicine… I’ll be miserable… I know I’ll catch a cold… it’s sooo frrrreeezing!") Suddenly a man in a white loose sailor top rounded the corner and tipped his hat at them.

"’Ello. Anything I can ‘elp you with, miss?" he said to Jasmine who was ready to topple sideways.

"Please…" she peeped through her bags, "tell us where the rooms are…"

He nodded and pointed down a group of stairs they had just passed. "Go down, take a right, then swing to the left. But if you want, I’ll call down sum of me lads and we’ll git your stuff to your rooms fer you."

"Oh, that would be lovely…" Diane breathed.

"I need yer names."

"Diane, Jamie, and Jasmine. We all have different rooms."

The man whipped a shiny notebook from his pocket and jotted the names down, but not before raising an eyebrow at Jamie and blinking for a minute. He leaned over and whispered into Diane’s ear, "Yer friend there- is he gonna be alright?"

"It depends on what your perspective of *being alright* is," she murmured back. Jamie gave them a glare, as if wondering what was going on. The man slowly nodded, shrugged, and pulled a whistle to his lips. A shrill noise sounded, and within the minute they were accompanied by two more men. "Good service," she nodded, smiling. The men asked for the luggage and they gave them up pleasingly, grateful to not have the extra pounds to carry. Jamie especially was happy, and practically threw the suitcase at them.

Diane turned her head to the sky, the sun beating down warmly upon them. She opened up her duffel bag which she had kept and pulled out a visor and a pair of sunglasses. Jasmine was already wearing sunglasses, and adjusted their position on her nose. Jamie only reached for his scarf.

"Now, honestly, I CANNOT have you wearing a SCARF!" she barked, ripping it away from him. He instantly made puppy eyes and whimpered.

"But Diane, puh-lease, I’m sooo cold…" He inched closer so that their feet almost touched. "Puh-lease… Dianey…" She looked away, hunching over in laughter. Jasmine did the same, and leaned on a table for support.

"Di-d-Diany???" She buried her head in hands, trying to contain herself. Jamie grinned and reached for the scarf, but Diane shook a finger and tutted.

"Nope. You already look like a fool. I’m not going to be seen with an abominable snow monster!" He opened his mouth wide in anger as if to protest but she quickly formed the wool into a ball and stuffed it into his open gullet. "Now shush- let’s find some food or something, I’m starving."

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
I'm open for interaction!, - Saturday, August 10, 2002 at 13:09:48 (PDT)

FOF Party Yacht, post Suzanne and Rupert's arrival onboard:

Chris craned her neck as she looked around, frowning. Hamlet's eyebrows rose as he watched her. "What are you looking for?" he asked curiously.

"Not *what*, *who*," Chris clarified. "Sandy and Alex should be around here somewhere. There's no way on Earth that they'd miss this party. Plus, you know how much Sandy hates being late for *anything*," Chris replied with a grin and continued her search for her friend.

"Tell me about it," Hamlet nodded in agreement, rolling his eyes. He was about to say something else when he saw Cindie and Mistral walking towards them. He gave Chris a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

"What?" Chris turned in the direction that Hamlet was pointing in and her eyes lit up when she saw the couple. "OH! Hi!"

The couple strolled over to Hamlet and Chris. "Glad to see that the two of you made it!" Cindie greeted them with a smile.

"Thanks Cindie," Chris said, returning the smile gratefully. "Glad to be here."

"See, I told you not to be so worried!" Hamlet murmured in an aside.

"Chris... Hamlet," Mistral drawled, reaching out to shake Hamlet's hand in greeting. "Good to see you."

"You too," Hamlet replied, returning the handshake warmly. "You haven't seen Sandy and Dane about, have you?"

Cindie and Mistral shook their heads. "No, not yet. I'm sure they're around someplace though," Cindie said.

Mistral cleared his throat softly and pointed to the stairs. "Perhaps they're up on the sun deck," he suggested.

"Actually, we were just about to go up there," Hamlet said. "After you," he beckoned for Chris to go before him. Chris smiled and headed for the stairs, Hamlet, Mistral and Cindie following her.

"Hey! Wait for us!" a melodic contralto called out cheerfully. The four stopped in their tracks and turned around to see Mary Anne and Brandon approaching them. "Hi everyone! Great to see that all of you were able to come," she continued, giving each of them "big ol' squeezy hugs". "It's such a beautiful day to be out here! Did you see Suzanne and Rupert come onboard?"

"It sure is - and that was quite the entrance," Cindie agreed. Her brown eyes began twinkling. "I'm surprised that you and Christopher were actually on time for this outing. Did you put a limit on how long Mary Anne could take to pick out her outfit?"

Brandon laughed softly as Mary Anne rolled her eyes in exasperation. "No, I didn't," he replied. He watched as Chris silently giggled behind her hand and Mistral and Hamlet shared amused glances before turning back to the tall blonde and slipping his arm around her waist.

"I didn't want to look out of place!" Mary Anne sighed. "Casual could mean anything." She gazed at the others' outfits, her eyes lighting on Mistral's footwear. "Oooo! Prada! Very nice."

"Your reputation as a fashion maven remains untarnished, Mary Anne," Mistral observed dryly.

"You just wait until I finish writing out our next scene together!" Mary Anne shook her fist at him as laughter broke out again. "Torture and misery await you, Mr. I!"

"I thought that torturing others was Sandy's job," Chris giggled. "Hamlet, Mistral, Cindie and I were just going up onto the sun deck to see if she and Alex are around. You haven't seen them by any chance, have you?"

"No. I'm afraid we haven't," Brandon replied. He motioned towards the stairs again. "After you." The small group walked to the stairwell that led up to the sun deck. As they approached the stairs, they could hear voices and then Sandy's merry laughter broke out, followed up by a rich baritone grumbling. "I do believe that we've found them."

"Just in time too, by the sound of that growl," Mary Anne chuckled as Chris started up the stairs, lifting the skirt of her dress slightly so she wouldn't trip. She waited for Hamlet, Cindie and Mistral to go up before she began her ascent, Brandon bringing up the rear.

"...you can't be serious!" Alexander's voice rumbled down to them as they made their way up.

"It's the truth," Sandy replied.

"Good Lord." A pause. "Oh, why not?"

"Hi Sandy! Hi Al...ex..." Chris stumbled over her words as she walked onto the sun deck and numbly moved over to give the rest of the group access. She blinked several times as she watched Sandy carefully rub suntan lotion onto the back of one very shirtless Alexander Dane.

"Hi guys! All of you look wonderful!" Sandy replied cheerfully, looking up for a moment to see who was there before squirting more sunscreen lotion into her palm and continue applying it onto Alexander's back. It was all that she could do not to burst into laughter at the expressions on Mary Anne's and Cindie's faces - but she managed to keep a straight face. "Beautiful day, isn't it? Pull up a chair!"

"Good grief. I've stepped into the Twilight Zone," Cindie said distantly. Her eyes shifted from Alexander's glistening tan torso down to Mistral's Prada flip-flops then back to Alexander again.

Alexander slowly raised a hand to his face and pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to give his best glare at the group staring at him. "WHAT?! It's not like you've never seen a man shirtless before!"

"That's for sure!" Mary Anne agreed as she made a more than admirable recovery, her lips beginning to twitch with amusement and blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "And in considerably, uh, less attire, too." Brandon and Mistral groaned.

"Wow, Alex! You could give the Chippendale dancers a run for their money. Hubba hubba!" Chris exclaimed, fanning her face with her hand and pretending to swoon. That was too much for Mary Anne and she burst into laughter.

"Somebody save me from this insanity, please!" Alexander moaned.

"Alex, it's not that they haven't seen someone shirtless before. It's because they haven't seen *you* shirtless before," Sandy explained gently. She turned in Mistral's direction and admired his simple outfit of navy pants, a Hawaiian shirt made of the finest silk... and flip-flops - very expensive flip-flops. A blonde eyebrow rose over the rim of her sunglasses. "I *do* hope that you got those flip-flops at a discount, Mistral. Very chic," she ended with a smile.

Mistral volleyed back his own eyebrow in response. "Thank you. You look quite chic yourself."

"I feel like a bug under a bloody microscope!" Alexander groused, lips turning downward. Sandy motioned to the others and they quickly pulled up nearby chairs. They gathered around in a semi-circle and sat down. Chris bit her lip in an effort to stop her giggling and Alexander rolled his eyes. "Will somebody say something?!"

Sandy's hands moved up Alexander's back to settle on his shoulders. She began massaging them, frowning when she felt a knot. "Relax!" she murmured before looking up. "Did any of you have problems finding the marina?" she asked curiously.

"No," several voices chorused in response. Sandy smiled and continued massaging Alexander's shoulders. Alexander nodded and picked up his bottle of water and took a long drink.

Brandon leaned back in his lounger, drawing his long legs up onto the chair and sighing softly. He put his hands behind his neck and gazed up into the deep blue sky. "This certainly is a much better outing than dressing up as Muppets," he observed. Alexander's face turned a funny grayish color. Then he made a choking noise and Brandon frowned as Sandy enthusiastically began pounding on his back. "Are you all right, Alexander?"

"F-f-fine!" Alexander wheezed, coughing for several seconds until he caught his breath.

"Are you sure? You really turned this awful shade of gray!" Mary Anne looked on with concern in her azure eyes.

"Seriously, I'm fine!" Alexander blinked several times and hung his head forward for a moment. He turned around. "You can stop beating my back into one big bruise," he said to Sandy, who blushed. His lips briefly curved into a smile and he turned around to face the others, eyebrow raised.

"You get awfully defensive when anybody mentions Muppets, Dane," Mistral murmured. "You weren't the one who impaled the Muppet on the stage, were you?"

"No, I was NOT!" was the vehement reply. Behind Alexander, Sandy snorted. "I wasn't!" he denied. Chris was almost doubled over with silent laughter. Brandon gazed at the sputtering Englishman with undisguised amusement and Mary Anne and Hamlet were grinning at Alexander's reaction, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Cindie spoke up suddenly. "Uh... Alexander, there was a rumor going around the set that you were supposed to be a guest star on the Muppet Show but it never came about. Is that true?"

Alexander growled under his breath. "Whoa! Wait a second!" Sandy's head popped up over Alexander's right shoulder and she turned to gaze at him. "You turned down an offer to work with the Muppets?!" She watched as his eyebrows furrowed together and her face lit up in sudden realization. "You didn't turn down the offer, did you?" Alexander scowled at her.

Mary Anne sat straight up in her lounger. "Was it creative differences?" she teased. "That's what it usually is - and you *know* that we're going to get the story out of you!"

"Maybe we can get all the ladies up here and we can have a 'guess how many chest hairs Alex has' contest!" Chris suggested and snorted with laughter, the rest joining in with the exception of Alexander wordlessly sputtering.

"What would the prize be on the closest guess?" Mary Anne managed to say before dissolving into laughter again.

"Dunno, but Sandy's the one who gets to count the chest hairs!" Cindie added in with a wink.

"You...do..." Sandy had to take a deep breath to steady herself before she continued, "...realize that there's only one way for me to get an accurate chest hair count!"

Alexander's jaw dropped open. "You WOULDN'T!" Sandy put her index finger and thumb together, making a plucking motion. He slumped down in his seat. "You would," he mumbled over the laughter, defeated. "All right, I'll tell." Sandy gave him a quick peck on the cheek before settling back in her seat and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Alexander sighed and put his hand over Sandy's. "I got a call from my agent in December of '79 asking if I'd be interested in having a guest spot on the show," he began softly after everyone had quieted down to listen. "I had, of course, seen the show a few times and I liked it. It was clever and not just written for kids. So, I agreed and arrangements were made for me to do the shoot just after the holidays. Plus, it had added benefits..."

"You mean that you didn't have to - ?" Brandon made a motion over his head.

Alexander nodded. "Exactly. Not even for the Pigs In Space sketch. That was a big bonus right there." He paused for a moment to take a drink of water. "It was a little weird talking to Muppets, but everyone was quite accommodating, if a bit eccentric."

"What do you mean by that, Alex?" Sandy asked.

"You've heard of immersing oneself completely in character, right?" Sandy nodded and her mouth opened in an 'O' of understanding. Chris clapped her hand over her mouth and stifled her giggles.

"Oh my," Cindie said, eyes widening. "You mean you had to..."

"Let's just say that Miss Piggy isn't all 'Oh, Kermie'!" Alexander replied archly. Mary Anne's jaw dropped. "At any rate, like I said before, everything was going very well until the initial rehearsal for Muppet Labs..."

"I love Bunsen and Beaker! They're my favorites," Sandy beamed. "Beaker's so adorable!"

"It figures... The idea was that I was to pour some liquid down Beaker's throat, after being assured that it was perfectly safe by Bunsen and then Beaker was supposed to get thrown across the set in a smoky explosion a few seconds after he "swallowed" the liquid," Alexander continued. "There was a new special effects intern on the set - and someone didn't check the amount of powder poured into the..."

"Oh my God," Sandy breathed. "Are you trying to say that..."

"Not only was it not checked, it got set off at the wrong time. The next thing I knew, I was halfway across the set, lying in the middle of a bunch of boxes," Alexander continued. Startled murmurs broke out among the group.

"Were you hurt?" Cindie asked, alarmed.

Alexander turned in her direction. "I think I might have blacked out for a minute, but otherwise, I was okay. Of course, the set had turned into a disaster area. I remember coming to and in the background over the yelling, the guy who was the Muppeteer for Beaker kept going 'MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!' and the other one who was holding Bunsen yelled, 'Good Lord, we've killed him!' - in the voice... I guess things just came to a head at that point and I just - lost it. I had put up with Miss Piggy's nonsense - and cheap come-on lines all week long... That damn, incessant meeping just put me over the top and the next thing I remember is going for a chokehold on Beaker... I was pulled away and was escorted off the set." He put his head in his hands and groaned loudly. "That's the whole story, every last rotten bit of it."

"You tried to murder BEAKER? Poor sweet, innocent, meeping Beaker, the hapless lab assistant?" Sandy gasped over the loud laughter. "How *could* you?!" Alexander glared at her. "I could see going postal over Gonzo - or the depraved Miss Piggy, but Beaker? All my illusions are shattered about you, Alexander Dane! I am shocked! I am dismayed! I am....*phhht!*" She leaned up against his shoulder and giggled madly.

"It's a good thing that attempted murder on a Muppet is a misdemeanor only," Mary Anne snickered. "Otherwise, you'd have spent at least five to ten in maximum security lockup."

"Go ahead, laugh it up!" Alexander mumbled.

"Who ended up in your spot?" Cindie gasped through her laughter. "John Cleese - and that particular show was massively re-written, believe me," Alexander said, head still in his hands. "Oh GOD.... I'll never live this down, will I?"

"Probably not," Mistral replied. He exchanged glances with Brandon, who nodded in agreement. "We should know."

Sandy
My special thanks to MA, Cindie & Chris for allowing me to do this - and my sincere apologies to the late, great Jim Henson, - Saturday, August 10, 2002 at 09:53:53 (PDT)

Ask "Is anyone interested?" but don't leave an email address or a website? Yes, I'm sure that's going to get you a lot of responses.
Magda
- Saturday, August 10, 2002 at 08:35:02 (PDT)

I would like to introduce myself. I am Martha Thompson from Sindia Poems and Novel Publications. I was tipped off by a friend that I might have some really good writers for a romance novels here. Is anyone interested? I have been reading past entries, and I must say that you individuals are very talented. Our company is in need of romance novels. I am searching the internet for some talented writers.

Thank you for your time.
Martha Thompson
- Friday, August 09, 2002 at 21:14:23 (PDT)

Dear ladies,

I'm afraid I must apologize for my lack of posts, my belatedness and my rudeness. I truly did not mean to offend any of you but it's slightly insane in my life right now and I must also offer you all my parting words.

As a few things in the evil real world have taken over and I'm not sure when I'm going to correct them, writing really much of anything at the moment is really hard. So, with my regards and regrets and wishes for a great party, I'm going to bid you all farewell. I'm relinquishing Jacques to whomever wishes to use him and Erika will have moved onto being a set-dresser for another film company. I hope you all have a wonderful time on the yacht and thank you so much for the fun you provided me. I wish you all the best and thanks for the fish!

Yours,
Carmen, the Erika Wrangler
Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
PS: To Diane: I'm sorry for my idiocy. Basically, I was somewhat of a...well, we won't say it. Sorry for keeping you waiting, hun!, - Wednesday, August 07, 2002 at 19:23:48 (PDT)

Rupert stood at the helm, both hands on the boat’s wheel, guiding them through the water towards the dock where the yacht they would be taking was moored. Suzanne sat on the seat across the narrow aisle, her hair whipped by the wind despite the navy blue and gold scarf she’d tied around her head. How he loved those golden curls of hers! If he was lucky she’d complain about the state of her hair when they arrived and he would volunteer to take her to a cabin to brush it out for her. Strand by strand.

When he’d picked her up and driven her to a dock different from the one mentioned on the memo she had questioned him. When he’d escorted her to his own dock and speed boat she had been surprised and delighted. He was tempted to take her out for a picnic and forego the party entirely. Perhaps another day.

Suzanne looked over at Rupert Cadell just as he returned his attention to the water. He stood tall and lean behind the wheel. The top few buttons of his short sleeved khaki shirt where undone and in his matching shorts he looked tanned and lithe and every inch the captain of his ship. She tried to imagine him as a pirate. His cane was propped up next to him and did nothing to diminish the image of him that came into her head complete with parrot on his shoulder. It occurred to her that one of these days perhaps he would take her out on his boat when they weren’t going to a party with the rest of the cast. They moor the boat in a nice secluded spot and …picnic.

When they arrived at the dock where they were to rendezvous with the yacht Rupert pulled up and enquired with one of the dock hands as to the whereabouts of the ship they were to board. The man grinned broadly and indicated to the bulk of a vessel retreating out into open waters. Rupert suppressed a sigh and looked over to see a look of dismay spreading over Suzanne’s face. He would not have her disappointed.

“Hold on tight, darling!” Rupert opened the throttle and, checking to make sure she had taken his advise literally, made for the yacht growing smaller as it headed out to sea.

After chasing the yacht for about ten minutes Suzanne yelled, “I think we’re gaining on it!” Her words were ripped from her lips by the wind and she barely heard the agreement that went with Rupert’s nod of assent. They had to make it. There wasn’t enough gas to make it back to land, but he wasn’t going to worry her with that fact. If worse came to worse he could always activate the distress beacon.

On the yacht, Therese was staring out to sea and leaning, not forward on the aft railing around the deck, but back into the arms Eamon deValera who did not seem disposed to let her go anytime soon. She had been watching a little boat bounce across the waves towards them. At first she had thought it coincidence that its path seemed to mirror their own and was rather surprised that such a small craft would head out into open waters. Finally, it occurred to her that the speed boat was chasing them and that it was getting closer. Much closer.