Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

Ah, dearest, you know HIM. Always showing off HIS cryptic. *grin*

Is anyone else having trouble getting into the Back Issues? Or do the Palace renovations extend to the ARchives at the moment?

MA
Turandot on the Met broadcast this Saturday, R. 8-), - Thursday, February 27, 2003 at 19:31:36 (PST)

Ahhhh, dearest. What a book leaave about.

"At dawn I shall win"? Does HE know something we don't?

Still don't know where that letter got to...
Cindie, are you sure you've been watching carefully? --R, - Thursday, February 27, 2003 at 09:26:08 (PST)

I have never visited this part of the AR site! This is wonderful. The only problem is that I see I will be spending way too much time at the computer reading these stories!
Susan
- Wednesday, February 26, 2003 at 10:00:27 (PST)

On a roll MG - very funny LOL
Magda
Scotland, - Wednesday, February 26, 2003 at 06:32:07 (PST)

The Imperial Palace:

There is a current of excitement running through the Imperial Palace, an excitement that takes many forms, manifested in the whispers among Her Majesty’s servants, the murmured conversations of small groups gathered in sitting rooms and back parlours, at tea table and game table, the scurrying of chambermaids preparing all available rooms and the glide of elegant footmen steering new arrivals past the ongoing renovations, the hazards of scaffolding and dropcloth. An evening becomes night and later night, each hour marked by the new arrivals at this small city that is the very heart of The Realm.

Officers and personnel of the Alliance Rose. Of U.N.I.T. Officials of various news services. Journalists. Scandalmongers and muckrakers. Protesters and supports-though both groups might be hard put to it to explain just what they might protest or support, as The Empress’ decision has not yet been rendered. Sleek and supertailored men in their haute couture armour of Armani and Cerruti and Zegna, accompanied by women more beautiful than human, their Helens with no second Troy to burn (homage), come to try whether the Palace walls and Palace men might fall in flame at their presence.

Excitement. It is present in the forms of curiosity and bloodlust, of anticipation reserved for spectacle, of that honest desire for justice whose fulfillment may be at hand.

For Mary Anne it takes the form of sleepless anxiety as she lies in her bed, trying not to listen to the sounds that remind her of Delaford on the night before her wedding: the muffled voices, the opening and closing of doors. Instinctively, she moves nearer to the warmth and security of Brandon. If I can just get through tomorrow . . .

Could Mary Anne but know it-and perhaps at some level she does-HE, too, is awake, thinking of that morning to come. Even at these depths, that accelerated heartbeat of The Palace and its residents can be heard. That peculiar sensation again, as if some sliver of HIS consciousness, the thin silver wire of it, could leave the cell and seek through the corridors . . .

The Interrogator returns his attention to the library books scattered about on the bed. Here, the oversized coffee-table edition of the Palace’s history and architectural wonders. There, Dante. Near the pillows, a complete Shakespeare. At HIS feet, Darkness at Noon.

And in HIS hands, Cross’ Stories of the Great Operas.

Thoughtfully, calmly, HE strokes the gold lettering on the cover and fingers the handsome stitching along the spine. This, with hands that do not tremble. If HE can just get through this night . . .

All’alba vincero.

MA--Ooooooo, Barbara . . . poor Phil! But at least it's been said, now.
Everyone's packing into The Palace--Suzanne, are there enough rooms? ;-), - Tuesday, February 25, 2003 at 20:43:33 (PST)

FoF Sets -- Cutting Room
Afternoon of Day Eight of the Investigation

"Phil."

His muscles seized with terror. What was she doing here? He was locked into place, hunched over the cutting chair, brush clenched in an immobile hand. He could still move his eyes, though, and looked up into the mirror in front of the cutting chairs.

Barbara was in the doorway, her fingers interlaced and held loosely before her. Her face held no expression at all. Carefully blank. The stone face she got when she was upset or angry or depressed. Phil frowned. She shouldn't look like that; Gruber had confessed his love to her -- she should be happy. Smiling.

"Phil, can I talk to you?" It was a light, airy tone. Her "Upset" tone. It inflicted no inflections; a stone voice, a pumice voice, to go with her stone face.

He forced his lips apart. "Sure," he managed to eject through his teeth.

"Alone?" She glanced at the Hair and Makeup Supervisor. Vicky Micheals looked at Barbara, looked at him, and looked back at Barbara. He couldn't crank his head around to look her in the eye and silently beg her not to leave.

"Certainly," said Vicky. And walked out, closing the door behind her.

Leaving them alone.

Damn her.

"Please move," Barbara said. "You look very uncomfortable, all hunched over like that."

The stone was still there, in her. What did Gruber do to her? Phil's mind gibbered a moment, then succumbed to a flash of anger. If Gruber hurt her.... Phil gripped the arms on the chair and levered himself vertical. "What happened?"

She stared at him, a stunned expression on her face.

"You're upset," Phil said. "What happend?" She stared at him a moment. He gave voice to his dread: "Did Herr Gruber bother you in some way...?" he trailed off at her expression.

"No," she said. "You did."

"I what?"

"Bothered me in some way."

"I'm being sorry. I wasn't intending to," he said automatically.

She was diverted a moment. "Why did you ask if Anton had bothered me?"

"Anton." Phil scowled. So Gruber was "Anton" now. "I'd been hearing him talk to you about Love," Phil began, "so I --" he broke off as her eyes went wide.

"He --" she paused, "he -- hewastalkingaboutyou."

"I'm begging your pardon, what?"

She took a slow, steadying breath. "He was talking about you," she said. "He said," her voice dropped to a whisper, "that you -- that you --" she swallowed. "That you loved me."

She knew. Phil felt a startling mix of terror and delight, like been sent down the first hill in a rollercoaster. And relief. I don't have to hide it anymore. He reached up from the arm of the cutting chair to gently brush her cheek with a tentative finger. He nodded.

She looked stricken. "Why'd you have to go and do a stupid thing like that for," she demanded with a wail.

She -- she -- she couldn't be ... Phil looked at her. She was. She did. Damn her. He felt a surge of anger. "There's being nothing stupid about loving a beautiful woman," he snapped back.

She snorted.

He gripped the arms of the chair. "You're being beautiful. You're also being acting downright daft," he said, leaning forward in the chair.

"ME?" she exclaimed. "You're the one who had to ruin everything."

"I've not been ruining anything," he replied.

"No," she whispered. "You've ruined everything." She heaved a breath up. "It was all so safe, until you had to mess it up."

Phil pulled himself out of the chair and stood in front of Barbara, glaring down at her. "You're wanting to be safe. The dead are being safe. I'm preferring to be a bit unsafe -- that way I'm knowing I'm still being alive."

"How dare you," she hissed. "You hypocrite. I couldn't even get you to go out on a date with a woman for three years. Don't preach to me about being a little unsafe; I couldn't pry you out of your house with a tyreiron." She glared up at him. God in Heaven, she was beautiful when she was angry. She continued, "I gave you all the safety in the world. How dare you stand there and tell me I can't have any!"

"What's being so unsafe about loving you?" he asked.

She stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Love is a hobby I can't afford."

"Love's not being a hobby."

"So you say," she replied, darkly.

"Then you can be telling me what's so bloody unsafe about loving you?"

"You'll leave," she stated flatly. "Love is only two letters away from Leave."

"That's being bloody stupid."

"You're supposed to be my friend!" she snapped at him. "I need friends. I don't need a lover."

"Oh, and you're going to be filling the hole Bernard left with a pile of friends, then?"

She stared a him, infuriated, mouth agape with inarticulate anger. She snapped her teeth together and said, "If I must."

"You'll never be filling it; it'll be like putting pudding in a sieve. It'll fill it up for a time, but in the end, it'll all be empty again."

She snarled at him, wordlessly, and stalked to the exit. She turned back at the doorway and opened her mouth. And shut it again.

And fled the room.

With a sigh of relief, Phil dropped back into the chair before his legs gave way.

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

Vicky was waiting outside the hall when Barbara came storming out. "Lovers' spat?" Vicky asked, with a smirk.

"Sod off," Barbara snarled as she went by.

Somebody's a bit touchy today...
Barbara the Wallpaperer
The Confrontation, Part One, - Tuesday, February 25, 2003 at 00:14:50 (PST)

Magda-brilliant!!! I'm glad you're back...
ACC
- Monday, February 24, 2003 at 11:03:13 (PST)

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

I was of two minds as I strode through the corridors of my castle to the rooms set aside for the Locksleys. On the one hand, I certainly did not want to talk to Locksley any more than I absolutely had to; on the other, if I had to talk to him, needling him about his marriage would be guaranteed fun. So there was definitely a bounce in my step.

Armed retainers wearing Locksley livery eyed me warily as I approached but since I had left my sword and dagger in my chamber, there was nothing they could do. The frustration doubtless gnawed at them. Disdaining to acknowledge them beyond the merest glance, I walked up to the door and pounded on it. It was opened immediately by yet another jumped-up former outlaw. In the room beyond I saw Locksley sitting by the hearth staring into the fire. He looked around and nodded, the doorman stood aside to let me enter and then stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind him. Locksley and I were alone.

From my vantagepoint across the room, I examined him. He certainly looked worn and tired; obviously the stress of the past weeks was taking its toll. I wondered if I looked any different or showed the strain in any way. Surely Joya would have told me if so.

I suppose my silent observation grated on his nerves. He scowled suddenly and turned away to stare at the fire again. I crossed to the chair opposite him and sat down. Now that I was there I wasn't sure how to begin. As I cast about for an opening sentence, he looked around again and spoke. "I suppose the two ladies are comfortable, wherever it is they are staying now?"

"Everything seemed in order." I nodded. "We left them in good spirits." Briefly I described the goldsmith's house and the quality of the accommodations. He listened but I don't believe he was really paying much attention. When I stopped he didn't respond for a long while, then finally nodded briefly and resumed his survey of the flames.

For my part, I felt a flicker of annoyance. If any plotting were going to be done, it required his full concentration to listen to my ideas (of course, he wouldn't have anything worthwhile of his own to contribute; I fully expected to have to do all the thinking). I leaned over and raised my voice slightly. "I hope that Marion is content now that Lady Christina is out of the castle?"

He flinched, as if the memory was still too fresh. "I hope so - er, I mean, of course she is content. She knew she had nothing to fear from the presence of either of those ladies. Her concern was that they, uh, um, might be more comfortable in larger surroundings. That was all."

I stared at him in disbelief. Could a man truly be so much a slave to his wife's whims that he could spout that kind of nonsense? Not only spout it but also expect other people to believe it? It was pathetic. I wouldn't have believed that he could drive my regard for him any lower but with those words he almost managed it. It was easy to see who wore the full body armor in that family.

However, there was no sense in pursuing the matter. I sat back and pretended to believe him. "Good, glad to hear it. So now there's nothing to stop us from coming up with a plan to get ourselves out of this marital mess we're in. Let's review the situation." I held up one hand and counted off my words on my fingers. "You didn't like the idea of killing Abelard on his journey here. You didn't care for the idea of seducing Lady Suzanne. You were outraged at the idea of bribing the Church to study the issue for years until Godfrey of Anjou and King Richard gave up."

Locksley's face assumed a mulish aspect. "We were only worried that there was too little guarantee of success in any -"

"Yes, yes, I understand." I waved his comment aside. "Well, then you must concede that we still have a problem. The king - with Count Godfrey of Anjou - will be here in three days. What are we going to do when they arrive?"

He frowned, clearly puzzled. "We throw ourselves on the king's mercy. What else can we do?"

I took a deep breath and counted to ten; then since it didn't take long enough, I counted an additional twenty. Obviously Locksley still harbored the romantic notion that the king's mercy was a relatively soft landing place. Personally I rather doubted it. The king's willingness to sacrifice the happiness of his entire family to his continental ambitions was well known and I didn't think any of us rated higher than the smallest county in his estimation. If the king was going to be persuaded away from his goal then we had to make it worth his while. We had to come up with something he wanted or needed more than the alliance with Anjou, something more valuable to him -

The thought struck with such suddenness that I almost leapt from my chair. Locksley eyed me narrowly and fumbled for his sword. I ignored him; gripping the arms of the chair with both hands until my knuckles whitened, I examined the incredible idea that had just burst into my brain.

What if instead of appealing to King Richard we appealed to Count Godfrey instead? Surely the marital history of his cousin, a mere baron, was not so important that he couldn't be persuaded to accept some kind of recompense instead? After all, he'd supposed Abelard dead for years and Joya's marital history had not concerned him one little bit, so surely he would be open-minded about alternative solutions? It was definitely worth a try.

It took me almost an hour to talk Locksley into trying this new tack. He was horrified at the very thought of treating directly with Godfrey, apparently because in his mind it was treasonous to circumvent King Richard on an issue of international relations. I don't know where he gets these tediously mundane beliefs of his; they do have a tendency to pop out at the most inconvenient times. He took great offense at my suggestion that successful treason wipes out the stain of its own actions but then he always did have a literal mind when it came to political matters. It was easy to see why King Richard had never named him to his council of advisors.

As I said, it took an hour but by the end of that time, he'd managed to get the idea firmly embedded in his brain and was able to repeat it back to me without faltering. I insisted on that since I wanted to make sure he wouldn't mess it up when describing it to Marion. We'd also touched on that issue during that long hour's talk: he was predictably outraged at my suggestions about how to handle a wife. He claimed that he and Marion discussed every issue until they reached a true communion of minds and a unity of spirit about it. It didn't make much sense to me but then I was master in my own household. Joya obeyed my commands and knew who was in charge. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Locksley looked doubtful when I explained this to him. "Perhaps you're right, Nottingham, but the Lady Joya doesn't look to me like the kind of woman who takes orders, even from a husband."

I disdained to explain in any detail the bond that existed between Joya and myself. He couldn't possibly understand it anyway so why bother? I shrugged off his comment, reminded him again to tell Marion as soon as possible and departed for my own chamber to acquaint Joya with the plan.

She was reclining on the bed feeding Richard when I arrived. One look at the gleam in my eyes and she nodded her maids from the room. I barred the door to ensure our privacy and made myself comfortable on the bed before telling her my brainstorm. Her eyes rounded as she listened. I could that she grasped the advantages of this plan immediately.

"Brilliant, George! Just brilliant." She beamed at me as she shifted Richard to her other breast. "I'm sure that Count Godfrey will be easier to deal with than the king. Or at any rate he couldn't be more difficult. Now what could we offer him that he would accept?"

This was the key point and one I hadn't bothered going into with Locksley; he would have been hopeless at arriving at a solution. The obvious answer was money but I was not as wealthy as I'd once been and Locksley's holdings were not more than middling in terms of revenue generation. How much money did we need and where could we get it? Joya and I pondered the matter for the remainder of the afternoon, tossing suggestions back and forth as Richard napped between us on the bed. We still hadn't come to an acceptable conclusion when Joya's maids returned to dress her for the evening meal and Bertha came back to take Richard away after yet another feeding.

I left the room as the maids swarmed in and wandered down to my workroom to terrorize the clerks before supper. That always improved my appetite. I was just reducing one of them to a sniveling mess when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of a messenger, covered in mud and wet bracken. He shuffled his feet and announced that Leofric had sent him to inform me that outlaws had been reported in the woods and that Leofric had taken a group of men out to capture them. He would be back before nightfall but aside from that could not promise how successful he would be.

I nodded the messenger off and contemplated the news. Was Will Scarlet one of these outlaws? I hoped so; if Leofric could bring that young fool back in chains, it would be a great asset to me. I glanced over at the formerly sniveling clerk who was now hiding behind his desk, watching me warily. I shrugged; fun and games were over and it was time for the evening meal.

As I proceeded to the great hall, I pondered the activities of the day. It seemed to me that positive steps had been taken. I was thus in a good mood as I looked forward to a satisfying meal with my beautiful wife at my side.

Of course, little did I know that that feeling wouldn't last long.

Magda
- Monday, February 24, 2003 at 05:33:16 (PST)

Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence... thanks for this site... just surfing arround. Steve S. from www.saroff.com -- stories and photos.
Steve Saroff <ssaroff@hotmail.com>
Missoula, MT - Saturday, February 22, 2003 at 19:01:58 (PST)

“What on earth has happened here?”

The Director moved his gaze from his desk top, where he was industriously using the side of his hand to make a pile of the confetti which had been deposited there by Mary Anne’s booby trap, to see his assistant standing in the doorway surveying his office. It was an impressive sight. The little bits of colour still covered a large portion of his desk, the cabinets, the carpet and every other horizontal surface in the place. He had scooped up an impressive quantity which he picked up and sat watching fall from his fingers. Some of the pieces were sparkly and caught the light in a most satisfactory manner. He smiled, a little lopsidedly and completely oblivious to the bits glinting in his hair and dusting his shoulders.

“Mary Anne happened here.” There was more than a hint of satisfaction in his voice, as though he were a teacher proud of a pupil who had done well.

“I see. She’s very thorough, isn’t she?” It seemed that she had done well. The Director wore a look of smug contentment along with a boyish air of enjoying something against the rules.

“She is.” Another mass of confetti was pinched between his thumb and forefinger and sifted so that it drifted slowly down fluttering and winking to land back on the desk top. They watched it together and when the last of it landed their eyes met.

“Happy Birthday, boss.”

“I really love my job.”

“The cake’s in the lunchroom.”

The Director nodded and picked up another handful of colour. Cindie closed the door quietly behind her as she left.

Cindie
- Saturday, February 22, 2003 at 13:46:59 (PST)

“Ah-HA!”

This is The Director’s triumphant exclamation as he steps into his office, catching Mary Anne in the act of setting something on his desk.

“Oh, sir, um . . .” she stammers as she steps back from the desk, tucking the object behind her.

“Hand it over.” The long arm extends, with an imperious shake of the fingers. “Now, Mary Anne.”

With a sigh, Mary Anne hands over . . .

An envelope.

The Director frowns a little, turning it in his hands and holding it up to the light. Excellent quality of paper, with a silky texture and a deep embossed watermark. He makes a point of taking a sniff of the paper, cocking an eyebrow at Mary Anne as he does, so that she cannot help smiling.

“Poison pen?” he mutters.

“Hardly, sir.”

Finally, The Director picks up his paper knife from the desk and slits open the envelope, to find within a tasteful engraved card, with a beautiful scrollwork design in brick-red ink, wishing him the happiest of birthdays.

“You do remember, sir?” Mary Anne’s soft voice. “When you told me that there are these wonderful things called birthday cards, and hadn’t I heard of them?”

“Yes. Well, I . . .” He swallows, looks again at the elegant stationery before him, and sneaks a suspicious peek at Mary Anne, though his suspicions are quieted by her expression. He would be gravely alarmed by her “innocent look” but this is as far from that as the east is from the west, her eyes twinkling at him.

The Director sets the card on his desk and, straightening his shoulders, nods to Mary Anne. “Well, thank you. It was kind of you to remember.”

Mary Anne inclines her head slightly, a gesture worthy of royalty. “Enjoy your day, sir.”

As she leaves the office, headed down the corridor toward the cubicles, The Director moves to sit behind his desk, his brows drawn together in puzzlement. So cool and stately a remembrance from her, after the notorious incident of the rubber fish . . .

But there it is, and no time to sit all day mulling it over. Back to business. Where had Cindie filed those contracts about the proposed FOF actions figures? He scans the top of the desk, and then remembers: Oh, yes, top right drawer . . .

POP!

And whshhhhhhh, as a rain of multicoloured confetti bursts from the drawer and scatters itself over the desktop, the computer, the carpet, and The Director.

“MARY ANNE--!”

Distant giggling from down the hall.

MA
Happy birthday, sir. ;-), - Friday, February 21, 2003 at 20:48:57 (PST)

The Palace:

Valmont closed the door of the salon with a discreet ‘click’. His self satisfied smile might appear mysterious if one didn’t know of the two young women on the other side of the door even now smoothing down skirts and pinning back stray locks of hair. He felt quite sated for the moment. Even so, as he turned to head toward his rooms to wash and be re-valeted, his thoughts returned to his encounter earlier in the morning.

He had affected her and he knew it. In the few days since they had been introduced he had gleaned much of his latest pet project. A widow as he had suspected. More importantly, she had remained chaste since fate had made her such. Even better, he was certain the senior Herr Gruber had done nothing to alter this status despite the long thoughtful looks Valmont had observed him give her. It seemed that Monsieur Anton was hesitant to speak his desire to her, or perhaps he had not yet come to terms with it himself. But Valmont could see how it was and he wished very much to best a Gruber. The victory would, however, be of account only if the Gruber in question was certain to feel it as a loss. If the foolish old man thought to bide his time then Valmont would use the time to make her biddable.

Thinking back on a project undertaken and reluctantly …no he would not say abandoned, but laid by, he determined at that moment that he wished to see her body graced with more than just a handkerchief provided by him. It had been noted that she had not returned his trifle. As a beginning it was fine. But there was much yet to come.

Cindie
Isn't Ed beginning to turn pruney in that bath?, - Friday, February 21, 2003 at 18:11:15 (PST)

Yes, I'm back and I will post every Monday morning a new chapter - George and Joya insist on it (such exhibitionists).
Magda
- Friday, February 21, 2003 at 12:31:51 (PST)

Hey Magda! You're back! Excellent!
Miss 10:45
- Friday, February 21, 2003 at 08:20:02 (PST)

Homage added.
D.o.C.

"Why, Ekaterin, I never knew you cared." He waved a hand carelessly. "I know, I know, you've been afraid of your love for me."

Please add
(homage) after "... love for me."

Thanx, DoC!

Contritely,
Barbara the Wallpaperer
- Thursday, February 20, 2003 at 22:50:04 (PST)

Police Station
Morning of Day Nine of the Investigation

"She really had no idea?" Detective Ekaterin Silvert asked her partner.

Detective Miles Graff shrugged thin shoulders, one side of his mouth smirking. "Apparently not." He met her gaze, grey eyes sparkling. "It was a scene straight out of Corornation Street. You would have been thrilled."

"I would have been appalled, Miles."

"Heh."

"Is the woman blind?"

"I think she willed herself to be."

"Hrm," Silvert replied, tapping her pen against her lips thoughtfully.

"Here's some more food for thought," Graff said, handing her a report. Some lines were highlighted in yellow.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Client list for the de Montforts." He pointed to the highlighted area. "Look what Patril found."

She tore her eyes from the paper before her, and met his eyes with excitement. "A match from our two databases?"

Graff flashed a scimitar smile. "Three."

"Three?"

"Confirmed with that partial fingerprint," he said. "They were wrong, Ekaterin."

"Wrong?"

"We weren't wasting their time."

Satisfaction crept across her face as she called up the model of the FoF sets on her computer. "How many people did Ms. Claudia say were in that vehicle?" she asked him, ice-blue eyes burning.

"Four," he answered, in perfect understanding.

"Well, well, well," she said. "Look at this." She pointed to a cluster of dots on her computer screen and singled out one with a click of her mouse. "That's a de Montfort client."

Graff smirked and pointed to another. "And that's our matching fingerprint."

She smirked in return. "Let's go find a judge, Miles."

"Why, Ekaterin, I never knew you cared." He waved a hand carelessly. "I know, I know, you've been afraid of your love for me." (homage)

She gave him a withering look.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
- Thursday, February 20, 2003 at 22:46:59 (PST)

Happy Birthday to Mr. Rickman, whereever you are! Love, your fan, Serena
Serena <alan@rickman.com>
GO ALAN! HAPPY 57th, - Thursday, February 20, 2003 at 21:52:15 (PST)

Spam deleted.
Never settle for spam when bacon is available.
D.o.C.

Spam spam spam spam, spam spam spam, eggs, bacon, and spam spam, eggs, spam, bacon, and spam...
A Monty Python SPAM Member
Spam, anyone? The SPAM cart has let out a load of it... , - Tuesday, February 18, 2003 at 15:53:24 (PST)

[[hug]] Thanks Magda.Great to see you posting once more.
Magda (Scotland)
what a fab Valentine gift!!, - Saturday, February 15, 2003 at 01:47:57 (PST)

Sandy's apartment:

Alexander watched in silent amusement as Sandy strode from the living room into her bedroom, Oliver trotting behind her. He heard a small exclamation of disgust and some things being moved around in her room before she strode back out into the galley kitchen with an exasperated expression on her face. She began opening up kitchen cabinet drawers, muttering to herself.

Oliver walked over to Alexander and gazed up at him expectantly, tail wagging. Alexander leaned down to run his fingers through the miniature poodle's curly black hair. Oliver sat down next to the sofa that Alexander was sitting on and sighed happily, relishing the attention.

Alexander shook his head slightly as he turned towards the kitchen where Sandy was still rifling through a drawer. Barely managing to keep a straight face he asked, "Sandy, what on Earth are you looking for? At this rate, you're going to tear the entire place apart before the car arrives to take us to the airport!"

Sandy's head jerked up, distracted from her search. "My extra set of keys to give to the next door neighbor... Which. Happen. To. Be. Sitting. On. The. Lamp. Table. Next. To. You." Her shoulders slumped forward and she sighed loudly. "If my head wasn't attached to my body, I'd misplace that too," she grumbled.

Alexander chuckled softly and easily rose to his feet, swiftly snagging the set of keys up from the small lamp table and idly twirling the ring around his right index finger. Sandy crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. "What's so blasted funny?"

Oliver watched the two humans with intense interest as Alexander strolled into the kitchen, still twirling the keys around his finger. "Nothing," Alexander murmured, gazing down at Sandy with amused hazel eyes as he came to a halt mere inches away from her. "Nothing at all." He discontinued twirling the key ring around his finger and turned his head away for a moment as he gently placed them on the kitchen counter. He turned back to face her and saw that she was grinning sheepishly up at him and that her arms were hanging loosely at her sides. A slow smile surfaced on his lips as he suddenly reached out and pulled her close to him with a soft exclamation.

Sandy's eyes began sparkling as she looked up at him. "Are you sure about that, Alex?" She slowly slid her hands up his chest towards his neck.

"Positive. Extremely positive," Alexander replied, lowering his mouth towards hers. Just as their lips were about to meet, the soft chime of the intercom bell echoed through the apartment. Oliver immediately rose to his feet and excitedly trotted over to the couple, wagging his tail.

Sandy closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against Alexander's chest, sighing. "Our timing sucks rocks," she observed softly.

"I think you're right." Alexander's laughter rumbled low in his chest. "Perhaps you should get that," he suggested as the intercom chimed again.

Sandy raised her head, smiled ruefully and nodded. She walked over to the intercom speaker and pressed the button. "Hello?"

"Sandy, it's me," Chris' voice cheerfully replied.

Sandy grinned at the sound of her friend's voice. "Great. C'mon up!" she said warmly.

"Be right there," Chris chuckled and rang off.

Sandy turned around and smiled at Alexander before her attention was diverted to Oliver gently nudging her knee. She knelt down and rubbed her pet's ears affectionately. "Yes, we're going to have some company and you're going on vacation too - without being boarded for a change, huh? Yes you are!" she crooned. She laughed as Oliver licked her hands and rose to her feet when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Alexander said and opened the door to admit a smiling Chris. "Hello there."

"Hi guys!" Chris exclaimed cheerfully as she entered the apartment and knelt down as Oliver raced over to her. "Ollie, you little scamp!" she chortled as he ran around her twice in excitement before coming to a halt in front of her, wagging his tail. "I'm glad to see you too!" She laughed as the dog nudged her hands with his nose for attention. "Okay, okay! I get the message!" She ran her hands through Oliver's curly hair and the dog made an audible noise of contentment.

"Mushball," Alexander murmured, watching Chris interact with Oliver.

"Me or Ollie?" Chris retorted with a grin. Alexander's eyebrow rose and she laughed again. "Touché, Alex."

Sandy walked over with a paper and a brochure in her right hand, chuckling at her friend's remark. "Chris, here's number for the place where we're staying at, and God forbid, the number for Ollie's veterinarian. He's pretty used to a walking schedule at certain times, so I've written those down on here too."

Chris reached out and took them from Sandy, noting everything with a nod and tucking them inside her pocketbook. "Thanks. When does your car pick you up for the airport?"

Alexander glanced at his watch. "It shouldn't be much longer. We'll probably end up taking more time going through security than actually being in flight."

Chris nodded in agreement as she rose to her feet. "Right. Then I better get going with this cute little fellow!" Sandy walked over with Oliver's leash and seat-belt harness and the overjoyed poodle immediately began jumping up and down in excitement, making everyone laugh.

"Yes, you're going for a ride," Sandy giggled as she managed to get Oliver to stop jumping so she could fasten the harness around her pet and put his leash on. She then gave the leash to Chris while Alexander grabbed Oliver's bed and and a clear Ziploc bag filled with his favorite toys and Sandy took his food and dishes. "Everybody all set?"

Chris and Alexander nodded and the small group walked outside the apartment and headed for Chris' car. Chris pressed a button on her car key and the doors unlocked. She then walked over to the trunk and opened it up so that Alexander and Sandy could place Oliver's belongings inside while she strapped Oliver securely into the seat belt at the front door passenger's side of the car. "He's all set, Sandy."

"Great - and thanks for taking Ollie in," Sandy replied with a warm smile as she walked over to the still-open door. She murmured softly to her pet, telling him to be a 'good boy' and gave him a final little hug before shutting the door.

"Believe me, Sandy. It's not a problem. We'll have a great time!" Chris said with a warm chuckle as she walked over to the driver's side of the car. "Have a great time at the wedding and a safe flight to and from Dublin!" She paused for a moment before going inside the car. "And don't do anything I wouldn't do," she added in with a giggle and wink just before she shut the door and started the car up.

Alexander groaned as Sandy began laughing. "She just *had* to get in a last shot, didn't she?"

"Of course," Sandy replied, still laughing. She raised her arm to wave goodbye as Chris put the car in gear and began driving from the parking lot. Alexander sighed and also waved goodbye. Chris cheerily returned the wave and made a left turn to head back home.

From her rear-view mirror, she saw Sandy and Alexander slip their arms around each other's waists and walk back inside the apartment building. She turned to Oliver, who was eagerly looking outside the front window and smiled. "Well, it's just you and me for the next five days, Ollie," she said with a chuckle.

Oliver's dark eyes sparkled as he turned to face her and his head cocked to the left, ears pricked up as he listened to every word she said. Chris laughed and turned her attention back to the road. She stopped at the sign and made a right turn towards the direction of the highway. As she did so, she noticed a black Lincoln Continental heading in the opposite direction that she just came from.

Sandy
good to see you back, Magda & Claudia :-), - Friday, February 14, 2003 at 16:12:19 (PST)

Longtime lurker, here,

Thanks, Magda, for posting! I had almost given up!

Where's Metatron? I haven't seen him for a while, I knew Jasmine had him for abit but is he available for claim? *interested*

Keep it up, ladies...
Lurker
...still hiding..., - Friday, February 14, 2003 at 13:47:55 (PST)

Magda, please don't tell me that I have to wait til next Valentine's day to get the next installment. I know, I know, you do have a life. Have mercy, please.
a concerned citizen
Amy, Amy, Amy........, - Friday, February 14, 2003 at 11:40:47 (PST)

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

“Oh my lady!” Lady Suzanne’s eyes rounded in ecstasy. “What a charming house! Is it really all for Chrissy and me?”

Joya smiled tolerantly. “It certainly is. And George and I hope you’ll both be very happy here.”

I propped myself against the doorway and watched the women explore. To my amusement, Joya as well as “the girls” poked around, peering into chests and standing on tiptoe to peek through the panes of glass into the garden. Not much to see in the middle of winter, of course, but the servants had cleaned up enough to make out the outlines of the flowerbeds. Small trees against the great stone walls indicated that fruit would be available in the summer and behind a latticework gate there were vegetable patches to provide abundant food. Even for Poitevin nobility such as the Lady Suzanne, the house was an impressive sanctuary.

It had taken the servants the entire night to put the place to rights after being unoccupied for so many months. Even now the boards beneath our feet showed signs of damp from hasty scrubbing. But there had been no time for leisurely arrangements. Barely had the dawn broken over the horizon before the Lady Marion of Locksley had sent one of her husband’s men to our room enquiring whether “that French creature” was still on the premises. Since the last wagon was being loaded up in the courtyard and the ladies Suzanne and Christina were sitting on their horses, I was able to assure him that they were indeed out of the castle - in the literal sense of the word, at least.

Joya and I had mounted up and joined them. After lumbering through the town with baggage train in tow, we had fetched up at the house and broken the fast with wine, bread and cheese at the dining table in the solar. It was a hasty meal but an enjoyable one; the women were in great spirits.

“It’s a pity its winter right now; you could enjoy some good fruit if those trees could be pruned.” Joya gestured at the garden walls. “But as it is, we’ll be able to supply you from the castle larder and of course once the king arrives, you’ll be taking your main meal of the day in the hall again.”

Lady Suzanne looked up from her examination of a clothes chest. “I must tell you right now, Lady Joya, I will not put Chrissy in any situation where she might be abused by anyone. Until I am sure that - certain people, shall we say - treat her with the courtesy she deserves, we will stay right here.”

Joya didn’t respond but cast a sideways look in my direction. I knew what she was thinking. Marion’s ridiculous jealousy was going to put a stick in the spokes of any plan to solve this marital conundrum if it was allowed to continue. Perhaps it was better that “the girls” remain in seclusion for a while.

I straightened up and shook out my cloak. “I am delighted that you find the accommodations to your satisfaction, ladies. As my wife said, we will supply you with provisions from the castle and beg that you will not hesitate to call upon our servants or retainers for anything you should fancy. And now,” I nodded to Joya. “We will leave you in peace to get settled in.”

Joya accepted my outstretched hand. “And rest assured we will not allow many hours to pass before we drop in again for a visit.”

And so with many fond farewells on both sides and with fervent thanks from the Poitevin ladies, Joya and I made our way to the street and mounted our horses for the ride back to the castle.

I kicked my stallion into a trot. “Thank God that’s over with. It was threatening to become downright nauseating towards the end.”

“Your forebearance is nothing short of saintly, my lord.” Joya tossed her veil over one shoulder and urged her own palfrey to keep up. “Now what are we going to do about Marion?”

“I don’t know that there is anything we can do.” I frowned. “Perhaps it will be a matter of ‘out of sight, out of mind’. Surely if there’s no around for her to be jealous of, she won’t be.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Joya sounded doubtful. “But I can’t help thinking that we should take an active step to make sure. Perhaps if you had a private talk with Locksley, just sort of man-to-man, then -“

“Hold it right there!” I pulled my horse up so hard it almost fell into a water trough. “I will not have a talk with Locksley, private or otherwise, on any topic whatsoever. So put that idea out of your head right now.”

“Very well.” She agreed casually. I shot her a quick look. Whenever Joya appears too accommodating, it rouses my suspicions.

“Of course,” she continued. “If Marion refuses to co-operate with us, I doubt that Locksley would either. He’ll spend the remaining three days before the king’s arrival moping around the corridors and in general being a nuisance. We’ll have to come up with a plan on our own which they’ll both reject immediately since they weren’t involved and then we’ll have our work cut out for us trying to do it ourselves. But if you won’t talk to him, there’s no point in trying to persuade you. Oh, look; is that a new shop down the street?”

I ignored her question. Of course I had to talk to Locksley now; after that demonstration of female logic, there was no way to avoid it. And the blasted thing was, she was right. It was Marion who was the brains in that particular marriage and she was the one we needed to win over. She could always get Locksley to go along with whatever we decided. A sudden thought occurred to me: I would be advising him on how to repair his relationship. The idea of how he would react to my advice about the intimate areas of his marriage brought a smile to my lips.

Joya noticed. “And I hardly need note that you should control your baser instincts when you speak to him. This matter is far too important to all of us.”

I stared at her in mock innocence. “But of course, my dear! Where did you get the idea that I would do anything to upset our neighbour and guest? I will be everything that is circumspect and friendly.”

Joya sniffed audibly and looked away. I allowed my smile free rein again and we continued our journey in silence.

Magda
everyone caught up on their reading?, - Friday, February 14, 2003 at 06:15:00 (PST)

k... some of you may have noticed me from the other guestbook... now as I gather you all appreciate fine writing...

I would like to ask a favour of you... I'll write my own little alan story for you if you PLEASE do a writer friend of mine a huge favour... he's losing faith in himself and his writing is going to go down the drain if he doesn't get some feedback on his work...

I was hoping that a few good people out there might visit his livejournal and read his work... its brilliant and although it doesn't contain our beloved alan I've often pictured his voice when reading the monolouges... ^^

please help me bring his confidence up to par... and if you do comment... don't mention that I told you >_<

http://www.livejournal.com/~dr0od

any feedback you could give him would be much appreciated by me... and come on... alan's voice... in your head... sounds wonderful to the monolouges... I mean it! and I PROMISE that if he gets feedback I WILL write you all a little alan goodie!

Just looked at the fan page; wonderful; but, maybe more things can be added later on down the line. I loved Mr. Rickman's character in the new Harry Potter movie. I would like to know; if, Mr. Rickman is an avid fencer? The way he stands in the dueling club segment.
beverly bramlett <battleaxe72000@yahoo.com>
Fantastic page; Hope to write to Mr. Rickman about this page very soon., California USA - Thursday, February 13, 2003 at 18:41:03 (PST)

Yes Nancy, I'm intrigued! Are you planning on putting your story on the fanfiction web-site (lots of great Snape stories there)? Please let us know, thanks!
snapeoholic
there can never be too many Snape stories!, - Thursday, February 13, 2003 at 14:43:17 (PST)

Ah, and I see the spam delivery wagon has stopped by again.

MA
"Spam spam spam . . .", - Thursday, February 13, 2003 at 06:02:17 (PST)

Imperial Palace-a conference room:

The Empress looks down the long table at the gathering of her advisers. “Are there any further questions?”

There are none.

She pauses a moment, gathering her thoughts. Official procedures, details-these have been thoroughly reviewed. But there are other issues to be considered, even at the risk of . . . what? Making herself seem uncertain? But she is uncertain; they all are.

They are waiting, and she must speak.

“I would remind you all,” she begins, “of what is at stake in these proceedings. You hold in your hands the safety of The Realm. Not to mention my reputation in the history books.” This last, uttered in such an ironic tone and with such a wry smile that a murmur of amusement, though not outright laughter, runs through the gathering. As though the reputation of one so well-beloved could be in any danger. Still, time passes and one generation forgets the deeds of another, or the motives behind those deeds.

“But above all else-you are responsible for a human life.”

Solemnity, now, and full attention.

“We are none of us under any illusions as to what The Interrogator has done and what HE is capable of doing. We know, to the full. I do not ask that you forget this knowledge. You are all most dutiful, intelligent, and scrupulous, or else you would not be here with me today. I ask that you submit your knowledge, along with any desire for personal retribution, to your duty, your wisdom, and your goodness. Let it pass through these fires and come forth as gold.”

There are nods about the table, rustlings of assent. All present sit straighter in their chairs.

The Empress smiles. “I know you will not fail me. You are dismissed.”

They rise as one. There are some bows to Her Majesty; some of the older advisers perform the ceremonial salute, that light brush of the right hand against the chest. My heart is at your service.

And then they all depart-all but one. Rupert Cadell remains, waiting.

Rupert’s regard for her is no secret to The Empress, though whether he knows of her awareness or not is an impenetrable mystery to her. Never by word of deed has he betrayed any emotion beyond what is proper to his station, and yet . . . his look, sometimes. There and gone, with no time for her to scrutinize it. However, there are times when no scrutiny is necessary. If ever a heart were at her service . . .

“Your Majesty?”

Rupert, still waiting. Patiently.

The Empress is swept with a wave of gratitude for his friendship. That he can offer, and that she can acknowledge, and does with a warm smile. He reads this smile correctly, as he always does, and awaits his instructions.

“Rupert, the official proceedings will begin tomorrow at nine. Please see that the witnesses are informed.”

MA--Happy birthday, Suzanne. 8-)
Claudia--LOL!! Ed just stays in trouble, doesn't he? And Barbara--yes, you have Phil, but what are you goign to do with him? Poor brokenhearted man . . .awwwwww . . ., - Thursday, February 13, 2003 at 06:00:59 (PST)

Spam deleted.
D.o.C.

Nancy Elliot

Please check our "Who's Who" at the top of the page. The character of Severus Snape has been claimed already by Diane.

Perhaps one of Mr. Rickman's other characters would intrigue you?....
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Phil from "Blow Dry" is mine! Mine, I tell you, MINE! BWAHAHAHAHAHA! *ahem* *looks furtively around*...., - Wednesday, February 12, 2003 at 20:14:28 (PST)

Continued Tardis flashback:

The handmaidens swung their hips as they walked slowly round the lip of the huge circular bath. It was hot and humid in here. There was no necessity for clothing, so all they wore were skirts (which were no more than a flap of material at the front and back) and dark kohl on their eyes. Some carried platters of fruit and wine, others jugs of more milky hot water to top up the bath. Some sat, unashamedly bare breasted, in the pool, around and behind the male occupant. They were using cloths to gently wash his arms and his back.

The man lent back in contented relaxation. His eyes were closed as he enjoyed the attention. Another handmaiden straddled his legs, as she used small golden hand-shears to trim his beard. He must be someone very important to have all these servants, perhaps a king?

The trio stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. A picture from ancient history - if it weren't for the domed metallic walls and ceiling, and touch pad operated doors which had opened with a swoosh allowing them entry to this room, just like the ones on Star Trek.

Claudia took a step forward, then another, hardly believing her eyes. She took her trademark pose, hands on hips, like some female version of Peter Pan. "Ed! If you're trying to make me jealous…!"

"I would say he is succeeding rather admirably", said Anton, with an amused twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Ed opened his eyes wide, flailed wildly as he saw them, and ducked under the water to hide, sending damp handmaidens, in hasty retreat on the wake of his disappearance. Unfortunately, there was only so long he could hold his breath, before he came spluttering to the surface again.
Claudia
OK, that's it from me - goodnight!, - Wednesday, February 12, 2003 at 18:50:53 (PST)

Continued flashback - and also sideways and forwards, as is normal with the Tardis:

"You see?" Anton pointed to the smooth walls and the figures painted in profile on them.

The Doctor moved closer to the wall, until his nose was only an inch from the picture. "Interesting… You'll notice there appears to be only women in this painting…"

"You'll also notice," said Claudia, stabbing at one of the figures, "that one is using a computer…. Doctor, I don't think we are in the dungeons any more. Are you sure the Tardis isn't playing up? Again?"

The Doctor's brow creased. "Odd, she did have a bit of a hiccup like that before, but everything seemed normal. And when I went outside, everything was as it should be. She's a temperamental old girl, but her readouts are usually reliable."

"Usually?" repeated Anton, and Claudia took a step backwards, seeing the flash in his eyes. She hid well that she was still terrified of him, and of what he thought of her. But she wasn't going to get too close, with that expression on his face. She knew what his son was like when he was angry, and she didn't plan on getting to close to the father, just in case. She stepped further down the corridor, keeping her distance. "Were have you taken me?" He asked the Doctor.

"I'm not sure," the Doctor said brightly. "Let's find out, shall we?" And he headed off further down the corridor, following after Claudia. Anton shrugged his elegantly broad shoulders. He was used to being in command of a situation, but for the moment all he could do was follow. This Doctor was a very unusual man.
Claudia
Me again - shall I make it 3 in a row? Then leave you hanging for another month., - Wednesday, February 12, 2003 at 18:43:16 (PST)

**Fanfic author needs feedback**

Hello, all! I've been lurking here for a little while and see that I've found my target demographic. I would like your opinion on the following "teaser".

Chapter 1: The New Professor

The tiny figures were racing and dodging merrily through an obstacle course of trees and shrubbery. The smaller of the two, a girl of approximately six, glistening black ponytail bouncing in time to the stops and starts of her miniscule feet, shrieked with mock horror and fanatical glee as a laughing, black haired boy of approximately eight years of age chased and eventually caught the girl by the back of her skirt. They tumbled, shrieking and laughing even more wildly, into the edge of the painting and out of sight.

Morgan sighed and a wry smile flickered at the corner of her aubergine lips. It was a good day for reminiscing. It was an even better day for reminiscing while reclined on a down-filled chaise, comfortably positioned before a roaring fire, merlot and Gruyere stuffed mushrooms within arm’s reach-but who needs to bother reaching when a hovering glass of wine approaches the up-raised palm of the world’s greatest sorceress at a glance? Such is the case when you’re the notorious Morgan le Fay.

A faint knock at the ancient oak door announced the arrival of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Anticipating his visit since noon (“I see that the wizard’s internal clock still overrules Greenwich time”, Morgan mused), the sorceress leapt, catlike, to her feet and crossed the length of the room in an impossible three strides.

So please tell me, Alan Rickman and Harry Potter fans, are you intrigued? A devoted Morgan le Fay and Severus Snape fan, I'm hoping to create a sort of Elyot-and-Amanda tension between the two characters. What do you think of the concept?
Nancy Ellicott
- Wednesday, February 12, 2003 at 14:44:49 (PST)

Yay! Thanks for heads up, Magda-
FastFilm
- Wednesday, February 12, 2003 at 07:08:16 (PST)

A new entry in the George and Joya saga will be posted on Valentine's Day, February 14. Anyone wishing to refresh their memories can review the archives: the story started on May 30, 2001 and had its most recent entry on July 8, 2002. Sorry to all for the delay.
Magda
- Tuesday, February 11, 2003 at 10:56:47 (PST)

A flashback - and also sideways and forwards, as is normal with the Tardis:

When we left Claudia, the Doctor and Anton Gruber (who later, after his trip on the Tardis, returned to his room), there had been a disturbance in the Artron energy, which powered the Tardis, and it had jumped 5 minutes into the future. According to the Doctor's interpretation of the Tardis' dials and readouts, they were in exactly the same place.

The only problem is, the Tardis is rather temperamental, and has a mind of its own.

“You can tell all that from looking at those dials?” Anton peered over the Doctor’s shoulder, but could tell nothing from the instruments he saw.

“No, just a theory,” said the Doctor. “But the good news is we’ve only moved 5 minutes into the future, and we are in the same spot. So anyone wishing to leave the Tardis, may do so now.”

Anton Gruber had had enough excitement for one day. He had listened intently to Claudia's tale, and she seemed to be the same exuberant individual she always had been. Enthusiastic, hyperactive, but naïve. A girl, trying to leave her mark, trying to be a super woman, but in a comic book way, that wasn't going to work in the real world. She was not evil - not the way HE was.

The Doctor had opened the doors to the Tardis, and Anton took his leave. The corridor outside the Tardis was dimly lit, and Anton couldn't quite remember in which direction he had come. After a moment's indecision, he turned left, and started walking. The rough stone walls began to become smoother, the further he went, and he noticed paintings - Egyptian-like paintings on the stone walls. He was now convinced he had definitely taken a wrong turn. There was nothing like this in the palace that he had seen. Perhaps it was some underground museum, that wasn't open to the guests of the Empress? But why put a museum near dangerous prisoners?

He turned back and knocked on the door of the Tardis. The Doctor appeared quickly, leaning through the door, and knocking his hat back on his head with the red question mark shaped handle of his umbrella. "Problem, Herr Gruber?"

"I appear to be lost," Anton said tilting his head in embarrassment. "The corridor does not look as I remember it."

Claudia appeared in the doorway. "Just shout out 'the Interrogator is a big twit', and I'm sure you'll get an answer to point you in the right direction."

The Doctor gave her a withering glance, she did nothing to help herself. He presumed it was nerves that made her crack jokes in serious situations, but it just made her look blasé.

"If I could ask your assistance…"

"I apologise, Herr Gruber," she said, chastised by a look from the diminutive Doctor. "We will walk with you, and see if we can find our way out of here." She turned to the Doctor. "Don't forget to lock the door."

"I don't think this is wise," said the Doctor, turning and pulled the door shut. "You are supposed to be either in my care, or in a cell. I don't think wandering around the Palace will make you any friends."

"Oh, be quiet. You're coming as well aren't you? I'm not making a break for it." She took Anton's (surprised) arm and they headed off back the way he had come.
Claudia
Hello - remember me, I used to live here..., - Monday, February 10, 2003 at 16:38:01 (PST)

Main Library, The Palace:

They poured over the book, heads bent together. It seemed to Cynthia that Valmont was careful, more than careful, that his fingers not brush hers when turning the pages and that their shoulders should not actually touch each other as they perused the birds in the beautifully illustrated volume. At first she assumed it to be politeness on his part but slowly it seemed more than that. Too deliberate, too studied. He paused to look out the long narrow window. Most of the seed had been eaten by now but there were still a few specimens outside hopping about on the deep snow, so light that they left hardly a mark in their wake. As he watched, she took the opportunity for a closer inspection of this darkly handsome man. He had beautiful features, that was obvious from the first glance. High cheekbones and a long elegant nose that on any other face would have been too much but on him exaggerated that noble hauteur that he wore like a second skin. Facial hair so meticulously trimmed that it seemed he must be barbered on a daily basis. His scent expensive but not overwhelming, a subtle reinforcement of his elegant masculinity. A high forehead and keen observant eyes spoke of an intelligence at work behind all the grooming. No fop, this man.

He looked back and met her gaze. She didn’t turn away even though she knew she’d just been caught staring. Somehow she didn’t think he’d mind. His behaviour towards her had always been impeccable, gallant and charming. He’d never taken advantage of any of the situations in which she’d been with him and had at no time given her cause for any apprehension as to his motives. Now, as he looked back at her with the same intense observation he had just given the birds outside she felt herself begin to flush. Ridiculous, she knew, but she could feel the colour rise from her bodice up her throat and cheeks. Wanting to do anything but look away, she simply smiled and suggested that they may have to wait for another day to finish off all the birds. They’d been at this awhile and the morning was growing old.

Valmont grinned back at her. It seemed a genuine flash of good humour and did much to enhance his already considerable good looks. The look rendered him approachable and added a geniality to his formal politeness. It was a dangerous smile because it lacked any appearance of danger.

It was with apparent reluctance that he had agreed with her. He murmured something about it being time for him to go and tutor Madame Gercourt and her young friend but that he would certainly see her later. He bowed over her hand and departed, leaving Cynthia feeling more conscious of herself than she had for some time.

She summoned a picture of Ted in her mind. It was still well defined and as clear as if she’d just seen him yesterday. If time were to dull that picture and cause it to fuzz around the edges it would take a good deal more of it. The picture of the kids came too. It always did. What was harder was to imagine was how they would look be now had they lived. Older now with the baby fat beginning to fall away and the emergence of the adult they would become. Should have become.

She hadn’t wept for them since the funeral. Hadn’t until last night. It wasn’t that she didn’t miss them. The ache was constant, the only thing keeping it from turning into something sharper and completely debilitating was the act of going on. Keep moving, keep working. That had been easy in Anton’s employ. There was a constant stream of projects and crises and travel and new challenges. While it might be wrong to try to block the pain it was a coping mechanism that she understood and it worked. It was only lately that she’d begun to realize that in losing herself in work she had been losing herself altogether. If the pain was beginning to intrude it seemed that it was intruding because she’d begun to come back to herself. About time she supposed.

But that was enough and more than enough dime store psychology. Time to check in with the office and then check to see if there was any word on the upcoming Trial.

Cindie
- Wednesday, February 05, 2003 at 19:02:51 (PST)

I really don't have a story but I do have to say that I love Alan Rickman and I had to just say it sooo ok bye. Beth
Bethanie <krohm_wars@earthlink.net>
- Wednesday, February 05, 2003 at 15:31:42 (PST)

A Brief Flashback
FoF Sets -- Barbara Vanders' Office
Afternoon of Day Eight of the Investigation

"Ms. Vanders."

Barbara looked up to see a weary-faced Detective Graff rumpled in her doorway. "Detective," she said warily.

"It's 3 o'clock."

"So it is."

"Can I..." he gestured into the room, at the chair.

"It's your prerogative," she replied.

"Ms. Vanders," Graff said as he settled gingerly into the chair by her desk, "we can make this easy or we can make this difficult. Which would you prefer?"

The way that isn't a threat, she thought. But said nothing.

"All right then, Ms. Vanders, how would you define your relationship with Mr. Phillip Allen?"

She froze.

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

Vanders froze in her chair. Damn, I'm good, Graff throught to himself.

"We're --" she hesitated "-- friends."

"Friends," Graff repeated back to her, neutrally.

"Friends," she said, more firmly this time.

"On April 19, 2000, an ambulance was called to Mr. Allen's flat. Do you know who called it?"

She blinked at him. "I did," she admitted slowly.

Graff watched her intently. "And you're just friends."

She met his gaze with her own. "You don't believe me."

"I never said that," Graff replied.

"It's -- I never thought --we always --..." She took a clarifying breath. "I always thought we were friends."

Graff heard the emphasis. "And what does Mr. Allen think?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Something else."

"Something what?"

"Different."

"How does Mr. Allen define your relationship?"

She looked over at him, wildness in her eyes. "Why don't you ask him?" she demanded. "I can't read his thoughts. I've never been able to read his thoughts. I never really knew what his thoughts were on anything. I'm not a mind-reader. If I were a mind-reader, I would've known a long time ago that he lo--" she broke off and clamped her lips down tightly on the rest of the sentence.

"That he what, Ms. Vanders?" Graff asked lazily.

"Nothing."

"That he what," Graff insisted. She stayed resolutely quiet. "That he loved you?"

She gaped at him.

"It's hardly a secret, Ms. Vanders."

"You know? He told you and he wouldn't even tell me?"

"Ms. Vanders, he didn't have to tell me anything. It's written all over his face."

She crossed her arms across her torso, raising one hand to cover her face. Her shoulders rose and fell with a few gulping breaths.

It's like a bloody soap opera, he thought.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Graff sure is wierd without Silvert, - Sunday, February 02, 2003 at 10:19:46 (PST)

Oh Barbara,

And here I thought I wasn't going to cry this time.
Cindie
- Sunday, February 02, 2003 at 08:05:21 (PST)

Police Station
Morning of Day Nine of the Investigation

"Miles."

"Ekaterin." The word was singular, flat and angry. Detective Ekaterin Silvert looked down at her partner, where he sat heavy in the chair before his computer. His jaw was clenched.

What did I do? she thought.

The thought must have shown on her face, for he muttered, "Sorry. Not you."

Her sore and swollen eyes narrowed. "Then what?"

"Columbia."

"What?"

Graff pounded his fist on the desk with each word. "The. Space. Shuttle." Each blow was harder than the one which preceeded it. His coffee cup jumped fitfully across his desk with each impact.

Silvert glanced over at the picture on Graff's desk -- a blaze of light and white smoke roiling out from the bottom of the slender white needle of a Saturn V. Dread filled her mouth and tainted each word. "What happened?"

He stared up at her blankly. "You don't know?"

"I've been face-down in funeral arrangements," Silvert replied. "Remember?"

"Uh." The sound was a grunt, half-understanding, half-pained.

"What happened, Miles?"

"Columbia was coming home today--" he started.

"--and you were watching, as always --" she muttered.

"-- and it smeared all over the airspace of Texas."

"Smeared?"

"Smeared."

"O Holy Mother," she whispered.

"No survivors," he said.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes." He fell silent.

In the silence, she could hear the music he had playing.
"...a routine flight to space,
The sparkle in a pilot's eye, the joy in a teacher's face.."

"There were seven astronauts."

"Seven?"

"Just like Challenger." "Oh, no."

The music played on:
"...for ten miles high and eight miles out, a new sun lit the sky.
Again, as 19 years before, a space craft crew would die.."

"Challenger happened on January 28th, 17 years ago," Graff went on. She nodded. "And 19 years before Challenger blew up, on January 27th, three Apollo astronauts died on the launch pad."

"Oh, no."

"The crew of the Columbia held a special commemorative service on board the shuttle for each date."

"Oh."

"Bloody stupid week to fly. It's cursed." He pounded on his desk again. "Bloody." *pound* "Useless." *pound* "God-forsaken. Cursed." *pound* "Stupid." *pound* "Week." *pound* "To." *pound* "Fly!" His coffee mug gave a final leap off the desk and dropped, shattering, to the floor.

"Miles..." she dropped into her chair, suddenly drained and weary.

"...for we must fly to take the prize -- a teacher's words have sung.
To give our children Heavens: a star for every one.."

"Damn.it all to hell," he muttered, hoarsely.

"Eh," Silvert replied. "Someone already has."

A grunt. "...yeah..."

-----------------------------------

Fifteen minutes passed before Graff felt he had himself sufficiently under control to actually work. "Conducted an interview while you were out," he offered.

"Ah," she grasped, gratefully. "Who?"

"Follow up on Ms. Vanders."

"And?"

"You won't believe it."

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Song lyrics credit to Bill Sutton "...And Now They're Gone, - Sunday, February 02, 2003 at 00:16:04 (PST)

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