Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

Magda GW - Where oh where has my Georgie gone - am listless and wan, in fact fading away. Any news of any sightings?
Branca
Searching for George, - Wednesday, July 31, 2002 at 15:12:44 (PDT)

The Palace. The Brandons’ suite:

When no answer is immediately forthcoming from Hans, Brandon gazes down at the letter in his hand-eyes it with disgust, as though it were an instrument of torture straight from one of HIS chambers.

The crackle of the paper in Brandon’s fingers . . . with a sudden movement, he makes as if to cross the room and thrust the letter into the fire . . .

"Herr Brandon."

Brandon stops. Colin resists the impulse to close his eyes. Mary Anne does close hers for an instant, then opens them again, thankful that Brandon had escorted her to a seat. That tone from Hans . . . her legs would never have supported her.

"Of course you know, Herr Brandon, that this is not the only copy."

An eternity passes. Two of them.

A slow nod from Brandon. "That is understandable."

"Your response was not . . . unexpected." The least edge of a smile from Hans. "I am only surprised that it has taken so long as this."

Brandon is not placated. "Allow me to understand this clearly, Herr Gruber."

Mary Anne and Colin exchange glances. All of this Herr Brandon and Herr Gruber, the glacial formality of every phrasing . . .

Brandon locks gazes with Hans. "Am I to understand that you are asking me--"

Mary Anne cannot permit it to continue. "And to think," she murmurs, "that Renie used to say it to me."

"What did she say?" asks Colin, glad for the distraction.

Mary Anne smiles without a trace of humour. "Don’t you dare feel sorry for that man!"

MA--"erk" indeed, dearest. "You do but lose your labour.
Away with HIM to death!" ;-), - Tuesday, July 30, 2002 at 19:55:57 (PDT)

The Palace:

Late that night Anton returned from his encounter in the TARDIS passing through the office his assistant arranged and heading to his own rooms. He was musing on what a useful conveyance that blue box was and the limitless temporal possibilities it possessed. His little trip had been quite enlightening. As for his reason for seeking it out, he’d kept an open mind about Claudia until he’d heard her story from her own lips. Now he was certain.

As he’d threaded his way through the Palace he had been aware of a certain agitation in his surroundings. He was stopped more than once by Imperial Guardsmen who, while never less than courteous, were clearly in a state of heightened security. His nerve endings were alight with the tendrils of tension in the great halls and the thrumming of personnel with a purpose. Clearly his was not the only day which had been eventful. Tomorrow he would hear from Cynthia what had transpired.

Now, as his hand fell on the door knob which led to his rooms he paused and thought he heard the sounds of weeping. Anton knew of course why Cynthia wore the gold band on the finger of her right hand and why she was always very careful to have more work than she ought to be able to handle. Despite their association of several years’ duration and his reliance upon her, Anton had never broached the subject of the accident. He knew the facts from Herr Molyneux but had always felt that she had needed to speak of it to someone. Anton Gruber, however, was not the sort of man who would try to force a confidence, especially in an employee, no matter how close they were. The grief of losing a spouse and even a child was not at all foreign to him, but the role of counselor certainly was. As he listened, his body began to turn towards the other end of the room where the doorway leading to her rooms was situated. His foot had taken a step before he caught himself. To go to her room uninvited at this hour of the night was unthinkable. It would be an interference and he would not place her in such an awkward position.

Resolutely, he turned back to his own door and opened it. As he closed it behind him he considered that this day had been but an interlude and that tomorrow the canticle would resume.

Cindie
Now to go get ready for the party. . ., - Tuesday, July 30, 2002 at 18:18:56 (PDT)

Scene: The Palace. The Brandons' Suite.

A profound silence fills the Brandon's suite, as Mary Anne reads . . .

A third of the way . . . then a little more . . .

No one stands close enough to see Mary Anne's eyes. Her back has been turned.

But her voice, when it comes . . .

"I am no angel." Mary Anne turns slowly back to Hans. "Have you read this letter, Hans?"

An indictment. As he expected. "I have read only a little further than you have managed, I could read no further." The admission seems damning. Yet Hans betrays no emotion, even when Mary Anne's voice seems to go cold.

"She nothing extenuates."

A slight burning in those blue eyes. Fragile buds of tears.

Of anger.

"I am no angel of mercy. An avenging angel, perhaps." A harder edge flickers, and tramples back the buds. An edge which might surprise or even shock anyone who did not know Mary Anne, or know of the ordeals she had faced.

But these men know.

Hans knows exactly what she feels. The same revulsion at the thought of clemency, of mercy for HIM . . . but Hans speaks on, if only to reach the end of his own ordeal.

"My wife has asked me--to find the person who will give proper voice to the letter, to find the truth in her words."

"She tries to save him, even now." The words are out of Mary Anne's mouth before she can recall them, and she sees their effect on Hans.

Colin shifts miserably from foot to foot, remembering all he had tried to do to destroy the Interrogator, to protect . . . them all . . . the terrible explosion . . . the loss of life . . .

Colonel Brandon fights the impulse to go to Mary Anne, to literally, stand by her. She must bear so much more, tomorrow, he thinks. And he roots himself to the spot.

If a vote on HIS fate were taken in this room, it would be unanimous.

Mary Anne has no recourse but the truth. Her course, clear. As much as it hurts her.

"I cannot speak these words, or give them voice. I cannot find the truth in them. I would do nearly anything for my dearest friend, except be false to myself. I would like to believe Renie might understand. I know that you do, Hans."

"I do." Hans finally allows himself an iota of emotion. He is . . . relieved. Not the prettiest of feelings. But there it is.

His eyes now become intent, instead of passive. Now is the time.

"I am not asking you to read this letter to the Court, Mary Anne."

"You . . . " Mary Anne's voice trails off, and Brandon will control his growing sense of helplessness no longer. Moving quickly to seat his wife, he takes the letter from her hand and shakes it at Hans.

"WHAT can you mean by this cruel trick, sir?" demands Brandon, a tiger content to be still no longer.

R
Erk . . . , - Tuesday, July 30, 2002 at 13:20:49 (PDT)

FoF Offices -- Cafeteria

"There's going to be a party, Phil," Barbara said. "You should take advantage of it and ask a lady to go with you."

"What?"

"The FoF Anniversary party," she explained, excitedly. "It's on a yacht!"

"Won't you be going?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Anton Gruber and I are going. He asked me a little while ago if I--" her voice deepened and put on an accent "vould care to join him on zee yacht."

"Oh."

"Don't tell me." Barbara gave Phil a narrow-eyed stare. "Oh, no, you don't, Phil. You are not going to slink off home alone instead of coming to the party. That's not allowed. Don't even try it, or -- or -- I'll fetch a tag team of Mary Anne and Renie after you, to badger you until you go." She leaned against the wall of the cafeteria booth. "If I have to, I'll tell Mary Anne that you stole all the chocolates and took them home with you," she threatened.

Phil snorted.

Barbara's face grew concerned and sligtly wheedling. "You do'nt dislike your coworkers, do you, Phil? Vicky and the rest of the team?"

Phil shook his head.

"Don't you think they'd be a bit insulted, with you sloping off like that?"

Phil shrugged noncommittally.

"Well, I think I'd be rather affronted, at the very least," Barbara said. "Why don't you ask Sue?" she added, brightly. "She's single."

Phil rolled a shoulder dismissively. "There's not point to my going," he said.

"Phillip Roderick Allen, I can't believe your sulking like this," Barbara said. "Stop acting like a petulant little boy and get your arse in gear. Go out there and find yourself a companion." She made little shooing motions with her hands. "Go, go, go, go!" She shook her head and left the cafeteria, meeting up with one of the other set designers at the door. They chatted their way up the hall.

Phil sighed.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Germans say "Barbara" so prettily, too.... all those rolled "Rs"... Mrrrraowwww.... , - Tuesday, July 30, 2002 at 13:06:08 (PDT)

I think I'll leave cause no one wants to hear the rest of my story........;(
mandy
i guess i'll ..., - Tuesday, July 30, 2002 at 12:50:23 (PDT)

Scene: The Palace. The Brandons' Suite.

Three men, rising.

"Hans---I thought I heard your voice." Understated jest, as Mary Anne knew from the first tones behind her door that Hans Gruber had finally arrived at the Palace. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before Hans would come for HIS trial.

Mary Anne emerges from behind the door, dressed in a full-length, modest and quite flattering silken dressing gown, visibly warming at the sight of Hans Gruber. Though her love and marital devotion to Colonel Brandon is already the stuff of legend, Hans never fails to weaken her at the knees, that frisson of masculine power and sex appeal, wrapped in a Teutonic tower of intelligence and intuition.

Brandon notes the warmth, but without any trace of jealoussy. His wife is, after all, a woman.

A fact which is not lost on either Colin or Hans.

In that same moment, Brandon wonders if he will be forgiven the pride he feels when other men look upon his beautiful wife.

The moment passes, and a warm embrace between the pair of longtime friends ensues. "Tell me--" begins Mary Anne, pulling away from Hans only slightly.

"There is no need to worry about Renie, Mary Anne." Fremitus. Against Hans. Through his chest, even at this slight distance. "She is doing well," Hans continues, "though she misses the company of her dearest friends. She sends you her special love."

"I'm glad she's not here, Hans. Between you and I." Mary Anne releases Hans from the captivity of her embrace, and, as she turns to welcome Colin, Hans turns his attention to Brandon.

"There is something amiss here, Brandon. Do you know anything about it?" Hans speaks softly.

The Colonel shakes his head, but says no more, as Mary Anne and Colin have finished their pleasantries.

"Zo," Mary Anne announces, with all the authority of a woman calling a meeting to order, "to what do we really owe the pleasure of this visit? Will someone please tell me?"

Hans feels the breath of Renie's earnest words, as if she is at his shoulder, still. I know you will find the right person to speak my words, give them life and meaning.

"I've been sent on a mission," replies Hans. Reaching inside of his jacket pocket, he hands the letter to Mary Anne. "To find an angel of mercy."

Mary Anne immediately recognizes Renie's handwriting, and immerses herself . . . reading . . .

"TO the Honored Assembly at the High Court of the Royal Palace of the Realm,

And especially to Her Majesty, whom we honor and serve,

And to all subjects of Her Majesty, to the farthest boundaries of our Realm . . .

Renie
Welcome back Therese! , - Monday, July 29, 2002 at 11:03:20 (PDT)

The Palace:

“Will you tell me now where we’re going?”

The Vicomte de Valmont smiled at the woman on his arm. “Oui. Now I will for we have arrived.” They had walked for some time through the Palace, negotiating hallways and stairways and stood at a set of carved doors flanked by two footmen. They paused and the doors were opened for them. “You will see,” the Vicomte continued, “this will be good for the soul.”

She gazed about her in confusion as they stepped in but kept her voice low. “Church? You’ve brought me to church?”

“Evensong. You will be amazed. Come, let us sit over here.” He directed them to seats near the back of the chapel. There were already about a dozen and a half people and more coming in.

Cynthia was dubious, but complied. “I haven’t been to church since. . . for a long time.”

Valmont merely nodded and sat next to her. When the music began wafting down Cynthia looked over at him. He sat back with his eyes closed and an expression of serenity on his face.

When the program had finished, Valmont looked over to see the tears streaming down her face. Wordlessly, he handed her his handkerchief. She took it, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose and smiled at him weakly. When she took his arm to leave he perceived that she leant upon him rather more heavily than she had before. He did not address her until they were very near to her rooms. “I hope that I did not upset you? Did I chose poorly for us?”

Cynthia graced him again with a vague smile. “No, not at all. It was beautiful …the chapel, …the music…” He handed her a fresh handkerchief which she put to use. “I was simply overcome with…” Her voice trailed again and she shrugged.

They stopped now in front of her door. “Then tomorrow you must allow me to divert you with some sort of frivolity. We may be here for a trial, but life must still be celebrated.”

She looked at him, searching for a hidden meaning on his behalf but was met with only his pleasant and somewhat concerned expression. “That would be fine.” She tucked the second handkerchief into a pocket with the first. “I will have these laundered and returned to you.”

He made a dismissive gesture and took her hand. He held it firmly in his and looked at her for a long moment. “Sleep well,” was all he said before he turned to go.

Cynthia when alone in her room searched in vain for a handkerchief of her own. She hadn’t needed them before.

When Valmont returned to his room he almost immediately began a letter. His valet, discreetly seeing to his clothes, began to softly sing the words to his master’s humming:

Jubilate! Jubilate! Jubilate! Amen! Hope and faith and love rise glorious. . .

Valmont paused briefly, bared his teeth, and continued writing.

Cindie
I'd say homage but I think this was outright theft. Thanks for the inspiration, MA. ;-)
Therese, for which Dev should we feel sorriest?, - Sunday, July 28, 2002 at 18:58:39 (PDT)

Jasmine glanced at her black watch. She was late. She sped up the gravel road and turned into the dock. She hoped that Diane was still waiting for her.

She parked her truck in front of Bay 115 and got out. The entrancing smell of ocean flooded over her as she stretched her arms in the thick, warm air. She pulled out her luggage bags.A man and woman were walking toward the yacht.

'They must be here for the party too.' She thought to herself.

Jasmine shut the door of the truck with a 'thud' and looked around for Diane. She immediatly saw her, standing with a man in a...yes... in a jacket."It far to warm for a jacket." She said, qiuetly to herself, looking at him.

There was another woman in front of them. A woman that Jasmine did not recognize. Jasmine began to walk to them with her bags in her hands.
Jasmine
just got to the yacht party., - Sunday, July 28, 2002 at 17:21:34 (PDT)

Sandy's apartment complex:

Alexander pulled up into the apartment complex driveway and grinned when he saw Sandy already waiting for him outside with her overnight bag and a small tote bag slung over her shoulder. He saw that she was comfortably dressed in a patterned tank top, a pair of white capri pants and white strappy sandals. Her dark sunglasses glinted in the sunlight as he pulled up next to her. "Good morning!" he said, popping the trunk of his Jaguar open.

"Good morning, Alex!" Sandy replied cheerfully, quickly stowing her bags in the trunk next to his and shutting it with a satisfying bang. She opened the door and slid into the passenger's seat next to him. She nodded in approval of his simple outfit of navy shorts, tank top and a short-sleeved button up shirt left open. "Very nice," she murmured in appreciation before his lips slid over hers.

"Mind the shift control," Alexander breathed in Sandy's ear when he broke the kiss.

Sandy gasped sharply at his remark and she withdrew from him, scowling ferociously - for all of two seconds before she started laughing merrily. "You rat!" she giggled, taking his hands into hers. He joined in on the laughter before kissing her again. "We better get a move on before we miss the boat," she reminded him softly.

"Wouldn't want to do that now, would we?" Alexander rumbled. "Do you have the directions?"

"Right here," Sandy nodded, pulling them from the pocket of her capris. "We're about an hour away from the marina." She gave him the directions and he scanned them briefly before he gave them back to her.

"Great," Alexander said finally. He opened the sunroof and put the car into gear, heading towards the street. He waited a moment as a car passed by on the left before pulling out. "There's some CDs in the glove compartment if you want some music," he told Sandy as he pulled onto the freeway.

"Sure," Sandy replied. She blinked as she opened the glove compartment and shuffled through the CD jewel boxes. "My God," she breathed finally.

"What?"

"You've been holding out all this time."

"What are you talking about?"

Sandy held up a copy of Jimmy Buffet's: Songs You Know By Heart/Jimmy Buffet's Greatest Hits. "You're a Parrothead, Alexander Dane!" She continued shuffling. "Let's see... The Beach Boys... Jan and Dean... Shall I continue?"

Alexander's lips began twitching with suppressed amusement as he stared ahead. "And your point?" He expertly maneuvered into the third lane.

"There *is* no point. It's just that I learn something different about you every day..." Sandy shrugged her shoulders as she began feeding CDs into the changer and pressed the 'shuffle' button.

Alexander turned in her direction briefly and saw that she had taken her sunglasses off to gaze at him. She smiled warmly and he returned the smile before turning back to the road. "The same here, love. The same here," he murmured. The smile turned to laughter as she began singing "Margaritaville" at the top of her lungs.

An hour later, they had arrived at the marina and Alexander parked the Jaguar and the two removed their bags from the Jag's trunk. Alexander locked up the car and they walked down the dock hand-in-hand. "Do you think anybody else's arrived yet?" Sandy asked.

"I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine," Alexander replied. He consulted the invitation. "Let's see: the ship is docked in Bay 115," he said. The two looked at the signs and turned right, coming to Bay 115 a few minutes later. They came to a halt in front of the yacht and stared. "Impressive," Alexander said finally.

"Indeed," Sandy nodded in agreement and inhaled deeply. "Ahh... The fresh sea air. Reminds me of home."

"Shall we?" Alexander asked after a minute, turning to gaze down at Sandy with a smile.

"Let's," Sandy replied, returning the smile and the two walked up the gangplank to see if anyone else was on board.

Sandy
Dress is casual, ladies! And Barbara, I'll try to see what I can do about your request :-), - Sunday, July 28, 2002 at 15:41:45 (PDT)

(Er... scratch out the *I haven't even left the house* thing...)
D
- Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 19:37:21 (PDT)

Diane's eyes widened. She covered the mouthpiece and yelled at Jamie "WHAT TIME IS IT?"

"Almost 10:30, why?"

"I said I'd meet her at eleven!!!"

Even through Diane's hand she could hear her. "Diane, it is alright, I'm going to be late anyways. How long of a drive are you from the dock?"

"Gratefully only forty five minutes, if I hurry."

"Thats good though! We'll be there at about the same time then, if you leave your house within the next twenty minutes." Diane popped her back and she smiled.

"Yeah, I can make that. I only hope Erika doesn't show up and then wonder where I am..." She bit her fingernails.

"Who's Erika?"

"Oh, real friendly gal I met a while ago. I invited her to also meet me at the dock- boy I hope she is coming. Wouldn't it be awful if she missed us? I'd feel like its all my fault or something..."

"I'm sure she is fine, but you are breaking up... the reception isn't very good right now on this cellphone of mine... I think I must leave you now with a quick bye!" Diane cocked her head with a sigh. "Ok, so if I show up in something outrageously stupid you won't laugh?"

Jasmine shrugged behind the phone. "I can't make any promises- I know how wild YOU can get!" she teased playfully as Diane gave a huff.

"Well, I'll let you go then- see you soon! Terrah!"

"Bye!"

Diane pressed the OFF button and turned to Jamie with bewilderment on his face. "WHAT???"

"Something outrageously stupid?"

"Well I'm not wearing my winter coat, now, am I?"

Jamie blushed. "I'm COLD."

"Let me know the minute you aren't- you are going to look like a fool in that." She snicked. "Now, if you excuse me, I think I'm going to go and change into this nice pink and purple summer dress..."

****

In exactly twenty minutes Jamie and Diane were out the door and driving down the road that would lead her to the dock in her new bright blue Volkswagon Beetle, or, as she liked to call it, her slugbug. Thankfully is was one of those rare streets that did not contain an hour's delay of construction and traffic, and the riding was smooth sailing. And, like she had predicted over the phone, they had arrived at the dock in ruffly forty five minutes. Diane raced out of the slugbug (Jamie was carrying her bags, and she HAD tried to get them out of the trunk but hadn't seen the trunk lid too well...) and made sure it was all locked up before tracing to the boardwalk. There stood a woman, smiling at her, though it was not Jasmine.
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Ahhh! I haven't even left the house! , - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 19:35:51 (PDT)

B.O.S.H. to you, Therese--good to "see" you here again. And soon you will be home, so hang in there. 8-)

MA
R, dearest--I dunno, what do you think MA should be modeling . . . ? ;-D, - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 19:17:58 (PDT)

Dev's Flat

"Wha' the?" Dev sat up abruptly, and rolled off the bed, Therese close behind.

"Tory!" Therese scolded her dog in a harsh whisper, and called the animal to her. The Alsatian came to her side hesitantly, hackles still raised.

"I'll get the door, you--" Eamon paused, and threw his hands up in the air before moving quickly to step into his clothing. Another loud round of banging came from the front stoop, causing Tory to growl deep in her throat. "And for Heaven's sake, keep that mongrel quiet!" he sighed, closing the door to the bedroom behind him as he departed.

Therese repeated her order of silence to the dog, and Tory moved to lie in front of the closed bedroom door, sighing loudly in canine disapproval. Therese hurriedly dressed, stepping into the outfit she'd had on earlier, and quickly tidied the bed. She'd just finished when she heard a angry, accusatory voice from the front room. Tory could maintain her silence no longer, and left forth with several deep, protective barks.

"Ah HA! I told you there was a dog on the premises--"

Therese looked at the large dog standing in agitation by the door. "You've really done it now, you. Unless I'm mistaken, that's Eamon's landlord."

The words were no sooner out of Therese's lips when the door to the bedroom crashed open, and said landlord stormed into the room. "There!" he crowed triumphantly, pointing at an accusatory finger at the growling animal, "that voids your lease." He looked to Therese, his round, unfriendly face creasing into an even deeper scowl. "And who is this?" he added harshly, "as there is only one person named as occupant on your lease."

Tory could take this loud, aggressive acting stranger no longer, and with a baying woof she leapt at the intruder, her hackles standing erect, and her gleaming white fangs exposed. Her deep growl echoed through the room menacingly as she backed the strange man into one corner.

"Tory, front!" Therese ordered, and with a final snarl the large dog returned to her mistress and sat protectively before her. "But this is my dog, sir, and I don't live here, I was just over for the evening. Mr. Devalera was going to return me and my dog to my flat a little later this evening."

The rotund man, if he heard Therese's plea, gave no indication of having understood it as he turned a mottled shade of purple in the corner of Eamon's bedroom. "Get out!" he finally managed to gasp, followed by a louder, "and get that vicious creature off of my property before I-I--"

The man gasped as the dog turned toward him once more, then finally fell silent as Therese informed him of her pet's reaction of aggression toward strange, raised voices. After several unsuccessful attempts at speech, which gave him an unflattering, fish-like appearance, he finally managed to inform Dev of his impending eviction before he scuttled hurriedly from the room.

"Well now, that's lovely," Dev said, the fingers of his right hand combing through his hair absentmindedly in his agitation. He was just about to add another comment when two shrill rings pierced the air. "Who could that be at this hour?" he demanded.

Therese moved to the phone, picked the receiver up from the cradle, and handed it to Eamon. From the one side of the conversation she could hear and the look on Eamon's face, this night was going from bad to worse.

"What is it?" she asked as soon as the phone had been laid down.

"That was Mistral, The Director has been attacked.

"What!?" Therese whirled around, her mind spinning, as Tory immediately returned to face her, sensing fear in her mistress' voice. "Is he all right? Have they caught whoever did it?"

"Yes, but shaken, and no, which is why Mistral called. The police are taking statements, but they don't know if this was aimed at The Director, if it might be directed toward the cast as a group, or if it were completely random, which means you'll be staying with me until we know more."

Therese considered him for a moment, her mind a whirl. "In that case I suggest you pack a bag, my dear, as you seem to quite recently have become homeless." She followed him back into the bedroom as she opened the closet door, and pulled down a bag from the top shelf.

"Where is The Director now?"

"He's at home, there's a guard positioned at his house and the police have stepped up patrol around his neighbourhood."

"I want to go and see him."

Eamon threw some final articles of clothing into the case, and latched it. "I figured you would, in fact, Mistral suggested it. He's been there with him since it happened, but he needs to attend to some other things and doesn't think The Director should be left alone right now."

So it was a mere twenty minutes later when The Director was called to his door by the London police who announced that he'd just had a rather large dog delivered to his home.

Me again
Cindie--I'm not sure if it was the Devalera Library, all of these castles I've been in of late, or just a majour case of homesickness, but tonight I just had to write here!, - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 15:24:05 (PDT)

Jasmine gave a small chuckle. "I wish I knew. I dont even know what I am going to wear. I just threw a bunch of nice dresses into my suitcase. I have *no* idea what everyone else is wearing."

Diane smiled as she looked through her dresses, trying to decide. "I just really want to look nice for my first FOF party."

"I am going to get to the marina in about two hours." Jasmine sped up to 80 MPH so she would get there sooner. "I cant wait to see you. It has been soooo long. Where are you, anyways?"
Jasmine
I am *almost* there., - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 14:48:05 (PDT)

The Palace

"What is it? What's happened?"

Therese's frantic words hung in the charged air of the room as she looked from Rupert to the guards and back again. "Eamon has gone missing--this has something to do with your being here, doesn't it?" She phrased this last comment as a statement, there was no doubt in her mind that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Rupert moved to take Therese gently by the arm, "Therese, have a seat, won't you?"

She pulled from his grasp, her actions becoming more frenzied as she saw the silent looks pass between the assembled men. The guards closed in a half step, as if sensing her unpredictability. "I don't wish to sit, Rupert, and I want to know exactly what it is that's going on! Where's Eamon? What's happened?" She moved back toward Rupert, grasping at his arm, and causing him to lean more heavily on his walking stick. The nearest guard moved in protectively, his intent only to distance Therese from his commanding officer, as Rupert was a man he'd pledged to protect with his life, if need be. Therese, however, distraught as she was, her emotions still in wild disarray from her abduction and subsequent return to testify against HIM, fought against the restraint, her actions bordering on hysterics.

The guard reacted without thought, trained as he was to protect the man who was Her Majesty's closest advisor, and politically the second most important person in the realm beside the Empress, and within moments had a frantic and struggling Therese securely immobilized. Rupert, if he were the type of man who spared himself a moment to pause before reacting, would have sighed. He'd known this was going to be difficult on many levels, a trial of this nature, with testimony of victims, and the overprotective, strong willed men who stood by them, not to mention the creature who had made all of this necessary. . .and this current, unforeseen development made nothing easier.

"Release Miss Gellert, commander Gyles."

The guard looked to his superiour, hesitating briefly in his concern.

"Immediately, commander!" Rupert's crisp command rang out through the room, secured Therese's instant freedom, and she lunged to the other corner of the room, her chest heaving.

She hugged herself, crossing her arms tightly across her shoulders, trying to calm and steady her breathing as her heart pounded. Finally she raised a shaking hand, and pointed it toward the assembled guards. "Get them out of my room," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

Rupert inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her request, and quietly ordered the guards to wait for him on the other side of the door. His order was carried out with an exact precision, despite how atypical a request it was; for this man to raise his voice once in an evening was unusual, to require him to do it a second time, beyond thought.

Rupert crossed the room and dropped himself into the same chair he'd sat in only twelve hours before when he'd discussed Therese's testimony with her, and Eamon had stood protectively over her seat, glowering at the assembled men. "Could I convince you to sit now? We're quite alone now, just you and a lame old man."

Therese's eyes narrowed as she considered Rupert from across the room. True, he did use a walking stick, but she was not deceived in the slightest. She had no doubt that the ornate, brass handled object could be used to inflict considerable damage upon an opponent. The hands that held that item, too, were not the hands of age, nor was the broad frame and lithe form that of someone in any way helpless.

Rupert allowed a small smile at Therese's intense scrutiny. "Would you at least allow then, that we are all here to aid one another? I know that you've been through much, but we're all on the same side, I assure you."

Defiance and bluster Therese could fight, empathy and understanding were always her undoing, and she collapsed on the edge of her bed, her eyes filling with tears. Rupert looked horrified and alarmed; few women, he recalled several moments too late, possessed the steady, clear head of Her Majesty. However, he had no time for tears at present, and moved quickly in front of the seated form. "Stop crying!" he ordered,(homage) his tone the voice of imperial command.

Therese looked up, her reaction first startled, and then relieved as she wiped at her eyes self-consciously. Rupert quickly thrust a linen handkerchief at her, relieved at her quick response. "Are you all right now? I'm afraid I've news that will distress you further."

"What has he done?" Therese was back to her straightforward, typical self.

Rupert hesitated, and swallowed uncomfortably, wondering at the many possible reactions from the woman before him.

"Just tell me, please," she prompted, resignation tinging her tone.

"He attempted to kill The Interrogator, so we had no choice but to take Mr. Develara into custody."

Therese was up and moving almost before the last syllable had fallen from Rupert's lips. She dove to the closet, shedding her bathrobe without thought to modesty or decency, and quickly pulled on trousers, jumper, and shoes. Stopping for a brief moment to tie back her hair she turned toward Rupert, who was trying unsuccessfully to mask his surprise at this sudden, abrupt change.

"You'll take me to him, I assume? I can't imagine why else you've come."

Rupert nodded. "Unfortunately I have no choice. I'll not deceive you, Therese, her majesty is a just and humane woman, but the prison cells are no place for a lady. However, we've not been able to induce him to say a word, and he assures us he'll maintain his silence until he can see you."

"You'll bring along those guards you've left at the door, I presume?"

"I assure you, you'll have complete protection at all times."

Therese considered the man before her, her large brown eyes radiating her fury. "Oh I assure you, it's not me who'll need the protection, sir--when I get my hands on Eamon Devalera, I'm going to murder that man!"

Therese
- Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 14:06:18 (PDT)

"Oh its raining… raining in my heart…"

Diane was fully awake now- and fully drenched down her back. Jamie sat laughing on the edge of her bed, his honey hair flopped to the one side ("Go brush it," she said.) and laughing hysterically at the look painted on her face of pure terror and a rather rude awakening. Jamie held in his right hand a glass of water, or, it used to be a glass of water. Now the water was being sopped up by Diane’s nightgown. She felt like she could kill him.

"Oh… I haven’t done that in YEARS."

"Yeah… wonderful… simply pleasurable, now that I’m freezing cold."

"Join the party." He shrugged and set the glass onto a coaster still grinning. "Lighten up D." She only gave a huff and forced herself to crawl out of bed to look in the mirror and give out a groan. She blinked.

"Oh my God, Jamie! Jamie! I can see myself!" Jamie, who was half asleep ("Where’s my coffee? WHAT? No vanilla cream?!!?") just nodded with a yawn and a *Good for you.* He listened to his words then sprang up and came to her side. "It’s still awfully fuzzy… a blur in some cases… but, oh Jamie, I can SEE." She jumped for joy and giggled in his arms.

He smiled wider. "I was a bit slow on the uptake there."

"You usually are."

"Eh? What is THAT supposed to mean?"

She only laughed and wanted to cheer. Maybe she wouldn’t fall off the side of the yacht after all! "Do you think it will return for good by this afternoon?"

He raised both eyebrows and shrugged once more. "Possibly. We can hope."

She slapped his shoulder and laughed once more. Nothing in the world could dim her spirits right now, and the prospect of her vision returning like new hung in the air like spices. She breathed in deeply and exhaled with joy. Sure, like she had said, everything was still quite fuzzy… but it was a start!

"Now, you better get ready for your party Diane. Weren’t you going to meet some of your friends at eleven?"

"Yes, that’s right. But aren’t you coming too?"

"I’m no good at parties… I’ve been to some of them… it seems dreadfully boring to me, most of the time, anyway. Besides… I don’t know if I can swim!"

Diane bit her lip, on the verge of laughter once more. Her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel holding an acorn in its cheek and she bit her lip. "You don’t know…" she gasped for air, "if you can SWIM?"

"Well, I USED to swim, all the time actually, but, that… that was before I…" He could not finish his sentence and hung his head in shame. "Besides, I don’t look good in trunks."

"Oh for God’s sake Jamie, YOU are the one who needs to lighten up. This is a party on a YACHT, not a beach party!" She flicked his forehead in a loving way. "Idiot."

He blushed bright red and frowned a bit, rubbing his forehead playfully. "But what would happen if our yacht plays as the titanic and goes down under?"

"Well, I don’t know EXACTLY where we are going, but I’m pretty sure we are not going to Australia or be heading around any ice bergs. Stop worrying and go pack."

"I’m already packed."

"I thought you said you weren’t going."

"When you have loads of time on your hands, you do things even if you didn’t intend you previous." Diane just nodded, rolling her eyes as if saying *Yeah, right…* "Are YOU packed?"

"No." She twiddled her thumbs. Jamie started to give her a *LOOK* but she put up a hand in defense. "I’m a procrastinator, you know that!" She turned to her closet and pulled out a suitcase. "But you can help me."

****

It was an hour later, but not too much had been accomplished. Jamie was still in his robes ("PLEASE go brush your hair!"), Diane in her nightgown, and the suitcase only ½ packed. The only thing completely finished was the coffee, for none remained in the once full pot. It was really Diane’s fault, for she was in a conundrum: What to wear.

Diane had never been on a yacht before, and even more, had never been to a Flights of Fancy party. For her, she was all puzzled, since her outfit meant a lot. If she was to arrive in the wrong type of outfit… well… she would be embarrassed for life. (Not a shameless type of person.) If only she could ASK someone what they were wearing or to get some type of idea or… But that would make her sound like a five year old asking its mother for a chocolate chip cookie. Diane rolled her eyes at the thought, a definite NO plan. Just as she was reaching for that pretty pink and purple summer time spaghetti strap dress… the phone rang.

"D, it is for you." Diane wondered if it was another person from Flights of Fancy like Sandy, but the voice proved one she recognized over the receiver.

"Hey Diane, its me, Jasmine. Remember?" She eased up a bit and smiled.

"Yes Jas, I remember you, of course I do! Can I ask you a question…"

"Sure… what?" She could hear the puzzlement in her voice.

"Jas… what should I wear?"
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Yet another lame post... *yawn* , - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 13:54:15 (PDT)

Claire -- Hope you had a merry birthday!

Therese -- Does this mean that flitting about the U.K. and basking in the deValera library has been inspirational?
Cindie
- Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 13:15:49 (PDT)

Jasmine laid back in the seat of her black F-150 and turned up the radio. A good classical station was hard to find. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and whispered to herself, “Turn right on Halimy St. and keep going straight for about an hour.”

She looked at the clock. 10:15 . She gripped the steering wheel tighter and leaned forward, stretching her back, preparing it for a long trip.

She wondered how Diane looked now that she was older. She pictured her in her mind as how they looked when they were close friends, long ago.

This was also going to be Jasmine’s first party with the other cast members. She had heard so much about all of them, and she hoped they were all going.

She had forgotten about the previous events with the inscrutable man from her dreams. All she could think about was the long drive ahead, seeing Diane after all of these years, and the yacht party at the marina.

She picked up her cell and flipped the paper with directions over. On the back was Diane's number that she had copied from the caller ID. She dialed the number.
Jasmine
On my Way, - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 13:09:03 (PDT)

Happy b-day, Claire!

And a very belated thank you to everyone for the quite timely b-day greetings to me several weeks ago. I've been to an amazing range of places between then and now, and simply hadn't found my way to a keyboard.

No doubt you'll soon hope I find my way apart from said keyboard sometime soon. . .

Therese
only one more week left in London--how can that be???, - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 12:55:22 (PDT)

Jasmine studied the letter and read aloud to herself. It appeared to be some formal message from Diane.

Dear Jasmine,

I am pleased to inform you that the Anniversary Party of Flights of Fancy (forget that it is way over the actual Anniversary) is starting on July the twenty-eighth. If you wanted, we could meet up by the dock (I'll call you later with the instructions) and board the yacht together. I'll see you around... 11:00 AM if that is alright with you. I hope to hear back from you soon and see you in a week! Take care hon!

Love, Diane

Jasmine smiled at the letter. She hadn't heard from Diane in ages, and it would be good to actually see her again. The two of them used to go to school together for a brief time... until Diane had moved away. Now, though, the student buddies would re-unite, and in a much more thrilling way than the normal *get-togethers.* She cocked her head and glanced at her watch and gave a slight jump. It was already almost nine thirty.

Jasmine leaped from her doorstep and dashed to her room, or, she almost dashed to her room. She paused to look at the answering machine; The red dot was bleeping and flashing. She pressed the New Message button to hear Diane's voice (why did it sound so shakey?) over the other end. The instructions! She hurridly grabbed a pen and notebook stuffed into her drawer and scribbled down the directions until the recording was over. She peered back at her notes and groaned. It would take forever to get to the dock! Without any further delay Jasmine entered her bathroom to take a nice hot shower before packing then zooming away...

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Let's get the show on the road! , - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 10:07:52 (PDT)

Jamie took one pace forewords, ready to rush over, take Diane in his arms, and in a soothing VOICE tell her it was okay. But he didn't know if the both of them were ready to cross this particular bridge yet, especially with Diane in the state she was in now. Sandy’s phone call had brought both a smile to her face- and tears. Jamie opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, mind forgotten for words. Diane slumped to the floor, hands covering her face, fingernails curling. She wanted to claw at her face, her eyes, and scream WHY, WHY??? It had happened so suddenly, so out of the blue that it didn't seem the least bit realistic nor probable. Her only hope, the last thread she was clinging to, was that it just might go away, exactly like how it had come.

"Oh, why must I be so miserable Jamie? Can't I just be happy and free like everyone else? Is there some overly large sign pasted to my back that says punish me, or am I just bad luck?" She sniffed, bringing up her head to stare into hazel eyes once more. The hazel eyes blinked for a moment, and Diane knew he couldn't say what he felt, as most people can't. Diane scrunched up her knees and hugged them to her chest. Her entire life she had tried to accomplish things one after another, even in life itself, but then why did she feel as if she had gotten no where at all? Even the idea of a party on a sunny yacht didn't rise her spirits. Oh, if ONLY she could SEE!

"Diane..." He paused. Maybe a formal and straight-out way of talking was best. He couldn't maneuver words as well as he once could, but, it was worth a try. "Diane, not everyone... is perfect."

"Oh, for God's sake, I learned that in kindergarten. Tell me something useful!" Jamie blinked in surprise at her harsh reaction, and looked as if he had been physically slapped into next week.

"Look, if you want me to go, I will."

"No, no, I don't want YOU to go... I don't want anyone to go... Actually, I've have enough of people leaving me."

Jamie nodded, hearing those words before but... that was a long time ago. Now he was here with Diane, and somehow, some way, he had to help her. A thought struck him.

"Will you... allow me... to play for you?" Diane gasped. She had heard from many others how touching and relaxing his music could be but never in person had she heard him play before...

"Oh Jamie... that would be lovely." He smiled a bit and offered an arm as Diane reached up and grasped it after groping around a bit. They entered the dancing room (Diane had to give him directions) and Jamie looked to the ceiling.

"Ahhh... there it is."

"What?"

"The disco ball."

Smiling, Diane took a seat on a bench in the far west corner. Jamie looked around and slapped his forehead. "Oh HOW could I have been so STUPID?"

"What now..." she moaned, afraid to ask.

"I don't have my cello with me."

"Oh well that is alright. My friend gave me a cello a long time ago, said she didn't need it. I have it stuffed in one of the instrumental cases I keep in the large cabinet, see the one in the green, along with other rubbish. I hardly ever play, I'm not too good... I am a fair hand at piano and a couple of notes on a flute but further than that I just plain suck." Jamie chuckled and swung open the doors, his hands running over the fine wood that had been painted a forest green. He scanned for a cello case, and when he found it the case proved difficult to remove, and thus, did not budge. He made a very funny face when he tried pulling it out to make Diane laugh, but then remembered, gee, she cannot see it. At last it came free.

"Now…" he said, rolling his shoulders and picking up the bow. "What should I play?"

"I don’t know…" She blushed. "I’ve never been someone too crazy for classical music, actually."

"Then should I play something a bit more upbeat?"

"No!" she cried, furrowing her eyebrows. She calmed herself, placing a finger in her hair. "No. Play whatever you feel is best for you."

Whether it was the sweetness of her voice or the calmness of the summer air, Jamie felt inspired to play. The bow in his hand was like an old friend, one who gave him a welcoming hug while the cello itself was someone much closer… a spirit, or a soul. As he had heard people say and he had read in other books: Is it the instrument that makes the music, or the person who plucks its strings? Most people had never come up with an answer; he had. It involves both, and when both can become as one, click into another world made of notes and vibrating rhythms and sounds… that, yes, is music. And, now, as he gripped the bow to play the first note, it was time for that magic once more. The magic of sound, the magic to have the power to play. Music. The bow fell upon the strings softly, and he closed his eyes, his hands moving with the music, to the music. His mind didn’t even tell him which note to play next, or how to place the bow. He just played. He played so beautifully that the clouds in the sky stopped their road trip to the next country. He played so profoundly the birds hovered and stopped to listen. He played so majestically that the mountains and rivers and streams fell peaceful, and quiet, even as the hunter raised his gun. Diane believed the world had stopped turning on its axis, that life was nothing more than the sound waves flowing from Jamie and his cello, or the cello and its Jamie. Her heart felt serene and soul pure while tears once more leapt into her eyes, but certainly not from sadness. She forgot all about being blind, and even imagined she could see again… the colors, the trees, the sky, the stars. and most of all… the rainbows. Each picture flashed in her mind as he continued on, hands moving faster than a lightening bolt, mind connected with his piece of work. His body could not have been more concentrated, yet, he could not be more relaxed either. It was as if he was BORN to play.

But he had to stop, and it seemed all too soon.

Diane was speechless, her throat dry and forgotten how to use words. She could only cry and laugh, a spark of happiness hidden beneath those dark eyes. Jamie set down the cello, strode over, and took a seat beside her.

For a long time neither said anything. The magic of the song had taken Diane’s breath away, as well as her heart. Finally, through great courage to come out of a trance, she spoke softly to ask, "What is it called?"

"Hmm?"

"The song… what’s it called?"

Jamie sat up, a proud grin across his face, mustache twitching. "I wrote it myself." He looked up to the disco ball, the sun hitting its crystal mirrors bouncing rainbows across the room. "I call it, Vida Y Tu, Mi Amoras." He drew in a breath. "Or, Life and You, My Loves."

*****

It was nighttime, and Jamie had already clamored himself into the guest room. (After complaining about no heating system in the summer.) He had already helped her into her own bedroom to find her PJs and toothpaste. Now she stood brushing her teeth, using her hands and mind to figure out where the toothbrush was in the drawer and the water faucet. Her thoughts were focused on three main things at the time: The party tomorrow, Jamie’s music for her, and her vision problem.

The party. Diane was excited as could be, and then she was not. Her friends Jasmine and Erika had wanted to meet up with her and have a ball, but she wasn’t sure now. Besides, what would they think? Would they call her a blind freak, or feel sorry for her? Would they ditch her in the middle of the party and make fun of her, or stay by her side and help her learn to walk and where the sides of the boat was? (A very good thing to know.) And also there were the other cast members… some who she had always heard so much praise about and respected highly, and others who just seemed sort of goofy and carefree. (Her mind turned to Sandy at this point.) She wondered if any of them accepted second chances as well. I mean, what if I take a spill in front of everyone and make a total fool of myself? Or what if they think I’m too snotty… or too rude… or too out-going… or or or… Diane stopped to take in a deep breath. They were all probably very nice people and she was just doing her usual *worry-warting.* Besides… it could be loads of fun! Jamie might have to describe them to me though…

The music, and Jamie. Her heart swelled at the recollection of only a few hours ago sitting in that giant dancing room, listening to that song. She realized she felt much… calmer around Jamie than she did with Lucas. Lucas was always sarcastic… always chilled her when he sat too near… Well, Jamie did the same thing but only because his skin was so cold… The toothbrush moved back and forth in her mouth, and it reminded her of the swiftness of the bow on the strings… back and forth… back and forth… She promised herself NEVER to forget the melody.

The vision. The most terrifying of the three. Diane was determined to become hole again, and to find out what had happened. There had to be something, or, scary enough it seemed, someone behind it all. Even more scary, it felt just like something Mr. I would do, or some person of his type… But she laughed to herself, knowing that Mistral would never play a joke on her like that. Besides, she had hardly ever gotten acquainted with the man, but maybe at the party an opportunity would provide itself…

Diane set down her toothbrush and spit into the sink. Turning on the faucet she reached for her cup.

But her hand fell upon something else.

It was a powder that felt a lot like sand… rough and scratchy and full of little bumps. There wasn’t much of it on the counter to be found, as she ran her hands all over its surface, searching for more. But it was only to be found next to her cup.

The cup. She put a finger inside of it, scrapping over its walls. Sure enough, she felt a moist residue of the same, sandy substance. When was the last time she had used it? It was before she had gone out in the storm… but after Lucas left…

Diane cried out in realization.

Jamie dashed through her door, afraid she had fallen down. "Diane, Diane, are you alright? Diane, speak to me?"

"Jamie… Lucas… Lucas… He drugged me Jamie… He drugged me."

****

Jamie stood aghast, his feet planted on the tile floor. He looked to the sink, and sure enough, there lay a power, white in color, the color of her cup, the color of her sink. Unless you studied it closely and really peered at it you might not even notice it there. Diane pointed to the cup. "It was in my drinking cup Jamie. It was in my cup!!!"

"Calm down, calm down… it is alright…" Diane hugged Jamie closer, her body rigid with fear. She was not meant to be brave, how could she be? And it couldn’t have been anyone but Lucas… Lucas who had that devil glare in his eyes the night he left… She shuddered and sobbed on Jamie’s shoulder, grasping the bulk of his coat in her hand.

"Is that why I am blind Jamie? Is that why? Tell me! Tell me!"

He slowly nodded and nuzzled into her hair. "I cannot think otherwise… It must be some sort of drug that takes a long time to kick in… and a long time to… to wear off."

Diane stopped crying, but her knees still trembled. "Does this mean… do you really think it will go away?"

"We can only hope…" She hugged him tighter.

"I’m still frightened Jamie… I’m still scared…"

"And you have a perfectly good reason to be. A person whom you trusted and cared for hurt you, and hurt you badly. You have a right to be."

"Things like this are only supposed to happen on Flights of Fancy Jamie… why me? Why am I the lucky one to get splattered on?"

"Life is not fair, and if anyone claims otherwise… well… I think I’ll give them a good wallop so they can come to their senses." He broke away from Diane to give a good stretch and let out an enormous yawn. "And I’m bushed. If you need me… remember… I’m right across the hallway. Just scream."

Diane retrieved to her bed, still shaking and weary. But my, what a story she would have to tell at the party tomorrow! (Let us pray they have Dr. Pepper.) Jamie was most likely just as worn out as she was, no doubt more. He had to support her like a pair of crutches for over an entire day now, and she didn’t blame him if he was sick of it. She cast a glance to the digital cloak on her right-hand night stand and decided it was not too late to give some people a call.

Picking up her cordless phone she punched in the numbers to Erika’s flat. The phone rang once, then twice, and then three times before getting the answering machine. She left a quick message saying *Meet me by the dock, here are the directions…* and read off of the list Jamie had created earlier. Diane then hung up and called her other friend, Jasmine, a girl who she had known for some time, another newer member at Flights of Fancy. Again the message machine, and again she left the same message. Now she could only hope that they GET the message and meet her up by the dock like she had asked them to. With no one else to call, and nothing else to do, she snuggled deep under her covers and fell sound asleep, awaiting the arrival of the next day…

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Sometimes you have to see not with your eyes, but with your heart..., - Saturday, July 27, 2002 at 09:38:51 (PDT)

There was no answer at the door. Jasmine stood up and turned to answer her door. She put her eyes to the peep hole on the door.

No one was there. She took off the golden chain from the door and opened it slightly. A line of light cast across the dark hall from her appartment.

She still saw no one.

She was about to close the wooden door when a small white envelope caught her eye. It was at the red rug in front of her door.

Jasmine picked it up, looking around to see if anyone's eyes were watching her.

There was a click as she locked the door once she walked back into her appartment. She took a sip from her mug and opened the envelope.

There was a single peice of paper in it.It was a letter written in dark black ink. The handwritting was slim and flawless.

Jasmine began to read to herself.
Jasmine
- Friday, July 26, 2002 at 19:49:17 (PDT)

Happy Birthday Claire!
Jasmine
- Friday, July 26, 2002 at 19:27:19 (PDT)

As repetitive as it sounds...

Happy Birthday, Claire!
Carmen <DharmaChamelion>
Ugh, need some ice cream in the heat...mm...ice cream birthday cake.., - Friday, July 26, 2002 at 14:08:52 (PDT)

Happy B'day, Claire!

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Hope Sinclair keeps you out of trouble. ;), - Friday, July 26, 2002 at 13:06:39 (PDT)

I just dropped in for a quick moment to wish Claire a Happy Birthday!!!
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
To see or not to see, that is the question..., - Friday, July 26, 2002 at 12:23:57 (PDT)

"You really ought to get out more"--*tiny snort Barbara--And dearest, "the stare that could freeze a volcano"--sheer fun.

Happy, happy birthday, Claire---may all your birthday wishes come true!

Renie
Speaking of sheer, wonder what MA will be modeling, exactly? Heh-heh-heh. , - Friday, July 26, 2002 at 10:28:53 (PDT)

FoF Offices -- Cutting Room
Morning of Day Six of the Investigation

"Can you believe that?" They even had the gall to ask me how long I'd been sleeping with you!"

Barbara's voice rose angrily, and the Director halted at both words and tone. He glanced inside to see Barbara pacing the floor of the cutting room. A quiet murmur from Phil reminded her to keep her voice down. "Why didn't they just ask me how long I'd been sleeping with the bleedin' Pope while they're at it!"

"I think I'll be preferring not to be compared to His Holiness, thank you," Phil replied, his foice a touch frosty.

"I'm trying to say -- that wasn't what I -- what I mean is -- gah! Some people are sacrosanct, Phil," Barbara stammered. "You know, the Pope, old friends, siblings. Poor Sinclair."

"Sinclair?" Phil's question bore the Yorkshire lilt in its belly. The Director frowned from the doorway, where he stood, listening.

Barbara hesitated. "It's a long story," she finally said, "and it's not really mine to tell. Ask Claire. Or ask the Director." The Director's eyebrow rose. "Just don't ask Sinclair," Barbara warned.

"Why not?" asked Phil.

"Um...." she vacillated. "That's not the point. The point is that some people are ...."

"Sacrosanct?" Phil asked, dryly.

"Exactly," Barbara replied. "You just don't do that."

Phil glanced over at Barbara, a hesitant, hungry look in his eye -- though his voice remained light. "So, you'll be telling me that you're thinking I'm not attractive enough to be sleeping with?"

Barbara looked at Phil, nonplussed. "I didn't say that."

"So you're thinking I am handsome enough to be sleeping with?"

"Well, of course!" Barbara said. "You're a very attractive man, Phil. You really ought to get out more." She waved her arm to the world outside the cutting room. "There's a whole world of women out there, and they'd love a good-hearted man like you."

"But I'm not wanting any of them," Phil muttered, turning away.

Barbara laughed. "All right, there's also a whole world of men out there, looking for a good-hearted man like you," she teased. "So go out and get 'em, Phil," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "If you know what you want, you've got to go after it." Her eyes narrowed. "What I want is a Detective wearing a knuckle sandwich. Gah!" Barbara made a few more inarticulate noises of rage and turned to leave the room.

The Director hastened down the hall. He'd seen more than enough. I wonder if anyone will ever tell Barbara what's going on? he thought.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
My computer died, so... my posting will be erratic... *pout*, - Friday, July 26, 2002 at 10:03:17 (PDT)

FoF Office
Morning of Day Six of the Investigation
Immediately after the Director helped the Sketch artist

"Patril?" Detective Ekaterin Silvert looked askance at the young officer in front of her. He'd appeared suddenly, like faerie rings on a moonlit night.

"SIlvert. Graff." The dark-haired young man nodded, his face solemn and grave.

"What are you doing here?" Silvert asked.

"Do you have somewhere secure, where we can speak?" he replied.

"What's this about, Patril?" Detective Miles Graff asked.

Patril shook his head. "Somewhere secure."

"Here." Silvert led the way to the office she and Graff had comandeered at the beginning of the investigation, and closed the door behind the three of them. Paril drew a piece of electronics from his briefcase and scanned the room with it. He sighed when the device's low, steady tone never altered.

Patril turned to Graff. "Your partial plate came up." Graff grunted understanding as Patril continued. "Stolen," he said, "two days ago."

"Why am I not surprised," asked Silvert, sotto voce.

"And?" Graff inquired.

"From the de Montforts."

Silvert laughed, a short explosive flas of teeth and air. "Car thieves who aren't planning to live long, are they?"

Graff frowned. "Ekaterin, how long have we had the de Montforts under surveillance?"

Silvert pondered a bit. "A month? Forty-five days?" She looked her partner in the eye. "...why?..."

Patril glaced back and forth between the two detectives. "The de Montforts are under surveillance?"

Graff grinned. "Yes -- and you didn't hear it here."

"What's the warrant for?" Patril asked.

Silvert snorted. "What isn't it?" She shook her head. "Racketeering, for one."

"Illegal gambling," Graff interjected.

"Loan sharking," Silvert added.

"Three great sins that work great together," Graff finished, with a grimace.

"Time to start cross-referencing our two data groups," Silvert said.

"I've already started from the known files on the de Montforts. The new surveillance will help," Patril replied.

Graff held up one hand. "Yes -- and the second you find something, let us know. You've got our cell and pager numbers?"

"Yes."

There was a lengthy pause and the three stared at each other. Silvert looked the younger officer up and down. "Well?" she said, eventually, with a faint snarl in her voice.

"There's a partial print from the car," Patril said. "Thumb and forefinger from the audio cassette in the tape player. Doesn't match any prints from the de Montforts or their people."

Graff's eyes lit.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
MA -- naughty, naughty :).... Sandy -- I want more smooching! :D, - Friday, July 26, 2002 at 06:12:27 (PDT)

Imperial Palace, the Brandons’ suite:

"Hans?"

Brandon blinks in surprise, then collects himself and opens the door wide, with a discreet look to the escort, signalling that all is well.

"Colonel." Hans accepts the unspoken invitation and steps in, followed by Colin.

"Mr. Molyneux." Brandon is once again a model of courtesy and poise. "It has been a long time."

Colin returns the friendly nod as the men seat themselves in armchairs before the fire and Hans leans forward with his inimitable air of getting down to business.

"I trust we have not inconvenienced you, Colonel. I am aware that our arrival was . . . unexpected." A wry glance at Colin, who somehow manages to keep a perfectly straight face.

"I assure you that I am not in the least inconvenienced," returns Brandon, "but it is a surprise. I was not aware that you were going to be at these proceedings." A sudden anxious frown. "All is well with Renie, I trust?"

"If it were not, do you think that I would be here, instead of with her?"

A silence. Brandon’s frown smooths itself into a calm, unblinking gaze that is somehow more forbidding than any scowl, and Colin represses his sigh.

"Es tut mir Leid," Hans finally offers, reminding himself-how could he have forgotten for an instant-that Brandon is a constant defender of anyone he has ever taken under his protection. His concern for Renie will last his lifetime, and that is all there is to be said. "My apologies. Yes, Renie is well, but I thought it best that she should not come here for these proceedings, as you call them."

Brandon’s eyebrow lifts in amusement. "You mean, she agreed not to accompany you."

Colin cannot repress a snicker at that. Hans treats him to the stare that could freeze a volcano, but the effect is rather spoiled by the fact that Brandon is now smiling openly and it would seem churlish to do otherwise than gracefully admit the truth. Or something close to it, at least. "Let us say that she saw the wisdom of my decision."

Brandon clears his throat, and there is no one to say for sure whether some of that muffled coughing is silent laughter-sympathetic though it may be, from a man whose own wife can be rather impulsive. "I understand, Herr Gruber. Though Mary Anne will be disappointed, I’m afraid. It would have been a grand surprise for her-and you know how Renie does enjoy surprising her."

"I do, indeed." Dry as the finest champagne. "Actually, Colonel, what I have come here to discuss concerns your wife as well. Would it be possible for her to join us?"

"Christopher?"

From the doorway across the room.

Hans and Colin rise to their feet instantly, and so does Brandon-who recalls at that precise moment that Mary Anne had intended to include a long, hot bath in her preparations for the night. As the Colonel turns toward the far doorway, he finds himself indulging a not-at-all typical wish for him: that his wife might have taken the trouble, after her bath, to clothe herself . . .

MA--Christopher? Shall I model some more of the Victoria's Secret wardrobe now? ;-)
Happy Birthday, Claire--many happy returns of the day, and many white shirts to you! *grin*, - Thursday, July 25, 2002 at 19:35:32 (PDT)

It's the 26th in the UK . . . so Happy Birthday, Claire....
Sei and Sinclair
- Thursday, July 25, 2002 at 18:52:23 (PDT)

I am not done my story yet, but could you please respond...
mandy
- Thursday, July 25, 2002 at 07:31:12 (PDT)

Chapter 2 (chapter 1 is The Reunion below this)

Maranda was all packed and ready to go to Hogwarts to...teach! She only packed a few trunks full of clothing, and plenty of things to do.

(a ~ with italics is what Maranda is thinking..) ~I can't believe I am going to be teaching at Hogwarts!! It will be fun.. I've always wanted to.. Did I pack enough? Yes, I did.. Well, goodbye for now house!~

With the key in her trunk after she locked the door, she headed out into the world. Maranda got to the knight bus, and told the driver to go to the leaky cauldron. She was sure she could rent a room for a night or wo untill further notice.

(could you respond now? I can't think of more yet, but I'll be back to finish..)
mandy <jdlvr69@hotmail.com>
Hey, here's more for my last story, please reply!!, - Thursday, July 25, 2002 at 07:21:49 (PDT)

Diane's house:

"Hello?" Diane frowned, wondering who on Earth could be calling her at this time of day - and why. She had moved into her house fairly recently and she hadn't given out her number to many people yet. She could hear the soft melody of an acoustic guitar playing in the background and her curiosity meter skyrocketed through the roof.

"Hi Diane," a woman's voice - a soft, American-accented soprano - echoed over the receiver. "This is Sandy - from FOF?"

Diane blinked in surprise at the identity of the caller. "Oh hello, Sandy! How are you?" she asked. Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. She had seen Sandy around the set and the writer's reputation for having a rather offbeat sense of humor had been explained to her very quickly, but she hadn't gotten the chance to introduce herself yet. "Is there something that I can help you with?"

Sandy's laughter echoed warmly over the receiver. "I'm fine, thanks. Not exactly," she replied, answering both of Diane's questions at once. "I'm just calling to make sure that you were going to the party tomorrow - that you have the directions to the marina and such. I know that we haven't formally met yet, along with some of the other newer members of the cast, but I was looking forward to doing just that."

Diane's face fell and Jamie watched her with increasing alarm as her bottom lip started to tremble. "Well... I'm not sure if I can go to the party," she mumbled.

"Why not?" Sandy's voice rose slightly in puzzlement then softened. "Oh... Is it because of Lucas' rather, ahem, sudden departure?" She paused for a moment. "News travels rather quickly around the set, I'm afraid," she offered in explanation.

"Well..." Diane bit her bottom lip in an effort to stop it from trembling. "I didn't think I was exactly welcome there because I no longer have someone to work with."

Sandy made what could only be considered a rude noise over the receiver. "Lucas, Schmoocas!" she snorted. "Were you given the boot?"

"What?" Diane asked, startled by the writer's bluntness.

"Did you get the sack? A pink slip? Kicked to the side of the road with all your personal belongings? Were you told to 'hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back no more?' Did you have your contract given back to you torn into little tiny pieces that would take at least a year to tape one square inch back together and then you discover that it's part of page ten of twenty-five?"

Diane couldn't help herself. She began laughing at the images forming in her mind - and the fact that everything was said to her without an audible catching of breath. "No! Nobody did anything like that," she said over her giggles.

"Well, that says to me that you're still a member of the cast. You're just temporarily on hiatus until someone else is cast to work with you," Sandy replied simply. "No biggie. Stuff like what Lucas did happens all the time in this business. It's called *having creative differences*." Sandy lay back on her couch, Oliver snuggling next to her. Or what I'd call acting like a total jackass. Take your pick.

"I guess you're right," Diane answered slowly.

"Well, sometimes people can't see the forest through the trees," Sandy said with a soft sigh. "They're too focused on one thing, and one thing only."

You have NO idea about the not seeing part, Diane thought to herself with a wry smile. "That's very true," she admitted, her face brightening considerably to Jamie's eternal relief. "Okay. I'll come then! I don't have the directions to the marina, though."

"No problem. They're on line at..." Sandy told her the website address and Diane repeated it, spelling it out to verify the name. She made frantic motions to Jamie as she did so, and he scurried around until he found a piece of paper and a pen. He hurriedly scrawled it down and made a soft noise when he was finished.

"Thanks for calling, Sandy," Diane was smiling as she spoke into the mouthpiece. "I'm looking forward to meeting everybody."

"You're welcome - and don't forget your sunscreen! See you tomorrow," Sandy replied cheerfully and rang off.

Diane fumbled for a bit before she managed to put the receiver down into its cradle. "Well?" Jamie asked.

"Well, I'm definitely going tomorrow. It'll be great to meet the rest of the cast and crew - but seeing them might be a different story altogether," Diane said, turning her head in Jamie's direction. Her unseeing eyes filled with tears again. "What am I going to do? What if my sight *never* comes back?"

Sandy - special thanks to Diane for allowing me to borrow 'her' and Jamie :-)
Barbara, the January 2002 back issues are working fine for me. Perhaps there's a gremlin in your PC?, - Wednesday, July 24, 2002 at 15:17:38 (PDT)

Italics fixed.
D.o.C.

ACK!! Italicize attack!!!
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
You can do the stupidest things to learn... , - Wednesday, July 24, 2002 at 13:29:21 (PDT)

The Reunion

One day Maranda and Kat were discussing their past lives with each other. They had turned twenty years old, and it had been a few years since they graduated from hogwarts. Maranda had always had a little crush on the potions master, Severus Snape, but only Kat knew about it.

Kat was happily married to Sean Fletcher, and Maranda was stil single. Kat and Maranda had always been best friends since they first entered Hogwarts.

Kat started to talk, "So, as I planned. Me and Sean are going to be leaving for a while, but we will be back shortly." Maranda "Have fun in the Carribean.." Tey said their goodbye's and gave each other a big hug.

The next day, Maranda got aletter in the mail from...Hogwarts!! It read..

Dear Ms. Maranda, This is your old teacher Professor Severus Snape. I finally figured out how to use these bloody things called stamps. I have been told to inform you that Dumbledore has issued me with a meeting with you if it is alright. I have been ordered to use muggle transportation and meet you at the Leaky Cauldron. Thank you, and I can't wait to see you. From, Professor Severus Snape..

Maranda looked at the letter over and over, and she couldn't wait untill she would see Snape again.

The next day Maranda wore her green tube top and matching tight pants. She was not perfect, but she was skinny, and she was what boys called 'hot.'

Maranda got to the Leaky Cauldron, and entered. She looked around, and saw him..Snape was looking straight at her, and motioned her to sit..

Maranda sat down. She smiled a bit then Snape spoke."Well, we do grow up now, don't we. I'm glad to see you again. I have to ask if you want a job.. Dumbledore said we need a new kind of teacher, a writing teacher. Dumbledore said you would be the best." Maranda.."Wow, I'm flattered.. I guess so. Uhh..I just need some time to pack. It's nice to see you again.."

Snape looked at her for a moment, and spoke again.."Well... I guess we should part, unless you want to catch up on things.." Maranda..."Well, I guess...hey! How is everyone??"

Snape said.."Well, all the teachers are ok.. as for the students; they're alright, but bloody annoying as always.." Maranda laughed, and spoke.. "You're funny. I can't imagine how it is at school. I can't wait untill I see everyone again.." Snape.."I guess I'll see you later than.. Farewell.."

this story isn't done yet, so I'll write more later...
Mandy <jdlvr69@hotmail.com>
I am no longer writing about Snape on this site. This is my last snape story on this site. thank you for your coopeation., - Wednesday, July 24, 2002 at 12:17:18 (PDT)

February 2002 works fine. January 2002 doesn't at all.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
argh!, - Wednesday, July 24, 2002 at 06:30:00 (PDT)

Double deleted.
The FOF archives working okay for you now?
D.o.C.

D.o.C....

Double post. Sorry!

Please delete....
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Just when you thought we were getting rid of Graff and Silvert, - Tuesday, July 23, 2002 at 15:15:11 (PDT)

Episode Seventy ~ Phil Allen
FoF Sets -- Offices
Morning of Day Six of the Investigation

"Shorter than me," the Director said slowly. "More square. He had muscle."

"He?" the police sketch artist, Raven, asked, pencil hovering above the page.

"The clothes were not loose. It was a man."

"What of the others, in the vehicle?" Detective Miles Graff picked up the thread of questioning.

The FoF Director gave the short police detective a pained look. "Detective, I was more concerned with running away at the time, if you don't mind."

Graff's mouth was grave. "Actually, I'm not. Raven?"

The police sketch artist stood. "You've been very helpful, sir," she said, stretching her hand. "Your preliminary sketch was quite useful. If only all our assault victims were retired graphic artists." She shook hands with the Director, with a professional, comraderly air.

Detective Ekaterin Silvert frowned. "If only we didn't have assault victims," she murmured. Anger glinted, glacially, in her eye.

Graff cleared his throat. "I must say though, sir, that they showed a great deal of gall, with their choice in face masks."

The FoF Director swallowed. "Ah, yes, rather," he said faintly. Seeing his own face so still, his own eyes blank holes, was an image the Director imagined would haunt his dreams for an unfortunately long time.

"Sir?" Graff.

The Director jerked to awareness. "Ah, yes, Detective?"

"I hear you have a celebration planned for later this week."

Warily, the Director replied, "Yes?"

"Would you allow us to secure the location before you attend?" the short detective offered, diffidently. "I would feel more comfortable if you had security until this -- incident -- is resolved."

"Ah. Quite." The Director pursed his lips. "Very well, Detective." Graff sighed with relief and turned to his partner, about to speak. "If."

Graff's head cranked back. "If?"

"If you can be... discreet."

Silvert's mouth twitched. "Well, that leaves you out, Miles," she commented.

Dear God, the Director thought, she has a sense of humor?

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

"That does beg the question, Mr. Allen," Graff said, with an enthusiasm that should have given Phil pause. "How long have you been sleeping with Ms. Vanders?"

"... -- what?!?" Phil couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was going to be a long morning.

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

Silvert looked at Barbara Vanders with suspicion. The set designer had been extraordinarily helpful the last time they spoke to her. Now she was being extraordinarily unhelpful.

"Shelly was my friend," Vanders said, sounding affronted. "Phil is my friend."

"Yes, I'm sure," Graff replied. "That's why you were at his flat at 4 in the morning to call an ambulance."

"Exactly," Vanders returned, with a tone of finality.

"Oh, come now, Ms. Vanders," Silvert interjected, with a sneer. "There's no need for false modesty. You're both grownups."

"We are friends," Vanders said. "We have been since his wife and my husband died. And that is all we are." Each word was bitten off, clean like a fresh piece of celery.

Silvert and Graff exchanged glances. "Very well, Ms. Vanders," Graff concluded.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
- Tuesday, July 23, 2002 at 15:13:56 (PDT)

Scene: Night. The Palace interiors. Long marbled hallways, which seem to return to each other, yet angle out to further destinations.

The lights, to Colin's eyes, are welcome enough--a pleasing blend of traditional, modern and even candlelight illuminate their path.

Staff, personnel, officers, sentries, Guardsmen, Alliance Rose assistants. Ensignia familiar and reassuring.

A briefcase, one we have seen in Egdon, a handle, and a hand. A wrist. A Mont Blanc watch.

To anyone not acquainted with worldly matters, this figure might be less recognizable. Though hardly less striking. Keeping Hans Gruber from being noticed is like trying to keep ice cream frozen in a desert.

Two men, moving with long, firm strides. Escorted by two officers in a quiet and formal manner. There is no mistake that this palace arrival has been prearranged as low key. Words, polite, softly spoken. Eyes, for the most part, discreetly averted.

A night arrival.

Yet, for all the security, and in spite of the order clearly in evidence, Hans cannot shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong at the Palace.

Unt zo, with little apology, and much Germanic charm, Hans made his request. Upon landing. And although such a request certainly presses the bounds of protocol, when dealing with Hans Gruber, a request becomes something which not only can be granted, it becomes, quite simply, done. The lieutenant escort brings their party to a halt. "Here we are, sir. May I announce you both?"

Colin falls back ever so slightly. Hans merely inclines his head at Colin's whisper. "Hans, what if they're . . . not awake?"

There is no hesitation in his answer, despite the hour. And it is not a whisper. "Then I should be very surprised." Then, louder. "Yes, lieutenant, please announce us."

The escort knocks, and the door opens. Herr Brandon, calm, but curious. And it is only at the voice of Colonel Brandon that Hans remembers why he is here.

R
The Brandons? Sleeping? , - Sunday, July 21, 2002 at 16:13:06 (PDT)

The Palace Grounds
Not yet nightfall, so a flashback:

While she wasn’t a bold rider, Valmont was pleased to see that she was quite competent. After starting out with a few jumps in the riding arena attached to the stables, they decided to take to some of the trails which laced the extensive property of the Palace. A conversation with one of the grooms and some pointed questions from him determined the route and they had set off. As a precaution they were required to give their planned itinerary although there was no proscription against going anywhere within the Realm’s borders. They had planned to take a path which led West and follow the river for a few miles before turning North. Then they would take a lesser used path which promised to hold some interesting terrain and skirt the Northern border of what was technically part of the land attached to the Palace before turning South and then complete the circle by reentering the more cultivated grounds from the opposite end from where they left it. Cynthia had at first balked at such a long ride, but the day was fine and the clear crisp air and the Vicomte’s easy manner was sufficient inducement to leave behind her reports and computer monitor. Clearly, she had thought to herself, Anton did not need her at the moment and with Hans Gruber and Colin en route to the Palace there seemed little use for her role as a conduit of information. She had contacted the Glassworks and everything was running smoothly. She would ride out with the Vicomte de Valmont and enjoy herself.

Valmont had assessed her person quite thoroughly when he met her a the stables at the agreed upon time. He said he wanted to make sure she was properly attired for riding in rough country in cold weather. She assured him that she had on two pairs of thick cashmere socks under her black leather riding boots, her riding habit was warm, the red cloak doubly so, and that her helmet was state of the art. When she questioned his very stylish, but ultimately useless chapeau, he simply shrugged as if the comment made no sense. Valmont was, as always, attired in finely embroidered French silk. Today it was an egg shell colour with stitching in forget-me-not blue. On anyone else it would have appeared over done. On Valmont… perhaps his Gaelic shrug did say it all.

They had turned North and had just encountered a fallen tree across the path. In this case the tree was of massive proportions. Valmont was considering whether Cynthia’s equestrian skills were up to the task of jumping the tree trunk. It was large but he’d seen her take some jumps in the ring that were about this height and width, the ground on the other side was firm, there were pine needles everywhere which provided cushion for horses’ hooves, he’d no wish to return a lame horse to the groom’s hands, and he was about to return to where he had asked her to wait when he heard her approach.

Cynthia had been watching Valmont inspect the area and knew from his nodding to himself that he was planning on making the jump. She knew that she could do it, though it was perhaps a bit wider than anything she had attempted. She also knew that if she didn’t do it now she’d spend too much time thinking about it. Once Valmont moved off to the side and the way was clear she leant over to tell Biscuit Box they were going to take the jump. The white gelding’s ears flicked back and then forward as if in understanding and she gave him some reign and a nudge with the heel of her boot and they flew. When she was on the other side she looked back to see Valmont readying to join her. The feeling was most exhilarating and she moved on down the path to watch him take the jump. He was clearly an accomplished rider and had height to spare. They continued on down their chosen path in the solitude of trees with their breath and that of their mounts leaving trailing clouds as they moved forward.

Sometime later they both dismounted to take in the view. They had begun to pick their way East when they stopped to admire a valley which lay further to the North of them. It wasn’t overly remarkable save that the mountainous terrain gave way to an overlook which made it a very inviting place to pause and refresh themselves. There was a stream close by and they both drank. The water was cold but had a sweet flavour and Cynthia could not resist dipping her hand in for another taste. Looking out over the panorama was overwhelming and she felt Valmont’s hand slide around her waist. “You look drunk on the view. I do not want to see you tumble.” Cynthia only looked back at him and smiled. She was a little drunk on fresh air and water that tasted better than champagne to her just then and on the beauty arrayed before her.

When she finally took a step back in preparation for resuming their ride, Valmont released his arm and murmured that he would get the horses from where they had been tethered. Cynthia looked around her a bit more, then realized that it was taking him a bit longer than it ought. She called out to him but did not immediately get a response. She had just made up her mind to go looking when he returned leading their two mounts. His expression was thoughtful. “What is it?” she enquired.

“Probably nothing,” he replied, handing her the reins to her horse. “I thought I smelled smoke and when I went a bit further into the woods over there,” he indicated with his free hand, “I saw what could be the remnants of a fire and a crude camp ground.”

“Probably nothing as you say, but we ought to report it when we get back.”

Cynthia could not resist having a look for herself. It was much as the Vicomte described. Some charred bits of wood, now cold, and a place that looked like it had been trampled down by a bedroll or small tent. She was no tracker and could not make anything of the markings on the ground beyond that. They left everything undisturbed and went back the way they had come in an effort to leave the scene as they had found it. They were careful but Sherlock Holmes, were he there, would probably decry the trampled state of the scene.

The continued their sojourn but at a less leisurely pace.

Cindie
- Thursday, July 18, 2002 at 11:30:50 (PDT)

They worked fine for me today.
Cindie
they must know you need to find something, - Wednesday, July 17, 2002 at 16:37:21 (PDT)

Suz -- I can't seem to access the FoF Archives....

*wail of despair*

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Research research research, - Wednesday, July 17, 2002 at 13:20:38 (PDT)

Police Station
Evening of Day Five of the Investigation, just before 7 p.m.
"Do you think Solo Flights helped set up the thefts?" Detective Ekaterin Silvert asked her parter.

Detective Miles Graff shook his head. "It doesn't feel likely," he answered.

Silvert frowned. "That's what I was thinking, too." She waved a hand at the investigation files. "Well, it looks like they were all correct, Miles." At his quicksilver questioning look, she finished, "We really were wasting their time."

Graff shook his head again. "No. There's still the laptop." He reached over to the preliminary report Officer Ivan Patril had written on the arrest and questioning of Davin Wattson. "Wattson admits to everything else and categorically denies he took the laptop." He looked at his partner's quirked brow. "So where is it, Ekaterin?"

"What do the security vids say?" she replied, turning to her computer. "Let's arrange a viewing of the vids for Ms. Claudia's office again, tonight. We'll find out whether Mr. Wattson is lying or whether we've got not one thief, but two."

Graff nodded, looking at the schedule on Silvert's screen. He unfolded his legs and hopped down off the table, to stand behind her shoulder and point at the moving dots in her tracking program. "If we narrow it down to 10 minutes before and 10 minutes after his appearance in her office, we can limit the amount of tape --"

"-- and set up a good before and after to put him to the lie, if we need to," Silvert finished. "If this is really industrial espionage, we'll probably n--" Her phone jangled on her desk, while both her pager and cellphone began to vibrate. Graff twitched as his pager and cellphone did the same. Call in STAT his pager said.

"Silvert." Graff could hear the tinny voice of the receptionist at the call console on the other end. Silvert went still, and unnaturally alert. "Is there pursuit?" Tinny buzzing. "D*mn!" More buzzing. "Who was on duty there? Koudelka? Excellent. Thanks, Olivia. Yes." A flickering glance to Graff. "Yes, I'll tell him. Yes. Good night." Silvert turned to him with glowing eyes. "You're batting 50 for 50, Miles."

"What?"

"Somebody just tried to kidnap the Director of Flights of Fancy."

"Sh*t. I hate being right." He grabbed his keys. "Let's go."

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

"Yes, thank you, Koudelka." Graff shook hands with the uniformed officer. "We may need to talk to you again."

The officer nodded. "I'll make sure you get a copy of my report," he said. "Do you want me to send this partial plate or do you want to run it?"

Graff thought about it. "Send it to Patril. He'll run it."

"All right, then. You'll see my report first thing in the morning. Let me brief my replacement." And they were done.

Graff watched his partner for a moment, as she was getting a preliminary statement from the enigmatic Mr. Mistral. Then he turned to do the same to Ms. Cindie.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
There's Mistral, Claudia and Ed to talk to, too...., - Tuesday, July 16, 2002 at 14:15:47 (PDT)

Correction made.
D.o.C.

"She laid on her unmade bed"
Jasmine
Correction, - Sunday, July 14, 2002 at 21:53:53 (PDT)

Jasmine put on a pair of jeans and a black tank-top. she pinned her long, black hair up, and rubbed her deep grey eyes with her fingers. She laid on her unmade bed, and closed her eyes, still thinking about that man. Stress was filling her body faster than it could be drained. The man, the dream, the news report, and most of all, that voice that she heard right before she woke up. It was a women's voice; pure, strong, yet gentle.

She jumped into the air, startled by the knock at her door. In a frustrated and hard voice, she said, "WHO-IS-IT??"
Jasmine
Yes,- MA-They are addictive!, - Sunday, July 14, 2002 at 21:52:20 (PDT)

The Imperial Palace, nightfall:

"We don’t have to worry about that, Christopher. HE has not escaped. I’m sure of it."

"How do you know?" A look of concern. "Mary Anne, you are not . . ."

Mary Anne waves off the question. "No. I can’t sense HIS thoughts or anything like that, if that’s what’s troubling you. If I were facing HIM as I did this morning-" She hesitates. How to explain such a thing to Brandon? He has never experienced the touch of another mind, and the mere thought of The Interrogator sharing her mind . . . best not to trouble him with such matters. "Anyway, we still have the run of the Palace, and if HE were loose we’d be barricaded in here with armed guards, I should think. No, it has to be something else that had Mister Cadell so upset."

"Perhaps you are right."

Brandon feels a measure of calm returning to him as he watches Mary Anne, who is sitting in one of the velvet-cushioned window seats with her feet tucked up under her, listening. One of the great traditions of the Imperial Palace is music; the choirs and musicians of The Empress are renowned throughout The Realm and every evening, just after sunset, the massed choirs of the Palace ascend to the high towers and sing the day to a close.

The Colonel smiles a little to himself. It is a measure of his wife’s love of music that she would brush off concerns about The Interrogator in her eagerness to listen to this evening’s offerings, and as Brandon crosses the room to join her at the window seat he is silently thankful for something, anything that can relieve her anxieties for even a few moments. It is written that David’s music drove the evil spirit away from Saul, for a time. But what will drive away the evil that is clothed in flesh and blood . . . ?

Brandon pushes these thoughts away, the better to enjoy the sight of Mary Anne curled up in the cushions, her expression rapt as the sound of a jubilant Handelian processional echoes down from the highest towers. The singers and musicians are ascending to their places. Despite the cold, Mary Anne opens one of the windows a fraction, taking a deep breath of the crisp, evergreen-scented air and gazing down, down at the miles of snow, then back up at spires so high as to be almost lost to sight.

Now, on land and sea descending
Brings the night its peace profound . . .

Time passes. Mary Anne listens, her eyes closed, and Brandon does not stir so much as a fingertip as he allows this moment to imprint itself upon his mind: the smell of the dark firs through the window, the ethereal evensong, his wife’s pale profile against the night glass and the heavy velvet draperies . . .

And the cold; Mary Anne’s fair skin is prickling with it and Brandon reluctantly cranks the window closed. The music, however, is still clearly audible.

Mary Anne sighs. "What a lovely custom this is. I’m glad we weren’t summoned to dinner or anything like that this evening. This is so . . ." She stretches, easing her legs. " . . . so comfortable." A shy smile.

Brandon returns the smile. "And it is not just the evenings. I had Christmas leave here once, and on Christmas morning, just as the sun rose, all the choirs assembled on the Great Tower and sang "Break Forth, O Beauteous Heavenly Light" by Bach. Mary Anne, a man dying of despair would have felt himself cheered that morning, I believe, and recalled to life."

"It’s good that we have such moments in our lives," replies Mary Anne thoughtfully. "It might be too much to bear, otherwise." She is silent for a moment, then softly murmurs a few bars from the Bach oratorio, singing under her breath. "The power of Satan breaking . . . our peace eternal making . . ."

Brandon reaches out to take her hands in his. "The Interrogator is a man, my dearest. Only a man."

A fleeing smile in response. "It’s hard to remember, sir. Sometimes it seems there isn’t much to choose between them."

It is, perhaps, unfortunate for Brandon’s peace of mind that he has actually read almost all of the books in his Delaford library. In a split second, he recalls the exchange in Othello in which the wronged and maddened Moor presumes Iago cannot be killed if he is a devil. And Iago’s cryptic reply, moments later: "I bleed, sir; but not kill’d."

Let there be an end, thinks Brandon. Can we not do our duty, and be troubled by that man no longer?!

Duty, indeed. Brandon summons love to his aid, love and his determination to help his wife-and his first duty in that endeavour is to ease her mind as much as he can. Setting aside his worries for the moment, he ceases fearing, ceases grieving, holding his greatest treasure close in his arms as the darkness deepens over them and the eternal stars arise.

MA--just a moment of peace before the chaos really begins . . . *grin*
Jasmine--glad you're enjoying the ARchives. Those back issues are addictive, aren't they?! Thanks for the kind words., - Sunday, July 14, 2002 at 19:36:12 (PDT)

As they walked into Snape's chamber's he turns and points a worning finger at the students and say's "If I hear a sound out of any of you it WILL be 50 points from your house". Snape's chamber's were dark like him with only one fire inthe courner of the room. "So what did you want said Snape"in a almost cold voice."" Will I wanted to know Kate went on. I... I wanted to know if you would help me in the forest.""Wa..Wa stammerd Snape what do you need help with he asked"" Will said Kate I need to catch a certin animal for my next couple of classes."" Will go on with it said Snape ok i need help catching a werewolf said Kate."WHAT ARE YOU CRAZY!said Snape""Will if you don't want to....(gives him the puppy face)ooh all right said Snape."Thank you so much said Kate is tomarro night at 9:00 good"Fine Snape with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Geat thank you said kate.
Lo everyone it's Kate <potterfreak8172aol.com >
mail any time!, - Sunday, July 14, 2002 at 15:06:11 (PDT)

Jasmine clicked off the television. This was beyond anything that has ever happened to her. She didn't know what to believe. Setting her glass down with a "clunk", she walked into her room to change out of her pajamas.

She knew this was going to be a long day.
Jasmine
Still reading the back issues. Can't stop, even if I wanted to!, - Sunday, July 14, 2002 at 14:58:08 (PDT)

Arg! Happy belated birthday, Therese! Sorry I'm late, I was on vacation and forgot to tell anyone. *Smacks herself*

Right-o then, off to catch up. So many new things are happening!

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
*yawn* Still catching up...., - Friday, July 12, 2002 at 23:16:03 (PDT)

I am reading the Back Issues and I HAVE to say to all the people who we there from the begining, (Mary Anne, Renie, Claudia, Kate, etc.) if you are still reading and writing in the FOF, very good job! I can't turn my head away from the computer for a second.

The BI's are sooo good. There is not a place were I am not either gasping for dear life, or on the verge of tears (ok, lets not go to far).
Jasmine <Madam Jas57@aol.com>
How am I doing so far??, - Friday, July 12, 2002 at 21:40:32 (PDT)

Greetings to you and your guests. Love what you’ve done with your site. As an educator I can say you have great communication skills.
Catherine
La Mesa, - Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 23:59:43 (PDT)

She poured her morning coffee (black and no sugar) into a mug, kicked back in a recliner, and turned on the channel 9 news. A female reporter was talking about an explosion at a church, when a picture flashed on the television.

“This is some shocking footage of what happened,” said the reporter. The video began to play. “How horrible,” Jasmine said to herself, “What in God’s name would make anyone--,” she stopped dead cold in her words.

Her face was now inches away from the screen. HE was there, the man from her dream. No mistake. He was standing there, among the huge crowd. He seemed to be talking to himself. He was talking like there was someone right there in front of him.

But there was no one there. He was in the exact same clothes as in the dream. She moved even closer, trying to read his lips. It was very difficult, but lip reading came easy to her (as it did to her mom, as well).

He was saying, “… I have no idea (something …something). What?!… something… couldn’t have done it. They… something…have been dead for 2 thousand years. Of course…something… something. I am already there.” It made no sense to her. She wished the footage wasn’t so blurry, or she would have been able to fill in the “somethings” quite easy. She didn’t take her eyes off him.

He looked at his watch, snapped his fingers and was gone. Just like that. In a split second. Her heart was pounding fast. None of it made sense. He WAS real. Or was he? Could she have just imagined it all?

Of course not. I am not seeing things. He was there, she just knew it.
Jasmine
About the party?, - Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 20:05:31 (PDT)

(still in her dream)

Jasmine felt Jacob's hand slip into hers, but she didn't take her eyes off of the figure. It was getting clearer by the second. It was now obvious that it was a man, but who?? She stared at him. He was in dark clothes, black or dark blue, she couldn't tell. His face was a little pale. He was still a little blury, so the details on his face were not visible. For the first time, he showed motion, by picking his hand up.

"What is he doing?" she asked herself, under her breath. She looked at him,now being able to see every curve and line in his face. His hair was black and messy. He then did something that even confused her more; smiled and waved, as if he knew her.

Then, suddenly, Jacob's hand slipped away. Jasmine turned, only to reveal nothing...nothing at all. He was gone. Jacob had vanished. Only blackness stood. She turned back around, HE was gone, too. She was confused, and alone. Where had they gone?

Then all of a sudden, a voice, so loud and pure, spoke. Jasmine only caught the first few words before she woke up. The voice ( of a women, may I add) said..."Jasmine, you are..."

Jasmine jolted up in her bed. She had fallen off. Now, being entangled in the sheets, she wiped her forehead, which was sweating, and got back into her bed. She shot her head over to see the clock. 6:30 in the morning. She closed her eyes and drifted away, only to wake up to her alarm at 7:30 that morning. Another day. She couldn't stop thinking of the man she saw in her dream. He seemed to be amused and smiling at something funny...
Jasmine
So, is there going to be a yaht party, D??, - Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 15:50:33 (PDT)

“It’s alright old girl,” the Doctor soothed the Tardis, patting the column as if it were the shoulder of a friend. “It’s all over now.”

“What’s happened?” said Claudia, breaking out of her wide-mouthed surprise, and crossing the room in long strides to take his side.

“A disturbance in the Artron energy field. An outside influence. It’s rather puzzling… I wonder…”

Anton Gruber was confused. He was used to being in command of a situation, and his intelligence and mastery of several different languages, meant he could usually hold his own in any conversation. This one, however, was heading towards realms unknown. “What is this Artron energy? Is it dangerous? Is there a radiation leak?”

“Its what makes the Tardis work,” explained Claudia, who hadn’t had a clue in engineering lessons on Gallifrey, so she was glad she could explain something. “Its sort of the heart of the Tardis.”

“More like the soul,” corrected the Doctor. “It is the energy present in every mind… its what makes telepathy, ESP, any psychic ability possible. It’s the reason the Tardis is more like a living being than a machine… There, there, old girl,” he said again.

Claudia began to put the events of the day together, and felt a coldness growing in her stomach. “The Interrogator… you don’t think… HIS mind control…HIS voice…HE could be strong enough to effect the Tardis?”

“I don’t think so, not alone, but several people with a strong ability, perhaps. It’s worrying. The electricity in the corridors earlier, now this. Strange things are happening, and I have a feeling its to do with the convergence of HIS victims at the Palace for the Trial.”

“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.”
Claudia
- Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 15:48:00 (PDT)

Solo Flights
Afternoon of Day Five of the Investigation

"And can anyone confirm that you were there, ma'am?" Detective Miles Graff asked.

Claire gave him an even look, her hair swaying slightly with her curt nod. "I was being interviewed for The Echo -- the reporter's name was Foscari. Luke or Lucas or something like that." Graff watched his partner jot that down in her investigation notebook. Detective Ekaterin Silvert watched the actress Claire intensely.

Claire was their last interview at Solo Flights. She was proving almost as tough as cookie as Mistral -- and about as mysterious. While Mr. Bryant had been oblique, Mr. O'Hara rude and Ms. Dana irritable, Ms. Claire was downright obdurate.

"Do you still have contac--" Graff broke off. His pager was thrumming against his belt. He met Silvert's glance, her eyes as wide and startled as a deer's. She lifted her pager to her eyes and read the message -- Graff saw her eyebrows lift. She picked up her pen again and nodded minutely.

Not an emergency then, Graff thought.

They finished up the interview, gave Ms. Claire their cards and closed up shop for the day. As Graff swung into Silvert's tidy 1992 Plymouth, he said, "Well?"

She smiled with her lips. "Patril."

"It wasn't another pass, was it?"

Her brows sank to a frown. "No, he's learned that lesson well enough now," she replied, testily, shifting the Sundance into gear. She sighed. "The Flights of Fancy people caught their thief. It seems he came back today."

"G*d. Why?"

"Call and ask," she said, lifting her chin to his cellphone.

He did.

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

"Well?"

"It seems their thief came back today to pick up the designs."

"Pick them up?" Her brows lifted.

"Apparently he hid them in one of the offices, among the piles of paperwork."

"Smart."

"In a way."

Silvert snorted agreement. "What was he thinking?" she asked. "Who is this guy?" (homage)

"Former employee, all right, but not disgruntled."

"Oh?" She sipped her tea.

Graff tossed the dossier over to her on the table. "Seems the perp is working for the competition."

"Industrial espionage?"

Graff nodded and sat, cross-legged, on the table top. He took a draw off his water bottle and watched his partner go through the preliminary questioning.

"Patril run this?" she asked. She frowned at Graff's nod. "Hrmmm."

"Hrm?" he asked back.

"No mention of the laptop," she said. "Looks like Ms. F------ gets her CDs back, though." Silvert's voice went sour. "Too bad." She read on. "Vanders? Vanders' office?" She looked over at her partner. "Who's Vanders?"

Graff smiled slightly. He'd been waiting for her to get here. "The set designer."

Her eyes widened. "The one who didn't get home that night?"

Graff smiled. "That is the question, isn't it?" "We did want to ask Vanders a few more questions anyway, didn't we," Silvert said, with anticipation.

"Too bad, though," Graff smirked. "Could have been more fun for you."

"How?"

"She's not an actor."

Silvert shrugged. One couldn't have everything.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
*maniacal laughter*, - Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 13:40:07 (PDT)

Correction made.
D.o.C.

Er... that is supposed to be 3D, not CD.
Di
- Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 12:49:21 (PDT)

The two came to a halt at the end, giggling and happy just to be alive. Off in the far western distance the top of a white house rose up, to them a symbol of shelter, and more importantly, food and fresh drinks. Jamie and Diane trudged along, the latter placing a hand in the man’s, trying her best to find a way to walk with ease without tripping over failing her arms. (It was a difficult process indeed.) Jamie did his best to guide her, warning where a log might be protruding up from the grassy floor or a stone blocking their path, forcing them to veer to the side. They talked as they went to pass the time, little conversations that would mean nothing to you or me. Stories of hobbies, long ago relationships (though neither really said much on their behalves), interests, and of course, movies and music. Within two hours they had reached Diane’s humble home at last.

It was a welcoming site, both to these two weary travelers or anyone who would happen to pass it by. The front yard was clean cut (meaning newly mowed) with garden beds on both sides, the left with herbs, the right with flowers of daises, roses, petunias, tulips, and other assortments galore! A couple of statues, carved of marble, stood around the outer edges of the gardens, water spouting from their mouths watering them. (A clever idea indeed.) An arch, tall enough for the tallest of men and wide enough for two of the biggest of people stood at the front ride side, a stone laid pathway leading up to the front door. The front door itself was decorated with a birdhouse wrapped in rainbow ribbons and a doormat saying "Love Is Joy." The house was huge from far away, but even larger up close. It was four stories high, snowy white, and had a north tower to top it all off. Diane had done all the interior design and outdoor scenery herself, and was proud of her work, especially now as Jamie nodded in admiration. Pulling her keys from the pocket they passed through the arch, she sticking the keys into his hands. He opened the door and they trailed inside, breathing in a cool breeze from the air conditioning. A golden glass chandelier hung directly above their heads, crystals acting as wind chimes, a sweet clinking noise whistling from it. To the right was the living room, adorned with flower patterned seats and tables made of shiny oak to set drinks on. After slipping off hot and sticky shoes the duo trailed straight into the kitchen, its theme a bit more wild than the rest of the house: glow-in-the-dark-way-out-of there stuff. Diane admitted the fact that it didn’t match most of her casual Victorian style theme, but she loved it anyhow. The microwave, toaster, and oven was hot pink. The counters, stools, and coffee pot was brilliant blue while the table and basically everything else was emerald green. The counters also had pale yellow stars on them, and the lights, well, they were black lights, and the entire kitchen literally glowed. Diane grinned widely at Jamie’s surprised reaction (gasps and murmurs and wows) to the sudden change of theme, but she could tell he liked it.

"Where is the disco ball?" he joked, eyeing the black walls with dots of purple, pink, yellow, blue, and red on them. (Put on special glasses and they go 3D.)

"Oh, that is in the dancing room."

"You have a dancing room?"

"Of course, doesn’t everyone?

Jamie was about to respond when the phone (purple) rang a tune (actually, the theme of galaxy quest). He turned and picked it up, talking into the receiver. "Diane, it is for you." He reached out and put it in her hand, and she brought it up to her ear, wondering who it could possibly be…

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Claudia, how could someone NOT miss you? , - Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 12:48:30 (PDT)

Yes, Clods, we missed you!
I'll just go and get some biscuits!
Good one, that. , - Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 10:13:06 (PDT)

Mandy: if you want people to read your work, please read the Quick Guide to HTML and start paragraphing. I do not real large blocks of text, it's too hard on the eyes.
Magda
- Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 09:00:52 (PDT)

It was a hot sunny day at Hogwarts. Katherine was in a good mood, and Maranda and Matt were fine too. During breakfast in the great hall, Maranda noticed that a new boy walked into the hall. He was really tall, about 5' 7". He had brown hair in a crew cut. Kat was staring at him, for he looked oddly familiar......... Kat: "Woowoo....look at that cutie... what's his name? how old is he?? What house is he in?" A cold voice behind Katherine made them all jump, and made Maranda smile... Snape....."Well,well,well.......we don't want love interfiering with our schoolwork, now do we? I think you should consider what utter nonsense it is to love someone that is new here, without even knowing what his background is......off to class now.." Maranda giggled....Matt looked paranoid, and Kat was redder than anything that we have ever seen. Classes passed, and luckily, the three of them didn't get detention with Professor Snape for accidently spilling their cauldrons.... That night in the Gryffindor common room... The same boy that Katherine had fancied this morning, was in the common room now.... Kat to Matt and Maranda; "I don't know what to do, I mean, I think he's awesome.......what should I do? Snape, sorry Maranda, is a buttmunch, and he will try to stop me from liking anyone....but I don't know why..." Suddenly, out of nowhere... Snape came into the Gryffindor common room! His deep, mysterious voice made Maranda weak in the knees, Matt paranoid, and Kat worried for Maranda.. Snape; "Mr. Sean Fletcher, please come with me. You are being transfered to Slytherin.." Everyone, even the lovestruck Maranda, everyone gasped in shock.... No one had ever been transfered to a different house before. Kat to Maranda and Matt; "Well, now I know his name, and house,and year...oh..Matt, I didn't tell you. He's in our year.. That bat that calls himself a teacher better not mak Sean transfer out of this school.." Maranda; "HE'S NOT A BAT!!! He's just misuderstood...." Kat; "YA, Misunderstood from the hair down..." Matt started to crack up laughing. So hard they thought he would pass out. Soon, everyone was sleeping, except for Maranda who was thinking about Snape, and giggling. Kat told her to shut her mouth before she through her out the window.... Days passed, Kat as worried about Maranda as she ever was, Matt still quiet, but paranoid about potions class,(he spilled another cauldron,) and Maranda as slaphappy about Snape than anyone could handle.. "FINALLY!!!," kat started, "No more bat, no more potions, no more nothin' for a couple a' weeks.....CHRISTMAS VACA!!!!!! Goodbye Matt, and Mandy......I'm going home for the holidays.." Matt stated that he was staying at Hogwarts, as so did Maranda,(mandy) The snow was ever so beautiful, untill Snape put a melting spell on it.... Matt; "What!!! No snow...." Maranda; "Snape did it for reason I suppose.. I'm not mad at him..... He just doesn't want us to get snowed in, that's all.." Matt; "I'm sure...." he said in a sarcastic way. Finally, vacation was over, and the flowers started blooming.... Kat; "I have the best idea to both get Snape off my back, and Sean to go out with me...." Kat told Matt and Maranda, that if Maranda started showing Snape her true feelings, and distract him, then Matt can go ask Sean to go out with her... They were al in it together.....perfect plan... So, Maranda helped around after class with Snape, and Matt told Kat Sean said he'd be glad to go out with her... Things seemed to perfect to be...Kat had Sean.....Matt wasn't paranoid anymore, and of course, Maranda had Snape.....who really wasn't a bat........ THE END
mandy <jdlvr69@hotmail.com>
PLEASE only use my email for responding the story.. This should be a better story thanbefore. I also wrote the rainy day at hogwarts when i kiss snape..., - Thursday, July 11, 2002 at 06:17:10 (PDT)

Her question had not been answered, because she began to drift, drift away into a slumber so deep, that she looked as if she had passed away, into the heavens, but she hadn't.

Jasmine was very much alive, helpless to the dream that confused her; the one that left her thinking endlessly about what it had ment. She moved around among the sheets to get comfortable. Then the dream began.

It had started out as a light, white and blinding, as it had always started before. Then, she could see herself, clothed in a white, long dress, standing in a tunnel, with light on both ends. Her boss(and lover), Jacob, was standing at the end closest to he. His smile was entrancing, but it soon faded from his white face as he looked past Jasmine at the other end of the tunnel.

Jasmine turned. Nothing was there. But soon, a blurry figure started to appear, dark and tall. She couldn't tell what or who it was. It was getting clearer, though. Jacob's face was starting to look terrified and even more worried. Jasmine started walking backwards,towards Jacob...
Jasmine <Madam Jas57@aol.com>
Still blushing?? ;-), - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 21:29:49 (PDT)

Claudia watched the senior Herr Gruber as he mulled over what she'd told him. His face gave away nothing, his amber eyes seemed to bore into her soul, looking, searching for some answer.

"I'm not brave," she volunteered, "I hate all this. If I could see further than the end of my nose," she quoted something her 'grandfather' had often said about her, and more recently, Ed. "I should have known nothing but trouble would follow me. But I started and I couldn't see a way out. I had to keep going, I had to finish things... I hate leaving a job unfinished."

"But there HE sits, just down the hall... unfinished."

"I'll just go and get some biscuits!" said the Doctor, hopping up and grabbing the tea tray. His comical appearance didn't make either of the seated pair smile.

The lights began to flicker, slowly at first, so Claudia thought she was just tired... her eyes had started to twitch. Then they went out completely. The floor lurched, and she heard a crash as the Doctor dropped the tea tray.

"Ah, my favourite teapot!" he sighed, as the lights flickered on and off, and on the other side of the console room, the pillar in the middle of the console shuddered, made a half hearted rise and fall, and whined like a love-sick donkey.

"Vat's going on?!" said the senior Herr Gruber, standing up, alarm in his eyes.

The Doctor abandoned the pile of broken crockery on the floor, and ran over to the console. He began flicking switches, and tapping dials, his forehead crinkled in consentration. "That's not good, not good at all," he muttered, as usual, not offering any explanation, unless he was pushed.

"What's not gut?" Anton suddenly decided he didn't want to findout any more about the Tardis and its workings, and headed towards the door.

"Please don't leave, Herr Gruber," said the Doctor. "I just have to check where we are."
Claudia
I have no idea what's going on in here, so I home my next few posts fit! Did you miss me?, - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 19:57:15 (PDT)

Just saying supp to the homes onthis site
brittney <suppafly123@aol.com>
wazzz up, - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 16:29:34 (PDT)

Ooh said Kate and you must be Snape then. Kate started taling to Snape again,but he took no notice he was still staring at her. Ahh Snape....Hello..do you..have ..a...brai What ooh yes sorry dozed off were leaving ooh will good. Ahh Severus your babbleing said Professeor Vector,ooh sorry stammered Snape. A couple of weeks went by and just befor a potions class Kate came running and sliding through the dungeon door out of breath said in a would be soft voice Snape ha ha did I tell you how much I loved you lately* ha ha. What do you want Stars said Snape in a rater nasty voice. Will Blimey Serveus if your going to talk to me like that...I WON'T ASK! Will ahh a umm err sorry mummbled Snape. All the students were looking at them now, Wll said Snape ahh ohh ok can we talf about this in the oter room wispered Kate and they walked into Snape's chambers.
Kate (again0 <potterfreak817@aol.com>
Mail me any time!!, - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 16:25:42 (PDT)

It was a normal Hogwarts day will allmost normal some of the teachers weren't acting their ususual self(cough snape cough). Kate the new Defense Aganist The Dark Arts teacher she had long light,light,blonde hair she had small baby blue eyes that allways seem to twinkly. She was sitting in between Professeor McGonagall and Professeor Snape who was not looking normal. He look almost clean not his greasy self and he kept staring at Kate like he's never seen a girl befor. Kate took no notice at first she was talking to Professeor McGonagall and Professeor Dumbledore. Then out of no where she jolited around and said Hi I'm Kate what do you teach? Snape sat there puzzled with out words. The most he could get out was a fant grunt. Kate stared at him so she said,huh so so what ooh sorry what was it? I asked you what you teached and I said my name is Kate are you ok? wa...huh..ooh I teach Potions said Snape.
Kate (not my real name) <potterfreak817@aol.com>
mail me any time!, - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 14:40:11 (PDT)

Happy b'day Therese!

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Hope Dev's got somethin' planned for ye..., - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 13:20:55 (PDT)

Jamie was aghast and showed it too in his stare of non-blinking eyes. He stepped back once, then twice, then three times, head not moving, mind utterly in shock. His soul screamed NOOO!!! and his mind hollered WHY??? while a clogging heart moaned OH MY GOD!!! Jamie. Face paler than usual (pretty dang white for a ghost). Jamie. Hands clenched in fists, fingernails digging into the skin drawing a drop of blood. Jamie. Eyes watering with sorrow, mouth hanging open like a fish. If someone had run up and told him that California had broken off into the ocean he would believe it. If a bomb exploded ten feet behind him it would make him no more frightened than he was now. How could this possibly be? Truly, Diane must be playing some sort of joke but… When looking upon the dark look across her face he knew it was true. He also knew that there must be some way to help, there had to be. And, maybe, if he did help, she would care a little more…

"Why didn’t you tell me before?" he uttered, his VOICE soft, but in Diane’s heart big as a boulder.

"It is not like I’ve had this forever!" she gasped, reaching up her hand, batting the sky.

"I do not… understand."

"The storm, Jamie," she breathed. "The STORM."

"What about it?’ He cocked his head to the side, sitting on the grass now, leaning it on her shoulder.

"It did SOMETHING Jamie! I don’t know how, I don’t know when, and I certainly don’t know why. I was fine, good as new, before this morning. I woke up, and everything was all a blur, fuzzy. Supposed it was an eyelash caught in them or something, didn’t take too much thought to it. But as the day grew older, my vision became worse, and worse, and worse, till how it is now. A total blackness, a blanket of forever nothing." She began to sob, choking on her tears, covering her face in shame. "It is stupid!" she shouted. "Nothing so absurd has ever been heard of! Storm indeed! A storm cannot ruin perfectly good vision, no it cannot! Oh, Jamie! Tell me why! Tell me, why?"

But Jamie could not tell her why, for he could not even utter one decibel into the air. All around them was silent (except for the occasional gasp or cry from Diane); The trees swayed no more, not a bird was to be seen, and the clouds above paused on their daily drifting trip to look down upon the weary couple. The wind, more like a far off breeze, laughed as it passed by, whipping their hair and fluffing the grass as it guffawed at the scene. The grass danced at the wind’s command, blowing back and forth, ripping and rippling like an ocean’s wave. The sun beat down on them, its rays stretching far forth, enveloping them, engulfing them, swallowing them hole in a roasted steamy gulp, frying their skin and torturing their heavy bared clothes. The breeze gave no comfort in this matter, too little to do anything at all. About how Diane felt. Too small to make a change, a difference. Her life only a baron to others, especially now Jamie, who could have wept then himself.

"Maybe, possibly Diane dear, it is only temporary," he suggested, though, not getting his hopes too high. He had not met one blind person in his entire life (and afterlife) who had recovered from blindness, so, how could a miracle happen here, now? Or even eventually?

"You really think so?" she stuttered, her voice uneven and unsure.

"Of course," he lied. "Now, do you think you can stand?"

"Course I can stand!" she grumbled, pushing herself forwards. "I haven’t suddenly become paralyzed." That is next, she told herself. That or I go deaf.

"You sure?" he commented, eyeing her fall flat on her face tripping over a tree root.

"No…" He offered her an arm, then dumbly realizing she couldn’t SEE him offering it, groped it around her shoulders, then swinging another underneath her picked her right up into the air. "Jamie!" she gasped with delight. "I had no idea you were so strong!"

"Not… a… problem…" he mumbled, longing for air, arms screaming in pain. He winced, and took one gigantic step forward, then another, and another. Soon, he knew, he would give away and drop her. That would be anytime now.

"You should do this with me more often…" she giggled, for a moment forgetting her worries. "I like this, this is fun."

Jamie only moaned at the idea of it.

In five minutes time he could carry her no longer, and set her into the grass, falling backwards himself, face first. "Ohhhh…" he groaned.

"Jamie, you are amazing! NO ONE has EVER been strong enough to pick ME up before! I’m not your average dainty buttercup you know."

"Oh… I KNOW. I KNOW."

Diane’s stomach growled again, a tiger ready to pounce on any flesh. She scanned the area for anything to eat: berries, fruits, or maybe even a taco stand. (Wait, who was she kidding?) Jamie’s eyes grew round at her rumblings, and scooted a foot away, his shirt brushing against the grass.

"What are you doing that for? Get back over here!" (My, she has good hearing.)

"Can’t," said he. "You are going to blow."

"Oh! Now you MUST come over here!"

"Why?"

"So I can give you a good smack! How rude of you to say that to me…" Then adding after Jamie’s stomach responded, "Mr. Earthquake."

"I’m a guy. We are supposed to have large appetites."

"Then I guess I’m a tomboy, ‘cause so do I."

"It shows." He poked her tummy. She growled and slapped his hand, he with-drawing it, rubbing gently as it swelled. "Dang woman! If this is how much a slap hurts, think of how hard you punch… ouch." He shuddered at the thought.

"Would you like me to show you?"

"Oh, please, no!" he said in a pitiful VOICE. "Don’t hurt little ole me!" But (after feeling where Jamie was) she pounced on him, the two rolling down the hill, trapped in each others arms…

The Girl Who Cannot Wait For Her TMD Video To Come In <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Why, thank you Jasmine! *blush* , - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 11:09:41 (PDT)

Happy Birthday Therese!!! So, do you like chocolate, or vanilla? (Hey, I can bake pretty darn good cakes, you know.) If there is going to be a party, let me know! And have another good happy year!
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Farm animals??? Oh dear... he better not be stealing from MY farm, *mwahaha* (I have a horse and I know how to use him. Same goes for the goats.) , - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 11:08:05 (PDT)

Have a great birthday, Therese. . . though I think the Director has some reservations about any more animals as gifts! (Something about "Farm animals will be next...")
(Maybe he'll be in a better mooooed later...)
R, ducking...., - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 09:48:23 (PDT)

Therese, Happy Birthday!! I'm afraid the Director has made it very clear that there will be no stand-ins today.
Cindie
- Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 07:59:10 (PDT)

Happy Birthday, Therese! Come over to my cube and we'll sneak some chocolate together to celebrate! Oh, and it might be a good idea to avoid Dev and The Director on your way over--given your history on the set, they might feel obliged to observe certain, um . . . traditions in honour of the day. ;-D

MA
Rummaging out the stash of candy and cake . . . , - Wednesday, July 10, 2002 at 05:55:56 (PDT)

She looked into his deep and mesmorizing eyes. She saw so much compassion in them. He spoke softly, "These last two weeks have been horrible without you. I am so glad to be back." Both of them sat and continued their conversation for nearly an hour before Jasmine had to get back to her desk. She was a lawyer, and a very good one, at that.

Jasmine and her boss, Jacob, had been seeing each other for about three months now, and he had just returned back to New York from a buisness trip in Maryland. She was a bit surprised and bothered by the fact that she didn't really miss him. Could she have even been... relieved at his departure? This was a question not even she knew the answer to.

Her thoughts were interupted by her clock, alarming her that it was 5:00, and time to be on her way home. Her car was black (her favorite color). It was as though it was driving itself, because she paid absolutly no attention to the road beneath her.

At her Appt. #57 at the Shady Tree Appertments, she lay wrapped in her red comforter, thinking, deeply into her soul "Do I really love him...?"
Jasmine <Madam Jas57@aol.com>
Diane, You are really good at this- :), - Tuesday, July 09, 2002 at 22:59:03 (PDT)

"Purple…" Diane whispered, her voice floating in the air on a cloud. "I like purple."

"I thought you might as well." Jamie reached out a hand, offering to help her stand again, to return home. There was no use or logical sense for her to just run away from her problems and fears. If only she would let him help her, she could be better off, he knew it well. But Diane just sat there, blinking time after time over, oblivious to the world. "Diane, please, let’s go. Aren’t you tired of sitting on this hill all day? I bet you anything your pants will have grass stains on them too, darn it." Diane mumbled something under her breath, but gasped and turned her head away in haste.

"I cannot leave. Not yet."

"Porque?" Jamie smirked. He didn’t know much Spanish, and everyone said he had an awful accent, but Diane knew just as much as he, and he guessed, even more.

"I have my reasons."

"Ouch. Harsh. Cooooollllllllllllld." The honey-haired man gave a over dramatic shudder, his shoulders hunching up and body curling into a ball. "Come on Diane, loosen up a bit. Tell you what: I’ll play you a song or two when we get back and cook you lunch."

Diane knew he was trying to be kind, and actually, he was trying VERY hard too. She didn’t want to be difficult, and at another time this game of her being in control, the head honcho, the one with the power, might be amusing. But now was a time to be serious, no joking. "I sincerely thank you for your offer Jamie, but I must reject for the meantime."

"But why?" he whined like a three year old, flopping on his back, twisting in the grass. "Puh-lease." Diane burst out laughing, that tone so innocent, so childish.

"Jamie, did I not say no? Or do I need to spell it out for you first?"

"I think you spell it… wait, give me a minute… N… A… nope, that’s wrong… M… O… I don’t think I have the hang of it quite… O… MN… Give me another chance! Oh, I think I got it!" He stopped for a pause, sucking in a gulp of air. "N-O!" Diane could not contain herself, and was laughing so loud and hard that tears spilled down her cheeks, a drop wetting her lips. It was then that her stomach lurched and growled vigorously. It was time to eat.

"What will you cook me if I go home, eh?"

"Whatever you want; Preferably something with a fire involved." He rubbed his hands together back and forth as if they had been stuck in ice all day and numb.

"I sure could go for a Top Ramon right now."

"Just turn around your head Diane."

"Why?"

"That permed hair of yours LOOKS like a bunch of noodles hanging from your scalp, so why not have a bite and try them out?"

"Positively NOT. YOU try them."

"Alright, if the Madam insists…" He bent over his head, jaw opened wide. Diane shrieked, flipping to the over sides one second before Jamie bit into a mouthful of hair.

"You were not HONESTLY going to taste my… my hair, were you?"

"Maybe," was all he would say, folding arms over his chest. "A man can get pretty darn hungry, sitting out here on a hill, basically in the middle of no where."

"If you are dead… then how come you still eat? Can you even taste the food?"

Jamie fell silent, a creepy feeling growing deep inside. "I have no clue how I came to be this way, really. The Doctor has told me stuff, other people have said things to me, but I’m not truly sure what to believe Diane. All I know is, I still eat food."

"Thank goodness, or else you’d be a boring meal partner."

"Are you inviting me to lunch?"

"Sounds like it, doesn’t it?"

"Well, by the time we get a move on though, it will be tomorrow mornings breakfast! So, let’s go. Now." A sterness filled his VOICE, jaw-line set.

Diane struggled to rise, for everyone was black, total black, and not one spark of light was to be found. "Jamie, there is something I must tell you."

"Eh? And what is that? If it has anything to do with cello playing, how former wives can be cruel, or how being cold all the time literally sucks, I already know, but thanks anyway." "Jamie… I’m… I’m…"

"You’re what?"

"Jamie, I’m blind."

(Music plays a DA DA DUM rhythm)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Heh. A jealous Mistral. Would like a photo of that one please. How much? , - Tuesday, July 09, 2002 at 09:46:33 (PDT)

Jealous, Mistral? Oh, dear, I hadn't realized. But fear not--if it will make you feel better, I have an entire stock of epithets that I can reserve entirely for you.

MA
And what would Cindie think about this "jealousy," hmmmmm? ;-), - Monday, July 08, 2002 at 19:45:18 (PDT)

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

Although she didn't have anything new to say after she'd uttered her threat, it took Joya and I almost an hour to finally get Marion out the door and back to her chamber. She'd obviously felt the need to vent her feelings and proceeded to do so despite the fact that we were not interested. I must say that there were parts of it that I found fascinating. My dislike of Robin of Locksley was an all-encompassing feeling and did not allow for such particular nuances as his eating habits, his snoring or his preference for slovenly underlinen. It was an educational hour, in some respects.

Not until Richard began to fuss in her cradle did Marion bring her tirade to a halt and then only because the sound suddenly reminded her of her own child who would require feeding soon. She'd summed up her arguments succinctly, repeated her threat to complain to the king about the Lady Christina and swept out of the room.

"Well, who would have thought she was capable of that?" Joya winced as the door slammed shut behind her departing cousin. The sound caused Richard to send up a tiny wail and Joya hurried to adjust her gown so our daughter could nurse. I propped my chin on my hand and watched them both. I did not think I would ever grow tired of the sight of my woman holding my child in her arms. The thought surprised me; my fondest memories of Joya had to do with her role of wife, not mother. Obviously the child was growing on me.

Satisfied that Richard was nursing properly, Joya resumed our conversation. "I admit that I am perplexed. Would she really complain to the king, or is she just overwrought and making empty threats?"

I considered. There was no doubt that Marion had been in the grip of a strong emotion but against that I had to weigh what I knew about her determination. In the years before Locksley returned to the shire, she'd run her brother's manor as well as her own with assurance and skill; I could see her setting a course and sticking to it come hell or high water. I shook my head. "Yes, I can see her doing it. We have to take her seriously, no matter how inconvenient it is."

"I suppose so." Joya sighed and switched Richard to her other breast. "But 'inconvenient' does not begin to describe it. Really she could not have picked a worse time to throw her tantrum! How are we going to get those two girls out of the castle by dawn? Where are they to go?"

I shrugged my shoulders and reached for the wine. Two very good questions. Nottinghamshire was not a shire well populated with anything but farmers and serfs. The only manor within easy riding distance was Locksley's and I did not think Marion had had that in mind. As for the town itself, there was nothing remotely suitable -

The thought hit me so hard I almost dropped my goblet. I looked at Joya. "The goldsmith's house."

She beamed. "Perfect!"

Actually it was amazing that I hadn't thought of it right away. It had been on my mind almost since I'd returned from my enforced exile. As I believe I have mentioned before, Nottingham is not a large city by any means but we do have our share of what might be called a luxury trade and up until nine months previous it had included a goldsmith. He was an old man whose children and wife had predeceased him and thus when he finally died there was no one to inherit his house. As the sheriff and thus the duly constituted authority in the area, it became my property by default. The local abbey had thrown a fuss about the whole thing, insisting with what I considered a callous disregard of the commandment about not coveting that the property go to their religious house as they had provided spiritual comfort to the dead man in his final years. Fortunately, the abbot himself was an intelligent, pragmatic man and it only took three nights in the airiest dungeon for him to realize that I should inherit the property. I was quite gratified as I think it is so important that the Church maintain an open mind about social issues like the redistribution of wealth in our community.

At any rate, with a minimum of fuss I became the proud owner of a large, two story stone house in the middle of town with its own orchard, vegetable patch and flower garden. It faced directly onto the street and was surrounded on its other three sides by a large stone wall. It even had its own stables in a sort of mews behind the garden, accessible through a thick wooden door set in the very back wall. The windows were of genuine glass, small panes that glinted in the morning sun when they weren't hidden behind thick wooden shutters. Goldsmithing is a profession that tends to attract criminal attention because of the rare jewels and metals the professionals work with so it was easily the most secure dwelling in the shire outside of my own castle.

I tapped my finger against the goblet. I had only been inside twice that I could recall but it seemed to me that there were four bedrooms on the top floor, two plain rooms on the ground floor and that all had fireplaces for greater comfort. If the Lady Christina took a maid with her, I could easily free up two servants who would see to the cooking and cleaning during her stay. All in all, it was a sound idea. I quaffed the wine with a cheerful disposition. Would that all problems could be solved so easily!

Richard had finished feeding and Joya was holding her on her shoulder and patting her back. She nodded at me in agreement. "Yes, an excellent idea, George. Now how will we break the news to the girls?"

"I shall do that. I was supposed to visit them tonight anyway. They're expecting me." I set my cup down and stood up. It did not escape my notice that this was the second time that Joya had referred fondly to "the girls". I wondered what that portended.

"Then I shall talk to the steward and have him arrange for servants to spend the night cleaning the place out. It's been vacant for months and probably ankle-deep with dust." She nodded decisively and almost dislodged Richard. "I wish you god speed with your task. You know they're likely to weep and carry on?"

I did indeed know it but it couldn't be helped so I didn't answer her question. Pausing only to throw my best cloak over my shoulders and kiss Joya goodnight, I let myself out into the corridor and crept along the warren of passages that separated our chamber from that of our visitors'. As I passed the landing that led to the Locksleys' room, I moved with particular caution to avoid the attention of his retainers who'd be guarding his door against possible attackers. Actually they were probably long since asleep at their posts but there was no sense taking unnecessary chances. Once I was in the corridor that led to the Poitevins' chamber, I dropped my reticence and hurried to my destination.

One sharp knock resulted in the door swinging open immediately. Lady Suzanne stood there, her slender form backlit by the fire and her blonde hair gilded by the flames. She was a sight to arouse a corpse. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing erratic, her breasts rising and falling with the force of her feelings. She was a woman in a passion and my senses began to roil at the thought of the night ahead.

She stepped back and beckoned me inside. I stepped over the threshold. She threw herself on my chest, her hands clutching my arms. I smiled to myself, flattered that my presence had this effect on her sweet virginal character. Perhaps I was not the only one who would impart some pleasure this night. Just at the moment it occurred to me to wonder where the Lady Christina was, her quavering voice pierced the amorous haze around me and brought me back to reality with a hard thump.

"Oh, Lord Nottingham! The most terrible thing has happened!" Lady Christina was sitting on the bed, her large brown eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Lady Marion wants me to leave here! Tonight! And I don't know where to go-o-o-o!" She ended on a wail and the tears began to slide down her cheeks in small waterfalls.

I looked at the Lady Suzanne and realized that she was indeed in the grip of a powerful passion but it was anger, not lust. She pushed away from me to pace the far side of the room, muttering what sounded like nasty threats under her breath and her hands clenched into tight fists. As her companion dissolved completely into tears, she flew over the carpet to her side and wrapped her arms around her trembling form. "Oh Chrissy, don't cry! Please don't. I'm sure Lord Nottingham has some solution to this horrible mess." They looked up at me with expectant gazes, one dry, the other quite moist.

"Er, yes. A solution. Of course." I was not quite sure how to begin. I hadn't looked forward to breaking the news but somehow I was not relieved to find that it was no longer my task. Once again I cursed Marion of Locksley for her unwanted eruption. "Well, as a matter of fact, Lady Joya and I have been discussing this whole unpleasant matter and we believe that we have found a way to make everyone happy."

I told them about the goldsmith's house, dwelt at considerable length on the benefits of living in a warm, solid house in the middle of town with many attractions for a young woman and contrasted it with an old, drafty castle that had too few windows and almost no amenities. They listened carefully, sitting side by side on the bed, silent except for an occasional sniff from Christina. I wound up with the promise that my servants would have the place in perfect order for the morning.

Suzanne frowned as I finished. "It sounds wonderful, Lord Nottingham, and we are extremely grateful for all your efforts on our behalf. The only problem I have with the entire thing is that by leaving, we seem to be giving credence to the Lady Marion's ridiculous accusations. As if Chrissy would do anything wrong! The very idea is absurd!"

She looked as if she were working herself up into a rage again. I stepped in quickly. "Oh, but of course everyone knows that. But Marion is the king's cousin and the fact of the matter is, that does count for something. Think of it as a holiday for a few days. When the king arrives Lady Christina can move back into the castle as if nothing happened."

"Yes, that is true. You're quite right, my lord." Suzanne climbed off the bed and offered me her hand with a sunny smile. "But I could not possibly let Chrissy go there by herself with only some servants for company. I will go with her and we will both stay in this goldsmith's house until the king arrives."

"Both of you?" I stared.

"Of course. We have been together since we were babies." Christina jumped off the mattress and advanced to Suzanne's side. They beamed at each other, then turned back to me. "Nothing shall ever come between us."

"Yes." Despite the situation, I was distracted by that image. "Do keep that thought, won't you?"

Perhaps fortunately, they didn't hear me. The prospect of action had a galvanizing effect on them and they charged about the room, gathering clothes and throwing them into various chests and baskets, no doubt assuming that they were packing. A couple of maids would have their work cut out for them if they were going to be ready for moving.

It was obvious that nothing that would interest me was going to happen in that room this night so I bowed myself out with promises to escort them to their new abode in the morning as soon as the fast had been broken. They stopped rushing around long enough to thank me profusely and to urge me to take their gratitude to Joya as well. I backed out the door just as Christina managed to overturn a large hamper full of shoes and boots onto the floor.

I was in a philosophical mood as I walked down the corridors to my chamber. While it was a pity that Suzanne insisted on accompanying her friend, it might be possible to turn that to my advantage. After all, if they were in town, what would be more natural than that I, as a good host, should travel down there regularly to check on my guests' comfort? We could be assured of more privacy than was possible in a castle with dozens of servants and retainers underfoot. All things considered, the situation looked very promising.

As I turned the final corner and began to climb the stairs up to my landing, I hoped that Joya had finished giving orders to the steward. Thanks to my meeting with "the girls", I had an urgent need for some intimate discussions with my lady wife.

Magda
mea culpa, Magda-H; good going, Jasmine, - Monday, July 08, 2002 at 17:54:29 (PDT)

Mary Anne, I am jealous. I thought that I was your stiff necked thistle-head.
Mistral
Remembering the fire at the first anniversary party. And the blaze in the kitchen too., - Monday, July 08, 2002 at 17:03:28 (PDT)

At the Palace:

Valmont began to crumple the paper in his fist preparatory to hurling it into the considerable blaze burning in the fireplace. He sat before the hearth stretched out upon a chaise of obvious French design and covered in a brocade of the palest gold. His winter white silk jacket was thrown at its foot in front of the pillow upon which hit feet, still clad in their supple white calf’s leather, rested. The flames cast a burnished gleam to his eyes which were cold, despite the warmth of the fire. The fireplace in his room was an ornate affair of immense proportions and sported a gilt mantle piece with carved fleur des lys. It and the presence of the chaise had been another indication that the Empress had chosen this room particularly for him. When first he had been escorted to these chambers it seemed clear that they were not randomly chosen. It was a pity that the Empress’ attention was required elsewhere. He would have enjoyed escorting her about the grounds. Not that his current occupations were not enjoyable.

Almost as soon as his fingers began to close about the thick, scented paper they began to unfurl. Better to preserve it until he could form a suitable reply to the Marquise. Damnable woman. As if he needed her approval of his choice - though to be fair he had written to her. And she was right in many respects. His rival in this case was no mere husband but a formidable business man of some charm, looks and manner of dress. Merteuil had noted upon the latter with respect to Cynthia herself. Trust her to know how a woman upon whom she had never laid eyes, dressed. While the Marquise de Merteuil did not dare to mention the party to whom these comparisons were directed it was clear enough. The firelight danced in the blank depths of his eyes as he absently smoothed the paper and forced his mind back to the object whose surrender he was campaigning to secure. His next amoureux dangereux.

It was clear that she had expected another sort of behaviour entirely and he reveled in the disconcertion which his chosen path had produced. Her confusion over his chivalrous demeanour was amusing and quite worth the small effort it took. That she was a woman of some experience he was certain and this made the process of creating in her the need for him even more pleasurable. And she would come to need him. He would see to that.

Cindie
Welcome, Jasmine., - Monday, July 08, 2002 at 16:57:15 (PDT)

Jasmine woke up. Her head was still immensely spinning from the dream she just had. The dreams were getting more and more complicated to her. She placed her thin hand on her chest, feeling the hard “thudding” of her racing heart. These dreams were leaving her confused and hanging, but their contents are not to be discussed, yet.

She got dressed and left to work. “Thank God its Friday,” she thought to herself as she sat outside her bosses office. The door swung open. Jasmine looked up to see her boss (a tall, 26 year old, broad-shouldered man in a suit) in the doorway. “ Come in.” He turned on his heels and disappeared into his office. Jasmine followed with a smile upon her face.

She closed the door behind herself, and as soon as she turned to her boss, she was embraced in his long arms. She hugged back and smiled as they broke apart. “Ah… Jasmine. I am so happy to see you. I have missed you”

“ I have missed you too. It feels lik e it has been forever….”
Jasmine <Madam Jas57@aol.com>
My 1st entry!!!, - Monday, July 08, 2002 at 14:55:33 (PDT)

Correction made.
And to answer your question, it's "Professional."
D.o.C.

Typos... ack... That meant,actually, j/c, not j/k. (just curious)
Me
Today: Stay at home and watch HP. Tomorrow: Stay at home and watch GQ. The next day: Stay at home and watch DH. , - Monday, July 08, 2002 at 10:11:39 (PDT)

Noon had come on swift wings as the cottonwood no longer gave any shade; the sun was in the direct middle of the sky. Jamie had decided a while ago that now was his time to take a snooze, and lay stomach up on the grass, hands sprawled to the sides. It was cute to watch him sleep, Diane decided, and he looked like such a little child in that position. Silly ideas and thoughts ran through her mind, and she gasped at her own wild imagination and pushed them away immediately. Besides, there was an awkward feeling when you got close to him… almost like… like he was not real, just a hologram that could speak and move. A gentle touch to the hand told her otherwise though, and for the time being she concentrated on her eyesight.

It had grown no better, actually, far worse. All around her things seemed to be darkening, growing black, like nightfall had sprung upon them all with great surprise. She rubbed her eyes, blinked, and even held them shut for awhile, but she always got the same result: blackness and gray. Diane could barely still see Jamie, but that was basically it. If she tried to look at anything more than 3 feet away from her she could not, it was gone, not there. Dare she tell Jamie? No, he’d cause a fuss. But what boggled her mind was how in the heck had she become this way? Her mind was foggy, she could not remember things too clearly, but still, a thunderstorm would not have made anyone go blind. Not in the least. Well, she wasn’t fully blind yet but… there was little hope.

Jamie stirred for a minute, his body quivering up then down with a shudder. He sat up, groping his hand around, as if to grab for something. Grinning, he lunged at Diane, grabbing her collar. "Aha! Now I have you, my precious…" He licked his lips in a playful way, Diane making out the moment of a cherry tongue. She giggled and pushed him away, Jamie dramatically rolling down the entire hill till he came to the bottom with ker-plop.

"Are you alright?" she called from the hilltop, scanning downwards with failure.

"Course I’m alright, my skin is half numb, can’t feel hardly anything." He stood, dusting off the bits of grass clung to his trousers and picked a mini branch from his hair. "Why don’t you come on down, too?"

"Not the way you came down I’m not."

"Es muy divertido!" he cried and Diane could not helping letting out a small peep of a laugh.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It is not a matter of WHY, it is a matter of CAN’T."

Jamie stopped his laughter abruptly (he was mighty jolly today, for the oddest of reasons) and climbed back up the dimpled hill. Dimpled, meaning, dotted with colors. Oh, there were daises and sunflowers, wildflowers and more, but not to mention the grass itself. Some was of emerald, other of true green, but most of it a pale, lime green, a green that was trying to emerge into a brighter colour but didn’t think it would ever see that day. And, as Jamie climbed, he picked a simple purple wildflower, its bud newly opened petals wavering in the breeze. He stuck it in Diane’s hair, and she reached up to touched a petal, so silky and smooth. "A flower?" she breathed, not wanting to say why she could not come down.

"What else would it be?"

"What color is it?"

Jamie raised an eyebrow. Again. "You suddenly color blind or something?"

Diane said nothing, her lips trembling, jaw moving up and down like a motor. Jamie placed two hands on her shoulders, shaking her, screaming at her, cursing her, to tell him what was wrong. She would not speak still, vocal cords clamped shut. Diane would not burden him further, and, somehow, she would make do. She how no clue how, not one, but she would. As someone told her long ago, "You can do anything you set your mind to, Diane." Then again, even remembering WHO had said that sent a tingle down her spine, a gasp in the back of her head. Not a good time to think of those days now, she decided. Best not to think of them ever again, actually.

Jamie. Jamie, a man who felt lifeless yet powerful at the same time. He rose over Diane in height by far when she was sitting on the ground. Jamie. So many had wronged him, so many had deserted him, but so many had justified him and tried to show him the light on darker days. His mustache gave a twitch, pulling back his hands to release a scared Diane. Jamie, too, was frightened. Frightened that she might never open up to him, frightened she would not tell this new secret she was holding away from him, dangling it above his head like a fishing hook. But unlike a fishing hook, she was not reeling him in, more of letting out the line some more. Well, he would swim after it, if that was her desire. Something about… her… so different… a light, a warmth… To a fish, she was the biggest worm in the galaxy. Jamie screwed up his face. Not very nice of him, calling Diane a worm. Stupid metaphors.

Pausing, gazing into her eyes he bent down, hands on knees, half smiling. "Purple."

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
To Suzanne- J/c, but what standard of hypermart.com is this site? (you know, like pro, master, etc.) , - Monday, July 08, 2002 at 10:08:54 (PDT)

"I don’t think I ever want to love again."

Cold as these words were they rang of the truth deep inside Diane’s heart. Jamie frowned grimly, and only turned his head away to sneeze.

"Did you ever, actually, love?" Jamie didn’t expect a response since his former question, why did you run away from me, was never answered.

"Yes!" she cried, tears trickled. Then, inhaling slowly, "No."

"Hah!" shouted Jamie, pounding the grass with a fist. "Don’t you see? You have never experienced true love, so how could you say you don’t want to love *again*?"

"There are types of love when you give your heart out to someone without them realizing it," Diane muttered picking a dandelion, and gently blew the dainty puffs into the breeze. Jamie could not argue with this response, for even he himself had done such a thing many times before. With Rebecca, with his old wife… Even though these such things were in the past they were a constant reminder of failures to ever TRULY come to love for just one person, and with a sigh he noted that he probably never would. Few guys were special enough to get the one girl whom they desired, and usually the women were pretty too. Like Mary Anne and Colonel Brandon, or Renie and Hans, why, the list could go on forever! But now, wasn’t it his turn at the chase? Was the ball actually in his court, for once?

"So, there is no chance of you EVER liking someone else, in the entire world?"

"Never." Her answer was plain and simple, and even as she felt comforted being around Jamie she could not bring herself to like him, certainly not love him. Maybe, after a long recovery and the will and force to bring herself home again they could get together, chat, but she had no desire to. Not now, most likely, not ever. "Listen, Jamie, I appreciate all you have done for me in the last 24 hours, I really do, but I believe you are taking things too quickly. I want some time alone, and away, from everyone I know and everything I knew. I have a lot on my mind right now, Jamie, and if you’d respect this I’d appreciate you all the more. Another day, another month, another time, we can get together, perhaps, but don’t let your hopes rise. There are plenty of other women out there, prettier ones too I am sure, so I’m not the catch of the day. If there is some way to repay you for the kindness you have given me recently just let me know, but until then, I will continue on my trek." Diane stood up, blinking many times, her eyesight only getting worse though. What had caused it anyhow?

Jamie just gawked at Diane’s sudden response. Well, she was a girl who said what was on her mind, that was for sure. He, too, stood from their grassy hill and lay a hand on her shoulder, trying not to grimace. He had told himself to take it slowly, to win her trust with courage and caring, but had he already failed before setting out on the road? "I meant no such thing as what you are anticipating!" he scoffed. Diane gave a snort of disagreement and sighed, hands on hips.

"Jamie, I’m sorry I’ve been rude and cruel and I’m sorry I ran away from you last night, but you have no idea what I am feeling right now. No clue at all! I don’t even have a job!" Jamie arched another eyebrow, leaning against the tree, one hand going up and down the lines embroidered into it.

"No need to get so emotional Diane. My life hasn’t been all that cheery either. If you hadn’t recalled, I am dead."

I am dead. The words were thorns in her side, and suddenly she could not breathe. What a fool she was, to think she was off so much better than poor Jamie! Was she always so self-conceited, so selfish as this, day by day? No wonder Lucas left her! Oh, how could she have been so misled? It was HER fault her had tailed off, letting her bite the dust for once. What a daft fool, oh, I am such a daft fool! "I’m sorry Jamie." She spoke each word delicately like it might break unless said in a certain way. "You are right, you know. I did not recall." Diane looked to the sky, a robin swerving above, chirping a bright and cheery song, opposite of her mood. "You should leave me because… because I do not deserve you. I am too conceited… too emotional… I’m a dangerous hazardous jealous ruddy git!"

Jamie, shocked, opened his eyes very wide. What was wrong with her, for her to say things like this? "No, Diane, no! Never say that, never! If I thought you to be that I would have not stayed with you all last night, now, would I?"

"I suppose not…"

"Diane, you can trust me, you know. (Just never trust the government, okay?) You can talk to me, and I will listen." His words were so soothing Diane felt a drowning feeling, and almost, just a tiny glimpse of a spark of… a spark of happiness. She bounded into his arms, sobbing on his shoulder. Such sweet words meant so much, especially right now, in her own stupid crisis. What a waste of time it was! But, maybe Diane had learned something, had gotten wiser, gained some facts and truth about life itself. And you too, readers, will know what it is as well, what she was feeling then, if you paid attention. In her mind a sun peaked atop a mountain, gliding over its surface with ease. Though it would take a long time yet for her to be completely healed, it was a start. And Diane had the best person in the world to help her.

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Just won TMD on Ebay! *yay* , - Sunday, July 07, 2002 at 09:31:05 (PDT)

Jasmine- No problem.
Viewer
Coffee please..., - Sunday, July 07, 2002 at 09:29:22 (PDT)

VIEWER--- i know what you mean by LONG. The Back Issues are going to take forever to read but I guess I dont mind if it helps me understand the evolution of the FOF. Thanx.
Jasmine <Madam Jas57@aol.com>
- Saturday, July 06, 2002 at 22:54:44 (PDT)

Diane awoke, the sun streaming straight into her eyes from the East. She rubbed them, yawning, to clear the blurred vision she always woke up with. The rubbing didn’t seem to help this morning, everything was fuzzy, and being dizzy, the world wobbled and swayed like a palm tree. The grass, still wet from the night before, could clearly be marked out from its dainty emerald green colour the same as the leaves of the trees. The sky, once black and gray, now was the purest blue imaginable with not a cloud in site. It was like everything yesterday had been a nightmare, and today a dream.

A warm breath passed over her neck, sending a shudder up her spine. Diane flipped over on her stomach, and though she could not see the face or details, could tell it was a man. Perhaps… a man whom she wanted to see?

She slithered closer on the grass, like a serpent on its belly. "Lucas? Darling, dearest, is it really you?" She smiled, tears on the tips of her eyelashes, balls of water catching rays of the sun and reflecting it out. She reached down and retrieved the jacket the had been tucked around her, and ran a hand over the soft material, probably cotton. Not much of a jacket, but she appreciated the thought, and hugged it close, whispering, "Lucas, you awake?"

The figure groaned and lifted a shaggy head. He smiled, lifting out a hand, running a single finger along her cheek. Not one word was spoken from his lips, but Diane’s heart fluttered with joy. "It is you…" She felt tempted to fling herself upon him, growl with glee, and give him a passionate kiss. But she restrained herself, held back, and only lifted her arms out in a gesture meaning, hug me.

The man did not hug her, but did lean over to whisper in her ear. "I am not Lucas." Diane slunk away, heart and soul of stone once more, hopes drowned. It was Jamie, back again, she could tell by his icy touch. "Can you not see my face?"

Tears rolled down her cheeks, but this time, she did not move to get away. "The sun is too bright," she lied.

"Here, then let me shade you," replied Jamie, moving so he blocked out the sun which was still low in the sky, just barely hanging above the mountains. Diane could not help blushing, and held up the jacket.

"Is this yours?" she asked stiffly, a breeze ruffling its navy blue.

Jamie didn’t reply but nodded, taking it from Diane then tossing it aside. "Why did you run from me?"

The question was not a hard one to Jamie, but Diane’s blood ran cold at the remembrance of Jamie trying to convince her to return home last night in the storm. How cruel she had been to ignore him so! How rude, un-thoughtful! Diane knew she would never forgive herself for it: No one who had taken the time to go looking for her in an awful storm deserved what she had said and done to him, no one. Not even the lowliest beggar. Not even HIM… on second thoughts, HE deserved it after all. And even though now she longed to have a smiling Lucas in front of her, Jamie being there was… soothing. A sort of comfort, really. Had he truly stayed with her all night long, watching, making sure she was okay? He had even given up his jacket for her to use as a blanket, which was a big surprise, him always being freezing. Diane’s mouth went dry as she tried to speak, to say the words I’m sorry, to maybe show she did appreciate his efforts, after all. But she just hung her head in sorrow, mind screaming. "I did not run, I walked."

Jamie almost laughed, but not quite. "Come on Diane, tell me why. Or should I blame the government?"

Diane grinned sideways, her golden brown hair frizzed out in all directions, what it usually did after being wet and then not brushed out. "Remember, you are in America now."

"Oh, that’s right. Why am I here again?"

Diane shrugged, eyesight still blurry. "I wish I could…" she said, her voice sweet and soft. How nice it felt to have Jamie here…

"Wish you could what?" He raised a skeptical eyebrow, arms folded in a fake stern manner.

"Wish I could… could see your face."

Jamie’s smile disappeared, and he brought himself only inches from Diane. "There, see me now? Or is it just me, fading away?"

"No, I only see the outline… and your hair… You are NOT fading, but my vision is." She reached out, fingers wide spread open, to run then through his hair. Jamie held his breath; Diane pulled back.

"Why did you stop?"

Diane shuddered, mouthing the word: Lucas. "I don’t think I ever want to love again."

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Writing away as fast as I can.... hehehehe, - Saturday, July 06, 2002 at 09:13:28 (PDT)

The Palace

From the contented smile on Therese's face, it must have been a wonderful dream.

"Are you nervous?"

"A little, I mean how many other women have you taken home to meet your family?"

"Only one, my Sinead, and I married her not long after."

"They'll think this is serious then?"

He looked at her for a long moment, then cupped her chin in both hands, before kissing her almost fiercely. "Isn't it?" he asked, his voice deep and soft.

"I'd say," she responded, when she had caught her breath.

"Come on then," Eamon took Therese's hand firmly in his own, and lead her down the drive toward the house in which he'd grown up, home, to meet his family.

Later, after they'd all been introduced, and sat around for long hours eating and drinking endless pots of tea, Therese was taken to a dance, where she was assured that she'd not lack for partners. Looking around the table at Eamon's many cousins, all tall, lanky, kind looking souls, she felt a sense of belonging that she'd not known for far too long.

The dance was held in a long, low stone building, with wooden paneled doors held together with black iron encasements. It probably had been a cattle barn at one time, but the area was now surrounded by a flagstone yard, and inside wooden plankings were polished to a glossy sheen. The far side of the building held a raised platform, and the musicians could be heard tuning their instruments in preparation. At the opposite end stood a bar, lined with numerous refreshments for the dancers.

Therese was incorporated into the whirlwind of figures moving on the dance floor almost immediately, despite her protest. Sean, the cousin closest in age to Eamon, took her by the arm after they were all inside. "You'll dance with us all before the evenin's done, luv, so you might as well be starting with me."

Therese looked up at the taller man, his wide blue eyes twinkling down at her, and allowed herself to be lead to the floor. "You'll not complain when I trod on your toes then?" she warned him with a laugh.

"I'm willing to take that chance."

With that an endless blur of partners twirled, stomped, and spun her around the floor, helping and guiding her along as she began to get the movements and the intricate steps. More often than not Eamon claimed her, and once, in the part of the dance when she turned to face him, and he wasn't there, she felt him reach out, one hand around her middle to pull her back against his chest in a little hug. She heard him laugh low in his throat, before whispering in her ear, "Looking for me?" and then gently guiding her into the proper position to continue with the movements.

Therese had never seen dancing like this before, it was a mixture of Irish step, square dancing, line dancing, and jigs, all done at top speed. She ended most sets winded and grinning, and knew that she would come to love these people, and this place.

Waking slowly Therese thought back over her dream, the people who had started that night months ago as strangers were now shortly to be her family, and in her heart already were.

"Eamon," she said softly, reaching for him where he should be lying next to her, she found only a pillow and his scent. "Eamon?" she called softly, feeling a sudden pang of emptiness because he wasn't there.

A sharp rap on the door caused her to sit upright in the bed, then hurry to the nightstand where her robe was draped over one corner. Pulling it on and quickly knotting the sash, Therese crossed the room and opened the door to find Rupert and several guards on the other side of the door.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Therese upon seeing the expression on Rupert's face.

Therese
posting from (appropriately enough) the de Valera library in Ennis, Country Clare, Ireland. Only one hour of internet access, and haven't been near a computer in days--email to everyone as soon as I'm back in London!, - Saturday, July 06, 2002 at 03:19:56 (PDT)

FOF sets-outside:

But his knees buckled. Mistral caught him under the arm and pulled him back against the chainlink fence. "Sit down," Mistral commanded. The Director did, elbows resting on his upturned knees. He held his hands up and frowned at them. The shaking would not stop.

Nor has it stopped some moments later when Jutta arrives at the scene and takes one of The Director’s hands in her own to check his pulse. His first impulse is an impatient movement to throw her off, muttering, "I am all right . . ."

"You are not all right, and you know it."

The Director glances up to see Mary Anne standing over him, with Brandon just beside her. He is on the verge of a sharp retort but stops to take a closer look; despite Mary Anne’s calm expression, her face is so white that her eyes blaze like aquamarines. From her uneven breathing, it is obvious that she had come running to the lot the moment she heard the news-and just as obvious why Brandon stands so close to her, lending his subtle support.

"I am all right," insists The Director as Jutta discreetly continues her quick check-up. "Don’t go fainting away on me, Mary Anne."

"I’d say you’re nearer to it than I am."

"Perhaps." A sarcastic lift of his eyebrow. "Perhaps you should go and fetch me a sedative!"

"I’ll go and fetch you-" begins Mary Anne, but then her expression lightens and her eyes twinkle. "Why, I think I’ll do exactly that. Excuse me a moment, will you?"

"Now what is she-" But The Director has to be quiet as Jutta listens to his heart and tries to shoo away the crowd that is beginning to gather . . . and so the last thing in the world he is expecting is for Mary Anne to return and kneel down beside him, holding . . .

A beagle puppy.

It is the small female with the pink bow around her neck. At the far side of the lot, the handler waits patiently as Mary Anne holds out the puppy in front of The Director.

"Sir, this is Pinky. Pinky, meet The Director-also known as Alan, sir, Himself, or that stiff-necked thistlehead-"

"Now, wait just a moment, Mary Anne-"

"Pinky, you might begin by telling him to be a good patient and listen to Doctor Jutta. After all, he should know how important it is to follow your doctor’s instructions to the letter. Now, you two have a nice little chat, hmmmmm?" And despite The Director’s squawk of protest, Mary Anne parks the puppy in right in his lap-noting that in spite of his seeming reluctance, his arms had automatically curved into exactly the right position to cradle a puppy-and sits back to enjoy the spectacle.

The Director stares down at the beagle in his arms, and Pinky, of a much calmer temperament than her larger brothers and sisters, stares calmly back. Tiny as she is, she can sense the distress of the human holding her and begins to squirm and press toward him with an inquiring warrrrrfffff? until The Director, as if in disbelief that he has come to this, fondles her long, smooth ears and gently scritches her tummy.

"Well, now . . . Pinky." The Director’s voice has regained its customary timbre, deep and soft. "You’re going to have a low opinion of us humans, aren’t you? You see-" He rubs Pinky under the chin, and her golden-brown eyes, almost the same colour as The Director’s, slowly close, then open again. "You see, sometimes we are a little overprotective-"

"Pot and kettle," laughs Mary Anne, under her breath.

"And we tell others what to do, but do not do it ourselves."

Another low-pitched murmur. "Getting blacker and blacker all the time."

The Director continues to stroke Pinky’s back, even as he turns his head to look straight at Mary Anne. "But Pinky, at its best it’s all just . . . well, sparring, a way to express liking and . . . concern. In a humorous manner that won’t embarrass the other party, you understand. So try not judge us too harshly, will you?"

There is a moment of silence, and then The Director gently passes Pinky over to Mary Anne. "You had better take her back. The handler is waiting."

Mary Anne rises to her feet, looking down at The Director with an affection that, for once, she does not trouble to disguise. "So, did my sedative help you, sir?"

Before The Director can answer, Jutta speaks for him. "I believe it did at that. His pulse is slower now. Very steady."

The Director eyes his hands-which are no longer shaking.

"Good," replies Mary Anne. "After all--felicitas est parvus canis calidus."

Jutta chuckles. Mistral and Brandon are both wearing silly grins. Ed and Claudia are hooting openly and Cindie can hardly conceal her laughter. The Director rolls his eyes as Mary Anne saunters away, calling airily over her shoulder, "Benefits of a classical education!" (homage, of course)

And now, the wailing sirens are no longer distant . . .

MA--trying to get the most beagle for my buck. ;-) Hope you'll like it, B.
"Happiness is a warm puppy." And yes, Peanuts is very much a part of a classical education!, - Friday, July 05, 2002 at 20:38:43 (PDT)

A mist, silvery and sleek, rolled onto the street hissing with the wind. It rose higher and higher, climbing with every second till it formed a thick fog throughout the hills. It was like walking in soup blind, waving your hands about as a fool in a total nothingness, and if you were lucky, you wouldn’t run into anything before five minutes time. The fog itself acted quite content to stay were it was at the moment and lashed around whatever character stranded out there it could find, gloating, to see them panic, having no clue where to go. The fog was an evil demon, a devil, out to terrorize a soul till weariness, death, or all hope was lost. Then, maybe, after enjoying its brilliant work of torture it would float away to a new place, and perhaps come back again another day to repeat the steps all over again.

The fog had leaped with joy upon one lonely woman who tried in vain to carry on her walk through the mist despite the hideous weather rampaging around her. Lightening cracked through the sky as a whip, lighting up her surroundings, but only for a short time. Thunder boomed its deep voice, making the ground quiver in fear as most women would quiver at HIS VOICE. The wind had died down, but only some, and the rain went on forever as a faucet turned on HIGH. The woman was determined to not turn back to the place where she had come from scarcely one hour ago, which was, indeed, her very own home.

"Curse this storm!" she cried to the fog when she ran into a tree. It wasn’t her fault, since being misled by her own instincts it jumped right out of nowhere and CRASH, she toppled over like a domino. PLOP, just like that, worn out, tired, and giving up for good. She closed her eyes and thought of sleep, and before soon, it took her strongly with the tree, a giant cottonwood, acting as a barrier from the northern winds. Her breathing increased into a wheeze from her asthma, and heart thudded from the walk, the woman not being in the best of shape. Pain, too. Vigorous pain. Pain that wanted to make her scream bloody murder, even in the deepest of sleep. Pain that jolted through her thigh, her head, her knees, everything. Torture of being stabbed a thousand times before dying finally could not have been much worse, actually, none worse at all. She cringed and tossed in her sleep, but did not wake, but moaned hoarsely, throat dry. If awake it would have reminded her of a scene shot not too long ago on the sets of Flights of Fancy where she had to act stranded in a desert. That was acting: this was real.

Even as she lay writhing in the grass a shadow fell over her. The man hunched down to his knees, and in taking off his jacket, cascaded it over the woman, tucking it all around her plump body. Not a woman of beauty, but one of soul, and heart. A heart, he thought, that surely was broken. For only moments ago did he find out what had happened to her, that her man had left, and right before the big Anniversary Party too. In her sleep she clutched the jacket closer, the man watching intently, hoping she was alright. He smiled faintly at the woman on the ground, so helpless before him. But, unlike some other men he knew, he did not care for power over one, but sweet and caring love, gentleness, compassion. Soon he could mend her aching heart, in time, if she was to allow him. For now he would just watch, and wonder…

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Got my Snape shirt in the mail! *yay*, - Friday, July 05, 2002 at 17:15:41 (PDT)

Or not.

Diane flung herself into a pair of arms, shouting with triumphant joy and caressed fingers down the skin which was as cold as ice.

As cold as ice…

She stepped back, sucking in her cheeks and lips, her entire face pasted onto its skull. Eyes wide and glistening she fell to the pavement, shaking her head. Her hand fell upon a stone, so round and smooth it seemed a perfect ball. Black in color with gray tinges here and there she squeezed it, fist balling up, as if to crush it into tiny pieces. Of course she could not, and instead she threw it at the figure standing before her.

"Go away…" she sobbed. "Leave me be." Drops of water curled from the tips of her hair to the ground creating minuscule puddles that eventually grew bigger and bigger while the soft trickle of the stream running to the drain pipes on the sides grew louder like the thunder overhead. The man shuffled his feet and sneezed, pulling a dark blue jacket closer around him. Diane shivered like he, scooting inch by inch away from the man who showed no sign of letting her go from his site, since he too inched, but closer. "I said leave me!"

"Come now, Diane, don’t be so foolish. It is pouring like a waterfall, and already you are sopping wet. Go back home and get dry." Diane pursed her lips firmer, shaking her head, eyes glaring with fury. Jamie glanced to the left, then bringing a damp hand from a trouser pocket extended it to the fallen woman. She ignored it and stood up by herself, but not without tripping over another stone, a larger one, and falling down again. At last she straightened up and turned round, her back to the man.

"I have no need for your concern. Mind your own business."

The man, Jamie, sneezed again, pulling a silk handkerchief from his coat. Sniffling he walked the other way, forgetting about the lady whom he had known for only such a short period of time. If Diane wanted him to leave her, well, so be it, she got her wish. If only this bloody rain would stop, maybe she’d be in a cheerier mood. It was his first time seeing someone as grumpy as her, but not his first time feeling no more than a rotting apple core. Hair flung to the one side and raindrops hanging from his brown mustache he moved on, but paused, just once, to see Diane stagger down the road again.

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
MA, how did your BBQ go? , - Friday, July 05, 2002 at 08:46:20 (PDT)

The Back Issues of Flights of Fancy- other people have used your character before, and other things can get very complex in the Back Issues with everyone together. I feel I am not explaining this very well... But my point is, if you want to get more involved in Flights of Fancy and know exactly WHAT is going on and WHO everyone is, read the Back Issues. I know they take forever, but are certainly enjoyable.
Viewer
- Friday, July 05, 2002 at 08:45:01 (PDT)

Maranda-yes, please do be careful. I have heard about sites being shut down because of young and older romances.
Jasmine <Madam Jas57@aol.com>
- Thursday, July 04, 2002 at 21:47:26 (PDT)

my entry below meant---what do you MEAN?
Jasmne
- Thursday, July 04, 2002 at 21:44:45 (PDT)

VIEWER___what do you man by "Back Isues"?
Jasmine <Madam Jas5>
- Thursday, July 04, 2002 at 21:43:27 (PDT)

A word of advice to newcomers: you want to make sure that your female characters are at least 19 years old or above what is usually referred to as the "age of consent". Romance between adults and young people can get a site shut down by over-zealous internet police.
Magda
Magda-H: I'm writing, I'm writing!!!, - Thursday, July 04, 2002 at 11:49:05 (PDT)

To Maranda- I would advise to keep up the writing (and go to the HTML and learn how to create paragraphs for it proves very difficult reading without them) but if you see on Claudia's Who's Who page, Severus Snape is already claimed by Julie and Jutta. If you are interested in taking another character, please check and see who is available.

To Jasmine- I hope you are reading the Back Issues, or one could get very befundled.
A Viewer
Happy 4th, everyone! , - Thursday, July 04, 2002 at 08:40:52 (PDT)

Just want to tell everyone that i am going to start writing as Metatron, ok. BYe
Jasmine <Madam Jas57@aol.com>
- Wednesday, July 03, 2002 at 23:30:38 (PDT)

Maranda--The story is great! Please keep going on with it.
Jasmine <Madam Jas57@aol.com>
- Wednesday, July 03, 2002 at 21:56:51 (PDT)

There was nothing to do, she was helpless, lifeless, and dismal. She felt as if she had been tossed into a bottomless bit of never-ending blackness, and that the sun would shine no more. At least no more in her heart.

Diane could no longer stay in her house, cooped up alongside the wall of her bedroom were she had been weeping endlessly, not caring to do any housework or eat a meal, despite the roars of her stomach. The occasional glass of water or milk had to sustain what little strength she had left to go on with life right now. She was a girl with strong emotions, and if anyone wanted to shame her for it, let them have a jolly good time at it. She couldn't care less.

It wasn't just the whole ordeal with Lucas leaving, either, though because of his actions he had caused her a much more serious problem- she was out of a job. The Headquarters of Flights of Fancy had called her earlier that evening letting her know that she could not continue without a partner. When asking how did they know that Mr. Marston had left the receptionist kindly replied that he had checked out a couple of days before and had waited to see if he would return. No such luck. "If you find another partner, we could try and squeeze you back in," the HQ lady had told Diane. "Don't bother." Her reply was cold and cruel, but at this moment she didn't remember how to be nice.

Diane lifted herself from the carpet, stumbling at first and then clumsily crashing into the nightstand to the right, her leg jabbing into the sharp corner. She gave a short yelp as above the knee the skin instantly swelled and turned the colour of blue-violet, leaving a quickly growing bruise. She grumbled all the more and thundered down the stairs, ignoring the pain in her thigh. Diane grabbed her keys in a handful, the metals clinking together in a jingling rythem, and stuffed them into the door handle. Once outside she slammed the door shut as hard as she could-not a mature thing to do, but it gave her satisfaction all the same, but only a tad. The keys were then discarded into her pocket, and she set off down the road, looking for somewhere to go, to get her mind off everything.

Diane looked up at the sky, it dark and black with clouds crowding all together. The blackness went on forever in all directions, and not one patch of sunlight or blue was to be seen. A harsh wind flipped blonde hair into her mouth as she tried to trail down the street, and no matter how many times she pushed it back again, out it would come, tickling her cheeks and blinding her sight since it was so long. A storm was surely on the way, and even her crooked pinkies hurt, which they always did before a major malestrom. Wishing she had brought her water-proof jacket along she quickened her steps as the first drops of water fell from the sky. The only shelter nearby was her home, and storm or no storm, she wasn't going back there, not now.

The wind increased into what seemed to her a tornado, blowing her all over the place like a ping-pong ball with the wind as the rackets. Back and forth she swayed, trying to keep balance as it howled in her ear and trees quivered overheard, their branches creaking and snapping, threatening to drop. "Oh God..." she thought. "I don't want THAT falling on top of my head..." Rain pelted down much more freely, and in one minutes time she could have been wetter if she leaped into a lake. Her hair, now dark and stringy, fell limply to her shoulders and her shirt stuck to the belly, which Diane did not like at all. But on and on she walked, her knees aching, her feet screaming, but on she went. Diane figured it was the best thing to do, to get away, even if this was NOT the way to do it. She decided to for once trust herself, no matter how daft and stupid of an idea this really might be.

Diane froze in her tracks, and it wasn't from pain but from fright. She cast a stiff glance, barely turning her head to the left, to see a hand placed on her shoulder. A voice, one that she recognized, rang out into the air. Her heart leaped of joy, too good to be true.

"Diane, you shouldn't be out here. You'll catch cold, like me." She spun around, her arms open wide to hug the person whom she wanted to see the most right now in the world...
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Call Me... Drama Queen., - Wednesday, July 03, 2002 at 20:27:59 (PDT)

read my story below..."it was a rainy day at hogwarts." READ IT PLEASE!!!!!! TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF IT>>>>
maranda
i hope you read my hogwarts story below..., - Wednesday, July 03, 2002 at 07:43:14 (PDT)

FoF Sets -- Outside
Evening of Day Five of the Investigation

"Alan." The Director had stopped at the fence, chest heaving, clinging to the chainlink fence by his fingers. Mistral eyed the Director cautiously. "Alan?"

"Mistral."

"They're gone, Alan."

"Are they?" The Director looked across the lot to where his car was parked under the light. "I didn't know I could run that fast," he murmured.

"Cindie's called the police. They should be here in a moment."

The Director gave him a sour look. "A moment would have been too late," he said. He let go of the fence and strode back to his car.

But his knees buckled. Mistral caught him under the arm and pulled him back against the chainlink fence. "Sit down," Mistral commanded. The Director did, elbows resting on his upturned knees. He held his hands up and frowned at them. The shaking would not stop.

The sirens sounded in the distance.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
- Tuesday, July 02, 2002 at 14:24:31 (PDT)

Oh dear what has happened to our lovely FoF site.
MAGDA G .Where is George? The suspense is killing me LOL
Magda
drumming fingers waiting, - Tuesday, July 02, 2002 at 12:36:46 (PDT)

It had been a rather rainy day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor Severus Snape was in an odd mood. He seemed, Happy.... As I sat down in the cold, black chair in potions class, Professor Snape came bursting through the door... "Today," he started, "We will be learning a common cold remedie. If I see any fooling around today, there will be a most severe consiquence." As I stared into his mysterious brown eyes, I felt the urge to say my true feelings toward him. Snape walked around the classroom, handing out a list of ingrediants to make the remedie. "Miss Maranda," he paused, trying to get my undevided attention,"I guess you will be happy to know that Professor Dumbledore, has issued me to tell you that you are going to be Hogwarts first Quiddich team Cheerleader. You have practice after my class is over." He contiued walking around the classroom. After class, I walked to the quiddich field. There, I found only Oliver Wood, and Madam Hooch. "You should be proud of yourself, Maranda. No one in centuries has been as energenic, and as fit as you are. Very well then. I believe you should have no problem making a cheer for Gryffidor. We are now finding other girls to cheer for their House too. Off you go then, let's see what you've got," Madam Hooch had a very pleasent voice when she spoke. I did a few splits and cheerleading moves, and tried to make a cheer; (ME;) "Gryffindor, you're the best. Even though, they put you to the test, and you will win. You will succeed, Even if they make you sweat and bleed." (i know, that stunk..) Then, they said that was enough practice. So, I left. I started running toward the great hall, because it was lunch time; and then, BAM!!!!!!!! I slammed into SNAPE!!! "Young lady! You will have a detention with me tonight in my Chambers for running, and almost knocking me over!! Maybe that will teach you to watch where you are going.!" That night was cold, and still a little rainy. I walked calmly into Professor Snape's Classroom. (His Chambers) He was standing next to the first row of desks, looking at me like I did something dreadful. Then, I started glaring at his magnificent eyes again when he started to speak... "Tonight, we are going into the Forbidden Forest to collect some plants for Madam Pomfrey's medicine. So, let's not waste time. Your three hour detention starts; now!" Oh, by the way, that night I had a very tight red tank top on, and a black knee-high skirt. We started to enter the Forest, and I wanted to hold Snape tight so he could protect me from the dark creatures that lurked in these woods. But, I refrained from doing so. Snape pointed at a plant about ten feet away, behind some trees, and told me to go and retrieve it. As I drew nearer to the plant, I heard some rustling in the busshes....I TOOK THE PLANT, AND RAN SO FAST!!!!!! BAMMM!!!!! Right into Snape again..... I stuttered, and stammered because I was scared so much... Snape, in the gentlest of voices that ever came out of his mouth, said; "My dear girl, don't be afraid. For a tough girl like you, you shouldn't be afraid. I'm hear to protect you from the monsters that live in these woods. I wouldn't of sent you here alone....Are you alright?" I looked back into the hypnotizing eyes of his, and started to say something, but the words were lost..I held him so tightly, I was afraid he'd say I was to close for a student and teacer to be. But nothing of the sort came out of his mouth. He only stared right back at me. The power of our stares seemed to stop the Earth from moving. I was alone, in the woods, with the one true love of my life, but how do I tell him these inner secret feelings of mine? There is only one way, to tell him as calmly as I can, but can I? Should I? I ask myself those questions as I hold on to him, both of us staring into one anothers eyes. A gentle breeze seems to be pullng us apart, but I will not let go..Then, to break the isolating silence, HE speaks; "We should....um, go...inside...now. We have what the nurse needs......Let's go ......inside of ...my class...to um, finish your....detention." He let go, grabbed my hand for security, and we went inside to his class. We entered the class. Snape put the plant in a bottle on a table. He walked towards me...closer, closer.. Like the way it was outside. He stared in my eyes the same way I stared at his. I spoke the words from the deepest deep of my heart; "I...I...I L..I Lo..love you...I love you, I love you, I love you! I love your eyes, voice, everythig you are, and everything you say.. I envy the things you touch. I envy the ground you walk on. I'm Madly in love with you!!!" He loked at me, and ...........smiled! Snape, the gloomy, sad, sometimes grumpy guy..smiled..!!!!! He spoke again in the delicate voice that seemed to trap me; "I love you too. No one's ever loved me like the way you said. NOBODY!! I love you too. Your smile, your body, your laugh, everything about you is so .....perfect." With what seemed as a century of silence, we got closer, closer, and...... We.......... kissed.........
Maranda <jdlvr69@hotmail.com>
please do not use my email unless you are responding to the story.Thank you..., - Tuesday, July 02, 2002 at 10:10:13 (PDT)

The Palace:

Cynthia headed back to the office after her latest encounter with Valmont. She had noticed him when she was seated at breakfast but he had appeared to have been engrossed in a book. Somehow she found that odd - a book did not seem to be the sort of thing which would engage the Vicomte’s attention. Then again, she hadn’t seen the title or whether it had pictures. That was of course uncharitable and she knew it. The Vicomte was quite intelligent it was just that one noticed his cleverness first. She had left just after him and had considered calling to him. That had become quite unnecessary when he instead chose to turn and nearly collide into her. She noticed that for all his apologies over a forgotten book he never did actually reenter the restaurant to retrieve it. No doubt the staff would return it to his room. They had a lovely walk and she found him a witty and appealing companion. Not to mention easy on the eye. There was no reason not to see more him and if the afternoon wasn’t too busy they might go for a ride. Her majesty’s stables were at their disposal and there was a fair bit of ground yet to cover. Their walk and only scratched the surface and exploring new territory was such an enjoyable pastime.

When she arrived at their rooms she was surprised to see that Anton had not returned. It had been peculiar that he hadn’t been in the dining room when she’d gone down. She had expressly said she would catch him up. He had probably simply finished and at first she thought she just missed him on his route back to the office. But he wasn’t here. No matter, he no doubt had business of his own here. Anton was no stranger to the Palace, she knew that. It was simply unlike him to exclude her from anything, particularly anything which might affect the Glassworks. But then, perhaps this didn’t. Still, Anton always told her what he was planning.

Picking up the phone she punched in Colin’s number automatically. Colin was not there, and could he, (Colin’s secretary) be of any assistance, the disembodied voice enquired. No he did not know when Mr. Molyneux would return, his business at the Palace could take some time but he and Herr Gruber would be checking in regularly. Did Ms. Cynthia, the Glassworks or Herr Gruber, Senior require anything? Absently, Cynthia thanked the man and rang off. Colin and Hans were on their way to the Palace.

Why?

What had altered?

And, did Anton’s odd behaviour this morning have something to do with this development?

Cindie
- Monday, July 01, 2002 at 18:53:13 (PDT)

We believe that a bouquet of beagles is acceptable terminology.
The Royal London School of Bisons
- Monday, July 01, 2002 at 13:01:28 (PDT)

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