Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

FOF set:

Reluctantly, Mary Anne finally eases herself free from the pile of sleeping beagles, knowing that one of the handlers will be there soon to return them to John Middleton. If I don’t keep any of them. Nelson has already captured her heart-a handsome little tricolour hound, and the largest and strongest of the litter, he does not have the characteristic "beagle blaze" of white between his eyes; his head and ears are one shade of deep caramel brown, his face eminently kissable . . . and Mary Anne can no more resist than she can stop breathing, but gently lifts him to her and touches her lips to the top of his head. Nelson responds by opening one eye and giving her a sleepy puppy kiss in return with one swipe of his pink tongue.

Chuckling, Mary Anne sets him down again. "I think the best thing for me to do," she says slowly, "is to check over my lease and see what it says about pets. If dogs are allowed, maybe I could get one. Or perhaps two. To be company for each other, since I’d be gone so much."

Brandon smiles indulgently. "I did not want this to be difficult for you. Remember, they are all yours, in a sense, whether you can have them in your flat or not."

"Oh, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, Christopher! It was a lovely surprise." Mary Anne beams at him in sincere delight, but the twinkle of mischief is seldom far away. "Though how you continue to outdo yourself so often is a mystery to me. It hasn’t been long since you filled my cube with all those roses, and now you surprise me with a bouquet of beagles!"

Brandon throws back his head and laughs heartily. "A bouquet of beagles? Is that the collective term for them?"

"It is, now." Softly. "When I think of how much trouble you give yourself over me-"

Brandon shakes his head. "It is not trouble. Not when it is for you, Mary Anne."

"I’m pleased to hear it." More softly still. "Whatever on earth will you do next?"

"I shall have to trust to the inspiration of the moment." (homage)

"And what do you find yourself . . . inspired to do, at this particular moment?"

"Two things."

"And what are they?"

"The first is . . . to ask whether you will be attending the anniversary party this year. If so, I would be pleased if you would go with me."

Mary Anne grimaces. "The party seems to be having a little trouble getting started this year."

Brandon nods. "So it has. But if it does get started, may I escort you?"

Mary Anne lays one hand on his arm. "You know I’m pleased to attend any occasion with you, Christopher, but . . . they’re talking about a yacht party."

Comprehension dawns. "And that worries you, because you can’t swim."

A shamefaced nod.

Brandon covers Mary Anne’s hand with his own, privately resolving that one day he will inquire into her fears about the water-but now is not that day. "Perhaps, if the occasion permits, we could appear at the party and then continue our celebration . . . elsewhere."

Mary Anne looks relieved, and the sly glint reappears in her eyes. "And where did you have in mind?"

"Another matter for which I must trust to inspiration," is Brandon’s cool and careful reply.

Those blue eyes, gleaming through those thick, dark lashes. "You said that you were inspired to do two things at this particular moment. Asking me to the party was one of them."

"This is the other."

Brandon takes Mary Anne’s face between his hands and kisses her. It is not one of the fevered kisses for which they are famous on camera-and to be strictly truthful, off camera as well, in certain situations. For this moment, Brandon’s kiss is warm and tender, filled with emotion to be sure, but more of a commemoration than an invitation.

Mary Anne senses his intentions, and responds accordingly. The future will doubtless be filled with . . . invitations. But let the future take care of itself.

Brandon’s breath against her cheek, his voice at her ear. "Happy birthday, my dearest. Many, many more happy days, and years."

And then they both must laugh as Nelson opens his eyes once again and thumps his tail merrily against the floor, lending his agreement to Brandon’s wishes.

MA--wishing us all here, in this wonderful Realm, many many more happy days and years. 8-)
Barbara, you should be SWATTED for going off and leaving us like this!!, - Sunday, June 30, 2002 at 19:26:17 (PDT)

Sentence added.
Vanishing sentences?... Do you know how to use that wand?
D.o.C.

Eeeeeek - my final sentence is missing!
Dear DoC, could you add: What on earth was a fridge?
Thank you very much!

Jutta
Will I ever learn this html thing?, - Sunday, June 30, 2002 at 07:49:04 (PDT)

Flashback, studio building, a few days ago:

Severus Snape looked around in the small room they´d entered. It was cold and clammy. Two small windows set high up in the opposite wall provided not much light. The doctor touched a small white square at the wall beside the door and two long tubes at the ceiling started to radiate a bright light.
He saw several cupboards which tops provided working area, shelves with jars and bottles, filled and empty, glasses and tubes in various sizes. There were scales and a wash basin, not made of stone or porcellan, but of a shining silvery material. Next to it lay a piece of coth with upturned jars on top of it, obviously drying. A door to his right opened to a adjoining room, in which stood more cupboards, shelves and funny looking instruments.
Snape felt ground under his feet again. The last two days had been hard, being in a completely different environment and without magic. Just adapting to new and unknown surroundings. But this was familiar. This was as good as home.

He started when suddenly the cupboard next to him began making a humming noise.

"Sorry, that´s the frigde." the doctor said with an apologetical smile.

"A fridge?"

"Yes. It´s rather old, I´m afraid. But it still works well."

"I can hear it."

She laughed. "I told you it´s not well equipped. I bet you had a big lab with all the newest stuff at your school."

"No, not at all. In fact it was very much like this."

"Really? Your poor students."

"They managed." The ice in his voice was back.

The doctor looked at her watch and sighed. "Sorry, but I will have to throw you out. My first patient will arrive in a couple of minutes."

Snape waited until she had locked the door again. "Would you mind if I came here for a couple of hours every week?"

She looked at him, astonished.

There was a pause.

Then reluctantly she agreed. "What do you want to do? Anything special?"

"I had some private experiments running when I was at Hogwarts. I would like to continue them.-I´ll bring my own stuff." he added after a pause.

"Well, you´ll have to get the okay of Simon Jones, the lab´s his responsibility. They used to make the explosives here. You have to ask him for permittance and also get the keys from him."

Snape nodded. "His office?"

"Simon´s the boss of Special Effects. Third floor. Follow the signs."

"Thank you."

"You´re welcome."

Snape turned and stalked away.

What on earth was a fridge?

Jutta
Is anyone still in contact with Julie? Does anyone know if she wants to post again? Last call for Julie!, - Sunday, June 30, 2002 at 06:34:36 (PDT)

Behind the scenes of FoF, Diane's House

It had all happened so fast, like a lightening bolt flashing past her face. Her heart still pounded, her eyes watery with sadness, and her face was full of sorrow to the rim. Diane didn't understand why it had gone how it had, and she didn't think she ever would. All that she knew was that Lucas had left her behind in the dust, alone and helpless to the world. There was no one to turn to.

She forced herself to stand, to walk around her house and cook some dinner. It felt weird to be all alone, the place almost silent, and it scared her deeply. Maybe, she thought hopefully, he will come back, apologize for his odd behavior, and all will be fine and dandy once more. But in her heart she knew it could not be so. And even as she flipped her grilled cheese sandwich the events of the previous hours before played in her mind...

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

"Diane, I've got something to tell you," said a stern Lucas who had emerged from the back door. Diane, startled, jumped in her seat and the book she was reading went flying across the room, finally crashing into the wall. "And I want you to take this maturely."

Diane didn't like the sound of this at all, and didn't move to retrieve the book. "You can tell me anything," she replied, smiling sweetly. Lucas just frowned more.

"I am leaving you, Diane. I have no use here with you, or with Flights of Fancy. I have taken a job back in Australia, and I must leave now." He emphasized the now, so it boomed throughout the house. Diane quivered a bit, biting her lip.

"Then I will come with you!"

"No, you will not do such a thing. It is time for me to move on, and you Diane can start another life without me."

"But, Lucas, I don't want to start another life. I know we have not been together long and everything, but still, must you torture me like this?"

"If that is what it takes to get it through your head that I am sick of your ridiculing, yes."

"I'll change, if that is what you want."

"I want... I want you to just shutup and let me pack in peace."

Diane said nothing, eyes wide in terror. What would happen to her filmings at Flights of Fancy? Oh God, what would the Director say?!? He'd be furious!

"Will you not stay for the party coming up? Come on Lucas, it will be fun!"

"Stop whining like a two year old, babbling on and on forever. No, I am going NOW I told you, and not one word you say will make a difference, not one."

"But..."

"No buts Diane. Now, if you excuse me, I have some work to attend to." Lucas turned his back and ran up the stairs to his bedroom, with Diane trailing close behind. ********************************************************* That had been the majority of their conversation, and even now Lucas's words stung like needles in her sides. She plopped a burnt grilled cheese sandwich onto a silver plate and pulled a napkin from a holder.

So much for the party, she thought. I suppose I should call Erika and tell her I'm not going so she will not be waiting for me hour after hour. What fun would it be for me to go alone?

But as Diane chowed down on her pitiful limp grilled cheese she could not bring herself to cancel her meeting with Erika. When she finished eating she walked over to the wall where her book had gone astray and picked it up, hugging it tightly, and slowly trailed up the stairs to her room which now seemed so forlorn...
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
What the heck happened to Severus?, - Saturday, June 29, 2002 at 11:26:07 (PDT)

Behind The Scenes of FoF

Diane felt like a puddle of water or a rock wall finally crumbling over with a CRASH. She fell to her knees, eyes wide, her throat run dry. A shudder fell down her spine, and she wanted to cry, as tears lined the sides of her eyelids, but she chocked them back. It was all over, and before anything could have really begun. Gone, just like that, like a wisp of smoke in the air, or breeze of the wind. Forever.

Finally, she spoke.

"How could you do this to me?"

A dark shadowed figure rounded in a corner shrugged, not caring at all for Diane's emotional state.

"Hasn't everything we have done together meant anything to you, at all?"

"No," he said plainly. "Or will it ever."

Diane released a small bushel of tears but did not speak for another moment or two, just long enough for the figure to pop his knuckels and pick up a suitcase.

"But what about Flights Of Fancy, and the Director? You can leave me, but surely you cannot leave all of them!"

"Watch me," he growled, but not the growl that use to make Diane smile with a sigh, but a growl that had fear leap in her heart. "You are jus like your brother, you know that? Cold-hearted and cruel!"

Lucas gave no reply and only shrugged again, with better things on his mind. "Good-bye Diane." He slowly drifted out the door and let it fall with a forever echo...
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
PL MIGHT GO TO LA, YAY, - Friday, June 28, 2002 at 17:44:54 (PDT)

Isn't it good,
Norwegian wood.
- Friday, June 28, 2002 at 11:49:38 (PDT)

FOF Set, Sandy's cubicle:

"I can't *tell* you the last time I've had Maine lobster," Alexander said, allowing Sandy and Oliver to re-enter the cubicle first. He frowned when he walked inside and looked around. "Where's your guest chair?" he asked curiously.

"I let someone borrow it because theirs was missing. We have more problems with office vultures around here, I swear! If it's not nailed down, it gets taken... Hold on - I'll go into one of the empty cubes and temporarily borrow one from there," Sandy replied. "Be right back, love. Make yourself comfy in my chair until then," she murmured with a smile before exiting the cubicle and taking a left towards a maze of cubicles that weren't occupied.

Alexander returned the smile and jumped slightly when he felt a cold and very wet nose gently nudge him right behind the knee. "Hello there!" he laughed softly as he gazed down at the miniature poodle, who was wagging his tail furiously. "I suppose you'd like me to join you, huh?" Oliver's deep brown eyes twinkled in anticipation. "All right, then." He sat down on the floor and Ollie immediately lay down next to him, putting his head on Alexander's knee and gazing up into his face. Alexander chuckled and slowly ran his fingers through the dog's curly hair. Oliver sighed in contentment and closed his eyes.

Sandy came back a few minutes later, rolling the chair she temporarily appropriated in front of her. She came to a stop in the doorway's cubicle and grinned at the sight of the tall Englishman sitting on the floor with her dog's head on his knee. "It's too bad I don't have my camera with me. That's just too adorable for words!" she giggled.

Alexander rolled his eyes and returned the grin as Oliver rose to his feet to greet his mistress. "Very funny!" he mock-growled as he rose to his feet, took the chair from Sandy, rolled it over to where he had been sitting on the floor previously and sat down.

"I thought it was..." Sandy burst into giggles at Alexander's scowl - a scowl that quickly changed to a gentle smile.

"You are completely incorrigible," he murmured fondly, reaching out to caress her cheek.

Sandy placed her hand over his. "I do try, Alex," she said softly as she closed her eyes.

"You succeed quite admirably with flying colors," Alexander's smile widened, hazel eyes twinkling with good humor as Sandy blushed slightly. "I rest my case."

"PHHTTTT!" Sandy raspberried Alexander and laughed at his grumbling. She leaned back in her chair and put her hands behind her head, twining her fingers together. "Obviously, you didn't just come here to sit on the rug and bide your time, as much as I'd enjoy you being here all day - or grouch off about the proposed *Muppet* theme," she said the last words with a visible shudder.

Alexander grimaced at the mention of Muppets. "No, actually I wanted to talk to you about..." Alex began to say when there was a soft knock on the wall outside Sandy's cubicle.

"Hi Sandy!" Chris stuck her head inside the doorway, holding an open furniture catalogue in her right hand. "Oh, hi Alex!" Her eyes lit up as Ollie ran over to her and she knelt down to pat him, putting the catalogue on the floor. "Ollie, you're such a cheeky little monkey! Yes you are!" she giggled as he kissed her hand. While she continued lavishing affection on her friend's excited canine companion, Chris looked up and asked, "This isn't a bad time, is it? I was hoping you could help me out with something."

"Hi Chris," Sandy greeted her friend, Alexander adding in his own soft greeting of hello. "Of course it's not a bad time. What's up? Did you meet Erika? She was on her way to find you. What do you think of the party themes suggested for this year?"

"Good grief, you ask a lot of questions - and you don't even stop to take a breath!" Chris teased. Alexander snorted with laughter and Sandy glared at him for a moment before joining in the laughter. Chris giggled and ticked off her responses. "I met Erika. She's really very nice and I sent her to the next round of people and the Muppets idea is way too limiting. I like the yacht party the best. I'm glad it's not a bad time to talk and I think you can help me too, Alex. WHEW!" she finished with an exaggerrated sigh. She picked up the catalogue she had left on the floor and rose to her feet after giving Oliver one last pat. Oliver walked over to his bed and turned around three times before lying down and watching the three humans intently.

"I'm impressed. You're actually asking for *my* opinion," Alexander said solemnly.

Chris stared at Alexander for a moment before turning to Sandy. "You're a bad influence on him!"

"Not really. It was already there. It just needed to be tapped," Sandy replied.

Chris shook her head and giggled before presenting the catalogue she brought with her by spreading it out on top of Sandy's bookcase. "Okay. The real reason why I'm here is that I'm finally getting a new dining room set for the flat."

"It's about time. The one you've got now has seen better days, in all honesty," Sandy said as she stood up and walked over to where Chris was standing. Alexander joined the two, standing directly behind Sandy and placing his hand on her left shoulder.

"Exactly," Chris agreed. "I've narrowed the selection down to two choices." She pointed to a couple of pictures and Alexander gazed over Sandy's shoulder to see what Chris was pointing at. "If you want to know the truth, I'd really like this teak set." She indicated a dining room set pictured in the upper left-hand corner of the first page.

"Ouch!" Sandy winced at the figure listed below the picture. "It's very pretty though, and it *would* fit in with your décor perfectly."

"Ouch is right! I wish I could afford it, but I can always dream, can't I?" Chris sighed. She tapped her finger on the open page. "So, which one of the sets do you guys like better?"

"Hmmm... I think I like this one over here," Sandy said after a minute of contemplation. She pointed to the set Chris had circled in the middle of the second page. "The stain is pretty close to the teak set. What do you think, Alex?"

Alexander made a general noise of agreement. "I like it better, too. And what's even more important, it's an oval table so if you bang into it, no sharp edges."

"Good point," Chris murmured.

"Exactly," Sandy agreed.

Alexander leaned in a little closer over Sandy's shoulder so he could read the brief description accompanying the picture. "Table comes with two additional expansion leaves to seat eight people... Imported from Norway." He straightened up and stretched. "It's probably Norwegian pine, although it's not specifically stated."

Chris nodded and turned around with a smile. "I was leaning towards this set instead of the other one, but I wanted a second opinion before I made a final decision. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it!" She picked up the catalogue and got ready to leave.

"Glad to," Sandy replied. "Hey, could you lend me that after you're finished with it?"

Chris came to a halt at the doorway and turned around, frowning slightly. "You need furniture?"

"Not really. I'm looking for a small wine rack and I haven't seen anything that I like in the stores," Sandy explained.

"Oh, okay. Sure! I'll bring the catalogue back once I'm finished with it," Chris promised. "Thanks for your help again, guys. See you later!" She exited the cubicle, whistling cheerfully as she walked down the hall.

"Bye!" Sandy and Alexander replied as they sat back down in the two chairs. Alexander cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. "Right. Now, for the real reason why I'm here... I wanted to ask for a little bit of clarification on the next scene that the SFX crew is in the throes of setting up at the moment, specifically at the point where..."

Sandy
Yikes! That *is* a bit of a pickle you've left the rest of us in, Barbara!, - Friday, June 28, 2002 at 09:32:58 (PDT)

*gasp*

Oh no! Dun dun dun!

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Oh well, no twitching, but you got a gasp!, - Friday, June 28, 2002 at 08:21:21 (PDT)

I can read some of it - even if I don't know what languauge its in! LOL...yes I know, go away and write something...
Claudia
- Wednesday, June 26, 2002 at 17:49:35 (PDT)

Good grief, woman! And we are left to bite our nails?
Twitching and choking
No mercy, indeed! , - Wednesday, June 26, 2002 at 14:28:07 (PDT)

FoF Sets
Evening of Day Five of the Investigation

"Mistral."

"Alan."

A swift exchange of nods and quiet "See you tomorrows" and the Director was gone. Mistral glanced down at his watch -- seven o'clock was a bit late for Cindie. Especially when he wanted to spend time with her. He knocked on her office door. Their murmured "Hellos" were muffled in each other's embrace.

Mistral was standing in the doorway, speaking quietly with Cindie when Claudia suddenly dashed out of her office, a black patent leather day planner in her hand. "Mistral!" she said, startled as she scraped past him. Then, "Did he leave already?" she asked, holding up the monogrammed day planner.

"Yes."

She bolted off down the hall, Ed began to lope after her. "Claudia? Claudia!" She didn't seem to hear him.

"What was that?" Cindie asked, briefcase in hand, office keys jingling.

"Claudia. She needed to speak to Alan."

"That much?"

Cindie locked up and hurried down the hall. Mistral followed, infected by her sense of urgency. They arrived at the parking lot in time to see the Director and Claudia walking away from each other. She was returning to the building, he was continuing on to his car. Claudia waved to Ed, who was straddling the railing outside the building. He grinned and waved back.

Juggling his day planner, briefcase and car keys, the Director began to unlock his glossy black coupe. They saw his shoulders work as he turned the lock and pulled the handle. A pale sedan drove up behind him, almost blocking him from view. Claudia turned, surprised, as the car skidded to a stop and a burly figure leapt out. The figure was dressed in black, wearing a mask that was a soft rubber cast of the Director's own face. Mistral stopped suddenly on the stair. Cindie gasped. Ed called out the Director's name.

The Director turned around as Ed and Claudia began to sprint across the parking lot. From the stairs, Cindie could see the startled look on his face. With a quiet exclamation, Mistral scrambled down the stairs; Cindie, her hands shaking, fumbled for her cellphone and frantically dialed 911.

But the dark figure no longer had the advantage of surprise. The Director flung his briefcase at the dark figure and hit it. It responded with a soft "oof" as the briefcase impacted with its solar plexus. The Director turned and ran.

Claudia glanced over at the car as she got nearer. A masked driver sat behind the wheel, small hands gripping the padded steering with a tight grip. Two other Director's face-masks in the back seat turned to the altercation outside the car. The driver turned as she and Ed drew near and Claudia saw the jaw drop. The driver's head whipped around to the back seat. The frantic gestures, the obvious shouting. A tall, thin figure unlooped from the car and grabbed the wheezing masked assailant, dragged the burly figure backwards into the car. The sedan sped off, spraying Claudia with gravel and leaving Ed coughing in the dust.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Last post before NYC... so I leave you to twitch for a few days :), - Wednesday, June 26, 2002 at 13:30:13 (PDT)

Of course you need not tell them, Barbara. You must show them . . . kein mitleid.

Hans
"No Mercy" is the best policy. They grow accustomed to it. *glint* , - Wednesday, June 26, 2002 at 12:50:09 (PDT)

Somewhere in Egypt, present day:

The group fell into an uneasy silence as they walked along the passage, using the wall as a guide. To their dismay, the opening had narrowed, forcing everyone to walk in a single file. "I think we're going down again," Alexander said to a chorus of groans.

"I just hope we don't lose the light completely," Roberta added in, looking up at the ceiling with a worried expression on her face.

"It doesn't look too promising at the moment," Melanie sighed, eyebrows drawing together. "See how the crack is beginning to close further up?" she pointed up at the ceiling.

Four pairs of eyes followed in the direction she indicated. "Wonderful," Jack muttered, wrinkling his nose in an effort to stop another sneeze - an effort that failed miserably. However, this time he was able to muffle the sneeze enough so that it didn't echo throughout the passage.

"Bless you!" the group chorused.

"Thanks," Jack sniffed, wiping his eyes and shaking his head.

"Maybe it's that mossy stuff that's making you sneeze," David pointed to a greenish-brown moss caked against the wall.

"Anything's possible," Jack replied with a sigh as they slowly plodded along. "I don't know about you, but I feel like I'm walking in a maze." The rest nodded or made general noises of agreement as they continued walking.

Alexander's eyes narrowed as he tried to see what was ahead of them, but the light was fading rapidly. This is NOT good, he thought to himself with a sinking sensation in his stomach. He grimaced and swallowed hard as an oily backlash from their impromptu meal traveled up to his mouth. Bloody hell. This better not be a sign of things to come...

"How much further can you see ahead of us up there, Professor?" David, at the rear of the group with Jack, asked curiously.

"Not much," Alexander admitted. "And it looks like the floor's wet too - or else it's a trick from whatever's left of the light."

"With the stellar odds we've been running up against, I'd say it's Option Number One," Jack grumbled.

The rest of the group muttered in agreement. Melanie hissed under her breath, "This is ridiculous! We can't even tell if we've made any kind of progress or not - and all I can taste is that damned fish we ate!"

"Stuff it, Mel!" Roberta growled back. "This hasn't been exactly a walk in the park for all concerned, in case you haven't noticed!"

Oh, Holy Mother of God... Alexander closed his eyes briefly, wondering yet again if the events of the past day were just all a really bad, bad dream brought on by tainted food and slowly turned around. He heard the blood rushing in his ears as his temper flared up and mentally counted to ten in an effort to calm himself down. Damn. That didn't work. He started counting to one hundred as the beginnings of a tension headache started up in the back of his neck and slowly traveled upwards.

The two women halted in the middle of the passage to face each other, fists clenching. Angry green eyes met equally angry light brown eyes. "Exactly what are you implying, Roberta?" the redhead snarled in a deadly-soft tone, lips curling up in distaste.

"Ro, what time is it?" David suddenly called out before the brunette could retort an equally nasty response.

"Huh?" Roberta was startled by the burly young man's exclamation. She turned around to face David and Jack. "What did you say?" she asked sharply.

"The *time*! What time is it?" Jack repeated David's request, lifting his left arm and pointing at his broken watch with his right index finger.

"Oh!" Roberta looked down at her watch. "Uh, just about 11:30."

"Thanks."

"Yeah," Roberta mumbled, turning around to gaze at Melanie, who looked a bit sheepish. "I don't know what's the matter with me. Sorry."

"Same here. Sorry," Melanie mumbled. She squeezed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger, closing her eyes briefly. "I think I'm going stir-crazy."

Alexander breathed a silent sigh of relief at the tag-team diversionary tactics the two men employed. "Is everyone ready to start up again?" he asked quietly. He was surprised that he could actually speak calmly. "Fine. Let's continue then. We'll keep it slow for now." He started walking down the passage, his mind a jumble of emotions, his heart filled with dread - and his stomach rolling unpleasantly as the light grew dim once again while the group called out the names of their missing friends with increasing urgency in their voices.

Sandy
- Wednesday, June 26, 2002 at 12:47:47 (PDT)

If I tell you the language, you'll know what I'm planning. ;)

*pout* Nobody tells Renie to stop writing in German....
Barbara the Wallpaperer
My knee is still buggered, so, it's NYC on crutches! I leave *tonight*! *WHHHEEEEE****, - Wednesday, June 26, 2002 at 12:06:21 (PDT)

All glitches in the time/space continium cheerfully repaired.

Control Operations, Proxima Centauri
Just write something, already., - Wednesday, June 26, 2002 at 06:10:43 (PDT)

It looks like Dutch or similar scandinavian type - and I don't think Babel Fish does that!

Claudia
Yes, I know... my post is coming soon - though I haven't caught up yet, so excuse any disturbances in the time continuum, - Tuesday, June 25, 2002 at 20:47:12 (PDT)

O.K.--what the heck is going on here?! At least tell me the language so I can try babelfish or something.
Cindie
BtW--how is your foot and aren't you leaving for NY soon?, - Tuesday, June 25, 2002 at 18:43:47 (PDT)

FoF Sets -- Offices
Afternoon of Day Five of the Investigation

Conversation carried on quietly. Set pieces behind. The soft click of rolling cart wheels. A light voice rises, surprised.

"Tonight?"

"Use the right language, idiot." A quiet voice, cool, demeaning.

A soft half-sob.

Then a third voice, deep, gutteral. "I natt?" The quiet voice. "Ja. Vi har å gjøre den dags dato. Det oppdager er ikke her over. Vi må gjøre den dags dato. "

The tenor. "De ville retur i morgen," it said, persuasively.

Deep, gutteral: "Ja, vi må --" "Dato," the quiet one said. "I morgen de ville bekymre bare for gutten. Dato."

Silence.

The light voice, fearful. "Nå vel."

"Ja." Deep and gutteral. "Jeg avtale."

"Ja," the tenor agreed.

Waiting. The light voice, tremulously. "Ja."

"Ja," the quiet one said. "Dato."
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Happy B'day MA!, - Tuesday, June 25, 2002 at 13:47:25 (PDT)

OK... may I ask a stupid question... but when IS the party going to be, exactly? (PLEASE DON'T SAY NEXT WEEK)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Shopping today!!!, - Tuesday, June 25, 2002 at 11:06:18 (PDT)

Flashback to Monday

Erika jostled the bags in her arms, fumbling for the keys to get into her apartment when she heard the phone ringing. Letting out a barely audible curse she juggled the objects in her hand and tried to shove the key into the lock as the phone rang and rang. Supressing a scream she almost tore the door down as there was a click of the lock releasing, she flung the shopping bags onto the counter and dove for the phone, panting heavily.

"Hello!" she barked, her breaths coming in fast and shallow. Immediately her outlook changed as she heard the speaker on the other end and relaxed against the floor, keys still in palm.

"Oh, hello Diane! Yes, nice to finally speak to you too!"

"..."

"Well, yes, I am going to the party! It's going to be so much fun, don't you think?

"..."

"What?"

"Of course! I'd love to go with you to the party! My car is a tad small though, so would you like to meet up there?"

"Oh, I'd like to meet Lucas as well! Yes...right...mm-hmm, right then, it's all settled! Thank you so much for asking me, Diane!"

"..."

"Right, have a nice evening! See you soon! Bye bye!"

She slowly clicked down the phone and drug herself up from the floor to put the groceries away.
Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Augh, the heat is rising..., - Tuesday, June 25, 2002 at 09:48:41 (PDT)

FoF Set

It wasn't long before Brandon was on the floor as well, wresting with the ruffian of the litter. He tossed the squeakie plastic newspaper and Nelson scrambled after it. In the lull while the pup retrieved the toy and came back to him he watched Mary Anne sweet talk, pet, scritch and otherwise indulge the critters surrounding her. The unguarded expression of joy that graced her countenance made her even more beautiful than usual. She looked so happy and completely unspoilt. Surely he was a lost man. Eventually the puppies began to wind down and when Brandon looked over next there was a pile of beagle puppies on and around Mary Anne. She sat with her back against the wall, legs outstretched with one puppy flopped over her lap asleep and three others in the process of nesting in join their sister. Brandon thought sister since she sported a bright pink ribbon. Even Nelson who had been going non-stop made a noise that had to be a yawn and meandered over to join his siblings. Soon they were all flopped in a heap of legs and tails and ears. He looked over at Mary Anne and grinned. She smiled back, looking a bit tired herself. Brandon was distressed to see her expression change to one of consternation.

"What is it, my dearest?" He moved to sit as near to her as the phalanx of puppies would permit.

"Christopher, I can't possibly keep them. They're all so darling, but I don’t even know if I’m allowed to have dogs in my flat and even if I could ...five puppies! Even as dog friendly as it is around here I don't think the Director would let me keep them in my cubicle. Would he?"

Brandon felt a fool for not having explained immediately. "You don't need to worry about that. They belong to Sir John, one of his dogs had a litter a couple of months ago. When he told me about them and that there were five of them I couldn't resist bringing them in for you in honour of our anniversary." He looked down at the toes of his boots and then back up at her, the little boy smile peeking through again. "Not as romantic as roses, perhaps, but I know you have a fondness for beagles."

Brandon was irresistible to Mary Anne on his worst day, and with that mischievous smile he was doubly so. "It was a wonderful treat, Christopher. Thank you."

"In the credit where credit is due department, we have Therese to thank too. She and Sir John helped get them here. Suffice it to say I have a whole new respect for the animal handlers on set."

"Then Sir John has homes for them all?" Mary Anne was back to that with a wistful note in her voice. Maybe the Director wouldn’t notice a few extra dogs on set. . .

"He is keeping the whole lot at his place in the country, and I believe plans to train them. He has made it abundantly clear that you have visiting privileges in perpetuity. Although I am sure that if you wish to keep them, or some of them, he would be pleased to see them find such a good home. He was quite pleased to bring them in for you.”

C.B.
Thank you ladies for allowing me to participate. , - Monday, June 24, 2002 at 19:28:34 (PDT)

Happy belated birthday, Mary Anne. Hope it was a good one.
Magda
Busy month; haven't come up for air too often, - Sunday, June 23, 2002 at 06:02:39 (PDT)

MA--Hope you received my private BD wishes, but please let me reiterate them here, belated but most heartfelt.

Cindie--are you back in the cyberworld? I miss hearing from you! Though after that last post I'll forgive you anything. PHRRRROOOOOWWWWWWWRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!

Jutta--personalized contact soon, please tell me you can visit, or I just may have to show up on your doorstep.

Any Brits out there want to meet up with a Yank in London who doesn't know a soul??

Therese <thereseiam@yahoo.com>
posting from Tottenham Court Rd. in London--my home for the next 6 weeks. Well, not the road per se. . ., - Sunday, June 23, 2002 at 05:31:18 (PDT)

BEAGLES!!! OOoooo, thank you, Christopher! They're adorable!! ;-D

Many thanks to everyone for their good wishes and greetings. With getting to meet so many of you and seeing Rickman in NY, I feel like my birthday has been going on all month long! *grin*

MA
Now, where to keep all those precious beagles . . . hmmmmm, is The Director watching? Can they stay in MA's cube, I wonder?, - Saturday, June 22, 2002 at 12:17:16 (PDT)

Happy Birthday Mary Anne! No doubt- no doubt- she will get a wonderful birthday present from Brandon.
And happy belated to FOF. Yes, I´m late, I know, I know...

Jutta
Julie? Please email me, me email to you is bouncing!, - Saturday, June 22, 2002 at 08:16:10 (PDT)

Happy Birthday Mary Anne! May your days be full of Brandons and many merry surprises!!! (Or, maybe, just one Brandon... )
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
yum... french fries... yum... , - Friday, June 21, 2002 at 19:01:44 (PDT)

Happy Birthday Mary Anne!

Best wishes and hoping you have TONS of chocolate! That's what birthdays are for, right?

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
*grin*, - Friday, June 21, 2002 at 18:08:45 (PDT)

FoF Set
Mistral's Dressing Room:

They stood for a time, Cindie making no move to leave his embrace and Mistral doing nothing that would encourage her departure. With a sigh she leaned away from him and brought herself back to the concept of work and the fact they were standing in his dressing room and not his flat. He hadn't wanted to hold me like this in his flat. "They haven't run the dailies yet. How was the shoot today? I saw that you were scheduled with Dev."

Mistral smoothed her hair with the length of his hand. "After exploring HIS depraved fantasies with regards to Mary Anne, today HE was nearly choked to death by a ravening Eamon deValera." Now the hand was travelling in circular motions over her shoulders. "I really ought to be receiving hazard pay."

There was not even the pretense of Cindie attempting to supress her snorfle. "I'd like to see you try! Therese, Mary Anne and Brandon might have something to say about who is on the hazardous end of scenes with you."

Mistral looked pained. "Really, my dear, you forget that, not even delving into the Valley of the Moon, Therese has been known to be somewhat over zealous in her quest for verisimilitude, a trait that Mr. deValera seems to share."

Succumbing to the effects of the pressure of Mistral's hand langourously caressing her back and shoulders, Cindie was again leaning upon him, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other resting upon the upper portion of the arm that was holding her close. He heard her muffled, "poor baby..." emerge from the vicinity of his collar. Silently, he asked the question, Can I trust you? and heard the yes whispered back to him through her fingertips. In the stillness he wondered, Will you love me?. As if on queue she looked up at him and touched those fingertips to his cheekbone, his temple and along his eyebrow. Very softly she spoke aloud, "I believe in you." Even as she spoke the words, she smiled, "Please don't ask me where that came from, I haven't any idea. It simply wanted saying."

Mistral still asked her nothing with words, but pulled her to him again and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. Even knowing the reason and the necessity for his patience the waiting was not easy.

Cindie
Homages and gratuitous Mistral mush.
Working without a net and it seems that *all* my saved documents have gone into the netherworld., - Friday, June 21, 2002 at 17:37:40 (PDT)

FoF Set:

It was a somwhat disheveled Brandon that appeared at the open door to Mary Anne's cubicle. As if by radar she sensed his presence and looked up to see him standing there leaning in her doorway with a serene expression on his face. Perhaps a bit too serene, but this was Brandon. Mary Anne placed the script she had been scanning to the side and swiveled around to regard her co-star. His hair looked as if his fingers had run through it, the top button to his jacket was undone and she could see that one of the gloves he was holding in his hand had a slight tear. For Brandon this was positively rumpled. "Whatever have you been up to, Christopher? Not fencing in the hallways, I trust?"

The crease between his eyes deepened as the smile he endevoured to keep from his lips went instead to his eyes. "I will show you what I have been up to, but you must come with me." He held out his free hand to her and looked down at his feet as the rare sight of a michevious little boy grin spread accross his face. Up to something he had been and he hoped that his Mary Anne would enjoy the surprise.

While her trust of Christopher Brandon was profound and ingrained on the cellular level, when Mary Anne held out her hand to him it was not without a slight twinge of trepidation. "Sir, I thought I was supposed to be the mischevious one. Where are you taking me?"

Despite not having a heavy shooting schedule that day, Brandon had been kept busy guarding the closed set from unwelcome visitors in between securing assistance from both Therese and Sir John in order to bring his plan to fruition. Even with their advice and help it had been more of a project than he had originally anticipated. It would all be worth it if Mary Anne was pleased, and he truly thought she would be. But while everything was in place when he left, he knew that he had to get Mary Anne there quickly lest all his plans go for naught. Always the gentleman, he did not rush her, but said quietly, "Now dearest, you must allow me some fun now and again." She had already placed her hand in his and risen, allowing him to take her arm and lead her down the hall. They made a few turns and were approaching a closed door when Brandon paused. "When I open the door and lead you in you must close your eyes."

Mary Anne raised an eyebrow but nodded.

Brandon continued, reveling in deviling this woman for whom there was nothing he would not do, "if you do not, I shall have to blindfold you."

"Hmmmm, decisions, decisions. . ."

He supposed he really ought to have known better. In the end, Mary Anne did close her eyes as requested and Brandon opened the door and led her into the room and to a chair. She sat down, her sensitive ears trying to discern the meaning of all the sounds coming from all around her when a wrigling mass was placed in her arms.

Mary Anne opened her eyes and let out a squeal. Brandon was pleased that it was one of delight as one of the more enthusiastic puppies managed to get its front paws on her legs while the one in her arms was bathing her face with the enthusiasm only a puppy could possess. In no time at all Mary Anne abandoned her chair and was seated on the floor crooning to and petting all five beagle pups at once. It took a bit of time for her to be able to count them, but she realized the ribbons around their necks were all different colours, and that despite the appearance of at least a dozen, all the activity was generated by five of the cutest critters she had ever seen.

A gentleman of the Realm who sincerely hopes she shall choose him.
Happy Birthday, dearest. , - Friday, June 21, 2002 at 16:43:14 (PDT)

A birthday wish for mary Anne . . .

Let it be . . . whatever she wishes . . .

and whomever she wishes . . . .

The gentlemen of the Realm
- Friday, June 21, 2002 at 11:26:36 (PDT)

Glad to see that everyone's safely back home! In case you didn't get my email - have a fab trip Therese! Lucky girl! It was great fun meeting you, Cindie and Mary Anne.
Christine
Happy Anniversary! How many years is it? , - Thursday, June 20, 2002 at 08:10:56 (PDT)

The Imperial Palace:

Rupert spreads his graphs on the table so The Empress can have a better view. "There, do you see that spike in the readout? That is a very high decibel strength for a human voice."

"I think I can explain that," replies Mary Anne. "Don’t forget, Mister Cadell, that I have some Gallifreyan DNA, and The Doctor can do remarkable things with his voice. I’ve read about it in the Tardis records; he’s been known to break glass with it-"

"Something of which a human is also quite capable," puts in The Empress as she inspects the graphs.

"True, Your Majesty. We’re capable of it, but how many of us who are not trained singers can actually do it?" Mary Anne sits quietly for a moment, acutely aware of the flow of breath in and out of her lungs, the tiny movements of muscle in throat and midsection as she imagines hitting the sort of musical note that would shatter a crystal goblet. "On a day when I’m in good voice, I’m only a medium-strength contralto; my singing voice won’t do what happened down there, and my speaking voice certainly wouldn’t. I mean-" She lifts her hands in a helpless gesture. "When that light shattered, I was as frightened as anyone."

"And it was not only the light, Mrs. Brandon; we lost our video contact at the same moment."

"You couldn’t see us?"

Brandon gives Rupert a black look, and Rupert has the good grace to look slightly abashed as the Colonel turns to Mary Anne. "No, my dearest. We could only hear your voices." After a moment, Brandon relents. Slightly. "That is . . . until Mister Cadell corrected the problem, and then I could see you again."

"But that must have been dreadful for you, sir!"

"It was."

The Empress lays aside the graphs. "So the entire incident was simply a combination of circumstances that are not likely to be repeated. You were near The Interrogator, so the brainwave connection was reinforced. HE made you angry, and the result was that you were able to call upon some of HIS skills-and got more than you bargained for, is that correct?"

"I truly believe that’s all it was, Your Majesty."

The Empress ponders for a moment. "Is it likely to work in reverse, do you suppose?"

Mary Anne frowns. "I don’t understand."

The Empress eyes her shrewdly, and Mary Anne blushes before that discerning gaze. Discerning, but still kind. "I mean, do you think you have any special skill that HE could learn from you, as you used that voice manipulation against HIM?"

Mary Anne shakes her head, not troubling to conceal her shudder. "HE knows far too much about me already. It’s too late to think of that, now."

Brandon reaches out to cover one of her hands with his own.

A brisk rattle of paper from Rupert. "Does Your Majesty concur, then, that we can proceed without undue harm to Mrs. Brandon?"

The Colonel does not leave his chair, but seems to loom while remaining seated. "And what," growls Brandon, "is your definition of undue, Mr. Cadell?"

Rupert is about to reply when The Empress intervenes. "We shall proceed, but only very carefully-"

And then she herself is cut off by a rap at the door, which then promptly opens to admit an Imperial Guardsman.

"Your Majesty." He salutes. "Please forgive the intrusion, but I must speak with you and Mr. Cadell. There has been a disturbance in the lower levels-"

Now Brandon is out of his chair. "What sort of a disturbance?" he demands, but receives no reply, for the Guardsman is speaking in very low tones to Rupert. Strain as she might, even Mary Anne cannot hear what passes between them, nor what Rupert murmurs to The Empress. But the news must be horrifying indeed. In the short time she has been at The Palace, Mary Anne has learned that The Empress is a woman of the utmost self control and that little short of an earthquake can disturb her social poise. But for a moment before she recovers herself, The Empress is white as chalk, though her voice remains crisp and calm. "I shall expect a report on the situation as quickly as possible."

"Of course, Your Majesty, of course," replies Rupert-though he does not rise from his seat.

Brandon’s voice is low, the far-off rumble of thunder. "I ask again, Mister Cadell, what has happened? It is not . . . " An uneasy glance at the door. "The Interrogator has not escaped?"

Rupert shakes his head and passes one hand over his brow. "Nothing of the sort, Colonel Brandon. It is much, much worse than that . . ."

MA--yes, much MUCH worse, as Dev will be finding out . . . ;-)
Ahhh, good to be posting again. And what will Brandon's anniversary treat for MA be, we wonders, yes we wonders . . . , - Wednesday, June 19, 2002 at 19:33:17 (PDT)

FoF Sets ~ Offices
Day Five of the Investigation

Nicholas Keene, Flights of Fancy security chief, cursed as he saw Barbara hurry up the hallway, pause to read the post-it and unlock her door. He reached for his radio and dialed the Director's pager number simultaneously. "Move in, move in," he barked to the radio. "We've got him, sir!" he said into the pager. Then he bolted from the room.

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

The Director felt the thrum against his waistband as Mary Anne's Mrs. Brandon and Mistral's Interrogator ended their confrontation. He glanced down at the pager's tiny screen. Got him "Cut!" he said. A hurried, whispered conversation with the assistant director and he strode off the set to the offices.

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

Claudia and Ed pelted up the hallways to Barbara Vanders' office, in the set design area. Claudia skidded around the corner and saw the wiry teen slip into the office. She held a hand back to Ed's chest, then crept up the hall to Barbara's office.

The light was on, seeping out under the door. Claudia could hear rustling and scrabbling as the teenager searched desperately for whatever he had hidden in the room. She pushed the door open carefully, and motioned Ed inside.

The teen's back was to the door. He was kneeling over one of the stacks Barbara had piled against the back wall of her office. His breath rasped in his throat. Claudia exchanged a glance with Ed, as she slipped inside the office and nudged the door shut with her bum. It closed with a faint click as the lock snapped into place.

The thief spun in place, losing his balance and falling on his backside. He jumped to his feet and tried to push Ed out of the way. Ed ducked to the right, but the boy's left fist caught him on the chin. Ed staggered back. The thief shouldered past him and tried a frontal assault on Claudia's position in front of the door. She ducked, dodged backward then took a crouching leap right into the teen's solar plexus. One bony elbow impacted the cheekbone under her left eye. She felt the pain, distantly, as she gripped the thief's wrists.

Ed recovered and fell across the boy's legs, pinning him to the floor. The teen bucked and tried to throw them off. As Claudia drew breath to speak, she heard the rattle of keys and the door swung open. "Claudia?" Claudia turned her head to see Barbara, mouth slack with surprise. The set designer cleared her throat. "Ed?" He looked up. Claudia could see the bruise starting to bloom on his chin. "What the hell is going on here?"

Claudia grinned.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
So, Renie, MA.... tell us all about meeting Himself...., - Wednesday, June 19, 2002 at 14:45:09 (PDT)

Just to clarify, the Cindy mentioned below isn't me. My BD is a week after the director. We can still have cake though.
Cindie
Happy Birthday to all those who are celebrating!, - Wednesday, June 19, 2002 at 12:30:03 (PDT)

And what birthday gift will Brandon bestow on MA? I notice that not only is MA's birthday in two days, but next month in July we also celebrate Cindy (1), Kari (9), Therese (10), Sue W. (16), Claire (26), Andrea (27) and Dana (31).

For FOF folks who don't know about the Rickmaniac Diary, at Claudia's Solo Flights, the link is here. I wish all writers, readers and lurkers another seriously fun year.

Those are the dates, not the ages!
R, - Wednesday, June 19, 2002 at 09:33:20 (PDT)

To old friends, to new friends, and all those inbetween. What a place is this.

Cheers to Suzanne for all her hard work (and putting up with the lot of us) and cheers to the writers here who continue this little yarn we've begun. . .

Happy Anniversary, FOF, and many happy returns.

Therese
48 hours and counting. . ., - Wednesday, June 19, 2002 at 05:56:37 (PDT)

May FOF continue to be the funnest place in the Realm. Cheers!
Suzanne
From virtual to reality, our meeting in NY was such a pleasure!, - Tuesday, June 18, 2002 at 22:45:56 (PDT)

OK, forget the spakling water, and pull out the Dr. Peppers!!! *click goes the lip top*
....me <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Vanilla Cokes included, - Tuesday, June 18, 2002 at 21:14:34 (PDT)

I feel like an outsider this year... but lets just pop the champagne, and drink to good friends and fun times! Love you all.
Claudia
- Tuesday, June 18, 2002 at 19:48:45 (PDT)

I know, as a Newbie, it's kind of hollow coming from me but as a longtime fan/lurker, happy anniversary to FOF! I do hope for many more anniversaries to come!

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Too late for a bit of champagne, how about sparkling water?, - Tuesday, June 18, 2002 at 19:27:24 (PDT)

*CLINK*

Absolutely.

*raises flute*

To my FOF famly . . . Happy Anniversary.
With my "special love" to MA---Renie
Short but fizzy, this year! , - Tuesday, June 18, 2002 at 18:58:08 (PDT)

MA -- pass me a glass, I'll drink to all of the above! (er, below...) Happy Anniversary and may we have many more years of fun on these Flights of Fancy. What a joy it was to get to meet up with all of the wonderful people in NY, especially the Empress, and I really have to think that AR has a most spectacular group of fans, whether he has any idea of it or not.

Therese -- between Dev unhampered and Dev with unbearably acute senses, I'm all in a heap.

More, please. (I know, I'm greedy.)
Cindie
Husband promises computer to be ready zoon. MA may need to wait for her anniversary present from Brandon for just a bit more. , - Tuesday, June 18, 2002 at 16:34:43 (PDT)

It's June 18th--

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO FOF!!

I'm still jazzed from the trip to NY last week and meeting everybody (not to mention AR himself). A salute to our esteemed Empress for making this place possible; when I think of all the people I've met and fun I've had because of these pages . . . well, I'd certainly hate to have missed all that. Here's to Alan, to Suzanne, to all of us, and to many more Flights--muppets, sushi, aliens, and all! 8-D

MA--with *pop* of champagne cork!
Dom Perignon, anyone?, - Tuesday, June 18, 2002 at 05:26:26 (PDT)

The Imperial Palace

Eamon stepped back from the cell grate which allowed him to look into the small room. Female and blonde. Claudia. He paused for a moment, catching his breath, remembering all too well that Therese's capture had been made far more possible with this woman's intervention. Still, Claudia too had been a pawn. She was not whom he sought. Soundlessly he continued.

The Interrogator's precise location was not something he had been able to discern from anyone or thing, but he knew that HE was close. Dev could sense HIM in the air, could feel the tension, and the resonance of evil that permeated the cellblock.

Adrenaline coursed through him, he could feel the heady, euphoric response as his breath became sharper, his keen senses now almost unbearably acute. Then, rounding a final corner, he came upon HIM.

Instantly every nerve began to clamour with the age old desire of the hunter; Eamon had no desire other than to kill. He approached the bars to the cell slowly, each step measured, as The Interrogator slowly turned HIS head at Eamon's approach.

Yellow eyes glinted in the partial light, considering HIS opponent. HE knew why this man was here, knew what it meant that he had been able to make it this far. "Very commendable," HE said softly, rising to a sitting position on the narrow cot that was the sole furnishing in HIS cell. "Though it is a great pity that you'll be able to come no closer."

Eamon moved to the bars at the front of the cell, his feet planted firmly, arms crossed upon his chest. "Then you'll have to come to me," he intoned, his clear, deep voice issuing challenge.

The Interrogator laughed, a harsh, bark of noise that split the still night. "Whyever for?"

Eamon stared at the other man, outwardly showing not a single sign of the agitation he felt. "Because you are many things, but you are not a coward. I expect you to meet me, here and now, and finish this."

"You'd not be the first one I've finished," HE sneered, "and I doubt you'll be the last."

Dev was unflinching, his gaze pure with potent fury. "I'm willing to take that chance, are you?"

HE rose from the bed, HIS actions still far more suited to royalty than criminal, and approached the bars slowly, with great calculation. When HE was mere inches beyond Dev's reach HE paused.

"Frightened?" A simple question, a simple taunt. HE was far too intelligent to fall for such an obvious ploy--or in any other circumstance would have been, but it was at that precise moment that Lt. Scout Sifuentes burst into the cell block, numerous armed guards close at his heels. The brief waver, a single moment of inattentiveness on HIS part, and Dev had hold of HIM through the bars.

The effect was instantaneous--HE immediately knew and felt HIS error, and fought to counteract, but Dev had waited and planned, had lived for this moment, had longed for the time when his fingers would bite into The Interrogator's flesh, fighting for a purchase around his neck and throat. HE didn't deserve such a clean death, but in this instance there was not the luxury of choice, and this basic and quick demise would have to appease.

HIS hands too engaged themselves at the neck of HIS opponent, but in the half moment of hesitation HE had lost the advantage. It was a critical mistake, one HE was not accustomed to making, and HE felt the intense pressure tightening around his throat, squeezing, smothering, robbing HIM of breath.

"de Valera, release him, NOW." It was an order, from the voice of a commander unaccustomed to disobediance, but this directive went unheaded as six guards surrounded Dev in a semi-circle.

"Eamon, I do not wish to harm you--"

"Scout, how could you possibly wish to stop me? Hold your men or I shall be forced to snap his neck this instant," Dev responded, and continued to tighten his grip.

A slight hand signal stopped the guards where they stood. "Eamon, listen to me--you know about Mrs. Brandon, that she was connected to HIM in some way. We don't know if harming HIM might do her permanent harm as well. You must let HIM go. Justice will be served, I promise you, but not at the expense of Mary Anne Brandon. I'll harm you to prevent that, if I must."

Furious, conflicting emotions battled within Eamon, and his grip, though it did not slacken even remotely, neither did he continue to tighten it. "You lie," he spat. "Ah, this explains much," The Interrogator rasped, his voice a harsh whisper from the pressure on his throat, yet still he managed a chilling smile. "The visit, my continued existance, the guise of a trail--it begins to make far more sense."

As Scout's words sunk in, and HIS musings confirmed what had just been stated, Dev began to loosen his grip. Sensing the other man's momentary lapse, The Interrogator used his hold upon Eamon's neck to violently and visciously slam him into the metal bars, causing his hold to be broken completely.

Fury warred with frustration within Dev, and fueled with the sudden pain of HIS attack, he punched blindly through the bars, connecting solidly with HIS left cheekbone.

Another hand signal brought the guards into the action; clubs pushed HIM back beyond Eamon's grip, and guards threw Eamon to the floor, handcuffs snapping quickly into place. He did not struggle, however, but laid on the floor of the cellblock at the feet of those who had apprehended him, knowing that he had failed in his mission, that all he had risked and sacrificed, had come to naught.

HE still lived, and Eamon had possibly sacrificed all.

Therese
posting, packing, and trying not to panic, though looking forward to being the one with the accent for a bit, - Monday, June 17, 2002 at 23:09:33 (PDT)

Dev's Flat

Therese, as was her custom, had fallen asleep. She realized that when she woke to find the bed shifting as Eamon left her side. Her eyes opened enough to watch him rise from the bed, unhampered by clothing, and she felt her breath catch. His grace of movement was undeniably appealing, and she watched the long muscles of his back and shoulders flex as he rose, stretching slightly. His skin was several shades darker than her own, a tawny, tan colour blended of fair Irish and olive complected Spaniard. He was a large man, though slender, the lines of his body both straight and polished as broad shoulders tapered to a flat midsection and slim, narrow hips gave way to long, graceful legs.

He turned as she studied him, as if sensing her regard. "You look very content," he murmered, his voice low and suggestive.

"And you look far too smug," she responded sleepily. "Not to mention devastating."

"Oh?" he asked, his brow raising slightly as he gave her a lazy half smile, and moved to lean over her, one arm on either side of her body. "Am I?"

Therese moved her hand to his throat, her fingers tracing their way downward, patterning over the column of his neck and collarbones, and down to the soft, sparse curls that covered his chest. "Oh yes," she assured him, "as you well know."

"Only to you, my sweet, truly," he responded, his fingers touching gently upon her brow, only to soon be replaced by his lips.

Therese pushed against his chest then, forcibly and abruptly, separating them. "You have got to be kidding me," she accused, "you couldn't possibly believe that yourself."

Eamon looked slightly annoyed, and moved from his kneeling position to sit more comfortably on the bed beside her. "Are we going to have petty discussions over jealousy, or are we going to make love?"

"My preference is always the latter over the former, my dear, but you cannot possibly believe that you hold appeal to only me. Need I remind you of the rather large bags of fan mail that arrive to your cubicle at an alarming rate? The women vying for your attention everywhere we go? The occassional recipient of an autograph who must lean against a solid surface until her blood pressure resumes a normal rate? (homage, er, of sorts. . . *evil snorfle*) Do you truly think to convince me that you aren't aware of your appeal?"

Amber eyes regarded brown, with a sweetly possessive gaze. "Tell me how any of that could possibly matter when the only woman I have eyes for is you?"

Therese paused, and took a deep breath. She'd never quite adjusted to Eamon's effect on her, and hoped she never would. "You're possessed of a silver tongue, Mr. de Valera," she informed him, repositioning herself once again by his side. "And I believe I am now quite ready to end the former and begin the latter, if you are willing to concede that my petty jealousies are only human and are at least short lived."

"Done," he whispered into her ear, leaning over to tease the sensitive flesh of her neck and lobe with his lips, and feeling her shiver of response. He had just gathered her more comfortably against his chest when a loud, baying bark pierced the air, followed closely by angry pounding upon the front door, and further deeps woofs of alarm.

Therese <thereseiam@yahoo.com>
still in a daze from NYC. . .what a week!, - Monday, June 17, 2002 at 17:25:12 (PDT)

Behind The Sets of FoF

Place: Diane's House (a lovely place set in the country)

Scene: Lucas and Diane, with Diane rampaging through her bundle of clothes.

Diane could not possibly be more impatient, and for the last two days had done nothing but sit on the couch or cuddle with Lucas, but even that was not comforting enough. She was just too anxious for the Anniversay party, and a million things she could do wrong jumped through her mind like a jet rocket.

"What if I trip and fall flat ony my face?" she whimpered, throwing two more dresses onto her bed. "Or what if I spill something all over myself? You know how bad I am around food..."

"Calm down, Diane, just calm down! Nothing is going to happen!"

"You don't know that! This is my first party, and I will meet the entire crew for the first time! O, what will they think of me?" Diane turned to face him, biting her lip so hard it turned blue. Lucas rolled his eyes, little miss drama queen strikes again, he thought with a slight smile.

"But you've been a member for a while now, have you not? I mean, Erika is newer than you and..."

Lucas was cut short by a squeal from Diane. "That's it! I'll call Erika! Maybe she'd like to go with us! I have yet to meet her, but everyone says she is real nice... Lucas, hand me the phone!"

"But... are you sure..."

"The day you dye your hair green I'll change my mind."

Lucas quickly handed over the phone, and Diane began rapidly punching in numbers.
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Had a bad day at piano... so I'm resting here... (and FFTing at the same time) , - Monday, June 17, 2002 at 17:01:36 (PDT)

The cleaning women traipsed through the doors in single file, loaded down with mops and buckets, dribbling trails of soapy water behind them. They knew their job, could almost do it blind-folded; did do it that way, according to the security guards on night duty, who were not above a bit of slap-and-tickle on occasion. The one on duty now was one of the worst offenders but he confined himself to a friendly nod and returned to his comic book as they filed past him in the largest, darkest studio.

A scream shattered the stillness of the evening. The guard dropped his book, fumbled for his gun and charged through the door. The women were pressed against the far walls, hands covering their eyes and mouths, buckets dropped and forgotten. Some in the forefront pointed with trembling fingers at something in the middle of the stage. The guard looked once, gasped and averted his eyes.

It was a muppet, electric blue and red, impaled painfully on a spear jabbed into the wood floor. Its arms swayed slightly in the breeze from the open door, its button eyes dull in the subdued light. The message could not be clearer.

NO MUPPET COSTUME PARTY.
Magda
- Monday, June 17, 2002 at 14:39:14 (PDT)

At Sandy's cubicle:

Sandy gazed down at the memo Erika gave her and scanned the text briefly before she looked back up again, lips twitching. "Well, there are some very interesting ideas here," she said finally. "I do have a feeling that some of them will go over better than others, though."

"I think you're right," Erika nodded, laughing as Oliver licked her fingers to get her attention yet again. "Goodness, you're silly! Yes, you are!" she crooned.

Sandy joined in the laughter, shaking her head at her pet's antics. "Yes, he is. Aren't you?" Oliver wagged his tail in response and ran around the two women a couple of times before settling back down in front of Erika. "So, you've only been working here a few weeks?"

Erika entwined her fingers into the soft, curly black fur atop Oliver's head. The poodle made a noise that she could only interpret as a blissful sigh and she smiled. "Yes. It's been quite a challenge, running here, there and everywhere," she admitted. "I love it though. If nothing else, I'll be in excellent shape!"

Sandy chuckled. "It's never dull here," she agreed. The two women could hear the sound of footsteps and mumbling - and it was getting closer. "Hello, Alex. What's got you off your chump now?" she called out, never turning around. The grumbling increased in volume. "See what I mean?"

Erika's eyes grew wide. "That's Alexander Dane?" She looked puzzled. "How did you recognize his voice from so far away?"

Sandy grinned in response. "You haven't met him yet, have you?" Erika shook her head. "Well, it looks like now's going to be your big chance."

"Should I be worried?" Erika asked, frowning. She had heard rumors about his interview with Silvert and Graff - and the dressing-down Graff received for uttering something that the former Shakespearean actor despised.

"Naw. The grumpy stuff is a front - mostly," Sandy reassured Erika hastily.

"MOSTLY?" Erika grew alarmed. Eep.

Sandy chuckled again. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to spook you," she apologized. "Weird sense of humor."

Erika's eyebrows rose. "Yes, I've heard about that too..."

"Heard about what?" a deep baritone voice rejoined. The two women looked up to see an extremely agitated Alexander Dane round the corner with a crumpled memo in his left hand and come to a stop a couple of paces away from Sandy's cubicle. Oliver let out an excited "wuff" and ran over to him, running around Alexander's legs until he knelt down to pat the miniature poodle. "Have you seen THIS?" he growled, shaking the offending piece of paper in his hand.

The two women exchanged glances. "Um, that's the memo containing the suggestions for this year's party, isn't it?" Sandy asked innocently. Erika's lips twitched involuntarily and she found herself trying not to burst into loud laughter as Alexander sputtered.

"I am NOT going to dress as a... a... MUPPET!" Alexander finally burst out after several moments of attempting to make a coherent sentence. Oliver nudged Alexander's hand with his wet nose and his fingers absently wound through the curly fur.

"Well, I can't see you as the Swedish Chef. Hamlet would take to that part nicely, even though he's Danish," Sandy said mildly. "Maybe one of the guys in the balcony that makes wisecracks would suit you better - or maybe even Sam the Eagle. He's a dignified sort," she suggested with a straight face.

Erika watched with alarm as Alexander's face turned a rather impressive shade of red. Wow. He looks like a volcano about to blow... Why isn't she worried? Her internal musings were answered a few moments later as a snort emerged from the Englishman, still squatting on the ground patting Oliver - a snort that changed to soft laughter. She turned back to Sandy, who was leaning against the wall of her cubicle, arms folded over her chest and smiling warmly as she watched Alexander. Their eyes met briefly and Sandy shrugged her shoulders very slightly.

"Feel better?" Sandy asked as Alexander rose to his feet and stood next to her.

"Considerably. I'll make sure to put in my - ahem - strenuous objections at the all-hands meeting," Alexander admitted.

"I'm sure you will, Alex," Sandy replied, eyes sparkling in amusement. "You always make sure that the all-hands meetings are lively."

"Very funny." Alexander's left eyebrow rose in curiosity at Erika. "You're new on the set, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm new here," Erika said with a smile.

"Alex, this is Erika Astra. She's one of the new Production Assistants," Sandy introduced Erika with a warm smile. "Erika, Alexander Dane."

Alexander put out his hand for Erika to shake, effectively enveloping hers in his. He smiled, surprising Erika with its genuine warmth. "A pleasure to meet you, Erika."

"Thank you, Mr. Dane," Erika replied, returning the smile as she returned the handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too. I've been enjoying your story line - very interesting."

"You have *no* idea just how interesting it can get," Alexander intoned gloomily before his face lit up with a smile again. "Thank you - and I'd prefer Alexander, please. Only certain people who shall remain nameless -" Alexander cleared his throat noisily, " -call me *Mr. Dane*."

"I understand perfectly," Erika nodded in agreement, knowing who in particular of which persons he spoke of.

"Ah - there's more important things to worry about than that," Alexander said with a sigh. "You joined at the same time as Jaques, right?"

Erika blushed slightly. "Uh yes, I did."

Alexander nodded. "He's mentioned your name a few times on the set. Nice fellow. A bit sullen sometimes, though." Sandy snorted with laughter and he turned around to glare at her. "What?!"

"Never mind, Alex. It's not important," Sandy chuckled.

"Are they always like this, Ollie?" Erika asked with laughter in her voice. The dog's bright deep brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked up at her and wagged his tail furiously.

"Depends on your version of 'what we're like' means," Sandy snickered. Alexander rolled his eyes. "Listen - if you keep feeding me lines, I'm taking the bait! You should *know* that by now."

"I do - all too much," Alexander was frowning, but his voice was soft. Erika watched with interest as Sandy's cheeks turned pink and her eyes lowered for a moment before she turned her head to gaze back up at him.

Oliver "wuffed" low in his throat and Erika laughed. "Another voice from the peanut gallery," she giggled. She looked down at her watch and blinked in surprise. "Oh jeez, look at the time! I still have the rest of these memos to deliver then I'm supposed to go to Wardrobe! I need to find Chris' cubicle. I think I got turned around in here..."

Sandy's eyes lit up at the mention of her friend. "It's quite the maze, isn't it? You need to go down this hall, take a right at the opening there..." she gave directions to the next set of cubicles.

"Thanks! It's so nice to meet the two of you - and Ollie too," Erika said, making ready to go. She pushed an errant lock of hair away that fell into her eyes.

"It's great to meet you, too. Ollie always enjoys a visit," Sandy said warmly.

"Thanks again," Erika smiled and began walking down the hall in the direction the writer indicated. She smiled broadly as Sandy and Alexander's voices drifted towards her.

"Which suggestion do you like the best, Alex?"

"The yacht one."

"Me too. Do you think that The Director would be willing to spring for..."

"NO SUSHI!"

Warm laughter rang out. "Well, *I* was thinking Maine lobster..."

Erika's smile grew wider as she turned the corner. Never a dull moment, indeed....

Sandy - so glad that all of you had such a grand time in NYC. It will never be the same again *snerk*
Totally groovy, Carmen. The beats are just "phat" :-) And yet *another* voice from the peanut gallery regarding The Muppets theme *ACK*., - Monday, June 17, 2002 at 12:43:21 (PDT)

Cindie--arrived home safely, and the same for Therese. And should you need them, you know that an entire swoon of Brandons is at your service. ;-)

MA--back from NY, and still swooning over Private Lives and meeting AR . . . *THUD*
P.S. MISS PIGGY?!??!, - Sunday, June 16, 2002 at 20:06:57 (PDT)

Hi all--sorry for the personal post, but I arrived home to discover my husband is revamping the computer & yes, I have no e-mail. I'm back safe ladies and feeling all better. Looking forward to catching up with the goings ons here at FoF.
Cindie
MA -- do you think the Brandons would mind starting the laundrey while I'm at work tomorrow?, - Sunday, June 16, 2002 at 18:12:09 (PDT)

I`m glad to join your company
Elena <cherryg@mail.ru>
Moscow, Russia - Sunday, June 16, 2002 at 03:57:29 (PDT)

Behind The Scenes of FoF

Place: Lucas's ranch, real time

Scene: Diane, Lucas, and Jamie have crouched altogether on a giant suede couch, discussing the up-coming party. Diane: Honestly, I say we should have it here! Though, I'd have to do some cleaning first...

Lucas: I would not mind some more company, though, I think this idea is already out-voted.

Diane: Oh... I believe you are right... *bites finger*

Jamie: How about The Muppets?

Diane/Lucas: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Jamie: Sorry, just asking! *puts hands up in defense*

Diane: Hey... a boat party sounds fun! I just got a new bikini too! *giggle*

Lucas: But then I cannot wear my hat...

Diane: Lucas... dear... DEAL WITH IT.

Lucas: Fine... then I say Midsummer's Eve. Or a fantasy type thing.

Diane: *squealing* Oh, yes! I like like like! I could wear a beautiful flowing pink gown... maybe a little golden crown with my sunshine hair flowing behind me gracefully...

Jamie: Diane, the day you become graceful, call me.

Diane: Jamie, if you were not already dead- I'D HURT YOU.

Jamie: Ouch, that was cold.

Lucas: You are always cold.

Jamie: Forget it... *sighs* Well... dare I suggest it... How about Valley Of The Moon Sets?

Diane: *begins to shriek*

Jamie: I take that as a no...

Lucas: Is it me, or are we getting absolutely no where?

Diane: *shrugs* I still say either a party here, on a yacht, or a Midsummer's Eve.

Lucas: All we can do it wait for the decision.

Diane: *grumbles* Haven't I ever told you? I'm not a patient person.

Lucas: Yes, I know dear. Go do your cross-stitch or something... Either that, or stuff a pillow in your mouth.

Jamie: I could help her with that...

And we leave the room, Diane getting ready to pounce on one of the two men...
Daring Dashing Di (just kidding!) <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Since no Dr. Peppers.... SLIMFAST!!!!!!!!, - Saturday, June 15, 2002 at 09:55:37 (PDT)

With an audible gulp, Erika turned her eyes down towards the small dog as if asking What do I do? Before even turning all the way around she let out a stream of words, running all together.

“I’m really sorry, I just wanted to deliver a memo and well I saw the office and I was really intrigued and he,” she gestured to the canine, “just seemed to want to talk and I wanted to talk to and it’s not that I was nosy or trying to sneak around I’m just really curious and-,” she stopped and opened an eye to see a blonde haired woman looking at her curiously.

“Uhm…” Erika breathed before the woman looked stern. However, very familiar. But, at the embarassment of being caught where she probably shouldn’t have been, her mind was working in a whirl.

“I still think I’ll have to call security,” but there was a tug at the other womans lips and Erika furrowed her brows in confusion. Then with a broad smile the woman let out a melodic laugh, music to the Production Assistants ears and shook her head.

“Calm down, calm down, I’m only kidding. Don’t worry, I don’t mind if anyone gives Ollie attention. I’m Sandy, by the way,” Erika’s mind seemed to stop and she mentally slapped herself.

“Of course! I mean, I knew that, I was just, preoccupied. I’m sorry I was in here, you know, uninvited-,” she explained sheepishly.

“Again, calm down. You didn’t mean anything…I take it from how long you were in here, you like my décor?” There was a mischievous gleam in the writers eye and Erika laughed, releasing tension.

“Oh yes, of course! And your wonderful taste in companions,” she smiled down at the excited Oliver.

“This is Oliver, Oliver this is…Erika, right?” Sandy looked up to her for an answer and she nodded back, smiling.

“Yeah, yeah, Erika Astra…We’ve not actually met and this is the first time I’ve delivered Memo’s to you,” she shot a look down to Oliver who jumped up to sniff around her legs. “I’m a Production Assistant, and of course, long time fan of the Egyptian Adventures. I was in the ‘desert’ today…Poor Mr. Dane!” She laughed as Sandy shrugged with a smile.

“I think he’s used to it by now…Put those down, because I think he wants another scratch!” Erika looked down to Oliver who was, in his own doggish way, smiling up at her and she placed the folders on the floor before lavishing more attention on him.

“So, what do you think of the ideas for the Party?” Erika asked as she happily rubbed the dogs ears.

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
As promised, Sandy- Hope it's groovy as a ten cent movie! ...Okay, I'm not Dr. Seuss.., - Friday, June 14, 2002 at 23:18:33 (PDT)

Alright, although I'm sending out an email, I'd just like to post this here in case I miss anything.
Some ideas that were thrown around:

An FOF Party on a Yacht
The Muppets, of course! (Just kidding, Magda!)
A Midsummer's Eve Party
The Valley of the Moon Party *shiver*

And I just had another idea...What about a Masquerade Ball or something of the sort? Far-fetched, I know. :)

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Poor Colonel Brandon! :), - Friday, June 14, 2002 at 18:35:05 (PDT)

Miss Piggy (can't wait until MA digests *that*!) and two other troublemakers (ahem) shall return to FOF at the close of the weekend, if I read my star charts correctly... they send their regards from a certain city whch shall never be the same....(Special note to Brandon: "Patience, man!")
Sorry to hear of your mishap, Barbara!
R, - Friday, June 14, 2002 at 16:35:53 (PDT)

OK, I agree with Magda- NO MUPPETS!!! *ack*

How about Lucas's ranch? I did send out an e-mail LONG time ago here that we should throw a party there. Any takers?

As for the Valley Of The Moon Set... *shudder*... no thanks...

Let's just decide something though people!

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
*sigh* No Dr. Peppers left... , - Friday, June 14, 2002 at 15:59:40 (PDT)

Probably Magda is right...anyone can email me or sommat to discuss a time for tonight or we can all just show up sometime in the room? *shrug* I liked the ideas we threw around last night *snickers insanely* hee hee hee....
Carmen <Jaina34@aol.com>
- Friday, June 14, 2002 at 14:51:58 (PDT)

Sorry I missed you Sandy. I am not in favour of the Muppet theme.
Magda
I really think chat would be a better place for this...., - Friday, June 14, 2002 at 14:35:04 (PDT)

Barbara, the other guy in the balcony is Statler. I think "Sandy" would rather deal with him than listening to Alex complain about being Sam the Eagle all night long ;-D. But who would be Fozzie?

Sandy
- Friday, June 14, 2002 at 14:28:23 (PDT)

Where is this meeting taking place? In the chat room? Here?
Magda
- Friday, June 14, 2002 at 14:05:03 (PDT)

FoF Anniversary Party:

Hey, I'm all for the Muppets Idea. ;)

Christopher Brandon would make a fine Kermit....

Of course, that means Phil would have to be Waldorf. Alexander could be the other Balcony guy.... what was his name?
Barbara the Wallpaperer
You realize that makes MA Miss Piggy, dontcha? *giggle*, - Friday, June 14, 2002 at 14:00:55 (PDT)

I didn't mean to embarass you. What time zone are you in? I'm in EST which means it's 4:35 pm right now. I'll just keep checking every hour on the hour for a while.
Magda
- Friday, June 14, 2002 at 13:36:33 (PDT)

Sorry Magda! I wasn't thinking..urm...I'm not sure...do you have any suggestions?
Carmen
*embarassed*, - Friday, June 14, 2002 at 12:50:41 (PDT)

Since many people are in different time zones, can you be more specific about the time?
Magda
- Friday, June 14, 2002 at 12:27:48 (PDT)

Friday Morning

Jogging over to the bulletin board in the center of the cubicle space, Erika hastily pulls out the tack she has held in her teeth and tacks it to the board, orders from the Director and rushes off somewhere else.

It reads thus:

Attention Staff

An optional meeting in regards to the FOF Anniversary Party will be held this afternoon, after shooting, around 5:00. Any and all staff are welcome, bring ideas.

The Director
Carmen
Just thought....well, after the chat last night! *grin*, - Friday, June 14, 2002 at 12:18:01 (PDT)

Just a note...OT

Dear ladies,
I just wanted to apologize if I have been irritating or annoying anyone with the frequent posts. I just am overflowing with creative juice and it's going all over the place and if I don't do SOMETHING with it I'll be kicking myself later. I suppose it must be all the brain food lately (Lot's of Debussy and gone off on a Thomas Hardy kick) but I really do apologize for my name appearing many times.

I know I'm not connected into storylines much, Erika, unfortuneatly, only has a role in the quote-un-quote real world, but I really hope to see more posting! I missed it while on leave!

Yours,
Carmen (The craziness behind Erika...or would that be inside?)

-

Tuesday Morning

After falling gently into dreamless sleep for the first time in days, after her and Jaques ‘enlightening’ dinner, after she had rose with the dawn and stroked her cats in the faint rays of morning sunlight, Erika was once again on the job at FOF, running Memo’s. Unbeknownst to her, the Director had sent a letter to her doctor, asking if all was well and her doctor, a well meaning Swissly sort-of man had replied Erika had needed to take things slower. So, in truth, she wasn’t really ‘running’ memos, but more of walking them and putting them on desks, in cubicles, down in Phil’s salon, bulletin boards, and it was all somewhat new to her as Jaques had always taken care of that and she had ran boxes, stayed on set, arranged costumes and props and ran notes between the people of the more technical side.

Striding down the halls purposefully, flowing Batik skirt sweeping the ground, she methodically makes her way around the cubicles of the Writers, dropping Memo’s here and there.

“Right…right…” a dart around another corner, three more papers gone. Blowing upwards at a strand of hair that has fallen in her face she checks the next.

“Mary Anne, of course,” she smiles and places it in the next cubicle, onto the desk. Shifting the now thin pile again she moves, trying to not rush, but it’s too much of habit. Stopping in her tracks, however, she relaxes her walk and looks down at the next memo.

“Sandy…hmm…” Erika has never dropped anything off to her and checks the cubicle, entering inside. Her eyes widened slightly at the very interesting décor and she smiled in pleasant surprise. The dartboard, the posters, the books, it seemed like a very nice place to work…Much different than running ragged, she thought wryly. So encased in her own thoughts that the memo’s were forgotten as she looked at everything but jumped a half a foot in the air at the sound of a slight noise.

Looking down, Erika grinned in spite of herself at the sight of the small dog looking at her curiously.

“Hello there! Now, who could you be…?” she murmured, giving the excited canine a scratch behind his ears. “You remind me of Castor and Pollux…I wonder if you and they’d get along…” Why am I talking to a dog? But the creature didn’t make anymore noise and she continued to pet it.

“Who knew it was so animal friendly here?” She giggled at the dog who seems to be smiling in his own, animal way. Sitting on her heels, she gathered the papers once more and was about to stand up when she heard a small sound behind her. Eyes widening, she couldn’t bear to look…

“Ahem.”

Carmen
*yawn*, - Monday, June 10, 2002 at 22:05:25 (PDT)

Erika’s Dream Journal

Dream : 6: Demeter Throws

Lady Ivory raced back to the stables, Lord Ebony at her heels as she prepared to help throw Lady Sterling Silver’s new colt. Jumping from the back of the horse, she plunged into the prepared room where Demeter was to have the newborn. As she entered, the smell of hay, humid air and horse overpowered her nostrils and she knew the petticoats would be more of a harm than help. Tearing them off to reveal her riding pants, she ignored the disgusted glances of Lord Ebony who leaned against the wall and watched, emotions playing at her nerves, as the fat body of Demeter stood, almost frozen but still quivering.

“Right…” she muttered and the stable hand brought in a steaming basin of water, rags, and warm blankets as Lady Ivory approached the horse. Before she could touch it, however, a spasm passed over the equine’s body and Ivory felt her blood run cold.

“Gods…” she muttered in newfound panic, waiting to see and then-

The spasm returned and she ran forward, running her hands along the horse, disappearing. The colt inside had been turned around, it wouldn’t be able to come out.

“Andy, it’s turned, I don’t think…” she said wildly and stared at Demeter. The colt was breaching inside the mare…there wasn’t anything she could do...Lord Ebony was watching in cold calmness.

“They’ll both die if you don’t do something…” she whirled and felt the need to curse but a terrible whinny from the birthing mother brought her back. Demeter’s eyes were rolling back, Lord Ebony was right…

“Andy…” she stared in prickling eyed resoluteness to the stable-hand who nodded grimly. Turning back to the horse she reached up inside, grabbing at the colt, forcing it to turn. Demeter snorted, cried out in pain and began to move, slamming her entire, swollen body against the stable wall. Lady Ivory was thrown back into the hay and the horse snorted wildly. With blind determination she reached back in again, grabbing at the slippery colt and again, the horse threw herself at the wall. This time, Lady Ivory jumped away but there was a sickening crack of bone and Demeter crumpled to the ground, breathing heavily. Lady Ivory kneeled, reaching in, pulling, pulling. The wall tore, Ivory could feel it and tears, mingling with sweat were running down her cheeks. The nauseating smell of blood, sweat, hay combined and she felt as if she would retch but with a huge pull the colt burst out and Demeter’s body gave one last shake before going still.

The newborn horse shivered, shining with fluid as Ivory began to sob in fatigue, in loss at the slack eyes of Demeter and Andy came over, lifting up the newborn before Ivory fell back into the hay and passed out.

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
I'm sorry for all the animal violence...please forgive me, Demeter..., - Sunday, June 09, 2002 at 22:45:05 (PDT)

Satie reverberated throughout the apartment, gentle and soothing, Trois Gymnopedies, as Erika curled in the paisan, scribbling furiously in her Dream Journal while waiting for Jaques to arrive at her apartment. It was new after her old one had gone missing after her dancing in the dark of the sets at FOF. Trying to find another word, she carelessly gnawed on the pen as a rap-rap-rap was heard on the door.

“Coming!” she cried and put the book down onto the living room table and answered, seeing Jaques carrying a brown bag from the Italian delicatessen down the street. She ushered him in, and took the bag as he stepped into the house. Peering inside she let out a cry of delight.

“Bruschetta! Jaques, how did you know?”

“Our adventure…” he murmured quietly, stepping into the apartment he had not been in since it was in a total state if disarray and she brought him into the living room, the scent of something warm baking in the oven wafting throughout her living space. “It smells delicious…”

“Macaroni and cheese…” she said apologetically before setting out some handmade, handpainted, thick clay plates onto the table, (“From Mexico”), two tumblers and two glass wineglasses.

“Trying to fatten me up so I won’t be able to careen into you as fast?” Jaques said in a deadpan before she rolls her eyes.

“Don’t worry, it’s the best. Asiago, Gruyere, and of course, good old mild Cheddar…shouldn’t be that bad, I’ll toss a salad-,” she was about to dart into the kitchen but the warm, gentle hand of the man behind her stopped her. She didn’t even notice the tattered black notebook he carried when he entered and he spun her slowly.

“No…first, we talk. You promised,” he waggled a finger. She looks troubled and Jaques began to wonder whether it had been a good idea but she nodded resolutely. And then, surprising him, she took his hand and led him into the living room, sitting him down in an armchair as she curled up in the paisan. There was silence in the room as she chewed on a lip and intertwined her fingers and whilst she did that Jaques noticed the beautiful journal, a soft cloth cover of Chagalls Violinist With the World Upside Down and printed with the words “Dreams : 2” and felt a pang of shame. But before he could say anything more-

“When I left, it was the day after, well-,” she seemed to be trying to start but then took another deep inhale and began again, “No. I’ll start from the beginning. When I came to work at FOF, I was engaged…however, he relocated and I wasn’t about to follow him back…his parents weren’t particularly fond of my ‘gypsy-like’ ways,” she gave a sour look, “And I needed money. We weren’t living together but I cared for him very much. He’s a lawyer, of course, what else would he be, at a high profile firm and went to the coast of California. I came here and we spoke over the phone, letters. Izzy always said she got bad vibes from him…anyway, after we had our spat,” Jaques choked, it had hardly been just a spat and Erika raised a brow. He only nodded, urging her on.

The young womans voice was becoming more ragged, she pushed a lock of deep, chestnut brown hair away from her eyes, slightly glassy, and continued, “And well…I was about to go to California, to see Andrew. The night before, well, he called. He broke the engagement,” her voice caught, Jaques was caught in an awkward position but she inhaled shakily and continued, “And I didn’t know what to do. Again, I just sat in here for two days before Izzy and Anastasia had enough sense to break down the door, fearing I’d been eaten by a Poodle. I went to the Ranch for a while, a month, in fact, and…and now I’m back.”

There was utter silence. Erika was looking downcast at the ground, taking in shaky breaths. Silently, Jaques moved over and grasped her hand, patting her on the shoulder. Giving a little sniffle, she looked up at him and embraced him, which he returned, before she took a deep breath and broke away.

“Thank you, Jaques,” she said softly, “It…it really helped to tell you that. It’s been a little tough…” She was walking towards the oven, taking out the macaroni and cheese and setting it out on the table with the bruchetta and a crusty Italian loaf.

“How long were you…?” She poured two glasses of water and two glasses of white wine and replied quietly:

“Two years,” Jaques looked stunned but she shrugged.

“It’s over now….So, how about we eat?”

-

Oddly enough, the juicy and garlicky tomato spread and smooth, warm Macaroni went well together and soon Jaques and Erika were chatting about story and plot lines, the newer cast members (Diane and Lucas), and whatever else popped into their minds. It was only then, when Erika had gotten to get dessert, brownies that had been baked and frozen ages ago, that Jaques decided to come clean.

“What ever happened to Demeter?” There was a * thud * and Jaques stood to see that Erika had dropped the large container of frozen brownies and was staring at him in horror. Jaques looked sheepish and began to place them back into the freezer.

“How do you…?” From under the kitchen table, where he had placed it after coming in, Jaques drew out the first Dream Journal and handed it to her, last dated when Lady Ivory was being told that Demeter was throwing.

“YOU!?” She hissed in astoundment and he nodded guiltily. Now it was Erika’s turn to look sheepish and she rubbed her forehead.

“Oh god, you pobably think-,”

“No,” he stopped her, “no, I don’t think anything, but you did leave me at a cliffhanger.” Erika raised an eyebrow and he gave her a meaningful glance. “Really, sincerely.”

“Well…here,” she waltzed over to the living room table and handed him the second journal, “Read while I do the dishes…”

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
I just had to add more...must...make....up...and...give...explanation! *gasp*, - Sunday, June 09, 2002 at 22:13:39 (PDT)

Jaques ran a hand through his hair as he, slightly more fatigued then he had ever been with Erika around, entered into the Flights of Fancy cafeteria at lunch, wishing for just a bit of rest. He was about to make his way over to get some food in the line when he stopped and stared, momentarily thunderstruck-

“Erika!” he said, louder than he meant to, and the younger woman looked up at him, shadows playing under her eyes as she smiled deeply, breaking away from her conversation she was having with the other PA, Roz. Still surprised he walked over to the table they sat at and the other woman excused herself as Jaques looked down at Erika, who grinned.

“You’re back?” he said in his rumbling, still melancholy voice.

“Don’t sound so surprised!” she laughed merrily and was beginning to pull out something from a brown bag on the table, “I decided to once again grace these hallowed halls with my presence…” Jaques gave her an incredulous look before she winked at him. “I was just about to have lunch…would you like to join me?”

“Of course…let me get something…” He had been stationed at the Egyptian set and wondered where she was all day as he took some pasta primavera and warm bread, paying and coming back to her table where she was spooning some soup and had not yet started on the salad that sat in the Tupperware.

“Potato, carrot and leek…” she murmured, savoring another spoonful.

“Where were you today?” Jaques asked, keen on learning where she had been. The lurking and unwanted truth within him was truly that he had missed her.

“Assigned to prop storage…nothing too horrendous on my first day back…which set were you on?” She asked interestedly and Jaques noticed more, now, the shadows playing on her face, the tiredness set in that had not been there before.

“Egypt…I’ve been working harder since you left.” He was quick to cut to the chase as he hungrily devoured some more pasta, “Where were you?”

Something unknown, something born of fatigue and sadness crossed her face, a shadow, a specter and she quickly tried to mask it as she took a crunchy bite of the Greek Salad.

“Leave…I needed a break,” she smiled weakly back and he eyed her with scrutiny. Then, slightly ashamed, “It’s a bit of a long story…and I know either of us have time right now for it, I’m running memos all afternoon, Jaques…”

“God save us,” he moaned, giving a fake and melodramatic sneer, “How many times are you planning on plowing into me this week?” She stared seriously at him but her lip tugged at the edge of a smile and too late, she burst into gales of laughter. Jaques gave an inner relieved sigh, feeling slightly happy that he had made her smile.

“But in all seriousness, I do want to hear what happened-,”

“Fine, fine, if you’re going to go all Interrogator on me,” she waved it away, “Would you like to come for some dinner tonight? After work? Just follow me home, I’ve got enough food to feed everyone here!” A warning bell rang in Jaques head. The last time he had known Erika to cook and cook was when she had suffered a severe personal blow at his hands…

“I’d love to. I’ll bring something, alright?” She smiled as he quickly finished the rest of his pasta and she placed the soup container back into her brown bag. Standing from the table he gave her a smile.

“Well, duty calls.” She nodded as she continued to finish her salad-

“And Erika, it’s nice to have you back,” he said smoothly before she nodded gratefully and waved to Diane who was passing by the cafeteria as Jaques returned to his duties.


Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
What a strange muse stomach flu and Puccini make at eleven at night..Mary Anne, have a good vacation!, - Sunday, June 09, 2002 at 21:11:49 (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

I sat back in my chair and beamed at our Poitevin visitors. Everything was going just perfectly. In a very few hours the three of us would be safely behind a barred door. Everybody would be happy with the results. Locksley would not have to marry the Lady Suzanne and for her part, the Lady Suzanne would not have to marry Locksley. Of course, by the next morning she wouldn't want to. After our time together, she would be in possession of a standard for the rest of her life that no other man could ever match. I supposed I should feel guilty about that but so few of us ever achieve perfection in this world that I was sure it would be worth it for her.

The rest of the meal passed in a bit of a blur for me. There really wasn't what you'd call a great deal of general conversation and for the most part we ate silently, lost in our own thoughts. By the time the servants came to remove the empty bowls and throw the gravy-soaked trenchers to the dogs, an almost sleepy atmosphere had descended on the room and it only lifted when the nurses brought the babies in.

We'd moved to the ornate chairs grouped around the hearth by then. It was more intimate and therefore harder to avoid each other. The Ladies Suzanne and Christina were making small talk in loud voices so as to draw the rest of us in when the door at the end of the room burst open and Bertha and another woman entered, puffing under the weight of what looked like large bolsters. Everyone turned in their chairs to watch.

"Ah, thank you." Joya nodded in greeting and pointed to the rug in front of the fire. "You may put them right there so they won't get cold." The women obeyed, alternating shuffling progress with deep curtsies, and deposited their bundles with exaggerated care on the rug before bowing themselves out of the room again. The door shut with a soft thud.

Joya and Marion were already on their knees to unwrap the blankets from which emanated small cries of annoyance and distress. I found it incredible that all this was necessary to conduct two small humans from rooms that contained large fires to another room that contained a large fire. I would have thought they'd be in more danger from suffocation than cold. The cries increased in volume and were on the verge of turning into wails before Joya and Marion finally excavated their treasures and scooped them up.

From the glimpse I caught as Joya returned to her chair and settled down, I was pleased to note that Richard was quite pleasing to the eye this night. She wore a smallish gown in the same peach colour that Joya wore and a small ribbon had been threaded through her hair and tied in a bow just over one ear. She gazed around the room with wide eyes, staring at each person in turn. It occurred to me that it was probably the largest crowd she'd seen in her short life.

On the other side of the rug, Locksley and Marion were fussing over their own offspring. Although I knew he had accompanied his parents to the castle, I had experienced no overwhelming urge to examine the young Locksley but now that he was in the same room, I admitted to some curiosity about him. From what I could see, he was no prize. I had once annoyed Joya by referring to our daughter as a turnip and I was prepared to acknowledge that her anger was fully justified. In my defense, I had not yet seen the young Locksley; now that I had, I would never make the same mistake again.

He was a large baby, much bigger than Richard, with sandy coloured hair and muddy brown eyes, not unlike his father. He evinced no interest in anyone except his mother and lay propped contentedly on her shoulder staring at the fire. Even from where I sat I could see that his drooping eyelids meant that he would be asleep before long. Both Locksley and Marion beamed at him with totally unwarranted pride.

Of course the four of us were biased in favour of our own offspring and thus I was particular interested in the reactions of the Ladies Suzanne and Christina who were strangers and could be expected to display more objectivity in their appraisals. (Always remembering, of course, whose castle they were staying in.) Nor did they disappoint me. As soon as the babies had been carried into the room, they'd been on the edge of their seats, necks craned for a first sight, and once the infants were unwrapped, they'd flown from their chairs to cluster around the adoring mothers. Lady Suzanne knelt by Joya's side and cooed inane chatter at Richard, who stared at her with all-consuming interest. Joya smiled benignly and answered all the questions that were fired at her. Lady Suzanne stroked Richard's hands and was delighted to receive a wide, drippy smile in exchange.

Across the room, Lady Christina was not enjoying the same response from young Locksley. Prevented from going to sleep by the attentions of a lovely young woman, he screwed up his face into a horrible grimace and turned his head away fretfully when she tried to entice a smile out of him. Marion bounced him encouragingly on her shoulder but he didn't like that either. Lady Christina crouched down for a closer look and addressed Marion. "What is his name, my lady?"

"Richard." Locksley answered, his voice quivering with pride. "After our most noble sovereign king. It was the first choice of both of us."

I suppose that when you're a king like Richard Lionheart, with years of warring and crusading behind you, you have to take the rough with the smooth and having adoring subjects name their little lumps of suet after you comes under the former description. For my part, I could not see how the king could be flattered by the gesture.

Lady Suzanne sat back on her heels, dangling her chain and pendant for Richard's wide-eyed amusement. "And what is your baby's name, Lady Joya?"

Joya took a deep breath and I jumped in before she could say something that would only confuse our visitors. "Her name is Richard as well. Named after the Lady Joya's half-brother the king." I sat back, pleased that I'd got in so quickly. Joya sent me a withering glance and pointedly turned back to the baby.

"Richard?" Lady Suzanne blinked. "But I thought you had a daughter!"

"She is our daughter." Joya smiled with false heartiness. "Unlike Lord and Lady Locksley, Lord Nottingham and I did not find common ground in our search for an appropriate name. However, since she has not yet been christened, we are still casting about for the perfect one. Until then, we amuse ourselves by calling her -" She paused, forcing herself to say it. "Richard."

The girls looked at each other, then at Richard, then at me and finally back to the baby again. They didn't seem to be able to say anything. Marion and Locksley were looking blankly at each other. I felt a twinge of annoyance with the lot of them. It was a perfectly good name and I did not see where the problem lay. Something of my feelings must have shown in my demeanour because everyone suddenly became very busy with whatever was closest at hand so as to avoid my gaze. Except for Joya, of course. She slid me a sideways glance and winked conspiratorially.

The Lady Christina was again trying to encourage the young Locksley to show some liveliness, despite his apparent preference for somnolent inactivity. His parents watched fondly as she tried every nonsense word and silly noise to no effect. Finally Locksley picked up his son and turned him around so he was facing Lady Christina directly. "There we are, my lady. I am pleased to introduce my son, Master Richard Locksley, at your service. Say hello, Richard." He lifted his son's arm and flapped it at Lady Christina who cooed enthusiastically in response. Marion, I noticed, was watching her husband closely and again showing signs of the suspicion that had made the evening meal such a joyous feast.

Fussing over babies, even when they're your own, is not an activity that promises unlimited diversions on a long evening. My patience was running out and I could only imagine that those of the children weren't far behind when the door opened and the nurses reappeared to collect their charges. We watched as the blankets were again wrapped around the precious bundles and they were borne away to cribs heated by hot stones in chilly bedchambers. The ladies fell back with drawn-out sighs and by unspoken yet unanimous agreement, the evening came to a close. As hosts, Joya and I waited until the others had left and the servants came to damp the fire and collect the cups before making our way out of the hall and up the stairs to our room.

I was anxious to report on my conversation with the Poitevins and waited impatiently while Joya's maid helped her off with her gown and turned down the covers on the bed. Finally she bowed her way out the door and closed it softly behind her. Joya turned on her chair to face me. I leaned over to begin -

And someone knocked loudly on the door. Before either of us could respond it swung open to reveal Lady Marion, draped in some night robe, hair long and loose down her back, black eyes sparking and her cheeks flushed with the pink of anger. We stared at she stomped into the room and halted before us, hands on hips.

"I demand that you send her away - immediately!" Marion was trembling with emotion.

"Send who away?" Joya asked, eyes as wide as Richard's had been just an hour earlier.

"That - that - that -" She spluttered. "That French creature has got to go! I will not stay here another day while she flaps her lashes at my husband and flirts with him right under my nose! I want her out of here by dawn tomorrow! Or else!"

"Or else what?" I was fascinated with this new side of Marion. She was almost Joya-esque in her passion.

"Or else I will be more than happy to see my marriage dissolved, even at the cost of being married to you." She shot me a look of scorn. "And so I shall tell the king when he arrives in three days, if that wench is still here by then."

Magda
- Sunday, June 09, 2002 at 15:31:13 (PDT)

Alas and alack--I thought I would have time before I left on vacation to post just once more, but packing always takes longer than you think it will . . . I look forward to posting up a storm when I get back.

Then HE will really be in trouble . . . ;-D

MA
Mwa-hahahaha!!, - Saturday, June 08, 2002 at 20:11:37 (PDT)

Thank you for your response regarding A.R.'s FAQ and his performances. Before I write to him, I would like to know if his agents 'screen' his letters ie. open all letters and read them, discarding certain ones at their discretion. Kindly reply -thanks...
maxine share <maxineshare46@hotmail>
- Saturday, June 08, 2002 at 08:25:35 (PDT)

Cool-Hand Brandon, indeed!

Cindie
Renie--I trust those wifely duties are not too onerous?, - Thursday, June 06, 2002 at 18:07:33 (PDT)

And on a lighter note . . .

If you'd like a laugh, try Gunfight at the Coombe Magna Corral

As usual, hoping the link works, oh please oh please . . .

MA--always up to mischief, and this was just too funny to pass up.
R, dearest, I'll be sure to give Hans a big ol' squeezy hug! ;-), - Thursday, June 06, 2002 at 17:11:08 (PDT)

To whoever signed "Audience" her reply to Diane on Friday, May 24th : Audience, you are exeptionally rude. Diane, meanwhile, is one of the most adorable members/co-authors of FOF, in my opinion. Do you, dearest Audience, really want to put age limitations on being a fan? Who are you writing all your fantasies for? Yourself and the likes. There is nothing to tell to Mr. The Best of The Best even if you meet him in person. Your "A-ah", "O-oh" and "You are so s (-exy,-inister,-weet)" would be out of place. You know that, right? Only sharing the above with another R***maniac makes all of this madness such a fun. I know that Diane decided to stay and I wish all the best to her and the rest of you. Looking forward to new stories.
someone new, mostly quiet & slow <MsKrmrmn@netscape.net>
when there is unjustice, etc., etc. This fine ship, this fine crew..., - Wednesday, June 05, 2002 at 21:25:00 (PDT)

"And so . . . " Renie trails her fingers over Hans in a manner not unlike that which he had used on her, just shortly before . . . now . . . . Her face, beaming brighter than the sunlight, which is stronger now, playing through the study curtains.

The expression on her husband's face? Priceless.

" . . . am I a dutiful wife?" Renie teases, watching Hans contemplate getting up from the lounge chaise, but ultimately deciding he cannot move.

Under the circumstances.

He notes with approval his wife's face, pleased at his surrender.

"It was the least you could do."

"Hah! And I suppose you'll want me to have this suit pressed for you, before you go, now that it's a shambles . . . " Renie picks up the suit from the back of chaise lounge, and displays its not-so-distressed state. The fall of the jacket is nearly perfect.

And it works as a frontal cover-up, too.

She giggles. "Hans--do you remember at the Manor House--when Diggory Venn saw you in ostrich feathers? Yellow and white chiffon robe, it was . . . " Renie bounces her index finger on her chin, in exaggerated mock recall. " . . . we were in the bahtub . . . and he--"

With a graceful, but powerful arm, Hans pulls Renie to him. The jacket falls to the study floor with a slllsssh.

"Am I to be dutiful, again, sir?" Husband and wife. With only Hans's Baume & Mercier between them. "Or did you want another try at Kein Mitleid!?"

"Rrrenie…." That growwwwwwwl, from Hans. "I shall TAKE---" He buries his face beard in her long dark hair.

"---another suit." Zoot.

Some events in life are rushed; for this couple, such encounters are given the requisite time and attention.

Fade to later, in the day . . .

Hans, immaculate.

Renie, in a thin silk business suit, the colour of champagne. Seated, not the study, but on her husband's couch, in the offices of the Hansbank.

Hans's private office.

"---so that Renie will act as a--kind of figurehead for the Hansbank, without the need for legal oversight of the matter." The voice of Colin Molyneux, reassuring, as he closes his folder, and smiles at the CEO of one of the largest financial and political powers in the business world. "The rest of it can wait, at least until you or I return here to LA."

"I don't know how long this trip will take." A calm, but pointed look at his wife, and then a return gaze to Colin. "But you will be needed, with me, for the duration."

"Understood. I'm all set, and the Hansjet you've had on call is waiting for us now."

A flicker of the eyes from Renie to Hans.

"Please don’t worry, Hans---Anton is there, with his assistant, and the Glassworks hasn't fallen into the Rhine." Usually perceptive, Renie sees that her poor little joke has rubbed her husband the wrong way.

She stands, and Colin beats a retreat. "In your time, sir." And then, to Renie. "They expect you at the dinner meeting at 8 pm." She nods, with a smile, and Colin hastily closes the office door behind him.

Standing at the window, Hans watches his wife walk towards him. She moves, it seems to him, with poise and grace. It also seems to him that her voice is tinged with apology. "I would worry about you, but I know you shouldn't like me to worry about anything."

The sting of his mission has begun to---be felt. She can see that.

"And there will be more security personnel per square inch than at the United Nations…the Alliance Rose, Imperial Guard---so I know that everything will be secure. And nothing will . . . " Her green-flecked eyes keep his, in an effort to extract a promise. " . . . happen."

But Hans does not promise with his eyes. He gathers her gently, in her soft champagne silk, and holds her.

"I will be safe." Zafe.

Hans will make this journey to the Palace. Because she has asked him. In her place. She is . . . not going.

And, at least he knows that because certain men are there, they will not be here, by or around Renie. Valmont, for instance. A poor excuse for a pair of gloves. And . . .

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

"And to Herr Brandon. I shall not leave anyone out."

"I love you."

"Ich leibe dich, meine Abendstern."

Several hours later, the Hansjet would arrive at the Palace without incident, save Colin complaining that air travel has never been what it used to be.

R
- Wednesday, June 05, 2002 at 13:41:37 (PDT)

Sitting at a computer writing up letters to peope whom I don`t want to see any more, don`t want to work with this summer, am more than a little surprised to hear a persistent tapping at my rear window. Surely it`s not the coalman, he would never make so bold as to come into my courtyard? No. It is a glint-eyed figure in -surely not - hosiery? black jerkin? Am I mad? A little more scrutiny reveals that the figure is not tapping at my window at all, rather he is attempting to lever the window open with a glittering short blade. This is all a bit much. My landlady will go through me for a shortcut if her property is damaged. It will mean nothing to her that the damage came about by means of a handsome but rather odd man in very outdated attire breaking into her two up two down. I take action. I rap back on the window from the inside with the butt end of a scissors. `Oy you there` I shout `bugger off! get away with you now!` as if he were a fly. The man in hosiery - oh, it is fine in its own way, quite complimentary to his limber physique- stares right into my eyes. He`s not having any of THIS, that`s quite clear from his expression. There`s a coldness in his eyes, they seem to possess oceanic depths although they are brown-flecked, not green. I know I am becoming mesmerised,lost. This is surely the evil Sheriff of Nottingham, still on the tear for a bride...not caring who`s bin he knocks over, in who`s back yard. I hear the catch give way in the window. I fel something give way in my heart. Can hear thunder in my ears. Watch fascinated as the black-clad sheriff, never once taking his eyes from mine, coils then uncoils his lithe body towards me. His feet spring to the floor, making a slight `snap` sound on the faded lino. Once pace towards me, he almost brutally garbs my shoulders. I can feel the pressure and heat of every finger. His eyes lock on mine, his face turns slightly sideways as if to examine aspects of me that puzzle him. His lips curve, half sneer, half smile he makes as if to speak,stops, smiles. he pressure on my shoulders tighten, I can feel his thumbs circling my shoulder blades. My hearts action is suspended. My days work is forgotten. If the doorbell rings now I`m not answering, definitely not. This is something to tell the girls tomorrow! His lips part slightly,his eyes narrow like a snake,opens his mouth to speak, I can hear the breath catching in his throat. Incredibly sexy,indeed,indeed, I am made up! This is God`s reward to me for a so far exceedingly dull life. Well thank you God, you`re a star. OOOh! this is it! he`s going to ask my name, my marriage status, if he can at all expect any hope etc... He speaks then: `You wouldn`t happen to have a drop of milk in the house? I`m parched for a cup of tea, there`s a good girl!`
Clare <cynred@eircom.net>
In severe boredom, turn towards thoughts of Nottingham?, - Wednesday, June 05, 2002 at 04:35:15 (PDT)

Claudia slowly put down her cup and saucer, not rushing an answer. Trying not to show she was rattled. Slowly she sat back in the chair, and brought her gaze up to meet Anton’s. An odd item of trivia popped into her head. Tigers-eye was supposed to make people tell the truth, and looking into those intense eyes of his, with their glints of amber and gold, she was vividly reminded of this stone, and knew if she were going to tell a lie to this man, he would guess it. Not that she planned to.

“You know, Herr Gruber, I wish I’d kept a copy of the tape the Alliance Rose made of my interrogation. Many people have wanted to know my story… it would save a lot of time.”

His level cool stare made her continue quickly. “A lot has happened in a short time. What I did I did for my friends, knowing that it could all go horribly wrong, and they wouldn’t understand. Of course it did. Ed’s always telling me I rush into things,” she grimaced slightly at the sound of his name on her lips. “But sometimes I get so overwhelmed, that I must act, I can’t sit back and watch people being hurt…”

“But what you did hurt people. You make no sense.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for it. But it was part of something bigger - I went to the Interrogator, planning to bring HIM to justice from inside HIS organisation. I wanted HIM to trust me, to start to rely on me. To share HIS secrets. Then I would turn it against HIM.”

She was leaning forward, wringing her hands in front of her, trying to make him understand. Trying to convince yet another person, she knew wouldn’t believe her, that she hadn’t changed.

“HE tested me, to make sure I was really with HIM. HE set me some tasks, things I had to do for HIM, and when they were complete, I would have got inside. Would have brought the organisation down around HIS ears - but I was beaten to it.”

And so she settled down to tell her long and bizarre tale, and Anton sat quietly listening, his brow creased in disbelief, or concentration, she couldn’t tell which. The Doctor went to brew some more tea, what was already in the cups had gone cold.
Claudia
Look, all the old gangs here... thought I'd better post, even if I haven't caught up with the goings on at the palace yet, - Tuesday, June 04, 2002 at 20:16:15 (PDT)

Yes, Hans."

When Renie does not speak further, Hans does not press her. In her own time . . . he of all men, knows this.

But he keeps his fingers there, at her neck, all the while. He feels her throat muscles move underneath as she speaks.

"I've borrowed your pen."

"Instructions for the household while you are gone?"

"No. It's a letter."

Still seated, she turns, looking Hans in the face. "To the court, and Her Majesty, the Empress."

"Trial matters?" Hans's tone where HE is concerned is involuntary, even if he attempts to alter it. Which he does not. He cannot spare his wife's feelings, in this regard.

"Are you asking for permission to give testimony?"

His fingers change their tensile pressure, fingertips give way to two hands, which slide down her exposed shoulders, warmed from the California sunlight. Only now does he see the study w