Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

LOL, ok, I'm glad it wasn't my fault! (could just picture it now... Today we have a newsflash folks. Fellow Rickmaniacs are pounding down Diane's door for italiclzying the entire world of FOF. They say, " If we are able to get to her... we think we'll hand her over to HIM..." lol ;) Now... as for the falling chairs... my Mum is sick and just got back from the hospital and has been recieving a lot of flowers. But, one day I opened the door and mysteriously, there was, GASP, a dozen or so black orchids on my doorstep! I quickly backed away (knowing what have happened to others like myself, and let me tell you, I was a bit scared. Does he have a phone in his cell to call???) ... and they made me a little bit woozy... so I grabbed a Dr. Pepper, ran upstairs, and well... sat in my chair... you know the rest of the story! But, warning to all other Dr. Pepper drinkers, I opened a can, drank some of it, (oh dear, I was in my chair again!) and then noticed on the side it said, " Black Orchid flavor." OK, 1. I was basically ready to... er, have an accident... BLACK ORCHID FLAVOR??? EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW 2. A note was taped on the side, reading, " Have a nice day." So, that was my second incident of falling over in the chair... So, in answer to your Q Mary Anne, it was both.
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Mary Anne... wondering if you recieved m e-mail or not... *clueless*, - Sunday, March 31, 2002 at 20:16:12 (PST)

Not to worry, Diane--the italics mess-up was MY fault. And watch it with falling out of those chairs! Black orchids will do that to you, you know . . . ;-)

MA
Or maybe there's something else in that Dr. Pepper you're not telling us about? Hmmmmm?, - Sunday, March 31, 2002 at 19:51:55 (PST)

Memo to everyone... the chair thing really did just happen... BEFORE I posted it of course...
Yeah, me, I know...
- Sunday, March 31, 2002 at 18:51:56 (PST)

Er... is it just me, or is lots of things suddenly in italics now. Did I do it? Who did it? WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?? (lol... that was SUPPOSED to be funny...)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
*blinks* *sips Dr. Pepper* *leans back in chair* *chair falls over* *Diane get another nice bruise, and whimpers... " A little help here please... someone..."*, - Sunday, March 31, 2002 at 18:49:55 (PST)

She had only been 11… but yet she could recollect every moment of that one day, until she’d fallen asleep. Been when she had waken up… that what was so scary. And it wasn’t scary because she was frightened, but scary because of how calm she seemed to feel …

Diane no longer was laying on a street pavement, but the wooden floor of a dismal cell. Bars encircled her all about, yet, it was more like a room than a prison. A bed loomed in a corner, while on a night stand a vase withheld a dozen or so Black Orchids. There was a desk on the opposite wall, a forest green lamp giving off the only rays of light so she could see. Diane rubbed her eyes, and stood up shakily. Where was she? Diane almost thought herself to be dead … but no, someone had carried her here, there was chilly arms that wrapped them around her …

Diane trailed to the desk, yawning, and pulled up the metal chair. It was heavy and uncomfortable, yet, it was better than nothing. The scent of the Black Orchids made her feel dazed and woozy, but as she pulled open the top drawer she noted a black pen and a notepad. She had no clue how long she would be in there, maybe days, possibly for the rest of her life, so, she decided to put it to good use. She began to write, stretching out her life (as she remembered it) on this tiny notepad. Vivid details and events flashed before her in her mind, and thus she wrote … and wrote … till she could write no longer and fell fast asleep once more, emotionally traumatized from the day …

Little did she know that she was being watched, and, her new diary had already been read, no locks or keys could keep his eyes from prying into what may become vast treasure. He grinned, placed two h**** in his lap, and clicked a tongue. Interesting … interesting, indeed …

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Just heard some funny things on Extra Features on the SAS DVD I got for Easter... including Alan sending candy..., - Sunday, March 31, 2002 at 18:46:01 (PST)

Well, FISHSTICKS!

I suppose it's too much to expect, that I should have that many italic tags and remember to close all of them. If the D.O.C. would oblige, please? *sigh* They're supposed to end at "Pray for me."

MA
Great--to hit the slammer, just after having antagonized HIM!, - Sunday, March 31, 2002 at 18:44:18 (PST)

The Interrogator’s cell:

As Mary Anne turns from the far wall and steps forward, The Interrogator cannot restrain HIS smile and the savage pulse of anticipation in HIS veins. How she fights! That will make things so much more interesting. However, as she nears the bars—again, stopping just out of range—The Interrogator wraps HIS fingers tightly about the bars, chilled by a qualm of apprehension. Her eyes . . . more grey than blue, remote, her gaze seemingly turned inward. Her voice, low and toneless as she begins to speak.

"No salutation. It would be an affront to you for me to call you ‘dear,’ and justly so.

"I shall be brief. Now--while I can--I will say that I am sorry for the past that lies between us. For all my wrongs toward you, far too many, I ask your forgiveness. Knowing your heart. Yes, knowing it now as few have ever known it or ever will . . ."

The smile fades from HIS face. What is left cannot be called a smile—that grimace of astonishment, the shock of an unexpected move that has swept HIS pieces from the board. Mary Anne, her face as colourless as ivory, the white queen sweeping relentlessly through HIS forces as she continues to speak. To recite from that letter, as HE damns the hour in which it was written.

"As I have said, you will bear a heavy burden. If I may venture a guess--and a hope--of what we will both remember, I suspect the memory of your goodness will remain with me, as the memory of my evil will haunt you. My hope is that you will forget, and that I will not . . ."

They will neither of them forget. Curse her. Her powers of memory, her verbal command, her pure, clear voice. Her beauty and sweetness. And her goodness. Yes, HE has called her good, and written it. Here’s HIS own hand against HIS heart . . . (homage)

"For your protection and happiness, Mary Anne, I commend you to the care of those who love you and whom you love.

"To Colonel Brandon. I envy him--not simply because he has your love, the love of an uncommon woman, but because I had such love as well--once--and lost it. I must not look to have it again."

HE is utterly still, waiting it out, bitterly reflecting that whatever must become of HIM here, it will be more merciful than this.

"To Renie. In her, you have a friend truly worthy of affection. That I know, if anyone does."

The names, the unbearable litany of names that follows. And who knows how many have been added since that letter was written?

"I must end this; I ‘make woe wanton with this fond delay,’ for I am loath to relinquish you. And yet I must and will. "

Loath to relinquish her—yes, there is an honest statement of the case. The naked truth. Naked? No, beyond that even, stripped to the bone. What HE desires in her would flee from HIM even at the moment HE claimed it, if that claiming were by force. And however much of the blame belongs to that machine, to the effects of the hasty transfer, HE knows as well that all of this has turned a blazing light on that dark corner of HIS soul. HE wants Mary Anne because HE wants her. It is as simple as that.

"I am certain--as only I can be at this moment--you know the rest of those lines above. Here is another that you will recognize:

’Nothing repels thee . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!’"

Mary Anne pauses for a long moment, so long that The Interrogator wonders whether she has forgotten the closing of the letter. But no. She merely looks HIM in the eye—but does not seem to see HIM, not as HE is in that moment. Her scrutiny is one of possibilities, of what HE might have been.

She speaks, and does not spare.

"Yes. Gratitude. For one mingling of your soul with mine. Pain or no, I have had the best of this exchange.

"Pray for me."

Mary Anne’s gaze sharpens, her effort of memory at an end, and HE leans against the bars, craving and dreading her next words . . .

Which are merely: "I have. I do. I will."

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

At the surveillance post, the video feed flickers as Rupert probes among the wiring, then suddenly springs back, clear and sharp, to reveal Mary Anne almost within The Interrogator’s reach. Almost.

Almost is too close for Brandon, who is on his feet even as The Empress says, "Go, Colonel. Go now."

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

"Will it help, do you think?" HE sneers.

"Perhaps not," retorts Mary Anne, her eyes alive once more with indignation. "That time at the Manor House—the one you’re so fond of remembering—you told me that it was death that had been chosen for you. ‘I died long ago,’ you said. Well, I’ve done what I came here to do, and I certainly have better things to do than waste my time and prayers on a dead man." With a toss of her head, she gathers up the heavy folds of her skirts—whatever else she does, she will not trip over her own clothes in front of HIM—and stalks away from the bars.

"So that’s it?" The Interrogator’s voice behind her, that bark of hilarious despair. "What a waste of a grand exit, Mary Anne! That’s all? See you in hell?"

Mary Anne turns.

That face, those eyes glaring at her through the bars, that twisted smile—the stark agony of a medieval woodcut.

"I sincerely hope," she replies softly, "that I never see you in hell."

Softly, but cuttingly, leaving HIM slashed by her double-edged answer. And then she is gone, taking care to walk slowly and with dignity until she is all the way down the corridor, making the turn . . . until she can lean against the wall, pressing her hot face to the cold stone, shutting her eyes, breathing in gasps that threaten to become sobs.

That is where Brandon finds her . . .

MA
Keep your words sweet, for one day you may have to eat them . . ., - Sunday, March 31, 2002 at 18:41:17 (PST)

Diane woke up screaming the next morning, clutching her chest and breathing hardly and rapidly. A small drop of sweat slipped down her forehead, her eyes wide open with horror. She gasped many a time, short withered intakes of air, and barely letting it back out again. The dream… the dream…

She shook her head, a thousand memories floating back. That dream was more of a nightmare… a nightmare that had come true, long ago, when she had first been taken in by the Interrogator, and he began his evil ways. Using her like a guinea pig… she closed her eyes in the recollection… the "games"… the "experiments"… they were all coming back to her now, just from this one little piece of paper. How could a tiny note suddenly bring back all her childhood disasters? Her past was a sordid one, and only she knew of it, for, her parents had both been killed when she was 11. She’d never forget that day…

She was standing there, all hunched into a corner of an alley at the crime scene. Dozens of lights flashed blue and red, a thousand voices chorusing together " Get down here now, move!" or " Search for any evidence…" Men stood in tight groups surrounded by the yellows banners reading " Crime Scene - Danger. " Police and fire men alike were talking and chatting, a mild buzz and hum above the air rang in her eardrums while she cried.

A tall man came over, and patted her on the shoulder. " It is OK little girl. No need to be able. Go run on home now to your folks, you’ll be sure to hear more about it in the press later." She was still sobbing as she cocked her tear-stained face upwards. Didn’t anyone know she was the target’s daughter? Diane didn’t have a home to run away to, so she just stayed there, shaking her head, crying with a broken heart at the loss of her parents. She didn’t know how it happened, or by who, but they had all been walking along the street… when a car came up… then a flash of blinding lights… a hit to the head had brought her unconscious… That was all she could remember…

Diane shivered in the cold wind, binding her body without and within. She secretly was withering away… no place to go, no other family to care for her. So she curled into a ball on the icy pavement ground, her hair sticking outwards in all directions. There she closed her eyes and slept, till a pair of arms bundled her up, a chilling grin on his face, a menacing laugh, and glowing eyes…

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Is it me, or do I come here a lot?, - Saturday, March 30, 2002 at 19:37:11 (PST)

She was running, faster and faster, till she tripped over a shoelace and skinned her knee. A younger, tinier Diane clutched against a wall helplessly, covering her face and eyes. " No!" she cried out. " Go away! Leave me alone!"

" Oh, but don’t you want to play? It would be SO much FUN!" The VOICE again, chilling her spine. He pulled a gun from his pocket, silver and shining like new, and caressed a finger against the tarnish. " I have a new toy… see Diane? I’d like to play with it, oh, DO come play with me, join in my little game!" She shook her head, no, never! But there was no where to go, and she was completely defenseless.

" Please… just leave me alone…" she sobbed pitifully. He only laughed unmercifully.

" No, no Diane… we are going to play my game, whether you like it or not. You have no choice! I took you in, Diane, like you were one of my own, and you can’t even play with me? Come on… please play…" He always used the word "play" and "games" to Diane like she was 6 years old. Diane was only 11 here though, 11, scared and frightened, alone and cornered.

" Noooo!!! I won’t play, I won’t! Go away, I said go away, and let me be! Let me be!" He shook a finger, clicking his tongue.

" Ahhh, Diane, I’m SURE you’ll enjoy this… maybe you’ll learn the next time to follow my directions, to listen to me…" He pulled the trigger. She cried.

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Ah.... getting a bit better, if I do say so myself...., - Friday, March 29, 2002 at 20:20:06 (PST)

James Hiker had once again left the room, closing the door ever so slightly as Diane switched on yet another lamp light. She cuddled into her covers, even the written word could be as cold as ice in the Arctic winter. She ripped open the top, it wasn’t a long note, quite short actually, and written on a torn piece of paper which had once been a grocery list. She was confused and a bit puzzled, knowing him, he had dozens of papers everywhere. But even the envelope itself was created out of pieces of gum wrappers, sticking together by chewed bits of (what else?) gum. The ink was blurry and fuzzy, if there was no hard substance to place it down onto while writing, or maybe simply the pen was old and fading out. But no matter, it was still readable.

Dearest Diane (she shuddered, dearest?)

I have come to some misfortune in my life, you see, I have been cruelly locked into a cell here at the Imperial Palace. I sit here day by day, brooding, vegetating, and then I thought of you. You who had been my best client ever (she snorted), you who had given me joy. (She furrowed eyebrows, I only gave you joy when you were torturing me.) If you were to find a way to release me, not only would I be eternally grateful, but you shall be grandly awarded. Please, Diane, look into your heart, find that place that you once held for I! (She wanted to throw it away at once, crunch it into a tiny ball, or tear it into millions of lilliputical pieces, and fling them into the air with a cry.)

Please Help Me

Mr. I (your former boss, if you do recall…)

Well, this she simply could not believe. What an overloading of lies! A spot in her heart for him? PLEASE!!! His best client ever? Well, that could be true, after all the money he stole from her! Cruelly locked into a cell? Humph, he deserved it, if not more! As for help, hah!, he didn’t need help, but if he did, she wasn’t bound to give it to him. And, DO YOU THINK SHE’D ACTUALLY FORGET ABOUT HIM??? And also… it pulled at her cautiously, would he ever show the kind of weakness to ask for help? She shook her head, no, he wouldn’t, she knew him too well. There was more to this than what was in print.

Diane got out of bed, there was no way she was going to associate with this man ever again. She closed her eyes, laid her head down on her pillow, and fell asleep.

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Snorfle? *blinks*, - Friday, March 29, 2002 at 13:43:44 (PST)

Alexander's apartment, continuation of slight flashback:

"ALEX!" Sandy exclaimed, snatching away his wine glass, spilling the rest of the wine on his shirt and pounding on his back with enthusiasm in an effort to clear his air passages.

Alexander continued coughing for several seconds, his face scarlet and eyes tearing until he finally caught his breath with a loud groan. He closed his eyes and breathed in heavily, hearing the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. "I'm all right," he wheezed, hanging his head forward and blinking hard.

"Bull. Don't move!" Sandy's voice echoed distantly over the roar. She rose to her feet and quickly padded over to the kitchen. He heard her opening a couple of cupboard doors until she found what she was looking for. The kitchen faucet then ran for a few moments. She hurried back over and squatted down in front of him. "Here. Drink this," she directed softly, giving him the glass. As he looked up to take it from her, he saw with alarm that her face was ghostly white and her hand was trembling.

Alexander took a drink, feeling the ice-cold water soothe his irritated throat and the roaring in his ears finally started to subside. "I'm fine, Sandy! Really," he reassured her hoarsely. "Sit down, please."

Sandy changed position and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. Her eyes were like saucers as she gazed at him. "My timing really sucks."

Alexander's lips curled up slightly at that. "It could have been better," he admitted, taking another drink of the water. She continued watching him carefully and he sighed. "Honestly, I'm fine, love." He placed the glass on the table and rose to his feet. "I'll be right back."

Alexander emerged from his bedroom a minute later, now wearing a cable-knit fisherman's sweater. He sighed as he saw Sandy gazing into the fire with an absolutely miserable expression on her face. She looked up when she heard him and he smiled. She returned it uncertainly, took up the wine glass, turned around and faced the flames. He could hear her fingernail tapping the rim and he shook his head. He walked over to the refrigerator, pulled out the Tupperware container of fudge, deposited it on the coffee table then strode back over to the galley kitchen.

A few minutes later, he walked over bearing two large mugs of coffee. He set them on the coffee table and sat down next to her. He took the glass from her unresisting fingers and gently placed it on the table. "Hey," he murmured, cupping her face and turning it in his direction. "I'm okay." He saw with relief that color was returning to her complexion. "Brought a little something to perk you up," he said lightly.

"Urgh... That was bad," Sandy groaned, putting her hands over her face for a moment and shaking her head. She turned to gaze at him, her lips curving up into a crooked smile as he gave her the mug with an equally crooked grin on his face. Her nostrils twitched in anticipation as the fragrant steam from the beverage floated up. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Alexander took a piece of fudge and put it in his mouth. "Mmmm. Delicious." The two sat in silence for a while, drinking their coffee and alternating between the fudge and the tray of food set out earlier before he spoke again. "How did and when..." he trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

There was a moment of silence before Sandy turned to Alexander with a nervous expression on her face. "Well, it was purely by accident. It wasn't the first time they had visited, but the second time - a month before the anniversary party," she quietly began to explain. "A pen exploded in my hand and I went to wash up in the ladies' room." She paused for a moment to take a sip of coffee, her uncertain eyes meeting his.

"Go on," Alexander encouraged softly.

Sandy nodded and continued after a short pause. "I walked into the ladies' room, turned the corner to go to the sinks and there Laliari was... tentacles a-flapping. Obviously, she hadn't heard me walk inside and I just stood there, probably looking like an idiot," she chuckled grimly. "She let out this high-pitched squawk and there was this flash of light. The next thing I knew, she was standing in front of me, looking absolutely horrified. I apologized for disturbing her and left before she could say anything."

Alexander stared at Sandy for some time, eyebrow raised. "You've known all this time and you never said anything," he said flatly.

Sandy made a rude noise. "Oh, please! As if I'd actually tell anybody, 'Oh by the way, I saw a real live alien in the bathroom today! Now how totally cool is that?'" Her eyebrows shot up when she realized what he meant. "Oh... Honestly, I didn't know how to tell you." She sighed, biting her bottom lip nervously. "Are you angry?"

"No, of course not, love," Alexander reassured her hastily. "I'm glad that you told me. It could prevent further... accidents." He cleared his throat, put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him as they gazed into the fire. "I did receive an e-mail from Fred today. They're going to be in the area next week because Fred's got a couple of auditions and he wanted to meet for lunch after one of them." He made a mental note to call his ex-coworker right after she left - no matter how late it was, he thought to himself grimly.

Sandy nodded. "That's good. I really like them. Laliari's so sweet and Fred's just this really mellow guy, but he's got the worst case of the munch...ies... I've... Oh my God..." Her eyes widened as Alexander's face paled slightly. "There's a lot more to things than meet the eye here, isn't there? The movie's just the tip of the iceberg, I'm guessing."

Alexander nodded in agreement and exhaled loudly. "It's a long story."

Sandy leaned over and kissed him softly. "Alex, I've got all night. Ollie's having a good time with the dogsitter, I'm sure."

Alexander's face lit up in a gentle smile before he grew stern. "What I'm about to tell you *must* be kept in the strictest confidence, you understand?" Seeing her positive response, he leaned back against the coffee-table and began his tale.

Sandy
Ooo, two *snorfles*! Cool! Actually, I've been contemplating something like this for some time now. It's just been a question as of *when* to introduce it., - Friday, March 29, 2002 at 10:55:45 (PST)

Diane's heart fills with pity for this man. He has been through so much, and even though she is trying to understand, Diane reconizes the wall he is setting up against her. A wall of distrust, and so, she vows to break it down. Both were silent for a moment or two, just the wind blowing her hair sideways as he leaned against a post lamp on the side of the rode as they look out to the lake just a few miles beyonf her house. It reminds her of a poem, she learned not too long ago.

Diane: De ola en ola... de rama en rama... *pauses*

Jamie: No, go on. I think I know this one.

Diane: El viento silba, cada manana...

Jamie: De sol a sol, de luna a luna... la madre mace, mace la cuna...

Diane: Esta en la plia O este en el puerto...

Jamie: La barca mia, la Ileva el viento...

His eyes suddenly well with tears, she inches closer once again.

Diane: *passionatly* Jamie, dear, whatever is the matter? I thought that would be a cheering poem, not to make you cry! *lifts both eyebrows, inside she is yelling, now look what you've done!*

Jamie: No... it is not your fault... it's just that... Nina... she taught me that poem, long ago, before we were even married... *turns head again to the ground, quite ashamed at his pitiful actions and for showing weakness to Diane*

Diane: Oh Jamie, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bring up memories! *walks over and hugs him sweetly* Now lookie here, I may not be Nina nor Rebecca, I am Diane, but I will do all in my power to make you happy. We are going to leave this dreadful past of yours behind, is that clear? *hugs him a bit tighter* We've all been through some horrid moments we don't wish to remember... but I'll stand by your side, Jamie, I won't let you go from my heart...

Jamie begins to smile a little, and brings up the courage to look into Diane's gray-blue eyes, a lot like Rebeccas.

Jamie: That is... very kind of you...

Diane: Think nothing of it. *smiles warmly* Now what do you say we go back inside? The TV should be fixed by now, I don't wonder. I'm awfully cold, and I don't doubt you are the same. Though, I have a reason too... thyroid problems... *grins weakily, out-stretches hand*

They walk back together through the side door, Jamie's thoughts a twirling. Maybe, maybe, he could give life (well, sort of) another chance. Maybe this girl could give him something to stay for, to hold onto. Just Maybe...
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Honestly, I could go on all night... lol... one of those nights..., - Thursday, March 28, 2002 at 20:51:02 (PST)

Paragraphs added.
D.o.C.

Diane: Do you not want to be here?

Jamie: No! No! It is not... that...

Diane: Is it... me?

Jamie: Not at all, Diane.

Diane: *shifts closer, strokes a warm finger along his cheek* Jamie... Jamie... I'm sorry about everything you've been through. With Nina... with Rebecca... and no, I am no replacement for either, but, I am here for you.

Jamie: You words are kind and soft, they touch my heart, but yet, I cannot believe them.

Diane: Why? Have you heard truer words than mine?

Jamie: *takes a step away from her, looks to the ground* You have never known love... you don't know what it is like... to be dead...

Diane: *grins slightly* No, I don't know what it is like to be dead, but alive or not, I still know you are a wonderful, and not to mention talented with the cello, man. Don't put yourself into a draining hole for a few misfortunes along your path. There is always light at the end of a tunnel.

Jamie: Not if rocks are blocking your view and way though...

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Er... I forgot to do the paragraphs AGAIN *clonk* So, hehehe *cheesy grin* bear with me por favor!, - Thursday, March 28, 2002 at 20:35:56 (PST)

Diane, Jamie, and Lucas are all bunched together on the cough, when suddenly, the TV buzzes and turns off, the reception dead.

Diane: *grumbling* Oh! Bloody thing! Does it always have to do this? Right when things are getting good?

Jamie: I blame it on the government.

Lucas: Well, I'm not the best at fixing things, but I'll give it a try and see what is wrong. Care to give me a hand, Diane?

Jamie: Meanwhile, while you two work on the TV, I think I'll have a drift outside... get some fresh air...

Diane: *eyes widen in horror, what does she look like, a mechanic?* Uh, Lucas dear, I think I must escort Jamie! See you later! *dashes off out the door, not forgetting to grab her black leather jacket, equipped with tiny pockets*

Diane: Yo, Jamie, hold on up!

Jamie: *turns around* Oh, I didn't know you were following me. I was about to disaperate.

Diane: *shuddering* Don't you DARE do that to me out here in the public! What if someone was to see???

Jamie: So? Lo siento, senorita Diane. Caminamos y hablamos, no?

Diane: *grinning* Si. But your accent is poor.

Jamie: *frowns slightly, thinks of Nina when she said that* Yours is just as bad.

Diane: I think not! Hmph! *crosses arms and shivers in the cool spring breeze*

Jamie: Why am I here?

Diane: *blinks, a bit aghasted* Why? Do you not want to be here?
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Si Hablo Espanol Aqui, - Thursday, March 28, 2002 at 20:29:35 (PST)

Diane gave a loud groan and rolled over in her bed. What did HE want? She hated this man with a vengeance (she didn’t doubt that there was others out there who felt the same as she) and loathed HIS pitiful ways. He was a man with little life, and no heart what-so-ever, and thank the Lord, hadn’t heard from HIM in over 5 years. She had been vulnerable and very young then, not knowing, and had fallen for one of HIS ridiculous traps, and had accepted HIM as her part-time boss while going to school. She didn’t know it, but he had stolen every penny she made on a book, claiming it to himself, and storing it in a secret bank. Diane still vowed now to get her hard-earned money back… some way… someday…

But now she was her own boss, her own employer, but even publishers had deadlines. Her agent Caroline was off on holiday right now, (not really a boss to Diane, more of a supervisor) but was still demanding books day by day. Just after arriving at the ranch had she received a postcard (a lady sitting on a Brazilian beach tanning in the sun) from Caroline reading;

Ms. Ferra,

I do hope that you have been working hard on your novels, your due dates are coming nearer and nearer, and you know how one does not like being disappointed. If you are not far along (which, I suspect, you aren’t, such a little procrastinator you are, Diane) then I advise you to get those gears of yours moving and hands typing.

Yours Truly,

Caroline

PS.- The tequilas here are fantastic!

So when Diane held the letter in her hand, it shook, remembering that cold and menacing voice... and her past, what he had done to her... O, so much more than just stealing her money, yes… but she pushed the thought aside, would the past ever stop haunting her? (No offense to Jaime now... lo siento) But what did he want anyways? No matter what, it couldn’t be good… knowing him, it was probably another one of his games, like the ones he used to play on her. She curled her lips. No, Mr. I couldn’t get to her that way, she was too smart for it now. He might’ve had fun toying with her 5 years ago, he could think all that he wanted that she had forgotten his little "play times", but she was stronger. Diane stared at the letter, her heart was beating faster and faster, but still, no matter what, she was stronger now…

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Getting this show on the road...., - Thursday, March 28, 2002 at 20:11:39 (PST)

SANDY!!!!
Barbara the Wallpaperer
*snorfle*, - Thursday, March 28, 2002 at 14:32:14 (PST)

The dawn broke out as the morning sun drifted atop the far west mountains. Diane sat up, rubbed her eyes, and shifted slowly to the small bathroom. Her face was pale and even more stressed than the previous night. She wondered why though, because she had slept wonderful and peacefully the whole night through, yet there it was, looking back. " Oh, bug off and find someone else to scare up," she told the mirror. She answered for it," Why, you are always miserable and have a rain cloud over your head. Why not add a bit to the ordeal?" " That's like saying let's just make you look worse than you already are." " Precisely."

" Precisely what?" Another voice called out smoothly in an amusing tone. She froze in spot, paralyzed at his voice. She didn't have to turn around or even see his reflection in the mirror to know it was Lucus. He just stood there, leaning against the bathroom door, arms folded, head cocked, eyebrows arched, and lips curled up. Definitely mocking body language. " Who are you talking to?"

Diane still hadn't turned around, now too afraid to show him her horrendous face. " I am...ummm...er, well...you see..." She couldn't help but just mumbling sentences and embarrassing herself even more as her cheeks flushed deep scarlet. She quickly turned on the sink and splashed water onto her face, and dried it with a towel. Her movements were jerky and unsteady though, for Lucus's eyes watched every twist and turn she made. It was an uncomfortable thought, and even though it couldn't really be defined as a feeling, the eyes were that too.

Suddenly she was enraged. How dare he just barge in here! She could add, like he owns the place, but that statement was true. Yet, there was a word called privacy, and Diane needed it bad. Things were bad enough back at home, but this was un-called for.

" What do you want? Go away!" Her British accent once again let loose, and fumbled with fury as she dropped the hairbrush. She bent down to pick it up again, wishing with all her heart that he would just leave. But he didn't, no, instead he treaded over and placed a warm hand on her shoulders, patting gently.

" I'm sorry to interrupt, it was getting late and all I wanted was to tell you that breakfast is on the table. I guess I happened to catch you at a bad time, eh?" Now tears fell down Diane's face, tears of pain, tears of stress, and tears of anger. She tried to hide it from Lucus (how embarrassing, her second day there, and already she was miserable and crying! Pathetic...) but the drops made spots on the carpet the size of dimes. He patted again with a sigh, knowing this was a no-win situation. " I'll be downstairs waiting. I hope you like ham and eggs." And thus he turned and left the room, leaving her be. Shaking and trembling, Diane again rinsed her face again and combed her hair. (It was less refusing today.) She threw on a pink tank top and a flowered knee-length skirt. Usually she'd wear jeans or pants, but today it disapproved of her mood.

Diane made way into the kitchen, Lucus cooking what might have been bacon, by the aroma. Again a plate was set across from him, so unwillingly that was where she was to sit.

Lucus ran over and placed piles of toast, bacon (ahh, her sense of smell was correct after all!) and eggs. He was happy that he had a new guest but wished more people were around. One didn't get too much company here in the outback. Diane strolled farther in then, and took her seat without saying a word. " Why good morning Ms. Diane! I take it you slept as well as I?" he asked, attempting to be cheerful.

" Perhaps," she mumbled, starring at the tiled floor. " I thought you said we were having ham."

" We WERE, but my men couldn’t catch a fat enough swine." He grinned, trying to make a joke, but she didn’t laugh at all. She couldn't bear to look at Lucus, not even for a minute. No more was said, and again she didn't eat. Her work was calling her though, but noticed Lucus tracing her, pacing behind.

" Why are you following me?" she asked, getting annoyed with him. She turned around and faced him, still not looking him in the eyes though. Again he was smiling, yet she could not see it.

" Why haven't you eaten anything? My food is not poison, I swear!" He tried to be comical, but it didn't work for Diane. She was usually a very serious person, living in her own world of stories and books.

" I'm not hungry," she answered and unlocked her door.

" What are you doing?"

" Why? It isn't any of your business."

" Because I'm just curious."

" Curiosity killed the cat’s owner from a ranch."

Lucas gave no reply, just a solemn stare, and Diane took the opportunity to retreat. She raced back into her room, and settled down at her desk. She just had to get these books done, or else HE would be not a very happy person. It wasn't easy always being an author, but it was especially hard working for HIM. HE could be very demanding at times, but just his power and voice was enough to give anyone the willies. Diane had never really cared much for HIM, HE was always so…cold, menacing…hateful… A shudder ran up her spine, she shouldn’t dare talk about HIM like that, no… Diane turned back to her books, now if only Lucus could leave her in peace, they just might get finished...

Two hours later she was still typing on her laptop, a gift from HIM so she could work better. (She cherished it dearly, even if it was very slow and the keys at times stuck. But often she wondered if it carried a tracking device, like HE was watching her from afar…not a pleasant thought…) Her fingers flew away at the speed of light, a ball of sweat trickling down her neck. Diane was so obsessed and wrapped up in her work that she didn't hear someone at the door knocking until the third time, which was really pounding. " Come in," she called out. One of Lucus's men walked in, a letter in hand.

" Would you happen to be Ms. Diane Ferra by any chance?"

" Yes, that is me."

" Here is a letter for you m'mam. It's from HIM."

Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
And thus... it starts to get good.... :), - Thursday, March 28, 2002 at 11:48:04 (PST)

Flashback:
Two Weeks Ago
Saturday, Erika and Jaques have an adventure

Erika fed him warm couscous and sweet tomatoes, cool minty salads and juicy lamb, then took him for cool sorbet next door. He hadn't guessed all during lunch where she was taking him so they got back into her car and she drove to-

"An Art Museum?" Jaques asked incredulously.

"Don't sound so surprised, sug, I like art!" She said defensively and pulled a hoodie around her shoulders as she dragged him in. They looked at ivory, smooth sculptures, nymphs and sprites and gods on earth, they stared at swirlings of oil paint and pastel alike, they stared at armor, masks, costume, regalia and watched as children ran from field trip groups.

"I didn't know you knew anything about art," Erika murmured as they sat on a bench and stared at a particularly abstract piece of modern art.

"I didn't tell anyone," Jaques countered. Erika laughed merrily and walked around the piece of jagged steel, painted in gaudish reds, oranges and yellow.

"Alright, so tell me what you think this is?" she pointed to it and watched him through falcon hazel eyes.

"Well," he began to rumble in a low tone, "It's spirited. Maybe a spirit. In flight. It's furious and...full of movement..." he eyed it with scrutiny.

"And?"

"You tell me. What do you think?"

"It's passion." Erika nodded matter-of-fact, "It's furious fire and chaos all rolled into beauty. That's how I see it."

Jaques just stared at her for a moment, taking in her explanation, her complete belief in it. This girl had taken him all over town, fed him food fit for otherworldly beings, showed him art she knew little about and was going to take him to a place so grandiose, he needed a nice suit. He had gotten the answer, he thought, he wanted.

"I don't think..." he said in a very quiet, thoughtful voice, "That there is a right answer." She gave him a dazzling smile, rows of teeth jetting out.

"I hope we're both right."
-
Erika pulled her dark brown hair into a bun, strands flying out, on her head, fastened a necklace around her bare neck and straightened out the dress. It was simple, dark blue, somewhat tranclucent in areas below the knee, but very free and flowing.

She brought Jaques to Izzy and Anastasia's and she was changing in one of the bathrooms. She exited out and stared at Jaques, simple in black jacket, slacks, crisp white shirt and tie. He was striking and she averted her gaze so as not to stare.

"Make sure you feed Tuck!" She called out as they hopped back in her car and she drove him to the last eatery on the adventure. They dined on juicy bruchetta, cool tomato and mozzerella salads and tomato and spinich pizza on crunchy crust. Jetting away, they went to the last destination and Erika told Jaques to pull his ticket. Smiling, they entered the theater and sat in the seats.

"Have you ever seen 'The Magic Flute'?" Erika asked excitedly.

"Yes...but it has been a while." Jaques smiled slowly and Erika bit down on her lip.

"I love it. But someday...I want to see 'La Boheme.' I've never seen it before...Or 'Swan Lake'..." She trailed off and stared at the dark stage.

"Isn't that a ballet?"

"Yes...but even the music makes me cry, dear Jaques. Ballroom dancing and either of those. Perfect..." She sighed quietly and smiled at him.

"But...I hope this is a good end to our adventure. So. Have I succeeded?" She looked anxiously, hopefully to him. Jaques looked confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Can you at least stand me now?" There was a spark in her eyes and he shook his head with a small chuckle.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. I think you're at least tolerable." She beamed and the lights went down.
Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
I realize how v. v. late this is, however, personal drama ~*groan*~ so I'm finishing now! :), - Wednesday, March 27, 2002 at 18:37:26 (PST)

The Palace:

Anton didn't wait for Cynthia to join him. He hadn't been surprised that she'd realized his question to Rupert Cadell had something more than idle curiosity behind it. But what he hadn't told her was that he intended to find out exactly what was happening in that quarter. It was clear that preliminaries were still underway, Mary Anne and Brandon had been whisked off to the dungeons for an appointment with the Empress and her Advisor. He knew that much, he was not without resources, even here. His conscience did prick at keeping something from his assistant for the second time in a few days. He had never done that before this business of the trial had come up. Anton told himself that where HE was involved it was better to protect her and not involve her in what would surely be messy bit of business. Despite his words to Cynthia he was convinced that Claudia was not lost to them, and he intended to make sure of that fact. It did not occur to him that there was any vanity to believing himself capable of sorting out what others so far had been unable to unravel.

He had left the dining room almost immediately with no particular plan in mind but believing that he would be able to put himself on the right track. He knew the Palace as well as anyone could, and that knowledge included a few things that weren't published in the guidebooks. This knowledge, along with the unconventional wisdom that down would lead him to his goal, and the unassailable Gruber panache which would take him past most barriers were all he took with him as he began his calculated stroll through the Palace.

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

In the Tardis, Claudia was seated in a chair that at first struck her as resembling far too much one she had encountered in another office in, what once again seemed, the not to distant past. The resemblance was only superficial but that hadn't caused her any relief. After she had sat down at the Doctor's insistence, and he could be very insistent when he chose to, he had done something at the control panel and the next thing she knew the chair rose up on a dais and circles of light like hula-hoop thingies were moving up and down her body. The Doctor had been fiddling with dials and buttons and levers for what was stretching into a very long time and making non-committal grunting noises. She was about ready to tell him she'd had enough when he turned everything off, stepped back and the chair returned itself to the floor.

“That is a bother,” was his vague and brief statement.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” Claudia demanded. “Tell me what it is.” She was very tired of only questions and not getting any answers.

The Doctor moved his gaze from her leg to her eyes and looked impatient. “I mean nothing. There is nothing there. No energy, no readings, …nothing.”

“But the lightning… it made straight for it…” Her fingertips moved involuntarily to the spot on her thigh where the ball of lightning had gone. Where HIS devise was embedded in her flesh. But it wasn’t that spark she remembered, it was the one that had leapt from her fingertips to HIS when they’d touched through the bars of his cell that caused the hairs on her arm to stand upright.

Cindie
Couldn't bear to leave Claudia languishing in the Dungeon. . ., - Wednesday, March 27, 2002 at 18:05:48 (PST)

Good to hear from you Renie! The reason I was asking if you were gone because (lol) I kept on reading the Whos Who section and everyone in their post was saying " If Renie ever comes back..." Maybe that was a long time ago, I am figuring out now. (*shame, shame, why didn't I think of that before? Oh well... I'm no Holmes, though my first persian was named Sherlock*) I am very happy to be here, and indeed, it is a marvelous place! As for the men... ahhh, heart be still, *THUD, THUD, BOOM*, and at last!, they are taller than I! (lol) Everyone here is creative, very much so, and I couldn't be happier to be a part of this wonderful world... If only I had found this earliar... :)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Renie... you have mail..., - Wednesday, March 27, 2002 at 16:03:56 (PST)

Claire is back where she belongs in one piece, so Gold Rush will presumably return in good time...Diane, thanks so much for the warm words--I am still about the Realm, however my quill, for the most part, is headed in other directions, at for the moment! Welcome, and I'm glad you've found the lure and enjoyment of FOF--it's a very special place, with a talented and wonderful family. Not to even mention the men...
Renie aka R <reniept@hotmail.com >
*THUD* This *always* happens when I start thinking about them . . . , - Wednesday, March 27, 2002 at 12:18:18 (PST)

Sandy, I had to read that penultimate line twice before I got it!
Cindie
*snorfling*, - Wednesday, March 27, 2002 at 10:07:56 (PST)

Alexander's apartment, slight flashback (see January 11th for the beginning of this):

A soft rumble of contentment rumbled from deep inside Alexander's chest as he broke the kiss. An eyebrow rose in curiosity when Sandy reached over and plucked a huge red strawberry from the fruit tray. Blue-gray eyes focused in on his as she raised her hand to her lips and opened her mouth. His eyes widened when she placed the large end of the berry in between her teeth and gazed back at him calmly. "Why you little devil…" he breathed in surprise.

A blonde eyebrow rose in silent response and he saw mischief smoldering in those eyes, now stormy gray in color – mischief and something else. He felt his mouth suddenly go dry as he gazed down at her and watched as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. Such a study in contradictions, he marveled, fascinated. Slowly, he lowered his head and bit half of the strawberry away. He chewed slowly, allowing the sweet juice to linger in his mouth before he lowered his head again and gently plucked the rest of the fruit away, his eyes never leaving hers. Her lips slid over his once he finished chewing and she drew her hands behind his head, not allowing him to move away until she was ready. "Ahh.... Lexxxx…" she growled throatily when she she broke the kiss and gazed into his eyes.

"Since when is my name pronounced like that, huh?" he teased gently, placing a finger underneath her chin to gaze into her eyes. He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose.

Sandy chuckled, reaching up to brush a lock of hair that fell over his left eyebrow. "Ahhh... Lexxxxx...." she purred in his ear, her breath warmly fanning his cheek.

"You are incorrigible," he murmured fondly, allowing the soft exotic floral scent of her perfume to overwhelm his senses as he nuzzled the nape of her neck. She sighed, eyes closing as she arched her head to the side for a moment to allow him better access.

"And so are you, love," Sandy replied in a satisfied murmur when she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling as his smile surfaced, his eyes crinkling up appealingly at the corners. "What's so funny?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing. It's just so... different... to hear an American utter a British-ism, 'bloody hell' notwithstanding," Alexander mused, turning around to spread some Brie on a cracker. He popped it in his mouth and gazed down at her as he chewed and swallowed.

"True. I suppose it does sound a bit odd," Sandy admitted with a nod after a few moments of contemplation. "It would be really bizarre for me for someone like *you* to hear you say-" She cleared her throat, "'Like totally tubular to the max, dude! Fershure!'" She rolled her eyes and grinned in delight as Alexander's head shot back and he laughed in complete abandonment. "See what I mean?"

Alexander wiped the moisture that had gathered at the corner of his eyes. "I concede the point," he agreed, still chuckling. "I haven't heard such a thick Valley Girl accent for ages. Well done." He followed it up with a quick kiss that was eagerly returned.

"Thanks. Unfortunately, that's the only regional accent I can do decently. Must be a blonde thing," Sandy said with a sheepish smile. Alexander burst into laughter at that and shook his head. She reached over for her wine glass and took a sip before putting it back down on the coffee-table. "It's a little rough on the throat, though." She wrinkled her nose and turned in the direction of the flames.

"Mmmm. I would imagine so," Alexander rumbled, watching the light play off her cheekbones. He exhaled softly, turned around and reached for his own glass with his free hand.

"Alex?" Sandy's voice seemed distant and he turned to look at her curiously, wondering what was on her mind. He realized that she wore the same troubled expression on her face when she was sitting at the bay window earlier.

"Yes?" He lifted the glass up, the rim millimeters away from his lips. "What's the matter? Did something happen today?" His eyebrows drew together in a scowl. "Our friendly neighborbood investigators didn't show up to bother you again, did they?" he growled as he tipped the glass back. He allowed the liquid to enter his mouth and savored the sweet taste of the California dessert wine he had chosen for tonight. He swallowed and raised the glass to his lips again as she spoke.

Sandy was still staring into the fire as she replied, biting her lower lip nervously. "Oh, it was nothing like that, Alex!" she reassured him hastily. "Well, I... uh... Oh boy... I really don't know how to tell you this," she struggled for a moment before she continued, the words bursting forth from her in an uncustomary rush. "You might want to let Lailiari know that she should be a bit more careful when she decides to turn off her human hologram device in the ladies' room the next time she and Fred visit the set."

Alexander immediately spit out the wine he was about to swallow in a fine shower all over his shirt, coughing in loud, gasping breaths.

Sandy
- Wednesday, March 27, 2002 at 09:21:24 (PST)

Evening and nightfall crept upon them all before they were aware. They were now feasting on dinner, and Diane noticed how quiet everything was, it made her uneasy and twitch in her seat. Lucus sat across from her, chewing his roasted chicken as he starred into her eyes as they connected. She looked at the floor, and suddenly felt a knife thrust into her heart. Is was not gone, the past was still there, she had not run away from it. The smile of Lucus’s was a constant reminder, but she pushed it aside as she did her plate. Food was out of the question, even though the sweet smell of honey biscuits filled the air.

She went to bed still with pain, the memories horrible. Diane had thought that going to Australia would leave them all behind, but they had bought a ticket too, for there they were, a small torture. She gazed into the mirror and sighed at her own stressed face. It was only full of woe, and sadly she wished to be happy again that she was here, able to get some of her work done. It only ceased to be though, and brushed her long dirty-blonde hair for it was frizzing out; it would not corporate, so she gave up and changing into her soft flannel pjs and was about to flop into bed when there was a knock at her door. She was too tired to answer it, so instead the sound of a key twisting the lock was heard. In walked Lucus, still fully dressed.

" What are you still doing up?"

" What are you doing in my room?" Both looked at the ground, Lucus pulled on his tie.

" I just came to check up on you, that's all."

" Well..." she didn't know what to say, and blinked. " I'm fine, can't you see?"

" Yes. I suppose I'll leave then." He turned back to the door, and Diane wanted to cry out, No please stay! but she didn't. Instead she just said hastily.

" But thank you anyway."

" Just making sure my new guest is comfortable..." and he closed the door softly. She grabbed a pillow and threw it against the cream wall, trying to let out her frustration. She never got along well with people, it just never worked out. Lucus was trying to be nice, and she blew him off like a bullet taking off the top of a beer bottle. Nothing she did felt right...never...

Three Guesses <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
*Obsessing myself in the Realm*, - Tuesday, March 26, 2002 at 20:53:12 (PST)

Just decided to have a bit of fun... lol, I love coming here, (*reads for hours and hours...OOO, THIS IS SUCH A GOOD MOVIE*)and like Claudia, (and Mary Anne?) I'm one of those come-on-lets-have-a-party girls.

Diane: *looks up* Oh hello Jaime. Take a seat, here have some popcorn. I might've spilled some on the floor *blushes* so please don't mind the mess.

Jaime: *takes a seat* Thank you so kindly. I don't really know what has been going on lately, but it seems I have been discluded from the rest of the bunch... and I believe I have another one of those darn colds again... *shivers* It is mighty cold in here.

Diane: Well, if you are willing to pay the bill... the heater is already on 75 degrees, go turn it up if you must.

Lucas: No, I'll just make a fire instead. *kindles some wood*

Jamie: Ahh, that is a bit better! *turns head to sneeze* Now... where were we? Ahh yes... *sits down and takes popcorn from Diane* Now if I just had a nice blanket to cuddle up in *sigh, no oak floor, cream carpet* then all would be perfect...

Lucas: Hmmm, I think I have a wool one though over there in the closet on the top shelf.

Diane: Shh, you two! It is starting again! And Jaime, you need to SHARE the popcorn! *lunges at it clumbsily, but instead, falls flat on face*

You didn't see that...

Lucas: *shakes head* Folks... this is gonna be a long night... I'd like some of that popcorn too please...
Diane <crescentmoonluna>
Just messing around, having some fun...SPRING BREAK, WHO-HOO, - Tuesday, March 26, 2002 at 20:45:06 (PST)

*munches on popcorn, literally* I've been reading all the back issues (and trying to keep up with the present ones... one step behind, lol, but I'm running so I'll be there one day...) And, O dear Mary Anne! Better think of something quick, before he does! (I just recieved a letter from HIM myself... *shudders* How, I do not know, rarely one askes questions of those who deal in the dark...) I have a Q though: When did Renie leave the forum? She was a really good author in the Back Issues (poor Brandon and Hans... *comes and gives them comfort. Oh dear, here comes Lucas, he gets AWFUL jealous when I hang out with the others... I must sidestep away... someone back me up if a fight emerges... there there Lucas, Brandon was doing me no harm!*) and things are just getting good. *Popcorn spills into the air and Diane gasps in horror. AHHH, NOOOO, RENIE, YOU CAN'T BE HIS WIFE, NOOOOOOOO*
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Lol, FOF perfume? What store was that? I'm get to go shopping this weekend... maybe I'll stop by and try some out myself ;), - Tuesday, March 26, 2002 at 20:23:54 (PST)

The Interrogator’s cell:

"For you are exquisite when you plead with me . . ."

Mary Anne does not realize that she has been backing away, step by step, until she feels the grate of stone against her palms. The far wall. As far from The Interrogator as she can get, furious with shame as she listens and watches—watches the subtle movements of HIS arms and hands, by which he seems to sculpt an image from the very air. So evocative are HIS motions that Mary Anne can almost see herself there on the stone floor before the bars of HIS cell, kneeling before HIM, her gown pooled about her like a spill of quicksilver as The Interrogator’s hands bury themselves in her hair, drawing her head forward . . . her lips . . .

Crimson-faced, Mary Anne turns to the wall, dragging her sleeve across her eyes. Of all The Interrogator’s powers, the most appalling for the victim is the power of suggestion, and Mary Anne, knowing how vulnerable she is on this point, inhales deeply and tries to collect herself. Breathe. And cry if you have to, but not before HIM. Don’t let HIM see, if you can help it.

But how can she help it? The hateful voice drawls on.

"If you would be so kind, Mary Anne, as to answer a question that has troubled me—troubled me very much indeed. Tell me this: I know that you make great claims for the power of virtue, but if virtue is so powerful, how is it that in your most praiseworthy moments, you always seem to end up—" A sweep of HIS hand, indicating the flagstone floor. "--here? No great triumph for the forces of good, Mrs. Brandon, for the virtuous lady to be lying at the feet of the eeevil villain."

If there were no stone wall to obstruct her, Mary Anne would recoil even further from that VOICE, which seems to shrivel her world to cold, dead ashes. No truth, no light, no love. And still the sound of HIM goes on.

"Not that the evil villain minds having you at his feet, you understand." A mirthless chuckle. "I could hardly ask for a lovelier view."

Abruptly, Mary Anne pushes herself away from the stone wall and steps forward, hardly knowing what she is going to do—only that she is going to do something to wipe that smirk off of The Interrogator’s face.

But how can she answer? No words of her own will suffice . . .

MA
Diane--No, didn't buy the Black Orchid lipstick, but I do own some Flight of Fancy perfume! 8-), - Tuesday, March 26, 2002 at 19:09:59 (PST)

Definately worth the wait.Still giggling!!!!!!wonderfully humerous laughed out loud at the scene where so inncently the Lady Christina struggled to release her veil.

*Standing ovation* Author Author!!!!!!!
Magda <magdahorrocks@hotmail.com>
- Monday, March 25, 2002 at 10:37:15 (PST)

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

"You're here to marry Robin of Locksley." I repeated, trying hard to keep a light tone to my voice. "Well, well, well. Imagine that."

"I can imagine it." Lady Suzanne gestured with a crust of bread. "And it makes me ill."

Of course she would feel that way, as would any woman with more brains than a half-wit. Despite the shock she'd given me, she had my full sympathy for her plight. I smiled ingratiatingly and lifted the flagon. "More wine?"

They agreed emphatically and I refilled their goblets but my thoughts were not on the tasks of a gracious host. My mind was still whirling at their unexpected arrival. I needed time to come up with an appropriate response to what was assuming the dimensions of a total catastrophe.

King Richard's willingness to create marital chaos in my shire was based on his need for foreign allies in his wars against the French. Had Godfrey of Anjou been merely an opinionated English baron, I don't doubt that the king would have ignored him completely no matter how many times Joya had previously been married or how many husbands had turned up in local monasteries. But Anjou held the balance of power on the continent by virtue of its strategic location between France and King Richard's holdings in Normandy, and therefore Anjou must be appeased.

Since Godfrey has started this whole business in the first place, there was nothing I could do about him. It was most unfortunate, of course, but relations with Anjou were going to be strained no matter what because I had no intention of giving up my wife. And, for the little it was worth in terms of strategy, neither did Robin of Locksley.

But now that Poitiers had been added to the equation, things were getting complicated. Offending two continental lords was not possible. Some serious scheming would be required.

As the young women munched their way through their repast, I tried to remember what I knew of that duchy. It seemed to me that I'd not heard recently of any particular ruler; that usually meant the lord was a child and not yet capable of much activity - an impression that was confirmed by the Lady Suzanne herself.

"I must say, Lord Nottingham," she remarked as she deliberated between goat's cheese and a fine creamy blue. "We have not dined so well since we left home. Isn't that right, Chrissy?"

Lady Christina, preoccupied with chewing, nodded with emphasis.

"That banquet to celebrate my Uncle Ivo's return from the Crusades. Eight courses! How I shuddered with every platter carried into the hall! All I could think of was the hens that had been killed to feed the crowd. Almost half our stock and no concern to separate the best layers from the worst!" She stared into the middle distance, green eyes sparkling like sunlight on a pond. Then it was as if a cloud obscured her expression and she shrugged impatiently. "Well, that's his problem now. If he wanted to be in charge so much, let Uncle Ivo figure out how to feed the entire castle over the winter months after his soldiers cleaned out the granaries."

This sounded promising. I topped up their goblets surreptitiously. "Has your uncle taken over responsibility for the castle, my lady?"

She laughed mirthlessly; I wondered suddenly what it sounded like when she laughed like she meant it. "Oh, he's taken over responsibility for the castle all right. And the town. And the county. And my little brother too."

Lady Christina dropped her bread and seized her friend's hand in both of hers. "Oh Suzy, don't be upset! Remember what we decided on the ship? That we would put it all behind us and be happy. Please don't think about your awful uncle!"

"Oh Chrissy you're so right! I forgot for a minute." Lady Suzanne covered their joined hands with her other one. "It's just so unfair! I ran that duchy for years on my own, raising Oliver and training him and giving him all the help he needed and now just when he's almost a young man full grown Uncle Ivo has to come back from the Holy Land and stick his oar in where it's not wanted!"

She tumbled to the end of her sentence in a heap so that it almost seemed to me her hair was most delightfully disarranged as a result. For several seconds I admired the view and then came back to the issue at hand. "So your uncle is in complete charge now?"

"Yes, drat the man." Lady Suzanne sighed. "And that is why I'm to marry someone I've never met. Uncle Ivo and I clashed repeatedly about - oh, practically everything! He countermanded all my orders, told the servants to ignore me, kept my brother away from me by sending him on military maneuvers and in general treated me like a prisoner rather than a chatelaine. And to cap it off he makes a marriage treaty behind my back and bundles me off to England!"

"How inconsiderate of him." I clucked in sympathy. Privately I was feverishly thinking. Any hope of sending Lady Suzanne back to her home was dashed: her uncle surely would not take her back even if the King allowed it. Her brother the rightful duke might be on her side but was probably too young to matter yet. The only bright note I could discern was the lady's reluctance to wed Locksley. At least she was on my side.

"That was most enjoyable. Please accept my thanks for this delicious repast." Lady Suzanne stood up, her companion beside her. They were still holding hands. "And now we really should retire to our room? I realize that our appearance was a surprise and that no arrangements have been made but we must wash off the dust of our travels before we can face the whole castle."

I roused myself. "My steward will have arranged matters by now. I will allow myself the pleasure of escorting you to your chamber. It faces the west and there is a wonderful view of Sherwood Forest in the distance. We - my wife and I - hope you both enjoy it."

They dropped graceful curtsies, scattering the rushes with the hems of their gowns. I led them across the great hall and up the stairs to the west tower, preceding them with a torch to light the way. These rooms were the least utilized space in the entire castle and everything smelled of freshly polished beeswax and new herbs strewn along the hall. The torchlight summoned quavering shadows along the walls. Twice I heard gasps behind me and footsteps hurrying to keep pace. They were almost under my cloak when a door at the far end of the corridor opened and spilled candlelight across the threshold. Four maidservants curtsied low as we swept into the room.

"Welcome, my ladies. Please yourselves comfortable." The oldest servant bustled forward. "We've got two baths set up and your gowns all laid out. Please to step this way now."

I retreated back to the safety of the hall as the women moved in and the ladies disappeared from view. My experience of dealing with Joya's maid had resulted in a wariness lest I too get caught up in their polishing and cleansing endeavours. I have no objection to being bathed by a woman but not one old enough to have been my wetnurse.

Back in the great hall a servant from the kitchens was gathering up the remains of the meal. I rescued the flagon of wine, poured some into my goblet and sat down to do some hard thinking. I had to get those the Ladies Suzanne and Christina out of the castle and preferably out of Nottingham completely before the king arrived in five days' time. Sending them back to Poitiers was out of the question and might cause even more trouble if "Uncle Ivo" protested such an insult to King Richard; it might even drive Poitiers into the arms of King Philip of France. The thought of what the Lionheart was capable of if that happened was too horrendous to contemplate.

I took small sips of my drink. No, it was imperative that Robin of Locksley be part of any effort to get rid of the Lady Suzanne. That way the royal wrath would not fall exclusively on me. Therefore Locksley and Marion must not be allowed to depart; I would get him apart and explain this new development to him. After all, he had even more reason to get shot of her than I did.

"Excuse me, Lord Nottingham, could I ask a favour?"

I choked on my wine and jerked around in my chair. It was the Lady Christina standing beside me. I had not heard her come up.

She took my silence as a willingness to listen. "I am so sorry to be a pest but when we arrived I forgot to bring my pouch into the castle with me. It has my combs and my favourite chains inside. It's still tied to my horse's saddle. Could you please send someone to fetch it for me? I would be ever so grateful."

With an effort I came to myself again. "Of course. No trouble at all." I snapped my fingers at the lingering kitchen servant. "You. Send someone to the stables for the Lady Christina's belongings. And be quick about it."

He bowed low and backed away almost at a run until he disappeared from the hall. In the distance a door slammed.

"Oh, thank you, Lord Nottingham." She gazed up at me with melting brown eyes. "I am so grateful. It was silly of me to forget but we were so happy to have finally arrived -"

"Think nothing of it." I dismissed her concern with a wave of my hand. "It is no trouble at all." I was suddenly aware of the delicate scent of jasmine. It went to my head and I had a sudden vision of her sitting in the tub upstairs, all rosy and damp as a maid poured oil into the water. The effect on me was immediate and unmistakable. I swallowed hard and tried to tame my mind. "If there is anything else you wear - uh, I mean, need, don't hesitate to let me know."

She smiled dazzlingly; I struggled for breath. Then she stepped closer and put her hand on my chest. "I just want to say, Lord Nottingham, that you must not take amiss Suzy's words about her uncle. It was a pity that they did not get along but he was looking out for her interests - as he saw them, of course. Once Oliver gets older and marries, there would have been no place for us in the duchy. So it's really for the best that we're here. I'm sure that Robin of Locksley is a good man and that they will deal well together."

"Uh, yes, of course. I'm sure everything will work out for the best." More than ever I was determined that I had to come up with a plan and quickly too. I paused. "Somehow."

Lady Christina smiled again; her full lips were made for kissing and I was sorely tempted to take advantage of our solitude by indulging my fancy. With an effort I kept my arms at my sides.

"Thank you, Lord Nottingham. I shall see you tonight at dinner." She pulled back and stopped abruptly. "Oops! We seem to be stuck together! Isn't that silly?"

It wasn't the first word that sprang to my mind but then my mind wasn't in prime working order at the moment. Somehow Lady Christina's veil had caught on my belt. I pulled back and dragged her with me. The scent of jasmine was stronger than ever and so was my reaction. I set my hand on her shoulder to hold her steady. "Just a moment. Let me see what happened - "

"Oh I know! We'll just take off your belt and I can free my veil. Here, let me." She slipped her hand between us.

A hundred fires burned in my loins. A thousand chills wracked my frame. I half-closed my eyes in pain and ecstasy as she fumbled with the buckle. I tightened my grip on her shoulder.

"That darned old linen! It just won't - oh wait maybe this will work." She moved directly in front of me and used both hands to tug on the veil.

My belt jerked taut and I could feel the linen start to slide out. She yanked the cloth up and then pulled it down. My tunic rubbed against me insistently. I groped for her other shoulder with my free hand. The table was so close. I could lift her easily. The heat was unbearable. Her movements were intoxicating. She wriggled against me wildly. Her hands pushed and pulled. My belt was sliding back and forth. I thought of her on the table, making the same motions. I couldn't stand it any longer. I braced myself to lift her up and -

"There!" She gave a final tug and stepped back again. "It's free! I'm so sorry Lord Nottingham. You must think I'm a fool for letting that happen."

I rocked on my heels, blinking as the cool air of the hall rushed between us. For a moment I could do nothing but gulp in extra breaths. "No. Not a fool. Not at all. Pleasure was all mine. Don't worry about it. Glad to help. Yes. Everything's fine. Just...fine. Oh Gods!" I reached behind me until I found my chair and staggered into it on shaky legs.

"See you tonight at dinner!" She smiled again at me and bounced out of the hall, not realizing that the shattered wreckage she was leaving behind.

I curved my hands over the chair arms and clutched hard until I felt more normal. Then I rose to my feet and ran across the hall and up the stairs to my own chamber. Joya had to find out about our unexpected guests and hear about the way they were complicating an already difficult situation.

After she helped me recover from my recent experience, of course.

Magda
Okay, Chrissy? Sorry for being late, - Sunday, March 24, 2002 at 14:20:35 (PST)

Ooops, hey, just never mind that ' she pulled the arrow from her pouch' thing... I forgot to delete that! LOL *slaps forehead* *goes back to doing MORE revising...*
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Q: When did Renie leave the forum?, - Saturday, March 23, 2002 at 14:27:22 (PST)

It was a couple of days before they reached the ranch, but at long last they did. When the wooden gates swung open, Lucus himself came out, bowed, and tipped his cap at Diane. His figure was tall, about 6'2", (even taller than her, 5'9") and he had the most beautifully cut blonde-gray hair that she could imagine. Mr. Marston's eyes were the colour of hazel, and his hands were smooth and long, as his lips gave a delicate smile. He wore a fancy suit, collared with a sailor stripe and tie, blue jeans, and a black jacket with two pockets in the front. Diane began to blush at his charm and friendly greeting.

" Diane Ferra, I have now the profoundest pleasure to meet your acquaintance. Please, come inside my house, it is much cooler. Can I offer you some lunch? Or would you rather talk?" She agreed to go in, hand loose to reach for her hidden bow in case of any funny business. They sit down at a long wooden table, perfectly furnished and shining from the oil. " I understand you are a writer. That is why you came here, to write. You just don't have enough peace in America."

" Correct. My novels are not even half-way completed, and I don't feel inspired at all."

" Yes...I see...but you have other talents, right?"

" I suppose so…" She cocked her head sideways, looking straight into his gleaming eyes. What was he playing at?

" Then I have a favor to ask you, just a little one." She pulls her hand back more, and an arrow is already drawn from her pouch from behind. One couldn’t be too careful in these parts. " I would like you to tend my sheep out in the field for a while, they seem to have gone astray. Daresay, I cannot have my produce be trespassing on neighboring lands, now could I? Could you take a look up on them?" This was a shock to her, completely. This was not why she came.

" Excuse me? I just barely got here!"

" I know, but ever since my meeting with Hans, he has told me ALL sorts of ways to be, er…cautious, can’t have my animals trailing off you know. There are people out there who are just waiting for a chance to get a reason to kill me. I need to be sure that I am secure, unlike my unfortunate brother. He got himself shot, and why? Because he tried to kill the aborigines, and was foul and mean. I'm not like that, but I do like being careful. If you do this for me, I'll pay you fifty pounds and you won't have to pay rent for two months." She was now speechless and so decided, why not?"

" Who is Hans?"

" Oh, Hans Gruber? Just and old friend. Mind you, he IS better at computers and that sort of thing."

" Oh."

" I can't begin to tell you though...one day, long time ago now, this fellow and some students were passing through, comparing our land to Egypt. Egypt, for crying out loud! He claimed to be some sort of professor, went by the name of Alexander Dane. Humph, is all I say. He was a bit on the stressed side, if you ask me. Always acted as if a panic attack was coming on." Diane started to completely forget about the task until Lucas set down his cup and offered a hand to escort her back outside. " Just go south," he beckons. " You’ll find them there, I do suppose, unless this mind of mine is just wasting away to a good old nothing…" He grinned and pointed to a paint nibbling on pieces of hay scattered on the ground.

" Umm, I don't know how to ride very well..." This was a lie, she didn’t know how to ride really at all! Her first time ever riding had been at a carnival, and to make a long story short, ended up in a result which Diane had a black eye, bruises, and her pony galloping away at the speed of light.

" Try." So she gallops off, at first VERY unbalanced and straining to keep on the saddle. Visions of the carnival floated back, her teeth were clenched tight, O, why couldn’t there be an easier way to travel? Diane headed the direction Lucas had advised and found a tiny hoard of white woolly sheep, grazing the bronze-coloured grass. Luckily Diane had grown up on a small farm, but still, she had no idea what to do with the sheep. She wished they weren’t so stupid creatures, like everyone back West had called them.

Then it hit her.

She was put here for a reason, these sheep didn’t need caring for after all! Lucas had tricked her into leaving, something was up, no doubt about it that it wasn’t good, and she intended to find out. An hour or so had passed (sudden surges of wind has come up, sending flying sand into her burning eyes) when a short chubby man came galloping along on a pony. " G’afternoon miss…" he said and bowed after flinging off the saddle. (Not without almost tripping over backwards, I may add.) " I’ll take it from here, Lucas finally someone off duty. Who happened to be me. Put me to work again, he did…" He wiped a ball of sweat from his forehead. "Oh well, can’t be helped. Off you go now, fetch yourself a glass of water, you look mighty beat up by the rays of this bloody sun." He waved her away, but she was already gone, the sheep hadn’t moved an inch since she had first arrived anyhow.

(PS- Hmm, I guess my party at the ranch idea didn't appeal to any of you... Lucas will be SO disappointed when I bring him the news that the invatation he bestowed upon you all has been declined... unless someone has changed their mind, no?)
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
LOL MA! Did you buy it? Hehehe... , - Saturday, March 23, 2002 at 14:22:05 (PST)

The Palace:

The following morning Cynthia entered the space which had been set up as their office and found Anton already on the telephone and dealing with matters of the Glassworks. When he concluded his call he looked over at her, "I lost track of you last night."

"I got roped into a card game and then went for a walk. Anything happening?"

"No, just checking on a few things."

"Ah. And here?"

"I am not certain, nothing relative to the trial as yet. It would seem there are still preliminaries being handled."

"Such as Miss Claudia? You had a reason for your abrupt inquiry to Rupert last night."

"Of course." He got up from behind the desk and, moving to the other side of it, leant back on it. "I wanted to see how Mr. Cadell reacted to mention of her. It was unclear to me whether they view her as merely a prisoner or a potential ally and source of information."

"And?"

"I do not believe Mr. Cadell is sure of that himself."

"What do you think?"

"I know what I would like to think. But I cannot afford the luxury of sentiment where these things are concerned."

"No. The price for sentiment is too dear."

He looked over at her sharply at the tone of her last comment but found her looking complacently back at him. He said only, "What of you? Did you enjoy your walk?"

"Yes, I did. I think perhaps I might take another later. Until the trial begins it seems a shame not to make use of the diversions offered by the surroundings."

"Just be careful."

"It's the Palace, Anton. It's teaming with Alliance Rose personnel and Imperial Guardsman, what could possibly go amiss?"

"There are all manner of intrigues which can be found in a setting such as this. And dare not forget who is housed very near to us."

"Right. It's hard to forget that with all the grim faces around here."

"They ought to be grim. And you ought to guard yourself."

"With all the imperial guardsmen about, I'm being very well guarded, indeed."

"Cynthia."

"Yes, Anton?" A long pause. "Take care."

"Of course, Anton. Now, I expect that someone is waiting to hear from me so I'd best make an early report and follow up on a few things myself." She sat behind her desk and asked, "Are you going to breakfast?"

At Anton's nodded assent she added as she picked up the phone, "Shall I catch you up?"

"Ja. Do that."

Cindie
Have Therese and her Irishman emerged from their rooms yet?, - Saturday, March 23, 2002 at 13:17:41 (PST)

The Interrogator’s cell:

" . . . I could not have done better myself."

HE watches, then smiles thinly as Mary Anne’s face goes pale and then reddens with outrage. And shame. Yes, that took her right where she lives. Oddly, this is not so satisfactory as HE had hoped.

Her reply is prompt and scornful. "Am I supposed to feel flattered?"

"I shouldn’t think so. Is that what you want, to be flattered? Is that what Braaaaandon does for you?"

Her eyes glitter at HIM with tears that she will not allow to fall, but her voice is quiet. "He does speak to me with great kindness and gentleness—if that’s what you call flattery. That, and many other things you’ll never be able to do."

"Never say never, my kindred mind . . ."

"Kindred, indeed. A little more than kin, and less than kind. If, as you say, you could not have done better yourself, that’s because it was yourself. What happened with that machine—you can blame your people for that, because I would never—" She leans on the word, her slim fingers clenching. "—never have done it."

"Again, that word ‘never.’ Most unwise." HIS hand slides through the bars, one finger pointing toward the button on the flagstones. "Never? You meant to kill me that day. And you said you had always wondered what it was like for me . . . and that now, you know." What it is like for me, Mary Anne, you can never know. Hungrily, The Interrogator’s eyes fasten on the woman in the corridor. Yes, let her think that earlier thrust of HIS arm through the bars was only a tactic to frighten her, and nothing more. Once, HIS mind had been an open book to her, but let it be hidden from her now, this desire that is beyond the passion of body for body. HE imagines burying HIS fingers in those unpinned masses of golden hair, caressing the skin beneath that silvery-azure gown . . . or those tears in her eyes, now . . . to take her face between HIS hands and let the tears fall upon HIS scarred chest . . . but all of these things, fascinating to contemplate, are matters of the flesh. What it would mean to possess her in body and soul . . .

Her silence goads HIM. "But I must say, Mary Anne, that since that episode, you’ve shown a commendable interest in keeping me alive." That slow, pleased smile. People have been known to faint at the sight of it. "When you arrived, I thought perhaps you were on another such errand. I rather hoped you were—it would have been quite diverting. Oh, am I speaking in riddles? Allow me to clarify. And to make myself decent; this is no sight for a lady." Smoothly, The Interrogator begins to re-fasten the buttons of HIS shirt. "First, you were going to kill me. But then, at the Manor House—remember, when my leg was broken?--you put on that pretty show of kneeling down and pleading with me to repent, because I had been so close to death, so many times. I shall never forget it." HE fastens the last button and smooths down the shirt. And neither shall you.

"Perhaps you’ll forgive me for being a little confused, Mary Anne, because then you tried again to kill me—so I quite naturally assumed that we had come full circle once more. Have you come to throw yourself at my feet and urge me to seek mercy from The Empress, perhaps?"

HIS arms slip through the bars.

"Of course, the danger is that I might be persuaded, one day. For you are exquisite when you plead with me . . ."

MA--No, no black orchids lately . . .
But I did find a lipstick in a shade called Black Orchid about a week ago! ;-), - Friday, March 22, 2002 at 19:46:35 (PST)

Diane Ferra was an American (that sometimes uses a British accent, for she lived in London for two years) that was offered a relaxful peace to stay and work on her writing by Lucus Marston, older brother of Elliot Marston. The pay was very low, so she decided to go. The girl had long blonde hair, gray-blue eyes, a sliming figure, and many men noticed this and gave a wink as she boarded the boat to take her to the other side of the world. As an author, Diane always traveled or tried to find things for inspiration, but nothing worked. She used to live out in the western state of Utah, but peace and quiet didn't stay there for long, as she needed just that for work. People moved in by the dozens every single day, like flocks or herds of rhinos rampaging the land. Now was her chance to get her novels finished, it was too good of an opportunity to miss.

It had been a couple months wait, but now the boat pulled into port in the little old town of Beckbetch. She grabbed her luggage by the handle, made way down the platform, and was happy to see an actual sign of civilization again. She carried her bags over to the hotel, and leaned against the doorway, scanning the perimeter for someone who could take her to Mr. Marston's ranch. No one was to be seen, and heaved a heavy sigh as bunch of guys start crowding around her.

" Hey, hey, lookie here fellas. What did the seas bring to us today?"

" Looks like a babe to me. You single honey buns?" Diane couldn't believe this, what idiots. Couldn't they just bug off and let her be?

" No, now go away," she spoke firmly, flexing her fingers with ease.

" Oh, tough gal! Let's go into the bar and I'll buy you a drink, what'd you say?" She had had enough. Men were always this way to her (yet she did not think herself to be attractive in any way) and she could never get them to listen unless she did it by force.

" I say take this you bastard!" Suddenly she pulled back her hand balled it into a fist, and swung right at the man's nose. He jumped back with a whimpering cry, rubbing the swelling cartridge. Diane hadn’t hit too hard, and was ashamed of herself, but at least it had worked.

" Well, you didn't listen to me. I said, GO AWAY!!!" They all scattered, except one, named James Hiker.

" You seem like an American."

" Why do you go and say that?"

" I just know one when I see it."

" You're bloody right."

He cocked an eyebrow at her use of the word ‘bloody’. " By any chance, is your first name Diane?"

" Yeah, why?"

" I've come to take you to Marston Hazelnut Creek. You are the new...erhem...I mean you have come to stay?"

" You could call it that. Alright, where is the carriage?"

" Right there m'mam." He points and shows her a little two horse cart, more fit for loading hay than carrying people. Reluctantly she jumps into the rear, using her bags as a seat cushion.

(Ahh...well, I know I didn't change the first part TOO much, but believe me, this story is getting better...yes... MUCH better... *cackles insanely, j/k*)

P.S. - Sorry for all the posts recently, I spend about 2 hrs. here every day!
Diane <Crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Hehehe, was eading back archives... interesting, people chucking scones... Mary Anne, recieved any more Black Orchids lately???, - Wednesday, March 20, 2002 at 20:53:44 (PST)

G' evening everyone:

It has come to my attention (and Diane's) that there has not been some sort of party or gathering in these here parts for quite some time. May I recommend a get-together, possibly here at the ranch? Diane is the only company I've had in years (beside my cattle men) and this would be a bountiful evening for everyone, I do think so. We shall have a talk about it, no?, discussing the times and dates. (*Diane runs in the background, chanting, time to clean the house...ooo....time to clean the house...*) Thus, think this all over, Diane is as equally excited as I if you were to say yes to my preposition. I really must be signing off now though, I think dinner is ready... (Diane darling, you ARE such a fabulous cook!)

Sincerely,

Lucas Marston
Lucas
Hans...haven't talked to you in a while, how you been faring?, - Tuesday, March 19, 2002 at 16:49:12 (PST)

Hello

OK, I've finally drawn the conclusion that my part of FOF so far is Dumb, Dumb, and Dumber. I purposely deleted the second and third parts because, well, from reading the Back Archives, I DON'T WANT ANYHTING TO DO WITH, THAT, THAT, THAT MAN!!!! (OO, let me at 'im, let me at 'im...) I'm completely changing it, the whole caboodle, (Hey, I'm not using anybody elses characters, sets, it is gonna be present time now, etc.) because i was literally digusted with my previous work. *throws in into trashcan, SCORE* So, is that OK? I REALLY (boy, do I mean REALLY!) want to get into this whole group (I'm loathing all the first members...THE FIRST ARCHIVES ARE SOOOO GOOD!!!!) and so, to do that, I'm not going to seperate myself ANY LONGER with my little "future" thingie...AND DON'T ASK ME WHY THE INTERROGATOR ATTRACTED MY ATTENTION AT FIRST!!!!! *Takes deep breath* OK, so, all I'm saying is, sorry for any confusion at first, things are getting all fixed up now!

Diane

(Do I post too much? Or just too long? Sorry...bad habit I guess...or do I just talk too much? LOL)
Diane (again!) <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Er...is it just me, or am I always in the middle of the walkway? , - Tuesday, March 19, 2002 at 16:36:13 (PST)

Hey,

I was traveling on my rode walking home from the bus when off in the distance I see a little house, which was, NOT so little! I got closer, and literally *gasped!* Uh... Brandon, you wouldn't happen to have a little place in Utah, now, would you? Besides the house not being brown (kinda a light tan colour, actually...) and not having a giant rose garden (big garden yes, rose gardens, no) it looked just like Delaford! *clutches chest, rings the doorbell, hello Ms. is the Colonel home?* *gets sent away as a crazy, the lady shakes head, people these days!*

Thought that was kind of weird is all...funny too!

Diane

P.S.- To check out a cool and weird pic of Alan young (like, 18 maybe!) go here : Click here: http://www.nd.edu/~tchapman/alan303.jpg
Diane <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Was just reading the back issues, hehehe, like the thing with Raz clutching the turnip and the beet juice!, - Tuesday, March 19, 2002 at 16:18:43 (PST)

Mistral’s flat:

“You’ll like her. Really. I’ve told her all about you and she can’t wait to meet you.”

Annabelle sat perched on the edge of the bathtub, her attention less focused on the man that was speaking to her than a very interesting soap bubble that was even now floating within reach. A paw shot out and attacked the hapless bubble. It had never had a chance. The cat, which still had the look of a kitten about her, though she was fully grown, now deigned to look over at the speaker. Mistral was stretched out in the bath, his head resting back on the edge where there was a perfectly placed water pillow to cradle him in comfort. He wiggled a finger just under a mass of bubbles and the cat rose the bait, batting at the moving target. “She had a cat, but had to leave it with a friend when she moved.”

“Mffft.” Annabelle looked vexed.

Mistral thought it was from the bubble that had affixed itself to her nose but added just the same, “well the quarantine laws being what they are one can hardly blame her. Would have been deuced hard on the animal.” Other cats, it seemed, were merely animals. “She will stop in every day over the weekend to feed you, and play with you and …police your commode.” Annabelle apparently thought this no more than her due and remained unimpressed.

The water was cooling and Annabelle waited expectantly for her man to begin their game. Mistral looked at his little Bengal and arched an eyebrow. Her body tensed as he moved his hand toward the chain that would release the plug. Extending his fingers slowly and deliberately he watched as she perched forward, ready to spring. Then, in one swift motion he removed the plug and stood. The cat launched herself into the retreating water, paddled over to him, he was standing at the back of the bath waiting, was petted, and then swam with the flow of the water to the other end. When the water had almost drained she batted at the rubber plug until it was back in the drain. The man watched her work. “You did well tonight, over an inch of water for you to play in.” Reaching for his towel, Mistral stepped out of the tub as Annabelle stalked the washcloth that was floating ominously in the water which was left. The cat would pull the plug when she was done playing but Mistral would wring out the dead jellyfish/mouse/washcloth after his pet had killed it sufficiently.

Mistral was in his dressing gown seated in his black leather chair in the living room, a glass of wine at his elbow, a book in his hands and a towel in his lap when Annabelle presented herself. He placed the book on the table next to his half emptied glass, she jumped into his waiting lap and he dried her off. When she was sufficiently dry she settled into his lap to complete her toilette. After this second bath was completed, Mistral moved the towel and she circled around three times, paddled her paws into his dressing gown and settled herself down. He retrieved the book and began to read it aloud to her.

Cindie
I see Dr. McCoy is now available for medical services and interuptions at the Palace. Hopefully her room is down the hall a ways?, - Sunday, March 17, 2002 at 18:58:29 (PST)

Double Deleted and Itallics fixed. Everyone seems a little too keen to get in the dungeons!
Deputy DoC
- Sunday, March 17, 2002 at 16:56:54 (PST)

Flashback
Jaques’ Apartment
Friday, 7:00 A.M.

The buzzer to his apartment rang as he was stirring the milk into his coffee. Like the situation or not, he was most definitely curious. Jaques glided over to the door and unlocked it, checking the time. 7:00, exactly. Whoever was giving him this adventure was most definitely punctual. And he found himself getting impatient, which bothered him on some level. It wasn’t like him to be excited or even curious about some odd event happening to him. What was going on?

His chain of thoughts was interrupted by a knock at the door. Placing his mug down, he walked to the door and opened it, revealing-

“Erika!” He breathed. Really, who else would it have been? Although, he thought, after what had happened between themselves, why would she do this with him?

“In the flesh,” she said quietly and he noted she wasn’t wearing her bohemian, gypsy like style. Instead, only clad in some dark jeans, T-shirt and her hair down surrounded by a scarf, she looked rather normal. And a lot smaller, to him.

“So you’re the one?” he asked, moving away as she shuffled in.

“Mm-hm, Tuck delivered the message for me, I decided I had to try to make you kinda like me. Maybe…maybe we could start over?” Her eyes turned upward to him, darker on lighter hazel, round and hopeful. He let a shadow of a smile cross his face and nodded.

“You can try,” he murmured and she nodded, completely serious. He noticed she was looking around his apartment, sparser and more utilitarian than hers and she seemed to observe it with a kind of scrutiny.

“Well, do you have everything the list said? Are we quite ready?”

“Not really, but we can go.” She smiled and walked out into the hall, waiting for him to lock the door. He noticed then the large basket sitting outside, soft blanket sitting on top of it.

“I believe it is time for breakfast,” She announced and made her way down the stairs.

-

Erika brought Jaques to a small park a few blocks from his apartment, and, at 7 in the morning, it had been virtually deserted. If anything, her cooking was delicious. She had made a sparkling fruit salad, sweet and tingling with champagne, hearty, spicy, sweet potstickers, filled with cinnamon and nuts, paper thin crepes, with a warm chocolate or peach and strawberry sauce to cover them. Included was cool tea and water, and she had explained to him how much better they were than coffee.Her car was parked slightly away and she stored the basket and blanket in there after they were done. They left the park, quiet conversation happening between them as she took him to farmers markets, organic and ethnic food stores and small shops filled with antiques and vintage clothing aswell as ethnic wares. After much deliberation she bought him a beautiful print by Matisse, which, she said, would go perfectly in his apartment.

“You like doing this?” He asked her when they were going through a world market, her fingers rushing over firm tomatoes and peppers, spices and flowers and meat and cheese.

“I love it,” she had assured him, plunking a block of feta cheese in her cart as she picked him up a Toblerone, “It’s such an exotic world, if you want it to be, and I do. I want to see all the aspects of it, dear.” She smiled up at him, paid for her goods and they continued on the adventure.

They took off in her car and she asked him, meditative music flowing through the speakers, “Do you like it so far?”

“Of course,” His melancholy voice sounded hollow and she smiled as they pulled to a small restaurant, gardenia and hydrangea blooming in the windows. He could hear exotic music pouring from it and she slowly reached over and grabbed his hand.

“Come on, it only gets better.” They went in, a beautiful cinnamon skinned woman greeting Erika with a hug and whispered words that Jaques couldn’t here.

“What is this place?” He muttered to her as the woman brought them to two cushions sitting on the floor, drums and silvery chimes and sitars coming from everywhere.

“Morrocan. It’s wonderful food,” A tray was brought, cool minty tea and pita sitting on it as Erika offered him a piece.

“Who’s that?” he asked, slowly chewing on the hearty bread.

“Valentine,” she offered casually, “She knows Alana.” Jaques marveled at all this young lady knew, gypsy or not. In the stores she greeted people everywhere, walking down the street, it was as if she was making the world hers. And he felt more ashamed for what he had said about her.

“Want to know where we’re going next?” She asked excitedly, sipping on tea. He nodded. “Well, it’s not anymore shopping. But it is a museum. You still have your suit, right?” He nodded again and steaming platters were brought out.

“You can try and guess if you want,” she grinned, and began to eat.

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Now that sounds like a fun cell to be in...;), - Saturday, March 16, 2002 at 15:49:22 (PST)

Look here now--what have I done to deserve imprisonment with the lot of you??

Perhaps I'd best not have asked that, hmmm?
Dev
coming along quietly, - Saturday, March 16, 2002 at 09:11:54 (PST)

Oh please, do drop in. And bring your charming companion.
I
We're having quite the little party down here, - Saturday, March 16, 2002 at 04:52:19 (PST)

Right. One click. Two posts. I only hit the blessed thing once, I swear!!

Right. To the dungeon with me. Can I at least bring Eamon along?
Anon.
begging the DoC's mercy, - Friday, March 15, 2002 at 17:08:49 (PST)

The Imperial Palace

Therese still couldn't believe the amazing speed with which everything had transpired. From the moment she and Eamon had decided to go and testify against The Interrogator her life had taken on a dream-like quality, with events seeming to spin very much out of control.

The disagreement with Joanna McCoy had been nothing short of epic. "I cannot believe you're considering this," she'd half raged, half pleaded with Therese. "You're simply not strong enough to be put through the emotional turmoil. As your physician I forbid you to leave." She'd turned then, to Dev, glaring at him as if this were his doing. "How can you ask this of her?" she had demanded, her eyes hot and her voice cold, "how can you allow her to do this?"

Once before Joanna McCoy had held Dev up for blame when he was blameless, and Therese had allowed him to suffer then, but this time she quietly stepped forward, and laid her hand upon the other woman's forearm. "Eamon realises, Doctor, that I must do this. It is not for him to allow or disallow, but to support me in what I feel I must do. The fact that it is what he wishes simply allows for us to both see to our own issues, but that is simply coincidence, and perhaps a bit of good luck in what is certain to be an arduous task for us both."

Joanna McCoy considered the woman before her silently for long moments. She'd not had time to really come to know Therese in the short while they'd been acquainted. Physically, yes, the doctor knew her patient well, but the quiet, strong willed woman who stood before her now had taken her by surprise.

"Do you truly think now that I have persuaded her to do something she doesn't wish?" Dev had asked her gently. "For that matter, do you believe that anyone is capable of such?"

In the end there had been a compromise of sorts, and Dr. McCoy had accompanied them. Her mutterings of discontent were heard down the halls of Delaford as she'd stalked away, grumbling about unheeded medical advice, thick headed patients, and Irishmen.

Therese had followed the--she wasn't exactly certain what title the woman who had lead she and Eamon to their rooms had held--housekeeper? Maid? Hostess? But the room she lead Therese to was astounding. The door opened into a sitting room decorated in various shades of blue. Blue chintz curtains we pulled back from huge windows that overlooked the main courtyard. Soft, dark carpets covered much of the floor, and a small table stood along one wall. "There's a carafe of water here for you, dear," the older woman had said, indicating the tray, "as well as a bowl of fruit should you be hungry. If there's anything else you should require, just let any of us know, and we'll have it brought to you straight away. Meals are served in the dining room, but food is out in the parlour at all times. Both rooms are just down the hall."

The woman crossed to the bedroom, and Therese followed, feeling slightly overwhelmed. A huge canopied bed filled one corner, a soft down comforter and large pillows resting on top. Pointing, the other woman indicated two doors. "There's a walk-in closet through there, I've had one of the maids unpack your things and place them away. Dinners are rather formal, and we were told you hadn't planned to attend until quite recently, so I've taken the liberty of placing some full length dresses for you, should you wish to make use of them. I believe you'll find them the correct size. A selection of soaps and bath salts have been left by the tub, as well as a long robe. Is there anything else I may bring you or see to, Miss Gellert?"

Therese had considered the question, and had to choke down a burst of laughter that she well knew might border on the hysterical. She was to face one of the most terrifying ordeals of her life, and she was doing it amidst the grandest luxury of her experience. "Thank you, this is far too generous as is, ma'am."

The other woman smiled gently at her. "Well, the Empress is one for taking care of her own, there's no doubt of that. Do let any of us know should you need anything. I'll let you freshen up for now. I believe Rupert will be up to interview you in another hour or so, as well as one of the AR Personnel."

The woman had already left before it Therese realised that she hadn't thought to ask after Eamon. He'd been taken to his room by a steward when the housekeeper had lead her here. Sitting on the bed, she sighed, suddenly very weary.

There was a slight knock to the door behind her, not the main one that exited into the hallway, but one she'd not even noticed. She hadn't even time to stand up when it slid open, sideways. A connecting door, and through it, stepped Eamon. "Think you'll be able to manage with the limited accomodations?" he asked.

Therese crossed over to him in the doorway, and threw herself into his arms, holding him tight. His humourous tone immediately fled as he held her to him. "There now, what's this?" he asked her softly. "Where's my brave little ruffian?"

Therese gave a half-hearted chuckle and held him even tighter. "For a politician, you've no way with words at all, Mr. de Valera," she told him, stretching up to kiss him tenderly. "Though I think I love you just the same."

"You think you do, do you?" he asked, kissing her back briefly, and then settling her head against the shelf of his collarbone. "Because I'm quite taken with you myself." He looked down into her large, dark eyes, his lighter, amber ones intense in their scrutiny. "If at any time you feel you've had enough, or can't be here any longer, we leave, understood? I know you, Therese, and if I think you're under too much strain, we'll depart. Not even the Empress can expect you to stay if you're not able. I'm of a mind to put you on the next ship to Ireland as it is."

Therese stepped back from him, and met his gaze unflinchingly. "I've come to do what I must, and I'll see this through, Eamon."

He nodded, pulling her to him once more, "I've never doubted you for a moment, Therese, and you'll not be apart from me for a moment, I promise you."

Later, when so much was at stake, Therese would wonder if he'd ever meant to keep that promise.

Therese
- Friday, March 15, 2002 at 17:05:13 (PST)

Delaford

Eamon's ground covering stride carried him swiftly across the lawn and toward the stableyard. Jasper Hayes' sense of tresspass not withstanding, he knew precisely where to find Therese when she was emotionally distraught. He also knew that he hadn't fooled her. She was distinctly aware that he'd not answered her question yesterday in Brandon's library; she knew where he wished to be at this moment. He allowed himself a brief, sardonic chuckle, and amended that final thought. What he truly wished to do was meet HIM, alone. To allow the rage and anger to fuel his muscles as he took The Interrogator from the Realm by ending his miserable existance. That, however, was a dream not to be realised, or unlikely to be, at any rate. Still, he could be there, could help. His skills as an orator seemed hollow in comparrison to those of the combatant, but he'd learned over the many years of his career that one could not always see things through in the manner one wished. So be it, but let him be present, in any capacity.

He paused, as he caught site of the movement in the large riding arena along the south end of the stable. Therese sat upon Brandon's huge war horse as if she'd been born to the saddle, a trait she'd laughingly told him she had been on many an occassion. She moved gracefully with the animal, his power and motion blending seamlessly with her own as he seemingly went from war horse to dressage horse under Therese's gentle hand and leg. After several flawless transitions, all apparently effortless from his viewpoint, he heard Therese's clear, uninhibited laugh ring across the yard, and felt his own heart lurch in response. How long had it been since he'd heard that sound, he mused?

Dropping the contact from the horse's mouth, and giving the great black horse his head to 'ride on the buckle' as she had explained the term to him before, Therese legged the beast forward. The aminal's response seemed to spring from Therese's own joy, and he lunged forward, front legs stiff, then landing to throw in several crowhops as he went. "Menny!" Dev could hear the laugther in her voice as she scolded the animal, and headed him for the cross rails that were set up at the other side of the arena. Taking up the extra rein, she rated the big horse's huge stride, and they sailed over the jump effortlessly.

"Thought I'd find you here," Dev said, approaching the arena he leaned against the top rail.

Therese brought the horse down to a walk, and headed toward the fence. "Where else?" she asked, smiling at him in greeting.

"Walk with me, Therese, you need to cool the horse anyway. We should speak."

"We're going to the trial, aren't we?" Therese asked quietly, as she slipped a booted foot from one stirrup, and leapt off the left side of the horse to land neatly upon her feet. Once landed, she grasped the stirrup iron closest to her, and ran it up the leathers, tucking them through the iron so they didn't flap as the horse walked.

"I've arranged for it, but that doesn't mean we're to go. That depends entirely upon you." Dev laid his arm over Therese's shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. "It's your decision either way, whatever you wish."

They continued across the perfectly kept lawns, the steady, muffled sound of the horse's rythmic stride the only sound as Therese gathered her thoughts. The idea of seeing HIM again, even from perfect safety across a crowded courtroom left her mouth dry with fear. Rationally she knew HE could not hurt her at this point, nor did HE have reason to wish her harm--though that fact had been true the last time as well, and it had not helped her then. Still, as much as the thought of seeing HIM made her stomach roil and her knees grow weak, there was some manner in which she knew she needed that last chance to confront HIM, so that HE knew, and more importantly she knew that HE had not been successful. She was not broken.

"You've arranged with Sir John to see after the estate?" she asked him.

"I did so, but that is not to colour your answer. Sir John himself wished to know whether this was what is best for you. He reminded me that you are my first priority."

Therese smiled gently. "You were not offended, I trust?"

"Not at all," Eamon replied, "he's right, so it's well to be reminded. Sir John is a good man." Dev raised an eyebrow and gave a half grin. "For an Englishman."

They continued along, making their way in a large circle so that soon they were headed back to the stable. Pausing before they reached the building, Therese ran a practised hand along the gelding's flank, then slid her fingers up along the horse's back and underneath the saddle. "He's ready to be put up," she announced, handing the horse to Jasper Hayes, who had come to meet them as they'd approached.

Therese couldn't decide which look was more comical, that of Dev or Hayes, as neither man had ever seen her turn a horse over to a groom. Giving the black a final rub under his mane, she leant down to kiss his velvety soft muzzle. "I'm going away for a bit, Menelaus, be a good lad for me, won't you?"

Therese
Ack and Swoon: the two sides to Mistral, compliments of MA and Cindie!, - Friday, March 15, 2002 at 09:50:35 (PST)

ACK, ACK, ACK!!!!
Cindie
- Friday, March 15, 2002 at 07:48:51 (PST)

The Imperial Palace:

At the surveillance post, Rupert and The Empress exchange glances at Mary Anne’s venomous "MISSSTRAL." Brandon, however, does not move, but keeps his eyes steadily trained on the monitor, even as the light bulb down in the corridor pops and showers glass on the flagstones . . .

The video feed goes dark.

The Colonel is on his feet, then. "What has happened?"

And at the same instant, Rupert dives for the board, even as The Empress commands, "Security scan, now."

Rupert complies, checking the board. "All secure. Magnetic locking mechanisms still active."

"What has happened? Why can we not see--?"

Rupert straightens from where he is leaning over the security board. "Did you know your wife would do that, Colonel?"

"No! What are you implying—"

The Empress raises one hand. "Calm yourself, Colonel Brandon. She took us all by surprise with that—even herself, I should think. What she did with her voice appears to have disrupted some circuitry for the moment, but The Interrogator is still locked in." A sharp glance at Rupert. "HE is still locked in?"

It is too much for Brandon, who turns on his heel and is about to stalk away from the post.

"Colonel Brandon." The voice of The Empress.

Brandon halts. "Your Majesty."

"It would be just as well if we only had to do this once. Stay with us, please."

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

In the corridor outside The Interrogator’s cell, Mary Anne keeps her eyes fixed upon her adversary. Still tingling with the thrill of having worsted this man with one of HIS own weapons, she is nonetheless wary. The lure of power: that is a desire HE is keen to exploit, knowing how it draws its devotees to taste and taste again.

Impossible, though, to keep the satisfaction out of her voice. "—but now, I can."

"A laudable attempt, especially for a beginner."

"Don’t call me a ‘beginner,’ as if you expect me to go on." To bigger and better things—like YOU. "And don’t call it an ‘attempt,’ as if it did not succeed."

With the utmost nonchalance, HE leans forward against the bars. "You are quite right. How could it not succeed?" That casual posture, now a coiled spring. "After all, you had the finest instructor possible. One who worked with you very closely. This is not the first time you’ve done me credit, Mary Anne."

The Interrogator reaches for the top button on his shirt. "Come closer. Have a look at your work."

Appalled, Mary Anne retreats a step, even as HE moves forward—and it seems to her as if the bars cannot stop HIM, that they will topple or melt into mist or vanish altogether before that implacable advance.

"No?" HE continues, tearing open another button. "Why such a weak stomach now? After all, you were not afraid to look at what you had done when it was still fresh. Before the paint had dried on your masterpiece, as it were."

Another button, unfastened with such savage force that it pops loose from HIS shirt, to skitter and bounce across the flagstones almost to Mary Anne’s feet, where it rolls to a halt, gleaming on the floor, staring up at her like a cold pale eye.

"Keep it," HE laughs. "A souvenir, if you wish, of the time you paid the torturer in his own coin. But to do that, you had to become one. Have you made your peace with that?" HIS voice hardens. "Are you so frightened of what you did?"

The last button, free.

"Or . . . of what you are?"

Mary Anne looks.

The Interrogator stands before her, HIS shirt open and pushed back to bare HIS chest and shoulders, waiting to catch her gaze, engage it fully before HE turns from one side to the other, letting the light fall upon the ridges of silvered scars that cross HIS chest in that regular, deliberate pattern. Deliberate, yes. With precise attention to detail.

Mary Anne knows just how those scars would feel under her fingertips, remembering those times she has embraced Brandon, her hands moving over his back . . . and feels the tears rush to her eyes even as The Interrogator draws HIS right hand slowly over HIS chest—watching her closely as HE taunts, "You can be proud, Mary Anne. I could not have done better myself."

MA--of course, HE isn't playing Mister Nice Guy, either. =8-O
Cindie--Ah, Kensington. Beautiful spot for a walk. , - Thursday, March 14, 2002 at 19:39:29 (PST)

Mistral's flat:

Back in his apartment, Mistral felt restless. He ought to be out flat, he thought to himself, after all the walking he and Cindie had done. They'd walked in Kensington Gardens -- at least they'd started out in Kensington Gardens. They'd strolled through a number of other parks before they had said goodnight. They had talked of everything from what herbs she was going to plant in her window box in the Spring to how he had become an actor. There had also been long stretches where neither of them said a word. Simply walked together side by side, steps in synch and each reveling in the pleasures of the hour. It had always seemed to him that their natural ability to be comfortable in each other's silence had been as welcome as the way they could slip into conversation about anything or nothing at all. When she did get flustered and unsure of what to say, it was a delightful prospect as well. The woman simply could not hide her thoughts at times. On the other hand, she could say the most confounding things to him, it seemed, without half trying. This night he had talked about himself more than he had in the last few years.

He had been so very tempted to ask her to his flat. But it was impossible. Though it was becoming increasingly difficult to say goodnight and leave her. Increasingly difficult to come back here, alone, when there was an alternative. An alternative to a flat that had become too quiet, to a bed that had become too large. She would, he knew, share his appetites. He felt it. Felt as well the hiraeth. The longing. A feeling not without a sting of pleasure but one that he would exchange for the fullness of a complete sharing with her. There would be no half measures. If she were to be in his flat, he did not think he would be able to let her go. He considered that thought quite literally. Even when he asked his favour of her he'd been considering how to manage the thing without having her here with him. If she had noted his lack of invitation over their time together, she was silent on the topic. Perhaps she realized. After their last walk together, in the rain, he did not believe she questioned his desire for her.

It was too easy to lapse into thoughts of what it would be like with her. How she would feel in his arms, skin against skin, how he would hold her head back in his open hand, fingers twining her hair, and press his lips upon hers. A thin smile pressed onto his own lips, perhaps she'd had a point about the walk in the rain. No cold shower tonight though, he thought to himself. A nice hot bath. As he walked into the bathroom he was reminded that, his reverie notwithstanding, he was not alone.

Cindie
- Thursday, March 14, 2002 at 18:34:44 (PST)

Jaques trudged up the stairs to his top floor apartment, feeling the weight of his bag hit him hard. He was sore, running between sets today with revisions to scripts and props. He hadn't even seen Erika once, although he knew she had been there. He also knew she had left early, but didn't care now that things were calm between them.

He sighed, taking out his keys and stopped when he saw the envelope taped to his door, Jaques written in elegant script. Sighing, he grabbed the brightly colored thing and opened the door, shoving the mail laying under his slot away.

The envelope was slit open, two tickets fluttering to the ground, as well as several other things and a note. He rummaged on the ground and gathered them up, a tiny slips of construction paper written in brightly colored pastel, Coupon for Breakfast, Coupon for Adventure, Coupon for Excitement and two tickets to the Opera. He unfolded the note, beautiful cursive greeting him.

Dear Sir, it began It is a pleasure for us to know that you have been selected for an adventure, tomorrow, beginning at 7 a.m. sharp. There is no need to go to work, just please follow the directions on this list and be prepared for your adventure leader to arrive at your house. Thank you, your faithful coordinators,
T, I, and A. Budd.

He frowned, curiousity stirring in him, and began to study the contents.


Carmen
Ooh, Barbara, I suspect they'll send the hounds after you soon!, - Thursday, March 14, 2002 at 16:31:47 (PST)

Barbara---"Again" was to come very soon."

Quite zoon?

*wicked grin*
- Wednesday, March 13, 2002 at 22:40:40 (PST)

Delaford

Dev stalked up one side of the library and down the other, his motions clearly indicating his turmoil. He paused, grasping at a paperweight on the huge mahogany desk that filled one corner, and squeezing it tightly in one hand before setting it aside and resuming his movements.

"Sit down, lad. All this pacing makes me feel as if I should be marching about with you, and I'm afraid my marching days have long since past."

Dev turned, and considered the small, graying man before him. "I'm sorry, Sir John, I find it very difficult to remain still at the best of times--"

"And this is far from that, don't I know." He paused, considering the tall man before him. "I admire Brandon immensely, but more than that, I like him. He's a good friend and neighbour, I'd hoped to have him back for a bit of a while."

Dev nodded in agreement. "Yes, I think we'd all hoped for that very same thing. Maybe if I'm there, I could help to bring him home more quickly. But I can't leave if it would mean compromising Delaford. I've given Brandon my word to care for his estate as if it were my own."

Sir John considered Dev carefully, indicated the chair across from where he sat, and waited while Dev situated himself. "Seems to me that Delaford shouldn't be your first concern. You've a much more important matter to contend with."

Dev groaned, and leaned back in his chair. "Of course Therese is always foremost in my mind, in this instance or any other, but I cannot ignore the obligation to this place or its master."

Sir John rose, and pulled his vest down, straightening his shirt front before crossing over to Dev. Laying a firm hand on his shoulder, he patted the other man's arm in a fatherly manner. "You've no worry where Delaford is concerned, my boy. No, you can leave me in charge at any time. Brandon and I have a long history together, and when you've trusted one another with your lives more times than you can count, it makes looking after one another's estates seem a mere trifle." The older man paused, considering the younger one intently. "Seems to me, Dev, the question is what would be best for Therese? Do you really wish to put her through facing HIM once again?"

Therese
Barbara--Negligent Posters Anonymous--shall I start a chapter? , - Wednesday, March 13, 2002 at 07:39:00 (PST)

Claire M--maybe we'd better not look too closely at what Brandon was up to. That might be a top-secret mission! *grin*

MA
*putting finger to lips*, - Tuesday, March 12, 2002 at 05:01:20 (PST)

'Allo Everyone! :)

I was just reading the Back Archives (thanks to a great idea from a kind e-mail from Sandy! Why didn't I think of that? Oh well...Lucas, make me some more coffee, extra on the vanilla cream...Severus, get me a pain potion too, would you? My back is killing me...should be a law not to make teenagers vack the entire house...hehehe :) when I noticed that there was actually more talk on those issues, not really the stories. (or, in my case, I happen to call them FFTs, fan-fiction talking *watches all the adults shrug and skip to the next page, NO, I'M NOT FINISHED YET!!!* *sighs...My friend Heather told me today I broke the bloody ship...what else is new???* LOL) So, me, being just as curious as a tiny kitten (meow...I'm that cute tiny black kitten Ed keeps in his apartment...just kidding...I REALLY need to lay off on Hostess cupcakes..yuuummmm.....) is wondering if we are going to ever have any gathering or parties anymore? ??? I was disappointed when I read about the Delaford picnic in 97, I wanted to go! (Escort me Lucas...would you dance with me too? OOO, I've never been asked to dance before! *trips on edge of dress, falls flat on face* Now you know why...) So, I am sincerely thinking that it is time for a reunion! ( Where should the party be? Hmm...maybe Lucas's ranch? OO dear, that means I need to do more house cleaning!) What does everyone think of this miniscule idea that just popped into mind? (Maybe I could also get to meet everyone also in person, get to know you ppl