Go for it Liza.
Magda
Canada - Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 04:13:46 PM

Hi Claire - thanks for the birthday wishes for my little one! Hi Sophie - up to now we've celebrated it on the 28th Feb, so as to keep it in the same month, but it was great for her to have a 'proper' birthday for a change! Her present was the 'Hogwarts Castle' Lego set so we spent a fun day building! There was even a little Snape figure for me! hee, hee! enjoy the rest of the weekend everyone!
Alison
France - Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 01:58:25 PM

Does anyone know what John Gissing's character is like? I want to claim that character but I'm stuck for ideas. It's my dream to become a writer but I don't want to put down the wrong things about Gissing.
Liza Rosette
- Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 01:16:49 PM

DoCs, would you please remove, from FoF, the “addition” to True Love’s Curse so as to not confuse?

Thank you all, ACC, Monica, Pam, Barbara the Wallpaper-er, (especially spot-on in your assessments!)

Liza: your sincere apologies accepted. No hard feelings here. I am touched that you were so inspired by the characters of McClane and Collins. I hope you are not discouraged by your first attempts and welcome you to write a story on the FoF, which is the best site of course. Gissing, Mesmer, Weinberg, Billings, are all open I think. Good Luck!
lee
If fifty posts show up here it is not my fault...eeek, - Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 01:05:30 PM

Also, to Liza, I advise that you do not write for a character unless you know something about them. People indeed have taken characters and completely changed things such as their occupation, meaning that you don't have to follow their exact storyline, but it is always best to know the character previously. This way you know their personality, habits, lifestyle, etc. It gives writers something to play off of, and much easier for readers.
Diane
- Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 12:46:28 PM

Magda, has John Gissing been claimed? Do you know what his character's like, because I've never seen The Search for John Gissing and I really want to write about a character nobody's claimed yet.
Liza Rosette
- Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 11:10:44 AM

Um, Liza, Black Wolf claimed Joe the Fish last week. Also you might want to read "a quick guide to punctuation" (see the link above the messages at the top of the page) so you can make paragraphs that are easier to read. You have a bouncy style that will be more apparent with paragraphs. Welcome to FOF.
Magda
Canada - Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 09:59:05 AM

Finding Joe 'Sara Mensch was fairly introspective as a child and now as an adult she was incredibly shy. Her father, Bruno, was a doctor who spent most of his days working, even on a Sunday, and he hardly spent any time at home. Sara's mother had died when she was only six but she hardly remembered her. There was only one event during her childhood that she thought of as remotely eventful and it was the day her grandmother came to visit. Sara was ten when her grandmother first came to her house in the Midlands. Her father was at home for one whole day, the first time in a fortnight. Normally she would be with her aunt who would look after her when her father was out. Sara never liked to talk, so she and her aunt were always distant. That afternoon, the doorbell rang and Bruno went to answer the door. A moment later, he re-entered the lounge with a short sturdy-looking woman with grey wispy hair and a crinkly smile. Her attire was extremely untidy and her clothes looked as if they would fall to bits, but Sara for once didn't feel very intimidated. "And this is my daughter Sara," she heard her dad announce in a monotone. The old woman's smile widened as she shook Sara's hand. "Sara, this is your grandmother." "Bruno, I think she knows that." laughed her grandmother. Sara didn't know what to say. Finally she stuttered "Hello Grandma. I'm pleased to meet you." The squeak in her voice did not make her seem pleased, but her grandmother kept grinning. "And it's a joy to see you at last my dear. My I haven't seen you since you were about three. You've grown a lot, hasn't she Bruno?" Bruno nodded but looked startled, as if he'd never noticed how much Sara had grown before. There was a brief silence when Sara's grandmother changed the subject. "I have a present for you Sara, since my knowledge of your birthdays are so poor." Sara looked up. A present? Her birthday was in four months and now she had a present? "Come to the car and I'll show you," she said, beckoning her. "It's very special and I want to know if you like it." "That reminds me I have to get the car ready for our outing," said Bruno, getting up. Sara's grandmother got up from her seat and walked with a slight limp to the doorway. Sara followed her, wondering what this surprise was. When they were outside, her grandmother opened the door to the back seat of her battered navy Morris Minor and revealed a fat cardboard box and beside it, a smaller plastic box with water inside. And in the water was... "A fish!" Sara's only real interest was marine life and sometimes she had begged her father to get her a fish, promising that she would be responsible for her pet, but Bruno had declined, telling her that any pet would be a lot of work and besides, he wasn't remotely interested in animals. So she was delighted with her grandmother's gift at first, but she noticed that this fish looked rather odd as well as ordinary. It was one of those orange goldfish that could be won at fairs but it also had two small yellow lines on it's side, and one of it's tail fins was missing. "Well, what do you think?" came her grandmother's voice. Sara looked from the fish to her grandmother then back to the fish. It was behaving in the way fish normally would, swimming around it's box in circles and opening and closing it's mouth, but at the same time this fish seemed to be staring at Sara. It opened and shut it's mouth at her, then sort of glanced at her in a somewhat cynical way. This fish seems peculiar, thought Sara, but fun in a way. "I love it Grandma," she whispered. "Thankyou very much," Her grandmother smiled again, but this time more warmly. "I'm glad you like this fish. Bruno told me all about your fondness for fish." Sara was surprised. Her dad didn't really pay much attention to her but the fact that he often talked about her was astonishing. "And please call me Marie," she added. "I want to be you're friend." No one had ever asked her to be a friend before, and tears came to Sara's eyes. But she was her grandma too. "Thankyou.." she paused, "Granny Marie," She hugged Granny Marie, who kissed her on the cheek. "What are you going to call your fish then?" she enquired. Oh dear, thought Sara. This was the tricky part, she was hopeless at thinking up names, so she pondered for a moment but no name came to her that would suit her fish. Sara looked at her new pet, which was now pressing it's mouth against the plastic but without it's cynical expression. The fish's eyes looked wider, as if it was interested in what was going on. "I think I'll call it...Joe," she finally blurted out. At this point Joe did a kind of twirl on the spot, as if he was happy with his new name. Sara was happy with her new pet. Later that evening Sara was in bed, buried in a book about the ocean. After ten minutes of avid reading she looked up at the goldfish bowl that had been set up after supper. Joe wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, much to Sara's disappointment. He was swimming around in circles and occasionally prodding a pebble with his mouth. Then Sara got up and tiptoed over to the bowl. She dipped her finger into the water and Joe responded by tickling her fingertip with his mouth. Sara giggled and tried to stroke this fish, who trailed it's mouth along her finger. This kind of affection from a fish was strange but Sara wasn't ruffled in her goood temper now. "Time for bed now, it's late. Time to play with your fish tomorrow." called Bruno. Sara took her finger out of Joe's reach and placed her head near the side of the bowl. "Night night Joe," she whispered. She half-expected Joe to say "Sleep tight" in reply, since he seemed to human in many ways. So Sara waved her fingers at Joe, who twirled around again. Then she dutifully switched off her bedside lamp and crawled into bed, remembering the afternoon's events and her two new friends, Granny Marie and Joe.' -That's my new story. I hope no one else has claimed the character from Help! I'm a Fish.
Liza Rosette
America - Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 09:41:16 AM

Is this page starting to pick up the posting weirdness of the GB, where you can never be sure if your post goes through? I hope not. DoC, please delete this post and my first post welcoming Liza.
Magda
Canada - Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 08:33:40 AM

Enthusiasm, enthusiasm! Always a lot of it around here. As Barbara suggested, Liza, go up to the Who's Who's link at the top of the page and click on it to see which characters are available. Please note that Joe the Fish was claimed last week by Black Wolf. I'm sure everyone is eager to see who you pick and what your storyline is. Have fun and welcome to FOF.
Magda
Canada - Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 08:31:49 AM

It's me again. I'm sorry if I've offended Lee with my little addition to True Love's Curse. I only wanted to help, and now I've realised my mistake. I offer my most sincere apologies. Shall write one of my own in that case?
Liza Rosette , <alion@hotmail.com>
Eastbourne, Sussex, England - Sunday, February 29th 2004 - 06:51:15 AM

ACC, Monica, Liza Rosette, and others

For those wondering about who is writing what, please see the Who's Who link at the top of this page.

In the meantime, a suggestion:

If you're not the writer who's claimed the character -- or you don't have permission from that writer -- I suggest you keep your trying-too-hard-to-be-clever addendums to yourself. It only breeds irritation and resentment.

Monica and ACC I agree. Lee's story is progressing well and should remain so by her hand only. As you said Monica, in the future maybe a spin off would be fun. Please let Lee continue to write this in her own way and style everyone. Keep up the good work Lee. It's always so much fun reading the stories and see waht is happening with Gwen's "admirers".
Pam
Massachusetts, USA - Saturday, February 28th 2004 - 10:47:36 PM

I hate to be the voice of discent (sp?), but Lee is already writing a wonderful story that need no outside help to be as good as it is. Maybe a spin-off can be written (LATER) after Lee is finished with Snape.
Monica
Texas, USA - Saturday, February 28th 2004 - 09:54:31 PM

Would it be a good idea to have a set of guidelines at the top of the page for people to access before entering stories? One would assume that people adding to existing and ongoing story lines would coordinate with the original author, and that some characters are already claimed would be understood? Be a bit confusing otherwise, wouldn't it, at least for some of us LOL
ACC
- Saturday, February 28th 2004 - 09:47:11 PM

The Beer and Baritone:

“I’d like to see him try it.” Therese flashed an evil smile as she calmly walked to the bar and ordered a pint of cider. One of the men from the choir that had sung at Mrs. Mistral’s funeral noticed her and offered to buy her drink. Therese politely said no thank you. She had an uneasy moment as she recalled the pushy fan at the Stag and Thistle but was soon put at ease as this sequoia of a man simply smiled and said that he liked her on the show and directed his blue eyes to his beer from which he then took a long swallow. He made no other move towards her or towards conversation. Therese paid for her own drink but she did compliment the man on his singing earlier in the day.

“There’s sad there is.” The singer finished his beer in one long draught and nodded to the bartender indicating his desire for a refill. “I’m Bryn.” He extended his hand toward Therese.

“Therese.” They shook hands. “Did you know Mrs. Mistral, then?” She enquired.

“Not really, I remember her from the old days. She came to a few of the concerts. But you know how it goes. Funerals.” He shrugged. “They make you think about things.”

Therese nodded. They were soon conversing freely and about half way through the pint it occurred to her that this personable gentleman came from that rare class of person who ‘knew Mistral when’. But really, she couldn’t take advantage of these circumstances to discover things about her guarded co-worker. Could she?

Therese spared a glance toward the table at which Dev had resumed his seat. ‘Danny Boy’ hadn’t materialized but he seemed to be teaching his companions a more obscure Celtic tune. She returned her gaze to her new friend and eyed him speculatively.

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

“You,” Cindie pointed a finger at Mistral’s chest and said accusingly, “are not the least bit drunk.”

“My dear, you say that as if it’s a bad thing.” Mistral placidly sipped his half pint of bitters. He was seated at a corner table that provided a full view of the goings ons.

“Your friends probably thought they’d help you drown your sadness in drink.”

“In itself a noble endeavor.” He pulled out the chair next to him with his foot as in invitation for her to sit. “However, I think it best if I maintain my sobriety at the moment.”

Cindie took up the negligently proffered chair. “May I try that?”

Mistral slid the glass over to her and she took a tentative drink. “It’s bitter.” She made a face and Mistral arched an eyebrow. Cindie did not return his glass but took another sip, finding the flavour of the beverage growing on her. “So, what now?” She asked.

Mistral surveyed the pub before replying. He placed the palms of both hands on the table. “Now,” he said, “it is a waiting game.”

“Waiting for what? The Welsh constabulary to come and haul you away?”

Mistral did not wince. “In a word. Yes.”

“You are thoroughly exasperating, you know that don’t you.”

“Mmm hmm.” Mistral agreed equably. Between the clacking of the balls at the snooker table, the soft thunk of darts as they impaled the dart board, and, most obviously, the camaraderie of song coming from the center table, Mistral was not concerned with them being overheard.

“Look,” Cindie placed her little black handbag on the table. “See that.” Mistral nodded, clearly humouring her. “That,” she pointed to the handbag, “is an accessory. You,” she pointed at him for the second time, “are not.”

Mistral gently moved her forefinger aside with his own. “What it is, is a matter for the police. When it is time, you will leave with our friends and return to town and I shall be ready when they come to take me in for further questioning.” Cindie opened her mouth to comment on that likelihood but he forestalled her, “Which they are going to do, probably sometime tomorrow now the funeral is over.” A smile began to form on his lips, “However,” he nodded toward her purse, “that is a fine bag, but I think that I look much better on your arm.”

Cindie snorted, knowing he was diverting her but not caring. She didn’t bother to argue with him; she hadn’t driven to Wales only to abandon him for this next round of unpleasantness. “Go get another one of these. I want one of my own.”

Cindie
Handbag homaging.
- Saturday, February 28th 2004 - 02:04:48 PM

"Oh, they’re gone, they’ve left me, they’ve deserted me! Oh, I’m all alone, out on a desolate road, no where to turn, no place to go! How could they DO this to me? I am a good boss, a kind boss! Oh woe is me when the hand of fate shall swipe down and slap me in the rear! What will I do? What CAN I do? Oh help, help me! Help me!"

"Ian, you over-dramatic lug of a crybaby, get off me!"

"They’re gone, all of them! Gone, I tell you, gone with the wind! Susan, Vicky, Oliver, Luis, all gone! I’m RUINED!"

"I SAID get off me!"

Ian Maxtone-Graham sat sprawled on the floor of his office, draped halfway across his secretary, a demolished man. He had previously thought himself proud and of high estate, but no longer. His now tattered dreams and life was shattered to shards that lay scattered about him, too tiny to pick up, too shredded to glue back together. Only weeks ago was he drinking champagne and laughing with song. Now the world had been turned upside down on him, and he was clinging to a bare thread for all that he was worth.

Ian was the editor and owner of the popular San Franciscan magazine The Gate. He had everything he needed: a wonderful group of photographers, a perhaps too excellent critic, on-top-of-everything journalists, and a prompt secretary who was (almost) always there to assist. Thing were running smoothly and care-free as The Gate reached it’s 100,000th subscription. Ian was assured that they were heading in a promising direction.

And then, there was Susan.

Susan Keane had been a spunky writer for The Gate who supported most of the actual context. Although at times she typed reports that were fairly useless to the magazine, Ian enjoyed reading her work, not that he let this on. For some time Ian gave Susan all the space she needed, allowing her to write freely, especially when she was stressed over her love life with Oliver. Perhaps this had not been the wisest of choices, for then on things happened at rather a strenuous pace.

Shortly after Susan’s break-up with Oliver, her handed-in assignments were sloppy and useless. She began speaking in nonsense, for example, saying that Ian loved her (which was all-around a nice thought, but miles away from the truth) and was consistently having emotional breakdowns in front of everyone. He, Ian, had been married before and was now divorced, but you didn’t see HIM crying over spilled milk! Because of this, he reflected no sympathy.

She had reached the point of embarrassing when she took a drastic turn and started writing for other publishers. Pure insulting! Naturally, Ian panicked as the struggle for holding onto his number one writer began. He offered a 100% increase in her wages, named her employee of the month, and, for God’s sake, sang and played her a song! Yet she continued to seek deeper into the world, and what did she end up getting? That’s right, MSNBC propositioned for her to take a job on their show. At the same time, Oliver reclaimed his love and proposed. All seemed well at that point, for Susan seemed content to stay in San Francisco and raise a family instead of having to leave her friends for New York. However, the day of the wedding arrived and Susan, at the altar, created a scene declaring that she had taken the job in New York after all.

So thus she left, and she took Vicky, Luis, and Oliver with her. She had said a quick farewell to Ian, pecked him on the cheek, and the four of them walked triumphantly out the door, eyes filled with dreams of a glorious future. Ian, on the other hand, was left with Nate, who he would refrain from saying anything negative about, and Miranda, his black secretary with a less-than-divine attitude. Consequently, shortly after Nate quit to venture forth on a career in the food business, and now even Miranda was threatening to do the same.

And now we have returned to Ian’s current state- utter depression. The next issue of The Gate was due within the next two weeks, and it’s not exactly very professional to send a letter to 100,000 receivers saying, ‘Oh yes, we’ve gone on holiday for a bit. You don’t mind, do you?’ With no employees but a few servicemen, publishers, and a secretary, the only open option was for Ian to write the entire magazine himself until he was able to hire more, new workers. But hah! Both of those were a laugh. Even if he strove forth from dawn to dusk, he wouldn’t get a sixth done of what needed accomplishing. As for hiring, oh, that was a task he loathed. Interviews, applications, interrogating, training… where was the time? Where was the energy?

"I have no choice Miranda," he finally choked out, sobbing on her lap. (Although to some this scene might look odd, it was a fairly common routine between the two of them.) "I’ll have to close. The Gate will be no more. I just can’t handle it."

"Yeah. It’s for the best. You’re no spring chicken any more honey, yah old fart."

Ian ignored her rude comments and pressed on with his sorrows. "I’ll have to… to work at McDonalds, flipping hamburgers… or selling cellphones in the mall…"

"Oh my, that is depressing," she yawned.

"I’ve run this magazine for over twenty years…"

"And besides this all you do is eat and sleep."

"I’m a disgrace to my country, my family, my friends!"

"You have no family, no friends, and you’re thousands of miles away from your homeland. As you’d say… pity."

"Miranda… sweet, ever-dear Miranda, you’re still here, and for that I am grateful."

"Why? Because I got so bored I offered to lick your shoes clean and iron your tie?"

"No," replied Ian, struggling to straighten up, face puffy and scarlet. "You get to answer all the hundreds of phone calls from outraged subscribers. Now piss off, I have work to do."
Diane- A tad dull section of the story, yet necessary. , <webmistress_diane@eric-idle.com>
- Friday, February 27th 2004 - 01:48:05 PM

wow - well what day would you normally celebrate on when it isnt a leap year?the 28th or the 1st?
Sophie
UK - Friday, February 27th 2004 - 01:09:35 PM

Oh Lee, I guess I can forgive you for the cliffhanger. The purple goo part was wonderful. No problem Alison, I love her story no matter what. Happy birthday to Alisons beautiful little girl.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Friday, February 27th 2004 - 12:50:06 PM

Thanks Lee! A portable swamp and a nice cliffhanger (sorry Claire! I promise I will not encourage Lee again!)But I think Monday's installment will be great! A lovely weekend to all and have a nice Feb 29th! My daughter will be 4 years old on Sunday (or 1 year old I suppose!)
Alison
- Friday, February 27th 2004 - 11:27:53 AM

it's getting excitinggg!
Sophie
UK - Friday, February 27th 2004 - 10:51:39 AM

Thanks Lee. I guess this will have to tide me over until Monday. BTW, one of my friends had surgery to repair or get rid of her heel spurs. I know that is prob. a last option, but I wanted to let you know, because it helped her.
Monica
Texas, USA - Friday, February 27th 2004 - 10:22:52 AM

As Snape strode down the corridor on his way to the owlry, he sidestepped the large bubbling purple glob oozing into the corridor just outside of McClane’s classroom for the second time that afternoon. He abruptly halted his stride and slowly turned to retrace his steps. Carefully, he opened McClane’s door and was horrorstruck at the sight within.

Almost every surface in the room was covered with the thick, sticky purple concoction, which was the consistency of liquid bubble gum but smelled of rotten eggs. It dripped from the blackboard, the cupboards, the pictures, the furniture and the ceiling in thick blobs. The substance had a multiplying hex within it and doubled in volume every five minutes or so. The students were throwing handfuls of it at each other like a purple snowball fight but the sound of laughing changed to gasps of fright as, one by one, the students noticed Snape at the door. All was silent except the stomach-turning sound of the sulfurous gas belching goo.

Snape watched in disgust as a Slytherin sixth year, who was standing on McClane’s chair with a Gryffindor target in his sights, lost his balance and fell into the middle of the original swamp covering himself from head to toe in the process. Snape rolled his eyes and motioned the Slytherin student to his side.

“Colin Frissell-- come over here. NOW!” He said, glaring at the round purple mass with two small eyes barely visible in the center that was Frissell's head. Frissell stood and mopped his face and then made his way to where Snape was standing by the door. Snape regarded him with crossed arms and laser stare.

“Y…yes sir? I can explain. Sir.” He stammered as goop dropped off of him in thick sheets.

“Oh really? Let's hear it!” Snape said with raised brows.

“Well you see, Professor McClane has been absent for days and the substitute did not show up and…” He said in an attempt to justify the students’ behavior somehow. Snape suddenly paid full attention to him.

“McClane did not teach today?” He asked abruptly, riveting his eyes on Frissell.

“No sir.” Said Frissell, blinking vacantly. Snape pondered the information for several moments and address him further.

“Why didn’t you hit that Gryffindor before you lost your balance?” He asked, tapping his fingers idly on the black sleeve of his robes.

“Er…I didn’t think of it I guess. Sir” Frissell snapped out of the daze he was in and focused on the floor with growing concern. The purple mass was about to reach Snape’s boots. Snape looked about the room and took out his wand. He zapped the mass causing it to recede several feet from the small clearing where he stood. Frissell was amazed, as none of the students had been able to affect the strange substance no matter what anti-hex spells they tried.

“This place looks pathetic.” He hissed. Colin shifted from foot to foot.

“Yes sir. We will get it cleaned up right away. Sir.” He lied. ‘If only we could’ he thought.

“Why? Is this the best you can do then? It’s a disgrace to Slytherin house.” Said Snape.

“ER…No sir. We were not quite finished yet.” Frissell heard himself say. He was now terribly confused. Snape bent low so he could speak to Frissell privately.

“I saw Peeves heading this way. Do call him in so he can teach you how to do a proper job of it.” He said.

“Yes sir.” Chirped Frissell proudly.

“Carry on.” Said Snape, replacing his wand and glaring at the students as he turned and left.

“Yes sir!” said Frissell, saluting Snape with a purple hand.

He entered the room and faced her with a bright object dangling from his fingers. It was a delicate silver Celtic-design bracelet. Dread fell over Gwenevere when she realized where she must have lost it. She instinctively felt for it with her right hand and confirmed its absence from her painful wrist.
lee
For Claire and Alison. Inspiration. : D, - Friday, February 27th 2004 - 09:50:25 AM

Since my current George and Joya story will be finished in a couple of months, I've been thinking of what comes next. It's sort of hard to build momentum in stories where George and Joya are already married, and I'm having a hard time coming up with a plot. So I want to kick around an idea that I had: a re-write of RHPOT (the extended version) with Joya incorporated into the story. Think of it as RHPOT as it should have been done, with less emphasis on boring Costner and more interest in what's happening in the sheriff's life. And this story would be done from Joya's point-of-view, not George's. Also, it would be more openly comic, since I think one of the movie's problems is Costner's tendency to make everything so deadly serious that it kills the fun of the story.

So what I want to know is: what do readers think about this? Sound interesting or at least a little different? You can email me privately if you like. Just remove the "foo" from the ending.

Rose: thank you very much. I appreciate the comments and they are the nicest any writer could hear.
Magda , <mgrantwich@yahoo.comfoo>
Canada - Friday, February 27th 2004 - 09:41:59 AM

Sophie, he has to find out…eventually. Hang on there…
grit, I am so glad you are better. I will do the stretches and I am getting orthotics to correct the bone misalignment-its like getting glasses for eyesight, doesn’t cure only fixes the pain.
Monica, no problem! I feel great today, thanks.
Alison, YES a nice cliffhanger! Perfect! You have the right idea girl!
Claire, you know how I live for them! hahaha. They are so fun! (Plus, I just cannot stop myself.)
Thanks for the posts and caring about my heels too! You are all so nice. *Big grin*
lee
- Friday, February 27th 2004 - 09:34:29 AM

Alison, are you mad? A cliffhanger, oh no I hate cliffhangers. Please Lee, I beg you no cliffhangers. :(
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Friday, February 27th 2004 - 08:10:33 AM

Lee - hope you are feeling better. Sounds like torture. I hate needles!!!!!!! Yeah, the twins are brilliant in Book 5; hope they will still be around doing mad things when Book 6 finally comes out. How about a nice cliffhanger later today to keep us on tenterhooks for the weekend?
Alison
- Friday, February 27th 2004 - 04:10:07 AM

It was silver and gray, slick and slimy, yet also crackled and rough. It was triangular in shape and extended about a foot and a half above the surface. Anyone who had half a brain could recognize such an object without giving it a thought.

"Shark!" Diane squealed, drawing in her legs, the others following the same. The forbidding fin encircled the group once, in a wide ring, glinting in the sun as the panic rose.

Again, Jamie reached inside his jacket, and this time revealed a polished hand pistol, locked and loaded. The group froze in horror as it reflected on the water. "Don’t move." His tone of voice was soft, yet so strong in seriousness that it forced a tingle to jolt down your spine. He pointed it a little below the fin, leaning with precaution. His finger twitched, resting on the trigger, waiting, aiming, tense sky-rocketing…

"Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!"

Out from under the fin leapt a skinny man who looked no older than thirty in a wet-suit and scuba diving gear. He paled as the gun was pin-pointed between his eyes, a menacing flash in Jamie’s eyes. The man gulped, wringing his hands as he treaded the water. "Please, please, don’t hurt me!"

"What the-" Jamie pulled back, alarmed. The scuba diver looked scared to death, and Diane, who thought she’d certainly had enough excitement for one day, appeared about ready to faint. Everyone else was too confused to make sense of anything, and kept blinking with mouths slightly ajar.

"Um, help me out here," Ian said, rubbing his forehead. "What are you doing wearing a wet-suit with a SHARK FIN attached to the back?"

The swimmer winced, abashed and forlorn at the same time when the question was asked. "I rented it from the store… it was the last one they had in my size…"

"Yes, wow, now, this IS fascinating, really it is, but-"

"But WHAT were you doing swimming around US?" Diane demanded, her temper flaring once more. "I was making sure you weren’t terrorists or deadly criminals in disguise that would kill be before I could say ‘oops.’ It certainly wasn’t reassuring to see someone pull out a gun." The man shivered.

Diane cocked her head, signaling the words ‘Right…..’ from her brain. "Well, it’s not reassuring either to see a shark fin trailing us," she retorted.

Nigel shot her a ‘look’ and then asked the swimmer, "Are you Paranoid?"

The man’s eyes widened. "Uh, um, yes, yes, that I am."

Nigel grinned. "Good, then you’ll be more than happy to lead us to shore!"

"Actually," the swimmer cleared his throat, "that’s my job, to find you. You ARE the crew from the Flights of Fancy studios… correct?"

"Yes, yes, of course we are," Nigel replied in a tone that seemed to say ‘who else?’

"Ah. Good." The man suggested puzzled, as if trying with difficulty to remember something. The lightbulb must have clicked, because he exclaimed a very loud, "Oh!" and a devious expressed crossed his features. "But I may decide I do not wish to."

Nigel rolled his eyes. People can be so droll. "Damn. For a minute there I’d hoped that you’d forgotten." Jamie raised a questioning eyebrow. "If you take us to shore and then convoy us safely to the nearest town, I’ll give you twenty bucks and buy a hot fudge sundae."

The swimmer thoughtfully considered this, stroking his chin. "No, no…"

"You ARE a picky fellow," he scoffed. "But fine, have it your way. I’ll add another ten- no? Twenty? Come on mate, I don’t need to pay that much for a bloody escort! Oh good God, twenty-five more and a pack of batteries is my final offer!"

"Righto." He paced to swim slowly alongside the tubes, saying nothing, but he was constantly glancing behind him, the whites in his eyes overtaking the blue.

"Why did you do that?" Diane asked, popping open the lid on a Dr. Pepper can.

"Do what?"

"Bribe him. It was totally unnecessary. First off, we don’t need an escort, that’s why we have you," she mumbled this last bit inaudibly, "and secondly, if it was his duty anyways, then why give him anything?"

"My dear…" Nigel began, as if setting a little child upon his lap, "in Paranoia, if you don’t pay bribes, it’s considered a very serious offense. You can easily be thrown into jail if you don’t. As for the escort part of it, no, we don’t NEED one, but it’s highly convenient." He adjusted his cream hat. "Without him, it might be hours before we find the coastline."

"Oh." Diane made a mental resolution to resist to ask any more questions unless it was imperative.

"Welcome," the swimmer announced, "to Paranoia!"
Diane! , <webmistress_diane@eric-idle.com>
- Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 08:57:50 PM

Thanks for working through your pain for us, Lee. I hope your heel spurs heal! Thanks again
Monica
Texas, USA - Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 08:30:59 PM

lee, After you've had your first cortisone shot, it's hard to sit still for subsequent ones when you know what you're in for! The cortisone didn't work for me. I was very close to deciding on the surgery when the doctor suggested a walking cast for about a month. That, plus losing 27 pounds, seemed to do the trick. I'm very good about doing calf stretches, too. That helps the tendon in the foot that's causing you all that trouble.

I hope the shots are helping you. It's good to see that your treatment didn't keep you from posting the next installment!
grit
- Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 02:31:01 PM

Yeah, i loved the way they left in the latest book! :) well, it looks like Severus will be seeing Gwen tonight and maybe he will find out what happened in the owlery then! :) can't wait :)
Sophie
UK - Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 01:51:02 PM

Sophie, All will be revealed in due time. Suspense is fun, just ask Claire. She loves it especially Friday cliffhangers.
Alison, that’s perfect! LOL. Yes I think it was Purple Portable Swamp. Did you just love the twins in book five or what? I don’t think that anyone can top their antics.
Monica! Here I am, just for you. It’s so nice to be missed. Lol.
MWM, Thank you! It’s like a soap opera addiction I think. I used to like General Hospital years ago, now I watch NO T.V. (Humm…probably because of G.H.)
OMG Claire, are you still printing? Lol. Good for you. Thanks. And believe me, I am not sitting-I just ignore them and walk around like normal. Lol.
Thanks grit, yes today’s round was so much fun…I wonder why he had nurse Ratchet hold me down this time? I am sorry you had to endure them too. Hope you are better now.
Thanks for the posts all! P.S. Rose, you said exactly what I think about Magda’s story! I printed hers out (double sided thank goodness) and bite nails until the next installment. Its getting curiouser and curiouser in Nottingham shire! (I knew something was up with Abelard!)
lee
- Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 12:42:01 PM

Grave expressions greeted Snape
as he entered the Headmaster’s office. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore nodded solemnly as they sat down to review Snape’s most recent intelligence. He produced a comprehensive dossier on Death Eaters closest to the dark lord, which was largely compiled at night, while his lover slept soundly in their bed unaware of his important ongoing work. They discussed in detail plans to counter the recent activities and nullify the actions of clueless leaders at the Ministry of Magic.
When the meeting was adjourned, it was decided among them that more such meetings would be necessary in the near future. After Professor McGonagall left, the headmaster turned to Snape.
“Severus, how are things with you and Victoria?” He asked softly, easing him back into the chair with his outstretched hand on Snape’s shoulder.
“They couldn’t be better. Why do you ask?” Snape said softly as he settled back down uncomfortably. He sensed that the Headmaster had wanted to speak to him about Gwenevere for some time now.
“How much have you told her about our work?” he asked, ignoring Snape’s question for the time being. Snape shifted in the chair and sighed.
“She knows nothing about our work. It would be too dangerous for her…in her current situation.” He replied, setting his jaw tenaciously. 'He' would be the one to decide when she was ready for such matters.
“It will be more difficult for you to keep it from her now, you will be required to spend more time away from Hogwarts- especially at night. You will be in danger and she has the right to know.” Dumbledore said bluntly. Snape looked away from Dumbledore’s penetrating stare and shifted again in the chair.
“Yes, I know. She does not pry into my private work so I do not anticipate a problem. Gwenevere has enough to think about with the curse and does not need other worries just now.” Snape said, flexing his jaw muscles. Professor Dumbledore noted his level of exhaustion and vowed silently to keep an eye on him for the next week or so.
“Has she made any progress-to restore her magic?” He asked, changing the subject away from the curse. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of losing a valuable agent and a trusted friend.
“I have broached the issue with her once or twice, but she seems reluctant to talk about it. I need to be careful with her; she is a very high-strung woman and cannot be pushed until she is ready. Her emotions run deep in that area.” Replied Snape. Professor Dumbledore was extremely pleased that he knew Victoria so well and inwardly commended his supreme matchmaking skills with a small smile.
“Yes, I know. See what you can do Severus, she would be a tremendous asset to The Order as you well know. Her mind is capable of things unknown to most of us mere wizards.” He chuckled. Snape squirmed impatiently again and stood up.
“Headmaster…if something should ever happen to me…I could count on you to take care of her…” He said, but Dumbledore stopped him not wishing to dwell on that topic.
“Say no more Severus. I know what you are referring to and you need’nt worry about that I assure you…now if you will excuse me I have another meeting I must attend…and Severus…do take tonight off. That’s an order.”
“Of course Headmaster. Good day.” He said, bowing himself out of the Headmaster’s office. He stepped off the lift and proceeded to the owlry to collect his mail before teaching his last double potions lab before tea.
lee
- Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 12:36:10 PM

Poor Lee, I hope it gets better for you. I know how you hate to sit for too long. ;)
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 10:22:23 AM

Poor lee! I've had those cortisone shots in the foot - ouch! Make sure you have plenty of ice packs on hand while you type our next installment of TLC. Feel better!
grit
- Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 09:16:19 AM

Oh Thanks you guys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!I am so honored. I need to go to the foot Doctor and get shots in my heel spurs, (fun) but I will put the story on when I get back! See you then!
lee
- Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 09:02:09 AM

Hey, I've printed every page of Lee's story since the beginning.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Thursday, February 26th 2004 - 08:41:01 AM

Lee - You know you're a good writer when we all gather here daily, whimpering and begging, until you give us our "fix", LOL. I even went back to the beginning so I could get everything I missed! I guess I'll have to toddle off to bed and make do with dreams until tomorrow *sigh*.
MWM
SD, - Wednesday, February 25th 2004 - 10:28:27 PM

Where are you Lee? I need my Gwen/Snape!
Monica
Texas, USA - Wednesday, February 25th 2004 - 09:32:46 PM

Oh Magda, you capture George SO perfectly that as I read I spontaneously picture him as he thinks your thoughts and says your words--in fact, I'm starting to wonder if he is a real person after all...ok, just wishful thinking...
Rose
Washington, USA - Wednesday, February 25th 2004 - 07:33:54 PM

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

Sometimes I don't know why I bother. You try to be nice. You try to help someone. You explain at tedious length why you think a certain course of action is the right and proper one. And you still get ridiculous arguments and silly objections.

But what can you expect when you're dealing with a Locksley?

Marion got it right away, of course. I'd expected that. She'd watched Abelard during the meal and put two and two together to get the right answer. But Locksley hadn't noticed a thing. As soon as Joya and I were announced and their servants had discreetly withdrew so we could be private, he'd launched into a diatribe about Estrilda's death and what I intended to do about it. I let him run on for some time before I cut him off.

"Yes, yes, yes, your concern does you great credit as a lord and as an employer." I waved a hand dismissively in the air. "And I too would like to know who murdered her, if for no other reason than to shake his hand. However -"

Locksley cut me off. "Surely you're not going to pretend that you don't know who did it?"

I sighed. "Locksley, I assure you, I was in bed with my wife when the murder occurred and both Lady Suzanne and Lady Christina will swear that I never left their house until my men arrived at dawn. Estrilda can wait. She's not going anywhere, after all, and her family - assuming they're still willing to claim her - will not pester you for her remains. So let us move on to another topic close to your heart."

He eyed me warily. "And that would be?"

"Your brother." Joya interjected, perhaps suspecting that I would have used a stronger term to describe Will Scarlet.

Locksley scowled. "What about him?"

"I'm prepared to release him from the dungeon and set him free." I leaned forward, to emphasize my point. "On one condition."

Locksley and Marion looked at each other. Whatever message passed between them seemed to be brief. He looked back at me, with even more hostility than usual. "What condition?"

"That he return to your manor immediately and take - something - from this castle with him for safekeeping." I examined the nails on one hand, striving for a casual air. Of course, Locksley refused to see that as conditions went, this one was fair minor. He insisted on more details and became more agitated when I explained my plan. He spluttered and raged and carried on until even Marion was tugging on his sleeve, begging him to control himself. When he'd calmed enough to take part in a rational conversation again, she turned to me.

"We are of course pleased that you realize that you were wrong to imprison Will."

I sat up straighter in my chair. "I beg your pardon but I was not wrong at all. He attacked me and I have witnesses to prove it."

Marion nodded tolerantly. "Yes, you would say that. However, as I was saying, we are pleased and will take you up on your offer."

Locksley squawked loudly as Joya and I beamed happily at Marion. She nodded at both of us and ignored her husband. "However, I must have some assurance that he will not be re-arrested as soon as this affair has ended?"

I gazed at her with reluctant admiration. Although she wasn't as perfect as Joya, there was no denying that Marion was sharp enough. It was indeed a pity that she'd thrown herself away on a loser like Locksley. "Very well. I will provide you with a written guarantee that I will not re-arrest him. But I want a commitment from him that there will be no repeat of his attempt on my life."

For a moment she looked as though she was going to deny again that there had been one, but apparently she thought better of it and nodded instead. "Agreed."

We pulled out the parchment and the quills and wrote out the agreement right there and then. All four of us signed two copies and turned them over to the ladies for safekeeping. Then Marion disappeared into the bedchamber and came out some time later with a bundle containing a change of clothes and some money for Scarlet. Joya went off to the stables to arrange for a horse to be made ready, then Locksley and I headed for the dungeons.

I would have liked to have taken Leofric into my confidence about this matter but there were already four people who knew and shortly there would be a fifth and that was quite enough for an undertaking that was supposed to be confidential. We descended two flights of stairs into the dankness, passing more than a dozen guards on the way. The two at the bottom of the stairs looked uncertain when I dismissed them but I glared them into obediance and they left, grudgingly. Then we entered Will Scarlet's cell.

He certainly didn't look like anything that a normal person would want to claim as kin, but then I'd always thought him rat-like in appearance, so perhaps I'm not the best judge. He glared at us when we came through the door, his face showing confusion and suspicion when he recognized his brother. Locksley explained our idea briefly and with a minimum of vituperation directed at me. Scarlet considered the matter for a few moments, then nodded his acceptance and reached for the bundle of clothes. He changed in front of us, discarding his rags in the far corner of the cell.

I watched them talk as Scarlet made his preparations. Something about the sight seemed a little off but it took me a moment to realize what it was. Most prisoners who'd spent a few weeks in the dungeons didn't look as good as Scarlet. He didn't seem to have lost any weight and his colour, although pale, wasn't much different from that of someone who'd simply been housebound for the same length of time. I hadn't ordered him abused in any way, so it was no surprise to see him unharmed, but dungeons aren't designed with health promotion in mind and I was curious about why he looked as well as he did.

As soon as he was wearing his new outfit and had secured his money and his brother's dagger in his belt pouch, we turned and ascended the stairs. Again, the guards watched closely but didn't make a sound as we passed. We turned at the top of the stairs and walked through the larder, then the kitchens, before finally reaching the door that led to the gardens and past them, the stables. Joya and Marion were waiting beside a saddled horse. Marion carried another bundle and a heavy cloak. She handed both to Scarlet as we came up, explaining that there was enough food to keep him full for at least a day. Scarlet accepted both items, nodded at all of us and hoisted himself onto his mount. He pulled the animal's head around and pointed it in the direction of the gate.

I reached up and seized the reins. "Just before you depart, you might be interested to know that your friend is dead and won't be able to help you any more."

Scarlet jerked the reins free and stared at me, his scowl of anger dissolving into a look of surprise. "My friend? Dead?"

"Yes, she is." I smiled with contempt. "So you're on your own."

For a moment he simply gazed at me. Then he smiled back, with a look I didn't like at all. "Oh, she's dead, is she? Well, isn't that too bad...for me, I mean." Then he began to laugh, a genuinely amused noise that started as a chuckle and grew into a roar. He let the sound build and decline until he had to wipe tears from his eyes. Then he pulled the horse around and kicked it hard in the ribs, sending it through the gate at a stiff gallop.

I walked over to the gate and watched the cloud of dust that marked his disappearance. For some reason, his response made me very uneasy.

Magda
Canada - Wednesday, February 25th 2004 - 04:01:36 PM

Was it a purple portable swamp Lee?? Ha, ha, I love Fred and George and their crazy inventions! Perhaps they sold it to the class. Claire, your boss sounds like a nightmare from hell! Poor you! I've had to deal with a few bad ones in my time, but nothing like that. Hang in there!
Alison
- Wednesday, February 25th 2004 - 10:04:12 AM

Therese, thanks. My coworker has collected "I love you" in seventy eight languages, so far.LOL He enjoyed your addition, although I told him he would have to talk to the Irish guy about how to pronounce the words....
ACC
- Tuesday, February 24th 2004 - 11:31:10 PM

The suspence is killing me! :P
Sophie
UK - Tuesday, February 24th 2004 - 01:29:27 PM

Cool Lee, thanks.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Tuesday, February 24th 2004 - 12:31:37 PM

The class did it, not the twins. The twins would have been proud of it thats all. If my imaginations can stretch that far, I will elaborate. LOL.
LOL, lee
- Tuesday, February 24th 2004 - 12:01:43 PM

I sure would like to know what the twins did in that room, maybe a little insight.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Tuesday, February 24th 2004 - 11:59:07 AM

McClane managed to scrape himself off of the floor and limp, while hunched over, to his quarters several floors below. He threw himself on the unmade bed and moaned quietly to sleep, cursing his parents for ever having conceived him and wishing he’d never been born.

Meanwhile, his Libanomancy class, ripe with spring fever, had concluded that neither he nor a substitute was teaching the class today so they took full advantage of the situation and proceeded to redecorate the room in a fashion that the Weasley twins would be proud of. They needed to blow off steam in big way.

Snape paced the dungeon and collected tests completed by the sixth year O.W.L. students immediately after their labs. He shook his head in disgust and placed them atop the daunting stack of lab notes in need of translation. He idly picked through the tests in search of the Gryffindors' and issued icy glares at each corresponding student as they waited impatiently for the end of class.

The moments until lunchtime seemed an eternity. Snape was in truth impressed with the work before him, but clung to his time honored teaching dogma: never let them know that they have satisfied the Professor or they will stop achieving -and the simple fact that pressuring them was quite enjoyable for him. He calmed a rising yawn and decided to let them leave several minutes early, to their relief, and collected his work en route to his adjoining office. He locked the doors and headed to the great hall for lunch.

Snape sulked over his lunch, rigidly projecting invisible authority over his house as usual. His thoughts were heavy and focused today as he stifled another yawn. He consumed his food without actually tasting it as his mind worked overtime to prepare for his meeting with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, in the Headmaster s office, concerning their work with The Order.

Snape finished lunch and strode towards the Headmaster’s office. As he passed Professor McClane’s classroom, he didn’t even perceive the pugnacious puddle of purple goo oozing out from under the closed door, and the shrieks of laughter emanating from within. He simply stepped around it and continued on in dogged concentration.
lee
Well Sophie, I think he will be none too happy, thats for sure. I would not want to be McClane right now. (Or Claire's boss. I think Gwenevere gave her an idea for the next time...if there IS a next time...Sounds like there won't be), - Tuesday, February 24th 2004 - 11:36:02 AM

The captain clapped his hands together and rubbed them as the group stared blankly at the rubber tubes that were now fully inflated. The flight attendant opened the door, and everyone closed their eyes and prepared to drown as a Whoosh of gurgling water swept inside, soaking their feet. However, after the first bit of flooding, it ceased, and the water slowly percolated out again.

The tubes were then lazily tossed out the door, all of them tied together by rope so that no one would go drifting off into the middle of the ocean. The whole ordeal looked skeptical and unsafe, especially to Jamie. It reminded him of something out of The Swiss Family Robinson or Robinson Crusoe.

"Ladies first," the captain offered, standing aside.

"I am NOT getting in that! Do you hear me? I’ll fall off!" she growled furiously.

"I thought you were an explorer?" the captain answered, taking a small step backward.

"THEY are." She jabbed her thumb at Jamie and Nigel. "I’M a reporter." She stood up a bit straighter, as if saying in a subtle way that she was superior.

"Well I don’t care if you’re Brittany Spears, get on the raft," Nigel ordered as another wave of sea filtered inside. She still, however, did not budge.

Jamie pushed in front, slightly squeezing to get through without toppling over the stubborn woman. What a bother she was being. "I’ll go, I’ll go," he hissed, eyeing their new transportation system. He muttered something venomous under his breath, and began to try and ease himself into one of the tubes without tipping it over. It was much more of a challenge than it looked, proving to be very deceiving.

Next came the man and the pilot, and after them, Nigel. The tubes bobbed up and down with the gentle waves, and in a way, it was very relaxing. Since the flight attendants were remaining on the plane to ‘try and clean things up a bit’, only the woman remained, as pessimistic as ever. She complained relentlessly for another good three minutes, but it was impossible for her to win the debate. Begrudgingly she crawled into a tube, and everyone cheered as she shot looks of death to all.

"What do you know? You didn’t fall out!"

"Just watch!" she snapped. "I’m bound to tumble out eventually, bloody thing." Her partner just shrugged, ignoring her moaning and comments.

The sun shimmered brightly upon the group making it nearly unattainable to keep your eyes open without being blinded. The air was most and very humid, but not so much that the surroundings were uncomfortable. Besides a few flapping seagulls hovering in the sky, there was no other sign of life anywhere to be found. All was placid and tranquil. So perfectly still, in fact, that when Jamie cast a glance to their plane, it looked so horribly awkward that it shocked him. Their silly, out-of-place plane ruined the whole scene, sticking out of the sea like that!

The captain had some folded paper in hand, and he repeated looking to his watch several times. The woman, who was floating between the pilot and her comrade, peeked over curiously to see what was so fascinating.

"What’s that?" she finally asked, trying in vain to sound less than interested, but morely to make conversation.

"A map of Paranoia. I’m trying to guess how long it will take to get to shore."

She drew up her position. "I am not stupid. That map of yours in blank. What do you take me for? There’s not a thing on it!"

"Well of COURSE there isn’t a bleeding thing on it!" Nigel supplied, overly exasperated. "Paranoia doesn’t appear on ANY map."

"Oh yes, quite right. How could I possibly forget that islands on maps just disappear? How silly of me! Didn’t YOU know that, Ian dear?"

Her male friend, now revealed to us as Ian, continued on being oblivious as he flipped through a magazine. He peered up and met her ferocious expression. "Sorry, Diane, did you say something? I wasn’t paying attention." Jamie did his best to hide a smile as her cheeks glowered.

"Ian! I thought you would have more dignity than that! If it wasn’t for me, you’d…" She trailed off, eyes wide on something protruding from the water. "May I inquire to what the HELL is THAT?!"
Diane, writing away eagerly... , <webmistress_diane@eric-idle.com>
- Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 07:44:24 PM

ACC,

"I love you" in Irish is: Tá grá agam duit. Being a romantic lot, the Celts have all sorts of different ways to speak this sentiment. Mo mhíle grá, or "my thousand loves" is my personal favorite.

And for whatever reason, the Irish don't use the term Gaelic, in their language, the name for their tongue is Gaelige, which in our tongue means "Irish."

Therese
- Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 03:53:26 PM

Wow, that is cool that everyone understands me. I have worked here a year. I wasn't sure about the black mail but it seems to work just fine. His dad is just as bad verbally but hopefully never physically. I would look for another job,but the job market is horrible here. Have a good day ladies and thanks.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 02:37:44 PM

Oh, dearest Claire, no one could think badly of you! The jerk deserves whatever you need to do to protect yourself. I worked for a retired military guy who was always doing the dirty old man routine, mostly talk, but one day he patted me on the butt. I was so surprised I hauled off and punched him on the arm, hard. I'm sure I bruised him but good. I have no regrets whatsoever. He never touched me again, and though he made jokes about "watch out for her, she'll belt you!", none of the other guys laughed. Several even congratulated me. I'd belt him for you, if I could!
MWM
SD, - Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 02:04:34 PM

ohhh i really hope severus finds out soon, i can't wait to see what he would do :)
Sophie
UK - Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 11:49:33 AM

Oh Clair, I felt sorry for you! I've had a few like that too. I could pull a Gwen...often! Trust me.
I put the story on, but I do not know if it went through.
lee
- Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 11:03:45 AM

Gwenevere took a slight detour
to the Hogwarts kitchens before returning to the second floor. Her wrist was bruised and she thought that if she applied ice to it, the evidence would be lessened. She stood at the doorway and from a sea of house elves busily preparing food; Dobby spotted her immediately and knew that something was wrong. He hurried over to her and she implored his discrete assistance with a whisper and a nod, as there were many other elves working within hearing distance. He quickly provided what she needed and asked no questions, but his expression of concern was apparent.

Once back inside her quarters, she hung her robes on hooks and entered her office, placing the mail in her mail basket, which was still full of unopened mail. When she pulled up the sleeve of her sweater, her delicate wrist was reddened and fist-shaped bruises were starting to appear as violet-blue marks where McClane had gripped her. She applied the icepack and settled down to complete the finishing touches on her final research project for her class lecture tonight, thankful it was no her right hand.

A knock came to the door and she checked her watch having lost all track of the time. It was lunchtime and she answered the door.

“Hola Dobby.” She said, trying to fake a smile. She presumed that she would need to explain.

“Professor Collins, may I please come in?” He asked, more of a statement.

“Yes of course Dobby. Please.” She said as she moved aside for him to enter. He noticed her work in the office and set the lunch tray there and then returned to the entranceway with the now melted icepack in his hands. She indicated for him to sit down so that they could talk.

“Professor Collins, Dobby is scared. What happened to you that you need ice and why is it a secret? Did Professor Snape do this…?” He asked, frightened by the thought that she may be in an abusive relationship. He realized that, for the most part, he knew Professor Snape by sight and reputation only. Gwenevere was horrified that Dobby could thing such a thing.

“Oh no Dobby! Please. Professor Snape cannot know about this do you understand? She asked resolutely. Dobby looked down at the icepack and appeared uncomfortable.

“Well then who? Professor Dumbledore will want to know.” Said Dobby, looking at her damaged wrist. Gwenevere absently pulled her sleeve down to hide it from view.

“I cannot tell you but don’t worry I have taken care of it for now. You must promise me that you will not mention this to anyone okay?” she asked gently.

“Dobby has a bad feeling about this, its not right that someone wants to harm such a nice lady…and you have no magic…” He said after some thought.

“Thank you very much for your kind concern, but I’ll be fine- not to worry.” She said managing a smile. Dobby nodded his head and was in a hurry to get back to the kitchens so he bid her good day and would see her at teatime.

Gwenevere picked idly at her lunch and wondered how long she could keep this from Severus. He was stressed enough with the curse and his heavy teaching schedule and she didn’t want to burden him further. She was also concerned about what he might do to McClane if he knew and she didn’t want to be more of a problem to the school and to Professor Dumbledore.

She thought of Professor Parker and feared that if her name came up one more time in a personal situation for the headmaster to sort out, that he might regret hiring her to teach at Hogwarts before her first day even arrives. Her current status as a paying boarder enrolled in the school could easily be changed to living off school grounds in the Burgess estate castle if she proved too much of a distraction to the harmony of the school

. As for McClane, she hoped he would spend the remainder of the school year in hospital wing but knew better. He would surly keep the incident to himself as his inflated ego would not withstand the reality of contemporaries knowing that a mere woman got the better of him.

Her thoughts drifted back to Severus. He looked increasingly tired each day and she questioned when he actually slept at all. He was always still awake when she drifted off at night and he was always awake when she first opened her eyes in the morning. She knew that he carried many pressing matters with him always and had the feeling that she knew only of the tip of the iceberg at that. Looking ahead, Friday’s potions lab should prove very interesting, she thought.

She decided that it was time to show him more T.L.C. than usual. She would do for him tonight, what he so generously did for her in London. Dobby and McClane were wrong; she did have use of magic. Powerful magic.

Her mind made the leap to Severus’ earlier request that she regain her magical abilities and learn the Dark Arts from him, but the thought of picking up that wand caused a chill to run along her spine. ‘Time to get back to work’ she sighed. She set the tray in the entranceway and started on her studies concerning tomorrow’s veritaserum.
lee
- Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 10:56:01 AM

Lee, I have a boss that reminds me of McClane. He isn't all that good looking, has no charm, but thinks that every woman wants him. My first two months here he did everything to get down my pants, but after a few course words and a threat or two he finally left me alone. Now he hardly talks to me, which is good. Job security in the worse way, he is frightened to fire me, because I will go to his wife.(thats horrible I know, but thats how I got him to leave me alone) Oh, please don't think bad about me.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 10:29:20 AM

Hi Sophie, One shouldn’t mess with Gwenevere…no, no.
Hi Alison, he is sure to find out…eventually.
Hi Claire and Laura! What kind of bosses do you have? Yikes!
Hi Pam, I am glad you like the stories!
Thank you for being such loyal readers and for your lovely posts too!!!!
lee
story coming up...I hope AR had a great birthday!, - Monday, February 23rd 2004 - 10:06:53 AM

Kind of off topic, but not really-one of my coworkers who is Irish, says that there is no phrase in Gaelic to say "I love you"-can that be true?
ACC
- Sunday, February 22nd 2004 - 10:57:18 PM

Mistral Manor:

Therese leans on the horn, sending a resounding blaaaaaaattt! through the peaceful Welsh countryside even as Mary Anne hurries out the door, shrugging into her coat, her eyes twinkling as she nears the car. Stopping and striking a pose, she frets, “Do I look all right? After all, ‘casual’ can mean just about anything—“

There is a mass shout of “GET IN THE CAR!” and the giggling Mary Anne complies, piling in to slide over beside The Director, who grumps, “We’re going to a pub, not the BAFTA’s!”

“Oh, don’t you think this would work for the BAFTA’s, then?” jokes Mary Anne, smoothing one hand down her coat.

“Why not?” puts in Cindie, followed by Barbara with, “Hey, if Sharon Stone could go to the Oscars in a turtleneck—“

Mary Anne raises an eyebrow. “Well, it certainly helps to look like Sharon Stone. Or anyone else who could look lovely even if she were wearing a trash bag—“

“Do we know anyone like that?” The Director inquires, fixing Mary Anne with a look. Her smile at him is radiant, unfeigned, and—for once—completely free of mischief, and the corners of his mouth turn up in response.

Thank you, kind sir,” murmurs Mary Anne, kissing the air an inch away from his cheek.

The Director flaps his hands at her, pretending to shoo her away. “All right, enough of that. We have a pub to visit.”

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

The Director steps through the door of the Cwrw ac Isalaw . . . and stops.

There is a pause, then Therese pushes to the front of the group. “What’s happening? Let me . . .”

She stops as well.

A soft thunk as Alexander Dane selects a dart, lines up his throw, and hurls it at the target.

A crisp smack of snooker balls from the table in the far corner—a table that Brandon appears to be running, judging from his rolled-up sleeves, the uncharacteristically smug look on his beaming face, and the mutters of two men passing him folded notes. “All the bloody luck!” grouses one, and shakes his head as Brandon leans on his stick and intones, “Not luck. Skill.” Christopher Brandon, the Secret Shark, amiably agrees to a rematch.

But the group at the door is only able to hear these exchanges due to a pause in the activities at the large centre table—a table surrounded by members of the All Male Welsh Choir, draining their glasses in salute to one they seem to have taken to their hearts: Eamon de Valera, proudly standing on the table and raising his emptied glass waving it in rhythm as he begins to sing:

“Hark I hear the foe advancing
Barbed steeds are proudly prancing
Helmets in the sunbeams glancing
Cymru fo am byth!”

Over the shouts of acclaim from the choirmen, Mary Anne says into Therese’s ear, “You had better stop him, Therese. They’ll probably be trying ‘Danny Boy’ next, and Dev’s a baritone, not a tenor. He could hurt himself!”

MA
Looks like they've been there long enough to have a few . . . - Sunday, February 22nd 2004 - 04:38:35 PM

A big thank you to all the ladies that keep these wonderful stories coming and fill them with adventure and romance. Keep up the good work Lee, Magda, Claudia, Cindi and all the others. I havent been here for awhile and am still trying to catch up!
Pam
USA - Sunday, February 22nd 2004 - 12:25:24 PM

Raising my glass to join in the toast. And a Merry AR's Birthday to all!
Cindie *drinking an extra glass to make up for being a day late*
- Sunday, February 22nd 2004 - 09:15:43 AM

I *knew* Feb 21st was someone's birthday! It was nagging at me all day yesterday would you believe it! Alan, a very Happy Birthday to you - please forgive me for being a day late!! (it's Sunday morning here in France!)
Alison
- Sunday, February 22nd 2004 - 04:07:45 AM

Of course, Happy birthday to Mr Rickman, it's my birthday today :) (22nd - UK time) being a pisces is fun :)
Sophie
UK - Saturday, February 21st 2004 - 06:30:30 PM

Thanks Barbara! :-D It's great to be back!

And a very happy birthday to Mr. Rickman, I had almost forgotten! (*gasp*)
Diane
- Saturday, February 21st 2004 - 05:29:52 PM

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

"Oh! The nerve - the unmitigated gall of that man!" Joya's voice floated back to me as I hurried up the stairs after her. A door crashing open at the far end of the corridor indicated that she'd reached the solar. Two maids came running past me, pale with fear. I walked faster.

By the time I got to her room, she was in the grip of a full-blown Angevin temper tantrum - and looking magnificent with her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. She kicked baskets out her way as she flounced about the room, her spindle and needlework were hurled in the direction of the fireplace and she stopped only when she reached the huge four-poster bed against the wall. When she began tugging at the curtains, trying to tear them down and no doubt trample them, I judged it was time to intervene.

I shut the door and barred it against any unwanted interruptions, then crept across the floor and scooped her up in my arms. She squawked loudly in protest. I ignored it, dropped her on the bed and wrapped her up tight in the top cover. She struggled mightily but I had no trouble keeping her swaddled and she finally gave up, glaring up at me with stormy blue eyes. I smiled at the sight and she burst out into angry denunciations of my callous disregard for her feelings. I leaned down and kissed her into silence, if not submission; I'd never yet managed to do that. She was a feisty one, my Joya.

When I gave her room to breathe, she started in immediately. "Did you hear him? Did you hear him?" She demanded. "He offered me to you as your mistress!"

"I heard." I stroked her hair. "Very generous of him. Of course once I'd seen you I would have taken you anyway. No power on earth can keep us apart." It seemed like a good moment so I kissed her again.

"Stop that!" Joya jerked her head away. "What are we going to do? I'm too furious to think straight."

"Yes, you are and the sight is incredibly arousing." I sat back and loosened my hold so that she could struggle up into a sitting position. "But that can wait until tonight. Right now we are going to visit the Locksleys and tell them our plans."

She raised her brow inquiringly. "We have plans, do we?"

I nodded. "We're going to offer them a straight trade: I'll release Will Scarlet from the dungeons - no questions asked about his attempt on my life - and in exchange they will force him to assist us in a little kidnapping."

"Kidnapping?" She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at me. "Who is he going to kidnap?"

"Abelard, of course." I pulled her into a tight embrace. "Scarlet will take him to some cottage or farm on Locksley's manor and keep him there until he hears from us. Without a groom to marry, the king is stymied. We'll go to Godfrey then and negotiate with him to drop this whole silly idea."

"And if he doesn't?" Joya leaned into my arms, rubbing my chest through my tunic. Her voice became husky and trembled slightly as I continued to hold her.

"Then he'll never see Abelard alive again." I bit her earlobe, none too gently.

"George!" She reared back and pushed herself away from me. "Don't you dare hurt him! He's almost a child! I refuse to allow anything to happen to him."

I let her go and smiled. "Did I say he'd be harmed? All I said was that Godfrey would never see him alive again. Locksley will get word to Scarlet and he'll take Abelard north until he's well out of the shire. Then we'll produce a corpse - always some around somewhere, people do have a habit of dying, usually before they've paid their taxes. We'll produce a headless body of the right size, dress him in Abelard's tunic and then present him to your royal half-brother and the Count. With all four of us swearing that it's Abelard, then there won't be anything Godrey can do."

She stared at me, speechless. I examined my nails as the silence stretched on. Finally she let out her breath in a gusty sigh. "Well, I can't think of anything else, so it's as good a plan as any. I know you're making an incredible sacrifice by giving up Scarlet like this. I suppose it means that you really don't want to give me up."

I grimaced. She didn't have to rub it in; I wasn't that noble, after all. I stood up, pulling Joya to her feet beside me. She rolled off the bed gracefully, her gowns swishing around her like petals. The sight of the rumpled bed did heated things to my blood but there were other priorities to attend to first. Unfortunately. With one final longing look backwards, I headed to the door, tugging Joya after me.

Magda
Canada - Saturday, February 21st 2004 - 02:39:00 PM

May I remind you, we have a schedule to keep . . . and you two will find some way of cooking up some mischief . . .
The Director
- Saturday, February 21st 2004 - 12:34:05 PM

May we? Of course we may! 8-D

MA
And probably will, too! - Saturday, February 21st 2004 - 12:16:12 PM

Krkrkshshshshshshhhhhhhhhh.
R
Mais oui! - Saturday, February 21st 2004 - 12:03:18 PM

*singing*

"Happy Birthday, Mr. Rickman,
Happy Birthday to yooouuuuu . . ."

MA
*pop*! of champagne corks . . . krrrrrrshhhhhhh of bubbles . . . - Saturday, February 21st 2004 - 10:49:34 AM

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ALAN! CONGRATS & HAVE FUN!!!
SNAPE SISTA
- Saturday, February 21st 2004 - 09:55:34 AM

I'd love to pull a Gwen. on my boss too, Claire!! lol. Still loving the story, Lee, keep up the good work.
Laura
But then again, don't we all?, - Friday, February 20th 2004 - 10:48:18 PM

*tipping a hat in greeting to Diane*

Welcome back!
Barbara the Wallpaper-er
- Friday, February 20th 2004 - 10:41:49 PM

"The crash is just a part of the flight, no worries." Nigel Spasm put up a hand to show more reassurance, but he didn’t look so calm himself. He, Nigel, was an anthropologist, and the man with the plan to drag the others and Jamie on this crazy escapade to begin with. He looked remarkably like Jamie’s male companion, and after much blinking Jamie began to wonder if they were related. Apparently not, for they exchanged no glances or even seemed to notice each other as the plane soared down from the heavens.

"You’re… uh… quite sure?" the lady inquired, her tone scornful and mocking. Jamie didn’t blame her in the slightest, feeling repulsive and annoyed himself. He felt the strong need for a very… er… rapid explanation.

"Positive," Nigel replied without hesitation. "I would not lead us to danger."

That’s what you think Jamie snapped in his head, but managed to say nothing. He would simply have to trust Nigel. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it anyway.

SPLASH. The plane hit water nozzle-first and waves the size of mini skyscrapers reared back and clashed down upon the exterior, almost engulfing the plane entirely. Somehow, surprisingly, they did not sink, nor explode, nor burn. The plane hadn’t even rolled on its side, although it WAS slanted downwards, thus making the aisle treacherous if one wasn’t cautious.

Jamie and the others hastened to unbuckle themselves as a flight attendant helped them get luggage from the overheads. The floor was beginning to get slightly squishy and damp, but no one really appeared to care. Jamie thought this was because everyone was just happy to be alive.

"I’ll KILL John…" he muttered angrily, swinging two enormous suitcases. Now he knew why they didn’t allow him to check-in any of his bags. How interesting.

The lady and her partner edged over to where the other flight attendant was blowing madly into some sort of black tube. His face was turning blue from all the constant inhaling and exhaling.

"I say," the man asked the flight attendant, "are you alright? What ARE those anyways?"

"The first-class life-rafts of course," Nigel answered for him while messing with a camera lens. "What did you think we were going to do? Swim ashore?"

The man looked appalled, but Jamie had done worse. MUCH worse, matter of fact… But no need for details.

"What about our luggage?" the woman asked impatiently, protruding a fine finger at a pile of neatly packed cameras, equipment, regular suitcases, and a few laptops. "It certainly cannot go on one of those… those… tubes with us!"

"Of course not!" Nigel responded quickly. "We have a floatable carrier for them."

"A lot of those are electronics, and are VERY expensive. I do not want them ruined!" She glared at Nigel like that of a hawk.

"My dear, there is no need to fret! Had there been the possibility that your belongings would be in any way ruined, I would not have flown you out here to begin with! Do you not recall that it is I who is funding this project, mmm? Do you think I’d waist my money for nothing?"

At this she had no reply, but continued to stare defiantly. She gave a haughty sniff and gingerly began stacking the bags into what looked a lot like a cardboard box with floaters on the bottom.

"Right…" said the captain, walking out of the cockpit, "shall we begin to make our final approach?"
Diane- Fingers Crossed, and Thanks Magda! , <Webmistress_Diane@eric-idle.com>
The State of Exhaustion, - Friday, February 20th 2004 - 07:29:17 PM

Welcome home, Diane.
Magda
- Friday, February 20th 2004 - 03:10:51 PM

Wonderful Lee, you have no idea how bad I would love to do that to my boss. I still like McClane, like I said clumsily stupid, but I feel he has more in this story than you have led on.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Friday, February 20th 2004 - 01:23:42 PM

Bravo Gwen - she did a great job Lee. Can't wait to see how Sev reacts to this little incident though! Have a lovely weekend everyone.
Alison
- Friday, February 20th 2004 - 12:29:14 PM

Thanks so much for fixing my mistake!
Di
- Friday, February 20th 2004 - 12:14:42 PM

Wow! that has to be one of my favourite episodes yet! Wonder what Severus will do when and if he hears about this!
Sophie
UK - Friday, February 20th 2004 - 11:24:57 AM

Gwenevere rounded the final stair
and looked cautiously in the direction of Madam Trelawney’s ladder before entering the owlry. To her relief, no one was there to delay her from getting back to her quarters and catching up with her work.

Her footsteps sounded crisp on the moist stone as she strode to her mail slot and collected several letters there. She stepped over and glanced at Snape’s slot and noted a similar volume of mail but then thought better of collecting it without his knowledge of it.

Suddenly, one of the owls screeched and caused her to turn her attention towards the aviary. Most of the owls were busy grooming fastidiously and the atmosphere smelled strongly of musty wet feathers and soggy straw as the rain continued throughout the gray day. Water dripped and echoed loudly and there was a distinctly damp chill in the air. As she turned to leave, a voice sounded close behind her.

“Well hello Genevieve. Surprised to see me are you?” said McClane as he walked up and stood in front of her. He seemed extremely cocky and arrogant-more so than usual.

“Professor McClane. Yes…I didn’t expect to see anyone as a mater of fact.” Gwenevere replied coolly.

“Least of all…me.” He mocked. She felt his eyes trail slowly over her like a slithering slimy snail.

“It makes no difference, I was just leaving so if you will please excuse me…” she said, taking a step forward. McClane blocked her progress.

“Not so fast.” He said, cocking his head aggressively.

“Pardon me?” she said, astonished by his rude boldness. She stood tall and peered down at him with now dark black pupils like obsidian in an open flame. He apparently needed a lesson in manners.

“You’re not going anywhere until you hear what I have to say.” He hissed, stepping closer yet.

“Oh, I’m afraid I am. I am not the least bit interested in anything you may have to say.” She said. She looked past him for a brief moment and stepped back. McClane mistook it for female weakness. That was his second mistake.

“No need to look for your boyfriend, I assure you that he is in the dungeons. He couldn’t be much farther away actually.” He sneered. Gwenevere squelched an urge to roll her eyes and stared at him through unyielding determination.

“McClane. Haven’t you learned anything? The Headmaster has forbidden you…” She started to say.

“…Forbidden me to stay away from the second floor…this is the owlry in case you haven’t noticed.” He lifted his hand and swung it overhead as if to show her the scenery. “And yes indeed I have learned quite a bit since I have been away. Durmstrang is a very interesting place, especially if one fancies the dark arts, mind you, as someone we both know very well does...” He said as he smiled reptilian.

"I have wasted enough time here with you…” She said as she tried to ease past him and leave.

McClane grabbed her wrist and her letters scattered to the floor like confetti. She did not resist lest he tighten his grip on her. Another owl screeched loudly and flapped its wings in protest. McClane moved his face close to hers and was fighting to stay in control of his seething emotions.

“Not yet Genevieve. I have spent the last six days playing guinea pig for seventh years practicing the dark arts- owing to Snape’s interference in my itinerary no doubt not to mention that he is the reason I was sent there to begin with.” His breath was upon her and she fought hard to not look away. He relaxed his demeanor when she did not resist him. “At first I was displeased by it all, but in retrospect, I have learned so much. New doors have opened for me shall we say.” He was suddenly quite pleased with the situation. Snape’s lady was at his mercy, he savored the frightful furry in her eyes.

“Get your hand off of me NOW McClane.” She whispered through gritted perfect teeth. He sneered, and the stubby fingers of his left hand slowly reached for his wand.

“Oh I don’t think so…I know exactly what you are in need of.” He said, raising a brow.

“I am warning you McClane.” She said, looking him dead in the eye.

“You’re warning ME?…HA! And just what do you plan to do about it? Word has it you’re a bloody squib.” He watched carefully for a sign from her that he was on to something, but he perceived none. “Have you ever been kissed by a real man?” He said and again relaxed his grip infinitesimally. He abandoned his wand for the moment and brought his hand up to her hair.

“Alright you asked for it…” She said with a strange calm.

He intended to taunt her further with a laugh and wondered if she had finally come to her senses when…suddenly he felt like the family jewels were suddenly in a hydraulic vice like the jaws of death set on high crush mode. As he tried to cry out, there was a thumb pushing unbelievably hard in the hollow of his throat choking out all possible sound. He was then being airlifted unceremoniously to the floor after experiencing a fast flip backwards and his back and head collided with clammy cold stone.

He bounced twice and rolled into a tight ball, and then heard the defining sound of mail being retrieved from the floor beside his ear as intense nausea swelled from deeply in his gut. Flashes of the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey with a giant hypodermic needle squirting out liquid entered his mind behind tightly closed eyes like a faulty flickering film reel images.

Satisfied footsteps echoed farther and farther away as he gasped for air and prayed for the mercy of a much quicker death.
lee
Alison, I think Gwenevere did a good job dealing with McClane don't you? And Parker is just...Parker! Claire, how do you like McClane now? What a little of the wrong kind of knowledge can do..., - Friday, February 20th 2004 - 09:24:35 AM

LOL Better put your glasses back on, font fixed.
Suz(D.o.C.)

Wow, this is a switch--usually the guest book gets italicised rather than super sized.

MA, yes, *finally* Dell the III has arrived, and is up and running. Now the work of trying to refigure my favorites, addy book, the files I lost, etc. After as long as I went without, not complaining, believe me!

Therese
- Friday, February 20th 2004 - 08:17:18 AM

Okay, I know my vision has been going downhill since I turned 40 last year, but this is too much! :-) Okay, okay, I get the hint, I SWEAR I'm going to the eye doctor...
grit
- Friday, February 20th 2004 - 07:10:27 AM

Um....... oops? I'm sorry, please don't hurt me! (I HATE those H1 things.... gahh...)
Uh...
- Thursday, February 19th 2004 - 09:23:01 PM

The tall woman gave a short squeak of panic, and her partner began to stare out the window with glassy eyes. Jamie almost half-way jumped, right hand instinctively leaping inside his jacket. His fingers brushed against a chilled, smooth surface of a metal item. He started to give it a tug as a man in tan shorts with a fanny pack clipped about his waist burst forth from the cabin. He grasped onto a nearby seat for support as the plane accelerated in its dive. "It’s all right, no need to be startled! This is all just routine!"
The Return Of Diane , <webmistress_diane@eric-idle.com>
The State of Paranoia, USA - Thursday, February 19th 2004 - 08:58:34 PM

No speed reading class, years of law enforcement training hehe. I kinda like McClane, he is clumsily stupid.(the whole stuck shoe thing)
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Thursday, February 19th 2004 - 12:25:27 PM

I knew McClane would turn up again before the story was finished! I sense trouble ahead. Sev should just finish him off before he creates havoc! As for Parker, he is now starting to get on my nerves too. Get Sev to deal with them both quick!!
Alison
- Thursday, February 19th 2004 - 12:04:01 PM

Claire! How could you read that fast, I just posted it. Did you take Evelyn Wood speed reading? LOL. You will see tomorrow...that trip has created a monster.
lee
- Thursday, February 19th 2004 - 10:28:10 AM

Double deleted.
Suz (D.o.C.)

No way could I forget him. So what does he have now, did he see them in the hotel together? Lovely, just lovely.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Thursday, February 19th 2004 - 10:24:45 AM

Gwenevere arrived at the library and entered surreptitiously through the main doors. The desk was deserted and only a few students were scattered at various tables. They were reading so intently that they didn’t notice her as she passed by on her way to the restricted section in hopes of finding what she was looking for.

She walked slowly and instinctively quieted her footfalls as she stalked the well-traveled passageways in the potions section. She breathed in the strong scent of aged parchment, vellum, and leather as she grazed through the familiar potions books, letting her fiery eyes glide over the titles guided by her knowledge, memory and intuition.

White gloved fingers tentatively touched on a red book with a cat’s paw pattern on calfskin. Gauffering on edges guilt solid triggered her attention as she carefully pulled the book from its snugly fit cavity. She recalled seeing this volume in Severus’ den recently and wondered if he had used it in reference to the Burgess autopsy. The extremely rare work was encased within the craft of a sixteenth century British bookbinder known for his use of otherwise restrained techniques, and held countless secrets and answers if one knew precisely where to look and had the uncanny ability to read between the lines. Gwenevere possessed such ability.

She carried the book to a nearby table and opened it to the table of contents. She was looking for a needle in a haystack based on gut feeling. As she read down the list, a chapter caught her eye for reasons unknown to her conscience mind. She opened the book to page one thousand six hundred sixty-six and began to let her mind consume and assimilate the specialized old world potions Masters’ Latin.

She read the information and paired it with known autopsy findings as understood at the morgue. ‘…Hydrargyrum tends to accumulate in the liver, spleen, kidneys and bone…’ she whispered aloud ‘ is completely absorbed by humans and concentrates in the brain…absorbed by intestines, through the skin and can be breathed in…used by alchemists to produce venenum…’

“Venenum? Oh my god…it can’t be…Alchemists? Apothecary? Pharmaceuticals?” She said quietly, tapping the page with an impatient finger.

She closed the book and replaced it from whence it came since she could not check it out without Snape’s signature and Madam Pince was in the great hall no doubt. Her mind was racing as she checked her Gringotts watch. An enormous amount of time had lapsed as she swiftly left the library and bounded up flights of stairs towards the owlry.
lee
you did not forget about him did you Claire? Back with a vengeance too!, - Thursday, February 19th 2004 - 10:17:55 AM

B.O.S.H. , Therese! Welcome back! 8-)

MA
Are you now "computered" again? - Thursday, February 19th 2004 - 07:19:29 AM

Oh no Lee, not McClain! he reminds me of some of my guy friends, no matter how many times you tell them your not interested they still think you are. (but aren't most guys like that)
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Wednesday, February 18th 2004 - 03:00:20 PM

Gwenevere nibbled on a scone and finished her tea. She dressed in jeans and a soft rose-colored cashmere sweater and brought her research books to the living room to study by the fire that Severus had made for her this morning. She opened an ancient potions book and started to read yet her mind kept drifting to the Bernie Burgess autopsy and her suspicions regarding how he died and why.

She shook the thoughts from her mind and tried once again to concentrate on her project but Bernie Burgess took precedence once more and she felt an obligation that could not be ignored. She stood up and strode to the entranceway to grab her robes on the way to the library.

Snape entered the great hall and strode towards his place at the head tables. He scanned the room before sitting down to pour tea. The Headmaster had not yet arrived and there were few Professors seated at this early hour, which gave him time to reflect on his findings this morning. He had received some of the autopsy information as promised by Doctor Caldwell in London, and was not surprised by the report.

As he sipped from his cup, his focus drifted to the curse and the newly revealed rule. ‘How could a twit like nearly headless Nick be trusted to get it right?’ he thought. Snape was positive about the time between glance and touch, but something was bothering him about the rules in general. They were too arbitrary and didn’t make any sense. He wondered what kind of man Sir Kevin had been and if he'd had a mental illness, which would explain why Snape could not follow his thought process, and why Sir Nicholas could. ‘Surely we are missing something…’ he thought.

More Professors were entering the hall now and Snape followed one in particular as he made his way to a table. Professor Parker reached for tea and locked eyes with Snape from across the room. As Snape glared, Parker felt an unmistakable chill trickle up his spine and cause him to spill the tea. He quickly looked away and busied himself with greeting Madam Pince who was preparing to sit beside him.

Just as Snape thought his level of disgust had reached its peak for the morning, a new blast inundated him. As he peered towards the doors expecting to see the first of the students arriving, he laid his eyes upon the unmistakable smirk of Professor McClane...
lee
Thanks *R*, - Wednesday, February 18th 2004 - 11:57:09 AM

Mistral Manor

The aftermath to a funeral is always a curious time. There is a guilty sense of relief at having done with obligation, the weariness which accompanies emotional turmoil of any kind, a heartfelt appreciation in the company of those held in high regard, and the firm, inescapable truth of mortality. The mood, then, was that of contradiction: relief mixed with sorrow, humour touched with trepidation, fellowship tinged with isolation.

The Director took a sip of tea from his dainty china cup, gave a heartily dissatisfied look, and pronounced, “You’re a bloody maudlin lot!”

Five pair of eyes snapped toward him, Mary Anne, Cindie, Barbara, Sandy, and Therese looked shocked by his outburst.

“Don’t look at me in that way, any of you,” he warned, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve honoured our friend in the best way we know how, and it’s no good for any of us to sit around pouting over a thing once it’s over and done. Look at us—lookatus! Sitting around like a bunch of old biddies sipping tea,” he said scornfully. He stabbed his finger toward the group accusingly. “I won’t have it.”

“But how—“

“I don’t—“

“Isn’t it—“

“No,” The Director interrupted once again, “I’m serious, it’s just no good to whinge and mope, so let’s get on with it.” He snapped to his feet, looming above the seated women in the room. “All right, Cindie,” he said, moving toward her, “you’ve been here longest, what do people do around here for fun?”

“For fun?” the startled woman echoed his words, slightly taken aback. “I haven’t been here long enough to have any fun.”

The Director looked at her in exasperation. “Surely you’ve talked with the man about his home. You must know what he’d do for relaxation, where he’d be off to for a pint?” The Director turned from Cindie and shook his head as he moved toward the other side of the sitting room that adjoined the kitchen. “Fine then, if you don’t know,” he scoffed, managing to insinuate his cynicism and impatience in one mere phrase, “I’ll find out myself.”

The women remained seated as The Director fairly stalked from the room.

“What in the world has gotten into him?” Mary Anne asked, looking around at her friends.

“Someone obviously woke up on the wrong side of the clapboard,” Barbara added.

The women shrugged off The Director’s rather odd start, and continued discussing the service. It had been a truly lovely ceremony, and the music, compliments of the all male choir, had been absolutely exquisite. They’d discussed the flowers, compared traditions, and were well into a discourse regarding the attendees when The Director reappeared.

“I’ve been abandoned,” he murmured upon his return. “They’ve all decamped, leaving me here alone with the women.” He flopped back into the chair he’d originally occupied, radiating dejection. “There isn’t a bloke left in the place.”

“Cwrw ac Isalaw,” Cindie said.

“We don’t all of us know Welsh,” he fairly snapped.

Cindie rolled her eyes. Of all of them, she probably knew The Director the best, given her job as his assistant. He was a gregarious, generous, demanding, compelling and sensitive person by nature, and if he occasionally engaged in small fits of pique, it was easy enough to overlook them. If fact, if truth be told, he’d probably hired her for her ability to overlook such things. “The Beer and Baritone,” she translated, “it’s where Mistral would go to get a pint, so get your coat.” She turned to Therese, “Why don’t you pull around Dev’s car? Mary Anne, could you and Sandy take the tea set to the kitchen, and Barbara and I will get our coats.

Within moments the group had mobilized, and though none of them were probably yet conscious of it, a mutual feeling of camaraderie now prevailed.

Therese
- Wednesday, February 18th 2004 - 09:16:02 AM

loved the stories !!! they were so great .But continue Sense and Sensibility ! It s the best of all that would be very kind ... A Brandon Story was quite good to but we never have the end so it s a pity that the story has no end to ... But they are all very well written , in belgium we would sa : BRAVO !!! thank the stories are wanderful !!!
Laureen , <stella_life@hotmail.com>
liege, belgium - Wednesday, February 18th 2004 - 07:05:08 AM

Homage. I forgot to say *homage*.
Cindie
- Monday, February 16th 2004 - 07:42:03 PM

Wales:

After enduring a few words with some of the more intrepid local people Mistral had walked Cindie to the car. His face remained impassive as he slid in next to her and started the engine. They drove and as the distance from the church increased the muscles in his face began to relax somewhat. Finally, Cindie felt able to broach the question about which she’d been wondering. “Who were those men?”

“The choir you mean?” Mistral looked over at her. Now that the tenseness had left his body the tiredness showed in his face. “It’s a group that I was a member of years ago. We toured and all. It’s been a long time.” It had been good to see them. This had surprised him. Seeing his old comrades had brought on a surge of nostalgia and good feeling for which he was totally unprepared. He hoped for an opportunity later in the day to catch up with some of them.

“You’d mentioned your mother had requests about the music. Was that it?”

“Yes. She loved the music of the All Male Choir. When I joined that group she was so proud of me.” He stopped speaking abruptly. Cindie placed a hand on his arm.

“I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

“It’s been years… no call for that now.” After a moment’s silence in which Mistral focused on the road he continued, “I called a couple of them and asked if they could put the word out and maybe have a few of them come and sing some hymns. I’d no idea they would all…” His voice cut off again. Between the grief and the wonder of the support he’d received from all quarters Mistral was most uncharacteristically inarticulate. “They all came. Even our lead baritone though he’s been out on his own for ages. Mother would have been thrilled.”

“I’m sure she was. It was beautiful.”

They didn’t say anything else until they arrived back at the house. Once there the necessity of simple actions of hospitality took over. People trickled back in and conversation began to take on a tone of normality. The table was laid, food was heated and beverages poured. A buffet was set up in the kitchen with people then taking their plates into the dining room or the library or whatever they chose.

It wasn’t long before Mistral’s nerves began to show. He felt itchy and restless. He had done what was required of him. He heard Mary Anne’s voice from the next room. “They were so beautiful. That baritone with the blue eyes, he ought to be recording opera…” Other female voices chimed in. Suppressing a smile, Mistral moved towards the front hall. He saw Alexander Dane emerging from the front closet and pulling on his overcoat. “Alex, where are you going?” Mistral enquired blandly.

“To see if there’s a pub,” was Dane’s heartfelt reply. At that moment the head of Eamon deValera peered from around a corner. Christopher Brandon who had been coming back downstairs after changing out of his suit paused on the steps in mid stride. Phil Allen, sitting at the kitchen table, unseen by the others, lifted his head as though struck with a bolt of inspiration. One of Mistral’s eyebrows arched in both question and acknowledgement.

They moved as one.

“Where to mate?” Dev enquired companionably as he fitted his legs in limited space of the back seat.

“I know just the place. If I’m not wrong,” and Mistral’s tone made it clear that he wasn’t, “there will already be a comfortable crowd at the Cwrw ac Isalaw.”

“Come again?” Phil drawled, pleased to have manoeuvered himself to be in the front passenger seat.

“The Beer and Baritone.”

Brandon, sharing the back seat with Dev and Alexander Dane, had been considering that he ought to have asked Mary Anne if she wished to accompany them. On hearing that name he decided she was better off where she was.

Cindie
- Monday, February 16th 2004 - 03:28:13 PM

Gwenevere closed her eyes and tried to reconstruct the minutes that passed between glance and touch. She wasn’t exactly sure, but she knew it was approximately ten. Her heart quickened slightly at the thought of it being impossible to know for sure and hoped Severus would be able to shed some light on the question. She heard the sound of her door opening and was pleased and relieved to see him approaching.

“Thank you for lighting my fire this morning Severus.” she said as he entered the room. She didn’t wish to alarm him with her worry the moment he stepped in the room.

“Which one?” he quipped.

“Both.” She replied with a sly smile, but her expression quickly became serious.

“Any time…is there something wrong?” He asked, reading her expression.

“Sir Nicholas gave me rule number six, I wrote it down on the parchment there.” She said as she was making her way out of the tub. Severus handed her the towel before picking up the parchment to read the rule.

She wrapped the towel around her and walked to the bedroom. After drying off a bit and patting her hair dry, she quickly threw on her thick dressing gown and brought her hairbrush with her to the living room where Snape had settled by the fire just now. He was deep in thought. As Gwenevere slowly brushed through her long, sleek hair, she felt mounting anxiety creep up her spine as she tried not to appear overly concerned. Her calm was starting to unravel as the seconds ticked by. He stood and took off his coat before commenting on the rule.

“I remember it was six fourteen, by my clock, when we made eye contact for the first time because you were late to my first lecture.” He stated calmly. Gwenevere recalled her first impression of his dungeon and her first impression of him as she worked to piece the past together like a puzzle.

“Yes, and you were standing behind your desk so we could not have touched just then.” She said absently, her mind still temporarily back in time.

“Yes, that’s correct.” He said, aware of her unyielding concentration.

"Severus, why did you stay at your desk for so long before resuming your class?” she asked after a few moments, perplexed by Professor Dumbledore’s idle exchange at the time.

“Because I could not stand unaided until the curse finished attaching to the charm.” He said, watching Gwenevere’s eyes as they stared distantly. She thought of the ramification, and Snape was one step ahead of her.

“What are you remembering Gwenevere?” He asked her as he watched intently.

“I remember the rare charms book stated that the curse usually attached in seconds except in unusually powerful wizards, so if it took a length of time to attach to you…”

Gwenevere flushed slightly and moved away from the fire suddenly feeling a bit too warm. Snape regarded her curiously and then stood up to face her. He kissed her neck and placed his fingers on the ties of her dressing gown.

“Is it true what they say, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac?” He asked, loosening the straps halfway.

“Yes…its very, very, true.” She said, placing her arms around his neck. They made eye contact again. Snape was aware of the time and his need to arrive at the great hall very soon. He stopped fingering her dressing gown’s ties.

“Well, that’s good to know for the near future…” He said before kissing her on the mouth.

“Um…so what time did we touch hands, do you know?” She asked tentatively, hoping he knew the answer. He did not seem worried, but then again, he never did.

“Yes, it was six twenty-nine because I couldn’t help but read the time on your watch before touching your hand.” He said into her ear as he nibbled it fondly, breathing in the scent of her freshly washed hair and soft skin. Sparks rose lazily and tickled her neck.

“Ah…couldn’t help?” She teased.

“Right, well… I happened to look down there and…there was…er, the time…” He offered in the form of a mock excuse. “Additionally, I wanted to know how much time had lapsed because the curse affected my sense of it.” He explained as he fondly recalled how much he’d enjoyed interacting with her Gringotts watch. Gwenevere kissed him again and hugged his neck.

“So we have a full fifteen minutes to complete the ceremony, correct? Severus, I set my watch two minutes fast…”

“I do as well. Two minutes.”

“I think you are brilliant for knowing the time of touch and being such a powerful wizard as you have probably just saved our lives.” She said. She was suddenly terribly relieved as the thought of disarming another rule settled over her like a warm blanket on a cold day. Snape closed his eyes for a moment and willed himself to not lose perspective and take comfort in a false sense of security. He must not let his guard down for a minute.

“Are you feeling better now? He asked, determined to let her relax a bit. Three was no reason for them both to carry the burden if it could be easily avoided.

“Yes, thank you.” She said, allowing a slight smile.

“I must go to the great hall now. I will see you at tea then?” He said as he drew his fingers through her damp hair. The scent beckoned him to linger longer than he should.

“Yes…I’ll see you then.” She said, releasing him from her touch.

The more time they spent together, the more bitter the goodbyes; even brief ones. They both felt the twinge of longing and felt a bit silly for it. He kissed her goodbye and collected his coat on the way to the door. She softly closed the door and he stood in the corridor for a moment before striding towards the great hall.
lee
- Monday, February 16th 2004 - 01:25:29 PM

Thanks Claire, an answer to rule six…and she may be correct about Parker, he does not have her fooled…or does he?
Hi Janine, our schedules are at sixes and sevens I know. Thanks for checking in, we will chat soon I hope.
Black Wolf-- have at it. I cannot wait to see what you do with Joey. Welcome.
Monica! Thank you for that. I appreciate it. I hope you all had a great valentine’s day…I know I did!
lee
- Monday, February 16th 2004 - 01:16:13 PM

Wales, the graveside:

All eyes are on Mistral—except Brandon’s.

Inevitably, his eyes follow the pull of his heart: Mary Anne there beside him, in dove grey with touches of black velvet trimming, her only visible colour the blue of her eyes, magnified by unshed tears. Her gaze, with the rest, fixed upon Mistral.

Brandon can hear it then, the hiss of the green serpent he had believed subdued. Did you think you would be rid of me so easily as that? Watch her, watching him . . .

Ruthlessly, Brandon sets his foot upon that snake. She grieves for the sorrow of our friend. As do I. Be silent; you have no part in me.

He will not make that mistake again. But though jealousy may be silenced, curiosity is yet strong as he wonders what lies behind Mary Anne’s concentration upon Mistral as he leans over the casket, a daffodil in one black-gloved hand.

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

. . . make His face to shine upon thee and give thee peace, both now and forevermore . . . Stillness. It is not the same as peace.

Mary Anne watches as Mistral carefully places the daffodil upon the casket, then steps back and stands with his hands folded in front him. Devotion, regard, her mind automatically supplies. An appropriate flower, surely, for a man to place upon the coffin of his mother. But as he stands for endless moments in silence, she forgets flower and crowd and all her surroundings, remembering how he had walked from the church, looking neither to the right nor to the left. Resolute. Intent.

Calling upon his powers. Mary Anne quells the inner voice that at once awakens to sneer at her: Oh, stop being so dramatic, making him sound like a dark wizard or something--

Nevertheless, “being dramatic” has everything to do with what she is seeing. The man before her is an actor and an exceptional one; she has reason to know that his talents do not require a camera to call them forth. She, and Therese, and the overbearing fan who had accosted Therese at the Stag and Thistle, and a host of others, from The Director right down to that wretched photographer who had sneaked the picture of Mistral embracing Cindie. Why should these circumstances be any different? All a matter of craft and control, for a proud man to maintain his dignity.

But at what cost. Mistral is utterly still in that unnerving manner of his, no movement of breath, no flicker of an eyelash, no wind, at this moment, to stir his hair or ripple his coat.

He was so different from this, last night. So disarmed and vulnerable, grateful for the support of his friends with an openhearted abandon that had brought a lump to her throat.

She has loved the beauty of the Welsh countryside, from her very first visit here. Shades of green to be found nowhere else on earth; trees shining through veils of mist; the trill of brook and waterfall. But seeing Mistral before her, standing as though carved of native rock, she can think only of the black crags of Moel Siabod and the ice fangs of Castell y Gwynt, at once compelling and forbidding.

Mary Anne’s heart is torn with pity. Isolated for that moment, yet the target of all eyes, her friend and colleague seems withdrawn from humanity in his effort to complete his duty. Mistral, the face of a cliff. A solitary mountain.

A standing stone.

She cannot help wondering what will happen, when he is a man once more.

MA--riffing off Cindie and Barbara, and indulging my love for the beauties of the Welsh landscape.
Hopefully, that's "riffing" and not "ripping" off! ;-) - Sunday, February 15th 2004 - 01:06:39 PM

Thank you Claire for making me feel loved. Thanks also to BTW. Now I come to FOF for Snape and Friedman!
Monica
Texas, - Saturday, February 14th 2004 - 12:34:14 AM

Diamonds in the Delta, a Murder in New Orleans

Barbara the Wallpaper-er , <Being posted the day before Valentine's Day and avoiding the Romance Post ;)>
- Friday, February 13th 2004 - 11:40:35 PM

Black Wolf, Welcome and have at it! Look forward to what you do with Joe. (Sushi?)
Cindie
- Friday, February 13th 2004 - 06:24:31 PM

Looks like Joe is available, Black Wolf. Go for it!
Magda
- Friday, February 13th 2004 - 04:12:37 PM

Happy Valentines day to all of ya'll at this page. I hope everyone is happy tomorrow, and if you don't have anyone just remember that we all love you and wish you the best.
claire , <prague@iwon.com>
- Friday, February 13th 2004 - 02:44:51 PM

Hi again, I've de-lurked to ask y'all a favour - can I please claim...squeak...Joe? I know it's stupid, but...ah well. That's my life story, in a word. Stupid. Yes. So - please?
Black Wolf
Rainy ol' England - Friday, February 13th 2004 - 10:21:13 AM

Friedman is still in the works ;)
Barbara the Wallpaper-er
- Thursday, February 12th 2004 - 09:32:03 PM

Lee, your stories are wonderful as always! And where is my Freidman fix?
Monica
Texas, USA - Thursday, February 12th 2004 - 09:13:25 PM

Hi Lee I promise to catch up with my reading soon once Semester starts and the flurry of work evens out. Hope you are well
Janine
- Thursday, February 12th 2004 - 08:58:02 PM

Missed you to Lee, hope things are getting better for you. Now what have you thrown our way, with this new clue to the curse? Gwen seems worried, that makes me worried, but her judgement hasn't always been that clear (*Parker*)
claire , <prague@iwon.com>