Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

"Day the Sixty-sixth, in the month of January – In which Joya makes a compelling argument for assisting young love."

With an oath, I tore off my tunic and hurled it across the room. It slapped against the wall and slithered to the floor, shedding small pieces of straw along the way. The sight of them, little reminders of afternoon sport, did nothing to alleviate my temper.

Wrenching open the chest, I grabbed a clean garment. The woman was daft, no question about it. She'd forgotten the reason we were here in the middle of this godforsaken wilderness in the first place. There was no opportunity for gold by indulging the treacly romantic fantasies of a couple of hormonal children.

I yanked the tunic over my head. There was something else Madame Joya had forgotten: I was the master here and my word was law in this household. It was partly my own fault; I'd been far too indulgent. Well, that would end right now.

There would be no more arguments like the one that we'd just had in the stable. She'd looked at me with raised brows as I'd pointed out all the reasons why we should keep Melisant and Adam away from each other until the girl was finally married: it had nothing to do with us, there was no money in it, it might attract unwanted and inconvenient attention from outsiders and it had been part of our plan all along to leave before the wedding took place.

For some time she said nothing. Then she shrugged and turned away. "You don't understand, George." She'd said over her shoulder on her way to the door. I had been left, leaning against the ladder for support, amazed at her boldness in turning her back on me. In Nottingham, no one would have dared to try such a thing.

The laces tangled together and I jerked them free. Joya was going to have to learn that I was not to be treated like that. And the lesson would start now. I closed the chest and secured the latch . It rocked gently, one leg slightly shorter than the others. I looked around for the small, flat piece of wood that should be close by and jammed it under the short leg. I pressed down on the lid; the chest remained steady.

I opened the door of my bedroom and listened. People were moving around downstairs, probably the servants preparing dinner. I crossed the hall to the stairs and then to the door of Joya's room. Faint noises came from within but no conversation; she was probably alone. I took several deep breaths, pushed the door open without knocking and entered.

Joya sat on the rug in front of the fireplace. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "I wondered how long it would take you to get here."

"I trust I haven't kept you waiting." I latched the door behind me and crossed to the chair by the fire, taking my customary seat.

"Not at all." She looked at the fire again, staring into the flames. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Indeed." I stretched my legs out in front of me. The leather reflected the light from the fire. I could be cryptic too, if that's the game she wanted to play. "That's not how I see it. We have nothing to talk about. You have only to listen to me. We are not going to help this silly puppy love nonsense. We decided some weeks ago what our purpose was in this arrangement and we are not going to get sidetracked now. Do you understand me?"

"George, I know you don't want to get involved with Melisant and Adam. Part of me doesn't want to, either." She kept her gaze on the fire. "But there are opportunities here that we can take advantage of."

"Like what?" In spite of myself, I admired the straight line of her nose and her firm jaw. Joya has a lovely profile.

"Like Adam will be very grateful for our help and he comes from a wealthy family." She stretched her hands out to the heat. Her long, thin fingers caressed the air in front of her.

"Very well. What else?" I would be dispassionate and listen to her reasons before I ordered her to stay out of the whole affair.

"Revenge." Joya finally looked at me again. "A wonderful opportunity for revenge on Robin of Locksley."

"How?" My pulse quickened and I leaned forward in my chair. What wouldn't I give for such an opportunity!

"If Melisant is married to another, she can't be given to his brother, can she? And since this Will Locksley is a bastard, the king can't give him an estate except through marriage. So the Locksleys will have to wait until another bride becomes available." She cocked her head to one side. "Now wouldn't that be some kind of revenge?"

It would indeed. I imagined Locksley seething with anger in his hall. The vision was a long time fading. I couldn't seem to stop smiling.

"Yes, I thought you'd like that." Joya grinned. "So why don't we go down to dinner and then tonight we can have a long talk - in your room?" She reached over and covered my hand with hers, rubbing her palm over my fingers.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." I covered her hand with mine. I had the feeling there would be an intense planning session tonight.

"Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
- Wednesday, April 12, 2000 at 19:19:12 (PDT)

Breakfast at Delaford.

And Brandon's voice, saying: "--not to go near her alone. Promise me."

When she had come down for breakfast that morning, Mary Anne was pleased to see that she was not late at all; in fact, Brandon had not appeared until a few minutes later, to entertain her with the story of Therese and Nox.

She had laughed heartily over it, exclaiming, "Sir, you had better remove Nox from the house. Therese and I will be sure to spoil him, otherwise. He'll certainly be the most indulged animal in Delaford Parish!"

"Perhaps, my dearest, but only in the environs of Delaford. Cross into Barton, and Sir John would carry off the palm for indulging animals, would he not?"

There could be no arguing with that, and both of them had agreed that Nox's presence could be an excellent remedy for Therese.

"Although," Brandon had continued, with a look of rueful amusement, "I believe that Eamon is already jealous!"

How, exactly, had the conversation wandered from these lighthearted exchanges? Too, too quickly . . . from amusement over Therese and her soft heart for animals, to all of the occurrences that had led to Therese's condition, and from there to Brandon's mention that Claudia had been brought in and was being held for questioning by the Alliance.

Brandon had told her what he knew, which--Mary Anne had been sure--was not half the story that could be told, that will be told. That Claudia had apparently turned herself in.

Yes, apparently. Wheels within wheels. How can we ever trust her again? A pause in her thoughts. Yes, I do want to trust her again; you don't just throw away what all of us have been through together . . .

Her mind's short, grim rejoinder: She threw it away. Not you.

And Mary Anne had come out of her thoughts to find Brandon's eyes fixed on her. And that voice. His "Colonel" voice.

"She is being held here under guard, and I imagine she may ask to see one or both of us. You, perhaps, although . . ." Brandon flushes slightly. " . . . I said I would kill her if I saw her near you again. But you are not to go near her alone. Promise me."

Mary Anne regards him steadily. She can see the point of it; after all, if Claudia has gone over to The Interrogator, who knows what she might do or how dangerous she could be? And yet . . . He knows that if he can make me promise, I won't break my word.

Mary Anne keeps her voice steady and sensible. "I don't think I'd even be allowed to see her alone, sir, if the Alliance is holding her for questioning. A guard would always be present, perhaps more than one."

"Even at that--" Brandon hesitates.

"And besides," continues Mary Anne in that same reasonable tone, "I've already said I would pay a visit to Therese. Has she asked for me? Or has Mister de Valera--?"

"Yes. Miss Therese has said this morning that she would welcome a visit from you. And the sooner the better, I should think." Brandon's voice is low and gentle. "She has suffered a great deal . . . and I am beginning to see that you could be a great help to her." A half-smile. "Along with Nox, of course."

"Of course," replies Mary Anne, smiling back and devoting herself to her toast.

But Brandon is not diverted from his purpose. "May I have your promise, my dearest? Do not be persuaded to visit--" Brandon's face actually works for a moment as if he can hardly bear to pronounce the name. "--Claudia, alone."

With a sigh, Mary Anne consents. Her husband worries about her a great deal . . . but she has already fought that battle with herself. "Yes, I promise." For a moment, she thinks of asking for the same promise from him, but decides against it. Do as you would be done by, she thinks ironically. And the Alliance probably wouldn't allow it, any more than they would with me.

Oh, Claudia, what happened to you?!

Mary Anne is aware of her anger at Claudia, and her fear at how a friend could go so far wrong, and her disappointment--but is also aware that she can control these feelings, for the moment, if she finds something else to do. Quickly.

And that is how, a short time later, she finds herself hurrying upstairs to pay a call on Therese. And Dev as well, most likely, because he won't leave her for a moment, if I know him.

Summoning her courage, Mary Anne approaches the door and has lifted her hand to knock, when she is stopped by the sound of Therese laughing and Dev's exasperated voice: "See here, you furry ruffian, this will not do--!"

MA--well, there were signs of life . . .
Welcome, Claire, and enjoy! Ah, just one farewell post in the midst of my last-minute packing . . ., - Friday, April 07, 2000 at 20:26:51 (PDT)

have just found this site and it is amazing! Good to know there are so many Alan Rickman fans out there.
Claire Heald <claireheald@hotmail.com>
- Friday, April 07, 2000 at 08:26:34 (PDT)

Hooray! Signs of life again. Thank you, thank you . . .

MA--exciting developments, Clods!
And very funny, Magda! Ah, the young who think that being "old" comes so soon . . . *giggle*, - Tuesday, April 04, 2000 at 20:16:38 (PDT)

Claudia scowled at Hudson and yanked her arm free. "I was getting bored," she quietly sat back at the table, and lent back in the chair, as if nothing had just happened.

"You'd better get used to it. You're going to be seeing the inside of one locked room or another for quite some time." Hudson turned to the guard. "You – out."

"I'm sorry ma'm, I…"

"I said OUT!"

The guard hurried to obey, opened and closed the door quickly, locking it from the outside.

"Now," said Hudson, pulling up a chair and sitting opposite Claudia. "What on earth possessed you to embark on such a dangerous and crazy scheme? You should have come straight to me as soon as the Interrogator contacted you."

"I thought about it. But I concluded the fewer people who knew what I was doing the better. I could only infiltrate his organisation if word didn't get to someone working for HIM. I only stood a chance if I was working alone. Besides…"

"Yes?"

"You would have stopped me."

Hudson stood up and banged the table, "Too right I would have stopped you! Do you think I'd stand by and let a civilian throw herself into the snake pit! I would have sent someone else, using what information you had."

"It wouldn't have worked with anyone else. He was expecting me. I'm so frustrated – you all jumped in when I was coming so close… I could have got more, much more if I'd had more time."

"Do you think HE would still trust you if you went back?"

Claudia frowned and leant forward. "That depends on what HE's been told… and if HE actually trusted me in the first place." She looked Hudson in the eye. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"This is where I sit back and listen to your recruitment speech isn't it?"
Claudia
- Tuesday, April 04, 2000 at 19:04:16 (PDT)

Correction made.
Yes, of course. Cracks are difficult to throw.
D.o.C.

Sigh. "through the cracks", of course.
Magda
Is it Friday yet?, - Tuesday, April 04, 2000 at 18:23:19 (PDT)

"Day the Sixty-sixth, in the month of January – In which the course of true love makes an interesting digression in our stable."

"A fire, hmm?" Joya drew figures in the air with a piece of straw. "You're right, it doesn't sound like a poacher. What are you going to do about it?"

I yawned and stretched. "Get a couple of the men and set a trap for him. Not now, though. Maybe later."

Haylofts can be surprisingly comfortable places, even in January. With Joya's thin cloak beneath us and my heavier one over us, we had made quite a snug nest for ourselves. The wind whistling through the cracks in the walls and the whickering of the horses in the stalls below were the only sounds to be heard. We might have been completely alone in the world. It was an appealing thought.

"Later?" She rolled onto her side to look at me, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"Much later." I pulled her down to me again and for a while we concentrated on other things.

The door below creaked open and footsteps rushed across the floor. We froze then relaxed slowly and noiselessly into the straw so as not to alert the newcomer to our presence. Possibly it was just the stableboy fetching something.

"Oh Adam! What if someone finds out we've come here?" It was Melisant, sounding like the overwrought child she was less than a week ago. Her voice quavered like an underdone pudding.

"No one will know." Adam sounded strained, as if he were in the grip of strong emotion. "The stableboy and the groom are repairing something in the kitchen. George is still out on patrol and I haven't seen the Lady Joya for some time. Perhaps she's lying down for a rest."

From her position sprawled on top of me, Joya grinned.

"No, we can talk safely here." There was a rustling sound as of a gown sweeping over the floor and then heavy breathing. "Melisant, I love you so much!"

"Oh Adam! And I love you too." Several wet smacking noises followed this ringing declaration and after a moment I realized they were kisses. Mercifully they didn't last long.

"No! I am a swine for handling you so. Oh Melisant!" Footsteps thudded across the boards; Adam was pacing the floor. "You are an angel to me. Far above such earthy activities as my lustful imagination can conjure up. I should be on my knees kissing the hem of your gown rather than subjecting you to my embraces."

Yes, well, that would be a lot more fun, wouldn't it? I rolled my eyes. Joya covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Oh Adam!" That phrase was really beginning to annoy me. You'd have thought it was part of his name. "Oh Adam, I am promised to wed another by the command of the king himself. And yet if I am forced to marry anyone else my heart will break!" She ended on a moist gulp and burst into tears.

"My precious lamb! My sweet angel! Please don't cry!" He rushed across to her again. She stopped crying but keened like a high north wind through the trees. It made my teeth ache to hear it. "I'll find a solution to this. Perhaps I should challenge your betrothed to a trial by combat."

Obviously Melisant wasn't the only one who'd been listening to too many silly romances. I resigned myself to overhearing even more drivel before we could escape. Joya dropped her chin on my chest and listened.

"Oh Adam!" There it was again. "I cannot allow you to do that. You might be hurt." A muted thud indicated another embrace followed by several wet smacks again. "I know what. I shall talk to Lady Joya about this. She will know what we should do."

"No!" Adam sounded horrified. Joya raised her brows sardonically. "She would never help us."

"Yes, she would. She is very understanding and I think she likes me. I feel I can trust her. She would know what it feels like to love, even though she is so old." Joya straightened up with a jerk. I grinned and folded my hands behind my head.

"I am not saying that she would not want to help." Adam's voice was worried. "But she cannot help us. Your stepfather has hired her. There is nothing she can do."

Melisant apparently had her emotions under control again. The prospect of turning over her problems to someone else had a stablizing effect on her. "I don't wish to quarrel with you, Adam dearest, but if there is anything that can be done, Lady Joya will know it. She is so courageous that she would easily stand up to my stepfather. Look how she handles George and he is the scariest, ugliest man I have ever met."

I stopped grinning. Bread and water in the cellars for the next few months would do wonders for Lady Melisant's sauciness. Joya smiled at the look in my eyes and blew me a kiss.

"Well, I wish you would not do it." Adam was obviously not persuaded. "Let me think about it for a while. After all we have the rest of the day and tomorrow morning together. Let's not waste it."

"Oh Adam!" Another muted thud and then they walked across to the door. Another creak and they let themselves out, the door slapping gently in the latch as they closed it behind them.

We waited a few moments in silence, then we sat up. Joya frowned as she brushed the straw from her hair and gown. I stood up and reached to pull her to her feet. Since our clothes were covered in chaff, we spent some time removing the evidence of our activities. I climbed down the ladder first and waited for Joya.

"Well, that was absolutely sickening, wasn't it?" I gave my cloak a final snap, scattering straw in every direction. "You're in for an interesting interview."

Joya still seemed distracted. "Yes, I am. It will probably be very tedious."

"She's not the first girl who married someone she didn't like." Remembering the little weasel that was Locksley's bastard brother, it seemed an understatement. "But she'll live."

Joya looked at me with a frown. "What are you talking about? Of course I'm going to help them."

"Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
- Tuesday, April 04, 2000 at 18:18:52 (PDT)

It seemed like hours that Claudia sat in that small room in silence. At last she'd had enough, and tried again to get the guard to talk to her.

"How long am I to wait here? I need to know what's happening."

The guard shifted position, shrugging to flex muscles that hadn't been used on a while. A soldiers trick to keep ready for action, to avoid cramping and pins and needles, so if she needed to move suddenly, and restrain the prisoner, she could do so. Claudia looked expectantly at her, but she still said nothing.

"Look, can I see Mary Anne, or the Colonel? I need to explain a few things." Claudia didn't really want to face them, but it had to be done sooner or later, and putting it off would only make it seem worse and worse in her own mind. She dreaded to think what they were thinking.

The guard snorted. A badly suppressed laugh at the understatement. "Someone will come and talk to you when they are ready. They will be assessing your… your…"

"My report?"

"That's an interesting word for it. They will be going through what you told us, and then a course of action will be decided. Until then, I suggest you sit down, and don't bother me again."

"What sort of guard are you, you're awfully rude. I think I preferred it when you said nothing."

"One who has just seen a lot of her friends hurt or killed, because of the Interrogator. Believe me, if I could prove you've been helping HIM all along, I'd be first in line to kill you myself."

Claudia moved closer to the guard. "Why don't you try now? I'm sure you can explain any injuries I sustain as self-inflicted."

"Move back, or I'll have to use force to restrain you."

Claudia pushed the guard hard in the chest with the flat of her hand. "Go on then. Anything would be better than sitting in here doing nothing." She pushed hard again, and the guard caught her by the wrist, and twisted.

Then the door unexpectedly opened, and Commander Hudson stormed in. She looked tired, her brow was wrinkled with worry lines and there were dark circles under her eyes. She took in the situation and her eyes narrowed. "OK, would someone mind explaining what the hell is going on here?!"
Claudia
- Tuesday, April 04, 2000 at 16:04:00 (PDT)

Ahhhh, it's April Fool's.
;-)
- Saturday, April 01, 2000 at 20:32:09 (PST)

Mary Anne responds courteously but firmly to reporters from The Hollywood Blab who have caught up with her at her dressing room: "The only pink slip here is the one in my lingerie drawer. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ." And she closes the door in their faces.

MA (it must be a leftover from those Victoria's Secret episodes . . .)
- Saturday, April 01, 2000 at 17:29:02 (PST)

No, I'm sorry, I can't accept that. George would never blush and the straw is more likely to be in his hair. I mean wouldn't you notice if you were eating straw?
Magda
- Saturday, April 01, 2000 at 16:48:35 (PST)

The eyes of the Sherriff of Nottingham narrow. A furtive look left reveals the figure of the Director, dressed in a grey jacket, black T underneath. The Director, busy with something but smiling, senses someone behind him. He appears to take no notice.

George clears his throat. The Director turns, smiles politely with his lips closed, his eyes crinkling slightly. Then turns back to what he is doing.

From George, disbelief. Then, "I believe there has been . . . " What, a mistake? An error? Some oaths rise to his lips, and The Sheriff of Nottingham hesitates. Before he can finish his thoughts aloud, the Director turns back again.

"Your mouth."

"What?" Can he read minds, as well?

"You have some hay--right there." A flicker of the Director's eyes, as if to pinpoint embarrassment like a pushpin on a map.

A reddish hue comes over his cheeks, beneath his black head of unruly hair. George touches his fingers to his lips, feeling for bits of hay. Then, a deeper sunset infuses the skies above his mountainous curled lip. He watches, helpless, as the smile of the Director broadens.

"Don't worry, my Lord. I won't tell a soul."

The reports of his language were greatly exaggerated . . .
Wonder what the Director was doing? , - Saturday, April 01, 2000 at 15:55:49 (PST)

"Day the Sixty-sixth, in the month of January – In which I make an unsettling discovery."

Charm school has been running for four days now and I finally cracked this morning.

We ate breakfast early. A great many lessons have to be finished today since Adam leaves tomorrow. He has completely regained his good spirits and is once more at ease with Joya. He's even condescended to speak to me again. He and Melisant have become the best of friends. She's lost that girlish nervousness that prevented her from conversing about anything but the most inane topics. Now she laughs and talks in the most confident manner. Last night Joya told me that she asked if her new dresses were a flattering colour for her. This is progress indeed.

Adam was teasing Melisant by grabbing at her hair ribbons. Joya looked on benevolently. "Now children, that will do. You know the rules about horseplay at the table. It turns George's stomach." She shot a quick glance at me. "Especially early in the morning."

The two of them looked at me and giggled. Joya beamed. That did it. I pushed my plate aside and stood up. "The woods behind the lodge haven't been checked for some days. I shall see you all at noon." I was out of the room and at the front door before they could catch their breaths.

The day was exceptionally mild with the false promise of early spring. My horse indicated his displeasure at being cooped up in a stable on such a fine day so I took him to the Barnesdale Road to let him stretch his legs. We fairly flew along for some time, his hooves kicking back great clods of mud in our wake. Finally I pulled him up at the very edge of the property and turned onto a side trail through the woods.

I was determined to cover as much ground as I could so that I didn't have to go back until dinner but I had no firm ideas about direction. We cut back almost to the lodge and then turned sharply north again. My horse ambled down one path after another with no guidance from me. Soon we were on a trail that seemed to wind its way up a hill. We came to a halt at the summit and I looked around.

Although not very high, the hill afforded a view for some miles in each direction. The Barnesdale road was clearly visible on my left, as was the courtyard of the lodge on my right. As I watched, a person left the lodge and crossed to one of the outbuildings; I was too far away to make out who it was. Otherwise there was nothing but treetops as far as the eye could see.

I sat there for some time, just surveying the forest. It was so peaceful I could almost fancy myself the only person around for miles. A sense of peace stole over me and for the first time in weeks I felt myself in control of my environment. An illusion, of course. That would not be the case until I was safely in France and mounting an army to retake my castle. But the sensation was so enjoyable that I couldn't bring it to an end by moving off. Finally the restiveness of my horse combined with the bite of the wind persuaded me to reluctantly set it aside.

Since we'd come up the back of the hill, I determined to go down the front. My horse picked its way along a tortuous path overgrown with brambles and saplings, snorting his disgust all the way. The warm sun beating down on the incline had melted the icy ground into mud, thus further slowing our progress. Finally we entered a copse at the bottom of the hill.

We weren't more than half a mile from the lodge at this point that made my discovery doubly unwelcome. The remains of a fire were quite visible beside the trail. I dismounted and went over to examine them closely. Someone had been here recently. I crouched over the ashes and stirred them up with a stick. Dead but recent; not today but probably yesterday. I stood up and threw the stick away. Churned up snow indicated a place to tether a horse; closer investigation revealed unmistakable evidence of it. I looked around to see if there were indications of the path the unknown camper had taken but saw nothing. Slowly I returned to my own mount and climbed into the saddle again.

Obviously whoever it was had been watching the lodge yesterday or the day before from the same vantagepoint I had just abandoned. I kicked my horse forward. The question was, who? A poacher would not have built a fire or used a horse. Neither would a thief who was watching the lodge. None of the servants had left the lodge; most of them hated the forest and couldn't wait to return to Mauger's home where it was civilized.

We came out of the woods behind the lodge and ambled our way to the stable. The question remained unanswered, cudgel my brain as I would. A strong sense of disquiet pervaded my being. So caught up was I that I did not notice at first that no one came out to take my horse. Indeed, there was an air of desertion in the courtyard.

I dismounted and looked around, telling myself not to be spooked by my discovery on the hill. There was sure to be a rational explanation; probably it was later than I thought and everyone was having dinner. Pulling my horse behind me, I headed to the stable.

And stopped dead. On the latch on the door, a familiar strip of cloth was tied. It fluttered in the breeze and my heart began to pound hard. It was usually tied to a bedpost.

I tugged it off the latch and opened the door slowly. The place was empty. I secured my horse in his stall, threw some oats in the trough and looked around carefully. Again I had a feeling of total isolation. And then I saw the second one.

It was tied to a rung of the ladder up to the loft. I freed it and saw the third one as well. It was tied to the top of the ladder. I climbed up and added it to my collection, then subjected the loft in front of me to a minute inspection. The fourth strip was stuck into a crevasse of the wall at the other end of the loft. I started across to retrieve it -

- and then the roof fell on top of me. Or at least that was what it felt like. One minute I was balancing on the shifting hay beneath me and the next second I was face down with a body on top of me. A body with a warm husky laugh that said, "That was very bad of you, George, not to wait for me this morning. I would have loved to have gone for a ride. Prepare to be punished."

I spat out a mouthful of hay. "I didn't want to take you away from your precious charges. And don't be silly. Now get off me."

"I'm not being silly. And I'll take those, thank you very much." Joya yanked the strips of cloth from my loosened grasp and got up to retrieve the fourth. I surreptitiously ran my hands over my ribs to check for breakage. As much as I enjoy Joya's person, there's no doubt that she can be quite dangerous from a height. I sat up.

She was beside me again. "Now come on, play nicely. I've missed you so much lately." With her hands on my shoulders she shoved me back into the straw.

I thought of our unknown visitor in the forest and the possible reasons he could be watching us. I had to round up a couple of the men and return to the woods so that we could capture him. Then I thought of the many nights I'd spend alone lately and the present quiet of the stableloft with everyone at dinner.

And I decided that if the mysterious watcher wanted to freeze in the woods, he could do it unmolested for the next couple of hours.

"Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
Actually, he didn't because there was nothing in his mail box..., - Saturday, April 01, 2000 at 12:30:06 (PST)

The Hollywood Blab, that icon of iconoclastic idiocy, reports today:

The Director, having noticed various absences and lax behaviour on the FOF set, decided to surprise his cast and crew this morning. It wasn't Dunkin' Donuts, or champagne and orange juice, but pink slips delivered to everyone's trailer or room. The reporter is still tracking the responses of the Flights of Fancy entourage, but an early snoop spilled this snippet from Hans Gruber: "I fully intend to keep every bit of my wardrobe, including the navy blue Speedos." So, readers, all is not lost . . .

What does *your* slip say?
I've heard George had some choice words . . . ;-) , - Saturday, April 01, 2000 at 12:21:23 (PST)

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