May 16th - May 31st, 2000
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Correction made.
Welcome to the set, Sandy!
D.o.C.
D.o.C, could you please change "his interested piqued" to "his interest piqued"? Thank you!
Sandy
- Wednesday, May 31, 2000 at 13:16:07 (PDT)
FOF Set:
Alexander glared down at Sandy, his hazel eyes narrowed into slits, head held high, posture ramrod straight, and his nostrils flared in anger. Sandy's face grew pale at the sight of an absolutely furious Alexander Dane and she actually backed up a step as she looked up at him with wide eyes. His cheeks were flushed as he opened his mouth, clearly ready to chew her out when the Director spoke up. "Alexander...RELAX. She's just kidding." Those words, uttered in a soft murmur, nevertheless conveyed a clear message of who exactly was in charge of things.
Sandy's face slowly regained its' normal color and then her cheeks turned pink in embarrassment, realizing that she had gone a little too far in her teasing of the proud actor. "I'm sorry. I've inherited my dad's weird sense of humor and it tends to surface at the most inopportune moments. I don't think that watching Monty Python has helped out either," she apologized with a sheepish grin. She rubbed the back of her neck briefly to ease the tension in it as she turned her head up to face him.
She held out her right hand to Alexander in a peace offering. "Truce? I promise not to tease you...much," she said, smiling impishly at the actor. Alexander's lips curved up slightly and he took the proffered hand in his, engulfing it in his. He found it hard to stay angry at the young writer, he admitted to himself. "Truce," he agreed and the two shook hands briefly.
"That's much better," the Director said with a (relieved) smile. "I'm afraid that Alexander was the victim of another person's teasing earlier today," he explained. Sandy's eyes twinkled merrily as she asked, "You met Mary Anne, huh?" Alexander nodded in a silent reply. Sandy chuckled in a pleasantly musical tone. "I haven't met her yet myself, but her 'exploits' are considered legendary around the set, or so I'm told." She turned to the Director expectantly, who sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sandra..." he said pointedly in that same, soft authoritative murmur, arching an eyebrow in her direction. Sandy colored and bit her lip, knowing when she was beaten at her own game. "Noted and logged, sir," she grumbled in reply.
Alexander chuckled inwardly, amused at the Director's reaction to Sandy's teasing. Apparently he's been Mary Anne's victim on a couple of occasions, he thought to himself. I'd love to hear some of the stories behind those 'exploits' one of these days... He refocused his attention as the Director indicated the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, take a seat," he requested as he seated himself behind the desk.
As Sandy took her seat and distributed copies of her initial story treatment, she glanced at the two handsome men furtively and frowned momentarily. Strange, I could swear that there's an uncanny resemblance between... Naaahhh... I'm seeing things - or else I really need to get my eyes checked again.
"Thanks," Alexander said as he took the papers and started skimming through the treatment while Sandy made notes on her own copy. "So, how long have you been working here?" he asked curiously. "I'm like you-new on the set," she replied. "I've been doing some behind-the-scenes research for some time, however." Alexander nodded as he continued reading, his interest piqued at the storyline she had outlined.
The Director cleared his throat to get their attention. The two looked up curiously. "Before Sandy starts her presentation, would the two of you like something to drink? Coffee or tea, perhaps?" the Director politely offered, rising from his seat. He frowned at the pair's strange reaction to his simple question.
Alexander bit his lip, his face turning beet-red as he tried not to laugh. Sandy wasn't so fortunate, however. She clapped her hands over her mouth to no avail. A high-pitched giggle escaped from her before she could stop herself. Alexander snorted in reply.
The pair exchanged glances. Sandy started giggling helplessly and Alexander began laughing softly. "Did I miss something?" the Director asked with a very puzzled expression on his face, eyebrows disappearing underneath his bangs. That only made the two of them laugh harder. Tears were rolling down their cheeks in torrents as the Director hung his head in resignation. "There's days when I wish I stayed in graphics design and this is rapidly turning into one of them," he growled.
Sandy - don't worry, MA, I won't tell him...yet... :-)
- Wednesday, May 31, 2000 at 13:08:02 (PDT)
Things don't look good for George (even with your assurance, Magda, that he'll survive). I can't wait to see what will happen.
And Sandy, now that you've unmasked, a double welcome. "By Grabthar's hammer," we're glad you're with us! 8-)
MA (But don't tell Alexander I said that!!)
Busy with family matters lately, but back in the flow here very soon . . ., - Wednesday, May 31, 2000 at 05:56:42 (PDT)
"Day the Sixty-seventh, in the month of January – In which the partnership is dissolved."
There was a faint buzzing in my ears and for a moment I was able to convince myself that Joya had not said what I thought she'd said. But when the two soldiers on either side of me grabbed my arms, I was forced to accept the truth. Joya was turning me over to the authorities. The buzzing turned into a roar.
I twisted one arm free and dropped the guard with one swing. The other was sufficiently startled to loosen his grip on me. I threw myself against him, causing him to stagger back under my weight. While he tried to keep his balance, I was able to grasp the hilt of his sword and pull it out of the scabbard. I backed away with the blade held out in front of me, scanning the courtyard for a means of escape.
The other men-at-arms stood rooted to the ground, their hands on their weapons but not moving a muscle. The servants huddled together like sheep on a windy day. Melisant gaped; it did nothing for her appearance. Odo had leaped backwards a good number of feet and cowered behind his horse. It gave me an idea.
The first guard was still on the ground but the second was coming at me. I swung my sword at his face and he shied away, his hands up to protect himself. A strategic kick to his knee and he was down in a heap with his companion. I stepped on his back, reached for the reins with my free hand and vaulted into the saddle of Odo's horse. Another good kick sent him sprawling in the dirt. I pulled the animal around and urged him into a gallop through the crowd.
I might have made it. It was a fine horse with great strength in its legs and it wasn't lacking for stamina. None of the men scattered around the yard had anything but a sword and I was moving too fast to be stopped by a weapon that depended on close contact for maximum effect. The gate stood open with the road beckoning beyond.
But of course I'd forgotten about Adam. After all, when you're a young idiot absolutely crammed to the tonsils with stupid notions about chivalry and justice and nobility and all that rot you can't just stand aside and let a man escape, can you? No, you've got to spur your own horse forward (never mind that you're chasing your host whose gold bought the oats that same nag has been eating for three days), come up on his blind side and bring the flat of your sword down on his back so that he's unbalanced enough to slip almost out of his saddle and be seized by the suddenly reanimated soldiers who've just remembered that their livelihood depends on capturing people and not on watching them display their horsemanship. And Adam didn't let me down; that's exactly what he did.
My new horse did not take kindly to being surrounded by a crowd of men waving swords. Obviously used to more refined company, he reared dramatically in protest and I was pulled from the saddle by at least half a dozen hands. Thrown in the dirt, my arms pinioned behind my back, my chest heaving with the exertion, I was well and truly caught.
Odo marched up to me in his stiff-legged scamper and, after making sure his men had me secure, kicked me in the ribs. Being Odo, it wasn't exactly a deathblow but I could have lived without it. Behind me, Adam was babbling some explanation about his respect for the king's justice and how I had nothing to fear from facing King Richard who was known for his benevolence and love of truth. I was barely listening because I had caught sight of a flash of blue standing behind Odo.
Joya looked at me warily, her hands clasped in front of her. For a moment, she seemed about to speak but I gave her no chance. Climbing to my feet and leaning as close as my captors would permit, I glared at her through the tangle of my sweaty hair. "Lady Joya, you will regret this day for the rest of your short life. That I promise you."
She said nothing but a look of sorrow crept into her gaze; then she shook her head and turned away.
The guards lashed my arms to my sides with strong cords made out of hide. The ends were tied together and then secured to the saddle of one of the captain. He mounted his horse and tugged me along behind him. We began the long ride - and walk - to Barnesdale. I was on the road to my execution.
"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
Computer up and running again, - Monday, May 29, 2000 at 18:09:47 (PDT)
FOF Set:
Alexander carefully stepped over the threshold to avoid stepping in the remains of the coffee mug after picking up the papers that were lying on his custom-made Italian loafers and entered the hallway. "Are you all right?" he asked his hapless victim: a petite woman with large blue-gray eyes and short medium-blonde hair dressed in a soft pink silk blouse and black trousers sitting on the floor and rubbing her nose furiously.
Sparks of anger flew from her large blue-gray eyes like laser beams as she turned her face in his direction and glared up at the actor. "Never better," she grumbled sarcastically in what sounded like an East Coast American-accented soprano, wincing as she removed her hand from her nose.
"Nothing's broken at least-aside from my favorite coffee cup," she said with a resigned sigh as her eyes refocused on the stain rapidly spreading down the front of her blouse. "Great. That's just great," she mumbled as she surveyed the papers scattered around the hallway. She ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled heavily, her delicate features set in a scowl.
"I'm sorry about that. I'll pay for the dry cleaning or the replacement of the blouse," Alexander offered in apology. "Never mind! Can you just help me pick up this mess?" the woman snapped, rolling her eyes heavenward in irritation. Without another word, he knelt down beside her and helped her pick up the papers, momentarily forgetting the reason why he left the office in the first place. She's awfully young. Must be an intern or a production assistant of some kind, he thought to himself as he glanced in her direction briefly.
"Thanks," she murmured as he gave her the pile of papers he gathered up. "At least they're not full of coffee stains," she continued, attempting to pull the papers into some semblance of order as the two rose to their feet.
"Why on...OOOOHHHHH..." she said with a sudden realization. She pointed down the hallway. "Go down to the end and take a right. It's the first door on your left," she informed him crisply as she carefully placed the papers aside, knelt down and gingerly started picking up the pieces of the mug. With a muttered thanks, Alexander walked as sedately as he could down the hall in the direction she had pointed in an attempt to recover his dignity.
A few minutes later, Alexander re-entered the hallway. The intern/production assistant was nowhere in sight. Any traces of the previous mishap had vanished without a trace, he noted with a sigh of relief. He walked into the office and closed the door, silently offering a prayer of thanks to whoever happened to be listening at the moment that the director had not returned yet. He sat down in the chair and tried to read a film magazine in an effort to amuse himself while he waited.
*****************************************************
He didn't have to wait very long. About ten minutes later, the door opened to admit the Director and the intern/production assistant (looking even younger now that she was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans) he almost mowed over earlier in his haste. "Alexander, thanks for being so patient," the Director greeted him as he rose to his feet and shook his hand. "The business I had to take care of took longer than I thought it would." "That's quite all right. I didn't mind waiting," Alexander murmured in reply, gazing at the woman curiously and secretly dreading that she would mention what happened earlier.
She gazed calmly at the actor and smiled warmly as she approached him, never giving a hint of what happened before as she shook his hand. "Hello," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you…" she trailed off, arching her right eyebrow curiously. "Alexander, please," he replied with the slightest hint of relief in his voice.
"Alexander it is then," she agreed, the blue-gray eyes starting to twinkle with mischief. "I've been an admirer of your work for quite some time," she told him. Alexander's stomach sank, but he managed to keep a neutrally pleasant expression on his face without too much effort.
"Really? I suppose you've seen "Galaxy Quest" through re-runs," he mumbled with a slight edge to his deep, rich baritone that he couldn't disguise. "No. I saw the original run of the series, although I wasn't quite 10 years old at the time it first aired," she replied lightly as she gazed up at him. That remark truly surprised him. She was older than he thought she was.
Her eyes grew even brighter as she continued speaking with a deceptively mild expression on her face. "Dr. Lazarus was my favorite character. In fact, I own all the "Galaxy Quest" episodes on videocassette." The Director barely managed to keep his composure by biting his lip, although his cheeks were pink in an effort not to burst out laughing at the vain actor's horrified embarassment.
"All right, you've had your fun at his expense," the Director gazed at her with mock sternness as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, although his hazel eyes twinkled with barely suppressed amusement. "It's not like I saluted him and said 'By Grabthar's Hammer, you shall be avenged!'" she protested softly, her face the picture of wide-eyed innocence.
Alexander made a sound somewhere between a snort and a moan and slapped his forehead in exasperation, wishing he could sink through the floor right then and there. He turned to the now openly chuckling Director. "I'm not going to be acting with her, am I?" he asked plaintively with a grimace on his aristocratic features. She turned to face him and grinned ferociously. "Sorry, it's much worse than that. I'm the writer for your story-line," she informed him as his eyes widened in disbelief and his jaw dropped ever-so-slightly. "My name's Sandy, by the way."
Sandy - thanks for the kind welcome!
I thought Alexander was a good choice. SOOO much potential there storyline wise..., - Saturday, May 27, 2000 at 17:53:51 (PDT)
So, we have a new Newbie? Well, welcome to whoever it is. *rolling out Welcome Wagon* Ever since I did that first bit with Dane and Mary Anne kidding around together, I hoped someone would start a story with him. This is great.
And all of you who have commented on their enjoyment of the stories, thank you very much. Sometimes it seems as if no one is paying attention--but you've proved that someone is, quite a few "someones." Thanks again.
MA
Friendly waves to our newcomer! , - Saturday, May 27, 2000 at 14:57:52 (PDT)
Okay, a few pieces of information:
1. George will live. Eventually. Thank you for the votes of confidence.
2. On Wednesday morning, my computer crashed and has been at the sick computer place ever since. In exchange for getting it fixed for free, I have to wait a while so I won't get it back till early next week. And since I've got a backload of client stuff to get on top of, there won't be another segment til next weekend.
3. MA, the "Newbie" who started the Alexander Dane story wasn't me. I saw GQ twice and liked it but I didn't think it was a milestone.
I'm typing this on an old machine that a friend let me borrow for the day. I'll be out of contact for another few days. Have a good weekend.
Magda
- Saturday, May 27, 2000 at 08:00:24 (PDT)
New Zealand. The Doctor and Ed.
A casual observer would decide that both are asleep, for their posture is similar--sprawled in comfortable chairs--and their eyes are closed. And silence reigns, for in his deep sleep Ed's snaaararrfs and snurrrrurks have toned down to the occasional soft wheeeeest of a man who could sleep until doomsday.
Probably easier for him if he could sleep that long. Rest well, my boy, because when you awaken . . . and it all comes back . . .
The Doctor is not asleep.
To increase concentration, the Timelord is conserving bodily energy and directing it to his thought processes. It has led to the startlement of quite a few human friends and the downfall of many alien enemies who assumed that the strange man with his eyes half-closed (or concealed entirely beneath his hat) must be asleep . . .
If I take Ed to the palace, what will happen?
In his state of enhanced concentration, The Doctor can examine possible timestreams, allowing each one to play out in his mind to its logical conclusion.
Here, for instance, is a scenario in which Ed goes to the palace and everything ends in a mess. So much could go wrong--I could be doing us all a favour if I lose us in a time vortex somewhere for . . . oh, a Terran month, at least.
Here's another: Claudia is drawn once more into The Interrogator's web, helping HIM to escape. And she may just be able to manage it, too. Half Timelord and all, that woman, and clever into the bargain--even if the only thing she could learn in the Academy was how NOT to get drunk. But she would have HIS brainpower with her, as well . . .
The Doctor's eyes flicker open, and he frowns, not liking the way that possible timestream is headed. Not at all. For Ed to be present for such a development as that--well, Ed would die. It's that simple. He would die of grief. Or die trying to get to Claudia. Or die at the hands of The Interrogator.
And yet another . . .
Impatiently, The Doctor rises from his chair. No good. No good at all. I could formulate dozens of possible timelines and follow them to logical conclusions, but what will happen is certain to be something altogether different!
But he will not break his word to Ed, not now.
If I can get an up-to-date reading on The Interrogator, I can tell whether he's been affected by that transfer with Mary Anne. Knowledge worth having, since HE could be dangerously unpredictable if there is any resonance from that hasty transfer.
The Doctor laughs to himself. "Dangerously unpredictable," yet. When is HE ever predictable, or other than dangerous?
The Doctor resettles himself to a more comfortable position in his chair to pass the long watches of the night while Ed lies in his wine-induced and hypnosis-enhanced state of semi-coma; rather than trying to concentrate on possible outcomes of his decision to take Ed to the Imperial Palace, the Timelord allows his memories to parade before him--the pleasant ones, of course. This is not time to be thinking of Cybermen, Sontarans, or Daleks.
He thinks of Earth and his time among humans. His travelling companions, of course, and the famous figures of history here on this planet.
A fishing trip with the Venerable Bede. Caught a trout that would hang off this table . . . (homage) Sir Isaac Newton. Times and places. Ancient Rome, the Crusades . . . Writers. William Shakespeare. Chaucer. And what was that woman's name, with her clever and pointed observations? Jane . . . something. Begins with an A . . . A . . . Aussie? No, no, AUSTEN. That's it. Charming company when she was of a mind to be. And that Dickenson woman, too, but she really needed to get out more.
And those brothers . . . Odd mix, grammar and fairy tales. Grimm--well, that was appropriate. That they certainly were.
Suddenly The Doctor smiles at his own memories, realizing that when he conjured the possible timelines, he had left out one prospect that should never be excluded from anyone's calculations. However remote, it is always a possibility.
And they all lived happily ever after.
MA--so, Magda, one storyline isn't enough for your active mind? ;-)
Glad Dane is getting some attention. That third cup of tea--*snicker* Poor Alexander!, - Friday, May 26, 2000 at 20:54:10 (PDT)
Magda,
I must add my vote against hanging George. I always loved him before, but it was a much more guilty pleasure before you went to work on him. I really love this story!!!
I also want to take a moment to thank all the wonderful people who write here. I was recently away for a month caring for a family member who hasn't joined the computer age. I was only able to check my email once in a while at a library. The upside of this deprivation has been the fun of returning to a month of FOF posts. I'm enjoying my little FOF binge very much. You are such a talented group!!
A-m
- Thursday, May 25, 2000 at 19:29:27 (PDT)
Dear Magda, I agree with MA, Sandy and Katrina: please don´t let George die!
BTW, I enjoyed all the stories so far. Keep up the good work, a big THANK YOU to all of you! You really brighten my day(and probably not just mine!).
Jutta
- Thursday, May 25, 2000 at 04:11:39 (PDT)
FOF Set, Director's office:
Alexander Dane shifted in his chair for the fifteenth time in as many minutes as he waited impatiently for the director to return. At least he could have more comfortable chairs to sit in, he thought to himself crossly. Or else I never should have had that third cup of tea this morning, he realized uneasily as his discomfort suddenly increased tenfold.He sighed and bit his lower lip anxiously as he ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to concentrate on something else. To tell the truth, he was glad that his job prospects had changed for the better recently. He shuddered at the very thought of ever putting on that blasted rubber headpiece **again** and sitting at a table in a huge convention hall signing autographs at $15 a pop while rabid "fans" said that...that...UGH...
If there was a single instance he didn't regret playing the character of Dr. Lazarus of Tev'Mek (or uttering those ...words), it had to be his and his castmates real-life adventure with the Thermians. He smirked at the very idea of the general public finding out that the so-called "reunion movie" was actually a cover-up by the government to hide the truth behind what really happened at that last convention the entire cast attended. E.T. DID phone home that day, he chuckled softly.
He experienced a twinge of sadness and guilt as he thought of Quellek and his death at the hands of Sarris' thugs. You deserved much better than that, Quellek. He bowed his head for a moment in a silent tribute to the dead Thermian who gave his life so courageously for his shipmates.
Idly tapping his index finger on the desk, Alexander allowed his thoughts to wander. Gwen and Jason were dating again. No surprise there, he thought sourly. She always DID have a soft spot for Jason, no matter how much of a blowhard he was, although the American did have his respect because of his actions on the Protector. He regretted that he lost the nerve to speak about his own feelings for her, but it was too late now. Not that I really had a chance with Gwen in the first place, he thought bitterly. Still, he wished his two former castmates well.
"Oh God", he groaned as thoughts of HER invaded his mind with a vengeance. He could lie to the press. He could even lie to himself, but the truth nonetheless stared him in the face, taunting him mercilessly. That's the REAL reason you left for the States, not for the opportunity to be exposed on American network television and the prospect of bringing "Richard the Third" to Broadway. You simply couldn't stand the fact that she left you for that jerk playing Iago in "Othello", could you? You were an idiot then, and you're an idiot now for allowing her memory to stand in the way of getting seriously involved with someone else, his conscience informed him haughtily. "Oh shut up," he growled, furious at himself for allowing to let his emotions to get the best of him. He drew his hand over his face wearily as he leaned back in the chair. The room's silence grew more oppressive with each passing second, broken only by the soft and steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
Where on earth IS he? Alexander rolled his eyes in sheer frustration as he shifted in the chair again in an effort to make himself more comfortable, but it didn't help one iota. No "I am a chair" acting exercise was going to help him out of his predicament this time. "Damn," he growled softly. He rose to his feet, realizing that he just couldn't wait any longer and strode over to the door purposefully. He turned the handle, jerked the door open and started to exit--
"OOOWWWW!" THUD. He jumped back just in time to narrowly avoid being hit by a cup of steaming hot coffee. The cup shattered with a loud crash. Loose papers flew inside the doorway and landed on his feet. "Oh – that's – just – PERFECT!!!!"
Newbie
Hope you like it..., - Wednesday, May 24, 2000 at 18:13:14 (PDT)
Magda, I have to agree with Mary Anne on this one...let George live. Okay, I'll admit it, I have a soft spot for the "naughty-boy of Nottingham" (perhaps because that was the first role I saw AR in), but HE just plain *SCARES* me. However, I have no qualms about you making George squirm a bit - or a lot - depending on how you feel. Beside, Kate could make an appearance and cosh him on the head with a baseball bat :-)
Ladies, while I'm here casting my vote, I'd just like to say that I love all the stories here-and hooray for the return of the Gold Rush, Ed, Luke, Joseph, and the Doctor. Thank you all, and give yourselves a big round of applause!
Sandy
- Tuesday, May 23, 2000 at 12:39:27 (PDT)
Magda, please keep the Sheriff alive!! I know I haven't been as appreciating as I ought to all of you writing lovely stories here, except for some odd thankful comments next door, but believe me - I love what you're doing! :-) Also great to follow up on the Gold Rush story!
Back to the Sheriff - you can't let him die now!! NOOOOOO!!! He's just about to understand what he really feels for that lovely, spunky Lady Joya! And the story is so exciting! Robin Who? ;-) It's George of Nottingham all the way! Here I've been rejoicing that he's alive, thanks to you, and now you ask if he should hang!!! Please don't, Magda, please don't!! :-)
KatrinaL
- Tuesday, May 23, 2000 at 12:34:21 (PDT)
The terrain favoured safety in daylight. Nevertheless, Running Bear slowed the horse to a walk almost before sight of the wagon train, sending the dog ahead to notify his presence. Too many trigger fingers rested close to conspicuous rifles.
How could he excuse the inexcusable, explain the unexplainable to these folk who already regarded him with suspicion? Running Bear understood the unease the tribes had for the apparent flight of the buffalo, but never had he heard of such an attack before. Whispers intimated a renegade group from the north, and told of an abhorance equal to his own. For these were traders dependant on the Hudson Bay Company to buy their furs.
Antelope slung across the mare's back, a peace offering, the Indian slowly passed the lead wagon. He would let the man with the silver tongue, the Wagon Master, talk to his own people.
Claire
- Tuesday, May 23, 2000 at 10:06:30 (PDT)
Well, Magda, I never thought I'd be saying this . . . but let George live, please.
MA
See to it that I don't regret this, Nottingham! , - Monday, May 22, 2000 at 20:34:01 (PDT)
Okay, I want to be democratic about this. Before I start working on the next installment, let's see a show of hands: does he hang or does he get out of it? Serious answers, only please.
Magda <mgrantwich@yahoo.com>
- Monday, May 22, 2000 at 16:00:53 (PDT)
"Day the Sixty-seventh, in the month of January – In which I find myself questioning the partnership."
There was a grey cloud straddling the dawn horizon so Adam took his time getting ready to leave. By mid-morning, the threat of snow had lifted and we walked to the stables together. He'd said his farewells to Joya when we broke the fast; Melisant stuck to her room and did not come down.
"Well George, you're finally rid of me." Adam checked the girth on his horse's saddle. "Please thank the Lady Joya again for all her hospitality. I've truly enjoyed this visit."
I watched him tie his bags to the saddle. He certainly didn't look as if he'd enjoyed himself. I've seen happier expressions on the faces of men I've ordered flogged. But then of course his poor youthful heart was broken and all that nonsense, so allowances had to be made. He'd dragged out the morning meal until the food was almost stale, waiting for Melisant to come downstairs so that he could make another grovelling attempt to apologize. And while examining the clouds for signs of snow was prudent, it wasn't necessary to dawdle every two steps while scanning the windows to see if someone was watching.
Joya and I had discussed the matter before she returned to her room. She thought that until Melisant was over her fright, there was nothing to be gained from forcing her to meet Adam. The girl needed time to remember how much she liked him and some distance between them might be advisable. It sounded too ridiculous for words but Joya frowned at me when I voiced this opinion, caustically pointing out that is was my plot that had created this mess and my views on anything connected with the matter were of supreme unimportance. I maintained a prudent silence after this rebuff and after waiting a few moments for further argument, Joya departed, taking the mysterious dagger with her.
We were back in the courtyard when the visitors arrived. Adam had finally managed to climb onto his horse after taking more time about it than someone who was crippled in both legs would have done and had just turned the animal in the direction of the road when the sound of a great number of riders could be heard. I had barely time to reach for my sword and remember that it was in my room before over a dozen men-at-arms swept through the gate. In the middle of the group, carefully out of harm's way, rode Sheriff Odo of Barnesdale.
They dismounted and fanned out in crisp military formation, following some well-drilled battle plan. Two of them headed straight for me, their swords drawn and ready. I stood my ground, careful not to give them an excuse to use their weapons.
Adam stared. "Sheriff! What is the meaning of this?"
Odo walked his horse over to us, eyeing me with suspicion and disfavour. He stopped several feet away and addressed the guards. "Is he armed? Did you check for hidden weapons, secret arms?" They exchanged bored glances, then nodded. Obviously the town barracks did not share Odo's concern for the preservation of his own hide.
The front door opened and Joya appeared, Thomas and one of the maids peering over her shoulder. She marched across the yard, determination in every line of her body, until she came to a halt in front of us. Adam took one look at her face and backed his horse away a few steps.
Raking an icy glare across the two guards, she turned to Odo. "Sheriff, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that you are more than welcome to visit us whenever you find yourself in the area. However I would ask as a personal favour if you would restrain your men from practising their raiding techniques while they're on the property. It tends to frighten the servants and I cannot doubt that it has a similar effect on the livestock." She gave him a look of honeyed sweetness and bared her teeth in a smile.
Odo clambered down from his horse with all the grace of a sack of corn falling off the back of a wagon. "Oh my lady! Do forgive this sudden visit, this abrupt call! I understand your concern at the sight of so many armed men but I assure you it is very necessary, most essential. But do not be afraid." He paused to consider Joya's demeanour; a less frightened woman would be difficult to imagine. "We have received word from a reliable witness that the weapon used to murder your poor unfortunate maid at Christmas-time is here and in the possession of this man!" He swung around to point an accusing finger at me.
I put on my devoted-retainer air. "You might remember, my lady, that Sir Walter of Krone made a similar accusation against me that night. He discarded the theory when you described those three men who made an assault on your door at the inn."
"I remember. That's exactly what happened." Adam nodded vigorously.
Odo shook his head. "I was there too, Master Adam, and I also remember. But in the light of the new information just received, Sir Walter reconsidered and ordered me to bring this fellow into Barnesdale and hold him in gaol until we can have a trial. Since the charge is murder, Sir Walter has decided to wait until King Richard visits his manor so his majesty can try the case himself." He plunged his hand into the pouch on his belt and pulled out a document, sealed with a blob of thick red wax. "And Sir Walter also entrusted me with this letter for you, my lady, which he entreats you to read as soon as possible. It contains most important information."
Joya took the letter and turned away to break the seal. Odo waited for a moment and then slapped his gloves against his thigh as he turned to address his men. "You know where to look! If it's not where it was reported to be, search the whole house if you have to." He nodded at Adam, bowed respectfully to Joya and headed to the front door after them.
My blood ran cold. The king would recognize me in a second if he ever saw me. My only hope was that Joya had hid the dagger so well that they would not find it. It was a slim hope as I did not see how she could have had the time. I glanced at her, wanting to ask yet prevented by the presence of Adam and the guards. She was reading the letter with a deepening frown. Finally she folded it up again and slipped it into her sleeve, looking at me with an inscrutable expression. Her steps were slow and dragging as she turned away and followed Odo into the lodge.
The four of us waited in the courtyard for the full hour it took for the place to be searched. We were joined almost immediately by the bewildered servants who were herded outside by some of the guards so they wouldn't be in the way. Another guard escorted Melisant across the courtyard to a bench near the wall. Adam tensed beside me but managed to control himself. Occasionally we could hear loud noises that suggested large pieces of furniture were being moved about with less than proper regard for their contents but otherwise the search was conducted in silence. Finally the men trickled out the front door, slapping the dust from their tunics and hitching up their sword belts. Behind them came Odo and behind Odo was Joya. She was still wearing a frown on her face.
Odo huffed his way up to me and halted, legs spread and hands on hips. His obsequious demeanour had vanished, replaced by an unpleasantly rat-like expression. "All right, fellow. Where did you hide the dagger?"
"I don't know what you are talking about." I was not altogether successful in keeping the contempt out of my voice. In that moment, I almost felt sorry for Estrilda.
Adam jumped in. "Sheriff, I have been here for four days and during that time I saw no sign of any dagger other than the one George is wearing now." I noticed that he also had to wrestle with his disdain for Odo.
"The witness was most precise in their description of the hiding place and the dagger is not there!" Odo shrilled nastily, his face turning red and his fists clenching spastically. "I am placing you under arrest and taking you back to Barnesdale for trial for murder! What think you of that, knave?"
"I think that Lady Joya will have something to say to that." I nodded deferentially to Joya, waiting for her response.
For the first time she looked at me. Her eyes were distant and unreadable and her voice when she spoke carried the chill of the north wind. "By all means, sheriff. Arrest him."
"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
- Monday, May 22, 2000 at 10:04:51 (PDT)
New Zealand area office, check your readouts. We have reason to believe that the presence of a Timelord is causing inconsistencies in the local timestream.
Please report back to us ASAP.
The Chief
Celestial Operators, Inc.
Proxima Centauri, - Sunday, May 21, 2000 at 21:01:49 (PDT)
OOPS! alert--Claudia, I see from your last post that the boys were already tucked up in bed while Ed was still awake. Ack. Well, maybe The Doctor did it anyway because Ed was getting too deep into that bottle, right? Hope they liked their bedtime story. ;-)
MA--sorry for the inconsistency, there.
- Sunday, May 21, 2000 at 20:58:14 (PDT)
New Zealand.
Ed lies sprawled in his chair, snoring softly. He would have been prepared to swear that he could not sleep a wink, but the wine had done its work . . . the wine, aided by a slight suggestion from The Doctor, who had felt that Ed will be all the better for a little rest. But he's going to be quite put out with me for it, I'm afraid, thinks the Timelord. Seems I'm always having to put him under for some reason.
With Ed out cold, it had fallen to The Doctor to put the twins to bed, and he had managed it as if tucking in a pair of active boys is every day's business for him, though the general class of parent might frown on his choice of bedtime story; he had told the wide-eyed Luke and Joe the story of Omega and the Arc of Infinity . . . with some modifications, of course, so that the effect would be more exciting than frightening. And they had enjoyed it, so much that they clamored for another story, but The Doctor had insisted that they go to sleep and had carried his point--with, again, a bit of the same persuasion he had employed with Ed, though he had not had to give the boys that much of a hypnotic push; they were more tired than they had been willing to admit.
And it's just as well I didn't tell them another story. Claudia wouldn't thank me for keeping them awake all night by telling them about Sutekh!
But he would be willing to have Claudia upset with him, if only she were there to be upset . . .
There is a deep snarrarfffff from Ed and The Doctor looks up at him for a moment, startled that such a sound can emerge from a human larynx. Even the holy beast of Peladon never made such a racket as that! However, there is much amusement in the look The Doctor directs to Ed, and quite a bit of affection as well. Gallifreyan social custom regarding emotional display is quite different from human custom, and among his own people The Doctor is regarded as something of an eccentric for taking such an interest in the inhabitants of an obscure backwater planet. But if observing proper "custom" turns me into such an absolute relic as the majority of the High Council, then custom be hanged from the highest turret of Rassilon's tower, I say.
"Fossils, all of them," mutters The Doctor. "Always saying that I shouldn't get involved, you know . . ."
"Snarrarfffff," replies Ed.
"Oh, absolutely. They said that I should have let Mary Anne die, you know." A pause. "No, you don't know about that, do you? A long story. And this isn't the time."
"Snarrarfffff?"
"Some other time, perhaps. You're as bad as the boys, wanting a bedtime story. And do stop that unspeakable noise. A Timelord can't hear himself think!"
Ed subsides into soft wheezling sounds as The Doctor broods. He had told Ed that he had work to do. Intergalactic taxi service, indeed. I'm a Timelord; I walk in eternity. But the prospect of eternity is sometimes boring, and often frightening, without . . . friendships. Attachments. Affections.
The Doctor does not go the length of saying the word, even to himself, but he feels it. However, he seldom allows it to cloud his judgment. As a member of an advanced social class on Gallifrey, he knows the value of privacy and fully understands what it means to be scrutinized by one's peers, to have one's every gesture examined and weighed. It was for this reason (among others) that he had left the planet, to roam the universe.
To think what my lives would have been if I had stayed. Imagine--if I had never taken up with humans, I might never have known about TEA!
The idea, even cloaked in humour, is worth a shudder, and so The Doctor does.
"You know, don't you," he admonishes himself aloud, "that you are talking yourself into staying?"
Yes, his self knows that quite well and is thoroughly unrepentant.
The Doctor sighs. He will take Ed to be with Claudia, as Ed had requested. And yes, he will--eventually--return the boys to the Timelord academy. As for telling them the truth about their mother, well, that will be Ed's task, and the Doctor does not envy him that burden, nor any of the others he is currently carrying. He has enough burdens of his own, for Claudia is one of those humans who has won The Doctor's hearts and he is more worried about her than he cares to admit.
"Snoorrrrffftt . . ." mourns Ed.
"I know, my boy. I know."
MA
Obviously the boys haven't had the class yet in resisting hypnosis! *grin*, - Sunday, May 21, 2000 at 20:49:42 (PDT)
"It's time I think." Dana stopped, soup ladle in mid air, at Claire's words.
It had been easy to stay here and tend to the needs of the wounded and frightened. Filling children's soup bowls, bandaging wounds and holding hands created the busy work to occupy the mind. Little by little the survivors straggled over to form a semicircle around the rough mounds of earth.
At Sinclair's subtle nod PL spoke up, as if spontaneously. "The Lord is my shepherd, I'll not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters…"
By the fourth word the entire assemblage spoke in unison the words of familiar comfort
Dana
- Sunday, May 21, 2000 at 20:06:53 (PDT)
Get well soon, R dearest, and enjoy the reading. Hmmmm--have to see what I can contribute for your enjoyment . . . *wicked grin*
MA
Back with more, later . . . ;-), - Sunday, May 21, 2000 at 14:21:49 (PDT)
Antlike the women harvested the skeleton. Stripping the base of the blacked shell for the last vestige of worth. O'Hara shouldered yet another wagon at the waters edge. Tearless the children stood clutching wildflowers.
Warm dark mud peeled between his fingers. Sinclair mused as the tips ground the clod to dust. Good farming soil perhaps? Shaking his head to focus back on the problem, before attacking the dirt with renewed vigour, wondering vaguely if he could be happy on a homestead.
A few words would be his responsibility as Wagon Master and the time was now. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust No that couldn't be appropriate. Even though they had closed the eyes he felt the sightless fix him in their gaze beneath the shovelled layers.
Four. They had lost four from the Wagon train. One graveless, devoured by the Snake in the blackness of the night crossing, two to the attackers and a third. Bile rose as Sinclair recollected his first sight of a partially burned body. Grotesque tortured features compared to gaping mouths frozen in surprise from the cleaved.
Spitting away from the grave before stabbing the earth with a decisive finality, Sinclair thrust both fingers into his mouth for a piercing whistle. O'Hara, a good son of Rome, would know a few words from the Bible.
Claire
Being prolific to give Renie something to read!!, - Sunday, May 21, 2000 at 10:16:04 (PDT)
PL spotted Sinclair among the others and pulled up at his shoulder. Men were speaking in urgent tones.
"We've gotta cross."
"Suicide in the dark"
"Not with just the horses."
"Surprise…use their own tactic"
"What about the women and children?"
Life and death decisions made in a matter of seconds.
Pulling a blanket around her shoulders, Dana stood for a moment after he'd gone searching the darkness. Urgency was in the air, camp was waking but in a tense and muted way. Men moved swiftly in the night, no fires, no lanterns. A baby cried and was quickly hushed.
Another cry reached her ears, raising the hairs on her neck
Dana
rollin' Claire!, - Saturday, May 20, 2000 at 14:07:26 (PDT)
PL scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to clear sleep and the shooting pain in his forehead. Voices, low and urgent, reached his ears. Sleep forgotten, he moved quickly from his bedroll and emerged beside the wagon bed, glancing around to get his bearings.
Always a light sleeper, Dana stirred and called quietly.
Crouching down he spoke quickly, "Get dressed, Darlin'. Get your rifle from under the seat and stay in the wagon. I'll be back."
"What's happening?" Dana was scrambling to stand next to him, hand on his arm.
"I'm not certain. You just be ready and wait for me. " He kissed her hard on the mouth and set off at a lope, rifle in hand, toward the river.
Dana
- Saturday, May 20, 2000 at 13:52:50 (PDT)
"Day the Sixty-sixth, in the month of January – In which we examine the mysterious gift."
"It looks like someone cut themselves." Joya sat back on her heels and looked a question at me.
I turned the dagger over. "I don't think so. Too much blood."
"Oh." She frowned. "Then perhaps someone killed an animal with it?"
"Not likely. The blood would be on both sides of the blade." I peered into the leather case to see if the inside was stained. It wasn't but small red flakes were clinging to the sides.
"Well, I can't think what else could have been done with it." Joya clasped her hands in her lap and fixed me with a challenging stare, as if daring me to say what I thought.
"Nothing was done with it. But something was done to it." I balanced the dagger on my palm and displayed it for her. "Someone dipped their finger into blood and then stroked it down the cutting edge of the blade. You can see the impression of the tip of his finger in the blood right there."
Joya examined it calmly. "Yes, I see. Someone wanted to make it look as though it had been used to -" She stopped and leaned back against the chest, closing her eyes tightly and swallowing hard.
"To cut something that bled profusely." I kept my voice as neutral as possible and watched her carefully. "Like a throat."
A slight shudder ran through her frame but her voice was steady. "Sal. At the inn back in Barnesdale." She opened her eyes and blinked a few times.
"Let's examine this whole thing carefully." I adjusted myself until we were sitting side by side, propped against the chest. Joya slid over to eliminate the space between us. "Twenty days ago your maid had her throat slit during a rowdy night. Several people heard the local lord accuse me of the crime. This morning I found evidence of someone watching this place from the top of a hill. This afternoon someone hid this knife - which has been tampered with - in my room."
She leaned against my shoulder. "Somebody does not appreciate your finer qualities, George."
I was momentarily diverted. "What are my finer qualities?"
"Um..." For a moment Joya floundered. "Well, they're very unique. I daresay most people would miss them all together."
"I daresay." I lifted the dagger again to get back to business. "This was placed here for a reason and until we know who and why, I don't think we should get rid of it."
"You may be right." Joya reached for the handle, lifting it gingerly from my palm. "But it must not be kept here and that blood must be washed off. If you leave it with me, I can hide it where no one will ever find it." She grimaced slightly as she dangled the knife by the tips of her fingers.
"Very well." I handed her the case. The linen scraps I balled up and tossed into the fire. Joya sheathed the blade, relaxing slightly when the bloodstains were again hidden from view. "Now are we going to fight about what happened this afternoon?"
She shook her head. "No, not right now. Somehow I don't feel like it."
We fell silent, leaning against the carved wooden chest and watching the flames in the fireplace. The crackling of the logs was the only sound for a long time.
"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
- Saturday, May 20, 2000 at 10:23:35 (PDT)
Toppling forward the porch rocker failed to sustain his weight, the glass lurched forward in his hands. Shards of colour burst into O'Hara's vision as he moved quickly to rebalance the pane.
"Darlin' no more, I can't hold this one."
"I'm not interested in your love life" hissed Sinclair, crouching to rattle PL by the shoulder through the wide spokes.
"Pleeease. Owch!" Elongated the last syllable cut short as O'Hara sat bolt upright.
"Get up. We have big trouble." Flapping a free arm in the direction of the River, he left PL dazed and bemused.
Ghostly grey shadows, canvas over ribs, tightly circled wagons muted the distant flares, but high-pitched screams carried over the water in the stillness of the night. Standing on the riverbank, outwardly impassive, the Indian strained to number the riders and decipher the cries. Of victim and aggressor.
"Only the stupid sleep under an axle" muttered Sinclair as he darted to the next wagon.
Claire
Knock out Dana .... I'm with you!, - Saturday, May 20, 2000 at 09:32:26 (PDT)
"Tell me again, PL."
"Christ on a crutch, woman, I've already told you half a dozen times tonight." The feigned impatience in his tone was offset by strong arms that settled her closer against his side.
"Come on, say it again."
"Don't you get tired of listenin' to me?"
"Never. I can never hear enough."
PL sighed, "OK, I'll tell you one more time tonight, but no more....you'll be completely spoiled by it." He shifted his head to look into her eyes. The dying campfire caught their light, causing them to glisten and dance. He'd do anything to make those bright eyes sparkle. He'd seen them dulled by too much pain and misfortune in the past months. Now was the time to start the fresh path. The future was theirs for the taking.
Dana squirmed slightly under his scrutiny. "What are you looking at?"
"Just you." He dropped a kiss on her forehead then pulled back to regard her again. "OK, last time tonight then you've got to let me sleep." He began, speaking the words slowly, relishing the telling. "Real glass windows. I'm gonna build you a house with a big porch for our rockers and real glass in the windows. There'll be water right to the sink in your kitchen…."
Dana dropped off to sleep, dreaming of the happy times to come.
Dana
Surprise! , - Thursday, May 18, 2000 at 20:36:24 (PDT)
They say wonders never cease, Claire!
Checked around for a photo to point Neva to--where *is* a Colin pic?
:-)
R , - Thursday, May 18, 2000 at 16:40:48 (PDT)
Thank you, Claire. :)
Neva
- Wednesday, May 17, 2000 at 23:34:55 (PDT)
Colin is from a BBC TV play called Benefactors.
Claire
- Wednesday, May 17, 2000 at 23:25:44 (PDT)
Thanks to all of y'all for posting such delightful stories on this board. One question, though, relating to the sound file mentioned below~ who is Colin?? Nrrph?? Was AR Colin in anything? (I realize he's in the FOF stories, but I'm confused as to what movie/play had a character named Colin in it). :)
Neva
Humbly begging her Majesty and the rest of the Realm to excuse this simpleton's ignorance..., - Wednesday, May 17, 2000 at 21:46:57 (PDT)
HURRAY! Oh, frabjous day, calloo, callay (she chortled in her joy). The Gold Rush returns! 8-)
MA
(And just remember, Your Majesty: you can see HIM, but HE can't see you--unless you choose. *grin*), - Wednesday, May 17, 2000 at 20:02:39 (PDT)
Spewing venom, the serpent loosed pronged forks of flame. Momentarily, dancing as fireflies arcing towards the corral on the southern bank, the quiver of arrows held a deadly beauty.
Fractious dreams. Consciousness played with Sinclair's brain. Desire failed to sweep away the evenings emotional debris as exhaustion refused to submerge bitterness.
He looked back on their communion of bodies with a warmth that belied circumstances. Independance so many months away, yet their hands had declared the personal geography unchanged beyond a tighting of sinews and hardening of muscles. Within the skin of the of the buffalo they had become one. An intimacy of souls entwined to perfection.
Rolling over he tried to harmonise the crystallising of their breath together as she slept. Smelling the rose water, mixed with the light animal tang of grease, that had soften his palm giving the flexibility that so itched a card player's fingers.
Dissecting dreams the eye turns inward, blind to the shooting stars mingled in the cool stream of exhalation.
Claire
Gold Rush rolls again .... Banks of Three Rivers Island, - Wednesday, May 17, 2000 at 14:42:37 (PDT)
Well, slightly updated, anyway. I'm still three months behind!
The Empress is finding it a bit hard to sleep with HIM so near. The Doctor once told her to "never underestimate HIM."
And yes, the sound file is the very sardonic Colin. :-)
Suzanne
Enjoying the stories immensely!, - Wednesday, May 17, 2000 at 06:43:43 (PDT)
It's Colin.
;-)
- Tuesday, May 16, 2000 at 22:17:29 (PDT)
Suzanne--I see the Archives have been updated! I like to go through and read the comments from the D.o.C., perhaps because I'm responsible for so many of them. *grin* Don't tell me; let me guess: having The Interrogator in the palace had so unsettled you that you needed a bit of busywork to steady your nerves, right? Hmmmm? Or were you thinking of moving HIM into even more comfortable quarters . . . ? *wink*
MA--stopping before I'm arrested by the Imperial Guard
What's the new sound file, please? Don't remember this one . . ., - Tuesday, May 16, 2000 at 20:33:12 (PDT)
