Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

"Day the Eighty-first, in the month of February – In which Estrilda suffers a disappointment and I simply suffer."

Through the mist of pain I was conscious of one rational thought: it would be folly to let Estrilda see the effect of her news on me. I clung to that conviction with the part of my mind that wasn't numb. Escape depended on getting and keeping the upper hand.

"No doubt Sir Walter has heard of the good hunting to be found near the lodge." I took the cup from her fingers and lifted it to her lips. My hand was steady and nothing spilled. I noted the fact with a faint pride. Estrilda frowned but sipped.

So Krone had moved into the lodge with Joya. Fine, if that was what she wanted. Wonderful, if she preferred his company. I reclaimed my cup and tossed back the dregs with one gulp. Perhaps I'd been too hasty in my judgement; it was indeed a very good wine, with a rich and robust taste. I reached for the flagon and helped myself to a second cup. It tasted even better than the first.

Estrilda's mock sympathy raked me as she stroked a finger along my jaw. "Does the fact that your dear lady is entertaining Sir Walter bother you? Poor Georgie! Let me help you forget her." She ran her hands up over my chest and thrust them into my hair, pressing me back against the table. Moaning like a cow in labour, she laved moist, open-mouthed kisses across my face and down my neck. I couldn't understand why she was making pained sounds when it was my hair that was being pulled out.

My active participation didn't seem to be needed which was fine since there were no signs yet that it was even possible. The spirit was merely indifferent but the flesh might as well have been in another county. The strongest desire I had was for a towel.

Actually that wasn't true. I was becoming painfully aware that all I had eaten that morning was a small loaf of bread. I tilted my head back to see if there was anything edible on the table but it was bare except for the wine. It was better than nothing so I poured out another cup and took advantage of Estrilda's sucking on my earlobe to quaff most of it.

"Georgie!" She sat up in a huff and glared at me. "Are you just going to sit there?"

Easy for her to say. She had my neck and collarbone to chew on. I was the one who was hungry. I swallowed the rest of the wine and filled my cup again. But what could I expect? Wasn't that just like a woman? You try to be co-operative, you try to be a real partner and what happens? The first time she has a chance to take up with a big, dumb moron just back from playing on the beach in the Holy Land, she jumps on it. Just like that! I stared down into the cup in surprise. Somehow it had become empty again. Reaching for the flagon, I solved that problem.

"George!" Estrilda seemed annoyed. "I'm going to throw that wine out the window!"

"Nothing wrong with the wine. Leave it alone." I frowned at her. Typical woman. No consideration for a man's needs. Some women were even worse. Some couldn't appreciate a man who was prepared to do so much for her. No concern that he might want to marry her and give her a perfectly nice tower room in his castle when he gets it back from a thieving low-life like Robin of Locksley. Or that he might be willing to shower her with jewels and gowns and surround her with servants so that she could spend the day doing nothing but nibbling on fruit and reading books. Just demands, complaints and criticism. I finished my drink and looked around. Estrilda tried to snatch the flagon away but I was too fast for her. I lifted it but nothing came out. Peering down the neck, I saw that it was empty.

"Well, now we can get down to business." She smirked. "Do you have your lines?"

I didn't care for the satisfied tone in her voice. She obviously didn't understand that we were out of wine. Since no one else was around, I'd have to take care of it myself. I stood up and she landed on the floor with a thump. "What's that girl's name?"

"Ow!" Estrilda glared. "What girl? You mean Nan?"

"Nan!" I bellowed in the direction of the kitchen. She came through the door like a hunted rabbit just as the other door crashed open and my prison escorts appeared with drawn swords. I was not pleased. There was no such thing as privacy in this house. I gave them my nastiest look. "What do you want?"

They exchanged glances. Then the front one said, "Uh, we heard a loud voice."

"A loud voice, did you?" I stepped over Estrilda to confront them. They backed up. "And what did the voice say? Did it invite four dim-witted lackeys to come in? Did it indicate a desire for your presence? Did it?"

More backward motion into the hall. Their spokesman was only a step behind. "Uh, no it didn't." Then he added, "Sir."

I reached the threshold. "Then don't bother us again. I don't care if a dozen voices are screaming in here. Got that?" They nodded quickly and I slammed the door. Across the room, the women stared at me. I waved the empty vessel in the air. "More wine. Bring two this time."

"Wait, Nan!" Estrilda struggled to her feet and faced me with hands on hips. "I think you've had enough for quite a while!"

I pushed myself away from the door and crossed the room, narrowly missing a stool that slid into my path. "Really, madam? Well, let me assure you I have not had nearly enough." I thrust the flagon at the girl. "Two more. Now." She threw a frightened look at Estrilda, then skittered from the room.

Estrilda scowled at me. Well, I wasn't going to put up with that. I'd had enough of disputatious women to last a lifetime. You have to take a firm hand early in the proceedings. That was the mistake I made with Joya. Just because she had a pair of big, blue eyes that alternately mocked and beckoned to me, just because she had a sultry voice that flayed my senses until they were raw, didn't mean that I should have accepted a "partnership" with her. Gods, what a fool I was! I should have established my mastery right from the beginning. And because I hadn't done that, because I had been weak, the results were plain to see. Now every woman thought she could rule me. I scowled back at Estrilda.

The kitchen door swung open and the servant girl rushed back into the room, a flagon clutched in her arms. She stopped several feet away. "Please, sir, we...we only got the one left." She seemed nervous about something.

"That's all right, child. Bring it here." I beckoned her closer. "Let's have a taste and see if it's as good as the other." She came closer and poured the libation out. I watched her. She looked like a nice young girl. Probably had a sweetheart somewhere who wanted to marry her. That was the way of the world, girls and boys met, became sweethearts, then got married and made more boys and girls. It suddenly seemed so futile. Was it worth it when some women – some beautiful, sultry, lush women with tawny hair and blue eyes – betrayed the men they should have spent their lives with? I tasted the new wine. It was just as good as the first lot. I held out my cup. "More wine, girl and this time fill it right up."

"But I did before – I mean, yes, sir." She leaned forward to complete her task and I examined her closely. She had blonde hair, a yellowish rather than a gold colour, and her eyes were a light, rather weak blue. I felt a sudden rush of paternal feeling. This girl was still young. Perhaps she could be guided by good advice before she ruined the life of some young man who might want to be her partner in a hunting lodge somewhere. In fact, now that I thought of it, if she were a bit younger she might have been my daughter if I had been a bit older so I could have been her father. It was a bond between us. I took another drink but found it hard to swallow around the unexpected lump in my throat.

"Thank you, Nan. You may go now." Estrilda dropped her hand on my shoulder and dug her nails in like I was prey. The servant girl made her obeisance and disappeared through the kitchen door. Now I would never be able to counsel her. She was lost forever and it was all Estrilda's fault. It was so sad that I needed another drink to get over it.

"I had no idea you were so fond of young girls, George. I thought you preferred more mature women." Estrilda pulled the cup from my grasp and slammed it down on the table. I looked up to argue but she was shimmering back and forth until there were two Estrildas and I didn't know which one to address. I picked the one on the right; she could pass the message on to the other one later. Two were too many, so I squeezed my eyes shut, wincing as she grabbed my hair with her free hand.

"If you'd acted on this predilection at Christmas, the wrong girl wouldn't have died that night." Her lips writhed in a sneer and she jerked my head back and forth. "But why bother? You're not even listening to me, are you?"

Of course I was listening to her. And I had several things to say to her - just as soon as I woke up from the sleep I was falling into...

"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, June 14, 2000 at 16:18:50 (PDT)

Okay, I'm putting up another scene tonight but I want to warn everyone that it's long. On the other hand, those of you who wanted to see a certain someone suffer will be more than satisfied.
Magda
- Wednesday, June 14, 2000 at 14:43:51 (PDT)

FOF Set "Staff Meeting":

"Well, since swimsuit attire also appears to be mandatory, I don't think any of the ladies here would object to wearing bikini tops, but thongs are a DEFINITE NO-NO-especially Brazillian ones, for obvious reasons!" She arched an eyebrow at the widely grinning Ed. "I'm refusing to get into the Speedos vs. trunks debate. You can fight that one out amongst yourselves," she said with a soft chuckle, tapping a finger against her chin. "I think the pool set would be a good place, since we can't get to the beach. Besides, I like to type sitting down," she observed tartly as soft laughter broke out. "Anybody else have any ideas?"

Sandy - hi Therese & Leigh! I'll try sending you some sunshine from Massachusetts, but could someone kindly return some heat?
?? - please stick around and reveal yourself to everyone! I'm not PERKY until I have at least 2 cups of coffee..., - Wednesday, June 14, 2000 at 14:43:07 (PDT)

FOF meeting room

"Not so fast." The Director placed a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps we should take this matter outside, while the others discuss the plans for the FOF anniversary," he nodded towards Sandy, who shot back a pert grin.

Ulp. "Yes, sir." She obediently followed him out the door.

It wasn't that this girl was the guilty one who had stolen the wallet. Au contraire, she had wanted out of the room as quickly as possible because she felt so shy among a group of strangers, not to mention the fact that she had obviously interrupted something. For Heaven's sake, she wasn't even a part of FOF…yet.

Her slender figure trembled visibly as she stood outside the meeting room with The Director. Holy yoicks! What scrape have I gotten myself into this time? she thought to herself miserably.

The Director faced her squarely. "Well?" Just one word, yet more penetrating than if he had spoken a dozen words.

"I think I can explain, sir," she said in a tiny voice. "Please don't think I stole the wallet, because I didn't. I was walking down the hall, looking for your office, sir, and along the way, a janitor stopped me. She asked me where I was going and then handed me the wallet, saying, 'Run along and give this to Miss Mary Anne, would you, honey? I found it on the bathroom floor this morning.' I guess that she had thought that I was one of them," nodding toward the doorway. "Of course, I didn't know where anybody was, and I tried to explain to her that I was new here. By that time, though, she had turned on the vacuum cleaner and couldn't hear me, so I ran around until I saw a dog run into there." She paused.

The girl looks and sounds earnest, The Director contemplated silently. And her story does seem plausible. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

"You wanted to see me, you said?"

"Yes, I did. You see, I need a job for the summer and, I was on my way to ask you if there was any work that I could do-as a page, as an apprentice, as something! I've always wanted to work here, and I would be happy doing just about anything!" Her face brightened for a bit, then darkened once again. "But it seems that I have started on the wrong foot; first, I burst in on the scene like a madman, and right now, I give the impression that I'm a pickpocket," she gave The Director a rueful grin. "But I'm really not like that, and I would work hard, I really would!"

The Director mused silently. His hazel eyes looked evenly into her dark brown ones. "Hmmm…"

??--Happy to oblige, MA! As to my identity, "I cannot tell you...it is a secret!" :)
But I promise to reveal myself soon...well, it's up to you, folks- would you like her to stay? , - Wednesday, June 14, 2000 at 09:04:18 (PDT)

LOL! Dear ??--thank you. Now, if only this were real life . . . *sigh* Thanks again for the note of cheer. Hey, maybe !!! or ?!? will be dropping by any minute--this is like old times, indeed! 8-)

MA--and good to see you again, Leigh!
Therese--send some of those "monsoons" down our way; our garden can use them . . . , - Wednesday, June 14, 2000 at 05:48:30 (PDT)

FOF Set, still in the meeting room

"I hope everything is still in there," she said as Mary Anne checked the contents of her wallet. Yes, everything is still in there, even the library card, she thought with relief. Shutting her wallet, Mary Anne looked up to face the messenger.

"Where did you find it?" The young woman only smiled and shook her head. She twisted a strand of her short, dark hair before speaking.

"I didn't. But I musn't explain now- I think I have disturbed something important," she looked about the roomful of faces and glanced at the stern countenance of The Director. Remarkable, how those men resemble each other, especially in the faces...no, I'm just fooling myself. She turned back to Mary Anne, who was waiting patiently. "Maybe later?" And slowly, she backed out of the room.
??
Still trying...how do you write such long posts? :), - Tuesday, June 13, 2000 at 23:20:56 (PDT)

Kalapaki Bay, Kauai, Hawaii:

"May I bring you another mai-tai, miss?"

Grace looked down at the table next to her chaise and tried to count the number of little paper umbrellas already scattered there. She couldn't. "No thank you," she said, trying not to slur her words, "I have a very busy afternoon ahead of me." The gorgeous young man in the Hawaiian shirt suppressed a laugh and sailed away, tray in hand. Hawaiians are the only people who don't look ridiculous in Hawaiian shirts, she ruminated, appreciatively watching the young man walk around the curving white sand beach. "I don't think he believed me," she said out loud and in injured tones to Hart, "after all, I have a surfing lesson at 3:00, a hula lesson at 4:00, a massage at 5:00 and we haven't swum our half mile yet." She waved a hand vaguely at the stunning Kalapaki Bay in front of them, which wasn't even the most beautiful place on Kauai. "Plus, I can barely tear myself away from this new book." Hart smiled and shook his head. A week in Hawaii and she was still overscheduling herself as though they hadn't left Los Angeles. Altogether this was not a promising vacation from FOF. He reached over and plucked the slim hardback from her hands.

"Scam Dogs and Mo-Mo Mamas," he read the title aloud. "What now, fraud in the high priced world of purebred dog breeding?" he asked sardonically, knowing her too well to be surprised at wherever she found malefactors of wealth.

"Well, there is a guy whose Internet moniker is Big Dog in the book, but we won't discuss those odious puppy mills -- whose owners are probably as inbred as those phony AKC registered dogs they sell -- but this has nothing to do with that. It's about," she reads the subtitle, "'The Wild and Woolly World of Internet Stock Trading.' Can't put it down. It's packed with characters like the burrito maker turned millionaire stock guru Tokyo Joe, the self-promoting contrarian A@P, the Georgia Bard who got too close to a scam dog stock and went up in his own flames . . . and Big Dog is of course an oversized fabric coating salesman turned Internet flack. I could go on and on."

"Please don't," begged Hart, who has already heard way too much about these people, the bashers and hypsters of the New Economy who try to, and sometimes do, manipulate lightly-traded stocks by posting avidly on message boards. "We're supposed to be on vacation," he groaned.

"But it's the ultimate caveat emptor, baby, the back streets and gutters of the bull market that the Merrill Lynch bull wouldn't touch with a barge pole. And you couldn't make up these characters who post on the message boards, not even on FOF." She was working up to an enthusiastic harangue, Hart knew. Drastic measures were necesssary.

"Speaking of FOF," he drawled, arching one eyebrow, "you've been derelict. Everyone else has been busy, juggling commitments, but they've managed to continue posting. Not to mention the bright new threads started lately. You've abandoned FOF for this wild and woolly new frontier of yours."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "A low blow, mister. Right in the conscience." She looked guiltily at him over her sunglasses. "I don't like neglecting FOF, but this stuff is . . . addicting. Not to mention part of my work." Companion knew that she was working on several cases involving stocks discussed at length on these message boards, but this new obsession had gone, well, overboard. He pressed on, nevertheless, "but you've left Hart and Grace on that golf course for an eternity. Seasons have changed, for goodness sake, but there they are, with Hart eternally two-putting. How insufferable is that?" He was vain of his golf game.

"Stop, stop," she put up her hands, "the next thing you'll do is have Brandon look at me reproachfully. I couldn't bear that. No one could."

"Calm down," he said. She tried on a pout. How dare he make her feel guilty during her vacation? He plunged on, "All I'm saying is that perhaps you could . . . combine the two, just a little. Isn't Grace on the trail of a stock fraud already?"

She sat up straight in her chair and shouted, "you're a genius, my darling!" Hart beamed. He quite liked being called a genius. "Of course! That's the perfect solution. She tilted her head to one side, plots shifting through a brain already pretty well soaked in rum. "I can start right away." She swung her feet to the sand, gathering up her things.

"Not so fast, speedy. Aren't you forgetting something?" He did not stir from his comfortable chaise despite her bustling around.

"Like?"

He realized she had truly forgotten. "It's almost the anniversary of FOF. I imagine they're already planning the party back home."

"So it is. . ." she began, "but we may not even be back in time for the party."

"Maybe not. But if we are, maybe we could help out with the decorations and whatnot. These little paper umbrellas could come in handy, say, if they do a tropical theme."

"Dreamer. You just want to see the ladies in sarongs Dorothy Lamour-ing around. Anyway, we might miss this year, just like last year. Besides, we don't have a computer with us. You threatened to throw the laptop in the Pacific if I brought it along, or don't you recall that charming little episode?"

"I'll make one exception. I'm sure the hotel will let you log on for a few minutes. But. . . " his tone turned quite stern, "only one post. Just one. Until we get back. I don't want you lunging for the nearest cathode ray tube and going off half baked with any new direction in the thread."

She looked at him dubiously. Had he forgotten the magnetic pull of FOF? Confident she could work around whatever restriction he tried to impose, she recklessly promised to post just once. For now.

"That's more like it. And we owe it to our friends at home to do more research on this tropical theme," he said, signalling for the young Hawaiian man.

"Yes, sir," the waiter trotted over to Hart's chaise.

"We are going to need a great many more of these. . . " he began, holding up one of the little paper umbrellas from his last mai-tai. "A very. . . great . . . many . . . more of these."

Grace leaned back in her chaise. She was going to like this research after all, she decided. "Is there anything you wouldn't do for the sake of accuracy, my dear?" she sighed.

"There is no sacrifice too great," he began, reaching for the next mai-tai as the watier returned, then leaning back gracefully to look at the sparkling blue bay. "Absolutely none."
Leigh
Great fun, guys, and welcome to the newcomers! Just reluctantly returned from a short vacaton on Kauai...too short., - Tuesday, June 13, 2000 at 15:08:59 (PDT)

Dev's Guest Quarters, Delaford

Therese, what can I do? Mary Anne Brandon's words echoed about the small room, leaving a wake of discomfort in their path as Therese considered the woman before her, her dark eyes haunted.

What can you do, Mary Anne? It's a fair question. And the answer is, I've no idea. . .I just know that I can't go on as I am now, and I'd hoped that perhaps you could help. "I'm not certain," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "But I thought that perhaps we could talk. . .if you wouldn't mind. I'll understand, of course, if you'd rather not."

Mary Anne crossed to the arm chair that had so recently held Therese while she and Dev had quickly changed the bedsheets, and tucked her long legs underneath her body before pulling the long skirt of her dress across her folded knees. "What if I have your Mr. de Valera go and bring us some tea and scones? Why with fetching snacks, and doing light housework, we'll have rendered him a true domestic in no time at all." And that way we'll have him back quite soon should. . .well, should that be necessary.

Therese paused a moment as she considered the words of her hostess. Then, with a deep breath, as if she had formed some sort of difficult decision in her mind, she looked over to Eamon. "Would you mind?" she asked him softly.

"Are you certain?" he asked, his tone softly neutral as he leant over the side of the bed, his hand carefully brushing the hair back from her forehead.

Therese nodded, her eyes downcast. Dev raised her chin gently, and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I'll be back shortly. Mrs. Brandon can send for me if I'm needed," he added, sending her a meaningful look.

Now Dev, you're not the only one concerned about her, though I have to think I'd be the last person you'd leave her with for safekeeping if you knew. . .still, I cannot change what was, and perhaps I can help."Of course," Mary Anne said aloud.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Dev exited the room, his long legs covering the space in several quick strides. He paused for a moment at the door, looked back as if to allow Therese time to change her mind, and then left, closing the door silently behind himself.

"Well then," Mary Anne said, breaking the forced silence as she considered the small, pale form before her. "What can I do for you?"

At Mary Anne's simple question, Therese shuddered as if she had been struck, and began to tremble. Her eyes, already large and expressive, took on an almost luminous quality as they became bright with the reflection of unshed tears. "I don't know," she said, folding her knees up under her chin she clasped them to herself in an almost fetal position. There was the unmistakable tone of anguish to her voice as she repeated the phrase a second time, almost as if to herself. "I don't know. . .

Therese
Can you have monsoons in Iowa? Day three of heavy rains. . . Anyone know where to purchase horse sized water wings??, - Tuesday, June 13, 2000 at 14:02:31 (PDT)

FOF Set...

But before Sandy could begin again, everyone heard a pair of footsteps tripping down the hall. This time, The Director wisely took a few steps back from the doorway. All eyes were riveted toward the door as a young woman came bursting through, bright-eyed and a bit mussed from running.

"Forgive me for interrupting," she looked round the room as she spoke, "but is Miss Mary Anne here?"

"Yes, here I am."

"Miss Mary Anne, I believe I may have found what you are looking for..." (homage)

And with that, she handed Mary Anne a small leather wallet.
??
Trying something new..., - Tuesday, June 13, 2000 at 11:05:47 (PDT)

The "staff meeting":

Before Sandy can answer, Mary Anne adds thoughtfully, "Though if I could get my hands on the guy who stole my wallet--"

The Director's gaze sharpens. "Someone stole your wallet? When? Where?"

Mary Anne shakes her head. "I wasn't mugged or anything; it just disappeared from my purse. I know that no one here would have done it."

"I'm sorry," puts in Claudia sympathetically. "Lose much?"

"Not much," bites out Mary Anne. "Just my driver's license, my credit cards, my library card--"

"Oh, that is bad," quips Ed.

"Hush, you! Anyway . . . if I could get my hands on whoever took it, let's just say--" Mary Anne's fingers curl expressively. "--that the dungeon sets would come in handy. Very handy, indeed."

The men exchange glances of mixed amusement and alarm, except for Mister I, who leans forward and stares at Mary Anne. "Do you know," he intones softly, "that your eyes right now are the exact shade of blue of . . ."

His voice trails off and he pauses teasingly until Mary Anne growls, "Of WHAT?"

"An acetylene flame." An exaggerated sigh. "Good heavens, I think I'm in love!"

There is a burst of laughter, in which Mary Anne joins briefly until she mouths a silent THANK YOU to Mister I for lightening her mood, and then she turns to Sandy. "Sorry to interrupt. So, let's hear more about this luau idea!"

MA
Therese--in a fight between Dev and Nessie, I'd back Dev! 8-), - Tuesday, June 13, 2000 at 05:26:08 (PDT)

FOF Set

"Okay, sorry we're late, what'd we miss?" Therese practically skipped down the hallway, stopping short before narrowly running smack dab into The Director, whose dignified form currently filled the doorway into the main meeting room.

Tory, however, had no such restraint, and plowed around the corner full tilt, catching her owner in the back of the knees, sending her sprawling.

When the dust cleared, a pile of arms, legs, and fur littered the floor just beyond the threshold. "Welcome back, Therese," came The Director's caustic greeting, "don't suppose you'd like to get your knee out of my ribs?"

"Ohmigosh!" Therese gasped, rolling to her side, and really digging her bony joints into The Director's unprotected side as he responded with a wheeze. To add insult to injury, Tory, 88 and one half pounds of her, then crossed the prone man's stomach, all four paws hitting him in the mid-section as he illicited a dull groan.

"That wretched beast is almost enough to make me into a cat person," he grumped, working his way to his knees, and glaring at the enthusiastic animal, who sat before him expectantly.

"That IS rather serious," Dev responded, entering the room in time to hear The Director's comment, he clasped the other man firmly by the wrist and pulled him to his feet.

"Does that mean I can bring my Paul Kitty to the set, too?" Therese asked hopefully.

A chorus of deep, masculine, and *empahtic* "NO'S!!" responded to her query.

Ed laughed and shook his shaggy head. "I realize, Therese, that I'm going to regret this. . .but, 'Paul Kitty?'"

"Of course, his full name is Paul McCatney."

Another chorus was heard, this one of groans--both masculine and feminine. "If you so much as consider bringing that wretched feline and its ludicrous name within a ten mile square radius of this set, Therese, I shall personally write the scene in which you and Mr. de Valera are eaten by the Loch Ness Monster. Understood?"

Therese threw The Director a jaunty salute. "Perfectly, sir! Okay, now what's this about a party?"

"Well you've been around for a bit now," Claudia admonished her co-worker, "you know that we've an aniversary coming up, and we need a theme for the party."

"Oh Chrissss--iiiieeeee??" Therese sang, gazing at the tall, blond figure who was trying his utmost to blend into the woodwork.

"Don't even think about it, you," Brandon said severely, remembering the stripper/pirate garb she'd somehow managed to convince him to don for Mary Anne's birthday party the previous year. "Though it's a bit late to prevent that, I'd say. And the answer is no. Absolutely, irrevocably, and without exception, NO."

"Besides," Mary Anne chimed in, "Sandy suggested a beach party--trunks or speedos?"

"Bikinis required for the ladies," Ed added.

"We could all fly to Miami and go to South Beach," Therese added with a wicked grin. "Save the costume budget and all that."

"Not on MY expense account!" The Director groused. "Besides, what's so important about South Beach?"

Achilles raised an eyebrow. "It's a nude beach--I'm in."

"Maybe we could get Hans to spring for the trip?" Colin suggested helpfully.

"Any more of this idle rot, and this party, should it come to pass WILL be held on the dungeon set--think I don't read my memos, Mary Anne?" The Director asked, his voice stern.

"Back you you, Sandy," Mary Anne replied with a gulp. "What you've got sounds good so far. Now what?"

Therese
Thanks for the welcome back, Clods! Good to have you aboard, Sandy! Magda, I can't help but LOVE the lines that Estrilda provided for "Georgie." Too funny. And MA--hang on, girl--we're off!, - Monday, June 12, 2000 at 21:35:14 (PDT)

Delaford, Dev's guestroom:

Mary Anne catches sight of Therese and hesitates for only a few seconds, but that instant of observation is burnt into her mind, and her first strange thought is, Good heavens, the bed in here is enormous! before she realizes that she is reacting to the sight of Therese in that bed. Mary Anne, like almost everyone else who has come into contact with Therese, carries an impression of the petite woman that is disproportionate to her size: a "wee thing" Miss M might call her, but Therese's energy and enjoyment of life are what people recollect, not her small stature. Mary Anne is accustomed to this phenomenon herself, in quite the opposite way: people tend to forget that she is a tall woman, until she draws herself to her full height in outrage or disdain.

She can taste that outrage now as she looks at Therese, for the woman in the bed, propped up on pillows, lies as limp and spiritless as if she will never rise again. Mary Anne takes in at a glance the pallor, the dark-ringed eyes, the bruises, the unnatural thinness--and turns her eyes quickly away, not wanting to be caught staring, but unable to help cursing inwardly. For more shocking than any of the physical symptoms Mary Anne had observed had been Therese's look to her in return, a kind of . . . shrinking away, as if she barely restrained herself from hiding under the sheet. As if she expects to be hurt and must reassure herself, moment by moment, that no one present will harm her. That's HIS doing, all right, thinks Mary Anne grimly. One of HIS trademarks. I'd know it anywhere.

"Gruesome, isn't it?"

Mary Anne lets out a little exclamation of surprise, and stammers, "Why--" Therese is regarding her now with a sort of dry humour that is more heartbreaking than tears, and Mary Anne recovers herself as she sees a way out.

"I'll say it is," she replies, advancing toward the bed. "Just look at all that fur! Miss M is going to have fits!"

"Yes, we had a visitor," interposes Dev, who has moved to circle the bed and station himself protectively by Therese.

I wonder, thinks Mary Anne, if he even realizes any longer that he does that. It's second nature to him to protect her, I suppose.

Dev, meanwhile, is still gazing ruefully at the scattering of black fur among the bedclothes, the souvenir of Nox's visit. "Yes, your Miss MacLeod is going to be most put out when she sees this--and I would much prefer to remain on her good side."

"I think we can manage that," says Mary Anne cheerfully, seeing a way to put everyone more at ease--she hopes. "Dev, take Therese out of the bed, please. I'll just bet that over here . . ."

Without waiting for an answer, Mary Anne crosses to a large blanket chest that has been pushed against the far wall--and her guess is correct: it does contain clean bedlinen. Gathering up an armful, she turns back to the bed, to find that Dev has installed Therese in an armchair and is watching her with an expression of mixed amusement and astonishment.

"Pull those sheets off, will you . . ."

Dev raises an eyebrow, but does as instructed and between them, he and Mary Anne quickly change the bed and re-instate Therese among the clean bedclothes.

Dev, meanwhile, cannot help grinning. "You do understand, Mrs. Brandon," he quips as he tucks a blanket about Therese, "that one hardly expects to see the mistress of Delaford changing the bed, just as if she were a common housemaid. A shocking spectacle, that."

"Almost as shocking, Mister de Valera--" Only then does she realize she had addressed him familiarly as "Dev" a moment before, but she continues. "--as the future president of Ireland doing so. Besides," she shrugs, "it had to be done--before Miss M found out. Or would you rather she had walked in and found dog hair all over the bed?"

She laughs at Dev's shudder of mock-horror.

"I'll strike a bargain with you, Mister de Valera: I don't tell Miss M about you letting Nox onto the bed--"

"Me letting that beast onto the bed! Why, he leapt up here and--"

"And," continues Mary Anne as if he had not spoken, "you don't tell Miss M that I did . . . housework. Deal?"

"Deal." Crisply. Then, more gently: "Thank you for coming."

"It's no trouble." Though whether that will turn out to be true, Mary Anne is not exactly certain as she draws a chair nearer the bed. I haven't known Therese long--but for her to keep so quiet while Dev and I are joking back and forth like that, well . . .

It is hard to take a deep breath without looking as if she is doing so, but Mary Anne tries. And says: Therese, what can I do?"

MA--Therese, here's the "dirt" you asked for. Clods: the party should be held on the Palace set! Those dungeons . . . *wicked chuckles*
Magda: I lost it COMPLETELY around "apricots of the oasis" and did not recover for many minutes thereafter. Truly *snorfle*-worthy!! ;-D, - Monday, June 12, 2000 at 20:28:25 (PDT)

To everyone's surprise, Sandy rose to her feet and gazed up calmly into the Director's stern visage. Just before she was about to speak, Alexander walked into the room with a muttered "Excuse me," and a mighty scowl on his face. He looked as if he had been sucked into a wind tunnel, with his hair flying about his head in electric wisps and his clothes in complete disarray.

Sandy lifted her head and said quietly, "I understand that Flights of Fancy is celebrating its' anniversary and there's going to be a party. We were just having a meeting to discuss the theme. How about a Hawaiian luau?" she suggested to everybody. "We've got the palm trees...and plenty of sand..."

Sandy
Okay, I'll take a go at it..., - Monday, June 12, 2000 at 20:14:50 (PDT)

Giza, Egypt:

Alexander's eyes suddenly widened in realization and he cursed viciously. "STOP YOUR JEEP! STOP YOUR JEEP!" he yelled into the two-way radio's mike. "What's the matter?" David replied, his alarm clearly evident in spite of the speaker's tinny distortion of his voice. "Sand storm!" Alexander replied hoarsely as the wind suddenly whipped up around the two jeeps and the sand whirling about buried them in its furious wake.

Sandy - oh Magda, you evil woman you! ROTFLOL....poor "Georgie"....
Why thank you for the warm welcome, Claudia! I can tell that skateboard may really come in handy with this grumpy lot ;-), - Monday, June 12, 2000 at 18:26:50 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-first, in the month of February – In which Estrilda inflicts tremendous pain on me - without leaving a single mark."

Well, it wasn't as bad as an hour on the rack but when you'd said that, you'd said everything.

Estrilda pulled back and raked her nails through my hair. I took the opportunity to examine her critically so I could better understand my lack of interest. It wasn't that she was unattractive; far from it, her features were well formed and pleasing and while not as lushly endowed as Joya, her figure had all the right parts in the proper proportions. She was dark where Joya was fair and her eyes were black rather than deepest blue. But Estrilda's hair was secured in two braids while Joya's hair rioted in lustrous curls that could barely be confined under a veil. Joya. I dropped my head back against the table and stifled a groan.

"Ooh! You are going to be friendly after all. How wonderful!" Estrilda wriggled on my lap, licking her upper lip, then pouted in an exaggerated fashion. "You know, Georgie, you weren't very nice to me the last time we were alone. You hurt my feelings very much. I was very, very angry with my Georgie." She traced her finger down my nose, then bit the end of it.

I decided that what repelled me about Estrilda wasn't any physical lack on her part but rather the open hunger in her eyes. That, and "Georgie" and the fact that my nose now felt unpleasantly wet. Nevertheless, it was a good idea to be social. I hazarded a smile. "Obviously, we got off on the wrong foot the first time."

"That's good." She nodded approvingly. "That's just what I wanted to hear you say. Because we're going to start over again today and you've got a second chance to be more co-operative." Her fingers slid down my nose again, over my lips and chin and then down into the open neck of my tunic. I was sure her talon-like nails were leaving a mark.

"Only a fool would not take advantage of a second chance when he's offered one." I smiled again, putting a bit more warmth into it. "But I'm not sure I'll be able to give my best effort in this rather uncomfortable position."

"No, I don't suppose you will. I'll untie you in a minute." Estrilda stopped tugging at my laces and suddenly stabbed her fingers into my hair again, forcing my head back. She leaned forward until we were only inches apart. "But there are four guards outside that door who can be in here faster than a heartbeat if I call them. They don't work for my husband; he doesn't know about them. They're paid out of my fortune and are loyal to me. Do you understand?" She punctuated her question with a vicious jerk, banging my head into the table.

"Perfectly." I tried not to wince.

"Good." She stood up and shook out her gown. Then she pulled a small dagger out of her purse and slashed twice at the cords that held my arms taut. For a moment I felt numb, then I hissed through my teeth as arrows of pain wracked my shoulders. I massaged my arms until the sensations ended. By that time Estrilda was on the other side of the room and out of reach.

She watched me warily but I had no intention of giving her an excuse for calling in her men. I wanted to lull her suspicions before making my escape. I had no very clear plan but I was sure some opportunity would present itself. There was nothing for it in the immediate future but to be as accommodating as I could force myself to be. I smiled at her again.

Apparently satisfied that I was now housebroken, Estrilda came back to the table carrying a parchment scroll she'd picked up somewhere. She glanced at me. "You can read, can't you, Georgie?"

I grit my teeth. "Yes, I can read." She seemed to expect something more, so I added, "My lady."

She smiled. "Oh yes, this is going to be a very different visit from the last time. Well, since you can read, I won't have to help you with this. These are your lines. I wrote them out last night. While you're looking them over, I'll get some wine." She tossed the document in front of me on her way to the kitchen door.

I stared at the lines on the page. Now, Infidel Beauty, you shall Experience the Passion of the Desert! You are in my Power and None of your Brave Knights can Save You! No, not even King Richard Himself! Surrender to Me! Ha! Ha! Ha! There was a gap, then about halfway down, more lines appeared. Never have I seen such an Exquisite Body as Yours. Your Breasts are as the Apricots of the Oasis, Round and Sweet! Your Lips are as the Honeyed Figs of the Sultan's Own Banquet, Delicious to Taste! Oh, My Beauty, Do Not Fight Me! A squiggly arrow drawn at the bottom indicated that I should turn the paper over. There was more writing on the back. Now You are Truly a Part of my Harem. There can be no Return to your Past Life for you. Ah, your Passion Drives me Wild! Yes! Yes!! YES!!!

I wondered if the guards would burst in if it was me calling for help rather than Estrilda. There are definitely worse things in life than being stretched on the rack. At that moment, the kitchen door opened and a servant girl entered carrying a flagon of wine and two goblets and set them in front of Estrilda.

"That's all for now, Nan. I might call you again if we need anything else." The girl curtseyed out the door. Estrilda poured out the wine, sliding my cup across the table to me. "I think you will find this an admirable vintage. From Sir Walter's best cellars, chosen by his own hands."

I took a sip. It wasn't bad but I had better in my own cellars in Nottingham. "Very kind of him to provide it. Special occasion?"

"Yes, it was. It was when Odo arrested you." She smiled at the look on my face. "You can't imagine how grateful he was. I won't deny that he'd been a little miffed with Odo for some time but when he brought you in, everything was fine again. In fact he was overjoyed."

"Really? Then it's a pity that I'm not guilty." I smiled back, my fingers tightening on the cup. "Will he be as overjoyed when your husband has to release me?"

Estrilda got up and sauntered over, her hips swaying back and forth like a pendulum. She dropped into my lap and held her cup to my lips. I took a sip, never taking my eyes from her face. "Oh, by then he won't mind. Right after you were brought in, he threw some baggage together and rode out to the lodge. He's been staying with your precious Lady Joya all the time you've been locked up."

The wine turned to vinegar on my tongue.

"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
Is there a surgeon in the house?, - Monday, June 12, 2000 at 17:10:04 (PDT)

"Look at you lot," said Ed as everyone crowded into the small meeting room. "I've seen happier faces at a wet weekend in Margate."

"I've had a bad week, that's all," growled Mary Anne. Though the look of murder in her delicately lashed blue eyes, reminiscent of Evil MA, didn't bode well for anyone who upset her, especially any passing pickpocket.

"What's happening?" said Sandy, as she bounced into the room, carrying a pile of papers and smiling at all gathered.

"At last!" said Ed, "Someone who looks like they enjoy being here."

"Hi," said Sandy to the room. She hadn't met everyone yet, and this was a golden opportunity to get to know her fellow writers and actors. "I'm Sandy, I'm new. I'm writing for Alexander Dane."

There were mumbled greetings. Sinclair raised a hand and waved at her, and gave her a lopsided smile.

"Welcome, Sandy," said Ed. "Take a seat. Now, everyone, I know you've been working hard, some of you, haven't been in the story line for a while, but I know you've been off on promotional tours round the world. Flights of Fancy is gaining in popularity again, and I've seen the pressure getting to you."

"Get to the point," bit out Mr I. "I have rehearsals to get to," HE looked pointedly at Claudia and raised HIS eyebrow, trying to wind up Ed. "Don't I?" Claudia just shrugged. She still hadn't finished writing her arrival at the Palace.

"I called you all together because we have a party to plan. Its Flights of Fancy's anniversary again in less than a week and you've all been too busy to remember, haven't you? We all deserve a break, and a bit of fun. Now, any ideas on a theme for this year?"

The female members of the gathering all seemed to break into smiles, as they remembered the Fully Monty party, and the men began to squirm in their seats.

All eyes turned to the doorway at a loud clearing of the throat, to see the Director, arms folded, glaring at them. "Would someone like to explain EXACTLY what is going on here?"
Claudia
Come on everyone - this is a party! Any ideas, - Monday, June 12, 2000 at 14:42:06 (PDT)

Delaford, the hall outside Dev's quarters. Later.

Mary Anne, fortified by a bite of lunch and the encouragements of Colonel Brandon, has made her way to the guest wing for her long-deferred chat with Therese. Standing in the hallway, she swallows hard, suddenly nervous. Here goes. I don't know what I can do to help her, but I did agree to try . . . and I've put it off so long, they must think I've chickened out . . .

She steels herself. Quit stalling. And lifts her hand to knock at Dev's door . . .

The door unexpectedly opens and she is almost bowled over by Dev. "All right, you--!"

Mary Anne falls back a pace, her eyes wide at the sight of Eamon de Valera, who had not been addressing her. No, the words were directed at Nox--for Dev is carrying the animal and Mary Anne bursts into giggles at the sight of the black dog turned on its back in Dev's arms, legs dangling helplessly in the air.

Both Dev and the dog catch sight of Mary Anne at about the same time, and Nox begins to wiggle and squirm to get down, with restless little whimpers, as Dev exclaims, "Mary Anne--! Ah . . . forgive me, Mrs. Brandon. I had no idea . . ." A rueful glance at Nox, who is twisting about and straining toward Mary Anne. "As you can see, you are not our first visitor today."

Mary Anne controls her laughter, finally. "It's all right, Mister de Valera. Put him down."

Dev complies, and watches as Mary Anne kneels down and puts her arms about Nox, who has flung himself at her and ecstatically flopped on his back for the thorough session of tummy-scratching and ear-rubbing that Mary Anne is happy to lavish on him, while crooning such endearments as, "Who's a good boy, then?" and others that she would blush to see repeated in this chronicle.

Finally, however, she looks up and catches the indulgent smile on Dev's face as he watches her, and stands up, brushing tufts of black fur from her skirt. "All part of being an animal lover," she laughs, and then turns to Nox, who is still sprawled on his back. "Nox?"

The dog turns his eyes up to her.

"Go, Nox." She points down the hall to the stairs. "Go find the Colonel."

At the word, "Colonel," Nox pricks up his ears and then jumps to his feet, tail wagging, and as Mary Anne repeats, "Find the Colonel!" he tears off down the hallway with a joyful little bark and is gone.

Dev stands aside to allow Mary Anne to enter the room. "I'm so glad you've come, Mrs. Brandon," he murmurs, trying to revert to his customary formality--though he is finding it a bit difficult with strands of his dark hair falling across his forehead, and with both himself and the lady of the manor bedecked with dog hair. Still, it is a measure of his self-possession that he carries it off with dignity and style, and Mary Anne takes her tone from him.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to come, Mister de Valera," she replies, passing into the room. "You know how things have been here--and this morning, well . . ."

Mary Anne stops, for she has now caught sight of the bed. And Therese.

MA--I never thought I'd say this, Magda, but . . . poor George!! Heehee! A hideous torture, indeed!
Can't wait for the results of that "staff meeting . . ." *wink* And now ,Therese: we're on!, - Monday, June 12, 2000 at 07:13:15 (PDT)

Delaford, Dev's Guest Quarters

Sitting back, and watching with amusement, Therese considered it a draw. Nox was a well trained animal, and Colonel Brandon was knowledgable in the nature of animal training. He had recalled his dog, he must, having done so, enforce the cue. However, it was obvious to all that Therese was deriving much pleasure from the antics of the animal. Brandon did make the dog return to his side, then gave a final command which released Nox from his orders. At the Colonel's issue of "Free!" the black dog leapt and yipped like a puppy, his lush, plumed tail waving wildly. "I shall tell Mrs. Brandon you look forward to her arrival, Miss Therese," he told her with a slight bow. "Eamon," he added, inclining his head, and slipping from the room.

"And what am I supposed to do with the likes of you?" Dev demanded of the animal, who had quickly regained his place alongside Therese. "That's my spot, you know," he told the animal grudgingly, attempting to insert himself on the bed between woman and canine. It was an unsuccessful attempt, Therese noted between giggles, as the dog wrestled and wiggled his way around, over, and between Eamon's body and her own, so that he always ended up pushing between the two humans. "He's better than a bloody bundling board," Dev groused, looking up at Therese from the opposite side of the bed, his dark hair tousled and falling into his eyes. The dog looked perfectly willing--eager, even--to go another round or two.

Therese couldn't help but smile at the picture Eamon presented, and thought back to when she'd first met him, and how her ideas regarding him had changed. He'd been so solemn and serious that first night, and she'd thought that though he was one of the most brilliant men she'd met, that he was, perhaps, lacking something of a sense of humour. He'd relaxed around her gradually--as, no doubt, they both had after getting to know one another better, and she'd discovered that he had a dry, caustic wit that could leave her breathless with laughter, or was at times so subtle she could not immediately determine whether he was joking or not, until the tell-tale twinkle in those expressive hazel eyes betrayed him.

She'd mentioned this to him once, and he'd smiled at her, that expression which made her knees go weak, and said simply, "Public facade."

"It's far more than that, I should think," she'd challenged him, "you're not at all the man you seem in public." She'd paused a moment before adding, "No, that's not it at all--you're exactly the man you seem in public, but that's just a mere fraction of what you are."

And, to her surprise, he'd agreed. Polititians, were, in a sense, actors, was how he'd explained it. They had to appear in a similar light to the public each time they encountered him, which meant he allowed only his public persona to emerge--less grist for the newspapers that way, though heaven knew they still managed enough plenty even with what little he allowed.

"So what are you thinking?" Dev asked, leaning his upper body over Nox, who squirmed briefly and then remained still.

"Just about you, and how there is so much more to you than I'd first thought."

"Meaning?" he asked, raising a single brow at her speculatively.

"Meaning," Therese began slowly, "that when I first saw you I thought you were the most devastatingly attractive individual I'd ever seen, and that if I could have only one night with you I'd throw away every single moral I'd ever had instilled within me to simply spend that night in your arms." When he would have responded to this, she raised her hand, silencing him.

"Then I spent that night, not as I'd first imagined, but sitting with you, and simply talking, drinking tea at your kitchen table until the small hours, wondering how a man could be so articulate, intelligent, and so appealing, all in one breath. I thought, at first, that perhaps the attraction was one sided, because you'd made no move to touch me, you were the utmost in propriety in every way. Then you went to take my teacup at precisely the same moment I reached for it, and when our fingers touched I could feel the trembling of your hand. When you took my palm in your own and asked me, 'Do you feel it, too?' I didn't have to ask what you meant--at that point I believe I was shaking so badly I'm not sure I could have spoken at any rate, but I nodded, and you took me in your arms. Where I've wanted to be ever since."

Nox, sensing that he was now more of a hinderance than entertainment, scuttled to the end of the bed where he laid quietly at Therese's feet.

"When I first saw you, Therese, I thought you were the wife of the bloke who'd brought you to the rally, for you still wore the plain gold band your late husband had given you. And I thought to myself, that with a woman like that at a man's side, all things were possible. When I found out that you were merely classmates I tried to tell myself that I was beginning a revolution, that there was no room in my life for a relationship, that you were too young, that you weren't even Irish, and would leave for the States when your education had finished. But try as I might, even from that very first moment, I couldn't let you out of my sight. So I'd brought you home, still not quite sure of what I was about, but knowing that if I didn't manage to keep you with me, that I would be allowing something beyond explanation to slip from my grasp." He paused for a long moment, and pulled her to him, resting her head upon his chest, and holding her to his body. "From that first moment I knew that I couldn't manage without you--when HE took you I'd never known such utter terror. Can you forgive me, can you ever forgive me?"

"Forgive you?" Therese asked in disbelief. "For nearly laying down your life to rescue me? For staying with me every waking moment since I've returned because I can't bear to be separated from you for even the slightest amount of time? For making me feel safe, and knowing that so long as I'm with you I've nothing to fear? And for understanding that as much as you want to know what happened that right now I cannot voice. . ." she faltered for a moment, and his arms tightened about her shoulders, providing her the reassurance she required, and making her realize that no further words were necessary.

They were silent then for awhile, lying within each other's arms, until Therese's eyes grew heavy. "Forgive you?" she said wearily, turning toward Eamon she curled toward him and the compelling warmth of his body. "You're the only reason I survived," she murmured until she finally could no longer avoid succumbing to sleep.

Therese
Tis a sad thing indeed when one must consult the archives to re-read one's last post. . ., - Sunday, June 11, 2000 at 19:42:58 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-first, in the month of February – In which I confront a hellish torture that even I would not inflict on an enemy."

We marched into the town and through the small marketplace. Merchants laying out their wares under their stalls paused to stare at us as we passed. Maids and housewives, concentrating on their shopping, did not even turn around. Four guards and a prisoner with his hands bound behind his back meant nothing in their lives.

Along the way I tried to imagine what sort of interrogation was in store for me. The lack of a proper dungeon meant that the more refined tortures were not available. Odo would probably have to fall back on having me beaten or perhaps whipped, with a few broken bones thrown in for good measure. It's what I would have done in his position.

It was possible that I was going to be questioned and then released, but I dismissed the notion almost as soon as it occurred to me. More likely Odo had spent two weeks searching for the bloody dagger, hadn't been able to find it and was now reduced to extracting a confession out of me. I had another thought: perhaps Joya had given Odo the dagger. My blood ran cold and I stumbled; a guard jabbed me with his sword.

Back in line again, my heart pounding, I tried to collect my thoughts. Surely she wouldn't have done that to me. She couldn't want me dead, could she? And yet how well did I really know her? Just because we'd spend a few weeks in the same residence, just because we'd been as intimate as a man and woman could be, didn't mean that I knew her or that she knew me.

I kicked at a stone in my path. Joya certainly didn't know me at all. If she knew how I felt about her, she would never have betrayed me. But then again, she couldn't have known my feelings; I had just discovered them myself.

My thoughts were still in a chaotic whirl when one of the guards yanked at my arm and we turned off the main street into an alley. I looked over low stone walls into back gardens until we came to a high wall with a thick wooden door. The lead guard knocked three times and waited. Finally the door opened halfway and we slipped through. It was another garden, with flowers rather than vegetables, but I had no time to examine it. The guards propelled me along the path to the back of a house. We pushed through the door into a kitchen and kept going into the room beyond. It was the hall where I had eaten Christmas goose only five weeks before. We had arrived at Odo's house.

Two of the guards marched me across the room and forced me down on a stool at the head of the table, my back against the solid wood. Then my arms were spread on either side and my wrists tied securely by a leather braid running under and around the table legs. My legs were left free. As soon as they'd finished, they disappeared through the door to the kitchen, shutting it behind them softly. I was alone.

I leaned back to take the pressure off my shoulders, my arms spread wide and fixed. It was a good arrangement; I might have been able to overturn a chair but it would be impossible with the table and standing up was impossible. And since I was facing the open room, it didn't look like I was going to be flogged. Or at least, not right away.

From my position of enforced confinement, I surveyed my surroundings. The shutters were closed and the room was dark; such illumination as there was came from half a dozen candles scattered about the room. The fire in the hearth was banked. I peered at it but could see no torture implements heating in the coals.

A door opened and shut behind me and footsteps started across the floor. I resisted the urge to look behind me, determined to maintain a stoic demeanour for as long as possible. I had a feeling it was going to be a long day. The footsteps came closer and a voice greeted me mockingly. "Good morning, George. How nice of you to drop in for a visit."

Startled, I looked up. It was Estrilda, smiling down at me with genuine warmth. Her eyes glittered hungrily in the candlelight. This was not something I had expected. Surely Odo was not going to allow his wife to be present during my questioning? For a moment we just stared at each other.

She seemed to read my mind. "My husband has been called away on business today. He escorts Sir Walter into the next shire. He was quite of two minds about going because he knows that he has unfinished business with you. But I told him that duty to Sir Walter comes first and that I would take over for him while he was gone." She stood in front of me and looked down at me with mock sympathy, her arms folded under her breasts.

I turned this over in my mind. This did not sound promising. I had a feeling that I would have fared better with Odo; not that he was less cruel than his wife but he was probably more squeamish. Estrilda struck me as a woman of iron nerves and strong stomach.

"We're going to tidy up all the loose ends today, George. By tomorrow morning, it will all be over. So try to make yourself comfortable until then, hmm?" She took a step closer, her smile widening.

"Do your worst, Estrilda. Bring on your men." Best to get the thing started - it would be over all the sooner.

"No outsiders, George." She came closer yet, resting her hands on my shoulders and leaning over me. "Just you and me." Then she dropped into my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me.

"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
- Sunday, June 11, 2000 at 18:47:36 (PDT)

FOF Writers cubicles:

"Well, what do you think?" said Claudia, as Ed leaned over her shoulder, reading as she typed.

"I think its about time you finished up these melodramatic scenes, and we got back to having some fun."

"Its not just me. Everyone seems a bit serious lately." She sighed and carried on tapping at the keys.

Ed dug his thumbs into her shoulders, and she let out a moan as he began to massage her neck. "Too tense. You've been worrying about this story line for too long now. I'm taking you out."

"Ed, you're sweet, but the Director has been grumbling. I've taken too long over this already. Come the pay reviews in July I don't think I'm going to be top of his list for a bonus."

"I don't see why not," he grinned to himself and dug his bearded chin into her neck. "Quality over quantity is what I always say," he chuckled.

"That would explain a lot of things." She swivelled round in her chair and grinned at him.

"I'm mortally wounded!" he hammed it up.

"I have an idea," said Claudia, changing the subject before Ed had the chance to explain how much she had wronged him. "The FOF anniversary cast party is coming up, and I bet everyone has been too busy to think what we're going to do."

"If you're anything to go by, they will all be so buried in their work, that the day will go by without being noted."

Ed stood on tiptoe and looked over the top of the wall of Claudia's cubicle. "Staff meeting!" He yelled. "Everyone OUT!"

There was the sound of scraping chairs, questioning murmurs and heads peering round screen edges. "I've always wanted to do that!" grinned Ed.
Claudia
Welcome back Therese! And a warm welcome Sandy - you're going to fit right in., - Sunday, June 11, 2000 at 18:26:33 (PDT)

FOF Set

A petite woman walked briskly down the main hallway of the FOF set, a large Alsation pulling her along impatiently. "All right already, you overgrown mongrel!" the dog's owner groused good naturedly, pulling the dog back to a heel position. Having traversed the length of the meeting room, viewing, and reception area, the pair strode toward the block of cubicles at the far end of the building. Entering one, the woman pulled the baby gate closed behind herself, effectively containing the pooch, and flopped into the soft, wheeled chair in front of the computer desk.

"Good to be back, is it?" came a dry inquiry, causing the woman to start forward in her seat, and the dog to dance and whine eagerly.

A tall, brown haired figure peered around the wall, leaning against the door frame casually, the golden frames of his spectacles reflecting in the light. "Where in the blue blazes have you been?" he demanded. "One would think that the least you could have done is stay in touch," he added, a slight hint of petulance tinging his tone.

The woman smiled up at him slyly; she'd been unsure of her reception. . .what if none of them had wanted her back? What if he hadn't wanted her back? But there was no doubt. . .no doubt. This was a man with his nose clearly out of joint. "You missed me, didn't you?" she asked. Rising slowly from her chair, she moved toward him until the wooden gate prevented her from coming closer. The dog hopped maddly at her feet, spinning in circles and whining eagerly.

"Maybe I only missed your dog--she seems happy to see me, at any rate." He folded his arms across his chest and glared down at the slighter figure before him balefully.

A deep, masculine voice was heard from a neighboring cubicle, the speaker's voice sounding weary with exasperation. "Oh for God's sake, stop playing at having your feelings hurt and just get on with it, Dev!" There was a brief pause, then the voice continued, "Ah yes, and welcome back to you, Therese. Send Tory over, would you?"

At sound of her name, the dog easily leapt the wooden baby gate, and with a welcoming head nudge and hand lick to Dev, tore off through the maze of cubicles and partitions, headed for the doggy treats that several members of the cast kept hidden away for the resident FOF mascot.

"So, are you going to take Mr. I's advice then?" Therese asked, looking up at Eamon expectantly with her large, dark eyes.

"Are you planning to stay for a bit then?" he demanded, arms crossed severly across his chest.

"Don't take it personally, Eamon--it was just one thing after another, and I've missed you all desperately; I intend to be around for a bit now."

Neither of the two saw The Director approach, what with both parties being so wrapped up in Therese's return--not to mention one another's arms. With a decided scoff and a look, that, had it been viewed, said quite clearly, we have rules against this sort of thing, you know, The Director turned sharply upon his heel and returned the way he had come. He had traversed half the lenght of the hall when he stopped Mary Anne as she trod lightly down the hall.

"Back this way, I'm afraid," he said, stopping her with a light hand upon her arm. "She's back--bloody well about time I must say, and she's, er, consulting with her leading man." A delicate cough punctuated his final sentence.

"But I thought that you didn't allow, er, consultions between your actors, sir," Mary Anne said, turning toward The Director, and giving him the full force of her baby blues.

"Look, you, don't start with me--just be thankful that you've your partner back to finish that scene you've been putting off for so long--besides, I need a handful of dog biscuits for Tory--she's eaten all mine.

Therese
well well well. . .look what the cat, er, dog drug in, - Sunday, June 11, 2000 at 13:48:22 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-first, in the month of February – In which I make plans to survive - and to be revenged on my former partner."

"All right, quit shoving. There's plenty of slop to go around." From my seat on the bed, I scanned the faces of my cellmates. Three pairs of red-rimmed eyes stared unblinking back at me. "I will not tolerate this brawling over the food every morning. This isn't the first time I've had to mention it but it had better be the last."

I leaned back against the rough stone of the cell wall. Control of the food made me the authority figure in the room. "Athelstan, your behaviour is still repulsive but marginally less so than everyone else's. Well done. You may have your breakfast." I dipped my fingers into the wooden bowl beside me and fished out a great chunk of fatty meat. He rushed forward at the sight but I halted his advance by tossing the scrap on the floor. He dove for it hungrily. Ethelred started after the morsel as well but was checked by Athelstan's larger bulk and hostile snarl. He stroked his whiskers as he backed away, looking for an opportunity to get at the food. Meanwhile Egbert hunched his shoulder at all of us and began to nose around the floor looking for crumbs.

Egbert, I am sorry to say, has a short attention span, even for a rat. I despair of ever being able to teach him any manners.

I picked up the bowl and set it down on the floor. The three of them clambered over the sides to gorge on the slimy meat. I watched until the sight became too disgusting, then got up to pace to the window and look at the new dawn through the iron grill. It was the same view I'd seen every day for the past two weeks.

This cell was actually the one bit of luck I had since leaving the lodge. Because Barnesdale is simply a market town, it doesn't have a castle where prisoners can be tossed into a dungeon for judicial abuse until their trial. Thus Odo had to improvise. An underused penance cell at a small monastery on the outskirts of town makes an adequate substitute. In exchange for a small amount of gold and the services of a number of men-at-arms, the elderly monks share their cell whenever a prisoner has to be incarcerated. So I looked out my window every morning at the serene sight of robed and hooded monks walking in their garden. It was a deceptive scene, however; two guards lounged on a bench just below me and I knew two more were on duty outside the door. I am considered a dangerous criminal.

I clenched my fingers on the grill until the knuckles turned white. For two weeks I had had but two thoughts in my head: how to escape and how to be revenged. And not on Robin of Locksley, either. No, there was another opponent I intended to crush first. Lady Joya de Clifford would come to know that savage punishment awaited those who crossed me.

When I thought of what I had been prepared to do for her, my rage almost subsumed me. No queen would have been adorned in more expensive jewels and gowns, no empress would have held more power over the lives of her subjects than Joya would have had at my side. Together we would have controlled the midlands and prepared a campaign to take control of the entire north as far as the Celtic lands.

Instead she betrayed me to the authorities - and for a crime she knew (no one better) I didn't commit. I pressed my forehead against the cool stone of the window ledge. Why? That was the question I could not answer. We worked so well together. We agreed about everything that counted. Could she really have been so upset about my plan to push Melisant into Adam's arms? I could not believe it. We had so much to gain by sticking together, so much to lose by going our own ways.

And we were so perfectly suited to each other. In every way. I pushed the mental images out of my head forcefully; the thought of what we could no longer share was enough to drive me mad.

I flung myself away from the window and paced the short distance to the solid wood door. Joya was very astute and cunning but that was no guarantee that she could survive on her own. It was a rough world out there. There were some situations you just couldn't talk your way out of. Or charm your way out of, either. She needed me to protect her. And yet she had turned me over to the authorities.

Why?

I reached the door and kicked it hard. Foolish to think about Joya when I had a more pressing problem: how to get out of this cell. Despite Adam's idiotic mewling about the king's justice, I was certainly not going to wait until I was on my knees in front of Richard the Lion Heart. The murder of a servant girl was the last thing he would hang me for, not with so many other matters ahead of it. No, escape was the only solution. And for two weeks I had tried to think of a plan.

The only time the door was open was when I was fed in the morning and at the end of the day. At those times I would hear the great cross beam being lifted from its slots and the door would open to reveal a guard with a bowl of revolting stew and bread. Two of his colleagues stood behind him, their swords drawn and ready. The guard would set the food down on the stool beside the door, step back hastily and the door would slam shut and the crossbeam drop into place again. If I were standing too close to the entrance, one of the armed guards would wave me back before the first one entered.

I could see no opportunity for escape there.

Turning on my heel, I paced back to the window again. The grill was set firmly in the stone. No amount of pushing had produced the slightest give in the metal. I had a knife to cut my bread but it would be hopelessly dull long before I succeeded in sawing my way through one of the bars. Assuming that the guards didn't catch me at it first.

I was subjecting the grill to yet another minute examination when I heard the rattle of the crossbeam as it was raised from its position. I spun around. The door swung open to reveal four armed guards. I forced myself to remain still and not react to their appearance.

The one in front raised his hand and beckoned me over. "Come on, you. You're to go to the sheriff's for questioning. Step lively, now."

"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
Were you starting to wonder?, - Friday, June 09, 2000 at 19:04:18 (PDT)

Mary Anne's cubicle:

Mary Anne lets go with a startled little "Yeep!" when the hand settles upon her shoulder, but upon seeing that the hand is firmly attached to an arm—Brandon's arm—she murmurs, "Hi, Christopher," and makes no protest as he seats himself on the couch behind her.

" 'Hi, Christopher'? Is that all?" he inquires, leaning forward to wrap his arms around her from behind and rest his chin on her shoulder. When even that does not serve to distract her from her computer screen, he begins to suspect that something must be seriously wrong.

"A new storyline, Mary Anne?"

"Not really . . ." Absentmindedly.

Brandon frowns, puzzled. "I don't understand. Nothing in any of the ongoing storylines calls for The Director to be thrown into a tank of crocodiles—"

"Oh!" Crimson-faced, Mary Anne grabs for the mouse and, upon assuring her word processing program that no, she does not want to "Save changes," she consigns the document to cyber-oblivion.

"Would you care to tell me what is the matter?"

With a sigh, Mary Anne settles back in Brandon's arms and tells Brandon of The Director's visit to her cubicle. Brandon hears her out with an admirably straight face—or, if he does smile to himself at a few points in her story, he is in an excellent position to conceal it from her, with her back settled against his chest. Yes, an excellent position to conceal a smile, but precious little use in concealing anything else from her, and so he wrenches his mind back to present concerns. "Well, my dearest, if he expects to see some work on that scene by this afternoon—" A pause. "Did he say what time this afternoon?"

"No." Glumly.

"Ah. In that case, you had better assume that he means 12:01, and plan accordingly. You should get directly to work."

"Well, I've tried, but nothing I do seems right, somehow. I just hate to start in on that scene without Therese here to look it over first, and I've made about five starts on it and they're all just . . . just . . ." Mary Anne makes a bleah! face, and this time Brandon does laugh, unreservedly.

"I think you are being too anxious. First, you have written scenes with Therese and Dev before, and she has always approved. You know she has confidence in you—and, I should add, so does The Director." A grin of subdued mischief. "Have you not learned that he treats you like this because he thinks it gets the best work from you?"

A reluctant answering smile. "He did say something like that to me, once. At the cast party that turned into—" Her smile widens. "My birthday party."

Brandon groans. "No. Not that party."

A chuckle. "The very one. Mmmmmm, wonder what the theme will be this year . . . ?"

She half-turns in Brandon's arms and catches a glimpse of his flushed cheekbones that causes her to burst out laughing, as Brandon protests, "I shall never understand how I was persuaded . . ."

"I'm glad you were persuaded, however it was managed," teases Mary Anne. "It was certainly a night to remember."

"A night to remember, indeed," huffs Brandon. "A phrase associated with disaster, if I recall correctly." Slowly, his colouring returns to normal and he even manages a soft laugh, as he turns once more to encouraging Mary Anne. "And it's almost that time again, so be of good cheer. You always enjoy that party."

"Some times more than others!" Then, more thoughtfully: "Bet Claudia's walking pretty softly, though. She's probably terrified that the men are going to insist it's the ladies' turn, now . . ." Seeing the look on Brandon's face, she warns, "Don't even THINK about it!"

The wicked slant of a lifted eyebrow. "A man can dream." He clears his throat. "And, speaking of dreaming . . ."

"Yes?"

"It has been quite a long time since, ah, we had one of . . . our scenes . . ."

"What kind of scenes, Christopher?" replies Mary Anne demurely, knowing quite well the kind of scene he has in mind but wickedly forcing him to articulate it.

But Brandon is equal to her mischief. "The sort I most enjoy," he murmurs, drawing her closer to him. Mary Anne's eyes half-close. Brandon's warm breath on her throat . . . this man cares for her off-camera as well as on-camera, and she heartily reciprocates, but . . . reluctantly, she frees herself from his arms.

"Sorry, Christopher. You know The Director's rules about this."

"Yes. I know." Again, that raised eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that we should continue this at the Downtime?"

"No, I am not, you wicked man! But I promise that will be my top priority as soon as I finish the Therese material. One 'close encounter' between Mary Anne and Colonel Brandon." She is about to add, "coming right up," but thinks better of it and stands aside as Brandon rises from the chaise longue, reluctant to depart but knowing he cannot stay.

"I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with that." A twinkle.

"I'll do my best to satisfy you." A glint in return.

"Then the sooner I leave, the sooner you can get to work. I must away," and Brandon raises her hand to his lips.

"The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty," bemoans Mary Anne. "You will not stay away long?" (Multiple homages, of course)

There is no reply from Brandon save a radiant and encouraging smile, as he exits the cubicle, and Mary Anne turns back to her computer, re-sets the word processing program, and, after a few moments' thought, commences typing steadily once more.

MA--Egypt, hmmm? I like. The shadow of that magnificent profile--and hey, the Sphinx looks pretty good, too.
Of course, Dane wouldn't be the first Alexander to go to Egypt . . . ;-), - Thursday, June 08, 2000 at 19:55:44 (PDT)

The Pyramids of Giza, Egypt, Present Day:

Alexander sighed heavily as he saw the first scattered group of tourists start making their way towards the area. "Let's grab some breakfast so we can head out. I'd like to make decent headway to the next camp before it gets too hot," he said. Tom nodded in acquiescence. They took one last look at the scene in front of them before turning around and heading down the hill towards camp.

Sandy - and now for something completely different...
Please stop by MA (and anybody else), and partake of the goodies (and indulge in a little bit o' mischief too)! My cubicle is a white-chocolate free zone ;-) , - Wednesday, June 07, 2000 at 17:30:25 (PDT)

FOF set, Mary Anne's cubicle. The flashback continues:

"Or else, what?"

Anyone else could simply say, "Or you will receive a pink slip," but The Director is well up to a little sparring with Mary Anne and this is not necessary. Besides, he hardly dares mention such words as "pink slip" to her, given her prediliction for bizarre scenes involving lingerie.

Instead, he steps a little closer to her chaise longue with an air of genial menace and enunciates, "Or else . . . I shall be forced . . . to glower at you." He then crosses his arms and frowns so horribly that Mary Anne promptly cracks up and raises her hands before her face, with a mock-wail of, "Ooooh, the humanity!"

The Director looks puzzled. "No good?" Still giggling, Mary Anne shakes her head as her sparring partner pauses a moment to consider, then brightens, exclaiming, "Suppose I summoned Hans and had him growl at you?"

Mary Anne laughs again--and there is definitely a sultry note in it. "That's your idea of a threat? Mmmmmmmm," she sighs, slumping back against the head of the couch and fanning herself with a cushion. "I may never work again!"

"Perhaps I should call Mister I, then, and ask him to give you a little of his . . . undivided attention."

Mary Anne's grin remains wide and unrepentant. "Suuure. If he were anything like his character, I might be worried, but . . ."

To this, The Director makes no reply but keeps his expression carefully neutral. I could tell you a few things, Mary Anne, about Mister I's private life. Some stories that would make your hair go the wrong way . . . ah, well, if he's always been decent to you, so much the better.

Aloud, he replies: "There remains one tactic--" A deeeeep sigh. "I did not wish for things to come to this, but you leave me no choice."

"Well?"

Another step forward. "I shall call Brandon--" A gently fiendish gleam in those Directorial eyes. "--and have him come here and look at you sorrowfully and reproachfully."

For the first time, Mary Anne betrays what verges on real alarm. "Now, wait a minute!" she protests. "There must be a provision against that in the Geneva Convention!"

The Director leans against the wall, his arms folded, his eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter. "I understand that they considered the prospect too hideous for discussion."

"I can certainly believe that," mutters Mary Anne as she levers herself into a somewhat more dignified position, sitting upright on the couch.

"I trust you will not force me to such severe measures."

Mary Anne scowls at him, but these two understand each other very well and so there is only a slight pause before she replies, "No. You win." Then, under her breath: "This time."

"Good. I'll be looking for a start on that scene by this afternoon, as I said. Now, get to work."

The Director turns to leave the cubicle and Mary Anne refrains from putting out her tongue at his departing back for a couple of reasons; one is the knowledge that it is a silly, childish thing to do, and the other is the absolute conviction that if she does stick out her tongue at him, he will know. Somehow, he will know.

"Right," she finally says, abandoning her book to slide further down the couch toward the computer. " 'Work,' is it? I'll give you work . . ."

Mary Anne fires up her word processing program and, after thinking for a few moments, begins typing with the speed and dexterity of a concert pianist--and quickly becomes as absorbed in her script plotting as she had been in her paperback romance. So absorbed, in fact, that she never notices anyone has entered her cubicle until a hand falls lightly upon her shoulder . . .

MA--Chocolate, Sandy? I'll be stopping by your cubicle later!
Always ready for mischief on the set, are you? Goooood . . . or, as Hans would say, "Goot." ;-), - Saturday, June 03, 2000 at 19:45:56 (PDT)

FOF Set, Director's office:

The Director grinned wickedly as he walked down the foyer, the merry peals of her laughter following him in his wake.

Sandy - thank *GOD* he didn't notice the yo-yo and the skateboard (grin)...
Well, on to Alexander's story! I am, however, planning on making a few appearances, and am always willing to participate in a little on the set mischief.., - Friday, June 02, 2000 at 18:28:18 (PDT)

FOF set, Mary Anne's cubicle:

Mary Anne jumps nearly a foot into the air--no mean feat when one is lying about on a couch--and just barely manages to hang onto her book, which she hastily tries to conceal in the sleeve of her caftan before she turns, blushing furiously, to meet the sardonic eyes of The Director.

"I, um . . . I was reading, sir."

"I can see that." He steps forward and extends one hand for the book, and Mary Anne hesitates for only a moment before she plucks the book from her sleeve and hands it over.

The Director takes the book in his fingertips, handling it as though he meant to go and scrub his hands immediately afterward, and raises an eyebrow as he reads the description on the back cover. "You call this reading, do you?"

Despite her embarrassment, Mary Anne is beginning to see the funny side of the situation, for her sense of humour (whatever form it may take) is never far from her for very long. "Of course. I've gotten quite a few inspirations from that book!"

"I have no doubt of that." Dryly. "But do you think you could get a few inspirations for your work? Because you are supposed to be working, not loafing, in case you have forgotten."

Mary Anne bristles up at that. "Now wait just a minute! I've been working very hard around here lately and I've certainly done my part, so Director or no Director, you have no right to accuse me of being lazy!"

The Director blinks, briefly startled at Mary Anne's vehemence, but recovers himself quickly. "Are you saying that anyone else has been?"

Mary Anne is not about to be taken in that trap, and changes her tactics, lowering her voice--and her eyes as well, so that the twinkle in them is concealed by her long lashes, while in a voice of the utmost gentleness she demurely replies, "Of course not, sir. Everyone here works very hard . . . and you're always most generous with breaks and with leaves of absence, whenever anyone really needs them . . ."

The Director, always alert for mischief when he is with Mary Anne, knows perfectly well that he is being charmed. And he is charmed, but is not about to let Mary Anne know it because that will flatter her and she is already vain as a peacock. Still, the effect of those modestly downcast eyes and that sweetly modulated voice . . . he shakes his head a little and Mary Anne's mouth lifts at one corner in a smile she cannot quite conceal, as she watches him from the corner of her eye.

"Let us get back to the business at hand, Mary Anne. You know you are supposed to be working on that scene for your character's talk with Therese." He lifts a placating hand. "Everyone that I've spoken with has enjoyed the scenes with Ed and The Doctor, and the scenes at the Palace, but you've postponed the talk with Therese for so long people are beginning to wonder what's happening at Delaford . . ."

Mary Anne shifts about uncomfortably. "I know, but . . ."

"Well?"

"Well--I just hate to start those scenes while Therese is gone, that's all."

"Now, you know perfectly well that she will be back soon. She's been on one of those leaves--" The Director coughs lightly. "--that I'm so generous about giving, and she left her permission for you to go ahead with that material if she wasn't back in time to start it."

"I just don't want her to miss any of the fun!"

His expression softens a little. "I know, and I understand that, but we are on a schedule here." The Director hands the book back to Mary Anne. "Now put this thing away and let me see some material for that scene between you and Therese by this afternoon." A pause, and a raised eyebrow. "Or else."

Mary Anne cannot possibly resist, as The Director knows quite well, and they are both grinning as she retorts, "Or else, what?"

MA--I'll probably wish I'd never asked!
- Friday, June 02, 2000 at 05:58:15 (PDT)

(Flashback to slightly before The Director's meeting with Sandy and Alexander)

Mary Anne's cubicle, FOF set:

The Director has provided each member of the FOF cast with a small private area in which they can work undisturbed, and some limit themselves to a table and chair or so, but Mary Anne had not been content with this. No. She has turned her little cubicle into a home-away-from-home bower of luxury, with a little imagination and a few odds and ends that she has managed to rake together. The corkboard walls are draped with swags of rich-looking tapestry fabrics (thumbtacked into place, the cloth artfully folded to conceal the tacks) and decorated with reproductions of artwork by Klimt and Van Gogh. Fur rugs are scattered about the floor and a small bookshelf to one side is stocked with her favourite titles; as the camera pans past, we catch a fleeting glimpse of a paperback Complete Shakespeare and a dual-language edition of Dante. The corners are respositories for pots of the more unkillable houseplants, the one exception being a carefully-tended cluster of violets which, despite the adverse conditions of being kept in an out-of-the-way studio cubicle, appear to be flourishing. Sharing one of these corners with a madly-climbing vine is a folding Oriental screen from which dangle various items of clothing, including an oversized Italian-import cashmere sweater and an absurdly long feather boa--both black.

But the piece de resistance is a Regency-style chaise longue (AKA, "fainting couch") that had been discarded from another set and that Mary Anne had promptly appropriated when she discovered that it was marked for discard.

On this chaise longue she now lounges in a rose-patterned caftan, ignoring the softly-humming computer on a small table at the foot of the couch, deeply absorbed in a book.

Shakespeare? Dante? One of the French poets, perhaps? Ah, no . . .

Mary Anne turns a page.

The camera moves closer until we catch the teeniest glimpse of the colourfully-illustrated paper cover . . . the illustration's most prominent feature being a masked gentleman (if we may so loosely employ the term) in a white shirt open to his waist, holding in his powerful arms a woman of absurdly disproportionate anatomy: her waist is the approximate diameter of most women's wrists, while her upper portions . . . well, gentle reader, let us simply say that her upper portions are a trifle too abundant for that waist that could apparently be spanned by one of the man's powerful, long-fingered hands.

His black cape billows in the wind only slightly less than her hair which, by the looks of the cover art, must measure some fifteen feet in length.

Whatever Mary Anne might think of the cover, she seems to find the text rather compelling as she turns a page, her eyes avid and devouring, oblivious to all about her . . . until . . .

A VOICE from the doorway: "And just what do you think you are doing, Mary Anne . . .?"

MA--an "exploit." ;-)
Covering all the bases: White shirt--check; black cloak--check; long-fingered hands--check . . . , - Thursday, June 01, 2000 at 05:51:54 (PDT)

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