Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

"Day the Eighty-fourth, in the month of February - In which I finally get some answers and one small mystery is cleared up only to leave more questions behind."

Skinning a rabbit is tricky work; they have considerably more bone than meat and it's easy to cut too deep when you're scraping the hide. Luke had more than enough time to collect wood for a fire in the kitchen hearth. He sat on the floor and stared at me expectantly while I completed my task. Then it was my turn to watch while he cooked it on a makeshift spit over the coals. By then night had fallen and it was completely dark outside.

It wasn't difficult to get the boy talking. I suppose stable boys don't often have an audience interested in what they have to say; few horses are prized for their conversational abilities. No, the problem lay in getting him to stick to the point.

"I like rabbit. My mum makes it into a good stew. Are those real jewels on yer dagger? Our cow 'ad two calves last fall. My pa says that it were because the priest blessed it. If you drinks spring water under the full moon you'll 'ave the second sight until the sun rises. My friend Ern on the farm next to ours fell out of a tree and bust his arm. 'Ave you ever been to London?"

You can see what I mean. If he hadn't stopped to breathe occasionally, I would never have been able to ask him anything. I started with the obvious.

"They's all gone to Nottingham, sir. 'Cept the servants; they all went back to Sir Mauger's." He turned the spit as he talked, frowning in concentration. "When Sir Walter come with the lady, everybody started packing up."

"Lady? What lady?" It didn't seem likely that Krone would escort a mere traveler to the lodge.

"The one from Nottingham." He looked at me, his face lit up with excitement. "Cook said she were married to 'im as used to be Robin 'ood and chased the sheriff out of Nottingham. And me takin' personal care of 'er 'orse! Ooo! Just thinkin' of it gives me shivers!"

It gave me shivers too. I took a deep breath, then asked as casually as I could, "You refer to the Lady Marion of Locksley?"

He nodded, returning his attention to our meal. "Aye, that be her. She rode the nicest little mare you ever seen, roan it was, and it had the tricksiest way of -"

I dragged him back to the point. The idea of how close I'd come to running into Marion gripped my mind to the exclusion of everything else. "What was the purpose of the lady's visit?"

"She come to bring the young lady to Nottingham. Lady Melisant, that is. Cook said, there were a change of plans on account of the king coming north and the weddin' come early and everybody 'ad to get going real fast. She were only 'ere a day and then they all left fer town. The servants packed up the furniture and stuff and left a couple of days after that. Does this look done?" He pulled a leg off the rabbit and peered at it dubiously.

I ignored the question. It made sense; after all Melisant was marrying into the family. She was the logical choice to escort her back to town. "And what happened to the Lady Joya?"

"Oh she went to town with Sir Walter and Lady Melisant and Missus Robin 'ood, I mean Lady Marion. She rode yer 'orse." Luke spoke around a mouthful of food. "I rubbed 'im down special and put the good saddle on 'im. Real well behaved but a bit rucktious 'cause 'e needed exercise. Rabbit's ready fer eatin'." He looked at me expectantly.

"I see." So she had gone with Krone. It was what I expected to hear but it dismayed me nonetheless. I would have preferred that she had gone to France. And yet how could she? On her own, she would be prey to every thieving scum from here to Anjou. It made more sense to go with Krone to Nottingham where she would be able to hire men for the journey. After all, she had my gold with her. My lip curled in self-disgust at the direction my thoughts were taking. I was making excuses for her! Better that I should be thinking of fitting punishments to inflict on her beautiful hide.

A cough from the other side of the heart brought me back to my surroundings. As the authority figure in the room, I was supposed to carve the roast. Lacking proper utensils, I had to cut pieces off so we could eat them by hand. Luke watched me saw off a chunk with my dagger. "That's not the knife I put in yer room." He pointed at the hilt with one grimy finger. "That one had funny marks on it."

I almost dropped the food into the fire. "You put that dagger in my room?"

"Aye, sir." He grinned proudly. "I done just what the man told me to."

"What man?"

"The man in the woods. He had yer knife from over the seas when you were crusadin'. He told me all about it. It was the knife you loaned him and he were passin' through on pilgrimage and wanted to give it back. He told me that Crusaders always hid their blades under the furniture so's the heathen couldn't find them. He told me that's where I should put it. So I did." He stuffed another piece of rabbit into his mouth and chewed with the righteous energy that comes from a task completed according to orders.

I blew on a piece of meat to cool it and thought about his statement. He couldn't be more than eight years old so I suppose allowances had to be made. But if I ever have a son who would fall for a story like that, I would seriously consider locking him up in a monastery to keep him out of harm's way. I bit into the scorched flesh. The mysterious visitor had probably waited up on the hill for an opportunity to approach a gullible servant with his ridiculous story and then departed. "Did this man give you his name? Can you describe him?"

The boy swallowed his cheek-bulging portion with no small effort. "He didn't give 'is name but he were a big man, 'bout as tall as Thomas.

Since the top of the former steward’s head only reached my shoulder, I mentally revised the image. “Anything else? Did he say where he was from?”

But it was no use. The incident had made a big impression on Luke because it wasn’t often that he saw a stranger and even less often that he had a reason for sneaking into the lodge but his descriptive abilities were limited. He did say that he was sure he would recognize the man if he ever saw him again but the chances of that happening were probably slim. Finally I gave up.

The question gnawed at me. It was possible the stranger was one of Estrilda’s hirelings, sent to incriminate me in the murder. But that made no sense: it was clear that she didn’t want me dead. On the other hand, if she was angered with me over our encounter, why have me released from jail before a trial? The thing just made no sense. And I had other things to worry about. Such as how I was going to get out of this mess.

For some time I stared into the embers of the fire, wracking my brain to come up with a plan. But it was no use. Nothing presented itself to me. The only thing to do was to get out of the Barnesdale area as soon as possible. There was nothing for me here. I was considering distances to the coast when I was roused by a jaw-cracking yawn from Luke. He swayed where he sat, his eyelids drooping. That reminded me of something. “Where do you sleep?”

He jerked himself erect, eyes popping. “Over in the stables. The hay is warm.”

“Then let’s go.” I stood up and watched him bank the fire. The kitchen was chilly but the blast of cold air that rushed through the door when we went outside made it seem balmy by comparison. We hastened across the courtyard under the stars. At the stable doors, I turned for one last look up at the lodge, remembering other nights under the same stars. Then I went inside.

“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
Who has no idea if it's hard to skin a rabbit or not..., - Monday, July 31, 2000 at 10:49:42 (PDT)

FOF set, conference room:

The wall clock reads exactly 10:00 AM when Mary Anne walks in, hoping that--no, she is not first in the room; The Director is already there.

"Good morning, Mary Anne. I hope you slept well."

"Quite well, thank you." She draws a deep, appreciative breath, catching the scents of coffee and tea, bagels and doughnuts. "Mmmmmmm. Breakfast. Very thoughtful of you."

"Meetings with food are always well-attended. Help yourself."

Mary Anne doesn't have to be asked twice, and as the clock edges past 10:00 she breathes a sigh of relief that she was exactly on time; The Director will not be able to needle her about that. She gets the feeling, however, that he will be glad to see everyone show up by 10:30. At least.

But perhaps The Director's expectations were too pessimistic, for others begin to arrive almost immediately--Brandon first, closely followed by Mister I . . .

"So you slept well, did you?"

Mary Anne is distracted from the new arrivals. "I said I did."

The Director has moved very close, his voice for her ears alone. "I'm sure it seemed a good idea to stay here overnight, and nothing happened this time. But I wish you wouldn't do it again."

"Why not?" replies Mary Anne, waving absentmindedly in response to the "Good mornings" called her way, then turning back to The Director.

"We have had break-ins before--nothing major. Souvenir hunters, perhaps."

Mary Anne is surprised. "I never heard about that. Did we lose much?"

"Just odds and ends from wardrobe--a few pairs of gloves and a white shirt or two . . ." He shakes his head. "But that's not all; some other odd things have happened. I believe there's been some jiggery-pokery with the keys as well. I'm practically certain that someone's made copies of the one to the Valley of the Moon set . . ."

Mister I is standing quite close, but neither The Director nor Mary Anne notices his startled little wince before he returns his attention to the coffeepots.

Mary Anne gives a low whistle. "That is creepy. What would anyone want in there?"

The Director grins. "Who would know that better than you?"

Mary Anne cocks an eyebrow at him. "Step down to that set with me, and I'll be happy to share my knowledge with you--"

"Temper, temper," admonishes The Director, chuckling. "It's probably nothing serious, but I'll be easier in my mind if you go home for the night from now on. All right?" Without waiting for Mary Anne to answer, he refills her cup. "And have some more coffee. You're looking a trifle peaked this morning."

"Peaked?" sniffs Mary Anne. "Is that meant to be tactful or something?"

"Something."

"Listen, one Kahlua does not a hangover make . . ."

"Mary Anne." Teasing. "At least two, that I saw."

"One and a half," compromises Mary Anne. "I never got to finish the second one before I was captured by pirates and being tortured."

The Director looks over her head at Brandon, who is coming up to join them. "If this is torture--" cues The Director.

"--chain her to the wall," Brandon promptly replies, slipping his arm around Mary Anne's shoulders and smiling down at her. "Paper chains only. Did you sleep well, Mary Anne?"

"That's the $64,000 question this morning," grumps Mary Anne, but then she relents. "I'm fine, but if it will make everyone else sleep better, then I won't stay overnight here again. Okay?"

"Finish your coffee, Mary Anne. And have another doughnut; it will put you in a better temper," advises The Director. "We'll give it a few more minutes before we start the meeting."

"Ready when you are, AR," replies Mary Anne a bit sarcastically, but she does as she is advised. Brandon, wise in the ways of his co-star, does not press the matter any further with her but simply remains nearby, chatting with her and their fellow cast members about inconsequential matters and trusting that Mary Anne's normal good temper will soon be restored.

Which it soon is. She slips her fingers into Brandon's hand and gives an apologetic little squeeze, which he returns, smiling at her as The Director move to the table and summons everyone to join him there . . .

MA, who is not a morning person.
My usual response to too much fussing and hovering . . ., - Monday, July 31, 2000 at 07:16:07 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-fourth, in the month of February - In which I find someone who can give me some answers."

I descended the stairs with arthritic care. At the bottom step, I sat down to stare at the bare walls and review my immediate situation. No money beyond what I carried in my belt pouch. No weapon apart from a dagger. No coat of mail. No horse. Night coming on fast. No food. No bedding or blankets. The numbness I felt owed nothing to the cold weather.

My thoughts chased each other in circles. Where could everyone have gone? Walter of Krone might have left for Nottingham but even if Joya had gone with him, everyone else should have stayed behind. Had the wedding been abandoned? Had Mauger arrived suddenly and dissolved the household? Neither possibility seemed likely.

Regarding my own predicament, there was no uncertainty at all: I was in a very deep hole with not a ladder in sight. I’d counted on getting my hoard of gold. Without it, I couldn’t get to France or even much further than York. I would need a horse to go any distance and all the funds I had in my pouch wouldn’t buy me more than an elderly, retired palfrey. But walking was out of the question. I dropped my head into my hands and pressed my fingers against my temples. No solution presented itself.

The sunlight through the cloudy glass window had deepened into sunset pink when I heard a door opening and closing. There was no effort to muffle the sound or that of the footsteps walking through the building on their way to the great hall. Just what was lacking in my life: intruders. I stood up and crept along the wall until I reached the door to the kitchen. One hand on my dagger, I waited for my unwelcome guest to appear.

The steps came closer and paused on the other side of the door. I heard a slight grunt, as of someone adjusting a weight and then the door swung open. I stepped forward to wrap my arm around his neck from behind.

And found that I was embracing nothing but air.

A small squeak came from somewhere around waist level. I stared down at two round eyes in a rather grimy face goggling up at me. For a second neither of us moved. Then he dropped a large bundle on the floor and bolted. I was only a step behind him the entire way. He lost precious seconds fumbling with the cross bar at the main door. I collared him without difficulty and jerked him around to face me. A clout over the ear ended his squirming.

“Now then, my little thief.” I let him feel the point of my weapon at his throat. “Can you think of a good reason why I should let you live? I can’t.”

"P-please sir! I ain't no thief!" His whine climbed to a high, desperate pitch. "Cook said it were alright if I 'ad what weren't taken. You kin 'ave it! Just let me go!"

I frowned. His voice was familiar. I wrenched open the door and hauled him forward into the fading light. The dirt successfully obscured his features but he recognized me first. "Sir! You're back!"

"Who are you?" I peered at him.

"Luke, sir." He bobbed his head respectfully. "I works - worked - in the stables."

I retracted my dagger but kept my hold on his neck. "I see. And why are you still here when everyone else has gone?"

"I gots no place to go. I can't go 'ome on account I didn't get paid." He swallowed hard. "My pa would murder me if'n I didn't bring 'ome any money."

By this time the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and the short winter dusk was deepening into night. I looked over my shoulder into the hall. "What were you carrying when I caught you?"

"I snared a rabbit, sir. I were going to make a fire in the hearth and skin it fer dinner." Luke's hand crept up to rub his ear. "But I don't have a good knife so I were looking in the kitchen to see if one got left behind."

Rabbit isn't my personal favourite but needs must, after all. "Very well. I will skin the rabbit with my dagger and we will have dinner." His face lit up with joy. I raised a warning finger. "And then you will tell me everything that's been happening while I've been gone. Is that clear? Everything."

"Yes, sir." He grinned suddenly, his teeth a flash of white in the gloom.

“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
George is a full-time job for anyone...., - Friday, July 28, 2000 at 16:47:19 (PDT)

Magda--not long ago I was looking at an upscale fashion magazine; one of the ads featured several beautiful gowns, and the tag at the bottom read "Designs by Joya," or "Joya Designs." Something like that. I thought of George's lovely lady. 8-)

MA
Wonder if Joya's planning to go into business for herself?, - Friday, July 28, 2000 at 05:12:06 (PDT)

More accurately, was she ever really there?
Magda
- Thursday, July 27, 2000 at 11:05:27 (PDT)

Was she beamed up? Alien forces at work....
Cindie
- Thursday, July 27, 2000 at 10:21:53 (PDT)

The cleaning staff went about their business in their usual quiet, laconic manner. Two women mopped up the puddles (approaching the dimensions of small lakes) of water along the edge of the pool, clicking their tongues in amusement. Children's party, obviously, was the consensus.

Another woman walked through the back near the cabanas, carefully placing left-over belongings on chairs so the floor could be cleaned. She paused at one of the small tents and shouted for her colleagues.

The three women stared. Hanging from a pole was a damp blue-green dress, rendered almost shapeless by its contact with water. Of its owner, there was not a sign.

The women stared at each other. How did she manage to get home? was their shared, unspoken thought. They turned their collective gaze back to the dress, as the sun came up outside and gilded the parking lot.

Magda
- Thursday, July 27, 2000 at 05:29:41 (PDT)

After the Director's Announcement:

Alexander walked over to his Jaguar and opened the door with a smile. It's been quite an eventful evening. I wonder what they do around here for the Christmas party... he mused as he pulled from the parking lot and sped off into the night.

Sandy - meant to post sooner, but RL reared its' ugly little head...
What a party! I've had a great time, everyone-and thanks for the chocolate & COFFEE, Cindie. **YUMMY**, - Wednesday, July 26, 2000 at 17:39:56 (PDT)

After The Director's song:

The silence that had fallen over the set is quickly broken by applause, which The Director graciously receives, smiling until it dies down slightly, then raising his hands into the air in the call for his cast's attention.

"Thank you. I hope everyone has been enjoying this much-needed relaxation."

The applause briefly resumes, along with some affirmative laughter and catcalls. Relaxation? Water balloon fights, a pirate invasion, a limbo-dancing contest . . . ah, well. It's all a matter of definition.

"However, we've fallen behind schedule . . ."

A few premonitory groans, mostly for effect.

"And so it's time to get back to work. I'm calling a story conference for nine AM tomorrow . . ."

Real groans, this time.

The Director shakes his head. "All right, all right," he grudges. "Ten AM, then. Meanwhile, I suggest everyone go and get some sleep."

There's a suspicious twinkle in Mary Anne's eyes. "No hurry about getting to sleep." At The Director's puzzled frown, she demurely explains, "Well, if you don't want us until ten AM tomorrow, since it's after midnight already . . ."

The Director rolls his eyes. "This coming ten AM, Mary Anne!"

She turns to the rest of the cast and shrugs. "Well, I tried."

There is a ripple of laughter, and then Brandon is at Mary Anne's side before she can get into more trouble, since the party is clearly beginning to break up. "Shall I see you home?"

"Home, my big toe," grins Mary Anne. "If he wants us by ten, I'm going to be spending the night in my cubicle. The sooner I get to sleep, the better."

Brandon is clearly not enamoured of this idea. "Sleep? In there?"

"Well, there's a perfectly good fainting couch--it ought to be as good for sleeping as it is for fainting. And I've got a blanket in there, too. I'll be fine."

Brandon still hesitates. "It just doesn't seem very . . . safe."

"I can lock the door." Mary Anne chuckles. "Unless you'd like to stay there with me."

Brandon is equal to this. "I would enjoy that, but that couch is hardly big enough for two."

"There's always the floor," teases Mary Anne. "Besides, Christopher, you know there's twenty-four hour security on the set. If there wasn't, all the plotline would end up on a webpage somewhere! Now--" Offering her arm. "Would you care to see me to my hole in the wall?"

MA--good to see you again, Clods! 8-)
Mmmmm, dancing with The Director, Neva--aim high, don't you?, - Wednesday, July 26, 2000 at 05:57:46 (PDT)

The twins had long since fallen asleep in a corner. Claudia smiled up into Ed’s eyes, as she held him close in a slow dance that had slowed to almost stillness. “Why do they look so angelic when they are asleep?”

“They take after their mother,” grinned Ed, his nose touching hers. “After all, angelic isn’t a word that automatically springs to mind when I think of you awake.” He ducked instinctively, expecting a swat to the side of the head, but it didn’t come. Claudia was happy, in a sleepy kind of way, and wasn’t about to make any sudden movements, especially if they took her out of Ed’s arms.

“We should do this more often. I haven’t felt so relaxed in a long time.”

“Well, it’ll be back to work tomorrow. And we have a lot to catch up on. The Director expects us at a storyline meeting. But I can think of a few things to help you relax this evening.”

“Oh, yes? Any more relaxed and I’ll melt in a puddle on the floor, like a lump of that jelly.”

“Come on, let’s get the boys home.” He kissed her lips, then pulled away, turning to scoop one of the boys into his arms. They were getting big and heavy.

Without Ed’s support, Claudia began to sway on the spot. Was she really relaxed, or was that one too many strawberry daiquiris?

“Yes, home,” she smiled. They were home already amongst all their friends. She was glad she didn’t have the problems of her troubled character. That Claudia would be in even more deeply when they started filming again.

She picked up the other sleeping child, quietly followed Ed out of the pool set, leaving the precious few hours of freedom and mayhem behind them.
Claudia
Back to work I'm afraid, - Tuesday, July 25, 2000 at 20:31:04 (PDT)

Neva--My pleasure. Anything to keep the writers happy. The better to have more stories to enjoy.
Cindie
- Tuesday, July 25, 2000 at 13:16:47 (PDT)

Remembering...

Neva sits on the edge of a lounge chair by the pool, enjoying the music and watching the couples dancing. She feels much at home here among this campy set and has no qualms about bursting in upon them in the meeting room that day...

What a party it has been! A slow grin spreads across her face as she remembers when she pelted Alexander with that infamous purple balloon. The look of utter surprise on his countenance was worth millions, and so was the mini-Jello war that had erupted afterward. Surely, he was no match against Sandy and her...well, the present state of her swimsuit (which was spattered with colored gelatin) had proved the contrary. Alexander had managed to procure a whole bucket of the stuff, while the ladies could only scrape up half a bucket of blue jiggling cubes.

Suddenly, she is jolted back to the present by the touch of a hand on her shoulder. Neva looks up quickly, a hint of anxiety in her dark brown eyes, thinking that it is Valmont. A tiny sigh of relief escapes her when she discovers that it is The Director.

"I do not believe that one of our newest members has set foot on the dance floor yet. Would you like to?" he smiles kindly at her.

"Oh, I can't dance a lick, I'm such a wallflower," she grins back, gesturing toward the graceful moves of Hans, Mary Anne, and the others.

"It's not hard, I assure you. Come, I can show you, and this is your first FOF party, after all..." The Director offers her his hand and leads her into the crowd to join the other couples...

Neva~ He isn't planning to talk business with me, is he?;-)
Cindie, you don't know how much I enjoyed your chocolate treats...mmm, chocolate and hazelnuts...:), - Monday, July 24, 2000 at 22:30:29 (PDT)

Corrections made.
Well, if you faint, there's plenty of strong capable arms around here to fall into.
D.o.C.

Oooops! Just caught a couple of things. D.o.C., please?

In my "Unforgettable" post (cough, cough), two corrections: 1. After "That's why, darling . . ." there should be a paragraph break before "His eyes, etc." I thought I had that in there, but I was probably concentrating on closing all my italic tags. 2. In the lyrics, it's "And forevermore, that's how you'll stay," not "we'll."

My thanks to the overworked D.o.C.--I can only plead dizziness from dancing with Hans. Yeah, that's it . . .

MA (And glad you enjoyed it so much, Katrina)
All right, Christopher, what are you and Renie doing over there?! ;-), - Monday, July 24, 2000 at 19:34:46 (PDT)

Dear Miss Fay: Hmm. I don't know that safe is the right word; he's not having a good time so far. But thank you for your kind words. In honour of historical versimilitude and the twelfth century, I will insert Berengaria into the story where it is appropriate. Thanks again.
Magda
- Monday, July 24, 2000 at 17:27:47 (PDT)

Dear Miss Magda: May I express my great relief at the safe return of George, Sheriff of Nottingham, to his own century where he is so very much more at home? His exploits there, which you have so faithfully transcribed in their admirable historical detail (Richard Lionheart's sad Queen Berengaria is one of the more obscure figures in Plantagenet family history), have drawn me back to this curious enterprise as I know nothing else could. I believe that Mr. Rickman, who has long lauded storytellers and their Art, would be proud of your work, and amused by it. Long may it flourish!
Fay Murina
from Boca Raton, FL, - Monday, July 24, 2000 at 11:26:59 (PDT)

Katrina: it gets even worse (or better, depending on your point of view). He's still in one piece right now. But he's going up against Estrilda once more, for Round Three. And this time he likes the games...
Magda
- Monday, July 24, 2000 at 08:56:18 (PDT)

Mary Anne!! All that's left of me is a puddle on the floor! How lovely! I was nearly singing as I read those lines! Wow. Powerful! No to mention unforgettable... ;-)

Magda! Seems as if George is in some more trouble! Hardly surprising! At least he has a roof above his head, for now. But I sense that Sir Walter is in deep trouble all the same... ;-)

KatrinaL <katrina.l@telia.com>
- Monday, July 24, 2000 at 07:38:40 (PDT)

Since we're spending some quality time by the piano here's a photo!
Fausta <emma-mail@mailexcite.com>
and I have that same blouse she's wearing, too . . . , - Monday, July 24, 2000 at 07:28:56 (PDT)

Italics fixed.
We'll blame it on the heat.
D.o.C.

*sigh* Major oops. Suzanne, could you please cut off the italics where it's supposed to be? Thank you.
Magda
- Monday, July 24, 2000 at 06:25:34 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-fourth, in the month of February - In which I go back to the lodge for a confrontation with my faithless former partner."

"Lord Walter of Nottingham." My breath misted in the winter chill and gave solidity to the phrase. I hefted my walking stick and took careful aim. Whack! A bird hastily took flight as the branch it sat on shivered from my blow. Snow drifted down to the ground in clumps.

A trio of saplings along the road ahead caught my attention. I slapped my stick against each one in turn. "My lands." Whack! "My castle." Whack! "My woman." CRACK! It was like a sharp slap of thunder in the stillness. I stared at the broken stick in my hand. It was the third one I'd destroyed so far. With an oath, I threw it into the bushes. I had miles to go before I was back at the lodge and it made no sense to exhaust myself on the way. I would need all my energy to dismember Sir Walter when I got there.

I'd been in a state of superhuman rage since the previous night. After I'd recovered from the initial shock, I got the whole story out of Moll. Or at least, as much of it as she knew. Her eyes bugged with terror as I wrapped my hands around her throat. Krone was gone; how or why or by what means, she knew little and cared less. I let her go once I was satisfied that she was telling the truth and she rolled off the bed and scrambled out the door without a backward glance. Then I sat down on the rumpled blankets and tried to absorb the news.

It was too late to leave town for the lodge. I forced myself to sleep at the inn. But I was up at the first sign of the sun creeping over the horizon and out the door before it cleared the rooftops. I didn't have enough money to hire a horse so I had to walk. It was a brisk day, with a chill west wind but I barely noticed; I had my rage to keep me warm.

The sun was past its zenith when I reached the boundary of Mauger's land. Walking for great distances is not something I do often and I was tired. It occurred to me that walking through the main gates in full view with no weapon except a dagger might not be a very sound proposition. I slowed my steps and considered. Perhaps it would be better to come at the building from the back. I remembered the hill where the mysterious visitor had lit a fire and watched the household. At the right place, I left the road and followed the trail through the trees. I walked for a good hour - mostly uphill - until I reached the spot. A fresh blanket of snow covered all traces of the earlier visitor and his horse. I brushed the snow from a stump and sat down to reconnoitre the territory.

There was no activity down below. No one walked across the courtyard to the stables. No one appeared at the kitchen door to throw away scraps. All was calm and peaceful. I unwrapped a beef pasty that I'd been carrying in my belt pouch and bit into it. Rest and refreshments were what I needed to revive my energy, and then I could deal with Lady Joya and her new friend.

The wind whined through the trees and above my head the branches shook. I kept my gaze on the lodge, looking for signs of life. A feeling of uneasiness came over me. Something about the scene below was wrong but I couldn't identify what it was. I took another bite and chewed. Nothing was different that I could see. Same buildings, same gate, same trees and well and walls. Yet there was something....

It came to me as I licked my fingers. Smoke. There was no smoke rising from the chimneys. At this time of the day, with the weather turned colder, the hearths in the kitchen and the hall should have contained fires. I stood up and started down the hill in a skidding run.

Past rocks and fallen logs, through the trees, my hands slapping at their trunks to slow down before I fell, I reached the edge of the garden. Considerable noise had accompanied my descent, yet no one came to inquire. At the door, I hesitated then gripped the latch securely and pushed the door open. The kitchen was empty. No, more than empty: deserted. No utensils or pots hung from the walls, no food on the table, indeed, no table.

My heart pounding, I rushed into the great hall. It too was bare of furniture and decoration. As I stood there staring around me, I became aware of the chill in the air; the sort of chill you find in a stone house that has not been inhabited for some time. I ran for the stairs. Joya's room was empty, as was Melisant's. Not a stick of furniture was anywhere to be seen.

I turned slowly and walked down the corridor to my room. Full of dread, I opened the door and looked inside. It too was empty. No chest with my swords and coat of mail, no table where I wrote out my reports for Mauger - and no bed frame where my gold had been hidden.

“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, July 24, 2000 at 06:24:07 (PDT)

Cindie, you have been pretty far back in the Archives, haven't you? *nostalgic grin* A good thing the "debt service" went into abeyance some time ago, or we'd all be in it up to our ears by now.

Have no fear to mention those delectable digits whenever it seems appropriate. ;-)

MA--"Colonel Brandon, holding the book as he reads to Marianne."
Just one for old times' sake . . . 8-), - Sunday, July 23, 2000 at 17:45:24 (PDT)

R--Believe me I was concerned about breaking what seems like a taboo for that very reason. I thought if debt service were required someone would let me know. But the image that Hans playing the piano conjurs up....heavy sigh.
Cindie <cynthiagreen@ameritech.net>
- Sunday, July 23, 2000 at 17:37:05 (PDT)

As the party begins to wind down . . .

Hans is indeed a better-than-average musician, as befits a descendant of Franz Gruber, and his piano stylings are graciously received until at last Hans leaves the bench to join the final round of dancing. With hardly a break in the measure, Jamie slides into his place and continues.

Couples. We see Hans and Renie together, as well as Mary Anne and Brandon-and then, with the brief nod of an exchange between gentlemen, the partners switch. Brandon twirls Renie away, and Mary Anne floats about in the arms of Hans.

She smiles a little. "It’s like the wedding, isn’t it? Do you think Jamie could play a tango?"

A low rumble of amusement. "That, and more besides." A pause. "It seems I missed an opportunity by being away . . ." A pause and raised eyebrow invite comment, but Mary Anne teases him by offering none. " . . . so long with Renie." This time, the eyebrow does not merely invite a comment; it demands one.

"Opportunity?" offers Mary Anne.

"To select my . . .Spot." He exaggerates the accent deliciously; the sibilant ssssss, the richly-rounded o, the precisely-stopped t.

"I believe they were all taken, Hans." Flutteringly, for his benefit.

"All?" Disbelief. "But then, I should not be surprised that there were so many to make a claim."

He has his reward: the beaming smile of pure sweetness. "Thank you. Just for that, you may claim any spot you want." A wink. "Within reason."

He leans a little closer. "With your love of a fine VOICE . . ."

Mary Anne affects to sigh from the depths of her being.

" . . . this should be appropriate."

Hans’ lips brush against her ear, and she feels the low tremor of his laughter once again, joining her own.

"Mmmmmm-exceptional. Thank you again." A sly glint in her eyes. "I hope Renie won’t mind."

Hans’ response is lost as The Director steps nearer the piano, and Jamie mutes his playing at a few joking cries of "Speech! Speech!"

But The Director simply leans over and asks Jamie a question. With a nod and a smile, Jamie breaks off his song and switches to another-and The Director astounds his cast by beginning to sing.

Unforgettable,
That’s what you are,
Unforgettable,
Though near or far . . .

There is some laughter-of delight, not derision-and a scattering of applause, as the resonant baritone echoes around the pool set.

No need for a microphone.

Like a song of love that clings to me,
How the thought of you does things to me . . .

His "you" fondly encompasses them all, and there is many a grin as the cast members think of what "things" they have done to him, that he has taken in good part.

Never before
Has someone been more . . .

All of them, someones. Their friendship . . .

Unforgettable
In every way,
And forevermore
That’s how you’ll stay--

That’s why, darling . . .

His eyes seem everywhere at once. His darlings, and each other’s, all.

It’s incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am
Unforgettable, too . . .

The Director draws out the last syllable easily and fades as Jamie plays a scattering of notes to conclude, and a total hush falls over the set . . .

MA--yeah, R, Hans claimed his spot all right. ;-) Lovely party, this . . .*sigh*
"Unforgettable," music and lyrics by Irving Gordon., - Sunday, July 23, 2000 at 15:24:49 (PDT)

"Well-fingered . . . " Oooooooh.

Cindie--In case you didn't know, anything to do with h*nds raises the temperature considerably!
;-) R, - Sunday, July 23, 2000 at 13:29:41 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-third, in the month of February - In which Moll passes on some interesting news."

The innkeeper of the Speckled Goose was not an imaginative man. I’d ordered a woman who was young, attractive and sober and he’d sent me one who was younger and more attractive than he was and who was sober only at the moment. I shuddered to think what might have arrived had I been less specific.

Moll slammed the door and strolled across the room. She swung her hip onto the table and leaned over on her side, batting her lashes at me in what she no doubt imagined was a seductive manner. It would have been more effective had I been sure she actually saw me but her unsuccessful efforts to focus on something just past my left shoulder didn't inspire confidence. However she was on the spot and paid for, so there was no reason not to get on with it. “Over there.” I nodded at the bed. “I’m almost finished eating. I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Oh, ya just take yer time, love. I got no place I gotta be real soon.” She gurgled wetly. “When Nate come downstairs and told me that there was a swank knight on the premises what wanted a good time, I said lead me to ‘im.” A mild belch punctuated the last sentence. “’Scuse me.”

“I'm not in the mood for conversation." I eyed her coldly. "Now keep quiet and let me eat."

She ignored me. "Just lead me there, I said. I got experience with the nobility. Once I bedded a stableman who held the king's horse." One arm swept an arc from one side to the other, almost upsetting my meal in the process. I rescued my ale with a deft movement that caught her attention. "Ya couldn't spare a drop for a thirsty guest, could you, dearie?"

"No." I said, tilting the tankard back.

"Didn't think so." She heaved herself off the table. "Men are all alike. Just want one thing from a girl."

"Two things, actually." I set the empty vessel down. "And one of them is silence."

"All right then. I knows how to keep me mouth shut. Folks don't want to hear me gabbin', I ain't one to force meself on 'em." Moll huffed over to the bed and fell across it. The ropes holding the mattress creaked ominously. She threw me a resentful glance. "O' course, me tongue's so dry that it could slit me throat if I ain't careful. But I ain't complainin'."

I paused in the act of folding my napkin. Her words brought back the image that tormented me earlier. Slowly I set the cloth on the table. After Joya's betrayal, my feelings about her were - should be - extinguished. She was nothing to me. And yet why did the thought of her death bother me? I pondered the question for long moments. Finally I decided that what I really wanted was to punish her myself. Not right away, of course. But after I took back my lands I would hunt her down in France and take her into my personal custody. Joya should know that I was not to be trifled with. I smiled grimly. Perhaps it would be necessary to keep her for months, even years, until I was satisfied that she had learned her lesson. She'd be totally in my power - mine to do with as I liked for as long as I liked. The idea pleased me greatly.

A squawk from the bed interrupted my musing. "Not that I'm impatient, love, but does ya think we can get on with it? Yer not the only man in town, ya know." Moll punched the pillow for emphasis.

I looked at her with distaste. The room was not large and the delicate scent of lavender soap was being overcome by a combination of ale and unwashed body. Being with Joya had spoiled me. I'd have to get used to other women again. No time like the present. I stood up, wondering how many of my clothes to take off.

"Oo, now we're getting' goin'! Come on over, love." Moll sat up with alacrity, beaming at me. "Want any help getting' yer kit off?"

"No. Just stay there." The idea of those unwashed hands touching my clothing was repulsive. I unbuckled my belt and pulled it off; the leather slithered against the fabric. Just the minimal amount, I decided. If I did it right, I might not have to touch her too much.

"Suits yerself." She flopped back on the bed, crossing her arms under her head and staring up at the ceiling. Obviously my rejection of the usual civil amenities offered to clients meant that she was no longer obligated to take an interest in the proceedings. "Soon's we get this over with, the better. There's no end of business now that Saint Walter is gone. Good riddance and bad cess to 'im. I can't abide a lord what don't understand the tribulations of the working girl."

"Saint Walter?" I looked up from my efforts with the laces on my braies.

"Sir Walter of Krone, him as was the lord here." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "But he ain't Krone no more, not since last week. Guess Barnesdale's not big enough fer him anymore."

I put my hands on my hips and stared at her. "Sir Walter has left Barnesdale?"

"Aye. He cleared out fer his new holdings almost afore the town got the news. I does pity his new place, that's all I can say. They don't know what they're in fer. No more drinkin', no more wenchin', no more nothin' that's fun. And prayin' all day. Priests will be happy, no doubt." She pursed her lips and shook her head. "But all I can say is, God help Nottingham when Sir Walter takes over."

“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, July 22, 2000 at 08:23:46 (PDT)

Unable to resist the lure of a well fingered piano and anything that was once sung by Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly, Cindie links arms with Metatron and joins the group forming around Hans. She had earlier gifted him with a bottle of tequila which she had de-alcaholized and he had been genuinely appreciative. They had discussed the virtues of blue guava for some time at the corner bar while the other gentlemen had been occupied with making sure MA had a memorable birthday. Nobody seemed to mind that she had simply stayed. Cindie's alto and Metatron's rich baratone joins the others ...the memory of all that...
Cindie
a sucker for a sing along, - Friday, July 21, 2000 at 19:11:53 (PDT)

The strains--and we do mean strains--of the Hawaiian War Chant having fitfully subsided, a less antic mood descends on the party, as late night falls. The pool’s illumination, so stirringly evoked in various FOF episodes, provides a fitting backdrop for the after-hours party. Broken balloons have been swept to one side ("We can’t have SAG saying we’ve a dangerous set!" had been Sinclair's comment) and the smell of BBQ is all that lingers from the delicious treats the evening has offered.

Dancing of the cheek-to-cheek sort has concluded, not without several memorable moments between Suzanne and Colonel Brandon, Alexander Dane and the new girl, Sandy, and Mary Anne skewered in the arms of the grillmeister for the evening.

Now, in a corner, just past the changing cabanas, several of the cast discuss acting with the Director, who leans back against the wall, his arms folded. His fingers peek out from underneath each elbow.

Alexander has situated himself in the center of the hubbub, and turns to speak to everyone in turn as they pipe up. His handsome face shows his genuine interest, and he’s holding forth in dramatic timbres. "It’s not just how you deal with the big scenes, the big issues. It’s what you do with the little bits."

"It’s got to be natural-otherwise, forget it," admonishes Claudia. Ed stands behind her, tracing his finger up her left arm.

"No," interrupts Therese, "it’s anticipating the story, the-"

"--The sense of history, writing itself," finishes Dev, with a smile. And a meaningful look at Therese.

Mary Anne shakes her head. "There are no ‘little bits.’" Her blue eyes are shining at Alexander, who waits patiently to contradict her, if that’s his intention. " It’s all wrapped up, like one big-"

"Apple turnover!" offers Ed, which earns him the obligatory poke in the ribs, as Claudia turns and dutifully does the honors.

It doesn’t help, though, and shouts of "Burrito!" and "Chocolate Crepe!" follow. Suddenly, Jamie’s voice, amplified over the sound system, softly floats over a surprised gathering. "She’s right, you know."

It’s as if a still, small voice has spoken.

Jamie walks out from the sound booth, empty since Suzanne, Brandon and Mary Anne had left earlier. Jamie’s approach to the group spurs warm greetings, and his message, so gentle in tone and delivery, continues to warm the air.

"It’s like love-romantic love, any kind of love." Jamie smiles at Mary Anne. "It’s not just the big issues, the roller-coaster rides. It’s the little things we love and are loved for, that make life so special." His eyes threaten to melt every woman in the bunch.

Jamie’s entrance-and his heartfelt words-- have so transfixed the group, that as yet they have taken no notice of the piano being wheeled in . . . And now seating himself, playing the introductory notes, and proceeding directly to the melody . . . is Hans Gruber, pillar of power and, apparently, accomplished pianist.

Next to him, a voice, usually rendered in mezzo soprano, but just speaking the words, for now, to an astonished but always welcoming group . . .

"The way you wear your hat . . . " The singer looks at Brandon and then at Mary Anne . . . "The way you sip your tea . . . "

As the band of players moves towards the piano, drawn by music and friendship . . .

I’m a sucker for piano sing-alongs. Hans plays well, don’t you think?
Wonderful party, everyone. Balm for a birthday, yes dearest? -- R, - Friday, July 21, 2000 at 14:39:01 (PDT)

In the sound booth:

"But why," asks Brandon after the first moments of surprise and laughter are over, "have you spent the entire party up here?"

"Wellllll . . ." A guilty grin from Suzanne. "You know how I love doing techie stuff on the side; everybody needs a hobby."

"Sure," replies Mary Anne. "I understand even The Director does a bit of acting now and then. But why didn't you even come to the party?"

"I meant to!" protests Suzanne. "But I told The Director I'd set up the music for the party, and I came up here and just got so involved I . . ."

"Forgot everything?" A raised eyebrow from Brandon.

"Well, it's easier to do than you might think," protests the besieged Suzanne. "There are some great tracks in here! Look, here's what I put on when you and the rest of the men came in . . ."

Mary Anne leans closer and sees a track label for the film The Crimson Pirate. "I saw that! Now, just find an old film about highwaymen, and we're in business!"

The women giggle and Brandon rolls his eyes as if imploring the heavens for patience and fortitude.

"And see," continues Suzanne, cueing up another track, "this was when Therese and Dev started their 'bullfight' . . ."

"Blood and Sand. I saw that one, too, both silent and sound versions," beams Mary Anne. "Some great music in those old films . . ."

"Right." A sly glance from Suzanne. "You just liked the music?"

"Of course," replies Mary Anne, with her classic innocent look.

"Well," intervenes Brandon, "pirates, highwaymen, and assorted rogues to one side--none of them shall prevent me, Suzanne, from seeing you down to the party; you've missed--" That crinkling of the eyes, a sign of amusement and affection. "--too much of the fun already. And no, do not even think of protesting, or I shall be forced to look at you sorrowfully."

"Good heavens," gasps Suzanne. "Talk about twisting my arm. Well, all right, just let me re-set the music to something sort of Hawaiian."

Wicked grin from Mary Anne. "I know just the thing." She leans down and whispers to Suzanne, who murmurs, "That shouldn't be too hard to find--ah, here it is! I'll start off with this before the regular music . . ."

Some moments later, the three of them leave the sound booth, laughing and talking over the party, Brandon and Mary Anne filling Suzanne in on what she had missed while in the booth.

And filtering over the speakers, complete with horns, bells, whistles, and pistol shots, we hear the "Hawaiian War Chant"--as performed by Spike Jones . . .

MA--"As the sun pulls away from the shore, and our boat sinks slowly in the West . . ."
"KABOOOSH," hmmm? I like the sound of that . . . or even better, the sounds Dane made afterwards . . . ;-), - Wednesday, July 19, 2000 at 19:18:33 (PDT)

Ummm, as to the purple water balloon, I do believe it landed squarely on Alexander's right shoulder, with a nice, satisfying KABOOOSH!! sound. :) Now as to the one who threw the balloon, her fate remains to be seen...;-) I don't think she was decapitated, at any rate...(Queen of Hearts sytle~ "OFF with your head!!")
Neva
"Alexander the Grape"? LOL!!, - Tuesday, July 18, 2000 at 21:47:17 (PDT)

My sincere apologies for not posting lately; I have really, really, REALLY been bogged down at work lately, and haven't been able to put my ideas to print yet. :)

Katrina, I'm glad you like it! No, I don't think I'll be using Marston...I'm not even sure as to what I will be yet...:) It's all up in the air for now!
Neva~ who can't limbo to save her life...
MA~ I'm not partied out (I looove parties...); I'm just a party-pooper...;-), - Tuesday, July 18, 2000 at 21:36:25 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-third, in the month of February - In which I begin to lay some plans."

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but would you be wantin' anything else besides this?" The innkeeper tucked my boots under his arm as he indicated the new clothes on the bed. It was a very different tone than the one he'd used when I'd walked into the Speckled Goose. One look at my disheveled appearance had brought his great bulk off his stool to throw me out. He'd quickly changed his mind when I held a gold coin in front of his piggy eyes.

I paused in the act of pulling off my filthy tunic. "You can bring me dinner as soon as I'm finished with my bath. And find me a woman. Young. Attractive." I thought about the sort of clientele he usually catered to and added, "Make sure she's sober."

"Hmm. That last one makes it a bit tough, sir, but I'll do me best." He reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out a whitish lump. "Here's that soap you wanted."

I reached for it. "Not tallow, is it?"

"Oh no, sir. That's not nearly good enough for the likes of you." He smiled at me with greasy servility. "Straight from the market, that is. Sent the wife out personal for you."

"Very well. That will be all. Get that woman here in the next hour but bring the food first." I waited until the door closed behind him before shedding my clothes. The tub steamed in front of the fire. I trailed my fingers across the surface of the hot water and watched the ripples. It would be wonderful to wash away the accumulated grime of two weeks in a rat-infested cell. Clutching the soap tightly in one hand, I stepped into the tub and lowered myself into the water.

For blissful minutes I surrendered to the heat, my head resting on the rim, my eyes closed. I refused to think, letting my worries melt into the water lapping against the sides of the tub. My mind was empty of all consideration. I lifted the soap and began to wash.

It was indeed market bought, not made from rancid kitchen tallow but from pure fats and fresh herbs. Contact with the water would release the oils and the aroma would rise with the steam. I lifted the soap to my nose and inhaled…lavender.

Joya's scent. Images flooded my mind before I could throw up a barrier against them. Joya sitting in front of the fire combing her hair until it shone like molten gold. Her beautiful blue eyes mocking me from across a table. The way she turned her head to hide her smile when I was annoyed with her about something. Too late. My defenses were breached. I was captured.

So much for a leisurely soak. I sat up with a jerk, splashing water onto the floor, and began to scrub vigorously. This is what monogamy does to a man: makes his brain go soft. Well, no more. The haunting would end after tonight. Another woman was just what I needed to break free.

I stood up and rinsed off with water from the jug by the fire. The towel was coarse but clean and although my new clothes were nowhere near the quality I was used to, they would suffice. I had just finished lacing up the tunic when a knock at the door heralded the return of the innkeeper, laden down with a substantial repast on a tray and my cleaned boots under his arm. He dropped the boots by the bed, set the food down on the rickety table and bowed himself out the door. I barely noticed; the sight of the food brought my appetite back.

Should you ever find yourself in Barnesdale, you may safely take my word for it: go to the Blue Boar for the ale and the beds but dine at the Speckled Goose for the beef pasties. They are superb. I inhaled the first one with little effort. (Don't tell them George sent you; I didn't tip.)

I washed the pasty down with a tankard of the mild ale the establishment was justifiably not famed for. With a full stomach and clean raiment, I was beginning to feel civilized. A good night's sleep after a good night's something else and I would be my old self again. And while I waited for the woman I'd ordered to show up, I bent my mind to planning my future actions.

Joya and I were finished. That was plain. I would return to the lodge to get the gold I'd hidden in my room and then I was off to France. Care would have to be taken to ensure that I didn't run into Walter of Krone. I bit into the second pasty savagely. If she was happier with that great bore then good riddance to her.

It would probably be a good idea to avoid the main road out of town. The guards might realize that a mistake had been made and try to intercept me. Or I might run into Estrilda on her way to the market. Sticking to the back lanes was the best way. I sipped from the tankard again and thought about that visit with the sheriff's wife. Something bothered me and it wasn't the attempt on my masculine virtue. She'd said something that was important. I tried to remember but it wouldn't come back. With an impatient exclamation, I turned back to my food and picked up my knife. Then I stared at it. Memory came rushing back.

I could hear her sneer as if she stood in front of me. "The wrong girl wouldn't have died." Of course. If Sal was the wrong girl, then it didn't take much intelligence to figure out who the right one was. Estrilda had sent those marauders to murder Joya. If she hadn't been in my bed that night, she would have had her throat slit. I laid the knife down again with great care. My hand trembled slightly and the taste of bile rose in my throat.

I might have lost her. A cold fist squeezed the air out of my lungs. I could not get past that one thought. It rang in my head like the peal of a great bell, echoing over and over again.

I was still sitting there, trying to breathe in more than shallow gasps, when three sharp raps whacked the door. Before I could move, it swung open to reveal a youngish woman with long red hair and a worn dress with a plunging neckline. She grinned at me, revealing with startling clarity where four of her teeth had been, and sauntered into the room.

"Evening, love. Lookin' fer a bit of the old 'in-and-out', are ya? Well ya asked for the right gal. Moll's the name an' pleasure's the game. Pleased to meet ya."

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

Magda
- Tuesday, July 18, 2000 at 17:33:55 (PDT)

Ah . . . a Galaxy Quest sound clip! And By Grabthar's Hammer, what a sound clip! 8-D

MA
Hmmmm, wonder what Alexander thinks about that . . ., - Tuesday, July 18, 2000 at 17:09:33 (PDT)

I knew I was at the party somewhere. :-)
Suzanne
What fun!, - Tuesday, July 18, 2000 at 08:00:20 (PDT)

Hi all!

So nice to see that the party is as vital as ever! "Burn, baby, burn"! ;-) Also great to read about "the dull boy" again! But Mary Anne is right - George may be many things but hardly dull!!

NEVA!!! Oh, I cna't wait to read your stories! What do you have up your sleeve?! You're not thinking about going "Down Under" perhaps? ;-) Great start - you write very well!

KatrinaL
Thanks again for a hilarious read! :-), - Tuesday, July 18, 2000 at 05:07:09 (PDT)

The party, later:

The winner of the limbo contest is-no great surprise, here-the graceful and unbelievably flexible Sei, with an Honourable Mention for Tory; eighty-eight and one-half pounds of German Shepherd can pass beneath a limbo bar more easily than most human beings, whatever their weight.

The limbo contest at an end, the calypso-style music fades away into the Hawaiian steel guitar rhythms that had begun the evening, and we find Mary Anne devilling The Director-again, no surprise. "Why didn’t you enter the contest?"

"Why didn’t you?" he retorts, smiling.

Mary Anne reaches around, clutching dramatically at her spine. "Ooooooo, my bad back . . ."

"Exactly," comes The Director’s dry response. "I’d hate to see my entire cast end up on the chiropractor’s couch-you can ask Alexander about that, since he’s played Richard the Third-"

"As everyone knows," chuckles Mary Anne, but the laugh is gentle. She has started off on the right foot with Alexander Dane and feels that they will get along splendidly.

"-and he could tell you horror stories. Well, the way some of them were doing the limbo just now, I’d say it could cripple as many actors as those bloody prosthetic humps, any day."

Mary Anne’s eyes twinkle as she recollects some of the limbo attempts she had witnessed that evening; of course, almost anyone would come off second-best, next to Sei. "Speaking of ambitious ruffians from the Middle Ages, where did George get to? I’d have loved to see him try to go under the bar in all that ‘medieval muck’ he was wearing-"

"Apparently George decided to turn in early," puts in Brandon. "He was down for a scene first thing tomorrow, he said."

"Right," adds The Director. "And he said something to the effect of ‘All play and no work makes George a dull boy.’ "

"George may be many things," laughs Mary Anne, "but dull isn’t one of them!" She manages to refrain, however, from laughing too much, remembering her past scenes with George: he can be temperamental and exacting, but he is a thorough professional and shows up on time with his lines firmly in place. "Besides," she muses, "when you’re as good at what you do as he is, I suppose work is play."

"Sometimes." The Director favours her with one those expressions that reveal how much he enjoys his work, despite-or perhaps because of-the range of eccentric "characters" he must keep in order. "And you may want to follow George’s example. There’ll be a conference tomorrow to go over storylines. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . ."

With that, The Director is off to congratulate Sei, and he even favours Tory with a friendly ear-rub. Mary Anne, meanwhile, frowns in concentration for a moment as she listens to the music, then reaches for Brandon’s hand. "Come with me, Christopher."

"What is the matter?" And as Mary Anne tugs at his arm, drawing him away from the pool area, he breaks into a soft laugh. "What is it? Are you trying to get me alone and mount an assault on my virtue, madam? I warn you that I shall resist with all my-"

Mary Anne gives him a look. "That’s a tempting offer, but I’ll just have to assault your virtue later-"

"Is that a promise?"

"That’s a threat. Listen, haven’t you noticed the music? How all evening, it’s changed for whatever’s going on?"

"Yes, well?"

"Well, I’m dying of curiosity-and I have this feeling . . ."

Stealthily, Mary Anne draws Brandon away from the pool area and past the cabanas, then pauses at one of the doors. "I think this one leads up to a sound booth . . . now, quietly . . ."

Together, they edge up the steps. "You see," murmurs Mary Anne, "you couldn’t plan a set of tape loops that would fit everything that’s happened. Who would have guessed you and the rest of the men would turn up as pirates? Especially after you told Therese ‘absolutely and irrevocably’ that you would NOT be putting on a pirate costume again-"

"A bit of misdirection," replies Brandon. "And I shall certainly never be putting on that idea of a pirate costume again. I shudder to think of where Therese obtained it. Or how."

"Even if I liked it very much . . . ?" sighs Mary Anne, not fighting fairly at all.

Brandon swallows hard, then relents. Slightly. "If it were only for you, then . . ."

"Good. Hold that thought." Her voice drops to a whisper as they near the sound booth. "And now, if my suspicions are correct . . ."

She eases herself nearer the door, and Brandon follows, fascinated in spite of himself.

Closer . . . closer . . .

Mary Anne seizes the door handle, and yanks open the door. "Ah-HA!"

There is a little shriek-and then, in the shadows in front of a bank of sound equipment, the slight movement of a swivel chair.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are . . ." teases Mary Anne, until the chair turns into the light, to reveal . . .

Suzanne!

MA--Couldn't leave you out, Suzanne! (Is everyone all partied out, then?)
Magda, don't let George work too hard. *grin* But I'm curious to see what happens to him now . . . AND Joya . . . ;-), - Monday, July 17, 2000 at 20:38:30 (PDT)

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