Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

"Day the Eighty-third, in the month of February - In which I become an unwilling confidant to a lunatic."

"I don't blame you for not believing me. I know it sounds incredible that a crusader would betray his principles in such a foul manner.” Peter held up one hand as if to swear an oath. The chains clinked lightly on the ground. “But I was there, I tell you, and I can vouch for everything I saw."

I really didn't need this. Coping with a pounding headache was bad enough but sharing a small cell with a raving lunatic was too much. How I longed for a good, stout sword to deal with the matter permanently. But since there was none available, I just sagged back against the wall and pressed the hands over my eyes. Discerning that I was less than eager to hear his tale, he hurried into speech again, this time assuming a more jovial tone. "I would not ask this of just anyone but as soon as I looked into your eyes I knew you were a man I could trust. What's your name, friend?"

“It’s George and I’m not your friend.” Now I was sure he was mad. I slid down under the blanket again. “And right now I’m going back to sleep. So kindly shut up.”

“Wait! The guards might be back any time. I have to know!" Peter surged to his feet, scattering the stale straw, weighted down under heavy fetters. He dragged himself as close to my bed as he could and pleaded. "Will you help me? Just bribe one of the guards to release me. That's all. You can keep whatever gold is left over."

It was ridiculous, of course. First, I was not about to be released anytime soon - if at all. Second, no bribe would be worth the consequences to a guard if a prisoner escaped; all the guards would be savagely punished and the innocent would not hesitate to turn in the guilty. Third, why should I? It was nothing to me if he was free or not. I had enough to worry about. My "partner" had abandoned me. The local lord was conspiring to have me judicially murdered - ironically, for a crime I didn't commit. And to top it all off, the sheriff's wife - the real authority in the town - was very displeased with me for highly personal reasons. As soon as my head stopped throbbing, I had some very hard thinking to do. I turned over, determined to end his confidences by falling asleep.

It seemed to work, for a while at least. A blessed silence filled the room. I took several deep breaths and let them out slowly. The throbbing in my head eased somewhat. If I could get a few hours' sleep, everything would be fine. But you know how it is. Some people just can’t take a hint. No sooner had I started to drift away on a cloud of drowsiness than Peter made another attempt to persuade me.

"You think I made it up, don't you? That a famous crusader like Sir Walter would do anything cowardly seems so ridiculous. Everyone knows he's a friend of King Richard! But only let me tell you what happened and then make up your mind." I responded to this invitation by wrapping the thin pillow over my ears, but it didn't work; Peter just talked louder. "It was during the assault on Acre, our first attempt to take a major city. King Richard was in the vanguard, of course, with about 3,000 men. I was just arrived from Cyprus and got assigned to Krone's contingent."

I gave up. Clearly nothing would prevent him from telling his story so I might as well listen. The sooner he was finished, the sooner I could get some sleep. I rolled over onto my other side, propping my head on one hand. At least the throbbing didn't start again.

"Our camp completely surrounded Acre. The siege had been going on for three days when we heard that Saracen troops were on their way to relieve the city. Krone was ordered to intercept them. So we headed out and met them on the outskirts of a small village called Geyetha. There weren't as many of them as we'd been led to believe. It was over pretty quickly. They fled back into the village and we gave chase right after them."

I pointedly stifled a yawn. It didn't sound like much of a story so far: Crusaders kick heathen butt and attain victory through the power of their faith and the might of their swords. Praise the Lord and God save the king. But whatever it lacked in narrative drive, it apparently gained in emotional intensity, at least for Peter. He stared into the middle distance, beyond the four walls of our cell, at something only he could see. I doubt if he knew where he was at that moment.

"When I said the village was small, I mean it only had about twenty houses in it. More like a hamlet, really. Everything was made of mud brick, one story high, sometimes only one room. We managed to round the Saracens up without too much effort. They weren’t even real troops, just enthusiastic youth who ran straight home when they lost. Some of them were barely more than children. We herded them into the souk.” He looked over at me. “That's what they call their marketplace. Standard procedure was to hold captured enemy forces as hostages so that the king could exchange them for our own men after a battle. The Saracens knew that and didn't give us any trouble. They didn't know - none of us knew - that this time it would be different." His voice quavered on the last sentence.

"Krone was waiting in the souk. Once all the prisoners were there he told them that they had to accept the Christian faith and agree to be baptised immediately. Otherwise they would be executed." Peter swallowed hard.

None of this was a surprise to me; after all, I'd seen Krone in action when he'd invaded a tavern full of celebrants who were presumably Christians. The word "enthusiasm" didn't begin to describe his attitude. But obviously it had been a shock to Peter. He had to take several deep breaths and clench his hands into tight fists before he could continue with his tale. I lay back on the pillow and crossed my arms under my head. At least my headache was gone.

After a few doubtful moments, Peter was ready to go on. "When the interpreter finished, the prisoners just laughed. Krone stood there, getting redder and redder. Then he ordered us to cut them down where they stood. His men didn't hesitate. They butchered those young men in cold blood. They never had a chance. Even the ones that were armed didn't really know how to use their weapons. Two of us tried to stop it but Krone had us restrained. He was not pleased with our attempted intervention. But the worst thing of all was what happened next. Women came pouring out of the houses and threw themselves at Krone's men, screaming and carrying on something terrible."

Peter dropped his head into his hands and rocked back and forth. The iron links of his chains chimed softly against the stone floor as he moved. "It was clear the women were related to the youths - their mothers, grandmothers, all of them. Krone's men killed them too. It was terrible, it was nothing like what a holy war conducted under the banner of Christ was supposed to be." With a sudden, moist gasp, he dissolved into tears. He pressed his hands over his eyes and tried to catch his breath between sobs. "Had King Richard..." (Sniff.) "...known about this atrocity..." (Louder sniff.) "...he would have ordered Krone arrested immediately." (Loudest sniff of all, followed by more weeping.)

I stared at the ceiling waiting for him to stop and reflected that I could never have been a Crusader. No nursemaid ever dropped me on my head when I was a baby, resulting in the blunted thinking processes that seemed to be a necessity for recruitment. There are many definitions of war but the most common one is this: someplace where people get killed - often messily and unfairly - by other people from somewhere else. I wondered if Peter realized that the long, metal thing with sharp edges and a pointy tip that he usually wore wasn't used to crack walnuts. Or that King Richard entertained no such romantic illusions.

I was counting the bars on the window for the seventh time when he finally got himself under control again. Any hope I had that the story was now over were dashed immediately. He'd got his second wind and continued as if he'd never broken down.

"We rejoined the king's camp outside the city walls. Krone's men put it about that we'd beaten a horde of experienced Saracen warriors more than twice our number. Krone didn't actually claim that but he certainly didn't deny it. And his humility in front of the king was truly sickening." Peter slumped against the wall, closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "But he hadn't forgotten about the two of us who made feeble attempts to stop his men. And when we attacked the city, he put us in the vanguard and left us without cover so that I was captured and my companion was slaughtered. I spent the rest of the Crusade in one foul dungeon after another until I managed to escape."

I was curious in spite of my sounder instincts. "And what are you doing here, in chains? Did you get nostalgic?"

"Ha! Not at all, I assure you." Peter snorted, a wry grin distorting the pattern of dirt on his face. " No, I had this stupid idea that I could bring Krone to justice and tried to talk to someone who was in a position to help me. But Krone found out about it first. To be honest with you, I talked too loud in a tavern and someone must have warned him. So he had me locked up as a lunatic with witnesses willing to swear they'd seen me out of my senses. And here I am."

"Well, that's a very affecting tale." I lied, of course, but it seemed like the polite thing to do. "But there's really nothing I can do to help. Sorry." I shook out my blanket and prepared to get some sleep.

"But there is! Just take this gold and bribe one of the guards for me." Fumbling amongst his rags he pulled a tattered leather pouch half out of his shirt so I could see it. "I've got to put Krone away for good! I want to see him put in the same kind of dungeon he consigned me to."

For the first time, I felt a sense of comradeship with my cellmate. On some matters at least, he was very sound. I gazed at him with a shade less abhorrence than I'd previously shown. "I sympathize with your goal, I really do. But I'm not about to be released anytime soon."

Hardly had the words left my mouth than we heard the sound of the bar being lifted. The door swung open and two guards stood in the door. We stared at them in surprise. The lead one pointed at me. "You there. Get up. You're free to go. And don't do nothing to get yourself arrested again if you know what's good for you." He stepped back and left the doorway clear.

For some few seconds, I was too stunned to move. That a mistake was being made was obvious. Then I came to life again. I certainly wasn't going to point it out to them. I scrambled to my feet, sent the blanket flying across the room and reached for my cloak.

"Please!" Peter hissed under his breath. He stared at me with earnest puppy-eyes.

I didn't hesitate. "Give it here," I whispered and held out my hand.

He licked his lips, darted a glance at the door and thrust the pouch at me. My fingers closed on it tightly and I slipped it into my belt as I turned around. Without looking back I walked across the threshold and down the worn dirt path to the walls of the monastery, to the gate that led to freedom.

Out on the road and out of sight of the guards, I counted the coins. Twenty, just like Peter said. I dropped them back into the pouch and headed into Barnesdale, a spring to my step as I walked. I needed some good food, a hot bath, a change of clothes and a pretty wench. Pretty much in that order, too. Of course, I wasn't about to waste time trying to bribe any guards. It had been pleasant listening to someone who despised Krone as much as I did but Peter could rot as far as I was concerned.

“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
All play and no work makes George a dull boy, especially in third person POV, - Friday, July 14, 2000 at 19:17:57 (PDT)

Poolside:

"There, is that better?"

"Mmmmmmm." A sigh. "Feels wonderful. Don't stop."

Her swimming lesson over, Mary Anne is comfortably installed in one of the lounge chairs, swathed once more in her wrap and several large towels, while Brandon gently dries her hair with a smaller towel that he has brought from the warming rack. Though the pool had been comfortable, the air conditioning is set very cool because of all the people at the party, and Mary Anne had been shivering as she left the water.

Brandon had kept the lesson brief, partly because of Mary Anne's nervousness, but also because there had been so many distractions around the pool, such as Alexander's reaction to Neva's aim with the purple water balloon. Brandon shakes his head, grinning at the memory. So many new people--I believe they will fit in well. It looks as if life will be interesting around here . . .

And there is still plenty going on. Mary Anne laughs out loud as Therese abandons the long pole, finding it awkward to handle in close quarters, and takes to making a series of short rushes at Dev where he has allowed himself to be cornered, trying to get past his guard. Dev, however, is equal to the situation and, snatching up yet another abandoned towel, flourishes it about like a bullfighter's cape. This spectacle reduces Therese to hysterical giggles for a moment or two, but then she resumes by pawing and stamping the ground and holding her fingers up to her forehead as if they were horns, then running at Dev in one of the finest charges likely to be seen outside of Pamplona.

Brandon raises an eyebrow. "Bullfighting at a luau?"

"It must be that Spanish blood." Mary Anne laughs at Therese's murderous yell of "MOOOOOO!" as she makes an especially ferocious charge, which Dev parries with a deft turn of his "cape" in a manoeuvre worthy of the great Manolete. "He seems to have a natural gift for it." She pauses, frowning.

"What is it, Mary Anne?"

"Christopher, have you noticed the music?"

"What about it?"

"When the party started, it was Hawaiian music for the luau. When you and the rest of the guys came in, it became 'old swashbuckler movie'-type music. I thought there was maybe a set of tapes on automatic playback, but listen . . ."

Brandon listens, and hears what Mary Anne had meant: Therese and Dev have drawn spectators, and the music has once again altered to 'bullring'-style trumpets and guitars in the style of old Madrid, trill the 'r', please. Madrrrrrrrid. The music builds to a crescendo as the great De Valera, pirate-turned-matador, manages to tangle his stampeding opponent in the towel and dispatch her--not by the sword, but by a hearty kiss.

Mary Anne forgets the music for a moment as she joins in the applause of the spectators. "I wonder where Tory is?" she laughs. "If she'd been with Therese, Dev wouldn't have had a chance."

Brandon nods toward the other side of the pool. "Look."

Mary Anne follows the direction of Brandon's gaze, and then grins in understanding--Tory has been neatly distracted by more swordfish nuggets and lies stretched out on the floor, blissful and oblivious, as Mister I gently scratches her stomach and murmurs a series of endearments most unsuitable to the fierce reputation of the character he plays. Catching Mary Anne watching him, Mister I shrugs briefly, and they exchange smiles of understanding before he returns his attention to Tory's tummy-rub.

Catching a whiff of the grilled swordfish, Mary Anne becomes aware that her own stomach is rumbling. "Christopher, I'm starving. Is there any food left?"

"Plenty. I was just about to suggest some hot coffee for you--"

Filling and then emptying her plate occupies Mary Anne for some time, until, reveling in the spread of various chocolates, she becomes aware that the music has changed once again, this time to something resembling calypso.

Ed has picked up Therese's abandoned pole and is waving it about, calling, "Okay, who's for the limbo contest?"

MA--Here's another: "Who was purple and conquered the world?"
Answer: "Alexander the Grape." ;-), - Friday, July 14, 2000 at 06:06:27 (PDT)

Heehee! And if one of them lost his trunks and chased you, it would be "Exit, pursued by a . . ." Well, never mind. The Mad Punster strikes again!

MA
Who has resisted the temptation to make jokes about, "Out, damned Spot!" ;-), - Thursday, July 13, 2000 at 18:58:53 (PDT)

Oops! Yeah, that must be it. LOL Make that bear. :-)
D.o.C. (in need of firm but kind correction)
Even I'm not perfect!, - Thursday, July 13, 2000 at 18:05:27 (PDT)

Is that a Freudian slip?
Magda
- Thursday, July 13, 2000 at 07:48:39 (PDT)

Characters switched.
Well, they do bare a resemblance.
D.o.C.

D.o.C., please! That should be "Alexander and Sandy" with the Tug O' War--not Dev! *shaking head* Two Devs, fer cryin' out loud . . . that would never do!

MA--his evil twin, maybe? =8-O
- Thursday, July 13, 2000 at 04:43:37 (PDT)

Brandon selects his "Spot":

Mister I rises to his feet and offers Brandon the brush, but the Black Avenger waves it casually aside and, drawing Mary Anne to him, he claims her lips in no uncertain terms as the rest of the Pirates of Luuuvvvvv look on with hoots and whistles of appreciation. That is to say, those pirates who are actually able to watch the proceedings, as several of them are occupied elsewhere: Dev is still making quite a game of evading Therese; Alexander and Sandy have elevated the Art of Tug O' War to a level fit to be chronicled by Sun Tzu; Valmont, as he is raked over the coals by Lis, silently gives thanks for figurative rather than literal coals and prays that she won't get any ideas about the grilling racks, and Ed, in his hand-to-hand combat with Claudia, is beginning to feel as if two hands are not enough. Not that he is complaining . . .

Brandon releases Mary Anne before the kiss becomes entirely too prolonged for public viewing, and smiles down at her, playfully drawing his finger across her face for a moment as if playing Connect the Dots. "My dearest, it is time we cleansed your blackened reputation--will you join me in the pool?" At Mary Anne's anxious look, he adds, softly, "It will be all right--I'll give you a swimming lesson."

Mary Anne does not care for being in the pool, since she cannot swim, but she doesn't have the heart to refuse Brandon; he knows she is fearful of being in the water, but she will be safe with him, just as she was when she and Renie played the joke and spied on Hans here on this very set. So, after only a moment's hesitation, she allows him to remove her beaded wrap and lay it aside on one of the chairs and then to escort her to the ladder.

"I'm not sure I like the idea of this," she ventures as Brandon helps her into the pool.

"What, the water?" asks Brandon, steadying her with his hold on one arm.

"No, not that," returns Mary Anne with a shaky but still mischievous smile. "I was just remembering what happened the last time you thought I needed a lesson."

Brandon goes crimson but manages to return the smile. "We are not going there," he replies, "so you will be quite safe. As safe as things ever are, here," he adds in a lower tone as the conflict escalates between Sandy and Alexander at the other side of the pool. "Now, then . . ."

MA--hot coffee and loads of chocolate? Thanks, Cindie! Mary Anne will need to warm up after her swimming lesson . . . ;-)
("Warm up," did I say? With Brandon there, in those trunks?! YOW!! *sizzle*), - Wednesday, July 12, 2000 at 21:01:15 (PDT)

Of course only semi-precious; you wouldn't want to trust emeralds, rubies, pearls and sapphires in the hands of the kitchen serfs who do the washing up. They might scratch them or something. No fear that they'd steal them; they wouldn't dare.
Magda
- Wednesday, July 12, 2000 at 08:07:06 (PDT)

Magda---Only semi-precious?
Cindie
- Wednesday, July 12, 2000 at 06:01:58 (PDT)

Sorry, but George refuses to drink anything but the finest old cognac from royal estates in the middle of France; it must be served in a golden goblet with semi-precious stones inlaid around the rim. Joya is more flexible about the contents but she has found it beneficial to insist on sharing George's cup since it keeps him at her side and out of trouble.
Magda
- Tuesday, July 11, 2000 at 17:13:56 (PDT)

Almost forgot, here are two thermoses (silver of course) one with coffee and the other with hot chocolate in case anyone needs to warm up after a closer encounter with the pool than intended.
Cindie <cynthiagreen@ameritech.net>
What was that purple streak that just went by?, - Tuesday, July 11, 2000 at 12:35:25 (PDT)

Since I've enjoyed your collective works so much I wanted to return the favor. I've been baking and dipping....Here is a chocolate torte with hazlenut filling and dark chocolate frosting and garnished with chocolate shavings, a german chocolate cake and a very large tray which contains almost anything you could imagine dipped in chocolate: strawberries, pineapple, pretzles, peanuts, cashews, potato chips, popcorn, cherries, and various other sundry items. I've also made up some baskets with chilled champagne and a few dessert wines. I'll just set it over here at this table near the bar. Dig in!
Cindie <cynthiagreen@ameritech.net>
dodging the puddles and pirates, - Tuesday, July 11, 2000 at 10:02:02 (PDT)

Corrections made.
Partying all night long?
D.o.C.

Calling D.o.C, if you please...*embarrassed grin* I don't know what I did to make half of my post bold and the other half not...

And another goof-up~ "But does she think she has the tables turned? Ah, not for long..." needs to be in italics. Thanks! :)
Neva~ Am I going dotty? Maybe it's the late night hours...;-)
- Tuesday, July 11, 2000 at 01:53:09 (PDT)

The party continues...

Neva's sides hurt, she is laughing so hard at the antics around her. Given a chance to calm down, though, she watches Sandy's and Alexander's fierce tug-of-war, which has ensued as a result of the towel-snapping. As they pull on their respective ends of the towel, they draw dangerously near to the edge of the pool. For a split second, the fight is in Sandy's favor, and she gives a squeal of delight as Alexander's eyes widen in surprise. He temporarily slackens his strength but not his grip on the towel, giving Sandy little chance to catch him off-guard.

She's a fighter, this one, Alexander thinks to himself. But does she really think that she has the tables turned? Ah, not for long...

With an impish grin and hazel eyes dancing with mischief, he turns on Sandy, who has managed to pull away from him all but an inch or three of the towel, and gives a hearty tug, nearly catching her off-balance.

"Eeeeeeeeeek! No FAIR!" she shrieks, trying desperately to regain lost ground.

"Ah, but who says that life is always fair?" Alexander murmurs softly, giving his opponent a sweet smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sandy sees Neva at the other end picking up a bucket. Surely there can't be a single balloon left! Maybe a Jello cube or two at most... Then, she has to supress an enormous grin as Neva fishes out a choice purple water balloon and catches her eye.

Sandy looks Alexander squarely in the eye and smiles back just as sweetly. "Yes, indeed..." she murmurs back, just as Neva takes aim at him and tosses the balloon...

Neva~ Bombs away! ;-)
Did someone say chocolate?? Bring it on! :), - Tuesday, July 11, 2000 at 01:42:28 (PDT)

Well, Fausta...that's better than what I thought at first~ "There ARE no coincidences in this Latin..." Never saw JK before, and what I thought sho' nuff didn't make sense...;-)
Neva
I am so snowed under at work right now..., - Monday, July 10, 2000 at 21:04:49 (PDT)

Neva and Sandy stood up as Valmont approached them, smiling predatorily at the two recent 'newbies' to the set. Neva gulped nervously. "Any tips?" she whispered from the side of her mouth.

Alexander caught up to Sandy easily and flicked the towel back but just before it hit the mark, Sandy turned around and grabbed the towel. A furious tug-of-war ensued right at the edge of the pool...

Sandy ~ okay, I've stepped away from the double espresso -only use it emergencies anyways ;-)
Heck no, this party isn't over! The (chocolate) cake hasn't even been served yet...., - Monday, July 10, 2000 at 19:54:08 (PDT)

Now a fellow 'manista tells me it sounds like "there are no coincidences in this lab"!
Fausta
still sounds like "life" to me . . . but pronounced like "laugh", - Monday, July 10, 2000 at 16:07:52 (PDT)

Right. It is from JK, and it is indeed, "life." The accent may not exactly be New Orleans, but it is certainly Southern.
Suzanne
Way Down South..., - Monday, July 10, 2000 at 12:48:45 (PDT)

I think it is 'life,' given the way the Southern accent sounds...(took me multiple listenings for that one!)
Neva
but who says it isn't all good? ;-), - Monday, July 10, 2000 at 08:23:28 (PDT)

Fausta--I think it is from JK, but is it "land" or "life"?

MA
Don't care what the critics say--it's better than most attempts at a Southern accent! ;-), - Monday, July 10, 2000 at 07:32:12 (PDT)

Mary Anne's war cry draws the attention of everyone around the pool, and it is no time at all before the ladies catch the spirit of battle from her. Thus, a poolside visitor might see such entertaining spectacles as these:

Therese, having spent most of the evening fleeing from the wrath of Dev on account of one transgression or another, now turns the tables and pounds after the Irish Demon, madly waving one of the long poles used for retrieving objects fallen into the pool, spinning it about as if it were a quarterstaff or a javelin--though it is hard for her to maintain the spins, since Dev's expression of feigned panic (not to mention the fact that Tory insists on joining the chase) cracks her up completely.

Sandy, not to be outdone, sneaks up on Alexander and flicks a towel at him, catching him a good snap right in the seat of his trunks. With a startled "Ooof!" Alexander whirls, studying his attacker with narrowed eyes for a long moment until Sandy begins to think, Ooops. Guess I overestimated his sense of humour . . . But then, with a devilish chuckle, Alexander arms himself by snatching up another dampened towel, which he twists into a lethal-looking rope--and Sandy flees, hearing the wet slap of pursuing footsteps.

As for Ed and Claudia, the combat is hand to hand . . . though it might not be a good idea to examine too closely what they are doing with their hands.

Mister I, meanwhile, has made quite the comical episode of his duel with Mary Anne, trying repeatedly to rise from his knees, but allowing Mary Anne to force him back over and over again with her swashbuckling flourishes of the letter opener, until she manages to knock the brush from his hand. Then, getting an arm wrapped around his neck, she holds her paper knife close to his throat (though far enough away to appease any safety concerns of The Director) and roars out in her best King Hal imitation: "Will--you--YIELD--!!"

"I no longer am defensible," concedes Mister I, making a melodramatic production of it indeed, with his knuckles-to-forehead pose. "Woe is me, I am taken by the Mistress of the Aurientine, the Terror of the Poolside, the Blue-Eyed Death! Can no one save me?"

Mary Anne attempts to reply, but cannot for several minutes, giggling far more hysterically than she had as the victim of Mister I's Terrible Tootsie Torture--and it is no help at all that, every time she tries to speak, a wink from Mister I or a chuckle from one of her compatriots sets her off again.

Finally, she manages to draw breath. "Hear him, buccaneers all!" she proclaims. "Will no man among you speak for him?"

"I shall," assents a low and gentle voice--as Brandon comes forward, smiling, and disarms Mary Anne, drawing her to him. "Have you forgotten, my dearest? I never had a chance to claim my Spot . . ."

MA
Party's not over yet!! 8-), - Monday, July 10, 2000 at 07:28:39 (PDT)

Oooh! Nice new sound file! From Judas Kiss?
Fausta <emma-mail@mailexcite.com>
"there ARE no coincidences in this land", - Monday, July 10, 2000 at 07:22:00 (PDT)

Mister I is doing a masterful job of keeping Mary Anne off-balance . . . quite literally, since she is standing on just one foot.

And figuratively, as well. Mister I is thoroughly enjoying the joke and has no desire to distress Mary Anne; even if he did, the looming presence of Brandon on one side of her and The Director on the other would prove an effective deterrent. However, it would spoil the fun, the whole mood of the situation, if the "captive" felt herself completely safe-and therefore . . .

Therefore, her tormentor varies his caresses, so that she does not know what to expect from one moment to the next. The spectators around them are not to know that her giggles are due as much to Mister I’s expressions-by turns exaggeratedly sinister or blissful, so that she cannot help laughing out loud at his facial distortions-as they are to his teasing of her extremely sensitive feet as he affects to search out the best location for his Black Spot. He has no compunction, however, about tormenting Mary Anne verbally, knowing that in that area she is well-equipped to defend herself.

"Did you know," he ruminates, punctuating his conversation with the occasional sliiiiide of a fingernail down her sole, or a merciless flick of the brush, "that scientists say they’ve now isolated the most ticklish spot on the human body? Somewhere on the right foot, I believe." A glance upward. "I’m sure I could find it if you’re curious." Helpfully.

"I’m not that curious," retorts Mary Anne. "Oooooo, not THERE!" A giggle as his finger tracks across a vulnerable crease beneath her big toe. For a wonder, he withdraws his finger, and Mary Anne stops biting her lip and releases a long breath. "You know, when The Director cast you as a torturer, he knew what he was doing!"

"Thank you." The Director, dryly.

Brandon leans closer to murmur in Mary Anne’s ear, "Are you sure you’re all right?"

Mary Anne nods. "I’m sure," she whispers back. She is not going to chicken out in front of everyone, especially knowing that she can bring matters to a halt, if need be. Besides-and this is the strange part, as she pauses to think about it-she trusts Mister I. They have a good working relationship and she is confident that he will not risk it for the sake of a joke. Now, if she can just hold out a little longer . . .

She becomes aware that he is speaking once again, grinning up at her. "Consider this a rehearsal for the next meeting of Mary Anne and The Interrogator. Do you know-" Wistfully, now. "-it’s been a while since we had a storyline together. Any ideas?"

Mary Anne smiles down at him sweetly. "Just remember," she croons, "what happened the last time we had a major storyline together." Honeyed venom. "Your character ended up strapped to a table, as I recall!"

Mary Anne’s attempt at a threat goes somewhat awry, however, as Mister I intones, "Ah, yes-those were the good old days!"

Sensing that the moment has come to end the proceedings, Mister I studies Mary Anne’s foot once again, throwing her into momentary agonies of suspense when it seems as if he will inscribe his spot on the sole of her foot, which would be excruciating for her . . . but he chooses the instep, the top of her foot instead, chuckling wickedly when Mary Anne makes no attempt whatsoever to conceal her relief.

Her skin is so sensitive that the inscribing of the black spot, even on the top of her foot, causes her to bite her lip again and try hard to think of something else, but her attention is caught when Mister I, having filled in the charcoal circle, takes her foot once again in his long fingers-- Good heavens, my foot looks small when he holds it like that!--raises it gently to his lips, and kisses it, then ceremoniously restores her sandal and fastens the straps.

There is a long silence, before a collective sigh passes through the crowd, and several glazed looks begin to come back into focus.

Ed is the first to fully recover, murmuring, "Nice brushwork!" and then, with a teasing look at Mary Anne, he adds: "Say, why don’t we just leave her here for right now-you can come back and do the other foot, later. Like giving a master class!"

Mary Anne glowers at Ed, and as some of the other men chime in with their appreciation of this suggestion, she stands up a bit taller.

"I’m always more than happy to share my technique," puts in a remarkably straight-faced Mister I, who has not yet risen from his place at Mary Anne’s feet.

"Ah, sirs," murmurs Mary Anne, "is there none other grace with you?"

Hans might recognize the line, if he were there. As it is, only Brandon has an inkling of what is about to happen, and steps away slightly to have a clear and enjoyable view.

"Then keep yourselves," concludes Mary Anne.

RRRIIIIIIIIIP!

One arm now freed from the paper chains, Mary Anne slides her hand into the pocket of her wrap and withdraws Renie’s gift of the miniature Aurientine, with which she dramatically cuts away her remaining fetters before turning on the astounded (and still kneeling) Mister I with a bone-chilling screech. "HAVE AT YOU!"

Though taken aback, Mister I recovers himself within seconds and, appreciating the possibilities of the situation, makes a show of parrying Mary Anne’s letter-opener assault with the only weapon he has at hand-the charcoal-blackened brush . . .

MA--the line is from Sir Thomas Malory's Morte D'Arthur . . .
Lancelot says it just before he mops the floor with about a dozen knights!! ;-), - Friday, July 07, 2000 at 21:20:55 (PDT)

Claudia skids to a halt behind the boy. They don't even turn around. She drops a hand on each neck and pulls them - with no little effort - away from the opening. "Come on, now. You shouldn't bother people when they're - uh, being private. I know! Let's go have something to eat!" Her voice warbles up to a falsetto on the last sentence.

"You'd think she'd want to do it herself rather than let him do it." The taller boy shakes his head. "It always hurts when someone does it for me."

"Ow!" Claudia smacks her knee sharply against the edge of a small table. "When someone does what for you?"

Laughter trills from the tent behind them as the cover is pushed aside. Joya sits in on a stool, covered in multi-coloured towels from her ankles to her shoulders. Behind her, George sits on a proper chair, still in his damp clothing from earlier. In one hand is a woman's comb, and as Claudia watches in amazement he drags it through Joya's hair and carefully unsnarls it, strand by strand.

Sensing that he is being watched, George looks up and focuses a cold eye on Claudia. Then his gaze slides over to the boys, examining them with reptilian objectivity. Males and therefore potential rivals; in their present larval stage, however, they are no threat. He dismisses them from his mind and returns to his activity. Joya winks at Claudia and drops the flap back over the doorway, disappearing from view.

It just goes to show, Claudia thinks, you're never too old to see something new.

Magda
- Friday, July 07, 2000 at 16:49:48 (PDT)

Sorry I haven't posted lately...I've been having bouts of insomnia, which hasn't been helping me much...I'll try to post tonight. :)
Neva~ *ulp* The Vicomte?? Well, I'm ready...
I like cappucino myself..., - Friday, July 07, 2000 at 12:49:38 (PDT)

Footwork completed.
Do you like to dance?
D.o.C. (who prefers cappuccino)

Sandy--Anyone who tried that in real life would get a good swift kick! *BONK* But this is fiction, and so poor "Mary Anne" will just have to suffer a tiny bit. Trust Mister I to, um, keep her on her toes . . . ;-)

The squirming MA
Put away that double espresso, Sandy; you can always trust the D.o.C. for some fancy footwork! ;-D, - Friday, July 07, 2000 at 05:50:42 (PDT)

AAACCCKK!!! D.o.C.- could you change left foot to right foot please? I apparently was so distracted by Valmont coming our way that I did it again....sheesh....either that or it was Raz's singing ;-)
Sandy - I hope your feet aren't ticklish MA!
Forget the club soda & lime-I'm going straight for a double expresso!, - Thursday, July 06, 2000 at 16:35:58 (PDT)

Mary Anne's "predicament" continues:

Before Valmont arrived at their table, smiling widely, Claudia happened to turn her head in the direction of the cabanas. Her jaw dropped when she saw the twins gawking inside the same cabana where Joya and George were. Her blue eyes sparked like laser beams when she heard Luke whisper loudly. She shot to her feet with a muttered, "Excuse me!" and ran over to the cabanas as fast as she could....

Sandy - okay, getting ready for Valmont part deux. . .
I swear that those were coincidences, honest! Maybe I should sign myself as "Quickdraw Magraw" ;-), - Thursday, July 06, 2000 at 13:56:02 (PDT)

She will not have Claudia to protect her for very long, however.

Claudia watches the “torture” of Mary Anne, smiling indulgently at the antics of the party animals. The only sound that can be heard is laughter and giggles, the faint shuffling of crepe “chains” and the occasional sound of furniture scraping across the tiles. She looks over her shoulder to address a comment to one of her companions -

- and freezes in horror. Across the room, standing in front of the cabanas, are two boys staring in open-mouthed awe through an open tent flap.

The same tent that George carried Joya into some time ago.

Claudia reacts instantly, hurrying across the floor as fast as she can without drawing too much attention to her goal. Halfway there, one of the boys looks around and sees her. He whispers loudly across the diminishing distance. “I think that man is hurting the lady.”

Claudia forgets about discretion and breaks into a sprint.

Magda
- Thursday, July 06, 2000 at 11:08:00 (PDT)

Mary Anne's predicament:

Mister I studies his target.

"Oh, dear," he drawls. "Decisions, decisions . . ."

Mary Anne gives him a wide smile of relief and understanding, and there is a rustle of laughter among the other spectators at the parody of Valmont--who, fortunately for the amiable atmosphere of the party, has moved off in search of other prey and does not overhear the remark.

Mister I's gaze follows Valmont, who has spotted Neva and is moving in her direction with the slow stalk of a great cat on the prowl.

Mr. I frowns. "Do you think someone should warn the newcomer?"

Mary Anne chuckles. "It'll be all right, I think. She has Sandy and Claudia to protect her--and Lis is probably around somewhere, too; she usually finds a way to keep Valmont from going too far."

"Ah, well, back to more pleasant business . . ."

Mary Anne is a bit more relaxed now, and grins at Mister I with genuine affection. However frightening HE may be when in character as The Interrogator, the actor is a well-liked presence on the set. But he does have a mischievous streak, and it seems to Mary Anne that he is about half in character at the moment, moving effortlessly back and forth between actor and Interrogator like a dimly-glimpsed figure moving from one shadow to another . . .

Much to Mary Anne's surprise, Mister I abruptly makes his decision and sinks to his knees at her feet, reaching out to gently unfasten her right sandal. He takes his time about it, slooooowly unbuckling the straps and unclasping the delicate silver chains.

A raised eyebrow from Mary Anne. "I might have known you'd be the one with the foot fetish."

A glittering smile as he turns his face up to hers and brushes his hand against the decorative chains, which click softly as he draws a fingernail across them. "I approve. Where did you get these--the corner hardware store?"

"Why, no," ripostes Mary Anne. "That's where I buy my lingerie!"

"How very interesting. Let me know when you make your next shopping trip; I'd love to accompany you. I have a few suggestions."

"Yes, well, I always knew you were a suggestive man," quips Mary Anne with a lightness she is far from feeling as Mister I, still kneeling at her feet, holds up one hand to Ed. "Saucer, please."

Without a word, Ed hands over the saucer.

"Brush."

Exaggerating the gesture as if he were a surgical nurse, Ed plants the basting brush in Mister I's upturned palm and Mary Anne braces herself as her would-be tormentor takes her right foot in his hand and sets about his work . . .

MA--what can I say, Neva? You just have your own style! 8-)
Mister I is okay, but watch out when he, um, "goes Interrogator"!! =8-O, - Thursday, July 06, 2000 at 06:02:17 (PDT)

Yes, "??" was me (btw, MA~ what made you think that it was me? *grin*). Thanks for the welcome, Mary Anne, Sandy, and Suzanne! :)
Neva
Enjoying being here...:), - Wednesday, July 05, 2000 at 22:22:41 (PDT)

Neva!! *enormous smile* I had thought ?? might be you, but I didn't dare hope. Great! Always glad to see another "Pemberley Pal" here on the FOF set. Hope you'll enjoy yourself here among the Rickmaniacs. So, you're glad you're not "Mary Anne," hmmmmm? We shall see . . . ;-)

MA
Yes, my birthday was the 21st--but in FOF time, it's still the 18th! Unless it's already after midnight at this party . . ., - Wednesday, July 05, 2000 at 20:35:53 (PDT)

Whoa, Sandy! Claire's right, you are quick (must be the switch to non-alcohol). I just got the D.o.C. .WAV links working a little while ago.
And I'm glad you're enjoying the new sound file! So... is David hiding at the party somewhere?
Your friendly (most of the time 8-} ) D.o.C.
You're 'scused. :-)
And, way to go, Neva!!!, - Wednesday, July 05, 2000 at 18:12:39 (PDT)

And I notice our friendly D.o.C. has been making corrections (with the appropriate WAV files) and archiving, too. LUUUVVVV the new sound clip :-)
Sandy
Yup, why do you think I switched to something non-alcoholic? *HICCUP* - 'scuse me, - Wednesday, July 05, 2000 at 13:10:27 (PDT)

Yay Neva, so you are "??" !! Welcome :-)
Sandy - this is great!
- Wednesday, July 05, 2000 at 12:55:49 (PDT)

Poolside, slight flashback

The young woman comes in, her figure casting a shadow in the dim light of the pool set. She laughs softly at the amusing spectacle before her-- Mary Anne, "tied up," so to speak, her face besmirched with ashes, the comic assemblage of pirates in their makeshift costumes, not to mention the group of ladies gathered around, waiting expectantly for the next move.

She makes her way toward the group, feet pattering softly. This has been some party so far, she thinks to herself, noting that there was hardly a dry spot on the ground and eyeing the pieces of tattered rubber and smashed Jello. Searching for a familiar face, she finally sees Sandy, sitting next to Claudia at a table. Sandy feels that there is someone beside her and looks up. It's the new girl.

"Hi!" Sandy whispers and flashes a smile in recognition. She pats the empty plastic pool chair beside her. "You're the one who found Mary Anne's wallet, aren't you?" She nods and smiles back, losing her momentary shyness.

At this, Claudia looks up also and grins. "Hey, you didn't break the rules," glancing at the girl's bright blue tankini and matching pareo wrap. "I'm Claudia, this is Sandy, and you are...?"

"Neva. It's nice to meet y'all! I'm not too late, am I?" She takes a seat beside Sandy.

"No, not at all," Sandy whispers. "Actually, you're right in time for the--" she pauses suddenly, caught by a sudden movement in the scene before them.

And the three women watch with intense interest as Mr. I slowly advances toward Mary Anne...
Neva~ finally making myself known!
Sorry I'm sooo late! MA~ I'm glad I'm not in your place right now!, - Wednesday, July 05, 2000 at 10:20:52 (PDT)

Thanks, Mary Anne. But, alas! I have no fainting couch...maybe a makeshift one will have to do...:) But the party seems too interesting; it would be a pity for me to go *THUD* on the floor and have to miss something...:)
Neva~ making myself comfortable...
MA~ you're b-day was on the 21st, wasn't it?! Happy very late birthday! :), - Tuesday, July 04, 2000 at 22:24:30 (PDT)

At the pool:

The ritual of the Black Spot is carried out with due ceremony as the members of the pirate band queue up for their opportunity to steal a kiss from the captive Mary Anne--who, needless to say, is enjoying herself thoroughly. Very imaginative, Ed. Indeed, if she were to show her enjoyment any more clearly, her reputation would be as blackened as her face, which soon boasts a number of sooty spots.

She does, however, feel a trace of uneasiness despite the protective presence of Brandon--not to mention that of The Director who, much to her surprise, leads the line and chooses his "site" on her forehead, placing there a brief and gentlemanly kiss as if to set an example for those who follow.

The majority of them take the hint--not that Mary Anne was terribly worried about most of them, in any case. Raz, for instance, can be heard all the way across the set, booming away in Russian, and she is most relieved that he has not joined the line. Nor has George, who is doubtless still occupied with Joya.

Ah, yes . . . the line. Dev and Alexander, choosing to kiss her fingertips--which, despite the crepe paper bindings, are still quite accessible. P.L. and Sinclair--a kiss on the cheek from each. What could be more innocent?

She does have a wicked moment as she thinks of Hans, who is also absent from the proceedings. I wonder what "spot" he would have chosen? Hmmmm--if he caught Renie, that's it, then; they're probably off on some deserted island for two, having their own private luau. A tiny smile. Just like Renie--she has more ways of slipping out without saying goodbye!

And then . . . Valmont. Mary Anne swallows and Brandon slides closer, a movement so subtle as to be almost unnoticeable.

"Hmmmmmm," ruminates Valmont, drawing out the moment and allowing his gaze to linger on Mary Anne, who stares proudly back, refusing to be intimidated. "Decisions, decisions . . ."

Inquisitive lift of Brandon's eyebrow. Catching the look, Mary Anne shakes her head.

"Here." Valmont's silken voice, and a languid gesture of a long, elegant finger.

Ed hesitates for a moment and then, as Mary Anne makes no objection, he places the black mark on her throat, just above her right collarbone--a spot of tingling sensitivity for Mary Anne, and she cannot restrain a shiver as Valmont leans in . . .

Her eyes do not close. Her fingers do not clench. With conscious effort she restrains all signs of response--all signs, that is, except the prickling skin on her arms; she has no control over that.

And then Valmont, flashing a triumphant smile, has withdrawn.

Mary Anne draws a long breath. Wheeewwwww. Good thing they aren't ALL like that . . .

And then the breath locks in her throat. Did she think her troubles were over?

The next claimant is . . . Mister I.

MA--thank you, Cindie. Everyone have a safe and fun Fourth! 8-)
R, dearest, you KNOW it's true . . . *wink*, - Tuesday, July 04, 2000 at 14:40:49 (PDT)

Dear Mrs. Brandon, yes thank you, I'd love another mai-tai. As for the swordfish......I'll pass, Mr. I seems to be studying his barbecue tine rather intently. Surely that's not a smile, no I thought not. And yet....
Cindie <cynthiagreen@ameritech.net>
A toast to your happiest of birthdays and the ties that bind., - Monday, July 03, 2000 at 20:28:59 (PDT)

Hi, Cindie--always glad to see a lurker unmask. Would you like another mai-tai? A slice of swordfish, perhaps? Mister I is an expert hand at the grill . . . ;-)

Welcome back, Neva. Pull up the nearest fainting couch and get caught up on your reading.

MA
You'll excuse me, I'm sure; I'm a bit, er, tied up at the moment . . . , - Monday, July 03, 2000 at 06:46:00 (PDT)

Well, it *was* the Colonel. I just changed it to David. :-)
Sound Department

Mmmm...Col. Brandon sound clip...I've been away for so long, I've been so busy...but now I have a nice long stack of entries to read (makes me a vewwy vewwy happy person...)
Neva
- Sunday, July 02, 2000 at 22:16:13 (PDT)

Hi guys, I've been "lurking" for awhile following the stories. I'm going back through the archives, stealing time from work and computer time from my husband and my 8 year old at home, catching up on the history of MA, Renie and company. The George storlyline is captivating. Magda, if you do start charging admission let me know. I'll pay. A devoted reader.
Cindie <cynthiagreen@ameritech.net>
sipping a mai-tai and enjoying the party, - Sunday, July 02, 2000 at 19:34:52 (PDT)

Ed, meanwhile, is back on his feet and has gathered up his . . . implements.

"Now . . ." With the fierce glower that best becomes a pirate, even a Pirate of Luuuuuvvvv. "If there are no further interruptions, I will demonstrate the Black Spot."

Stepping up to Mary Anne, Ed dips the thin wooden skewer in the dish of ashes and sketches a small black spot on the tip of Mary Anne's nose, which wrinkles slightly at the itchy feel of Ed's "artwork," but she manages to keep still. Then, with a mischievous smile, Ed steps forward and kisses Mary Anne's nose, eradicating the charcoal tattoo. Well, most of it.

"You see?" beams Ed. "Now, gentlemen, whoever wishes to take advantage--"

"Don't anyone get too literal-minded!" warns Mary Anne . . . but sweetly. Ever so sweetly.

"--of this limited-time offer, please form a line here on the right."

There is certainly no lack of takers--so to speak--though quite a few of the gentlemen present sneak peeks at their significant others. But the generous women of FOF know how to go along with a gag, and there is hardly a glower among them.

For the moment.

A voice . . . Valmont. "Can we select . . . any spot?"

Ed sees Mary Anne's barely-controlled shiver from the corner of his eye. "With Brandon's consent."

"And Mary Anne's," repeats Brandon, accumulating about a thousand more points to his credit with that lady.

"You do realize," puts in the Red-Handed, "that Brandon shall most likely claim for himself . . ." Using the tiny skewer like a classroom pointer, he indicates Mary Anne's lips. "So, the rest of us must be content, though we eat out our hearts with longing . . ."

An exaggerated siiiigh from Ed, punctuated by an "Oh, puh-leeeeeze" from Therese, and a call from Claudia: "Don't let it go to your head, Mary Anne!"

"Looks like it already has," shrugs the damsel in distress, cracking up the spectators by crossing her eyes in an attempt to squint down at the black smudge on her nose.

"Let's get on with it, then." Ed takes up his stance with dish, skewer, and brush. "Who's first?"

MA--HOORAY, Therese! You sat long enough to post!! 8-D
Good dog, Tory. Thanks for trying! (Yeah, this is absolute torture, isn't it?), - Sunday, July 02, 2000 at 14:49:29 (PDT)

Poolside

Ed advanced upon the 'trembling' Mary Anne, his steps slow, deliberate, and oh, so sinister. He was mere inches from her person when an explosive, baying howl rent the air. Ed leapt backwards, his hand clasped to his chest. "What in the bloody--!?" he gasped, eyes wide.

Tory, all eighty eight and one half pounds of German Shepherd Dog, protective instincts ablaze, leapt over two lawn chairs and a very startled waiter, to stand in front of the 'helpless' Mary Anne, her hackles raised and teeth gleaming whitely. Her low bass growl filled the stunned silence.

"Ohmigosh! Puppers, NO!" Therese's anxious voice was the next audible sound as the small blonde woman pushed her way through the crowd and towards her dog.

"'Puppers?'" Brandon inquired mildly of Sinclair.

The other man grinned and shook his head. "Rather like calling Attila the Hun 'Juniour,' don't you think?" Therese finally managed to get to her pet's side, and placing both hands firmly on the dog's collar, she pulled the animal backwards several paces.

"All that spoiling finally paid off!" Mary Anne looked down at the dog and her owner with a smile. "Saved!"

Therese considered her friend and collegue with an impish smile. "Not so fast, birthday girl. . ." Extending her left hand, Therese pointed toward the men in front of her. "Tory, FRIENDS," she commanded. "It's okay, Tory, PLAY."

With a relieved look on her expressive face, the large dog sheathed her fangs, her tail beginning to wag as she gave every indication of issuing the crowd the canine version of a wide smile. Stretching forward, her doggy bottom straight in the air, and tail waving wildly, she leapt forward, Therese's warning of Look out, Ed! coming several seconds too late.

The dog hit poor Ed in the midsection, his breath exiting with an audible "oof!" whilst at the same time he had the misfortune of stepping backwards into one of the many puddles that the antics of the party-goers had left poolside. Sliding backwards, arms windmilling, he hit the ground with a muffled thud, Tory's front paws standing solidly on his chest as she lapped at his face with her washcloth sized tongue. "Couldn't you have just told her we were aquaintences!?" Ed groused, shoving at the dog's hairy chest. "Get her off of me, you!"

"Gee, Ed, I'd love to," Therese chuckled, knowing she could easily call the dog to her at any time, "but you see, I only outweigh her by about thirty pounds. . ."

A deep voice intoned, "Allow me," above Therese's right ear, and spinning around, she saw Mr. I standing immediately beside her.

How does HE DO that?? she wondered, not for the first time, and then gulped as she saw that HE held HIS grilling fork aloft in one hand, the sharp tines blackened by HIS work. "W-wha--b-but you c-can't. . ." Therese fell silent at the extremely brief half smile and the mereset of winks that Mr. I sent her.

"Tory, come." Mr. I spoke softly, HIS tones did not ring out with the command as Therese's had when she spoke to her dog, but the reaction of the animal was instantaneous. There were a few muffled groans as Tory took the shortest route toward Mr. I--right across Ed's stomach, before she trotted over to sit obediently before HIM. A nugget of grilled swordfish was quickly produced from the pocket of HIS apron, and was even more quickly swallowed by the hungry dog, who sniffed eagerly for more. "Of course, my pet, there's plenty more for you where that came from," Mr. I spoke to the animal softly, HIS fingers caressing her head and ears. "Heel," HE intoned, and the dog snaked around HIS right side and came to sit at HIS left leg while gazing up at the man with undisguised adoration.

Therese shook her head.

Mary Anne sighed.

Mr. I laughed. "You're not the only one who can spoil a dog, Mary Anne."

Therese
Seven days till I leave for the UK!!!!, - Sunday, July 02, 2000 at 12:02:56 (PDT)

The party--and Mary Anne's predicament:

Mary Anne has been secured to one of the potted palms--"secured," that is, with paper chains from the strings of festive lanterns hanging about the set. True to the spirit of the occasion, however, she struggles valiantly as the crepe streamers are wound about her, and as the spectators respond with laughter and shouts to encourage her captors, she leans over quickly and whispers to Brandon, "My pocket--you know what to do if . . ."

Brandon glances down at the pocket of her wrap, not quite certain what she intends to convey, but wishing to reassure her. "Don't worry," he whispers back. Then he steps away a little, as Ed holds up a hand for silence--and in that silence, we briefly hears Dev's irate tones: "If you start that business again about how she 'ees seestair from Russia!' than I am personally going to feed you to a Siberian tiger, Grigori. Now settle down, enjoy the party, and stop gulping those mai-tais--you're going to swallow a paper umbrella if you're not careful . . ."

There is a ripple of laughter, and then the set stills once again.

"As you know," pontificates Ed, "in addition to the Flights of Fancy anniversary, we generally observe Mary Anne's birthday at this time as well, since they're so close together." Ed cuts his eyes slyly at Mary Anne. "Of course, there is one generally accepted birthday custom that we considered . . ."

More than just a ripple of laughter, this time. A wolf whistle or two.

"However," continues Ed, "I thought that perhaps we should change the custom slightly--to give us all a better chance of . . .survival."

"Too right!" snarls Mary Anne, with mock ferocity.

"Too right, indeed. So, in the true piratical tradition, I favour--" Ed's voice drops eerily. "--slipping her the Black Spot."

A wave of applause and cries of approval . . . which, after a moment, are mingled with exclamations of, "Wait a minute--" And "What's the Black Spot?"

Mary Anne reacts in a parody of alarm, rolling her eyes back and sagging against the potted palm.

"I see at least one person here has read Treasure Island. Well, since you ask," explains Ed, "it was originally a death threat, but that's much too violent for us. For we--" Ed the Red-Handed strikes a pose with his head thrown back. "--are the Pirates of Luuuuuvvvvvv--"

Mary Anne's eye-roll this time has nothing to do with swooning, and Ed waits for the hysterics to die down before completing his heartfelt declaration. "Especially me, you understand. I'm the artist--"

Gleefully, the spectators finish the line for him.

"All right, you caught me on that one. But for your delectation, ladies and gentlemen--especially the gentlemen--here is our version of the Black Spot."

Even Brandon is grinning as Ed steps over to one of the grills and selects his . . . instruments: a small dish of charcoal ashes, one of the short wooden skewers (shrimp removed), and a clean basting brush.

And as Ed advances on her with a wicked smile, Mary Anne swallows hard and thinks: Lucky it's Ed and not Mister I . . .

MA
Let's hope Blind Pew and Long John Silver are NOT among the company tonight . . ., - Saturday, July 01, 2000 at 19:31:01 (PDT)

We gotta start charging admission.
Magda
- Saturday, July 01, 2000 at 18:34:43 (PDT)

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