September 1st - September 15th, 2000
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The Stables, Delaford
"Talk to me, Therese, what is it?" Brandon closed the door to the tack room, and stood leaning against the frame. Therese jumped to her feet, eyes still upon him warily, took several paces toward him, turned abruptly, retreated a like number of steps and stood, shifiting her weight uneasily from one foot to another.
Brandon considered his position; from where he stood he effectively blocked the only avenue of escape, and very purposefully moved himself to the far side of the doorway. Pulling a blanket box from under the back row of saddles, he lowered himself onto it, his long, booted legs crossed in front of him. "You'll feel better," he told her, his voice quiet.
Therese whirled around to face him. "I won't!" she cried, her face flushed from her outburst, she fell back to her seat upon the tack trunk. "I can't," she added, bringing her voice back under control with obvious effort. She brought her knees up to her chest, and hugging them to her body looked over to Brandon. "I mean no offense," she added, finally bringing herself to meet his gaze, "you have been far more kind than I could even begin to deserve, and I've brought nothing but strife and discord to these first few days of your marriage. I can only tell you how much I regret--"
"That is outside of enough," Brandon interrupted Therese, his voice soft but firm. Rising slowly, he crossed over to where Therese sat, and gently lowered himself until he perched next to her on the very edge of the trunk. Folding his arms across his chest he leaned back slightly, crossing his legs at the ankles. "If you won't talk to me, then perhaps you could bear with some insights from an old man?"
Therese managed a brief half grin at his self-description, and nodded her head slightly, indicating that he should continue.
"I'm a soldier, Therese--it has been several years since I've been on the battlefield, but there are aspects of my life which have been shaped and formed by my years of service. Certain habits have become routine, and some of the ways I act and respond have evolved from the patterns and repetitiveness of that timespan. I witnessed untold horrors during those years, suffering that made me question my faith, my king, and my fellow man, and one of the most important concepts I learned was that alone, I was lost. There were times when my men and I were confident we would not last the night, and the companionship and fellowship we shared, regardless whether the threat was that of the enemy or the constant illnesses that claimed as many if not more lives as did the ammunition of the enemy. . .well it was that sense of fellowship that allowed us to survive. Physically we might have made it, some of us, but emotionally we would have been paralyzed without each other's support. Therese, we've not known one another long, you and I, yet already it seems as if we have weathered our share of battles. Are you going to give up on me now? Do you truly think, as one soldier to another, that I'll allow you to give up?"
Therese turned away from him slightly, her head sinking into her hands for support. The warm, solid presence of Brandon was reassuring, yet she trembled with frustration at her situation and her inability to accept his comfort.
Seeing her reaction, Brandon shrugged out of his greatcoat, and draped it around her shoulders wordlessly, the large folds of material practically enveloping her slight form. Long moments passed as they sat there in silence, Therese staring down at the floor through her parted fingers, Brandon allowing her her silence. Therese was mortified when she found herself succumbing to tears yet again, in her mind the hot, salty drops proclaiming her weakness.
Therese
doggone it MA--sorry, but I need to keep Brandon for another post yet--I know I promised you could have him back after this one. , - Friday, September 15, 2000 at 22:18:00 (PDT)
“But seriously,” he said, setting down his briefcase and resting his arm on top of the nearest cubicle, “I hope you’re not afraid of me. Why don’t you let me buy you that cup of coffee? I promise I won’t bite.”
That’s a loaded statement coming from him, she thought to herself. You’re not being fair. It’s a role, not a lifestyle and you know you find him attractive, why not have a cup of coffee with the man? The wrestling match taking place in her head was apparent on her face. Finally, a compromise won out. “Look, I was just headed home,” she replied. “Tomorrow morning would be better. I’ll meet you in the lunchroom.”
“Fair enough” he replied. “What kind of coffee do you like? I’ll bring some in.”
“Actually, I prefer tea, earl grey, hot.”
“Tea it is then. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He held the door open for her as they left the FOF building. He could not suppress his smile, tea it is then.
He started his car. He watched to make sure she made it safely to her car, made sure it started up with no trouble and followed the tail lights with his eyes as they receded from view.
Whew, I guess I’ve done it now, she thought to herself. I suppose it all comes from staring at him after that first scene was shot. I couldn’t help it though. It was mesmerizing, watching him play a character within a character like that. No wonder Claudia’s character is drawn to the Mr. I persona. I will be glad to talk to him in the morning before he puts his Interrogator Face on.
HE, I mean….He pulled out of the parking lot feeling a twinge of anticipation. It’s just a cup of tea, don’t go getting your hopes up. She smells so good though. He shook his head as if to clear the scent from his mind. The grey suit I think. Oh rats, I did forget that dry cleaning!
she who tests the waters
Wading in deeper., - Friday, September 15, 2000 at 17:55:22 (PDT)
Chris laughed as the three of them sat down. "Don't tell me you've been teasing him too Sandy, when will you ever learn?"
"Well, I've got to keep in practice you know Chris" Sandy answered, giggling. "So when did you get here? What are you working on? Where are you staying? And what HAVE you done to your hair?" Sandy stopped for a breath. Alexander laughed and asked "Do you think you'd like to let her answer one of those, or are they all rhetorical?"
"Oh, I'm used to Sandy, don't worry Alexander. I just wait till she runs out of breath, and then it's my turn!" Chris turned back to Sandy and started "Ok, I arrived last night, I'm working on an interesting sort of Fantasy/Sci-Fi thingy, I'm staying in some apartment block not far from here, rather like the one I had when I was working on THAT project, and I cut it, or rather, I had it cut! As for you, what have you done to yours?" Chris remembered Sandy as having a sort of shortish bob-type thing, very curly (she never was good at what those different hairstyles were called). It had suited her, but this was nice, almost a mirror of her own, but blunter. She smiled and stuck her tongue out at Sandy to take the sting out of the comment.
Sandy laughed "I had that coming, didn't I?" She looked up at Alexander, pleading "Help, save me from this mad Brit!" Alexander looked at her in disbelief. "Oh no, I think it's the rest of us who need saving from the two of you! Two blonde bombshells, of the exploding variety!"
The three of them exploded into a fit of giggles.
Chris subsided first and turned back to Sandy. "Did you actually ever tell him about my recipe for the Sandy Alexander?"
Sandy blushed furiously and mumbled something.
Alexander looked at her, his interest piqued.
Sandy whispered something in his ear.
Alexander stared at them both, a combination of horror, fascination and a serious fit of the giggles washing over his face in turn.
"This place is never going to recover from having the two of you here! One was bad enough!" he groaned.
Chris <why1040@aol.com>
Getting the hang of this, I think. And yes, it's all Sandy's fault I'm here, so mob her if I'm terrible! :o), - Friday, September 15, 2000 at 01:26:54 (PDT)
Correction made.
Throwing a life line (or perhaps a rubber ducky would suffice in knee deep water).
D.o.C.
Suzanne, help! Could you make that last word "responded"? I'm not sure what responed is.
she who tests the waters
sinking or swimming?, - Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 17:15:53 (PDT)
At least I've got paragraphs now. I'll skip the equals sign next time. Life in H--L is a little tricky. At least I'm not up to my neck in an urn.
she who tests the waters
a little ahead of the time stream too., - Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 17:12:37 (PDT)
“Damn”, he said aloud. Then looking around said to himself, “ I suppose she is afraid of me.” He gathered up his pages for tomorrow’s shoot and put them in his briefcase. Then he grabbed his silver thermos which he was in the habit of carrying in so that he could have hot tea on demand. He paused to look at it before adding that to his case. “Well,” he thought to himself “who can blame her.” He recalled the day he had first brought the thermos in. Recalled how he deliberately pulled it out of his case in the presence of Mary Anne and Renie. Laughed as he watched them go pale at the sight of it and watching them blanche even more when he offered them a cup of tea out of it. They laughed with him too of course but he knew that the laugh was tinged with a bit of nervousness. He had a good relationship with most of the people on the set but his sense of humor could rattle the uninitiated.=
He finished putting his thermos in the briefcase, grabbed his car keys and thought of going after her. “Except” he muttered, “I’ve been dallying away and I don’t know where she sits.” He headed for the door resolved to find her tomorrow and apologize for his comment. As he was walking by a row of cubicles he paused, tilted his head slightly to the right and he inhaled deeply. Recognizing the scent of her perfume he detoured down the aisle. There she was. Her back was to him. She was just getting up from her desk, grabbing her shoulder bag and briefcase from the chair next to her. She turned around and started at the sight of him.=
“Are you determined to terrify me?” she demanded. =
“Quite the contrary, I assure you” he replied. “In fact, I had just resolved that when I saw you next I would apologize for my uncalled for comment. Please accept my most sincere and abject apologies.” He bowed slightly from the waist. He did a pretty good of job of looking sincere and abject.=
She looked him up and down. “Well, alright then. I know I might have over reacted just a bit. But you are a very good actor you know.”=
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”=
“You’re on probation.”=
He smiled. This time both sides of his lips responded.
she who tests the waters
up to my knees now, - Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 17:08:11 (PDT)
Oh, just to clear things up from my previous post on Monday - Chris DID see me, just from behind though.
Sandy
Whoops - continuity strikes its' ugly little head again...sheesh. , - Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 16:32:39 (PDT)
Sandy looked up from her script revisions and happened to see a tall blonde woman walk by the cubicles heading for the cafeteria. She frowned, thinking to herself I swear that I know who that is, but I'm not sure because I didn't see her face. Alexander interrupted her train of thought with a soft, "What's the matter, Sandy?"
"I could have sworn that I knew that woman that just walked by here," Sandy replied hesitantly, her face burning with intense curiosity. She rose to her feet, Alexander also rising and placing the script on her desk. "Where are you going?" he asked. "To see if I'm right. Want to come?" she answered over her shoulder, starting to walk quickly in the direction of the cafeteria.
Alexander, curious now, caught up with her easily and they entered the cafeteria just in time to see the end result of Dev and Hugh's reunion. "Glad that wasn't a fight for real," Alexander breathed in relief. "I totally agree," Sandy murmured, scanning the dining hall for the person in question. She saw who she was looking for sitting at a table by herself in the corner, her back facing them, obviously deep in thought by the way she was seated.
"C'mon, let's go introduce ourselves," Sandy said eagerly, walking forward. Alexander placed his hand on her right shoulder gently to stop her. "What if she's not who you think she is?" Sandy shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "Well, we just introduce ourselves and welcome her to the set. No harm done - besides, I'm sure she'd appreciate it," Sandy pointed out. "True," Alexander observed and the two walked up to the woman, stopping about a foot away.
"Chris? Is that you?" Sandy asked softly, her blue-gray eyes sparkling with interest.
The woman whipped her head around and her mouth opened up in an O of surprise. "Sandy?" she answered in a cultured British accent as she rose to her feet. Sandy's face broke into a huge smile. "OMIGOD! What are you doing here?!" The two laughed in delight as they hugged briefly. Alexander stood by with a puzzled smile on his handsome face.
"I'm working here now. I decided to take a sabbatical, submitted a draft script and well, here I am," Chris replied, motioning for her to sit down. Sandy turned to Alexander and said, "Alex, I'd like you to meet Chris. We worked for the same company and we were assigned to the same project - but in different countries. Chris worked in the US office for a few months to help wrap things up and we kept in touch afterwards by e-mail," Sandy explained. Her left eyebrow arched in amusement as she continued. "I knew that you were looking for another job, but you didn't tell me you were coming out here." Chris grinned sheepishly and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it was all so sudden..."
Alexander stuck his hand forward for Chris to shake. "Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you, Chris," he said with a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well Alexander," she replied. Alexander's face suddenly became suspicious. "I've heard your voice before," he murmured softly. Chris' face paled slightly before two rosy spots surfaced on her cheeks.
"Uh...err...no. You must be mistaken!" she stammered, her British accent suddenly changing to a flawless American accent. Alexander's eyes narrowed and she swallowed audibly. "You were the one who called me cheeky!" he accused, turning his head around to face Sandy, who was trying valiantly not to burst into gales of laughter. "Oh Alex, don't take it so personally! She didn't mean anything by it, did you?" Sandy covered her mouth with her hand and tried not to snicker as he sputtered.
"Of course not!" Chris reassured the mortified actor. "Well, not in a mean way, after all," she added with a grin. "Oh good grief, not another one," Alexander growled, closing his eyes in resignation as the two started to laugh.
Sandy - hi Chris! You decided to join in the fun :-D
- Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 14:14:26 (PDT)
Just as she was about to enter the cafeteria, the Director breezed past Chris at about 100 mph. She could hear a commotion, and waited by the door, in obscurity while watching the two combatants circling each other in the middle of the cafeteria.
They're all mad, she thought quietly. Oh good, I should fit in just fine then, was the next thought. She just hoped that this fight would calm down!
Finally, things settled down, and Chris used the confusion to sneak in to the cafeteria and walk over to the hot drinks. She noted that they were out of tea, and thought of the lemon brew she had at home. She'd have to bring some in, and maybe an electric kettle. If they did such things here. One thing's for sure, she thought amusedly, we're not in Kansas anymore-or London either! This was going to take some getting used to!
The Director spotted her standing in front of the hot drinks, apparently in deep thought. He came over and said 'You got your Hamlet' and then wandered back off again, leaving her in a daze.
So, Hamlet was going to be in the production! Fantastic! She didn't know what to think as she slowly got herself a hot cocoa in lieu of the tea. Would she actually dare speak to him? Maybe she'd better re-write that water scene? What if he didn't appreciate getting all wet with his clothes on? Oh, but it would be a good scene...
Deep in thought, Chris sat down at one of the empty tables in a corner. She put the cocoa down to cool off a bit, and forgot all about it as she remained, deep in thought, thinking out the next scene, making adjustments in her head as she went along. She would have to remember to write this down before the next one came along, or she'd forget all these great ideas.
Another newbie-or Chris, if you prefer
Thanks for the warm welcome :o), - Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 11:57:54 (PDT)
Still in the Dining Hall (must've been a looong lunch. . .)
"What brings me here, indeed?" Hugh stood up, and Therese attempted to follow, but felt the steady pressure of Eamon's hands weighing her down. Hugh's voice was laconic, his voice a lazy drawl, but his eyes blazed above Therese's head, staring back into the dark, challenging glare of Eamon de Valera.
"So that's how it is, then?" Dev demanded, his tone harsh. "We'll see about that."
Therese again tried to stand up, her mind whirling, not even beginning to understand this juevinile display of--of--whatever it was these two overgrown adolescents were up to. As she attempted to rise, however, strong hands once again forced her firmly back into her chair with a padded thud.
"Perhaps, de Valera, we should take this outside?" Hugh's tone was icy, his gaze even more frigid than his voice.
"Why wait?" Each word was clipped and deadly, and before Therese could even begin to realize that she had been released, Eamon and Hugh were circling one another, an ominous tension permeating the air.
"My God, you're both insane!" Therese gasped, as Dev lunged for Hugh, catching him bodily by the shoulders, and lifting him clear off the ground. A low growl escaped his opponent as he twisted under the impact, and wrapped his long arms around Dev's neck.
A startled crowd had begun to gather, with suggestions being tossed among the onlookers. "What's gotten into them?" "Can you believe it, right here in the lunch room?" "Are they fighting over Therese?" "Someone better get The Director!" "He is NOT going to be happy about this."
Therese was mortified. And furious. And why should she feel humiliated? She didn't have anything to do with this--and swore she wasn't having anything to do with either one of those miserable neanderthals, ever again! She started to turn away from the crowd, when she was halted by The Director. "Oh no you don't," he muttered, taking her gently but firmly by the arm and turning her around, "I've no doubt--no doubt that this is largely for your benefit."
Therese's open mouth gaped. She hadn't the faintest idea what to say, which happened to be completely irrelevant as The Director swept by her without waiting for a response.
Hugh took advantage of the brief glance Dev sent toward the parting crowd and swept his opponent's feet out from underneath him. He sent the large Irishman crashing to the floor and dove on top of him.
Stepping into the middle of the fray, his directorial voice pierced the air. "Would you two ceasssse!?"
Dev and Hugh looked up from their positions upon the floor, suddenly looking far less like combatants than overgrown puppies at play. Hugh reached up to push the fringe out of his eyes, elbowing Dev in his Adam's apple in the process.
"Do you mind?" Dev wheezed, kneeing Hugh in the ribs.
"Uhmph! Sorry, mate," came the gasped reply.
"Thespians," The Director said with a sigh, and a slight shake of his head. "Have you two attracted enough attention for one afternoon?" He extended a hand to the first arm he could distinguish amdist the assorted limbs, and grasping it, helped Hugh to his feet. Hugh, in turn, grabbed Dev's left shoulder and heaved him upright as well.
"Good to see you again--its been ages!" Hugh grinned and clasped Dev around the shoulders, pounding him soundly upon the back.
"It's been too long, how've you been?" Dev responded with mutual hugging and pounding, as is frequently the way with men, and the crowd, seeing the show for what it was, began to disperse. "They really had me going there for a bit." "Och, I knew t'wasn't really a fight--he's civilized even if he is Irish." "Didn't you know they were childhood pals?" "Dev is the Godfather of one of Hugh's kids, don't know which one, there are four."
Therese didn't know whether to be relieved or furious, or a bit of each, and, taking advantage of the commotion, slipped away with the rest of the crowd.
"I see you've met my Therese," Dev said, turning to where he'd last seen the woman in question. Looking about, he turned a puzzled look toward his old friend. "Now where has she gone?" he asked in confusion.
Therese
Welcome to all the new writers--so glad to have everyone aboard!, - Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 11:37:41 (PDT)
Is it something in the water? Something in the air? Whatever it is, I hope it goes on. Welcome to you, too! *beaming smile*
MA
Racing about in the turbo-charged Welcome Wagon . . . *ZOOOOOM*!, - Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 04:45:31 (PDT)
As the video ground to a halt and started rewinding, Chris turned to the Director and said ‘Yes! He’s definitely the one I want for this one. He’ll be perfect! Those eyes…’
She melted a little and the Director smiled at the glazed look on her face.
‘Yes, he’s good, and I do think he’ll fit the story perfectly. It’s just a question of the fee’ the Director answered, jolting her back to reality.
‘The fee?’ Chris looked at him in confusion. ‘Yes, he’s expensive, but I think the backers will agree that it will be worth it.’
‘I just hope he likes the script’ Chris said with feeling. ‘You have to remember that this is my first one.’
The Director looked at her and laughed. ‘Yes, we have several newcomers to the set at the moment. I think you’d get on well with Sandy, she’s almost as mad as you are.’ The Director rolled his eyes, remembering the ribbing he’d taken from Sandy already. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, getting Hamlet in on this is going to mean some heavy bargaining, so I’d better get started. I would show you around, but I really just don’t have the time at the moment. The cafeteria isn’t far from here though, and I’ll show you your cubicle when you come in tomorrow.’
The Director was already half turned to the phone, so Chris said ‘Absolutely, anything you can do to get him on the set will be appreciated. I’ll make my own way out. Thanks a lot!’
Chris almost ran out the door in her eagerness to do anything at all to help the Director get Hamlet onto her set. The Director had hired most of the bit actors hired already, but he’d kindly allowed Chris to be involved in the picking of her main character. She knew he was reducing his directing to do some acting, but this was already under way before that had been decided. She wondered whether her film would be handed over to someone else to direct.
As she wandered down in the direction of the smell of coffee, she passed some cubicles. She heard some people talking, and happened to walk past a cubicle with a young blonde woman and a tall man whom she recognised as Alexander. Wow, she thought. I guess I’m going to have to get used to seeing these famous people around, but it sure gives me a thrill at the moment. She smiled to herself, still not believing her luck. She hurried on, trying to find the cafeteria. She could really do with a nice cup of tea, even if it was the typical cliché of the British.
Another newbie
hope this works!, - Thursday, September 14, 2000 at 01:58:13 (PDT)
"Did I pick up that dry cleaning"-- LOL! Ah, even at FOF, real life has a way of asserting its presence . . . *grin*
MA--off to a good start, "she who tests."
And, yes, I'd have bolted, too!, - Wednesday, September 13, 2000 at 20:24:44 (PDT)
No problem. Paragraphs fixed.
To make paragraphs, you'll need to add <p> after each paragraph. For more html tips, as Claudia suggested, please see the Quick Guide to Punctuation and HTML page.
Jump on in!
D.o.C.
Hello "she who...". You need to use HTML codes to your paragraphs to get them to separate properly. Check the link above "A quick guide to.... HTML" for destructions.
Claudia
- Wednesday, September 13, 2000 at 18:11:48 (PDT)
What happens to my spacing and paragraphs? Sorry, don't mean to submit blocks of prose.
she who tests the waters
- Wednesday, September 13, 2000 at 17:25:38 (PDT)
After the scene was over the actor paused for a moment. His body was poised in the same position as it had been while in character a moment before. He began to move again and began to look around him. His movements now appeared different, more fluid, more relaxed. He sighed. His thoughts strayed back to lunch. Yes, to tell the truth he was jealous of Dev, of anyone who seemed to be able to sustain a lasting and meaningful relationship. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have companionship of a transient nature. Women were certainly interested in spending a night with HIM. He didn’t consider himself a prude or an innocent but it nevertheless shocked him what some women found …titillating.
Then he remembered that woman he’d spoken to before the shooting resumed. He looked around for her. Gone. O.K.-back to the cubicle to drop off some things and pick up tomorrow’s pages. His thoughts consisted of vague thoughts on the order of “She’s probably just enthralled to be so close to HIM” “Wouldn’t work anyway” “Did I pick up that dry cleaning”
He sat down at his desk and began to check his e-mail. Light footsteps caused him to look up and see the woman from earlier that day. She was petite, five foot two or three at most, mid to late thirties, brown eyes, auburn hair, and delicate finger tips which were draped over the top of his cubicle.
“I was wondering if that offer for coffee still stood” she said. “Heaven help me” she thought to herself. “I know I’m nuts but he is so appealing and it is just a part. It’s just that he’s so good at playing it” she added to herself involuntarily.
He had been looking into her eyes and thought he saw them darken. “Are you sure you aren’t afraid of me?” was his sardonic reply.
She felt color rise in her cheeks. This time she bolted.
she who tests the waters
still testing, - Wednesday, September 13, 2000 at 17:24:23 (PDT)
*singing*--"Happy Birthday, dear Fausta, Happy Birthday to you . . ." 8-)
With a big ol' hug from MA
- Wednesday, September 13, 2000 at 05:16:23 (PDT)
So . . . I said I wouldn't have the nerve to try and comfort a lonely Mister I, but obviously someone does. Welcome to our newest newcomer! 8-)
Rolling out the Welcome Wagon,
MA
Oh, and Magda . . . *yipe* !! =8-O, - Tuesday, September 12, 2000 at 20:32:05 (PDT)
"Day the Hundredth, in the month of February - In which the Queen confesses her sins to me and asks for a suitable penance."
"I bid you welcome, Brother. You are very good to come to guide a poor, foolish woman such as I." The queen's foreign accent rubbed against the familiar words. She nodded respectfully, then turned her attention to Adam. "And I give you most grateful thanks, young knight, for bringing the good brother to me. I do not know your name, do I?"
"It's Adam, my lady - er, I mean your highness." He flushed up to his hairline. "Pardon me."
Berengaria's laughter floated through the room like a feather on a breeze. "No, no! It is not necessary. You are not attending court now, are you? Please do not apologize. Come, let us be friends." She extended her hand, long white fingers beringed with coloured gems, and Adam lifted it to his lips with a courtly bow. He straightened up with a grin.
"And now there is no - how do you say? - no stiffness between us." She cocked her head to the side and watched his grin widen. "No? I use the wrong word? Ay me, but English is a twisty tongue."
"I understand you perfectly, Highness." Adam had lost his nervousness. He tucked his hand into his belt and relaxed. "You speak our language quite well. King Richard must be proud of you."
"I practice it very hard, so that I will be a good wife to my husband." She dropped her gaze at the mention of the king and played with the edge of her veil. After a moment of silence, she looked up again. "And now, young knightly Adam, you must excuse us. I would have speech with the good brother here, since I have been without a confessor for over three days now. I bid you farewell, and look to see you at the banquet tonight."
"Oh!" Adam started at the sudden reminder of why we were in the room. "Oh yes, Highness, of course. You wish to speak to - uh, to the monk here. I'll leave you now."
With a final obeisance over her hand, he bowed himself to the door. It opened immediately, an indication that our privacy with the queen was only a polite fiction. As he left, Adam cast me one final pleading look. I waved back at him cheerfully. The door shut behind him.
I turned back to the queen feeling very satisfied with the situation. I was in the castle with a safe conduct. The bedroll at my feet contained my belongings; my dagger was stuck in my belt. Once I finished listening to the queen confess her minor peccadilloes to me and assigned her some penance, I would be free to wander the halls looking for that former partner of mine. If Joya was reasonable, I would have my gold and be out of the town gates by noon. If she was unreasonable and had to be threatened, it might take longer but Joya was nothing if not practical. She'd see the wisdom of buying me off without a fuss. She might even offer me more than gold. I smiled grimly. If so, she would learn what kind of a man I really am, that it is not in my nature to hold back from taking something I want. And if I decided that I wanted Joya for one last time, then she would have no choice but to submit...completely...without holding back...to me...
"Do you wish to be seated, Brother?" Berengaria's voice jolted me like a sharp stick. She indicated a chair in front of the fireplace.
"Oh, uh, yes of course, Highness." With a start I came back to my surroundings and took my seat, adjusting my robes so that my dagger didn't knock against anything. "You are very kind. Thank you."
The queen sat on a small stool at my feet. For the first time I wondered if a monk would have brought some kind of psalter or even a bible. I don't go to confession myself - the priests took everything so personally that I stopped going years ago - and I was totally ignorant of the proper proceedings. It was probably safe to start with a blessing so I held my palm up and murmured something I'd heard the bishop say over a meal at my table when he was on his third cup of wine. Berengaria bowed her head and clasped her hands together in prayer so it must have been good. I signed the cross in the air over her head.
"Forgive me, Brother, for I am a sinner." Her eyes were closed and her joined fists were right under her chin. She began to rock back and forth on her stool as she recited her litany of sins. "I was wasteful with food and drink. I listened to scandalous songs about licentious activities. I allowed disgusting poetry by sacrilegious troubadours to be read in my presence. I did not chastise those who told bawdy jokes in my presence."
I didn't remember any of these actions being specifically condemned by the commandments but it's possible that I simply didn't notice when that particular sermon was read in church. I could have been napping or something. Still, it seemed like an odd selection of things to be sorry for. I shrugged. Whatever made her happy. I lifted my hand again to sentence her to a round of penance but she wasn't finished.
"And...and I am very much afraid that there is something even worse, Brother." She opened her eyes and looked up at me. Unshed tears glistened on the edge of her lashes. "I entertained impure and lewd thoughts about my husband. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it." She covered her face with her hands and sobbed quietly.
I was pretty sure the Church would think that was better than having impure and lewd thoughts about other women's husbands. In fact, since they had yet to produce an heir to the throne, the more impurity and lewdness going on between the two of them, the better. But Berengaria was obviously quite upset. I rolled my eyes. This was just as tedious as I had feared. Palm up, brow furrowed and assuming a serious voice, I decided to load her up with enough prayers to keep her out of the way while I went looking for Joya. It would be a suitable punishment for boring me.
"Thirty Pater Nosters and, oh let's say, twenty Ave Marias, my child." I waved my hand over her head with an avuncular smile. "And try to do better in the future."
"I don't understand, Brother." Berengaria looked up in surprise. "Are you not one of the Grey Friars? You wear the same robe as my confessor so I assumed you belonged to the same order."
"Uh, yes of course I am." I coughed. "I am indeed."
"Then are you not going to prescribe the usual penance for my misdeeds? My confessor says that I must have the same chastisements until I finally learn to conquer my appetites." Her lips trembled and she teared up again.
Whatever she wanted was fine with me. "Very well. I don't want to disrupt my predecessor's teachings. The usual penance then." Now I could get out of there. I stood up and brushed down my robes.
"Yes, Brother. The usual penance." Berengaria rose with me and walked over to one of the chests against the wall. She lifted the lid to rummage inside for a moment, then returned to my side holding out an object. I examined it in some surprise. It was a whip with half a dozen leather thongs tipped with thorns. Licking her lips, she offered it to me.
"Thy will be done, Brother." She took several deep gulps of air, then fell forward on the rug with her arms stretched out on either side of her.
"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, September 12, 2000 at 18:51:18 (PDT)
"Cut!" The Director leaned toward the woman standing next to him holding the script open and nodded. "Alright take five" he said. The actor playing Mr. I began to stretch his limbs. First the right arm, then the left, then arching his back and stretching what seemed like every muscle in his body. He looked up to find the woman still holding the script staring at him. She quickly looked away but before she could bolt he was saying something.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she asked.
The actor looked at her, what a lovely voice, he thought to himself. "I said, haven't I seen you somewhere before?" Oh great he thought, that line'll really impress her. Why didn't I just ask her what her sign is.
The woman smiled "Well, I haven't been around here long. I'm on sabbatical from my day-job and I'm working on the set trying to learn everything I can."
He smiled back but had the feeling only the left side of his lips responded. "Would you like to go for a cup of coffee?"
"I don't think we have time. The Director said take five not fifteen."
"Yes, of course. How about after the shoot?"
Just then the Director reappeared, consulted the script the woman had continued to hold open, and began to set up for the next shot. The woman began to busy herself with the simultaneous tasks needed to get the scene arranged to the Director's satisfaction. Maybe it is simply that he is such a good actor, she thought to herself. Then again, she thought watching him slip into his role almost visibly, maybe I'm crazy for even thinking there could be a tender hearted man in there.
she who tests the waters
trying this out, - Tuesday, September 12, 2000 at 17:41:51 (PDT)
"Is anyone there?" there, there, there it echoed, bouncing off the walls until it reached the Interrogator's ears. HE smiled to HIMSELF, sat on the floor, leaning back against the door. HIS head tilted upwards, HIS mouth falling open ready to answer. HIS hands resting on the floor between HIS knees.
HE gave himself permission to speak, and it came out in a wail, and someone else's voice.
"No, leave me alone, stop it! I know I'm the only one, please, no more torture!"
torture, torture, torture echoed back down the halls to Claudia, and she frowned at the unfamiliar cockney accent. Another prisoner close by? He sounded as if he'd been the only one here until she'd arrived. Sounded as if he was going mad with loneliness. But she knew for a fact the Interrogator was here somewhere. She couldn't believe that a palace this big would have empty dungeons. Or perhaps they had had no use for them, until now.
"Hello? Who is there? I'm a prisoner like you."
"I don't believe you. There are always voices, but no one is really there!"
"Do you hold conversations with these voices?"
"No… they just taunt me. Stop it, I'm not going to listen any more!"
Claudia tried to coax a response from the man, but he didn't reply further. Eventually she gave up, and went back to pacing out the room.
The Interrogator chuckled to HIMSELF. HE loved playing with people's heads. After all, there wasn't much to keep HIM occupied here, and everyone needed a hobby.
Claudia
- Tuesday, September 12, 2000 at 15:06:40 (PDT)
Oh, my! Busy ladies these last days! It's a pleasure to read it all! :-)
Claudia and Mr I - yikes! What will that lead to? Thrilling!
All the bustle around the FoF team, Dev's jealousy, Hugh Laurie's and Dwight Billings entrance (Wish I'd seen M,O!), Sandy & Dane - LOL, all of you! Amusing and engaging! :-)
Magda - you and the sheriff never stop amazing me! ;-) OK, so he hasn't got a heart. Only sometimes. A little. His irrtation with Adam is hilarious! And Joya... Oooh, what is she up to? And now he's in the castle! OK, I'm hooked! ;-)
KatrinaL <katrina.l@telia.com>
- Tuesday, September 12, 2000 at 05:43:25 (PDT)
Re: Alexander (not Dane) and the Gordian Knot. Yes, Magda--I do know. And that's about what a sudden release of tension is like for me! ;-)
MA
"Thus do I unravel all Gordian Knots." SFX: *scrraaape* of drawn sword, and SLICE . . . , - Monday, September 11, 2000 at 19:02:54 (PDT)
"Day the Hundredth, in the month of February - In which I return to my castle to wait on the Queen's pleasure."
I'm inclined to the view that conspiracies are not worth the effort required to make them work. Now that I have enough experience to be objective about the issue, I would advise anyone starting out to go it alone, no matter what the cost. Otherwise they might wind up with the kind of partners I had.
Adam was horrified at the idea of someone pretending to be a monk. All the way to the castle he remonstrated and pleaded with me to think of another plan. He sketched out a picture of the divine retribution that no doubt awaited me for such a blasphemous impersonation. Several times his violent gestures attracted considerable attention from other people along the way. I kept my head down in an approximation of clerical humility and pretended I didn't hear. After all, it wasn't anything that I hadn't heard all night.
"Curse you, George! Stop ignoring me!" He grabbed at my sleeve to slow me down. "We've got to talk about this!"
I shook him off. "There's nothing to talk about. We mustn't keep the queen waiting. It wouldn't be loyal, would it?"
He tore his hair but since I didn't slacken my pace he was forced to hurry to keep up with me. The great stone gatehouse was looming ahead of us before he was calm enough to listen to me as I went over his instructions again. "The guards won't stop you, they'll know you by now. Just tell them I'm a monk on pilgrimage on my way to see the queen. You'll have to escort me to her chambers and do all the talking if we're challenged but you can leave me at the door. I'll take it from there."
"We'll have to find her chambers first." Adam kicked at a stone in the road. "In a place this size, that might be difficult."
"It won't be a problem. The west tower of the main building, second floor rooms just over the great hall." I said it without thinking and could have cut my tongue out immediately when he jerked his head around to stare at me.
"How do you know that?" he demanded.
I groped for an answer. "I was here before. Many years ago. When royalty visits, there are only a few rooms fine enough for them. I'll wager it hasn't changed since then."
"Oh." He didn't say anything else and gradually I resumed breathing. We continued our walk in silence.
The guards weren't men that I recognized so they must have been Locksley's. Fortunately, they weren't too interested in a monk and a young lordling, so they waved us through with a minimum of fuss. It was the same at the doors to the great hall and so we entered the castle proper without hindrance. We kept to the sides of the rooms we passed through, careful to attract no undue attention. From lagging behind, Adam now hurried his steps; no doubt he wanted me off his hands and his conscience as soon as possible. I was nothing loath to follow his example.
It was probably just as well that I didn't take the time to look around the old place to see what changes Locksley had inflicted on it. I needed to keep my wits about me and distractions would have been counter-productive. Still I couldn't help sneaking peaks around occasionally and looking for familiar objects. My shields were gone from over the great fireplace, of course, and those that were there were unknown to me; probably Krone's rather than Locksley's. Great swathes of rich fabric covered the walls to give the place a festive air for the dual weddings. I scowled and averted my face.
We left the hall and walked down the long corridor that connected the two main towers. Servants scurried along the passage on a variety of errands. Although several of them had been my servants and might have known me, the bustle connected with a royal visit ensured that they were too busy to pay much attention to anything other than their own tasks. We climbed the great stone stairway unmolested. I managed not to look too long at the door of what used to be my bedroom.
At the top, Adam gave the safe conduct to a guard in Plantagenet livery who examined it carefully before nodding and handing it back. He pushed open a door behind him and waved us in. We entered and he pulled it shut behind us.
A woman sat on a gilt chair by the window, looking out at the courtyard below. As we came in, she turned to regard us with a serene countenance.
I fell to my knees but Adam stood like a stock until I reached up to grab his arm and pull him down beside me. Then we both bowed low in the direction of Sancho's daughter and Richard's wife, the most beautiful Spanish princess of her generation, survivor of shipwrecks and veteran of the Crusade - Berengaria of Navarre, Queen of England.
"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, September 11, 2000 at 18:25:29 (PDT)
Period added.
D.o.C.
D.o.C., could you add the period in after "How about this?" she suggested. Thank you!
Sandy
Hi Claudia! Glad to see you back., - Monday, September 11, 2000 at 15:11:40 (PDT)
Claudia woke up not knowing where she was. She sat up with a start and scowled at her reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite. For a moment she thought she was back in the Interrogator’s lair. It was an underground cell, filled with cold artificial lighting. It almost felt the same. She had no idea how long she had slept or what time it was. No way of telling.
Swinging her feet off the bed, and to the floor, she sat for a moment, getting her bearings, looking down at her fully clothed form. There was no sense of déjà vu. This wasn’t a place of the Interrogator.
Standing up, she remembered where she was. She must have been more exhausted than she thought, to imagine herself back in that place. But staring intently at the mirror, she felt it not dissimilar. She was still being watched and tested.
She began pacing out the room, getting to know her new environment, the placement of the furniture. She tried it again, with her eyes closed, only knocking her knee once on a chair. She cursed. This was stupid. Another small room, and left alone again. She had to keep busy or she’d drive herself mad. Or she’d have to start thinking on events that had brought her here.
Opening her eyes she marched to the door. There was a small grill of bars in the solid door, in case the comfort of the room gave her any doubt she was being held in the dungeons. She looked through the bars, but they revealed nothing. A dimly lit corridor.
“Hello?” Her voice echoed, repeating itself several times before disappearing. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
No guard came, but in a cell not too far away the Interrogator, sitting on the edge of HIS bed, looked up sharply. Light glinted off HIS glasses. HIS mouth was a thin hard line. Had HE imagined it? HE stood, quick light steps taking HIM to the door. HIS hands grasping the bars tightly. Was this another trick? HE knew that voice, even distorted by an echo. Should HE reply or stay silent? HE tilted HIS head to one side, listening, waiting for another word. HE decided if she spoke again, and no one came, HE would reply.
Claudia
I'm back!, - Monday, September 11, 2000 at 14:22:14 (PDT)
FOF Dining Hall:
Alexander rose to his feet and stretched luxuriously. "Hmm. That hit the spot," he sighed as Sandy also rose to her feet. "Are you going back to the set now?" she asked as the two deposited their trash and stacked their trays. Alexander glanced at his watch. "Not just yet. I'm not due back at the set for another hour, so I have a little bit of time to kill," he replied.
"Well, I've got the final draft for the next script written. Want to read it while you're waiting?" Sandy suggested as they walked from the dining hall and headed towards the writers' cubicles. "Sure, why not?" Alexander said, the two smiling and waving to Neva and the Director as they joined the group surrounding Therese and Hugh Laurie. "Wonder what he's doing here?" Sandy mused. "I heard something about him being a guest director. I believe Alan has a few movies lined up," Alexander told her.
The two were about halfway down the corridor when two unidentified voices drifted in their direction. "....that was some party, from what I've heard," the first voice, male, said with a chuckle. "Really?" a second voice, female, replied curiously.
"Yeah," the first voice said, getting stronger as they continued walking. "Have you met the new people yet?" "No, can't say I have. I've seen the new writer. Seems nice from what I've heard, but she has a tendency to walk into things," the second voice recollected. Alexander's face lit up in a wide smile, while Sandy scowled and began grumbling incoherently under her breath.
"Any reports on 'Dane the Vain'?" the first voice queried, growing fainter again. "Ouch," Sandy muttered grumpily as Alexander's facial expression quickly changed from delight to a dark thundercloud in seconds. "Very professional, but appears to have a well-developed sense of humor, surprisingly. Almost cheeky," the second voice replied. "He'd have to have one if that Jell-O food fight..." the voices became indistinguishable and faded away, leaving two very exasperated people staring at each other in the hallway.
"Can you believe that? The Hollywood Blab would have a field day," Alexander finally rasped when he found his voice after his jaw opened and closed a few times. Sandy's lips twitched as she tried not to laugh, suddenly finding the humor behind the words of what they inadvertently overheard. "I'm used to the klutz references because it's SO true. You think it's going to stop now?"
Alexander rolled his eyes, passed his fingers through his hair and growled something under his breath Sandy couldn't quite catch as they started walking down the corridor again. "However, I've never thought of you as being 'cheeky', Alex," she observed. "Perhaps she's referring to..."
He drew back, standing ramrod straight as he glared down at her with narrowed hazel eyes. "Don't you even SUGGEST IT!" Alexander rumbled threateningly, wagging a finger in front of her face sternly. Sandy glared right back up at him with her hands on her hips, clearly not perturbed in the least bit by his angry countenance. "Hey! You messed with MY COFFEE, buddy! That gives me all the right in the world, by Grabthar's Hammer!" She burst into laughter at Alexander's highly outraged facial expression. "I don't BELIEVE you...Calling me cheeky, indeed! Humph! You're the cheeky one," he grumbled as they arrived at her cubicle.
"Oh Alex, cheer up! Always look on the bright side of life, as the saying goes," Sandy reminded him as she sat down in front of her computer and turned on her CD player. The sounds of The Moody Blues drifted softly through the air. "I would prefer to be pessimistic right now if you don't mind, thank you very much," he informed her haughtily as he sat down in her guest chair, stretching his long tanned legs out before him and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Wait a second," Sandy said as she removed a small set of keys from her skirt pocket. She unlocked a desk drawer and rummaged around briefly, placing some of the items on her desk as she looked around. Alexander's left eyebrow shot up and he grinned as he picked up one of the items. "A yo-yo?" he asked, his velvet baritone a gentle purr. Sandy flushed as she snatched it back from him. "It's for stress relief purposes," she muttered, quickly tossing it back into the desk. "Suuuurrrrre... Whatever you say, Sandy," Alexander replied, his lips twitching as he hummed along to the song playing on the CD.
Sandy rummaged about for a little bit longer before she found just what she was looking for. "Here we go," she said triumphantly as she took out a gold foil-covered box. She opened it to reveal several bars of Godiva chocolate stacked neatly inside, only one of which was missing. "Have one of these. This stuff's to die for," she gave him a bar and took one for herself before putting the box away and locking the drawer again.
"Thanks," Alexander said, surprised. "Mmmm. Dark chocolate," he said appreciatively as he carefully opened up the foil wrapper. "I notice you keep that under lock and key," he said with a grin, wiggling his eyebrows. "I received it as a Christmas present from a friend. This stash is for emergency situations only, and this sure felt like one," Sandy chuckled. "Here's the draft script," she indicated the sheets she was printing out. "Okay. Let's see what you've got here," Alexander took the sheets from the printer, settled back in the chair and started reading.
He had read about one third of the way down the first page when his eyes opened widely and he almost choked on the piece of chocolate that he was chewing. "Oh...My...GOD! ARE YOU INSANE???!!" he exclaimed, waving the papers about wildly. Sandy looked up from her furious typing and gazed over at him, trying not to smile at his flummoxed attitude. "I warned you that you were just a victim of my caffeine-addled thought processes. What's the matter?"
"Look at this!" he prodded the offending piece of paper furiously with his left index finger. "You have got to be kidding me," he muttered, his sensuous lips curving downwards and his eyebrows furrowing together. Sandy leaned over his shoulder and quickly scanned where he was pointing, blinked and stuck her tongue out as she grimaced. "Ooooo, I see what you mean. I was working late last night." She took a pen, crossed out some lines and quickly wrote something in the margin. "How about this?" she suggested. "Better," he grumbled as he settled back in his seat to continue reading.
For some time, the only sounds heard were of Sandy typing furiously, her CD player playing softly, and Alexander turning the pages of the script, punctuated by occasional grumbles under his breath. Sandy looked up and saw him scowling over the material he was reading. She stopped typing and sat back in her chair, shaking her head as she gazed at him. "Alex, don't look so grouchy. It really doesn't become you," she murmured.
"I'm NOT being grouchy. I'm just completely astonished at what you've written here..." Alexander replied, sighing heavily as he put the script down on her desk. "Oh, come on! It's not that bad. I thought that you liked the storyline. Most of the things I've written are based upon YOUR suggestions - at least the beginning was," Sandy noted with an evil grin. "That's true, and I do like the storyline," he admitted with a grudging smile as he took another bite of the chocolate bar.
"Imagine if any of this stuff got out on the Internet? The Director would have my head on a platter for sure. I'd like to keep it attached to the rest of my body if you don't mind," Sandy giggled. "I don't even want to think about that. It's too frightening to contemplate," Alexander laughed and shuddered at the same time as he continued reading.
Sandy
It's all too true about the klutziness, I'm afraid (sigh)., - Monday, September 11, 2000 at 12:34:40 (PDT)
Hmm. You do know what Alexander did with the Geordian Knot, don't you?
Magda
- Monday, September 11, 2000 at 08:10:34 (PDT)
The dining hall:
Mister I turns toward the door--and loses his bet, for it is not Christopher Brandon who has entered, nor even Hans Gruber. Both guesses, wrong.
It is Dwight Billings, and after the initial "swoon wave" that alerts the hall to his presence, he is greeted with glad cries from many of the long-standing cast members. "Dwight! Long time no see!" "Where have you been--" "Are you joining up with us again?"
And so forth. Even Mister I makes his contribution, as Dwight--who is standing very near him--turns to shake hands and give cordial greetings, which Mister I returns with a smile. He cannot deny that he is honestly glad to see Dwight again, for it brings back memories of the Egdon Heath season and all that had followed.
Great fun, that was. Amusement, now, mingled with a touch of envy. Look at him, handsome as ever. Some one of these ladies will snap him up in no time; you can count on that. How was it that Renie had described Dwight's voice? Ah, yes. "Buttersilk," she used to call it. Too right. Sooooo smooooooth. Well, at least he didn't show up in his silk pajamas. We can all be thankful for small mercies . . .
Suddenly aware that his nostalgic amusement has died away, leaving nothing but envy in its place, Mister I pushes his tray away from him, feeling slightly ill. Envy? Of what? He is himself a star of FOF--a plum role. Talented. Handsome--perhaps not in the same way as Dwight, nor Hans, nor Brandon, but compelling enough in that severe, angular manner he has cultivated with such attention to detail . . .
Enough of this self-indulgence! (homage) How everyone would laugh, if they knew. Especially Dev, after all that good advice I just gave him. A wry inner laugh. Physician, heal thyself. And work is supposed to be a good cure . . . for many things.
One of Mister I's greatest assets is formidable self-control; playing his role as The Interrogator requires considerable mental discipline, as the part calls for him to reach a very dark place within himself and bring all that darkness to the surface. That sort of effort is enough to devour an actor alive, if he has not developed the ability to keep the shadow-self at bay, to "turn it off" and go home at the end of the day's work.
And so it is now. With an internal gesture like the slamming and sealing of a watertight door, Mister I resolutely sets aside his meditations on loneliness, envy, commitment (or the lack thereof), and turns his thoughts to the new script pages awaiting him back in his cubicle. Rising from his seat, he clears away the trash from his lunch, picks up his tray, and places it back in the rack.
So quietly and unobtrusively does he take his leave that no one notices his exit. No one, that is, except Eamon de Valera, who--despite his jealous absorption in the matter of Therese and Hugh Laurie--finds his attention caught by the other man's look of stony concentration. And then Dev turns back to the group around him, his lips curved slightly into a thoughtful expression that is not quite a smile . . .
MA--comfort a lonely Mister I, Therese? I wouldn't have the nerve!!
Magda, when I think of the next meeting between George and Joya, my stomach ties itself into something that resembles the Gordian Knot . . . ack . . ., - Monday, September 11, 2000 at 08:02:21 (PDT)
Thanks muchly. Thought you might be getting into editing in a big way. Sent you an email too but just ignore it.
Magda
- Monday, September 11, 2000 at 07:06:26 (PDT)
Whew! That's better. Again, I apologize for the mistake!
Suzanne
I still can't believe I did that!, - Monday, September 11, 2000 at 06:36:52 (PDT)
"Day the Ninety-ninth, in the month of February - In which I obtain a safe conduct into the castle."
It would have taken a swifter man than Adam to come up with a suitable response to that declaration. As it was, he simply stared at her for some time in slack-jawed amazement before remembering where they were standing. A flush mantling his cheek, he offered an arm to either lady and escorted them down the aisle to take their seats for the mass.
I watched them until they disappeared into the incense-fogged gloom, then resumed my supposed contemplation of the relic. Joya's determination to marry Krone and become Lady Nottingham perplexed me. During our weeks together I had told her about the shire and my plans for returning but I couldn't recall her taking more than a casual interest. Nor was I under any illusions about my lands: there were far more prosperous counties in the south of England and wealthier lords in charge of them. I remembered Adam's comments back at the lodge, that she would only agree to marry Walter of Krone if he persuaded the king to grant him the lordship of Nottingham. What game was she playing? What did she want?
As if the sight of her would give me the answer, I rose from my knees and glided across the floor to the back of the church. She drew my gaze like a beacon but in truth I would have recognized that straight posture and that elegant height in a much vaster crowd. I pressed against a pillar and examined her with luxurious deliberation. As beautiful as she looked in blue, that dark green was more flattering. Its fur edging clung to her figure and accentuated curves that I thought only I knew about. That coronet was no bauble either but an ornately-worked piece that cost no small amount of gold.
A bitter taste filled my mouth. While she might not have been intimate with Krone at the hunting lodge, she had obviously accepted his protection now. Perhaps it was his reward in advance for agreeing to make her a lady. Then another thought struck me: she might have paid for the new wardrobe herself out of the gold I'd been hoarding. It was a more palatable notion.
I watched her throughout the service until the priests gave the final benediction. By the time Adam escorted Joya and Melisant down the aisle and into the nave, I was in front of another statue, head bowed in mute supplication. I watched them surreptitiously as they talked. Or rather Joya talked; Adam and Melisant were gazing at each other in strained silence like a couple of forlorn puppies.
"Adam! You're back! Why didn't you report to me immediately?" The voice boomed out and reverberated around the stone hall. Heads turned to stare in the direction of the great wooden doors. Obviously everyone in town recognized the new lord, Walter of Krone. Everyone shuffled back as he entered. It brought back sweet memories of my own visits to this very church not so very many months ago.
Adam stiffened as his lord approached but remembered in time that he was to arouse no suspicion that his allegiance had changed. He forced a smile to his lips. "Greetings, my lord! I returned only within the last hour and could think only of making my penance before entering your presence."
"What's that, boy? Think you I'm the pope?" Krone roared with laughter at his own joke. Adam flushed scarlet and stared at his boots. Melisant frowned unhappily and Joya looked annoyed.
Krone swaggered up to the trio, thumbs stuck in his belt. He slapped Adam on the back, nodded to Melisant and reached for Joya's hand. She turned her head at the last moment before she would have to admit noticing and made an elaborate show of adjusting her cloak. Krone pulled back immediately, a frown on his face. He swung round on Adam again. "Save your report for later. I have another assignment for you now." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. The other three listened attentively.
The crowd in the hall was thinning rapidly as the evening dusk came on. Soon my presence would be unavoidably obvious. Reluctantly I gathered my robes and slipped out the door behind a couple of priests. I walked with head fully covered down the stairs and across the courtyard. Candles and torches lit some of the buildings but I didn’t need their illumination to guide me. I headed for an alley between a tavern and a goldsmith's shop and waited for Adam.
The stars were diamonds in a blue-black sky by the time he emerged. From the top of the stairs he looked around and I waved him over. He came over and joined me in the alley, leaning against a wall and sighing dramatically. For a moment he said nothing, then he looked up. "Wasn't she beautiful?"
"Yes, of course, she was. She always is but green suits her well." I stared. What an idiotic question to ask. "Now what did Krone have to say?"
"Green?" Adam frowned. "She was wearing dull yellow with - Oh, you refer to the Lady Joya! Yes, she looked well enough."
"Adam." I smiled tensely. "I realize that you are in love and that your thoughts tend to wander when the object of your affections is in the vicinity. But if we're going to bring Krone down, we've got to concentrate on important things and not get caught up in romantic drivel. Understand?"
"Yes, I understand." He sighed again and dropped his chin on his chest. I waited, leaning against the wall and drumming my fingers on a standing post. Just when I was on the verge of throttling him, he woke up. "Krone and the ladies are meeting with the bishop now. The weddings will take place during the same ceremony. The exact date is still uncertain because the king hasn't arrived yet. Robin of Locksley and his brother Will have gone to meet him and escort him back to town. However, Krone is a little exercised tonight because he has to come up with a monk or priest to take into the castle. Queen Berengaria comes ahead of the king and will arrive tomorrow morning. Her confessor has taken ill and she wants a cleric to tend to her spiritual needs until he recovers. Krone wants me to find someone." Adam pulled a sealed parchment out of his belt. "This is a safe conduct into the castle. I'm to give it to the cleric when I find one. As if I know any priests in this town!"
I adjusted my stance and examined Adam carefully. With the best will in the world, I sometimes think the best thing to do with him would be to lock him up in a hospital for lunatics. "Adam."
He looked up from examing the parchment in the torchlight. "Yes, George?"
I gestured at the robe I wore. "What's this?"
He examined my garment suspiciously. "It's the robe we got from the monastery."
"Exactly." I snatched the document from his hand. "Congratulations. You've found your monk. See, wasn't that easy?"
"Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."
Magda
- Sunday, September 10, 2000 at 15:38:18 (PDT)
Oops! Sorry about that!!! I was archiving last night and thought I made sure your last post was here, Magda. But DON'T WORRY, I have a backup. Will upload it right now. Sorry again!
Suz
D.o.C. needs a vacation. :-), - Monday, September 11, 2000 at 06:13:52 (PDT)
Well, this is a first. DoC, could you please, uh, return my last istallment. Thank you.
Magda
- Monday, September 11, 2000 at 03:54:03 (PDT)
My computer seems to have lost the last installment of Joya and George---thanks for all your work--I feel much better now, although with addictions, one must have a continuous supply... at least this isn't immoral, illegal or fattening.
A Rickman admirer
- Sunday, September 10, 2000 at 22:54:30 (PDT)
FOF--Dining Hall
Therese looked across to her dining companion yet again, her laughter at his entertaining comments bubbling forth. One of the perks of this job--certainly one she still had not been able to adjust to--were these continuous brushes with fame. She'd merely stepped into the main office to check her mailbox, when who had appeared at the front desk but Hugh Lauie Taking a deep breath, she mentally instructed herself not to do anything stupid.
"Can you help me?" he'd asked, with that all too familiar charming grin on his face--the one that no comedic genious should be allowed to possess.
"I'm absolutely, completely useless," Therese had assured him with a grin, "but Linda, our secretary, is the eighth wonder."
Linda, however, threw Therese a frantic look, had shot from her desk as if propelled from a slingshot, almost made it to the swinging half door behind the reception area, had dashed back, wrenched her purse from her a desk drawer, muttered something distinctly Brittish under her breath, and delivered a hasty, "You'll have to show him around--I forgot the bloody flowers!" And with that, Therese had been left as the sole remaining employee in the front office.
"Her daugther's being married," Therese explained, "she's a bit dotty over it. I'm afraid that leaves you at my mercy."
"There are worse fates. . ." long pause. . ."aren't there?"
"Funny man, Mr. Laurie--now, what can I do for you?"
"Well, I have an appointment with the director," he consulted his timepiece, "and I'm frightfully early." Hey gave a wry, apologetic grin.
"Let me check Mr. Rickman's schedule, and see where he's at right now--" Therese moved to Linda's desk, and stared down at THE BLACK BOOK. "You're sworn to secrecy that I'm daring to even touch it--Linda would," Therese paused, thinking of the penalties for tresspassing upon such sacred ground.
"Cut your heart out with a spoon?" Hugh suggested with a grin.
"Precisely," she agreed with a chuckle. Opening the book to the appropriate date, Therese unstuck a pink post it note that had been placed over the current time. "Someone take Hugh to lunch--running late. AR"
"Looking rather grim," Therese said, peering up at the slender figure before her, "Linda was supposed to take you to lunch, but now I believe I am your culinary guide."
Which brought Therese to her present position, seated in the caffeteria across from one of her favourite actors, and enjoying his presence immensely. "So, are you going to finally satisfy my overbearing sense of curiousity, and tell me what brings you to the set?" she asked.
"Well I'm sure you know that Alan has some movies lined up?"
Therese nodded.
"We're to discuss my taking over as a guest director when he's not available, and when my filming allows."
"Are you serious?" Therese burst out, "Hugh, that's wonderful!"
"You know I have to tell you, I'm so gratefull for your enthusiasm. All I've heard about this crew is what a loyal bunch you are--I must say it made me a bit leery of taking the helm, so to speak."
"Nonsense, everyone here will be thrilled--yes, we're a faithful bunch--but The Director, well, he's always supported us a hundred percent, and if he wants to pursue a bit of acting, I'm sure I can speak for the rest of us and say we're behind him. So, when do you--"
Therese was interrupted by Dev's voice, strong and deep. Coming to stand behind her, he placed a hand firmly and possessively upon either shoulder. "So, Laurie, what brings you here?" he asked, his tone far from friendly.
"Day the Ninety-ninth, in the month of February - In which we learn some interesting news in church." In every town of any decent size in the kingdom, there's a place where people go to meet their friends, exchange the latest tidings, gossip about their neighbours and in general pass the time of day in comfortable and casual surroundings. There's nowhere better to find out what's happening in the town because sooner or later all the bits of news drift into every ear and flow out of every mouth. It is a marketplace of intelligence, an emporium of recital. When I was sheriff I had disguised men stationed there every day. I had to get there to find out what was happening in the castle and when the king was going to arrive. And so that night Adam and I went to church. He didn't get it at first. He walked through the great doors and headed down the aisle to take his seat at the front. I had to haul on his sleeve to hold him back. "Not there. We're staying at the back." Adam blinked and looked around. "Why?" "Because we're not here to pray, we're here to listen." I pulled my monkish robe tighter and knelt in front of one of the many saint's relics scattered liberally around the hall. "I'll stay here. You go over there by that singularly unattractive icon and keep your ears open." With a shrug of his shoulders, he obeyed. I watched him stroll across the hall and take up his place against a thick pillar, looking like a young nobleman whiling away a later winter's eve. When I was sure he would stay put, I returned my gaze to the relic and pretended to pray. There are two ways of gathering information in a crowd. You can move around and eavesdrop on various conversations or you can remain in one spot and sample the talk that goes by. I chose the latter method but it wasn't very rewarding. " - so I says to him, I says, ain't I got eyes? Ain't that mould on that there turnip? And you claimin' it's just some ground left over from when it got pulled up. It's nothin' short of criminal, it is, the way he -" "- seemed a likely enough lad, strong if you know what I mean. Make a real addition to the smithy when he's proper trained but still - " "- don't care what anybody says, he could 'ave done better for hisself. But there, he would like his ale over an' above most other things -" Everyday matters. My knees were starting to ache from the cold floor. I shifted and tried to make myself more comfortable. It was almost time for the office of vespers. More people began streaming through the doors into the church. It was getting harder to hear over the bustle. "Adam! What are you doing here?" A girl's voice, very familiar. I glanced over my shoulder: it was Melisant. And with her was Joya. I was on fire immediately. She'd changed her dress. This time it was dark green velvet with fur edging under a heavy brown cloak lined with fur. Her veil was secured with a gold coronet, studded with blue and green stones. She hugged herself as she watched Melisant rush up to Adam, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. Adam and Melisant clasped their hands together and devoured each other with their eyes. They might have been alone for all the attention they were paying to the crowd around them. Adam swallowed several times before he managed to croak out a greeting. "Melisant! And Lady Joya. Good evening to you both." "Well met, Adam." Joya nodded with regal condescension. Her jewels glowed in the light from the dozens of candles around them. "I did not expect to see you here." Adam remembered where he was and dropped Melisant's hands. "Do you come for the evening service?" "We might say the same of you." Joya smiled. A wave of heat swept over me as I remembered that smile. "And yes, we've come for the service but also to meet the bishop. We have wedding matters to attend to." "Oh." Adam flinched under the casual blow. "Are you - that is, I'm sure you are - looking forward to the great day?" Melisant gave a little sob but Joya laughed. The brittle quality of the sound struck me even from a distance. "Oh yes, indeed. There is nothing on earth I want so much as to become Lady Nottingham. Nothing will stand in the way of my achieving it." "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." Correction made. D.o.C., please--"Mister I turns toward the door," not "toward to." Too many to's, there. Thanks. Still in the Dining Hall: Mister I’s attention has been caught by Neva and The Director, and he watches them for several moments, smiling a little to himself. He is certainly not the only one who has noticed the pretty, dark-haired newcomer; brief as her time has been on the FOF set, there are already rumours circulating about her possible involvements with the male cast. Who will be the man of her choice? Lucky devil, whoever he is. It won’t be long, at this rate, before the Hollywood Blab gets into the act . . . Neva and The Director have joined the group around Therese and Hugh Laurie, and as Mister I watches, he gradually becomes aware of a tinge of melancholy in his amused reflections. He knows that there have been multiple rumours of his involvements-offscreen-as well, though it is given out to the press that he is a very private man and guards his personal life scrupulously. A wise move, that; it had increased the sense of mystery about him and enhanced the popularity of his character among the fans. However . . . "Guards his personal life," indeed. A pity that there is not more to guard. For he must admit, in the secrecy of his own heart, that at times he is a lonely man. Mister I confronts that fact without flinching, even as he idly watches Eamon de Valera making his way toward Therese and wonders just what Dev will make of the advice he has been given. If he could know what I am thinking at this minute, how he would laugh. Despite his advice to Dev on the joys of freedom, Mister I spends a luxurious moment or two in wondering how it would be for him to release that much-vaunted liberty. A steady relationship. It goes without saying that his villainous character is beyond the pale in all such considerations . . . his lips curve briefly into a nostalgic smile, remember the shocking episode in which Renie had been revealed as his wife. HIS wife. Absolutely bloody brilliant of her. That had left the fans’ mouths hanging open, and provided reams of excellent material-is still providing it. But leaving "The Interrogator aside"-how would it be? There had been possibilities with Andrea, for a time . . . Mister I sighs heavily, regretting her absence from the set. In her response to him, she had been a woman in a million. If I could chose any woman . . . who would she be? Mister I’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door behind him opening, and a little ripple of feminine response throughout the dining hall. Without turning, he makes a bet with himself: either Hans Gruber or Christopher Brandon has entered the room. On further scrutiny of the female whispering and murmuring, he concludes that it must be Brandon, for the response does not contain that particular frisson that signals the presence of Hans. Mister I has observed that, despite Hans’ courtesy and geniality with fellow cast members, he exudes a quality of alertness verging on menace that often provokes a nervous fluttering among members of the gentler sex. And he has at times observed this quality in response to himself, as well. Ask the women of the cast. Therese, Claudia, Mary Anne, Renie . . . they would all say the same. But the response today is of a more basic "sigh and swoon" nature, and Mister I turns toward the door to see if he has won the bet . . . yoooohooo Magda, Maryann, Therese,are you thereeeeeeeee?Beginning to go into FOF withdrawal.......hint hint George is uniquely single minded. His actions may appear silly only if one does not know the purpose to which they are bent. I am certain that it is of no consequence to him whether his actions appear silly or not. "Day the Ninety-ninth, in the month of February - In which I see Joya again." It was my own fault, really. I should have known better. When a monk invites you to spend the night in the "excellent accommodations" he and his company have secured, you've got to ask for his definition of the phrase. I found out, the hard way, that it meant simply "Dry Place That Does Not Currently, But Did Recently, Contain Farm Animals". There was no doubt in my mind that it was the livestock that had moved up in the world. At least they had comfortable barns to sleep in; we slept in an old shed on a dirt floor to "mortify the flesh" and "purify the soul". Adam accepted it as part of his religious duty, Peter shrugged it off with the comment that he'd experienced worse in the Holy Land, but I was not happy. When we broke the fast the next morning I concentrated all my powers of persuasion on convincing Adam to unbelt his money pouch for a large room in one of the hostels in town. He resisted but I won him over by pointing out that it was necessary to keep Peter safely hidden from Krone's men until we were ready to strike. He saw the justice of the argument and immediately went off to find a room. We waited in the shed until his return. Yawning hugely, Peter stretched like an overgrown mangy cat. "So what's the plan, George?" He looked at me expectantly. I propped my boots on the opposite bench and considered. My plan was simple: get into the castle under the cover of night, get my gold from Joya by blackmailing her and then get out again. Once I had my gold and was out the gates again, I had no use for either Adam or Peter and they were on their own. But of course I couldn't say that. So I had to take some time to frame the proper response. "The plan is for me to get into the castle and find out what is happening. We don't want to reveal ourselves too soon so we've got to know when Krone is the most vulnerable." I was quite pleased with that answer. It sounded pragmatic without committing myself to anything. "You and Adam will have to lie low until I get back." "Yeah, that sounds pretty good to me. Get the bastard when he doesn't expect it. I like that idea." Peter nodded and scratched under his arm. "By the way, these inns that Adam is going around to, they got girls in them, don't they?" I assured him that Nottingham girls worked at inns and that they were well known throughout the Midlands for the looseness of their morals. He was pleased with that and we waited in companionable silence for Adam's return, each of us lost in our own pleasant thoughts of future activities. The monks came back from before Adam did. They'd gone off to Matins in the early morning darkness and stayed for the public mass. From the sidelong looks they sent us as they took their seats around the table, they were not pleased. Their spiritual leader scowled as he confronted me but I was ready for him. "You are from another house and I am not your superior, brother, but you will pardon me when I say that I expect those who share our robes to attend to their religious duties as we do. I noted your absence this morning." He crossed his arms and waited. Peter looked from me to the monk and back again. I lowered my gaze to the floor with what I hoped was abashed modesty. "Forgive us, brother, but we did not feel that we could join you before we had gone to confession. We intend to go this morning." The monks "oh-ed" in choral understanding. Their superior blinked in surprise. Across the room, Peter nodded with admiring approval. After that we were all friends again and when Adam returned shortly after, we were hardly able to extract ourselves and go on our way. He'd secured a large room at the top of the Mottled Ox, Nottingham's worst inn, and he was paying dearly for the privilege. The imminent arrival of the king and his court meant that space was at a premium. Any innkeeper worth his apron knew that he could charge almost any amount and get it. Fortunately, the Mottled Ox was close to the castle gates and would make it easier for me to gain entry. We walked through the twisting streets as the pale morning sun climbed into the sky. Vendors and merchants were everywhere, hawking their goods with inflated prices in honour of the royal visit. Adam strode a little ahead of us while Peter and I shuffled along with our hoods pulled low over our heads. There would be precious little daytime travel for either of us and me especially. Every moment I expected to hear a shout of recognition or to be seized by armed guards. But nothing happened. We arrived at the inn just in time for the midday meal. The innkeeper and his help were too busy to pay any attention to us and we managed to slip upstairs almost unnoticed. Adam ordered one of the wenches to bring a substantial tray of food and three tankards of ale to our room. With relief, we threw off our robes and tucked in. There were three pallets on the floor and warm blankets covering them. After the previous night, they seemed like the most exotic luxury. Peter and Adam stretched out after the meal for a doze but I stationed myself by the only window and surveyed the scene below. The sun was directly overhead now and most people were indoors. I followed the cobbled stones of the street past the shops, through the town square where servant girls took fresh water from the well and then up to the castle where somnolent guards leaned against their spears and tried to stay awake. As I watched, the gates swung open and a small procession emerged. They rode down the same street I was watching. Two men and two women on horses, scattering passers-by on either side. I could not make out their features but as I gazed at the second woman my heart began to pound. I strained my eyes until she was close enough to recognize. It was Joya. She sat her horse with natural grace, swaying in the saddle as the animal picked its way along the road. Her dress was blue with gold embroidery that flashed and glinted in the sun. Her snow-white veil covered her hair and shoulders entirely. As I watched a breeze lifted one edge and I caught a glimpse of the riotous curls I had so often buried my hands in. Her lavender scent was suddenly strong in my nostrils although I knew it was impossible at such a distance. I tore my attention free long enough to examine her companions. One of the men was Krone. He rode his mount grandly, looking to neither the right nor the left but fixing his attention as some invisible object in the middle distance over everyone's head. The other man and woman were obviously attendants, riding in their proper place at the rear. The group passed directly in front of the inn and proceeded down the street. I adjusted my stance to watch for as long as I could but they disappeared around a bend. Closing the shutters with trembling hands, I took several deep breaths. Almost a month since I had seen her and I was reacting like a foolish schoolboy. This would never do. I had to get hold of myself. I sat down on my pallet beside my sleeping roommates. Tonight I would get into the castle, whether the time was right or not. I knew I could not wait another day before seeing Joya again. "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." FOF Dining Hall: Alexander stalked into the dining hall looking quite exhausted, still sweaty and gritty-faced from the scene he had just completed filming. Grumbling under his breath, he grabbed a sandwich, a salad, and a large bottle of water and sat down at a table away from the others to eat his lunch in silence. "Hi Alex. Can I join you?" a soft voice interrupted his reverie after he downed about half of his salad. Alexander looked up to see Sandy standing before him with a smile on her face. He mumbled and waved his hand at the seat next to him. "Sure." "Thanks," Sandy replied as she sat down. "Bad morning filming, huh?" she asked before tucking into her own lunch. Alexander's left eyebrow shot up so quickly that she thought if people came equipped with sound effects, there would be a very audible cartoon spring boing sound reverberating throughout the dining hall. "You have a remarkable gift for understatement," he informed her dryly. "Do you intentionally write scenes like that just to torture us?" Sandy chuckled and looked him over critically. "Oh come on, Alex! You don't look that bad. Nothing that a sandblaster couldn't take care of," she teased. "Besides, I had to get you guys out of that sandstorm somehow," she pointed out sensibly. Alexander frowned as he replied, "I would rather take my chances with the SFX folks getting out of control with those infernal wind machines again than get sand dumped on top of my head." "I could arrange that if you want," Sandy replied lightly, trying not to laugh at his facial expression. "I'm sorry! I can't resist teasing you." Alexander's brow furrowed sternly at first, but the hazel eyes began twinkling. He took a bite of his sandwich before speaking. "Trying to keep me on my toes, huh?" "Absolutely!" Sandy took a large swallow of her iced coffee and grinned. "After all, you're just a victim of my caffeine-addled thought processes." Alexander laughed merrily, the rich tones filling the dining hall. "I suppose I should be thankful it's not because of something else," he mused, starting to whistle softly before taking a swallow from his water bottle. "Hey! Just what are you implying?" she exclaimed sharply, her blue-gray eyes narrowing momentarily before starting to giggle at his teasing of her. She gave him a mock salute as he grinned wickedly. "So, just what do you think a 'Sandy Alexander' would be made of?" she chuckled. "I would suspect that the main ingredient would be either a coffee or chocolate liquor," Alexander guessed before taking another bite of his sandwich. "Mmmm, I like that already." Sandy murmured with a smile. "It would have to have some surprise ingredient in it though to give it some kick..." Alexander continued, returning the smile. FOF-the Dining Hall: Therese arrives with Hugh Laurie and there are calls of greeting at their arrival-for Therese, naturally, and for Laurie because he is well-known and well-liked on the set. "Hugh!" "Good to see you! Are you signing on with us?" And a bit of kidding about being in "that mouse movie." "How’s little Stuart doing these days?" Exaggerated patience from Laurie. "That’s Stuart Little." A round of chuckles. "Is it? I can never remember." Deadpan drawl. "Try." But a friendly grin to go with it. Dev, however, does not wear a friendly grin, nor any other sort, but sits with his eyes fixed upon the battered remnants of his dinner roll, while Mister I discreetly slides the utensils to the far side of the table. "Take it easy," he murmurs. "This is no time to go making an idiot of yourself." "Oh?" retorts Dev, pushing away his food. "What would be a good time?" A long-suffering sigh. "Women do not like fools. They do, on occasion, enjoy foolish behaviour from us, but they do not want us to be fools. Now, as I see it, there are two possibilities: either Therese is trying to make you jealous, or she isn’t." "Brilliant deduction. Shall I go and tell Holmes that his job is in danger?" Mister I proceeds smoothly, as if there had been no interruption. "If she is not trying to make you jealous, she’ll see any interference from you as typically thickheaded male behaviour, and that will make her lose respect for you. And if she is trying to make you jealous . . ." A pause. "Well?" growls Dev. "Then you should not give her the satisfaction." A mischievous gleam. "Unless you are certain you can do so to your advantage, and sweep her off her feet." A raised eyebrow. "Literally, perhaps." Dev shakes his head. "That sort of thing is all very well in the scripts, but I can’t just toss her over my shoulder in real life and carry her off like a sack of potatoes!" Mister I shrugs. "Suit yourself." He remains silent for a moment, then turns to Dev with a speculative smile. "Though I must tell you that every time you do something like that in the episodes, your fan mail jumps. Hadn’t you noticed?" "I can’t say that I have." Tsk-ing noises. "You really should keep up with your fan mail; it’s valuable for ideas." Dev smiles at Mister I, momentarily distracted from his gloomy musings. "You’re not fooling anyone, Mistral. You know that you just like to talk about fan mail because you get so much of it." "Wellll-" begins Mister I in so transparent an attitude of mock-modesty that Dev laughs out loud, and even feels as if he can make an attempt at finishing his lunch. Pulling the tray and flatware back toward him, he continues, "I don’t begrudge it to you, you know; you have a tough role and you deserve every good letter you get. But you can’t possibly read it all! To say nothing of keeping up with mine." "True enough," admits Mister I. "But I’ve heard them talking in the mail room. The fans liked it when you carried Therese off during that dinner scene." Sly glitter. "And you should have seen the sackfuls that came in after that scene in the stables . . . why, Eamon, you’re never blushing, are you?" "Has anyone ever told you," replies the red-faced Dev, concentrating furiously on his salad, "that when The Director cast you, he certainly knew what he was doing?" "On more occasions than I can count." Dryly. "And that’s another curious thing: I was astounded, at the beginning of the series, at the amount of my mail. From women, yet." Dev is caught in the middle of a sip of tea, at which point he splutters, then wipes his mouth and manages to choke out, "If most of it came from men, I should think you’d be more concerned." They laugh together, companionably, as Mister I picks up the point again. "I see what you mean. But think about it: I play The Interrogator. A professional torturer. I am THE villain of the piece. But the viewers, especially the women, seem to like the character. Don’t ask me why; I’ve given up on that, myself." "Why, it’s a tribute to your talents, Mistral," replies Dev-with, to his credit, hardly more than a trace of sarcasm. " "Thank you," replies Mister I-with that same trace. "There was a tour group here a few days ago. I had some free time and showed them around a bit, gave autographs, that sort of thing. Some of those women were absolutely saucer-eyed, I tell you, especially when I ‘went Interrogator’ and laid it on a bit thick for their benefit. Thought they’d have to be carried out feet first. I suppose it’s because they’d all like to think, ‘I’m the one who could change HIM-make HIM good.’ Bit of a disappointment to them, though, if they tried." "You’d better hold a little something back for your performances." Sarcasm a bit thicker, this time. "But-" Moodily. "-this doesn’t help my problems with Therese." "I don’t think you’ve got problems, myself. But you’re the only one who knows what you really want." "What I want is some stability. Security." A pause. "Maybe I should talk to Brandon, instead. Take Mary Anne, for instance-" A short laugh from Mister I. "If only." Dev’s gaze sharpens as he catches a glimpse of Mister I’s unguarded expression, but he decides to leave the remark as he found it, and move on. "I only meant to say that Mary Anne flirts outrageously-" "You’ve noticed, have you? But you had better not let Brandon hear you say it." "Balderdash. It doesn’t trouble him, precisely because she always knows just when to stop. They have things nicely worked out between them, so he does not have to worry." "He may not have to, but he does." Mister I helps himself to another slice of grilled lemon chicken, in an almost too-leisurely fashion. "He’s very protective of her, in case you hadn’t noticed." "I had noticed, come to think of it," replies Dev, watching Mister I without seeming to watch him. "He was never far from her side at that last party-especially while you were, ah, claiming your spot." Mister I’s knife grates on the plate, and Dev’s lips curl, ever so slightly. "I tremble to think what would have happened, if you had been alone with her." "That," comes the bland reply, as Mister I sets down his knife, "would be entirely up to Mary Anne." He rises, gathering the remnants of his lunch. "I have to get back to the set, now. I’ve enjoyed our little conversation-perhaps you’ll think over my advice, and let me know how it goes?" Dev inclines his head a fraction, and smiles. "Perhaps. I’ll think over your advice very carefully." "You do that." Mister I’s expression, which had hardened slightly during the discussion of Mary Anne, softens once more into something resembling genuine good will. "Just to bludgeon you with another cliché, Eamon-I wouldn’t be fulfilling my role if I didn’t-" Dev laughs. "Go ahead; torture me. My character can take it, so I suppose I can." "I was just thinking of the proverb that ‘faint heart never won fair lady.’ Whatever you decide to do--do it. With all your heart. She won’t respect anything less." "Good advice. I trust you remember Aesop’s fable about the sun and the wind, as well." "Touche’. You are a respectable sparring partner, not to mention one who may actually be upon the verge of figuring out how women think. Do share the knowledge if you may?" And with a nod, Mister I leaves the table. You give me too much credit, thinks Dev, with a wry inner laugh as he watches the crowd about Therese and Hugh Laurie . . . and then rises and advances toward them. Mister I, meanwhile, has turned in his tray and is about to leave the dining hall, when his attention is caught by the entrance of The Director, who is showing Neva about the set . . . FOF--Off Set in the dining hall "So, why the long face?" Eamon de Valera looked across the table where he was sitting to find himself being joined by Mr. I, who regarded him curiously. Folding his arms across his chest, Dev scowled at the uninvited interruption. "Pardon me?" he inquired frostily. "I asked why the long face," Mr. I said, reaching for the tall glass of ice water on the far corner of his tray and taking a long swallow. "You're sitting there, looking as if you've lost your best friend." He paused briefly then added, "and if you don't tell me what seems to be the trouble, I'll be forced to bludgeon you with even more trite cliches. I'd speak up if I were you." Dark eyes peered intently behind thin, wire rims, causing their victim to shift uneasily. "One would think you've far more compelling means of making your victims cooperate," Dev responded moodily, "given your character's occupation, of course." Mr. I raised a single brow. "Don't push me," he purred silkily. Dev chuckled in spite of himself. "Save your breath, Mistral--that sort of thing only works with the women." He picked up his fork, stabbing at the salad in front of him half-heartedly. "It's Therese, of course--not that I'm sure I need to be discussing this with you, of all people," he said with a glare, having not quite forgiven Mr. I for his rather individual attentions to the lady in question when they had shared several scenes earlier in the season. "Oh do be serious, Dev, you know I'm no threat at all. Therese is a lovely girl--but she's just a bit, too," he swallowed, seeking the proper adjective, one that would describe but not offend. "Well, too, uh. . .wholesome." A delicate shudder traversed his spine, "And all those bloody cats--I don't know how you stand it." "Wretched creatures," Dev agreed. He sighed. "She won't commit. I want to make our relationship exclusive--spoke to her about it last night. Nice dinner, good wine, you know. I'm even beginning to think about wanting to marry the girl-- if you can believe that?" Dev ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Do you know what she said, when I suggested that neither of us see other people--do you know what she said?" He rushed on, not allowing Mr. I time to respond, his voice growing louder in his frustration. "She said she didn't want a boyfriend--she's having too much fun." His face took on a look of extreme distaste. "Fun," he repeated, as if the word itself pained him. "Well, you have to look at it from her point, Eamon. She's begun a new career in an exciting field, she's living in a foreign country, making a tidy little salary, and attracting some attention now that she's been on the series long enough that her fans are beginning to notice her when she's in public. Pretty heady stuff, if you remember." "I know, I remember--but that still doesn't mean I want her running around with other blokes." "Well, is she even seeing anyone else?" Mr. I asked pointedly. "No, but that's hardly the issue," Dev said huffily. "I want the verbal commitment just the same. "Let me get this straight," Mr. I said, holding up his hand to quiet Dev. "You are dating this woman, you see her at work, you spend your evenings together, and, if set gossip is to be believed, more nights than not she's warming your bed as well--and instead of thanking your lucky Irish soul that you've got all of this--" he made a large sweeping motion with his hand, "with a woman who not only is not demanding commitment, but wants to allow you your freedom?" He gave a long pause, no doubt, Dev thought morosely, for dramatic effect, "Have you had your head examined lately?" "It's not the fact that she isn't seeing other men, it's the fact that she wants to have that option," Dev tried again. Mr. I shook his head sadly, and said, almost as if to himself. "You always seemed like such a smart man." More pointedly, he added, "Skipping right over the fact that she's not. You are intelligent enough to realize what's going to happen if you push her on this, aren't you?" Dev dropped the fork to his tray with a small clatter, giving up entirely on the pretense of eating. "Oh yes, I'm aware. I glared at her for flirting with that dark haired tango bloke from the new Texas video--so she made it a point to link arms with him and offer to show him to The Director's office. Wanted to throttle the both of 'em." "She's pulling your strings, mate--" "And what the bloody hell am I supposed to do about it?" "Seems to me your only choice is to give her the space she wants." Picking up the abandoned fork, Dev impaled his dinner roll with the utensil, and battered it into pieces. "Good to see you're taking my advice so well," Mr. I commented dryly. Looking up and over Dev's shoulder, Mr. I pointed toward the serving line. "Uh-oh, perhaps I should take your knife away now." Amber eyes turned to witness Therese approach the lunch line, Hugh Laurie in tow. I know. Just a friendly warning. :-) I do. But erase it if you prefer.
Therese
MA--a lonely Mr. I?
Magda
- Saturday, September 09, 2000 at 13:06:07 (PDT)
LOL Fine then, I'm not trying to be funny.
D.o.C.
MA
And no more tutu jokes, I implore you!, - Saturday, September 09, 2000 at 10:11:34 (PDT)
MA--here's a fix for you, "Admirer." Hope it helps. ;-)
Cindie--for the record, I would never call George "silly." Especially not in his hearing! *gulp*, - Saturday, September 09, 2000 at 10:03:58 (PDT)
A Rickman admirer
- Friday, September 08, 2000 at 23:00:11 (PDT)
Cindie
- Tuesday, September 05, 2000 at 07:29:09 (PDT)
Magda
George is either never silly or always silly, depending on your POV, - Monday, September 04, 2000 at 19:07:22 (PDT)
Sandy
There can never be too much silliness in my opinion :-), - Monday, September 04, 2000 at 14:30:46 (PDT)
MA--Happy Labor Day! And Therese, here's some more "silliness." ;-)
Neva, you seem to have caught HIS attention . . ., - Monday, September 04, 2000 at 09:52:29 (PDT)
Therese
a bit of silliness--sorry, can't be helped!, - Saturday, September 02, 2000 at 20:25:34 (PDT)
D.o.C.
- Friday, September 01, 2000 at 09:05:20 (PDT)
Magda
- Friday, September 01, 2000 at 05:54:54 (PDT)
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