Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

Further entries from the obtained journal, submitted to the Board of Commission Investigating the Recently Completed Disturbances in the Shire of Nottingham During the Reign of Our Glorious King Richard Lionheart

I hate court. Nothing to do but sit around on a hard bench in some anteroom and wait for an officious lackey to appear with a summons to the royal presence. It was intolerable that a man of my consequence should have to endure such indignity, especially since King Richard had sent for me in the first place. But there was no hope for it so I stretched out my legs and watched the effect of the flickering torch light on my boots, resigned to a long delay.

Of course I had a lot on my mind so the wait wasn't a total waste of time. Just because I'd had ten days of hard riding in which to consider all the various reasons why I was needed in Winchester didn't mean that I had come to any conclusion. The short answer was that there was no compelling reason. That was bad news for me since it probably meant that there was a frivolous reason instead. And I don't like frivolity at my expense.

I uncrossed my legs and recrossed them the other way. There were other things I didn't like. Such as the looks on the faces of various courtiers as I walked through the castle. As a royal brother-in-law, I usually received the most fawning gazes from those wishing to ingratiate themselves with someone close to the throne. Not this time. Now the looks I got were pitying and commiserating. I wasn't sure what to make of them but something told me it wasn't a good sign.

"Lord Nottingham, the king will see you now." The clerk stood beside the open door, bowing low.

I stood up and adjusted my cloak. Right. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

The room was large but sparsely furnished. A long bench ran the length of the far wall. Half a dozen chairs crowded against the table where the Council met almost daily when the king was in residence. At the far end of the table, King Richard sat in his throne-like chair, his chin resting on his hand as he stared down at some papers in front of him. He glanced up when I entered, nodding at me and waving a dismissive hand at the clerk. The door closed behind me with a muffled thud as I made my obeisance.

"Never mind that now, Nottingham. Nobody around to take notes. Sit down." He pointed to the chair on his right.

I examined him carefully as I made my way to my designated seat. He didn't seem angry or choleric, and he was not a man who hid his temper when he was upset about something. If anything, he looked tired and fully a decade older than his forty years. For several seconds after I sat down, he did not speak or even look at me. Finally he lifted his head, clasped his hands together in front of him and sighed deeply.

"Nottingham, I have received a very troubling letter from the Count of Anjou." He hesitated, as if uncertain how to proceed. "Before I tell you about it, I must ask you...how much do you know of Joya's life before I gave her to you in the spring?"

I blinked. No time for the barest amenities. Something was weighing heavily on the king's mind. It was time to step warily. "I know as much as I need to know, sire."

Now he did look at me, a carefully assessing gaze that went through me like an arrow. Then he chuckled. "I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I? Let me start again." He pushed back his chair and stood up. Hands clasped behind him, he paced the length of the table before resuming. "Of course you know that Joya was married before she met you?"

I nodded, completely mystified. "I do. A knight much older than her, who died some years ago."

"Yes, that is true." King Richard inclined his head, as one conceding a point. "But before that she was plighted and wedded to a baron in Anjou who was little more than a youth himself. She was six years old, Abelard was fifteen. They never met, of course. It was all done by proxy. When Abelard was eighteen, he went on a pilgrimage to the shrine of his name-saint and was killed by bandits who robbed him of his goods and gold."

Of course I'd known about the marriage; Joya had told me about that. It wasn't out of the ordinary for daughters of royal houses to be matched and mated at tender ages. The only unusual thing about this marriage was that it wasn't dissolved or annulled when her father's military alliances shifted. But surely I hadn't been dragged all the way from Nottingham to listen to a history lesson? I forced my attention back to the king, who had resumed his pacing and was speaking again.

"Most unfortunate, of course, but not unusual in those days of lawlessness and chaos. A few years later Joya was married off to her older knight and this time it was a real marriage. No problems from either the late baron's family or the Count." He reached the end of the table, turned smartly on his heel and started down the room again.

"And that's pretty much how the matter stood for the past almost twenty years. Until twelve days ago when I received a letter from the Count." The king stopped directly across the table from me. He placed both fists on the table and stared down at me intently. "Apparently we've been wrong all these years. Abelard was not killed."

"Not killed?" I choked. Thoughts whirled through my mind like autumn leaves on the crest of a strong wind. "But how?"

"Not killed." The king affirmed. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it. "He was left for dead along with his companions and servants but somehow he managed to drag himself to a nearby peasant's hut and was taken in. His wounds were serious and he was ill with fever for many days. When he came to himself again, his memory was gone. He could not tell his saviours who he was or where he was from. The peasants had no wish to court trouble by handing him over to the authorities. They knew about the robbery and the killing of his entourage by then and feared the anger of the robbers. So as soon as Abelard could walk, they took him to the nearest monastery and gave him into the care of the brothers."

The king took in air all the way down to his belt and let it out in a gusty sigh. "And that is where he's remained all these years. Perfectly happy and apparently with no memory of his life before the robbery. Until this summer when he again fell ill with a fever. His life was almost despaired of but he pulled through. And just as a previous fever took away his memory, this one brought it back. One day he opened his eyes and knew he was Abelard, baron of Anjou."

It was an incredible story. I didn't know quite what to make of it but at least I knew now why the king had summoned me. There were negotiations to undertake, papers to sign and agreements to work out, to make sure that this earlier marriage was annulled properly and Joya's marriage to me ratified. The lawyers and clerks would have quite a time with this case, no doubt about it. I met the king's gaze squarely. "Quite a tale, sire. We certainly have our work cut out for us for the next few months."

"We do indeed." King Richard nodded, his eyes fixed on mine with a peculiar intensity. "And I must say you are taking this news remarkably well. I knew I could force you to give in but I had not dared to hope for your understanding."

I did not like the sound of this. A chill rippled up my spine. Something told me to tread carefully. "Force me to give in to - what - exactly, sire?"

"To the dissolution of your marriage to Joya, of course."

If the roof had suddenly cracked and buried me under tons of masonry, I could not have been more shocked. I opened my mouth but no words came out. Apparently taking my silence for some form of consent, the king surged into speech again.

"Rest assured that your co-operation will not go unrewarded, Nottingham. The very next heiress with a great dowry and vast estates who comes on the market is yours." He grinned, looking suddenly younger. "I must say this has been much easier than I thought it would be. The queen thought you'd kick up quite a fuss."

With a supreme effort I pulled myself together. "Sire! I cannot believe you are serious about this!"

It was his turn to look surprised. "Serious about this? Of course I am. The Angevin alliance is central to my plans in France. Nothing can get in the way of preserving it. The Count made it quite clear in his letter that he regards the marriage as consecrated. And Abelard feels the same way. Once he recovered completely he returned to his lands to take up the reins again. As soon as he puts everything in order he's coming here to take Joya back to France with him."

There had to be something I could do to stop this. "Surely this Baron Abelard will not want a wife who has just born another man's child? Is there not a younger girl who would suit his purposes just as well?"

"A child!" The king frowned. "Well, it won't be easy but try not to worry about it. We can fix it with the Church so that no hint of bastardy attaches to his name." He hesitated. "A boy, I assume?"

"A girl. Her name is - "

"Wonderful!" He beamed at me in good fellowship. "That is a luck break. Plenty of time for an heir with your next wife. I'm sure I can persuade Abelard to take the girl too. Unless you'd like to keep her? Just say the word."

I was starting to get a pounding headache. "Sire, please listen to me. Abelard married Joya by proxy. It was a state marriage. The Church has regularly declared child marriages null and void. She is no more married to him than I am to Marion of Locksley."

"That's a ridiculous comparison." The king shook his head. "You never underwent a ceremony with Marion."

"Actually, I did, sire." I cleared my throat. This was dangerous ground. "Last year during the troubles Marion and I were married by the late bishop of Hertford. Of course it was a most irregular ceremony and completely illegal. It would never hold up in any religious court."

"You underwent a ceremony of marriage with Marion?" He stared at me in amazement. "Before she married Robin?"

"Not a real ceremony, sire. More like a - " I started to explain.

"Perfect!" He jumped to his feet and knocked his chair over backwards. "By God's beard, Nottingham, I could find it in my heart to forgive you everything for this bit of news. This solves everything."

He strode to the door at the front of the room, yanked it open and bellowed into the corridor. "Get me a scribe! Now!" As the sound of running feet faded into the distance he returned to the table, rubbing his hands with glee. "I'll send a message to Locksley manor immediately. We'll get his whole thing straightened out in one session at your castle. There is no way that Joya can be married to you if you're already married to Marion. So as soon as Abelard arrives, we'll ride up to Nottingham and renew everyone's vows. Joya's to Abelard and yours to Marion. Now all I have to do is find a new wife for Robin of Locksley and everything will be just fine."

Magda
a little long tonight, - Sunday, July 29, 2001 at 16:29:50 (PDT)

I'm beginning to forget what this place looks like, I've been away from it so long!

Just popped in to say that the writing project stories are up at Solo Flights. After struggling madly with the stupid forms on Tripod, I realised they only seem to work, if you use the really long URL to get to the page. I don't understand it, as the submit stories page seems to work fine. Anyway, as long as I've found a way to get it to go - we'll use that one!

Thanks for everyone for your entries. http://members.tripod.com/Claudia_Riley/writingeightstories.html
Claudia
- Sunday, July 29, 2001 at 16:27:13 (PDT)

FOF set, dressing rooms:

Click. Click. Click.

Vaguely Mary Anne wonders how she can hear those noises over the pounding of her own heart. And Brandon’s murmurs and her own barely articulate, throaty replies, his wordless questionings and her encouragements . . . the whisper of his hands in her hair, no pins left . . . Click. Click.

And then, another sound.

"Rrrrrrtttt??"

At that noise, with its rising note of inquiry, Brandon startles and Mary Anne’s head jerks around to behold Therese’s Alsatian, Tory, looking at them from the door of the dressing room, tail wagging, nails clicking as she shifts about in the tiled entryway.

"Tory!" With an apologetic glance at Brandon, Mary Anne slides to the end of the bench and claps her hands gently, calling for the dog to come closer. Tory, of course, needs little urging and hurries over for her quota of patting and scritching from Mary Anne, even as Brandon rolls his eyes and gives an exaggerated, theatrical sigh, muttering about "that famous service of Interruptions Unlimited."

However, Brandon is smiling a little and, if the truth were known, he is relieved by the dog’s timely arrival, because he does not truly know if he could have stopped himself otherwise. It has been an evening of discoveries, and he is rather alarmed at the revelations that have come to him after playing the shadowy Prince this evening, about the problems of separating one’s self from a role. One thing is certain: I shall have a great deal more respect for Mistral, now. It must be ten times as difficult for him.

Mary Anne, meanwhile, has fallen into her familiar affectionate rapport with the enormous Alsatian dog. "Hey, Puppers," she croons, treating Tory to a lengthy ear-rub. "How’d you get here? Trying to get to the party, were you?"

"If she went to the party, she’d need a costume," laughs Brandon, trying to regain his composure and grateful that Mary Anne’s eyes are on the dog and not on him.

"She’s wearing her costume already," replies Mary Anne, passing her hand through Tory’s thick fur. "She could go as Rin Tin Tin."

"Should we try and take her, do you think? Or take her back to Therese’s cubicle?"

Mary Anne glances over at him, and laughs. "I don’t think we could make her go anywhere she didn’t want to," and Brandon nods, though all his attention is on Mary Anne’s face-flushed with laughter over Tory’s entrance and, yes, from his own attentions as well-and her tumbled hair, curling madly at its escape from the confining pins.

"Maybe we should just go back to the party," suggests Mary Anne. "As soon as we’ve, um, tidied ourselves up a bit, of course." A droll, roguish look, straight at him.

Brandon swallows. "Of course."

"And when we do, let’s just see if she’ll follow us. At the party, we can let Therese take it from there."

Mary Anne rubs her hands together to dust off the loose dog hairs, and scrubs at her hands with a tissue. Tory, taking the hint, moves off a few paces and flops limply onto her side, watching as Mary Anne studies the floor. "Christopher, could you help me, please--?"

Silently, Brandon helps collect the fallen pins. Only after Mary Anne seats herself before the mirror, with some view to restoring her more orderly hairstyle, does he clear this throat and murmur, "Mary Anne, about what just happened . . ."

MA
Hmmmmm, Joanna must be busy at the party. ;-), - Sunday, July 29, 2001 at 10:11:55 (PDT)

Cindie couldn’t help laughing at Barbara’s rendition of the Lumberjack song. It was funny -- and the visual image it conjured! Mistral went to dance with the songstress and Cindie, who was warm, the cool of the evening notwithstanding, went to the bar to get a glass of water. She talked with the bartender and with Mesmer who had stopped for drinks. Sometime later Mistral was at her side again. “She thought I might seek to have her fired.” His tone of incredulity was matched by his expression. He turned to the bartender and requested a glass of wine. It did not escape his notice that the bartender’s smile was tinged with trepidation as she presented the glass to him.

“Fired? For what, singing that song?” Cindie gave a very unladylike snort, “I thought it was a hoot!”

“So did everyone else. So did I for all that.” He took a sip of the wine, his back was turned so he did not notice the relief spread across the young bartender’s face when he expressed his approval of it. “But she sincerely thought I might want to see her lose her job over it.”

“Have you ever had anyone fired before?”

“No.” He pursed his lips, “though I suppose if someone were not competent to do their job I would express that opinion. But that has never happened.” He shrugged dismissively.

“Well,” Cindie considered the man next to her. If the Gruber men were tigers, this was another large cat, she considered which one. “You can be rather intense,” she offered.

“What of it. That’s hardly anybody’s concern.”

“It can be rather daunting, and she doesn’t know you that well.” Cindie bristled, “Don’t you care if your manner puts people off?”

“Not really. Although I’ve never given anyone cause to fear for their livelihood.” He moved the glass in small circles and watched the liquid swirl, “I don’t see my intensity bothering you.” His eyes seemed to gather all the light in the room as he looked over at her. Definitely a predator.

Cindie felt a bit light headed, too many martinis earlier, and leaned back against the bar, “No, but you are very exacting and it did take me awhile to work up the nerve to talk to you. ”

“Did it?” The light in his eyes diffused to a warm glow, “Still, my attention to detail seems to have paid off quite handsomely.”

“Think so, do you?”

“If that is what is meant by being difficult, then it is not without advantages.”

“Do tell.” Very dry martinis.

“One often obtains what one desires.”

“Really? I’m glad you’ve found a system that works so well for you.”

“It does. I have also found, however, that there are other systems which have merit as well.”

“Mistral.” She moved closer to him. “I’m so glad you are somewhat susceptible to suggestion.”

A knuckle brushed her cheek in reply.

Cindie
- Thursday, July 26, 2001 at 17:06:18 (PDT)

“You guys almost got me killed! Or at least I thought he would kill me. I’m not doing anything else you say.” Miranda told them and turned around her nose in the air.

“Why? God, to kill you he must have been really mad. I have to admit the plan was a bad idea. I thought about it all last night and it just hit me. Tina and me came here to stop you but you had already gone. I’m so stupid to think a plan like that would be a good idea. Miranda, can you forgive for making you do something this stupid? Metatron must hate you now.” Vanessa said sounding a bit worried, but when was Vanessa ever worried?

“I guess I can forgive you. He’s not that mad at me, but I know that he won’t forget something like this. Just remember, next time come up with something that won’t make people hate me or try to kill me, O.K.?” Miranda told them and laughed. They shook their heads yes and laughed with Miranda. “So what do you guys want to do now? I don’t think Metatron really wants to see me today and I want to get what I did out of my head. Right now just thinking about what I did wants to make me run and hide somewhere and never come out.” Miranda frowned and waited for and answer from Vanessa and Tina.

“We could go and visit Bartleby and Loki.” Tina told Miranda.

“No, I don’t think they want to see me today either.” Miranda said and tried to think of another thing they could do.

“We could go get ice cream. That usually makes me happy when I’m feeling low.” Vanessa suggested. Miranda nodded her head in agreement. They all go up to leave but Miranda remembered what she was wearing.

“Um, guys do you mind waiting outside while I change?” Miranda asked.

“Of course we wouldn’t mind waiting!” Vanessa said and laughed. She shut the door after they laughed and went into her closet to find something to wear. Today she decided she would wear something different. It took a couple of minutes for Miranda to find something but finally she did. It was a Chinese style dress that was blue and had designs off some sort on it. She put it on along with white boots that came up to her knee. She walked outside and was happy to receive some compliments from Vanessa and Tina. They left and went to a Dairy Queen somewhere in Dologenah, Georgia which made Miranda happy because she loves Georgia.

Metatron sat waiting for God to give him something to do. Maybe he had forgiven Miranda but he was still mad at her. But he couldn’t blame her, hanging out with Vanessa and Tina had finally affected her and it wasn’t good. He just kept seeing what she did over and over and couldn’t get it out of his mind. No matter what he did.

Finally, God noticed that something was wrong and decided to talk to him. She knew what had happened but she wanted to make Metatron happy so she was going to tell him what she had in store for Miranda. Nothing bad but it was something that would make both Metatron and Miranda happy.

Metatron saw God coming towards him and smiled. “Well, Metatron. Not that happy about what happened today I see. I’m not that happy about what Miranda did either but I can live with it. But, I have a surprise for Miranda that I must tell you about.” God leaned forward and whispered something into Metatron’s ear and he smiled. Miranda was definitely going to like this he just knew it.
Miranda
Our Gone With the Wind play is off. I'm mad!, - Wednesday, July 25, 2001 at 14:27:13 (PDT)

Oh my, Julie I feel so bad! I definatley wish you the best of luck. I hope you mother gets better. I don't know what I would do without my mother. I'd have to say my house would never be clean. My dad doesn't really care if the house is clean, especially during football season......
Miranda
- Wednesday, July 25, 2001 at 09:16:29 (PDT)

The dressing room:

Behold my heart . . .

At this moment, Brandon realizes that he is holding Mary Anne very, very close to his heart and that the medals on his costume might well be cutting into her skin, and so he briefly withdraws from her, raising one hand. Wait, says the gesture, and she waits, watching him in silence as he stands and slips out of his jacket, laying it aside with his cloak.

For a moment he hesitates, looking down at Mary Anne.

Brandon is a gentleman. So it is repeated, both on the set and in the scripts, for so he is. Still, he is a man like other men, and he had underestimated the effect of the character he has played all evening: how challenging, stimulating to be so different from the Colonel. And Mary Anne, he recalls, had not been immune to the awful majesty of the Prince. But when they had spoken of the power he could wield . . .

You’ve always had it, you know.

Brandon is a modest man, but there had been no mistaking Mary Anne’s point: that he had always held such power with her.

In this room, there is no cool fountain.

Brandon moves forward and catches one glimpse of himself in the vanity mirror-one glimpse only, as he stands over the seated Mary Anne, of a tall, powerful figure. Taller than usual, it seems, an impression which is intensified by the simplicity of his clothing: stripped of the jacket with its medals, wearing only the black trousers with the white shirt and waistcoat, he seems an elemental force. The blurred reflection in the glass, black and white, night and day . . . his arms encircling Mary Anne in her white gown . . .

Brandon pulls her to her feet, for the bench is rather narrow, and Mary Anne makes no resistance whatsoever as he kisses her hungrily. If Brandon dared describe the feeling that sweeps over him now, he would admit that he is in a mood to try his powers, and so he does, finding that he meets no opposition. Far from it. There might be those who point out that Mary Anne is every bit as much female as he is male, and that would be reason enough for her to welcome his advances, but there is a second truth: that she trusts him. No perfect couple, certainly: they have had their share of misunderstandings and confrontations and sessions in the fine art of compromise. However, she believes that Brandon-even Brandon is such a frame of mind as this-is a man who will do her no harm. No matter if he is his own self, Colonel or Prince . . . he is security, tenderness, heartfelt devotion, as he has always been.

But at this particular moment, he is the ardent presence there with her, his fingers sliding into her hair as he caresses the silken strands of it, one fingertip following the curve of her ear, simply to feel her shiver in his arms and murmur wordlessly against his throat. Her hair, yes, too tempting altogether as he draws his hands through it again, to the great detriment of the pins that begin to loosen, first slowly and then in rapid succession, dropping silently onto the carpet or scattering themselves on the glass-topped vanity table with the tiniest of clicks . . .

MA--all the best, Julie. And yes, the party is still going on, though some leave sooner than others.
In fact, I think we seem to have a private party going on in this dressing room!, - Tuesday, July 24, 2001 at 19:45:01 (PDT)

Sorry I'm posting stuff that isn't story, but, it's board related. One: Are we still partying? Two: I didn't notice with the list you all gave me, but, is Dr. Mesmer taken? Miranda- sorry I didn't mail you, but I don't have time to do both right now. I say, go for it (wink)! I won't be able to be here for a while, since my mom is having serious brain surgery and I need to go be with her, and things are kind of hectic right now.

Wish us luck!
Julie
I had to ask . . ., - Tuesday, July 24, 2001 at 13:10:31 (PDT)

Barbara, I always envisioned Raz as Animal. (snort)
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
Just me being goofy, - Tuesday, July 24, 2001 at 06:53:17 (PDT)

Barbara--only too happy to take the blame for Muppet-related silliness! 8-D

MA--though I think Crazy Harry might be more like Raz . . .
nah, skip it. We can't have anyone like Crazy Harry around; can you imagine what he'd get up to with Hans' detonators?! =8-O, - Tuesday, July 24, 2001 at 05:59:34 (PDT)

They got back to their house in no time it seems. They went inside and got ready to go to bed. Miranda was just about to crawl under the covers of her bed when she heard someone ring the doorbell. Vanessa and Tina!, she thought to herself and ran to get the door.

She opened it and smiled. It was Vanessa and Tina and best of all they looked like they had a plan. Miranda loved to go along with Vanessa and Tina’s plans ‘cause most of the time they turned out most rewarding.

She let them in and they walked to Miranda’s bedroom. The place where Vanessa said they would get the most privacy to work out this plan. They all walked in and Miranda closed the door.

The next day,

Miranda woke up with butterflies in her stomach. She wasn’t quite sure if she could pull this off. It was one of the toughest plans Vanessa and Tina had come up with. This is definitely going to take all the courage I have, I can’t panic or back down on this. Once it starts I can’t go back.

But she wanted to do this. Vanessa and Tina would definitely like her much better. Who care’s about them, the main person I need to think off is Metatron. If I do this it will hurt him I just know it will! Oh! Who cares just do the stupid plan!

Miranda got out of her bed and walked over to the outfit Vanessa had given her to wear last night for the plan. It was small and was definitely meant to be used this way. It had a black tank top and a mesh type covering thingy that went over it, a black mini skirt, black boots that went to the knee with red laces on the front and a clack diamond necklace and two matching bracelets. It also had a gold chain that went around your head and a little charm that rested on your forehead.

It took some time for Miranda to get all of her outfit on. But it was worth it cause when she was done she was perfect, except her purple hair didn’t go with the outfit, at all.Well, I guess since I’m way ahead in my training and already know how to change things into different things I guess I can do this... She thought about her hair thought about the color she wanted it change to and then mumbled some words to herself. She opened her eyes and was glad to see that it worked. Miranda now had black hair. Some purple had stayed at the tips of her hair but that was OK. It looked much better like that.

Miranda made a final check of herself and then said to herself, “Well here goes.” She walked outside and walked towards Metatron’s door. Luckily it wasn’t locked so she went inside without knocking.

Metatron was standing at his dresser and looking himself in the mirror. No many how many times he brushed his hair it still looked messy. But it was fine for now he had to get going. He started to brush his hair one last time when he saw the door open and there stood Miranda in the skimpiest clothes you would probably ever see her wear. “Oh my God, Miranda, what are you doing?”

Miranda saw Metatron reactions and smiled. The plan was going good, so far. “Hello Metatron, are you busy?” Miranda said and a innocent tune.

“Of course I’m busy. I’m the voice of God, for God sakes. I have to go now!” Metatron snapped and tried to walk past Miranda but she stooped him and pushed him against the wall. She kicked the door close and smiled.

“Metatron I have a question for you.“ Miranda said still using her innocent voice. She kissed him softly on the lips and then let him answer.

“What?” Metatron asked barely able to talk.

Miranda leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “would you be willing to get your wings cut off for me?” She kissed him on the ear and then pulled him to the middle of the room, Metatron still not answering her question.

Miranda walked behind him and took of his coat so she could see his wings. She started stroking one trying to find the sensitive part that every angel has on his or her wing. She knew where it was but she was just playing with him. She could tell that he wanted to laugh but he couldn’t. Finally, she reached it. It is at the base of his wing, right where his wing meets his back. He let out a laugh but then quickly stopped. Miranda smiled at him and bent forward towards the sensitive spot. She licked it once and then stood up straight. Metatron let out a moan and her face lit up.

“So you would. I thought so. Here Metatron cover your eyes with this OK, I have a surprise.” She handed him a handkerchief and made sure he covered his eyes with it. When she had made sure that his eyes where covered, she bent down and took out the knife that she was hiding in one of her boots. She held it into view and then walked up behind Metatron again. She ran the blade down one f his wings without cutting him. He shivered and she smiled.

“Wait a second, Metatron I have another question for you. Does this hurt?” She took the knife and cut and inch deep into the base of his wing. Angels aren’t supposed to feel pain, but anything to do with their wings hurts. He let out a cry in pain and then decided this is it I’m not going to take it anymore!

Metatron grabbed Miranda’s wrist and shoved her against the wall. “Miranda! What the Hell has gotten into you!?” He yelled but she wasn’t listening. She was screaming and trying to wiggle away. Finally, Metaton decided he was gong to do something that he never has done to Miranda and had originally planned not to, he was going to hit her. Yeah Miranda had hit him plenty of times but this time he needed to, she has gone crazy or something! So he brought his hand over his head an hit her on the head. She fell to the ground and started to cry.

“You hit me, you hit me.” She kept repeating that over and over again in till Metatron collected himself again. He sat down on the floor and took Miranda in his arms as best as he could. She was trying to wiggle free but he didn’t care.

“This is all my fault, if I would have never kissed you this would have never happened and today would be just another day in Heaven. I’m so sorry I hit you, but you should be sorry for what you did. I’m shocked that someone like you could do such a thing. Will you forgive me for hitting you?” Metatron told her trying to calm her down. He calmed her down enough for her to listen but she still had the knife in her hand. He took it from her and threw it on his bed.

“Metatron, I can forgive you, if you can forgive me. I acted like a whore or something. God, I’m so ashamed of myself.” Miranda said and put her hand on her forehead.

“Of course I can forgive you. But never try a stunt like that again, OK?” Miranda shook her head yes and got up from Metatron’s arms. “Oh and Miranda, go change into something that doesn’t make you look like a cheap whore OK?” She gave him a mean look but left him to go to her room and change anyway. Vanessa and Tina were there waiting.
Miranda <CoyoteUgyGal1@cs.com>
I got the wing ida from some fan fic story, ant remeber which onee.It was Dogma but it was between Bartleby and Loki.ewwwwwwwww!, - Tuesday, July 24, 2001 at 01:31:14 (PDT)

I couldn't wait any longer,sorry:

Somewhere in Heaven,

Miranda stood outside the door of the one person she could trust. She had knocked on the door a minute ago and she could just now hear somebody coming to get the door. She sighed and waited patiently for the person to open the door.

Finally, she heard the door unlock and the sound of someone opening it. There stood Loki.

He smiled at the sight of her. He knew her well, maybe to well. She had always come to him when Metatron and her where fighting. To Miranda it was a comforting thought that she actually had someone that cared this much. She smiled back and he opened the door wider so she could get in.

“Are you and Metatron fighting? Or did you just come here to bug me?” He laughed but quickly stopped when he saw the expression on her face.

Yes we are fighting. God sometimes I feel that he just doesn’t understand me! Vanessa and Tina are still mad at me because of him...and...and,” Miranda began to cry then and Loki hugged her and tried to comfort her.

“Shhh. It’s OK. I’m sure that if Metatroncomes here, and he usually does, we will be able to work this out. Now, B’s (Bartleby) over here so for now you can come with me and watch The Rugrats. OK?” Loki told Miranda. She shook her head yes and followed him into his very messy living room. Bartleby sat on the couch watching The Rugrats and eating pizza. He turned to them when they entered the small living room and smiled.

“Hey Miranda. Let me guess another fight with Metatron?” He said and gestured for her to sit next to him. She accepted and sat down next to him.

Miranda for the next 30 minutes told them all that had happen in the past two weeks. They were shocked that Metatron would do this but they didn’t speak a word in till Miranda was done telling them everything.

“Wow sounds to me like one of those soap operas you see on TV. during the day. It’s missing one thing though.” Loki told Miranda and smiled.

“Oh yeah and what's that?” Miranda asked him curiously but also laughing at the same time.

“No one has died and then mysteriously come back to life.” Loki told her.

“Oh yeeeeah.” She said and nodded. Miranda was happy in till she heard someone knock on the door and Loki answer it. She heard Metatron’s voice and sank into the couch and covered her face with her hands.

For the next few minutes she heard Metatron, Loki, and Bartleby talking then they stopped and she heard Metatron say, “Hello Miranda. Are you ready to talk to me yet?” She looked up and saw him on his knees before her. She covered her face again and sank further into the couch. “I guess not. Miranda, please don’t be mad at me. Vanessa and Tin aren't mad at you anymore. They came to me while I was looking for you earlier and told me themselves they weren't. Please, Miranda, don’t be mad at me. I love you and you know that. So please will you come home with me?” Metatron sounded sad so sh looked up and saw that there were tears in his eyes. She just couldn’t resist; she shook her head yes and stood up before him. He stood up and gave her a hug and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and they started to walk together towards the front door.

They said their goodbyes to Loki and Bartleby and then left to their home in Heaven.
Miranda
- Tuesday, July 24, 2001 at 00:08:15 (PDT)

Barbara, that's a funny idea!As a young child I watched that show ALL the time.The thought makes me just want to laugh out loud, but I can't. It's 1:25 A.M. here in Brandon Florida. I'm up waaaaaaaaaaay past my bedtime doing useless things. But hey there is only 2 weeks of summer left for me.*Sniff* I'm going to cry now!
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.om>
I'm getting sleepy, very sleepy......................zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, - Monday, July 23, 2001 at 22:23:38 (PDT)

There's a thread on the GB about the Muppet Show and that gave me an idea.

Next year's FoF Anniversary Party: Let's all go as Muppets.

Of course, Brandon would have to be Kermit... Raz as Gonzo... Alex as Sam the Eagle....

George as Super-Grover? Sinclair as Cookie Monster?

The possibilities are endless....

I blame Mary Anne for this idea. Really I do.
Barbara the Wallpaperer <vanlook@yahoo.comfoo>
Miranda-- glad to hear you had a good time!, - Monday, July 23, 2001 at 21:53:05 (PDT)

Anniversary Party Site

"Indeed."

Mistral's intoned comment made Barbara twitch. This ditty could cost me my job, Barbara thought. I am replaceable. They won't replace Mistral. And they won't replace HIM.

Mistral had drawn the Interrogator around himself lightly, like a cloak of gauze. He gently returned Cindie's hand to her side and stepped forward into the light.

"Indeed, I have been... lurking. Perhaps we should have a word? Senorita Miranda, if you would favor me with your company?" (homage) The Interrogator was behind that voice, with its shadowy intimations, its enticements of a most improper nature. He stepped up to Barbara and placed a guiding hand under her elbow, leading her in through the French doors and onto the dance floor.

Blue Danube. The most classic of waltzes. The waltz. The most scandalous dance of its time.

"What would you have done if I didn't know how to waltz?" Barbara asked.

Mistral only smiled. A tiny, knowing smile. Hinting of secrets.

"It's the waiting, I suppose you're going to say, that'll drive me mad?" Barbara ventured.

Mistral retained his Mona Lisa smile -- and his silence.

Barbara sighed. "I'm sure it'll be educational." (homage) There was no point in fretting herself to pieces now. If Mistral decided to be offended, he would be offended. The last thing she could do was change the past. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow she would very likely die... Right now, she was dancing with a handsome man, in a lovely room, surrounded by friends and a lot of excellent food that would likely end up in her refrigerator. Life was good.

Besides, Mistral was an excellent dancer. An unconscious smile curled the corners of her mouth and the muscles of her back unwound. They swept across the floor.

"You're not supposed to relax."

"Will you request that I be fired?"

"Would that bother you?"

"Yes. I adore my job," she said. "But I'd find another one. I have an excellent portfolio."

"Even though you cannot work with one of the company's leading actors?"

"Everyone knows that you have a reputation for being difficult."

Mistral's small smile widened. "Everyone knows you have a reputation for--" he leaned over and murmured in her ear.

Barbara laughed. "I need to stop spending so much time at work -- you all know me too well. If I want to have a dating life, I need to get away from my co-workers," she said.

"What?" Mistral replied, with a light mocking voice. "You'll never consider your co-workers as dating material? I," he swirled her around, making the flounces of her skirt rise, "and so many of your gentlemen co-workers are crushed."

"You gentlemen -- and, considering my current partner, I use the term loosely -- are my co-workers. And," she continued, allowing a slightly dubious tone to creep into her voice, "possibly my friends." In fact , Barbara thought, Phil is probably the best friend I have right now. But she looked archly at Mistral, with a quirked brow and a headmistress-like pursing of her lips. "I say 'possibly' because I don't know whether I am in your good graces or out of them."

"In, I assure you." Mistral flowed across the floor, taking her with him. "Such wit is always attractive in a woman. Your co-workers would be blind to miss it."

"I'm sure," she replied, sanctimoniously.

"Do I detect an air of superiority?" Mistral bantered.

"A good officer never shops in the company store," Barbara replied, suddenly serious. (homage)

"Officer?" Drolly.

"I was in the armed forces, you know."

"No." Mistral's eyebrows climbed hairward. "An officer?"

"Surely it's not that shocking, Mistral. You of all people should know that we've all had lives before we came here, no matter how sterile and dull we try to make our surroundings." She met his eyes. "Mary Anne and Sandy are the only ones courageous enough to bring their pasts with them to the office." She smirked a little. "Although Cindie does have a consultation scheduled with me to revamp her cube."

"What makes you think I don't bring my past with me to the office?" Mistral asked, allowing the Interrogator's voice to infuse his own. He half-lidded his eyes and smouldered down on her.

"Sod off, Arthur. I'm not in the mood to be... beguiled," Barbara snapped.

Mistral's eyes widened almost imperceptibly and one corner of his mouth quirked, before growing still.

"Very well then, Lieutenant."

"Captain."

"La Capitan..."
Barbara the Wallpaperer <vanlook@yahoo.comfoo>
MA: *sniffle*... Sandy, how -- c*te... (ducking and running), - Monday, July 23, 2001 at 21:26:32 (PDT)

OH God, I did something wrong, again.*Bangs head against desk*. I'll try it once more, I promise. Here goes !Please please please.
Miranda
- Sunday, July 22, 2001 at 14:02:00 (PDT)

OH NO! The dolls didn't work in that one. The link works but the dolls don't. I'll try it one more time and if i doesn't work I'll find out what's wrong and fix it. OK, so here it is link ! I hope you like these too!
Miranda
- Sunday, July 22, 2001 at 13:52:38 (PDT)

I didn't draw the dolls my self, but there is this website I found that has the layout of the dolls. You add the hair you want them to have, the clothes, the shoes, and other props. I can't really draw, my best drawings are of cats. I have cats all over my school book covers and folders because I draw when I get bored. But usually, me and my sister team up and I write the storys and she illustrates them for me. She is a very taleted person, she's only 12 too.

Her talent will come in handy now because me and her and my friends Callan and Amanda decided that we're going to do our own play of Gone With the Wind. We are re-writing it to suit the time's and the props that we have. I've titled it Gone With the Wind 2001:The Future Version, that's corny but hey it will be awesome! We are going to tape it and then let our parents see it, they're not allowed to see the live version. And since our friend group is all girls, we've had to impravise for the guys. Callan and Amanda'a cats will be Rhett and Ashley and my sisters glass pengiun will be lots of the others.LOL!

Julie, I have the same problem with not having a scanner. I want you guys to see a real pic of me, but I don't have a scanner. I might ask to get one and then get the film from my vacation developed. I know there are some funny pictures in there of me. OK,I'm done rambling. I talk way to much and even though this is the computer and you guys can't tell, way to fast!
Miranda
- Sunday, July 22, 2001 at 10:39:23 (PDT)

MA, I love La Vita Nuova. One of the best examples of passionate love poetry ever, and for anyone who hasn't read it, I highly recommend it. Miranda, I saw your "dolls"; they're fantastic! Did you draw them yourself? Recently, I, myself, drew a picture of your character, in anime style, which I am trying to master, but as I don't have a scanner . . . (shrugs)
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
Lovely all the way around. Welcome back, Miranda!, - Sunday, July 22, 2001 at 09:57:39 (PDT)

FOF set, dressing rooms:

Mary Anne hears a faint metallic clang, and a few minutes later, Brandon emerges from the dressing room with a package in his hand.

"I kept this in my locker so it would be safe," he explains, before setting the package in her lap. "Happy Birthday, Mary Anne."

"Thank you, Christopher!" Mary Anne smiles, drawing out the moments of anticipation by admiring the artfully wrapped parcel, for no tape secures the multicoloured paper: the wrapping is held in place by its own folds, which will nevertheless part at her first touch, to reveal . . . ?

Brandon’s gifts are always interesting, personal, thoughtfully chosen to appeal to her tastes. Mary Anne smiles to herself, remembering: after the first FOF anniversary party, Brandon had presented to her his gold and amber collar stud, redone as a pendant on a fine gold chain. On another occasion, he had given her a vintage necklace of aquamarine enamelwork in a pattern of leaves and flowers, the colour so brilliant it had seemed to glow against her fair skin. And one of the best surprises of all: he had taken her to dinner and reserved a patio table, far from the other diners, and as they were enjoying their meal a classical guitarist had taken a seat nearby and begun to play. Deep in conversation with Brandon, she had not at first paid attention until the man had begun a beautiful and moving arrangement of Bach’s Sleepers, Awake and she had looked over to discover that the guitarist was none other than the renowned Christopher Parkening. She had never questioned Brandon over how he had arranged this, only listened with all her heart until Parkening had completed his selections and then come over to wish her "a happy birthday from two Christophers" before leaving them alone together. How Brandon had grinned over her astonishment and elation! And how long and deeply they had talked together, until the remaining food grew cold on the plates and the lights dimmed and the manager had begun to hover nearby, discreetly clearing his throat . . .

Mary Anne comes out of her daydream to see Brandon smiling at her, waiting patiently, and with a little laugh at her own preoccupation she murmurs, "Sorry," and slides her hand into the folds of paper, which part to disclose . . .

A book.

"Oh."

It is a soft sigh, for the volume is exquisite with its gold-stamped calf binding and Turkish-marbled endpapers, a masterpiece by some lover of the bookbinder’s art. Tenderly, with care for the obvious age and delicacy of the cream-laid paper, Mary Anne turns over the leaves to the title page: a neatly-inked La Vita Nuova.

In silence that amounts to reverence, Mary Anne further explores the wonders of this gift. Of course, Brandon knows that the often-overlooked Vita Nuova by Dante is one of her favourite books, so much that it is a running motif in her FOF scripts. Someone, in putting together this book, had taken the text and hand-lettered it on this silky paper, inserting at intervals various pen and ink drawings, hand-tinted in delicate pastel shades, representing the progress of love.

"I hope it pleases you, Mary Anne."

"Pleases me? Christopher . . ." She draws a long breath. "Whoever did this . . . it must have taken them months to complete it. Years, even. Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember the weekend we went around to all of the antiquarian bookshops?"

She remembers it well. "Yes, but I’d have remembered this if I’d seen it in any of them!"

Brandon smiles. "I took good care that you did not. It was in Antiq’s-"

"Ah-ha!" The careful wrapping of the package-she remembers, now, that this is one of the trademarks of Antiq’s Antiquarian Bookshop: the unique multifoliate wrapping in acid-free tissue, representing the utmost care for fine books.

"And," continues Brandon, "I had already picked it out for you. They wrapped and held it for me, and when we visited that day, they put it in the bag with my own purchases and we left, with you never the wiser."

"Sneaky man!" Fondly. "Thank you. It’s beautiful!" She holds the book out to him. "Christopher, would you do me the honour . . . ?"

Brandon smiles and opens the book, for her knows her wish. Glancing over the pages, he comes at last to the passage he is seeking, and begins to read.

"In my room I seemed to see a cloud the colour of fire, and in the cloud a lord of terrible aspect, yet in himself, it seemed to me, he was filled with a marvellous joy . . ." Brandon looks up from the book. "I remember the first time you put that phrase in one of your scripts, about a lord of terrible aspect. Is that what I was, tonight, do you think?"

"But that lord isn’t Death," protests Mary Anne. "It’s Love."

"Greater than illusion, and strong as Death," murmurs Brandon, before continuing to read. "In one hand the standing figure held a fiery object, and he seemed to say, Vide cor tuum . . ."

"Behold your heart . . ."

Brandon stops and looks at Mary Anne, so still in her white gown, breathlessly awaiting his every word. The sweet scent from her, not merely from the white flowers pinned near her throat, but from her, he would swear it, seeming to emanate from her very skin . . .

Wordlessly, Brandon sets the book aside. Gently, with care. And every bit as gently, he extends one hand, cradling Mary Anne’s head and urging her nearer, dropping one kiss on her hair, brushing another gently against her closed eyes before drawing her fully to him, claiming her lips and taking her breath.

Vide cor meum. Brandon’s own voice, from deep within. Behold my heart.

MA--TOO funny, Barbara! 8-D And a good reaming-out for Valmont, too!
Fondly remembering my London trip and the booksellers at Charing Cross, but as far as I know, there is no Antiq's. And if Renie can have Sir Neville Marriner to conduct at her wedding, then surely Mary Anne can have Christopher Parkening to play for her birthday? Hmmmmm?, - Sunday, July 22, 2001 at 09:37:19 (PDT)

Hi, it's me again! I'm probably getting annoying but I was bored adn made these little doll things. They are based on my FoF story and you can get them here .God I hope that link works!
Miranda
- Saturday, July 21, 2001 at 18:31:17 (PDT)

Miranda watched Julie as she walked of, all the time thinking of what she had said. I've never actually thought of it that way, Miranda thought. "If only it could be like that between me and Metatron. You know what, this is kind of like in Gone With the Wind. Scarlett loved Ashley and Ashley loved Scarlett,kinda, but there was one person between them, Mellie. There's one person between me and Metatron too."

"Oh yeah, and who is that?" Vanessa asked and laughed to herself about the was Miranda was acting.

"God,of course." Miranda told her and stood up. She brushed herself off and just stoo there for a moment. Vanessa and Tina were making weird faces at her and pointing behind her, but they usually did that to trick her so she didn't look back but just gave them a mean look and they stopped. "You guys need to grow..."

Miranda stopped mid-sentance when somebody came up behind her and put their hands over her eyes.

"Guess who?" The person said and laughed.

"Metatron! Your back!" Miranda said excited and turned around. He smiled at her and she gave him a hug, but she wouldn't let go.

"I've been here." He said and tried to pull her away. She just wouldn't move. But finally she pulled away with a mad look on her face.

"WHAT!? How long have you been here!?" Miranda asked him and gave him and evil look.

"Just long enough to hear Julie's little love speech. Admit it, you love me." Metatron told her and took her hand in his.

Miranda's heart was racing and she just didn't know what to say or to do. He smiled and laughed," So you do love me, well I have something to tell you," he brought her close and whispered in her ear,"I love you too."

Miranda couldn't take it anymore and like many time's before she started to cry. He hugged her again and kissed her on the forehead."Don't cry, you wouldn't want everyone here to think you where a crybaby now would you?" Miranda shook her head and smiled at him. She sniffed and then a puzzled look crossed her face. "What is the matter?"

"What about Azrael and the last Scion didn't you have to go and..." Miranda stopped mid-sentance because Metatron was laughing at her! "What's so funny?" She asked and put her hands on her hips.

"That was all fake. Bartleby, Loki, and I had been planning on this the whole time. Julie wasn't in it but I know you. The smallest thing that envolves me leaving you without a reason makes you cry and Julie would definatley have talked to you about me. I just wanted to hear you say that you loved me." Metatron told her and saw a look of admeration and love pass over her fave.

"You did all that just to hear me say that I love you?" Miranda asked him. Metatron shook his head and smiled again. "Then what happened to all of our stuff?"

"While we were at work Bartleby and Loki took it all and put it in thier hotel room. The note you found was written by Bartleby." Metatron told her and Miranda nodded.Vanessa walked by Miranda and whispered to her,"Kiss him!"

Miranda nodded and bit her lip, age doesn't matter,age doesn't matter! She thought to herself but just couldn't kiss him. Finally, Vanessa walked by again this time pushing Miranda into Metatron. She kissed him but she could tell that he didn't want her to. She pulled away and turned around her back to him.

"You love me, yet you won't let me kiss you. Why?" She frowned and crossed her arms. He sighed and tried to get her to turn and face him, with no luck.

"This place isn't the right place to. Just wait intill later. Okay?"

"Fine, but remember this. Age doesn't matter. Just remind me of that. I love you and I don't want to loose you. Even though I still think you and Julie would make the perfect couple."
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
I just saw the movie Gone With the Wind.I think it was the one made in like the 40's or 50's.It's in color and it was a wonderful movie!, - Saturday, July 21, 2001 at 15:12:12 (PDT)

O.K.! Well, I was just wondering if maybe I could start writing my story again.I came up with a brillant idea,well to me it is, and I wanna post it before I decide to not post it! I know the party is only like half-way thru but I really want to and I swear I'll write party posts.So can I?
Miranda
just wondering, - Saturday, July 21, 2001 at 14:01:26 (PDT)

Fausta and several others join in the chorus,

"Oh, He's the Interrogator and he's okay,
he lurks all night and plots all day!"
Fausta
Where's Hans? As in "Where's Waldo"!, - Friday, July 20, 2001 at 16:02:23 (PDT)

I'm BACK!

God I can't remember the last time I havn't been online at least twice a day. But Georgia is a good place to relax. Except for me! I got sick the last two days and had to stay home while my parents and my sis and my grandparents went off an had fun!*Sniff*

But, it was fun and it was even funner when we went to a place called Stone Mountain for a laser light show on Sunday and met up with my friends Callan and Amanda to watch the laser light show. With our luck they started to play loud music right before the show. To our surprise they played the song,"The Macerana"(spelled wrong,ya I know)! My friend Callan said that we should get up and dance to it because every one there, which was about 50,000 people, didn't know us and probably would never see us again. So I agreed and me, Callam, Amanda, and my sister Jordaine got up and danced! People were watching us and filming us but we didn't care, It was soooo much fun! OK I think I'm done rambling.

I promise I'll post tomorrow. A week really sets you back!
Miranda
- Friday, July 20, 2001 at 15:21:45 (PDT)

Slight flashback prior to Barbara's "Interrogator Song":

"Wow. Now that's what I'd call great special effects," Sandy marveled, blinking several times to clear the flash from her eyes and Alex nodded in agreement while excited murmurs rose about them. The two listened with great interest to Mistral's explanation of exactly who Brandon was portraying tonight, watching as his face softened almost imperceptibly when he gazed down at Cindie's face while he uttered his final words.

After a few minutes of soft conversation amongst the guests, the orchestra started playing again. Alex turned to Sandy and raised an eyebrow. She nodded and the two found a place on the floor. They danced in silence, concentrating on the beat of the music until Alex gently cleared his throat. Sandy looked up curiously and he smiled. "So, you danced with Death personified tonight and survived relatively unscathed," he murmured.

Sandy didn't answer for a few moments, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. "But isn't that what all of us do every day? We play games with it - trying to cheat it. We dance with it, and we fight as hard as we can to keep it away - but it always triumphs in the end," she said quietly.

"Indeed," Alex agreed with her as they glided across the floor in perfect synch. "It's not often that I see you being so serious," he observed after a short pause. "You're a very intense person, especially when you're working, but there's a mischievous streak that tempers it. Complete seriousness from you, however, is a rare occasion." He chuckled as he recalled all the times he was able to scare her half to death by walking into her cubicle while she was working, so engrossed with what she was doing that she was unaware of his presence until he touched her shoulder.

"What mischievous streak are you talking about?" Sandy asked with a completely straight face that lasted all of thirty seconds.

Alex threw his head back as rich laughter erupted from him, eyes twinkling merrily. "That's exactly what I mean," he replied. "Quite frankly, it's refreshing... and I find it..." His voice lowered to a gentle rumble, "...extremely attractive."

"It's important to keep a healthy sense of humor. If I was serious all the time, I think I'd be nuts," Sandy told him. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her eyes, framed by long thick black eyelashes, were smoky as she gazed steadily into Alex's face. The diamonds on her necklace and earrings caught the light and sparkled brilliantly as he twirled her around before he brought her close to him again.

"I agree. It's not healthy - and I had forgotten how important it is to relax and laugh at yourself once in a while," Alex said quietly. Sandy's eyes widened. "You look surprised that I said that."

"It's been a night of surprises," Sandy admitted softly, her lips curving up.

"I'm sure that there's plenty more in store. This party's not over by a long shot," Alex replied airily with a wink as he returned the smile and dipped her. His lips brushed over hers briefly before he returned her to an upright position.

"Just like that?" she breathed when she found her voice again.

"Just like that," he confirmed with a wide grin.

Sandy
I can't stop laughing, Barbara! Yes!!!!! That was GREAT!!!! , - Friday, July 20, 2001 at 13:27:40 (PDT)

Anniversary Party Site

"Oui. The... stylist... is correct." Valmont made the word into a delicate imprecation. Startled, Phil jerked his hands from Barbara's shoulders, as if burnt. Valmont bent to take her hand, lifted it to his lips and lightly brushed a kiss over her knuckles. "Tears are cleaned from evening wear most easily." Barbara pulled her hand away.

"And you would be knowing about the cleaning of women's tears out of your garments."

Valmont was briefly taken aback by the speed of Phil's return. But--"Indeed, women seek my comfort from the cruelties of their lovers." He smiled down on Barbara.

She snorted. "And then they turn from you to the comfort of their friends." Her eyes narrowed. "There are thousands of things I'd do before I'd weep on you, Valmont."

"Like what, mon chere?"

"I'd call an Irishman 'English' before I'd trust you. I'd go to a Rocky Horror show and tell everyone I'd never seen it before. I'd jump out of a perfectly good aeroplane with only a wad of silk to keep me from going splat. I'd tell George that Joya was seeing someone else. Get my toenails removed with a pair of pliers--"

"Sing that song about Mistral?" Phil interjected, smiling slightly. Valmont's face had grown icier as Barbara's litany lengthened.

"Exactly." She smiled up at Valmont, mockingly. "I perfectly believe you know precisely how to remove the marks of every bodily fluid from your evening wear." With a cold, stiff bow, Valmont stalked off.

"That was unkind," Sandy said.

"He touched me without asking permission," Barbara replied. "The man puts my hackles up." Phil touched her tentatively on the shoulder. Barbara nodded assurance.

"What song about Mistral?" Alex asked, his curiosity piqued. Phil chuckled. Barbara glared at him and looked around nervously. She saw no one. Still, she lowered her voice.

"It's just this little ditty I came up with, under the influence of too much coffee and too little sleep."

"And Monty Python," Phil interjected, smiling.

"And Monty Python, for which I blame you," Barbara shot back. She tapped two fingers on Phil's chest.

"Me?"

"Blame Phil? For what?" Chris and Hamlet had drifted back out looking for Sandy and Alex. Chris looked puzzled. "What did he do?"

"I introduced you to Rogers and Astaire," Phil said, fending off the shot. "You're the one who was introducing me to Monty Python."

"Exactly."

Now Chris wasn't the only one who looked puzzled.

"What?" "What'd she mean?" "What do you mean?" "How is that?"

"If Phil had heard of Monty Python, I wouldn't have had to break out the tapes. It's because I had to play them for him that I got the tune in my head. And then, with talking about work, and the thefts on-set and worrying about getting fired..." Barbara cut herself off at the sudden interest her words perked.

"Getting fired?" Teresa asked. She was leaning on Dev's arm. "Alan's not in the habit of doing that casually."

"My God," Hamlet asked, "what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. I thought I had done something, but I hadn't and it turned out fine." Barbara tried to lay to rest the questions. She flushed, embarrassed and residually ashamed. The circle of her co-workers muttered, speculating.

"What song about Mistral?" Alex had pulled his head back and was eyeing Barbara with some appreciation. "That was a fine attempt to distract us--" he flashed a grin at Sandy "--but I still want to hear it." Barbara missed the wicked gleam in his eye.

Phil chuckled. "There's being this song about lumberjacks..." he began. Sandy started laughing. A slow grin crept across Chris' face.

"Oh, you've got to sing it now, Barbara," Chris said.

"But--"

"Oh, we've got to hear this," Sandy added.

"You can't leave us hanging," Teresa pointed out.

"Fine!" Barbara exclaimed. "But I make no apologies for my singing voice, which is atrocious."

"Just sing it," Alex growled, but his eyes twinkled. Barbara took a deep breath and launched into song.

"Oh, I'm an Interrogator and I'm okay,
I lurk all night and I plot all day
I wear dark suits and wide-brimmed hats
Even when I've got no cause
I iron Claudia's thingies
And hunt for Renie's bras."

Dev had started chuckling by the second line. Sandy and Chris had taken one look at each other and fallen into convulsive fits of giggles. When Barbara got to the line about Claudia's "thingies," Ed guffawed. Cindie's distinctive laugh rolled out across the top of the rest. Struck with a cold bolt, Barbara turned.

Cindie and Mistral were standing in the entrance to the garden, on the top step of the low rise of stairs. Merriment still shone in Cindie's eyes, making them sparkling rivals to her earrings. Mistral's face wore a peculiar... stuffed... expression. Barbara wondered if he was angry. Or laughing. She couldn't tell. And at that moment, she remembered that "mortification" had the same root word as "death." (homage)

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Thank you, Renie! Cindie, I won't get to the dance this weekend... I have to go outta town , - Friday, July 20, 2001 at 13:07:41 (PDT)

From behind a curtain...

Thanks, Cindie! Yes, hullo Barbara--you really know how to throw a party! I wouldn't miss an FOF anniversary party for all the roses in Chance's garden at Delaford. (And Fasuta, I know you've been asking about Hans...I haven't forgotten.)

And of course bravo to Suzanne, who continues to ummm, *Empress* us all...
Renie (who has wonderful memories of those very sets!) , - Thursday, July 19, 2001 at 10:18:51 (PDT)

Their hands clasped together, Brandon and Mary Anne move further off into the darkness around the patio, as the sound of conversation fades . . .

"Can we get back into the set from here?" whispers Mary Anne.

"This way," directs Brandon, drawing her after him. "I checked before we changed into our costumes."

Mary Anne smiles to herself. It is an adventure, this night, the way she and Brandon have enacted their scene and disappeared, leaving all the talk and speculation in their wake . . . oh, they will return to the party, no doubt, but how sweet the quiet is, how peaceful. All her senses, keen and trembling: the flow of the cool night air over her face is delicious, though she is warm, walking beside Brandon and swathed in the folds of his cloak. The rustling hsssshhh of it thunders in her ears as they thread their way along the path, treading through flowering shrubs that release clouds of scent in their passage . . . her eyes, alert to every star, the least flicker of light . . .

"There."

Brandon’s voice. She can taste it on her lips.

"Yes," she answers softly, seeing the light ahead of them over the doorway.

Brandon tries the door, which opens silently, and he beckons her through and closes it behind them. "We are on the far side of the set here."

Mary Anne nods. Most people, herself included, come in from the main street entrance, or else from the door off of the reserved parking; she has never entered the set from this side, though it does not take long for her to get her bearings as they move through the corridors and her surroundings begin to look familiar. Yes, that corridor there, that leads down to the set for the Valley of the Moon-now locked more securely than ever-and here is the entrance for Safehouse #3, not in use at this time . . .

Brandon has slowed his pace as they walk through the building, and Mary Anne takes in the experience of walking through the silenced sets, generally so busy, bustling with activity, and now . . . It’s like watching someone sleep, she thinks. Someone you love. Knowing they’ll be awake again soon, and you’ll sit down to breakfast and talk and make plans, but not yet, and you just watch and enjoy . . . anticipating . . .

They have come back to the dressing rooms where they had changed for the party. Mary Anne settles herself on the bench before the mirror and watches as Brandon unclasps his cloak and folds it over a chair.

"I’ve already said it, Christopher, but I’ll say it again. You were magnificent."

"Thank you, Mary Anne." Brandon passes one hand slowly over the black folds of the cloak. "An interesting opportunity. But I think I’ll be content with playing the Colonel, for the time being."

"I’m glad. He suits you. However," she teases, "the Prince was awfully fascinating, you know."

"Of course," replies Brandon. "Awfully, in the original sense. Which reminds me . . ."

Mary Anne questions him with a look, but Brandon forestalls her with a raised hand, as he moves off toward one of the dressing rooms. "Wait right there. I will be back in just a moment."

MA--my thanks to all who enjoyed the scene.
See the film! 8-), - Wednesday, July 18, 2001 at 05:57:42 (PDT)

Julie held off in her conversation with Miranda until Mary Anne and Brandon had finished their performance. I can honestly say I knew nothing of magic until I saw that (homage). She stood dreamily looking up to the staircase where they'd disappeared. Yet, isn't that the power of magic? The ability of human belief, working in accordance with something greater, love, in this case, to accomplish that which is impossible. What's called magic by my type of person is justly called "a miracle" by others. Need enough, believe strongly and you will most certainly be answered.

"That looked kinda familiar," Miranda finally spoke, shaking away the sense of awe that had gripped her as well.

"Well, they sort of derived part of that idea for Meet Joe Black . I thought this was much better, though. Much more . . . elegant and empassioned. Don't get me wrong, I like Brad Pitt enough, but three hours of him was a bit much. Aside from that, he was another one of those actors that a friend had a huge crush on, and I considered him 'out of bounds' and lost interest."

"but Metatron isn't 'out of bounds' for you. I've already told you so." Miranda was puzzled at Julie's strange notions considering others' "ownership" of their men. "You'd be perfect for each other."

"Perfect for each other" . . . no, I've already seen several examples of "perfect" tonight, and even though I like Metatron quite a lot, I'm hardly perfect for him, the older of the two thought. "I do like him, quite a lot, always have. But, I think you need him more. You may not see it now, but there's something between the both of you that goes beyond your performances. There's a depth there that the both of you are only beginning to see."

"I'm still too young for him."

"Angels have eternity. Do you think that matters to him, anyway?. If love can overcome Death," she glanced at where Mary Anne and Brandon had been performing, "then it should be able to close the gap caused by age."

"How would you know if it's love or not?" Tina cut in, sounding angry, but actually concerned for Miranda's welfare.

Julie didn't blame her for it at all. After all, she was the near-complete stranger here, and here she was giving Miranda love advice. Still, Julie didn't want to see Miranda miss an opportunity for love just because she also happened to have a great admiration for the Voice of God. "I wouldn't, Tina, but don't you think it's a chance worth taking, to have something magnificent like that?" Julie sipped her soda.

"I . . . can't."

Julie hooded her eyes behind her wire-frames. "Of course you can. It can only harm you if you let it. If, say, you confronted those Stygian Triplets you're so afraid of, they would only be able to hurt you if you didn't believe in your own power, and that of the Divine through you. No evil can get through that. Serendipity said it herself: "the pure side always does the most damage" (homage). If you believe in the greater good, if you have faith in your own will, there's no way you can fail. If circumstances cause you to have a loss, you have a loss, but it isn't a failure. As cliche as it sounds, your own mind can make or break you. at least try with Metatron before you believe you've failed." Julie sighed upon finishing her speech, thinking Thank You, Julie-wan Kenobi, motivational speaker. Where did all that come from?

"I'll think about it," Miranda said.

"Please do. I don't think you'll lose him as a friend for trying. Do you guys mind if I go out for a little air?"

"No, sure, go ahead."

Julie nodded her thanks to the angels and wandered out into the cool night air. Goddess' mercy, I had no right to talk so much. I've got a really big mouth, telling Miranda to go for it, when I haven't even got the courage to offer my script to the Director. I talk about will, but I don't even have enough to do that.

**I think you did that perfectly, and that suits you,** a familiar mindvoice spoke. The white and orange tabby came trotting across the lawn.

**Tommy, what are you doing here?**

**Never mind that. I trust you encouraged Miranda in the Metatron's direction?**

**Yes. I mean, it's obvious they really care for each other, and, besides, I'd have no right taking Miranda's mentor away from his work,** Julie replied.

** That's just as well. Don't make any "romantic attachments", Jinx. You don't want to break any hearts before the journey you're going on,** The cat blinked large, peridot eyes at her.

**ME?! Break hearts? Julie the nerd? I think not," she mindshouted back. **Wait a minute. What journey?**
Julie
Magnificently done, MA., - Monday, July 16, 2001 at 10:13:29 (PDT)

Anniversary party site

Barbara's storm of weeping eventually passed. When Phil felt her arms unlock from around him, he was prepared for her push away from him and had already loosened his own hold. She sniffled, getting back into some semblance of herself. He offered her his handkerchief; his own, thankfully. The one which had come with the formalwear hadn't been the right color, so he'd replaced it with the jasper-red one he now pulled out and handed over.

"Thank you," she said, her voice raw. She wasn't a woman who could cry prettily. Her eyes were red, her face was blotched and her nose was swollen. He wiped at the tearstreaks with his fingertips. Her face was naked. She was beautiful.

"I look horrible, don't I?" she asked, with a painful, awkward attempt at her usual amused detachment.

Phil halted for a moment, mouth open. "You're always having the talent of asking loaded questions," he replied, somewhat petulantly.

The bout of laughter which followed didn't sound that much different to Phil than the bout of weeping which had preceeded it.

******************************

But the laughter had been much more welcome than the tears. Barbara could feel, like she imagined amputees could still feel their severed limbs, the shape of Phil's body in her arms, the sudden cold on those parts of her body which had been pressed up against his. She had clung to him like a child and cried. She flushed, embarrassed. She had always been the strong one in their friendship. Oh, what must he think of me? she thought (homage)

"Oh! Your jacket!" She turn4ed to his clothes and started to examine them. She touched his lapel and jerked back. It was soaked. "Oh, no! It's ruined. Melyssande is going to hate me," she said. "I am so sorry, Phil." And, as always when she was nervous, Barbara started to babble.

******************************

Babbled apologies for crying on his clothes -- apologies for crying! -- were a little too much for Phil to bear. He stared blankly at her mouth as her half-nonsensical words tumbled out. Her lips were red and swollen from crying, her lipstick slightly smeared. He gently laid his hands over her shoulders.

Phil could feel himself tightening his grip and pulling her to him. He could feel himself diving for her mouth, the soft skin of her lips under his. He could feel himself pulling her headdress off, could feel her hair tumble down across the backs of his hands. He could smell the wave of lavender from her hair, the sandalwood from her skin. He could feel the silky strands in his fingers as he cupped the backo f her head in his palms, tiger iron flowing around his knuckles. He could feel it happen.

He did none of those things. Instead, he swallowed and shook her gently by her shoulders. "No apologies for crying. I'll not be tolerating it. Tears'll be coming out of a tuxedo. It'll be no trouble at all."
Barbara the Wallpaperer <vanlook@yahoo.comfoo>
MA--actually *I* love the film!, - Monday, July 16, 2001 at 10:09:55 (PDT)

Anniversary party site

Barbara was trembling. Unmoving, she remained where she had been standing after everyone else had gone back inside, talking in excited tones of Brandon and Mary Anne's performance.

Phil touched her arm. The muscles were taut under his fingertips. "Barbara?"

"No wonder." The hoarse whisper seeped out. She breathed harshly for a moment. "No wonder."

Phil stepped around her until he was looking down into her face. "No wonder, wh--" he began to ask, then stopped.

Barbara was trembling in her shoes. But it was not fear or awe or half-stricken delight that darkened her multi-colored eyes to black and drained her face of blood.

It was rage.

"No wonder I couldn't place them," she hissed. "I loathe that film."

Phil stared at her, astonished. With some trepidation, he grasped each shoulder and steered her to the nearest bench. Sitting her down in the dim light, he sat next to her. "Why?"

Her voice exited in a ragged, hollow whisper. It makes Death into a noble, self-sacrificing friend--" the word was laden with contempt "--when it is nothing more than a sneak-thief, a burglar who breaks into your home and steals away the treasures of a lifetime. 'You will find your old friend,'" she quoted, soaking the phrase with bitterness. "A thief like that? No friend to me. No friend of mine." An aching rage curled her lip. Her jaw clenched and she took several great, gulping breaths through her teeth, fighting back the tears. Phil had shed many such tears himself, sometimes, alone, sometimes on Barbara's shoulder, when it had been too much. She had never cried on his.

In fact, Phil could not remember ever seeing her cry.

Somewhat tentatively, Phil put an arm around her shoulders and leaned her against his chest, dodging the wax pineapple leaves as best he could. His hand rested along the side of her head. She stiffened. He brushed her temple with his thumb. "Yes," he breathed and nodded, his movement shifting the fruit in her headdress slightly. "Yes."

She took two swift, gulping breaths, which came back out in great, ragged sobs. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, and she cluthed at him as if he were a plank in a wide sea. A ripple passed through her, stiffing up Phil could only guess which monsters from the depths. She cried. Nearly-silent, wracking heaves that hunched her back and bent her body. Phil could only hold her, cradling the back of her head in his hand, and gently rock with her weeping.

All he could think of saying was, "Yes...yes..." He desperately wanted a drink.
Barbara the Wallpaperer <vanlook@yahoo.comfoo>
Was that--Renie? Did she come to our party?, - Monday, July 16, 2001 at 09:57:14 (PDT)

Maybe it was Snape! *grin*

Or is he still lost in the woods?
- Monday, July 16, 2001 at 08:07:49 (PDT)

On the patio:

The Director is pouring himself a fresh glass of champagne when he feels a hand on his sleeve, and looks up to see Suzanne. "Excuse me-" She gestures for him to come with her. "I think you’ll want to have a look at this."

The Director obliges her and follows, smiling to himself, for her hand on his arm had been . . . well, not quite steady. Brandon, of course. Those ‘cloak’ roles get her every time.

The Director follows Suzanne as she leads him back inside where the band has resumed playing, and across the room to a board where several technicians are talking to each other in low, puzzled tones.

"Well," he says as he joins them. "That was quite an effect out there. Did Suzanne put you up to it?" He smiles at Suzanne, remembering her fascination with the more mechanical sides of the business-sound effects, lighting, the official web page, and so forth. But Suzanne does not smile back.

"That’s just it, sir," replies one of the techs. "We didn’t do it."

The Director waits.

"We’re not set up for an effect like that," explains another. "There isn’t enough power-if we’d tried it, we would have shorted out this whole panel and half the spotlights. But look." He gestures to the light board, where all the telltales show a steady green.

The Director stands for a moment, his brow creased in thought. "A power surge?" he finally ventures.

"Maybe," replies Suzanne, who is examining the board herself, her golden gown bathed in an almost iridescent glow from the green lights on the panel. "But from where?"

Where, indeed, thinks The Director, turning to gaze out at the patio where the party seems to be resuming. "More things in heaven and earth," he murmurs, before nodding to the techs. "Keep an eye on it. So long as it’s working properly and there’s no danger . . ."

A brief diagnostic confirms that all is in perfect working order.

"In that case, it will keep until tomorrow." The Director offers his arm to Suzanne. "Shall we?"

But they cannot resist one last speculative glance at the lighting panel, before moving out onto the patio and rejoining the party . . .

MA--thank you, Cindie. R, dearest! *hug* Glad you could join us! 8-)
And have no fear, everyone; Brandon and Mary Anne are . . . quite safe. , - Monday, July 16, 2001 at 07:22:43 (PDT)

Breathtaking, simply breathtaking!
Cindie
- Monday, July 16, 2001 at 05:36:54 (PDT)

The roving spotlight returns, and this time, catches and keeps a corner of Mary Anne's eye. A glitter and flash as bright as any gem on earth. It seems that her eyes speak, as that is all that can be seen, or felt.

"A love which casts out fear..." she repeats.

The black-gloved hand reaches for the place behind her neck, underneath the hair he so treasures, though not more than the brilliant woman it so becomes.

And in the stillness, which below lies not so still, but above spreads out and over and under them like flak of down, his voice fills the space between, which even at its moment of event horizon had already passed from feathery solid to liquid and to air again, so that the waves of sound seemed to return, louder, then softer, then rising again, even as the tide trembles in its turn.

"Then happy I, that love and am belov'd..."

The rest, words in mid-air, unspoken, never lost.

And best to all the FOF expanded family!
R, - Sunday, July 15, 2001 at 22:15:27 (PDT)

Scene: The top of the short flight of steps. A little ways off.

While the pair of columns still reverberate with appreciative chatter and bona fide wonder, a pair of lover seem cloaked in black for a full few seconds, before the shadow garment slides towards the floor on which the couple do not walk so much as glide into further darkness.

Darkness, but only for a moment.

"Mary Anne--" It is Brandon's voice, but the shadings under and inside are unmistakable.

The thin light of a passing spotlight catches Brandon's glistening skin between his black glove and his elegant sleeve. Then darkness, again. He can feel Mary Anne, breathing against him.

Her voice, a whisper. "You were magnificent."

Her voice reaches inside of him.

Happy Anniversary FOF!
- Sunday, July 15, 2001 at 22:09:42 (PDT)

There is a long moment of stillness, before the spectators begin to chatter excitedly. "Who were they?" "What was that from?" "-seemed awfully familiar-" "-know I’ve seen it somewhere before-"

The Director raises one hand for silence and is about to reply . . .

But Mistral is there ahead of him. "The film," he explains quietly, "is called Death Takes A Holiday. With Fredric March. I believe the year is 1934."

Everyone waits.

"The idea," Mistral continues, "is that Death wants to know why men fear him, and cling to their lives. In an attempt to discover the reason, he becomes a mortal, for three days. For those three days there is no Death, no one dying anywhere on earth. And he does discover the reason."

Mistral glances down at Cindie, who is still blinking the moisture from her eyes. That blinding flash of light, or . . .

"The reason-"

Only Cindie feels his hesitation, the pause to clear his throat-so subtle and momentary it would not be noticed by someone a yard away from him.

It is revealed only to her.

"The reason . . . is love."

MA
I think Mistral's been sitting up late watching AMC . . . ;-), - Sunday, July 15, 2001 at 20:28:26 (PDT)

Anniversary party-just short of midnight:

The Director pauses for a moment to survey the festivities. Another Flights of Fancy Anniversary cast party . . . he shakes his head and, with a reminiscent sigh, takes another sip from his flute of champagne. It is hard to believe the cast has been together for so long. To say nothing of all the new blood we’ve been getting lately. Do they know how proud I am of all of them? Surely they do. A wry little smile. Perhaps I don’t say it as much as I should, but they must know . . .

As The Director muses over the past, he gradually becomes aware that some sort of disturbance is developing just out on the patio. Setting down his champagne, he steps nearer for a look.

What the devil is the matter with Brandon? he wonders, as he glances about quickly for Mary Anne, who is nowhere to be seen. Brandon, meanwhile, has drawn about him more closely than ever the mantle of Prince Sirki and stares haughtily at a small group of party guests who have gathered about him . . . and there, leading them, is none other than Anton Gruber.

As The Director moves closer to listen, he gathers that Brandon is swapping lines with the group, and he catches fragments of dialogue: "It was my life or my son’s, sir," and, a few moments later, "Must we lose Grazia?"

The Director elects not to interfere. Something interesting is obviously in progress. Settling himself in the shadow of a column, well away from any carriage lamps or alternating-intensity spotlights, he glances about the patio, where a crowd is gathering. Claudia, there--look for the red dress; I should know that by now--and Barbara in her Carmen Miranda ensemble, watching breathlessly and standing so still her bangles make not the least rattle. Quietly, Phil moves up behind her. And Sandy, fascinated but uneasy, as she slides her hand into Dane’s, who nods as if his "detective work" has just been confirmed.

And there, very close by-Cindie, her arm through Mistral’s, so intent on what is playing before her that she doesn’t notice Mistral angle his body slightly, placing it between them . . .

. . . and Brandon, who is radiating a sublime despair in spite of his princely arrogance. The Director blinks once, twice, making certain it is indeed Brandon, for even his physical appearance seems to have altered: as Prince Sirki, he seems to have grown taller, casting a gigantic shadow as Barbara’s lighting arrangements cycle through their varying intensities, now obscuring Brandon’s face, then again revealing the bone-white planes and angles of it, his tear-misted eyes a stark contrast to the chill of his voice as he tells the group remonstrating with him that no, he will not give Grazia back. "It is for you to call her back . . . she is coming. Save her if you can."

At precisely that moment, Mary Anne appears at the head of a short flight of steps behind Brandon, her eyes fixed upon him as she steps between the two columns at the head of the steps and walks slowly down toward him. "Your Highness . . . did you call?"

There is much that has to be improvised, naturally, for the group of "Grazia’s" defenders had been picked from among the partygoers and the crew, even a few members of the catering staff, but they had entered into their task with a right good will and The Director watches, thinking that for something that had been assembled in a hurry, it’s one of the better performances he’s seen, as one after another they appeal to the dread Prince, begging him not to take Grazia from them.

And even the Prince himself turns harshly to his Grazia, claiming that "I came to this house as a jest, and made love to you as a jest . . ."

Mary Anne holds out her slim white arms toward Brandon. "You are trying to destroy my love-" A nod toward the group about Brandon. "-because they wish it. It was not a jest."

A strange tension builds as the onlookers exchange glances with each other, wondering where this may lead. A muffled exclamation or two as some of the guests realize who Brandon is portraying, that this Prince Sirki of Vitalba-Alexandri is no mere mortal being, but . . .

At that moment, the deep tolling of a bell echoes through the party set. The first stroke of midnight.

"Grazia, my little love-" Brandon’s voice, on the edge of a cry that would drown out the midnight bell. "It was not a jest!"

Brandon turns and mounts swiftly to the top of the steps, disappears behind a column--

--and reappears.

Gasps all over the patio, for Brandon is now swathed in a long, dark cloak, the hood drawn up to conceal his face, a shadow, the shadow that lies across men’s dreams.

Cindie presses closer against Mistral, who wraps an arm firmly about her shoulders as though he would be the immovable object against any irresistible force . . .yes, even that force. Perhaps especially that one.

Barbara is trembling. Well, she had wanted to know . . . nor does she stir a step as Phil moves even closer behind her, not touching her, but lending his presence.

On the opposite side of the patio, Sandy’s lips purse in a silent whistle of astonishment, as Dane gives a little nod, confirming that he is watching a superior performance.

Ed and Claudia exchange appreciative glances, before Ed returns his attention to the scene before them, his fingers itching to sketch the grouped figures . . .

And Brandon’s gaze sweeps over them all and seems to gather them to him, as he announces in tones reverberant with loneliness and loss: "Goodbye, my friends. Remember that there is only a moment of shadow between your life and mine. And when I call . . . " He extends one hand-no longer gloved in white, but in black. " . . . come bravely through that shadow, and you shall find me only your familiar friend."

The clock continues its remorseless count toward midnight, as Brandon turns toward the rapt Mary Anne. "Goodbye, Grazia. Now you see me as I am."

"But I have always seen you like that. You haven’t changed."

A pause. Brandon’s voice, soft with wonder. "You have seen me . . . like this?"

Mary Anne moves up the steps to stand before him. "Yes. Always."

Silence.

And then Brandon opens wide his arms and Mary Anne moves into toward him, even as he cries out in triumph: "Then there is a love which casts out fear, and I have found it. And love is greater than illusion . . ." Gently, he enfolds Mary Anne in his arms, wrapping the blackness of his cloak about her.

" . . . and as strong as . . . Death!"

The last chime echoes across the set.

There is a sudden and blinding flash of white . . .

. . . and when it fades, together with the sound of the midnight bell, Mary Anne and Brandon have disappeared.

MA--extended homage, to a film I love.
And that film is . . ., - Sunday, July 15, 2001 at 20:23:52 (PDT)

Further entries from the obtained journal, submitted to the Board of Commission Investigating the Recently Completed Disturbances in the Shire of Nottingham During the Reign of Our Glorious King Richard Lionheart

"Is she her mummy's darling, then? Yes she is! Is she just the sweetest, dearest, darlingest, iddle-widdle dumpling in the whole, entire kingdom? Yes she is!"

The high-pitched voice spiked through a fog of sleep straight into my ear. Without opening my eyes I groped amongst the bed furs and yanked the thickest one over my head. It didn't work. The voice came through loud and clear.

"And is this a teeny-tiny footsie-wootsie? Yes it is! And are these her little toesie-woesies? Yes, they are! I could just bite them right off, yes I could. Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. Hmm." A series of disgustingly moist smacking sounds punctuated this last bit of gibberish.

Sleep was obviously impossible. I lowered the fur enough to discover the source of that ridiculous singsong chanting. My bleary gaze swept the room from the closest bedpost, across the rugs to the huge fireplace, past Joya's loom and basket of coloured wools, to the alcove where we'd placed the cradle. Joya, wrapped in a thick robe against the morning chill and with her hair cascading down her back, sat in my carved chair. She smiled at a large woman dressed like a servant leaning over the cradle making awful sounds at my daughter. As I watched in disbelief, this retainer lifted the edge of her veil to cover her face, then dropped it quickly and grinned maniacally. "Peek-boo, sweetums. Peek-boo!"

I threw back the bed furs and sat up. Joya glanced over, one brow arched derisively. "Well, good morning, my lord. Will you break the fast with some warm bread?" She nodded at a covered basket on the table.

Now that I was vertical the smell of food was strong. I yanked my clothes on and shoved my feet into my boots, then followed my nose to the table. Lifting the cloths, I examined the assortment carefully before making a selection. "Wonderful idea. Do you want some?"

"No, Bertha and I ate some time ago. We've just been playing with the baby." She smiled at the servant, who smirked happily. "Bertha has quite a way with children. She's going to be a big help to me for the next few months."

"Really?" I tore a chunk from the bread. "Was that drivel she was babbling her idea of help?"

Bertha looked affronted. Joya frowned. "She was making friends with our child."

"Well, she can stop it. I don't want any child of mine being drooled over." I jerked my thumb at the door. "And she can get out now."

Joya's frown deepened. The servant clambered to her feet and swept out of the room with huffy dispatch. The door almost - but not quite - slammed behind her. In the silence she left behind, I chewed my bread and waited for the argument to start.

Joya didn't seem to know how to begin. For several moments, she fussed with her robe, pleating the thick fabric between her fingers and stroking the fur. I had finished my loaf and was peeling a pear when she finally spoke.

"Bertha told me something interesting. Apparently there's a rumour going around the castle." She cocked her head to one side, her hair tumbling down her arm.

A flanking action rather than a direct charge. I shrugged. "There usually is."

"This rumour is a new one. It got started last night. Apparently the servants are drinking toasts to our daughter. " With a fluid grace that almost made me choke on my meal, she rose from the chair and advanced to the end of the table. The robe slipped down her arms to her waist. With one delicate finger, she traced patterns on the wood. "They seem to think her name is Richard."

"Oh, that." It came out in a dry croak. I coughed and tried again. "Yes, that's right. Your arguments won me over. It is indeed a noble name and it will flatter the king to know that we named our first-born after him. I knew you'd be pleased."

"I see. So you did it to please me. How thoughtful." She folded her arms and looked down her nose at me. "And did it occur to you that your wonderful gesture will render our daughter a laughing stock?"

I wiped the crumbs from my fingers with the cloth. Joya seemed to be upset about something. Of course no one would ever treat a child of mine with less than total courtesy - unless they had an overwhelming death wish. Obviously Joya's recent experience had upset her equilibrium. I decided to humour her. New mothers have to be cherished. "I doubt that very much, my dear. She is, after all, our daughter. And in addition -"

The knock almost splintered the door. Joya jumped and I fumbled the pear. As we stared at the door, it sounded again with even more insistence and then crashed open. A messenger stood on the threshold, mud clinging to his garments and the large pouch fastened by a thick strap around his neck. Through the dirt it was just possible to make out Plantagenet livery. Behind him stood two of my men-at-arms, uncertain what to do.

"Yes, my man? What do you want?" I dropped the fruit and stood up. Normally I would not have tolerated this kind of intrusion but under the circumstances I was prepared to be tolerant. Joya would not wish to quarrel in front of one of her royal brother's messengers.

He entered the room and saluted me. The gesture left a large smear of dirt on his cheek.

"Sir. At the order of King Richard of glorious renown I bring you this summons to court." He opened the pouch, rooted around for a few seconds and then brought out a stiff roll of parchment with a red wax seal the size of my fist dangling from it. He handed it over and bowed himself back to the door.

I examined the thing with distaste. If there was a flaw in the otherwise unalloyed pleasure of marriage to Joya, it was her royal half-brother's ridiculous notion that I was willing to drop whatever I was doing and hare off to court at a moment's notice to serve him. He'd done it several times since our wedding and I was getting fed up with it. I pulled out my dagger and cracked the great seal with one slice, then flipped open the roll and began to read.

"To George, Lord Nottingham and Lord High Sheriff of the shire, the King sends greetings. To his most beloved half-sister Joya, Lady Nottingham, the King sends his most tender regards." I rolled my eyes; the business of the kingdom would run a lot smoother if scribes didn't get paid by the word.

"Know that we have received dire and important news from the Count of Anjou that requires the presence of Lord Nottingham in Winchester immediately. I therefore command him to set out directly he receives this document and waste no time in his journey. This news is too vital to relay in a message but he should be aware that it concerns his fortunes beyond all others in the kingdom. Therefore let him come to court to assist his sovereign in protecting it. Signed, King Richard Lionheart, Crusader and King of England."

"Good Lord, George." Joya had read it over my shoulder. "What can it mean?"

"I have no idea." I looked at the messenger. "Did the king give you any private message for me that he could not trust to paper?"

"No, my lord." He shook his head; a drying clump of mud fell off his ear and landed on the rushes. "King Richard told me to urge you to make all possible haste in coming to court but nothing else."

I rolled the parchment up again slowly. Wonderful. An entire week in the saddle, nights in louse-infested inns and the chill of an early autumn in the air. Just what a man wants to hear. Bloody wonderful.

"Well, there's no help for it. You'll have to go." Joya bustled around the table and into the alcove where our bed was located. She emerged almost immediately with my bedroll which she laid out on the table.

She was right of course. I tossed the message on the table beside it. The messenger nodded in approval of these signs of haste and withdrew from the room, pulling the door shut behind him. I looked after him with distaste, then turned to Joya. "Very well. And hold off the christening until I come back."

She looked over at me, her eyes sparking with banked fires. "No need to worry, my lord. We have not finished discussing that issue."

I grunted in agreement and walked over to the clothes chest for my travelling clothes. She was certainly right about that. If it turned out that the king had summoned me for some frivolous reason of his own, then I wanted to be able to name my daughter after the king of France just to spite him.

Magda
- Saturday, July 14, 2001 at 15:56:57 (PDT)

Mistral returned to Cindie after his dance with Suzanne, and found her sitting at a small table leaning forward in her chair watching the dance floor. “You seem pensive, my dear.”

She looked up at him and shrugged, “just people watching. I couldn’t help myself.” She smiled and continued, “Suzanne is beautiful tonight, I love that dress.”

He turned to regard Suzanne as she walked over to the bar where Rupert was waiting for her with a drink. “Yes, it is a stunning gown.” His gaze returned to Cindie, “Would you like something to drink, my dear?”

She could never tire of hearing him call her that. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood upright in the moment he’d said those two words and she’d realized they were more than simply a figure of speech but were truly a term of endearment to him. “Yes, thank you. A vodka martini would be nice.” He was there and back in no time, drinks in hand. They lifted their glasses to each other in silent toast, Cindie took a sip and made a face.

“What is it? Is something wrong with your drink?

“Gin instead of vodka.”

“I’ll be right back.” He took the drinks and strode back to the bar.

“May I help you?” The bartender set down the glass she had been wiping and looked over at Mistral. The smile that had been forming on her lips died in mid-curve as she saw the look being directed at her.

He stood there, holding the drinks. He very slowly settled them on the bar and said clearly and distinctly, “I said vodka.”

She was young and this was her first job for the catering company, being faced with a displeased customer was daunting enough to her, but . . . “Yes sir, sorry sir”, she stammered. She remixed the drinks, pulling the correct bottles this time, and placed the drinks on the bar with trembling hands.

Mistral picked them up with a curt “thank you” and turned away.

He hadn’t said anything, but just the same, it was some while before she regained her composure.

Cindie, meanwhile, had been watching Anton. After he’d surprised her with his proposal she found herself studying him. Always courtly and courteous, he seemed to attract women like bees to honey. He was polite and clearly appreciative, but seemed to keep them at arms length. Perhaps the right one hadn’t buzzed by yet. In any event, she could definitely see the attraction. Hans as he would look in twenty years, silvered hair and some extra creases around the eyes, eyes slightly darker, accent a bit thicker, all of which seemed to add to his appeal.

You give me fever when you kiss me
Fever when you hold me tight

“You’re watching Anton now, should I be jealous?” He slid her drink next to her hand and sat beside her.

Fever in the morning
Fever all through the night

“Yes. You should be jealous of every man I look at.” She picked up her drink and took a sip. Perfect. She flashed a smile. “Of course that could be a full time occupation, you’d probably have to quit your job to follow me around at all hours.”

“I could simply insist that you remain on set while I’m filming and then have your desk moved next to mine.”

Sun lights up the daytime
Moon lights up the night

“Yeeees, that might work. On the other hand, I’d still be able to look at other men. Perhaps you’d best simply rely on your charms to ensure that I’m just looking.”

I light up when you call my name
And you know I’m gonna treat you right

“Perhaps. Is that drink all right?”

“Yes, thank you.” She took another sip, it was good, but there were better things to do. “Why don’t you dance with me?”

“Why don’t I.” He stood and took her hand.

They give you fever when you kiss them
Fever if you live and learn

Cindie found herself again in Mistral’s arms. A very fine place to be in her opinion. They danced for awhile, she looked up at him as they swayed, slower and slower, taking less heed of the music as their fingers caressed and their cheeks nuzzled. Her eyed asked a question and his burned an answer straight through her. They turned and walked, fingers twined together, eyes on each other, out onto the patio and to the steps leading down to the gardens below.

Fever till you sizzle
What a lovely way to burn

As they began down the steps, Mistral paused to ask, “There’s a chill in the air. Don’t you want your wrap?”

She continued forward and replied over her shoulder, “You’ll do.” (homage)

What a lovely way to burn
What a lovely way to burn

He was next to her immediately and his arm went about her shoulders, there was a nip in the air, but Cindie didn’t feel it. She nestled in as they reached the last step and they began to stroll along the flagstone path through the garden. There was a profusion of scents, the sweet smell of honeysuckle and the pungent odour of marigolds, many types of roses and their range of fragrances . As they brushed by one spot the strong aroma of lavender erupted and seemed to cling to their clothing. The niches carved out in the garden setting had carriage lights illuminating them. In the subtle light from these and the moonlight filtering in through the clouds, the colours of the garden were muted. As they meandered, taking in the other worldly sights and scents of this beautiful place, the music of the band wafting down to them, Mistral spied what he sought at the far end of the garden, a cozy little niche with a trellis covered in roses which cascaded over the top and nearly obscured the lovely wrought iron bench. More importantly, the lantern appeared to have gone out.

He guided Cindie to this secluded spot and they settled in on the bench. Far from objecting to his manoeuvres she had much the same thing in mind herself. Slowly and deliberately he reached out and took her face between his two hands and held it. It seemed that he looked at her for a very long time, and then kissed her gently on the mouth. He ended the kiss and drew his head back. They looked awhile longer into each others eyes, seeking, finding, before he kissed her again, longer and with increasing passion. Their lips parted and the kiss went on and on until she was quite certain she could have no breath left to her at all. She placed a trembling hand on his chest near his heart and gasped, “your kisses….Patrick…. your kisses. . .”

He pulled her in close and whispered in her ear, sending vibrations through her entire body. “Kisses, my dear, are only the beginning.” He indulged himself in stroking her back and neck, fingers warm against her skin in the cool of the night.

It was his plan to make a good beginning and he was prepared to take as long as necessary to ensure that it was memorable as well. The angle of her head revealed one of her ears with her hair tucked neatly behind it. With great care he removed the earring and placed the strand of diamonds in his pocket.

“Why did you do that?” He knew she did not require an answer. Instead of replying he bent to give her earlobe his full attention. He had skipped the dessert at the buffet in favor of even more delightful tidbits upon which to nibble. This tidbit’s owner emitted a sound which was a combination squeak and sigh, muffled as her face pressed into his tuxedo jacket. Impossible for him not to wonder what other sounds he might be able to elicit. Impossible not to want to. . .

After taking full delight in her squirms of pleasure and their most satisfactory accompanying array of squeals and moans, Mistral began to realize that she had some nibbling of her own in mind. His neck, it seemed, was currently being assaulted. It dawned on him at the same time that Cindie’s taste for exploration extended to him as well. Those soft kisses as she snuzzled his neck, interspersed with the occasional flick of her tongue were driving him to distraction. “My dear, are you launching an attack on my virtue?”

“Mmmmmhmmm.” She worked her way around to a spot very near his own ear. “Were you planning on resisting?”

“No.” He marshaled his forces, “I may have to enter into a counter attack though.” He resumed his attentions and was rewarded with a squawk of indrawn breath.

“Now, tell me why are such things always discussed in military terms?” She paused in her path towards his ear, having lost her concentration, she’d have to start over.

“I don’t know, my dear. Perhaps because the ultimate goal is surrender.” He kissed her lips again and began his own pattern across one check towards the other ear.

It was some time before they rejoined the party.

Cindie
Given FOF flex-time, I'm sure they'll be back by midnight to witness Sirki's *full powers*., - Saturday, July 14, 2001 at 07:24:18 (PDT)

Oh yes, most delicious. Thanks, Cindie!
Suzanne
A complete pleasure, Mistral., - Friday, July 13, 2001 at 17:38:23 (PDT)

The Empress, in the form of Suzanne, in a gorgeous décolleté bias cut gown of burnished gold, approached her prisoner, fresh from his triumphant birthday gift to Mary Anne. “You seem to single handedly take it upon yourself to ensure that everyone has a memorable birthday.”

Mistral nodded and one side of his mouth curled upwards, “It seems prudent to keep my female co-stars happy,” he drawled. “I am, after all, so completely at their mercy.” He stepped adroitly into his Mr. I persona, Interrogator at up to about half strength, as he bowed slightly from the waist.

Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you.

“Perhaps you’d like to dance and plead your case? It’s a rare opportunity to have the Empress’ ear.”

Embrace me, my irreplaceable you.

He grinned now, spread his arms and gathered Suzanne for their dance, “what makes you think it’s the Empress’ ear I’m interested in?”

Just one look at you

She threw back her head and laughed, golden curls shaking out behind her, “Tell me then, Mr. I, what part of the Empress does interest you?”

My heart grew tipsy in you

He twirled her out, then in, “It’s not a particular part,” he replied, “it’s the sum of the parts.”

You and you alone
Bring out the gypsy in me

“Oh, very well said!” They moved closer now, turning about the room, “But I don’t think that will get you a pardon.”

“Just so it keeps me from being handcuffed to the bed again.” His breath tickled her ear.

I love all, the many charms about you

“Hmmmm, I’ll take it under advisement. It’s such an irresistible prospect though. Besides,” she continued, “We can’t have HIM loose when the doctor comes to check him and we must make certain that no health risks are taken with the trial coming up and all. Care must be taken that HE remains in one piece.”

“Does that mean, that the Empress is interested in the sum of HIS parts, or is she concerned with one in particular?”

Above all, I want my arms about you

Her Royal Highness, far from immune to the considerable, albeit quirky, charms of Mr. I, flushed lightly at her cheeks. “The Empress is concerned with all parts of the Realm,” was her stately reply.

A soft chuckle as he dipped her low, “a considered reply, if a bit evasive.”

Don’t you be a naughty baby
Come to papa, come to papa do

“Sometimes,” she exhaled as Mistral brought her back upright, “evasive action is the best course.”

“Quite so, perhaps HE should take a lesson from his …captor.”

“Not likely!” He held her tight as they swirled about the room, well matched and in perfect step.

My sweet embraceable you.

“Just remember Your Highness,” he smiled, but it was all teeth and reminded Suzanne for all the world of a crocodile, “HE has a way of collecting and paying old debts.”

“Well then,” she replied, showing her own gleaming teeth, “we’ll get to work together more often.”

His eyes glowed, “Is it any wonder I love my job!” he exclaimed.

Cindie
Suzanne -- Hope this works for your refreshment.
MA -- Fine ash is right, a good gust of wind and Sirki's partners would be blown away., - Friday, July 13, 2001 at 16:29:52 (PDT)

As "Embraceable You" draws to a close, Mary Anne stretches up to whisper to Brandon, "Could we go outside for a minute, Christopher? I need some fresh air."

It is rather warm on the dance floor, and after one look at Mary Anne’s flushed face-and her lips, slightly reddened from the strawberry filling of the cake-Brandon is more than willing to oblige her, leading her out outdoors to seek one of the more isolated niches near the fountain.

They sit for a time in silence, enjoying the cool seclusion and listening to the light patter and murmur of the water, as Mary Anne idly fans herself with one hand and, reaching back, loosens and slips a few of the pins from her hair. Overtensioned, Phil had said, and though the soft coil remains fixed in place, she can feel the difference immediately. Secreting the pins in a fold of her gown, Mary Anne leans back on the bench . . . yes, Brandon’s arms are about her, and his voice at her ear. "It will be midnight soon, Mary Anne."

"Will it? How soon?"

From within his elegant tailcoat, Brandon produces a pocketwatch-and Mary Anne grins in appreciation. Trust Brandon to be accurate to the last detail in his characterization, for of course Prince Sirki would not be the sort to wear a wristwatch.

"In about half an hour." A crisp little snap as Brandon closes the cover of the timepiece. "And then, all shall be . . . revealed."

"The Full Sirki?" (homage)

Brandon and Mary Anne both dissolve into laughter. Brandon recovers first, shaking his head but still chuckling. "I hardly think that would produce the . . . effect . . . we are trying to create. But I must warn you, my dearest-" Brandon reaches out to cup Mary Anne’s chin in his fingers and turn her face toward his. "-when the moment arrives, I intend . . ." The voice, now dramatically lowered. " . . . to make use of my full powers."

Brandon accompanies this rather alarming statement with a look of truly imperial hauteur, but there is that unmistakable Brandon twinkle of the eye, and far from being intimidated, Mary Anne grins at him. "Do your worst," she challenges. "Besides, hadn’t you been exerting your ‘powers’ already?" She nods back toward the dancing. "From what I could see, you’ve been reducing your dance partners to a fine ash all evening. There’s hardly a woman in there who hasn’t gone weak at the knees just looking at you."

Brandon nods thoughtfully. "But it isn’t just the women who noticed. Mistral felt it, as well."

"It’s similar to the effect he creates. He’d probably be more sensitive to it."

Brandon rises from the bench and walks a few steps away, watching the ripple and flow of the water. "I believe that I understand Mistral better, now. To play such a thing as this-it gains a grip on the soul, does it not? To step into a role so different. The Prince is very different from the Colonel."

"As night and day." Mary Anne watches quietly, waiting.

"Literally." A lifted eyebrow. "But you seem to feel safe . . . with both of us."

Mary Anne lifts her eyes to the man she knows, trusts, respects. "I understand. And you’re not alone in this, Christopher." She lowers her head, and when she looks up at him again her expression is wide-eyed, dreaming, haunted by something just within reach, displaying for him-with no visible effort whatsoever-how she can step beyond the bounds of her self, as well.

"When I’m with you I see depths in your eyes that are like the worlds I visit in sleep . . . and beneath your words there is a sound that I’ve heard in dreams . . . and when you leave me, the light goes from the sky . . ." (homage)

"Stop!" exclaims Brandon, stepping back to the bench and gathering Mary Anne into his arms, drawing her head down onto his shoulder. "Yes, I see now, I see how it is. Exhilarating, but frightening. To have such power."

In the glow of the carriage lantern by the bench, Mary Anne’s hair is molten gold, her eyes smoke-blue. "You’ve always had it, you know."

It is almost too much for flesh and blood to endure, and Brandon stares at the fountain, concentrating fiercely on the cool, cool waters.

After a moment, he hears Mary Anne laugh softly beside him. "Listen. I think that must be Jamie playing."

Brandon listens: the music has changed, the deep throb of a plucked bass accompanied by the hiss of brushed drums as the chanteuse embarks on "Fever." After a stanza or two, Mary Anne leans closer and sings softly into Brandon’s ear a variation of her own:

Mary Anne and Colonel Brandon
Had a very mad affair;
Interrogator tried to kill him,
But she said, "Mister I, don’t you dare! He gives me fever . . ."

A thump of the drums, right on cue, and Brandon grins; he cannot help it. Trust Mary Anne to come up with something like that.

"It will be time, soon," she reminds him gently.

"Yes. Soon." Brandon rises from the bench and draws Mary Anne up with him. "A last look, perhaps, to make certain everything is still in place?"

"Yes, and then I’ll slip around and meet you. Just as we planned." Touch of mischief. "I must say I’m looking forward to an exhibit of your full power."

"Beware what you ask for," returns Brandon, reaching out to cradle her face briefly in his hands before bending down and kissing her, tasting those lips that are literally sweet with strawberry, slipping his fingers across her loosened hair . . . loosened, but not undone, which is more than can be said for her frame of mind as he releases her.

"Ummmmm-yes," she manages. "I’ll remember. Even though you were the one who asked me if I made a wish." A fleeting smile as she recovers her self-possession, and then she glides away, her white gown a moonbeam in the varying lights, as Brandon draws a deep breath and prepares himself for what they had discussed, thinking over his lines as he walks about the patio and checks to make sure that all is in readiness.

His lines. One, especially, that will not leave him as he gazes after the retreating form of his lady.

I am a great power, but I am humble before you . . . (homage)

MA--My thanks to Cindie for "The Full Sirki."
And to Peggy Lee, for that distortion of her superb version of "Fever," my apologies! ;-), - Thursday, July 12, 2001 at 20:19:06 (PDT)

Mary Anne is gently returned to her feet and several more shots are taken, particularly one with Brandon at her side among the male denizens of FoF and another when she gives Mistral a kiss on the cheek and surprises him with a big ol’ squeezy hug, which would put Diggory Venn to shame, as a thank you for arranging her birthday gift. His smile is warm and genuine as he accepts her thanks, returns her hug and replies that this year her footwear and her escort discouraged any ‘spot claiming’ so that this seemed the best alternative.

At this point the twin sounds of jangling and squeaking can be heard drawing everyone’s attention to the cart being wheeled forward by the fabulous and flouncey Barbara who calls out, “Aiiiy, yaii, yaii!!! Time for Birthday Cake!!” After some comments about the number of candles and concerns regarding fire safety from certain quarters, which shall remain nameless, Claudia, the candles are lit. The women join the men in singing Happy Birthday to Mary Anne who is in serious jeopardy of being overwhelmed by the outpouring of affection from her FoF family. Despite this, Miss Mary Anne demonstrates excellent lung capacity as the candles are extinguished in one protracted whoosh of breath. She begins the process of doling out cake, assisted by the catering staff, standing by with plates and utensils. They take over the cutting and passing out the cake which is of a size to almost rival the huge cake from the Delaford wedding scenes. It is a cassada cake, with a luscious strawberry filling and delicate white frosting. Mary Anne, ever thoughtful, makes sure that sufficient cake is set aside for the band for them to enjoy on their next break.

Mary Anne is the subject of many toasts, the recipient of many wishes for a happy birthday, and on the receiving end of a huge number of hugs, including one from Diggory which leaves no doubt as to his status of “chief hugger”. The band begins the strains of Sweet Embraceable You and couples take to the floor once again and the hum of the party resumes. At this point Mary Anne hears the soft voice of Brandon in her ear, “did you make a wish for your birthday, dearest?”

Cindie
Perhaps Brandon wants to help make MA's wishes come true.;-), - Wednesday, July 11, 2001 at 17:52:09 (PDT)

Therese, I know it is your birthday. But would you give me the great pleasure of a dance with you?

Eamon
- Tuesday, July 10, 2001 at 18:53:32 (PDT)

ACK! Cindie, how wonderful! *enormous silly grin*

Actually, "today" today, July 10, is Therese's birthday, so I'll take this opportunity to say "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THERESE!"

But we all know the difference between real life (what a concept) and what goes on here. So, many thanks for this marvellous greeting from the world of FOF Time! 8-D

MA
I wonder if The Director means to "supply" Mary Anne with some more cake . . .? *wink*, - Tuesday, July 10, 2001 at 18:20:16 (PDT)

Mistral and Cindie survey the buffet and begin to fill their plates. As usual at FOF events the food is wonderful and there’s no lack of it. Barbara has planned well. They find seats around a table and are quickly in conversation with David Weinberg and Hugh Laurie. It is pleasant to sit back and enjoy the company, taking a break from the whirlwind of the dance floor.

The band had been taking a break and most of the partygoers are clustered by the bar or near the buffet or seated at tables, such as the one at which Mistral and Cindie are seated, talking with friends. When the band returns, however, the strains of *Rhapsody in Blue* begin to weave their way around the room. Mistral stands and takes leave of Cindie. At first she thinks he is simply headed to the bar, and wonders that he did not ask if she would like something. But as the music winds its way there is a murmur of movement as the men begin to thread their way to their rendezvous. It is not immediately apparent in the general conversation and hum of the party, but slowly Cindie realizes that all the men in the room are congregating along one set of the graduated steps. As she watches they line up two and three deep and all turn to look in Mary Anne’s direction.

“Dearest,” Brandon stands ready to escort her, “I think it is time.”

Mary Anne, who had been in deep conversation and enjoying herself in her usual fashion, looks up and realizes that Brandon is standing next to her and, as she stares, Phil smiles, stands up and moves to join his compatriots.

“What is going on here?” Mary Anne’s tone is suspicious but she takes Brandon’s proffered arm. “Why is everyone looking at me?” So innocent.

. Brandon smiles at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his Sirki façade drops in favour of his own countenance, “I think you know the answer to that.” There is a vague attempt at a stern tone. “It is time to face the music my dear. Your co-workers wish to convey their birthday wishes.” He grips her arm. “Now.”

Mistral is front and center of the band of merry men and, bowing low, enquires, “Miss Mary Anne, would you be kind enough to join us?” He gestures to the array of male pulchritude with a wave of his arm.

Mary Anne straightens herself up and allows Brandon to lead her forward, back straight and chin held high. These, after all, are her friends, what could they do to her? With so many witnesses.

The line-up is impressive, about three dozen men in various styles of attire, with a predominance of pin stripes and fedoras, stand shoulder to shoulder in graduated rows on the stairs, facing Mary Anne. Ed moves out to examine the group and directs the ends to move inward and down the low risers creating a semi-circle of camaraderie. A few more directions based on height and attire and he is satisfied, returning to the place he’d reserved for himself. Cast, past and present are there,