Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

Correction made.
Grass can do that, too.
D.o.C.

That should be,' and they quickly changed there conversation' not their expression to grass!
Miranda
- Saturday, June 30, 2001 at 16:14:54 (PDT)

Metatron walked over to Bartleby and Loki. When he got close enough he saw that they both had worried looks on their faces. "Why are you here? Didn't I tell you to only come here if it was an emergency?"

"Would you consider Azrael being stronger then ever and he's trying to kill the last scion an emegency?!" Bartleby shouted. A few people turned around and looked at them but at this point not one of them cared.

"Dear Lord. But my question is, wouldn't God have already sent somebody out to stop him?" Metatron asked and then leaned against the wall by the door.

"That's the problem, she's gone missing again." Loki told Metatron and got an even more worried expression on his face.

"Your kidding me, I thought she said she wouldn't take anymore of those little trips without telling us where she is going or anything else about it!" Metatron said in a kind of mad tone.

"I guess she just wanted to be alone. But I think you should come with us. We might be able to find her and stop Azrael." Bartleby said and gestured out the door.

"But what about the girls and the party. Miranda is going to be really mad at me if I leave now, especially since I told her I wouldn't leave this no matter what." Metatron said and frowned at the thought of him having to break yet another promise.

"Well, I think you can make an acception for this." Loki told him and grabbed one of Metatron's arms and Bartleby grabbed the other. They disappered off to somewhere and Miranda got out from her hiding place. She walked over to where Vanessa and Tina where standing and still talking about Loki. They notice her mad expression and quickly changed their conversation to, weird enough, grass.

"I'm going home you guys. Nobody seems to care about us, not even Metatron who I trusted. Anyway I can't take being let down anymore." Miranda told them and burst into tears.

"But our home has nothing in it." Vanessa said with a puzzled look on her face.

"Not that home, stupid. That home" Miranda said and pointed upwards.

"Oh," Vanessa said, "But why are you going? This place might actually be better without Metatron."

"No it won't. And anyways my crying is just going to ruin the party for all the other people. I'll just stay in this corner for the rest of this party if that's fine with you." Miranda told Vanessa and Tina and sat in the very corner of the room. Vanessa and Tina walked off laughing but Miranda didn't really care because the whole world was now against her a it seemed!
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
Does anybody happen to have a holy golf club?, - Saturday, June 30, 2001 at 15:24:14 (PDT)

Claudia and Ed were running late. They could hear the music and laughter a full five minutes before they got to the set, which had been transformed into a beautiful ballroom. Ed strolled quickly, 10 paces ahead of her - a joke between them, that right at this second she didn’t find too funny.

Ed looked rather a shifty character, with his hat pulled forward to hood his eyes, and wearing a rather crumpled raincoat. scruffy git she thought affectionately.

Claudia reached the cloakroom, and checked in her fake, but sumptuous looking white fur coat. It had a tall fluffy collar that you just wanted to bury your face in. Underneath she wore a satin red dress. It clung to her body in the fitted parts, showing the curve of her stomach clearly through the fabric. When she has got dressed, she’d done a little twirl and asked Ed, “Do I look fat in this?” He’d grinned his most mischievous grin, “Oh, absolutely!” She’d thrown a pillow at him, and he’d had to re-apply the brill crème to his hair.

The dress was backless, and fell in soft cowelled folds in the arch of her back. The skirt tapered out until it was very full at the bottom, and as she walked, it rippled like water.

Claudia hurried to catch up with Ed, who took off his hat, and planted it at a rakish angle on the nearest statue. His coat was next, and served to save the same statue from embarrassment or catching a nasty cold.

Ed’s usual bedroom hair was smoothed down and slicked back. Claudia just knew it would rebel later in the evening, and start sticking up all over the place. Like Ed, there was no controlling his hair. He wore a pure white suit, with a black bow tie. Without the beard, or his extraordinarily long legs, he could have been Rick from Casablanca. But Ed was an artist, and also this was time out. He wasn’t going to play a character, he’d reminded her, and they didn’t need to go as a matched set. He always refused to go in a matching costume to these things. Be yourself was his constant advice.

As Ed reached the top of the long staircase, he stopped and looked back at her, and held out an arm. When she caught up with him, she grinned back at him, and placed her arm through his, and they descended the stairs with a light bounce in their step.

At the bottom, Ed immediately pulled her into his arms, and they started to dance. Maybe the steps weren’t always right, but they had known each other so long, they even mirrored each other’s faults. To a casual observer they flowed round the room, in perfect unison. Never mind that they moved to a slightly different beat than everyone else.
Claudia
We made it!, - Saturday, June 30, 2001 at 15:17:14 (PDT)

Yes, Cindie, it's true! This calls for a celebration!... Oh yeah, we're already having one. :-)
Suzanne
I'm in the mood for dancing!, - Friday, June 29, 2001 at 21:35:28 (PDT)

The Party:
Before Alex dances with Mary Anne and Sandy with Brandon

They reached the bottom of the stairs and began to dance their way through the crowd. The five-part Brazilian beat was a driving rhythm in Phil's ears as he and Barbara closed. The footwoork was fast and furious. For the duration of the piece, there was only the steps and the rhythm and the two moving bodies. It was a place beyond thought, beyond feeling. It was the "now" (homage) of the dance.

The band came to a rising finish and all stopped and aplauded. Flushed and eshilarated, Barbara grabbed Phil's hand and dragged him to the refreshment table.

"Ah, fruit," she said and pinned a wedge of Mandarin orange with a colored toothpick.

Alexander Dane, with a cooly elegant Sandy on his arm, leaned over the punch bowl. "Don't you have enough fruit already?" he smirked.

Barbara shot him one of her patented looks and tapped his wrist with two fingers. "Play nice," she said. Phil leaned over and murmured in her ear.

"Bananas ees your beesniz," he said, trying to imitate Carmen's Brazilian accent.

Barbara grinned. At Sandy's curious expression, she repeated Phil's comment. The scriptwriter laughed. "They are attractively arranged bananas, too," Sandy said. "Are you going to redecorate your office with this theme? Do they make banana wallpaper?" Alex chuckled, Sandy giggled. Barbara rolled her eyes, half-exasperated, half-amused.

Alex peered at Barbara's hat quizzically. "I have to ask: are they real?"

"Wax," Phil interjected.

"Really?" asked Sandy. "I'd expect them to be plastic. Where did you find wax fruit?"

Barbara smiled, slowly. "Every decoration for this party, plus my clothes and Phil's, are from the FoF stores, either Wardrobe or Properties." She lightly touched her hat with a long, curved finger. "The fruit is from the Safehouse episodes. They were in a bowl in Renie's sitting room."

Alex shook his head, eyes crinkling. Phil looked down at Barbara's smug expression and smiled a little. Barbara was looking at Sandy, giving her the once-over.

"Very nice," the set designer commented. "Twirl?" She accompanied the question with aa gesture. Sandy obliged. "You look--" Barbara launched into a Zsa Zsa Gabor voice "mahvelous, dahlink." She waved a hand at Alex, fluttering her fingers. "And your escort for zee night, ooooo, he is so la-la!" she trilled. Her eyes widened over Alex's shoulder and a smile pulled at her lips. "Oh, Phil, Barbara said, "I've got to go say hello. Come with me." And she proprietarily dragged Phil, unprotesting, across to the other end of the buffet where a tall, dark-haired woman stood.

Alexander stared after her. "What?" he asked Sandy.

Sandy grimaced. "That's Sue, in the web development department. Barbara said she planse to introduce Phil to every unattached female here. She wants Phil to start dating--she's appointed herself his matchmaker."

Alex frowned after the set designer and the stylist. "Is she blind?"

Sandy tilted her head to one side, puzzled. "Blind?"

"Well, can't you see--no, I suppose not." He drew near Sandy until the hem of her gown brushed the top of his shoes and gently touched a fingertip to the corner of her mouth. "Crumbs." He looked down in her eyes. "May I have this dance?"

It wasn't until they'd been dancing for some time that Sandy remembered. "What did you mean by blind?" she asked him. "What aren't I seeing?"

Alex turned her slowly. "The same thing Barbara isn't seeing."

"What?"

He drew her close and whispered. "Only a man desperately in love could recognize a man desperately in love," he said, smiling.

"Oh." She smiled up at him, her ears and her heart warmed. They danced for a while. Sandy thought about what Alex said. "Oh!" she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Alex chuckled and they swirled across the floor.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Hope you don't mind, Sandy..., - Friday, June 29, 2001 at 20:05:21 (PDT)

Hey, wait a minute... There's not even a monkey at the top of the page or any other advertising banner.
Cindie again
Its too good to be true!!!, - Friday, June 29, 2001 at 19:30:54 (PDT)

Suzanne, No pop-ups? Am I dreaming? Can it be true....?
Cindie
Did HE finally make someone hypermart snap?, - Friday, June 29, 2001 at 19:28:19 (PDT)

The song ended and Cindie spotted Therese and Jutta heading back from the buffet. She and Mistral walked over to talk to the two women just as they were seating themselves at a table. “You both look fabulous!” Cindie exclaimed.

Jutta looked vaguely uncomfortable. “I feel a bit underdressed, all of the women are in dresses but just don’t like to wear them.”

“Not at all,” Cindie was surprised, she thought Jutta looked very much in keeping with the independent women of the films of the 30’s and 40’s. “It looks like something Hepburn would wear, classy and comfortable.”

“It is,” Mistral added, “all in the wearing, and you wear it with style.”

“Thank you.” Jutta smiled, “You look very stylish yourself.” Turning to Cindie she said in an admonishing tone, “You missed your appointment the other day.”

She had. Seating herself at the table she began to explain all the reasons she had been too busy to keep the appointment and apologized profusely. She had called ahead that she couldn’t make it but knew she ought to have managed. Mistral, deciding he could be of no help whatsoever, turned to Therese and bowed. “Miss Therese, would you honor me with your presence for this dance?”

Therese smiled and took the proffered hand, “with pleasure Mistral.” With a swish of satin and velvet they took to the floor.

Jutta, her tone half teasing, half serious, said to Cindie, “So what you’re saying is, you were too busy to relax.”

Cindie opened her mouth, then closed it again, considered, and offered, “I suppose that doesn’t make much sense does it?”

On the dance floor Mistral led Therese through the steps of the samba. “I trust all is well with you.” He phrased it as a question.

“Yes, fine. What makes you ask?”

“I haven’t seen as much of you as I used to and wanted to make sure nothing is amiss.” She gave a quick look at his expression to see if he was mocking her but there was nothing there save a hint of concern, immediately replaced with a sardonic expression as he continued, “Dev has been pining.” Now he was mocking.

“Eamon has been doing no such thing…”

A raised eyebrow, “Oh really?”

Therese continued quickly, “I’ve just completed several drafts which I’ve left with the Director. Not that it is really any of your concern.” She concluded with all the hauteur she could muster.

“If I wish to ensure that all is well with one of my co-workers that is certainly within my prerogatives.”

Relenting, Therese smiled, “Yes, well, I suppose it might be. But everything is fine. Thank you.”

This seemed to satisfy her dancing partner and they continued in silence, the beat taking precedence over conversation for a time.

Cindie
"...an extra stretch or two." *fanning* Brandon is so thoughtful. ;-D, - Friday, June 29, 2001 at 16:31:35 (PDT)

Miranda, Vanessa, and Tina had been trying to come up with a plan within the next ten mintutes, but every time they found a drawback and the biggest was them being angels. "Oy vay this is never gonna work!" Miranda said and sat back in her chair like she was pouting not realizing that she had actually said that out loud.

"What's never gonna work?" Metatron asked Miranda. Miranda looked up at him and then at Vanessa and Tina who looked to be enjoying themselves over Miranda's mistake.

"Oh, um...nothing!" Miranda told him adn tried to hide her face since it was turning reder by the minute.

"If I'm not mistaken I would believe that you are trying to come up with a plan for me and Julie. I would just stop where I was right now if I were you because it would never work. I get the feeling that she doesn't even like me." Metatron told Miranda. Miranda just sank down in her chair and pretended to stare at her fingernails.

"She likes you, but not that way. She can't any way because we are angels." Miranda said and glimpsed at the door. There to her satisfaction stood Bartleby and Loki. Mirana gestured towards the door and Metatron looked.

"Miranda,/you better stay here while I go and talk to them." Metatron told her and got up to go see what Bartleby and Loki wanted. Vanessa and Tina must have noticed, because now all they were talking about was how hot Loki was.

"You shouldn't be talking about that, you know." Miranda said to them and then looked away. She knew she should do this because the answer out of there mouths would be harsh and Miranda didn't feel like fighting with them right now.

"Oh yeah, and why is that?" Vanessa asked her and gave her and evil look.

"Well, um, I don't know." Miranda told them and felt embaressed that she didn't even have a good backup answer.

"Ok then, but at least its better then you having a crush on Metatron." Vanessa said and waited for a reply from Miranda that she was not going to get. Miranda just got up and walked over to where Metatron, Bartleby, and Loki where talking. She hid behind a corner and listened intently to there conversation, which by the sound of it seemed all bad news.
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
eek, I'm so busy I'm not evn sure if I have time to breath. It's summer here but to me it seems as if its still the school year and I have tons of homeowrk to catch up on!, - Friday, June 29, 2001 at 05:00:59 (PDT)

The party:

Dancing.

Mary Anne feels as if she can float about the dance floor like thistledown, borne along in Brandon’s arms as she unresistingly follows where he leads. And where he leads is a quieter section of the floor, not out of sight of the party, but away from the thickness of the crowd. There, he is content for her to rest her head against his shoulder in the slow dance as they give themselves to the music.

At last . . .
My love has come along . . .

A happy party. Every sign of a tremendous success, from Barbara’s inspired set design with its alternating intensities of light, to the cozy niches of the garden, from the fountain to the sumptuous display of food on the buffet-and then, the music that seems to come from everywhere at once . . .

My lonely days are over
And life is like a song . . .

All about them, Mary Anne can hear the murmuring of the other partygoers and smiles with pleasure. Yes, a fun party, for who could resist the lady in the tutti-frutti hat? And yet, how sweet to draw back from it all for a few moments and watch from this place of stillness, held and cherished by Brandon, warm in his arms . . .

Mary Anne resists the impulse to look up into Brandon’s face, and instead murmurs, "Who are you, right this minute?" against his shoulder.

A pause. "If you do not know, Mary Anne, who does?" She can hear the smile in his voice.

And still she does not look. "I meant-are you Christopher, or Sirki? Both? Does it change from one minute to another?"

Brandon’s hand is moving along her back as he guides her in the dance, his fingertips brushing lightly near the base of her spine, and Mary Anne shivers. It is strangely thrilling-compelling, even-to be held like this, knowing herself perfectly safe, and yet . . .

At this, she cannot resist looking up into Brandon’s eyes, which he has been waiting for her to do. "You see-" Gently. "-that I am still myself. Even as Sirki had to assume a role, so have I. And I must thank you for an interesting choice. There are some discoveries in it, to be sure."

"Oh? What have you discovered?"

"Well, my dearest . . ." Brandon grins, and it is as near to a smirk as he ever gets. "The Colonel very seldom meets with the sort of reception the Prince has had this evening. It’s quite a stretch, I must admit."

Mary Anne bursts out laughing, and Brandon eyes her. "What is it, Mary Anne?"

"Nothing, only-" Briefly, Mary Anne buries her face against Brandon’s lapel, still shaking with silent mirth.

She had been reminded of a remark from Cindie at the viewing of the dailies: a response to one of the love scenes at Delaford, in which Brandon had been called upon to stretch complacently, an embodiment of the male who is enjoying his physical power. And Cindie’s comment: That man can stretch any time he wants to, as far as I’m concerned.

As Mary Anne explains, trying to stifle her laughter, Brandon begins to chuckle as well. "So," he grins. "I shall be sure to put in an extra stretch or two, just for her, during our next scene of that sort. Be sure to write one soon."

"Oh, I shall. But don’t let Mistral know those are for Cindie! The mood he was in this evening, he might go Interrogator and give somebody a stretch of a different sort." Mary Anne shakes her head. "There’s something going on with Mistral, Christopher. Something has really shaken him."

"Apart from Cindie, do you mean?"

It is not a joke, and Mary Anne does not treat it as one. "Well, there is that, of course. I always wondered how he’d take it. Love, I mean. Sometimes I’m almost afraid to breathe when I’m around them, because he gets this expression on his face when he looks at her-when he thinks no one is watching him. It’s there, and then gone, and I’m so sorry when it goes . . ." Quietly. "Because it becomes him. But when he first saw us together this evening . . ." A puzzled frown. "That was something different. He obviously recognized you-Prince Sirki, I mean-but he resented it, somehow. Something’s troubling him and I can’t put my finger on it."

Brandon is thoroughly aware of Mary Anne’s intuitive qualities and does not argue; he cannot, in this case, for he had felt the tension himself. Not directed at him, but in some way related to him. Ah, well. If it is something Mistral cares for us to know, he will speak when he is ready. He is a mysterious sort and no mistake. However . . .

"However," Brandon continues his thought aloud, subtly leading Mary Anne back toward the main group of dancers, "I do not wish for anything to be troubling you this evening."

"Your wish is my command," laughs Mary Anne as the ripple of applause signals the end of the song. But the band instantly begins another, and Mary Anne is about to settle into Brandon’s arms once again when she feels a tap on her shoulder, and turns to see Alexander Dane and Sandy.

"May I cut in?" Dane, and Sandy rolls her eyes. "No, Alex, you tap the man on the shoulder to cut in . . ."

Dane raises an eyebrow. "As long as my intentions are clear. And it’s far more pleasant to touch the shoulder of a lovely woman-no offense, Brandon."

"None taken," replies Brandon, as Mary Anne slips her hand into Dane’s, readying herself for the next number. "But in return, I will ask Sandy to favour me. I have not yet had the . . . pleasure." Brandon’s eyes move over Sandy in a long, measuring look-clearly, the Prince has returned. "The pleasure of a dance, I mean. The mere sight of such a beautiful woman is a pleasure all its own."

Sandy, who is certainly well up to a bit of banter, finds herself blushing and can only reply, "Your . . . ‘ Your Highness’ is most kind."

To hide her smile, Mary Anne lowers her head and inhales the scent of the flowers pinned to her gown, for it is evident that Brandon will not be able to resist.

And he does not. Fixing his eyes on Sandy, he moves forward to claim her for the dance, and softly replies: "I wish that we might never meet when you are less beautiful and I must be . . . less kind." (homage)

MA--well, Sandy, you asked for a dance . . . ;-)
Cindie--ack, that poor photographer!! =8-O, - Thursday, June 28, 2001 at 20:01:55 (PDT)

Wondering what Miranda and her friends were plotting from the conspiratorial looks they were giving each other, Julie decided to scan the crowd. Surveying the lady in the Carmen Miranda oufit and her dance partner, she smiled. They were marvelous on the floor (homage), which was more than could be said for any pathetic attempt Julie herself might make at dancing. The funny thing was, before the party, she'd actually wondered if anyone was going to show up as Carmen Miranda. That was odd, to pick that particular actress just out of the air . . . It was almost as if she'd known beforehand . . .naaah. She didn't recognize them from any of the FoF broadcasts, and so surmised that they worked behind the scenes.

And there was only one couple she knew of working behind the scenes, at least from what people on set had said.

*Barbara, that must be Barbara, and the guy with her must be Phil, in case I haven't missed my guess. I don't plan on pulling anyone out of their dance just yet. It might seriously "throw off their groove" if I introduced myself right away.*

Just as Julie was about to continue her reverie concerning the dancing couples, a sudden pain at the back of her neck cut off her thoughts. She winced, but didn't make a sound. Gods, it was like being hit in the back of the head with the butt of a gun. *D*mn migraines,* she thought, instantly, even though that wasn't where her migraine pain was usually located. Absently, she rubbed the curls trailing down the back of her neck. Something . . . something felt wrong about this. Not the party, it seemed to be the only bastion of sanity around. No, it was something about *this night*.

Julie had never claimed to see auras, like one of her friends at the metaphysical bookshop she often frequented. She'd never really claimed to tell the future, although her viewing of the past and present with her cards was quite often spot-on. She'd never cast a spell where a mundane solution would have worked just as well. One thing, though, that she was good at, was feeling spiritual energy. It seemed to her that a huge wave of negative energy had whipped through the area only recently, and she was getting the backlash.

Or not.

*Nerves, you nut, they're your nerves. No one would ever believe you if you told them.* The image of her card "the Tower" flitted through her head, showing an Egyptian obelisk being smashed by a huge bolt of lightning. Turmoil, was what it meant. Sudden changes, conflict or destruction. An ending. Tension and the resultant explosion that releases said tension. *Not tonight,* she prayed silently, *please, not now.* Then, something also made her remember that it was mostly the past she saw in her cards, and she calmed a little.

That was, until a cold h*nd dropped onto her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "You're new here, aren't you?" the voice was as soothing as the touch was shocking, a soft, languid purr, almost tired.

Julie turned to see the gentleman the voice belonged to, and smiled. He was rather pale, and wore a dark, pin-striped suit with a fedora cocked on his head. He grinned a little through his mustache and she was hit with the impression that this was a man with the sweetest disposition imaginable.

She nodded. "I'm Julie, the new proofreader on set, although I hope to do some writing in the near future." *Babbling, Hodges,* she admonished herself.

"Jamie," he dipped and kissed her hand. "I noticed you seemed a little out of place. I'm waiting on a dance, but in the meantime, would you do me the honor . . ." he looked her up and down, "'Liza Doolittle?"

"Good guess, Jamie, exactly right, but I'm afraid I can't dance," Julie blushed. "I don't suppose you'd be able to make us both invisible?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are a ghost, aren't you? Unless I'm quite mistaken."

Jamie's eyes widened. "How would you know that? Did my cold h*nds give me away?"

"It's your," Julie fumbled for a suitably practical word, "your presence. It's not just the cold, there's a tingling, a strong energy that radiates out from spirits. Then, a ghost can make a house full of furnature seem empty. There's a space I can feel. It feels like there's nothing else here but us." She blushed when she realized how gushily romantic that sounded. "I know it must sound crazy, but I've been in haunted areas before. Generally, it frightens me to death."

Jamie wasn't giving up. "You're not frightened now, are you?" She shook her head. "Well, since we're the only ones here, as you say . . ."

Julie allowed herself to be led to the dancefloor, putting the feeling of foreboding out of her mind.
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
Might as well try . . . , - Thursday, June 28, 2001 at 09:33:19 (PDT)

Alex and Sandy added in their applause as the orchestra stopped playing momentarily then started up again. The two heard Mary Anne saying, "...it's the tutti-fruiti woman!" and frowned.

"WHAT did she say again?" Sandy asked Alex, making sure she heard her correctly. Alex turned his head in the direction that several others were looking in and grinned. "Well, I'll be. Would you take a look at that," he indicated the stairs by jerking his chin.

Sandy turned her head towards the stairs and her eyes opened wide in astonishment. "Holy cow. I love it!" she exclaimed, a smile lighting her face up as she watched Barbara and Phil sashay down the stairs with aplomb and lose themselves in the crowd.

The two began dancing to the pumping samba beat as even more people started crowding the dance floor. "I do hope that fruit isn't real," Alex remarked with a straight face as he twirled her around. "Someone might get hungry while they're out here and she'll have no hat left."

Sandy's laughter rang out. "Alex, you're terrible! I can't believe you said that!" Alex shrugged his shoulders slightly and chuckled throatily, a cheeky grin gracing his features. "Then again, maybe I can."

The two said nothing for a bit as they concentrated on their dancing, their moves perfectly in synch with each other. The floor cleared for a few seconds as a pair of dancers moved to another patch of the floor and they were able to get a semi-clear view of the bar. "Hey, is that Chris and Hamlet over there?" Sandy asked before her view was blocked again.

"I'm not exactly sure. I think it was them," Alex replied as they turned in the opposite direction of the bar. "We can check over there after this dance, if you want." His eyes sparkled as he drew her close to him.

"No, that's okay. I know she likes to do the people-watching thing if she's here. Besides, I'm having a blast," Sandy told him, arching her head up. Alex smiled in response. "Me too," he murmured as he dipped her down to the floor.

Sandy
Barbara, I assure you that what's in Alex's pocket is completely G-rated in nature ;-), - Thursday, June 28, 2001 at 08:36:08 (PDT)

Clods--glad to see you'll be joining us! Can't wait to see how you and Ed dress up. ;-) I think the cake must be over by the buffet, but I don't think Mister I will be jumping out of it this year--I believe he has, um, something else in mind . . .

As far as being "very old" (*cough*) or hanging out in the B&W section: well, I often do prefer the old black-and-white romances to some of the modern things. Such subtlety in some of those older films, as opposed to seeing the couple jump in bed with each other by the third scene. Yuck.

And on the "old"--I think about what Maurice Chevalier is supposed to have said when someone asked how he liked turning 70. He replied that it was pretty good, considering the alternative . . .

But if anyone even hints that I'm turning 70, I'll sic my escort on 'em! ;-D

MA--hope to post more this evening and really join in the party!
- Thursday, June 28, 2001 at 05:40:53 (PDT)

As Cindie and Mistral turned there was an unexpected POP and a flash of light. Mistral stiffened, turned and faced the source. A photographer. He fixed the offending paparazzi with a glare and said very clearly and distinctly, “This is a private party.”

The man gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he stood his ground. “I have been retained for the festivities. The photographs and negatives will be provided to the subjects.”

“How nice!” Cindie smiled at the photographer. He was dressed as a circa 1940’s cub reporter complete with a hat with a press badge tucked in the band and looked to be barely twenty years old. “Would you take one of us in front of the fountain later tonight?”

He tipped his hat, “it would be a pleasure.” A glance at Mistral, “if its o.k. with the gentleman.”

Mistral gave a curt nod and moved towards the photographer, “I thought you were from one of the rags. . . ” he began as he pulled the young man aside. Cindie turned to watch the couples on the dance floor, leaving Mistral to make his peace with the authorized camera wielding gentleman. There were Mary Anne and Brandon of course, they looked stunning, they always did but this was different than usual, Brandon’s always erect posture was even more pronounced and Mary Anne’s feet did not appear to be touching the ground a whit, and Sandy and Dane, they always looked so good on the dance floor, Cindie repressed a smile recalling their Sheik of Araby number at the last party, and the forms of Barbara and Phil. Thinking on Phil’s graceful manner and Barbara’s artistic style it didn’t come as a surprise that either of them could dance, but what was thrilling to watch was how well they danced together. It was as if they had choreographed their routine and practiced it dozens of times before trying it out here, and yet the spontaneity and their enjoyment of each other was clear.

She felt Mistral by her side again and looked up, “All settled?” she asked seeing that he was fully composed and quite himself again.

“Oh yes, quite settled.” He smiled and held out his arm to her, “Shall We Dance?”

They headed to the dance floor and began to move together. “It wasn’t intentional you know.” She gave him a hug with the fingertips resting on his shoulder.

“I know. Its all right.” He held her close. “You are beautiful tonight. I may find it difficult to give you up for that dance with Brandon.”

“No you won’t. You’ll want to dance with Mary Anne anyway. Besides…” he gave her a twirl, “…the first dance is yours.”

“Just so the last dance is mine as well.”

“As you wish.”

“No, my dear. As you wish.”

Cindie
- Wednesday, June 27, 2001 at 18:20:48 (PDT)

Wait for me... I'm still getting changed. I hope to get to the party before it finishes~! And very belated happy bithday, MA! Sorry I didn't say so before. Where's the cake? ;^D and is Mr I jumping out of it this year?

PS - I know which film you're characters are from - you're either very old, or you hang out at the black and white romance section of the video store!
Claudia
- Wednesday, June 27, 2001 at 17:04:00 (PDT)

A tall thin man dressed in black wandered through Delaford forest.
He was holding a small stick in his hand and occasionally he would point it somewhere, speak some funny-sounding syllables, stare at the spot, look confused and wander on.

"Worse than death." he muttered.

Jutta
Severus is coming....but I don´t know about Dev. But I´m sure he´s around here somewhere! Therese?, - Wednesday, June 27, 2001 at 11:33:28 (PDT)

Forgot to say Barbara, that quote of *he doesn't mind that I know* was from MA's post.
Cindie
- Wednesday, June 27, 2001 at 11:29:23 (PDT)

Jutta, You and Therese look smashing! Are Dev and Severus around too?
Cindie
Barbara, Phil is breaking my heart., - Wednesday, June 27, 2001 at 11:27:40 (PDT)

Anniversary party site:

Therese entered and glanced around at the glamourous display. The party must have started quite a while ago, nearly everyone was there, dancing and having fun. She noticed someone waving wildly from one of the tables. Therese smiled and made her way through the dancing and chatting couples.

„Hello Marlene, how are you?"

Jutta blushed slightly. Phil had arranged her short hair in a style reminding of Marlene Dietrich´s curly bob.
„Marlene was as glamourous as any," she gestured towards the dancefloor," of them. But I don´t like dresses, so I decided to wear this." *This* were nightblue trousers, made of a smooth, softly shining material, and an elegantly-looking white blouse. Small diamond earstuds and a diamond ring completed the look.
„I do feel a bit underdressed, but I would feel more uncomfortable in such a dress. - You look marvelous!" she added, eying her friend up and down."Wow."

Therese wore a dark green dress, made of velvet and satin. „Thank you." Therese had seated herself next to Jutta.

„Did you finish your work?"

„Yes, I did. The entire story line for the next few weeks. Thank you for helping with Tory."

„That´s alright. We came to collect you after our walk, but you weren´t in your cubicle."

Therese looked surprised:" When was that? I didn´t leave my cubicle at all."

„Oh, about an hour ago."

„But I didn´t leave....oh, yes, wait, I did leave it for a minute."

Jutta smiled:" Did you miss something after coming back?"

„Er...no. What should I have missed?"

Jutta laughed:" Tory is a very strong dog, as you might have experienced yourself. When we came into your cub, you had a chocolate bar on the table. And before I could stop her, Tory got it. I could hardly keep her from eating the plastic wrapper, too."

Therese also laughed: „ I can imagine it! So, that was you! Yes, I noticed, but I haven´t really paid much attention. I was too happy about finishing. Never mind. By the way, where´s the food, I´m starving."

„Over there. A buffet."

The two of them got up and made their way to the generous buffet that was placed on one side of the ball room.

Jutta
I´m really enjoying myself!!, - Wednesday, June 27, 2001 at 10:15:25 (PDT)

:::FoF anniversary party, the bar:::

Chris and Hamlet, having arrived earlier, stand at the main bar, gazing at the people around them. Chris is standing, careful not to lean on the bar, paranoid that she'll stain the beautiful white dress or gloves. She sips a glass of champagne daintily, then glances over at Hamlet and smiles. "So are you glad we went?" she asks slyly. He looks at her, nonplussed for a moment, then a smile takes shape on his lips. "Yes, I am," he responds, quietly. "I had not realised how beautiful a companion I would get." Chris blushes violently, and looks at him in surprise. "What on Earth are you talking about? You see me every day! Most of the time, you see more of me than my partner does! You ought to have spotted by now I'm by no means beautiful, although I grant you that this dress is." Hamlet smiles again, grabbing her gently by the shoulders and looking her straight in the eyes. "I am not trying to 'hit' on you, nor am I flattering you falsely. Had we not both been taken, I might have been tempted, but I love my partner as much as you do yours. But please, allow a gentleman to tell a lady the truth."

Still bemused, Chris takes a sip of her champagne, letting her mind race. She is unused to compliments, and really doesn't know how to deal with them. Deeply shy and insecure inside, in spite of the facade, she knows that she is not beautiful. However, she does not wish to offend the man, so she takes a deep breath, looks him in the eye, smiles wanly and responds gently. "In that case, please, allow a lady to return the compliment. You look extremely handsome tonight, and I am very grateful that I'm the one on your arm. You might not be my type, as such," she smiles a slightly wicked smile. "But you are very good looking."

They both laugh, the tension gone, replaced by a comfortable familiar feeling. They glance out over the crowd of dancers, and Chris frowns when she glimpses someone she thinks could be Sandy. The figure is quickly gone in the crowd, and she is left unsure whether it really was her friend or not.
Chris
We are here, honest-just been lurking a bit. It's so much fun people-watching at parties!, - Wednesday, June 27, 2001 at 04:57:44 (PDT)

Correction made.
And a catchy beat, too.
D.o.C.

D.o.C.....

In the second paragraph, please change "rolly" to "rolling."

geez!
Barbara the Wallpaperer
gents, please use the upstairs bathroom.... ;), - Tuesday, June 26, 2001 at 21:41:24 (PDT)

Anniversary party site

The music wound down and there was a short lull. Cindie could hear, in the background, a metallic trill, like a pocketful of coins. It slowly grew louder.

Suddenly, the band burst into a rolling, South American beat. At the head of the stairs stood Phil, immaculate in black tie and tails, his left had extended out to the side. A white hand, the source of the jingling, was placed in his and he pulled its owner to his chest. With a spin, he flung her to his right, where she stood at the top of the stairs.

The shoes were turquoise blue and gold. The skirt fell in flounces from the hip: white, turquoise, white, turquoise, each edged in jasper red. THe flowing white blouse was knotted under her sternum, its ruffles tipped with flashes of gold. Gold bangle bracelets chimed on her wrists. Gold and brilliant turquoise beads hung from her neck and ears. And on her head...

"Oh, my," Cindie heard Mary Anne say. "It's the lady in the tutti-frutti hat."

With a flourish of her skirts and the chiming of her bracelets, Don Ameche and Carmen Miranda began to samba down the stairs.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Just wait 'til you all get to the gardens..., - Tuesday, June 26, 2001 at 11:03:34 (PDT)

"Was the costume choice your idea . . . Your Highness?"

Brandon, within his role as Prince Sirki, remains imperturbable, but Mary Anne blinks at the unexpected sharpness in Mistral’s voice and, before Brandon can reply, steps forward. "No, it was mine," she replies, and then smiles as Mistral turns toward her. "I suppose this pays me back, now, for asking if you chose Cindie’s gown."

"No, I didn’t intend-" Mistral pauses and seems to gather himself together. "You must forgive me. I mean, I wish you would. You are both so different, and it was a bit of a shock, that’s all. I’m afraid I wasn’t myself for a moment."

"Then who were you?" teases Mary Anne gently. Mistral grins in return, and Mary Anne turns to Cindie. "Mistral hasn’t gone Interrogator on us, now, has he?"

"God forbid!" exclaims Cindie, who breathes a little sigh of relief that the awkward moment seems to be over.

Mary Anne looks up at Mistral, her eyes open so wide in that appealing gaze that her long eyelashes are in danger of brushing against her eyebrows. "It was all my idea, just because I knew it would be so unusual. Christopher’s a much better actor than people give him credit for-"

"Stop, Mary Anne!" Brandon-as Brandon, no danger; for the moment, the dread Prince is nowhere to be seen. "You’ll turn my head."

Mary Anne smiles at him, with just the faintest glint of her characteristic mischief. "Christopher, you are an extremely gifted man. Please allow me the pleasure of telling you so as often as I may. Or am I to be the only one of us who accepts compliments gracefully?"

Brandon cannot help laughing at this as he remembers Mary Anne in her cubicle amid the roses he had sent her. "Touche’," he replies, giving in with his customary charm as he takes Mary Anne’s hand in his and raises it to his lips. "Meanwhile, we are at a party and should be enjoying ourselves. Allow me the pleasure of dancing with you as often as I may?" Mary Anne consents happily, but then Brandon nods to Cindie and Mistral. "However-I must ask, also, whether Miss Cindie will save me a dance?"

"I can hardly refuse," laughs Cindie, "but even if I could, I wouldn’t!"

Mistral bows in Mary Anne’s direction. "And if the lady Grazia will save me a dance as well?"

Mary Anne returns the bow with a little curtesy of her own, even as Mistral turns back toward Brandon. "I am glad to see that His Highness can make a request, then. I would have thought you were more accustomed to . . . command."

Cindie draws in her breath, expecting a return of the former bristling tension between Mistral and Brandon, but to her surprise, the two men are chuckling together, clearly taking pleasure in the banter-Brandon in his portrayal of the role, and Mistral in his recognition of the part and Brandon’s skill in presenting it.

"I have learned," intones Brandon, that even the mighty must sue for certain . . . favours. (homage) Be certain, Miss Cindie, that I shall call for you later. But for now . . ." He turns to Mary Anne with a sweeping bow. "My dearest, shall we?"

MA--a hissy fit, Barbara? That's not necessary, surely! 8-) Sandy--you'll have your dance, too, as promised. Cindie--just noodling a bit, here.
(And certainly hope Renie and Hans will attend, along with Therese and Dev, and some other "missing persons!"), - Tuesday, June 26, 2001 at 06:03:26 (PDT)

Just a few notes:

Mary Anne: I want film titles! *throws hissy fit* Now! ;)

Cindie: *melt* "he doesn't mind if I know...." *double melt*

Sandy: If Dane wants to keep things in his pocket, please remember that this is a PG site ;)

Clods: look what you started!

Reading Julie's list finally, I am. *laughing, mortified* Julie!

Hope no one's planning to come as Victor Mature in "The Robe." ;)
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Shall we see Hans and Renie, do you think?, - Monday, June 25, 2001 at 21:52:11 (PDT)

Anniversary Party Site

"The main lot's having valet parking," Phil said, casually.

Barbara grinned. "Yes. Kevin, Sveyn and Geoff will probably have more fun that us. Sveyn called my cellphone to tell me how much in tips he's already made -- and that he got to drive a Jag. I don't think I've heard him burble before."

"So why no parking there for us?"

Barbara gave Phil a look. "I don't know how much you're making here at FoF, Phil, but I can't afford the lads' valet service on my salary. I'm not a big-name actor like Brandon or Dane, able to throw a lot of money around." She shrugged. "Sorry if that bothers you." She didn't sound particularly apologetic, despite her words, though she sounded a little stung. "It's not as if this were a date or anything," she replied, a bit snappishly.

Phil's jaw tightened. No, he thought, for you, it isn't being one. He shook his head to clear the thoughts away; she seemed to take that as a reply. Her face lightened.

"We get in through the staff door and go around to check the arrangements. Then we can make our grand entrance."

"Checking what?"

Barbara ticked off items on her fingers. "One last look-in for the caterers, another to the band -- I got a note from Miranda and I want to confirm that the bandleader got my page -- and a nip over to the valet counter to find out our count on the cars already parked tonight. Then over to the building manager's office. He said he'd be on-site tonight, in case of problems. I've already had a few complaints about the kitchen sinks, so I need to talk to him. There are whispers about the gents' ground-floor restroom, too, so I want to investigate that."

Phil stared.

"What?" Barbara asked.

"Worrying about all that, tonight?"

"Someone has to, Phil. And no one in there-- "she nodded to the main room and gardens "--will ever know. It will be seamless. To them." She wore a tiny, knowing smile. "We, however, will know better."

"You're being the duck."

"Quack, quack," she nodded and darted in through the staff door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phil gave a brief sigh. In the 20 minutes they'd been in bulding, Barbara had fielded two problems from the catering staff, arranged for an emergency plumber for the gents' restroom (which, indeed, was having problems) and half-bullied, half-cajoled the building manager into absorbing the costs for the plumber's visit. Phil was exhausted just watching her. She flashed a smile up at him and spoke a few more words into her cellphone before folding it up.

"Well, that's our totals for the night so far." She showed Phil the numbers. He nodded, not quite certain what they all meant. "Ready to dance?" she asked.

"You're still being full of energy?"

She blinked. "You're not?"

"You've been solving two-hours' worth of problems in a quarter-hour! You're to be dancing me into the floor, belike."

She laughed. "Not bloody likely. Once you get going, I won't be able to keep up. I never can."

"Doubtful."

"I'm right. You'll see." She patted his arm. "You don't realize how well I know you, Phil. You can't surprise me." She walked on ahead of him, rummaging in her brightly patterned purse, as he halted stock-still in the hall.

I could. He felt his heart beat. Once. Twice. Oh, I could. And suprising you I would be.

Barbara stopped ahead of him and turned around. "Phil?" she asked. Concerned.

He swallowed and blinked his heart out of his eyes. "Perhaps I've been forgetting how to samba," he offered.

She laughed. "You? You've got elephant feet, Phil. They never forget." She held out a long, white hand. He took it and tucked it up against his ribs. Her brows knit in puzzlement.

"Unity," he said.

"Ahhh." She smiled. "Let's go show them how it's done, then, partner."

"Yes." He was lost now. And he knew it. He eyed her bright face. She didn't know. "Yes. Partner." He swallowed.

They sauntered down the hall to the main doors.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
I'm glad everyone likes the site!, - Monday, June 25, 2001 at 21:39:07 (PDT)

Correction made.
Yet???
D.o.C.

D.o.C. - could you please change "stolling" to "strolling"? Thank you very much!
Sandy
-and I haven't even touched anything yet! Sheesh..., - Monday, June 25, 2001 at 11:04:01 (PDT)

Alex expertly halted the Jaguar as the valet came forward and took the keys. He murmured something to the valet that Sandy didn't catch while he shrugged the trenchcoat away from his shoulders. She noted with silent amusement that he removed what he was carrying inside there and slipped it underneath his blazer. "Allow me," he said to her, getting out of the car and hurrying over to open the door for her.

He held out his hand and she exited the car with a gracefulness that surprised her. "Thank you, kind sir," she said with a smile. "You're welcome," he returned the smile and hummed under his breath as they walked away from the car. Alex turned around and raised an eyebrow at the young man, who gulped loudly before getting inside and driving off very slowly.

"Good intimidation tactic," she said to him, slipping her arm inside the crook of his arm as they entered the building. "I do aim to please," he replied lightly, hazel eyes half-closed as he gazed down at her. The two shared a soft laugh as they walked down the corridor.

"Amazing," Sandy breathed when they entered the hall, eyes wide with admiration.

"Agreed," Alex replied. "Barbara's outdone herself." The two walked down the staircase and walked around, admiring the decor. They saw Cindie and Mistral strolling on the opposite side of the hall and they waved to the couple, who smiled and waved back before walking away.

"She looks like she's walking on air," Alex observed. Sandy's lips curled up in a soft smile. "Do you blame her?" she asked. "Not one bit," he murmured, returning the smile. "Not one bit..." He squeezed her hand gently.

They watched as Brandon and Mary Anne made their entrance, Mary Anne radiant in her white gown and Brandon looking very aristocratic in his tuxedo adorned in medals and ribbons. Alex's eyebrows furrowed together as Sandy shivered slightly. "What's the matter?"

"I'm not sure. There's just this air about Christopher. I can't quite describe it..." Sandy broke off, blushing slightly. "You must think I'm nuts." The two watched as Mistral and Cindie approached the new arrivals, Cindie greeting them with a smile, Mistral more reserved in his greeting.

Alex looked at Brandon closely, one eyebrow raising upward as he observed his behavior. "No. You're right. He IS different. They must be in character tonight. I can't quite place who they are though," he said to her. "It does seem familiar..." He broke off his train of thought. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

"Not just yet..." Sandy started to say when a voice broke in. "You still owe me another dance from Halloween - and you look beautiful." The two turned around and grinned when they saw the voice's owner - Jamie.

"Hi," she said, clasping his hands, amazed at just how icy cold they were to her touch. He leaned down to give her a quick peck on the cheek, his mustache tickling her for a second. "Thank you very much. Yes, I did promise you another dance - along with some scintillating political discussion," she teased. Jamie winked and shook Alex's hand amiably. "Good to see you again, Dane."

Alex nodded, his eyes sliding over to Jamie's cello case briefly before their eyes met. Jamie's grin widened and he inclined his head very slightly. Sandy caught the silent exchange and she looked up at the two of them. Jamie's eyebrow raised up and she returned it.

Jamie gestured to the man sitting nearby, all dressed in white, looking straight out of Guys and Dolls. "This is Dwight Billings," he introduced the man, who rose to his feet. "Alexander Dane and this is Sandy, who writes for him."

"Pleasure to meet you," Dwight said, shaking their hands. The two exchanged handshakes with him and hellos just as the orchestra changed tunes - In the Mood. Alex looked down at Sandy, who nodded eagerly. "See you later!" she called out as they headed for the dance floor.

Sandy
- Monday, June 25, 2001 at 10:08:14 (PDT)

Correction made.
Who can blame you?
D.o.C.

DoC, That last line should be the costume choice. If you would be so kind?
Cindie
Still very much unnerved., - Monday, June 25, 2001 at 06:00:04 (PDT)

“Brandon, I’m afraid to touch you.” Despite her words Cindie tentatively reached out her free hand and brushed the sleeve of Prince Sirki. Her other hand latched tighter onto Mistral’s arm. The Prince favoured her with a long look down his nose and she let out an involuntary gasp. She turned to Mary Anne, “you’re quite sure that’s Brandon in there?”

Mary Anne gave a little laugh, “Yes. Quite sure. Not his usual sort of role though, is it?” She reminded Cindie of edelweiss, all white purity, and yet, somehow, she did not seem out of place next to the Prince. Was it the dichotomy between her innocence and Brandon’s complete lack of it or something more?

Without consciously meaning to, Cindie moved closer to Mistral. His muscles had begun to relax but if anything Cindie was more unnerved by the sight of Christopher Brandon in his new role than she would have imagined. And Mistral? What must he be thinking… Sensing her unease, Brandon stepped closer to her and smiled. A Christopher Brandon smile. It was quick but sure and he was Prince Sirki again in the wink of an eye, but it was all Cindie needed to lose the feeling of dread that had stolen over her as his identity had dawned upon her. “I hope you will be staying Prince Sirki.” It was posed as a question. He smiled again. Not a Christopher Brandon smile. She caught Mary Anne looking at the aristocrat Prince, her eyes glowing with obvious regard for the actor’s skill but also with great tenderness which, in her current role, was all the more touching.

It was Mistral who spoke next, “I’m sure the Prince will stay as long as he is able.” Turning to Mary Anne he commented, “although I did not pick out Cindie’s gown, I could not have chosen better. We did discuss our attire in advance for this event.”

“I wonder if there will be a Claude Rains here tonight?” Mary Anne, despite the comment didn’t sound mischievous in the least, simply sweet and curious as to the possibility.

“I doubt it.” Mistral now returned his attention to Brandon/Sirki who, it seemed to Cindie, was exuding sensual menace just standing there, “Was the costume choice your idea ….Your Highness?”

Cindie
Still in danger of *The Big Swoon* after MA's post., - Monday, June 25, 2001 at 04:49:48 (PDT)

No need to feel like an idiot. The film is from quite a while ago, and there's more to Sirki than meets the eye . . .

MA
All shall be revealed, in time., - Sunday, June 24, 2001 at 16:55:21 (PDT)

I haven't a clue who Grazia and Sirki are.........
a Rickman admirer
I feel like an idiot, - Sunday, June 24, 2001 at 13:56:07 (PDT)

FOF-the party:

Cindie and Mistral wander about Barbara’s beautifully illuminated party set, "casing the joint," as it were, and Cindie tastes to the full the satisfaction that comes to a woman when she knows that she is impeccably turned out and drop-dead glamorous. Not that the "Evil MA" ensemble had been un-glamorous, exactly, but there is a distinct difference in the wave of masculine interest that follows her as she walks through the set with her hand resting lightly on Mistral’s arm: appreciative smiles, waves, friendly calls of greeting, rather than wide-eyed stares.

Then Mistral stops abruptly, drawing her to a halt at his side, and as she turns to look questioningly at him, she catches sight of Brandon and Mary Anne.

"Oh," she breathes softly.

"Oh, indeed. Very much, oh."

"Don’t be sarcastic, Mistral."

"Sarcastic? Moi? Never." He smiles down at her, a smile that somehow reminds Cindie of moonlight on the dark waters of a lake. Or is that only the voice from behind the smile?

"Yes, sarcastic, you," she retorts, but cannot help smiling back. "Don’t they look stunning? Just period costumes, do you think? Or are they playing characters?"

"Characters, definitely." As they begin to walk once more, crossing the set, he elaborates. "Look at Mary Anne. Everyone on the set knows about that ‘innocent look’ of hers when she’s trying to get away with something., but have you ever really seen her look that innocent?"

"I don’t think so," replies Cindie absently, for several things are occurring to her at once and it is difficult to sort them all out. She reflects that Mary Anne, in her radiant white, has achieved the effect of standing out in the crowd: in that blaze of costuming, amid the gleam of gold and silver, the sophistication of black and the come-hither of flaming red, Mary Anne can still be seen anywhere on the floor, and Cindie has a guilty moment of wondering whether that was, indeed, Mary Anne’s intention from the start. That’s cynical of me. I wonder if I’m learning that from Mistral?

However, Cindie’s attention is diverted by Brandon as he leans nearer to ask Mary Anne a question-a question whose answer he obviously enjoys, for he responds with a hearty laugh before bending to whisper to her once more as Cindie watches, fascinated.

Mary Anne playing an ingenue is a departure from type for her, but Brandon has shaken his "type" to its foundations, with that indefinable aura about him in which menace and seductiveness are balanced to trembling precision. It takes Cindie a moment to realize that Brandon’s manner is familiar to her, and then to understand why . . .

She shakes her head. No, it can’t be. But the thought persists: It’s . . . it’s like Mistral! I’ve felt that sort of thing from him. I wonder . . . no, Brandon’s too polite. It wouldn’t be a parody, more like an homage . . . but not even that, probably. HE has never worn a costume like that. What, then? She allows her eyes to linger appraisingly on Brandon’s evening wear, the trappings and decorations of a Mittel-Europa aristocrat, tailored to a charm and worn with the careless grace of a nobleman for whom elegant apparel is all in a day’s work. Or a night’s.

Yet her strongest impression is from the man close beside her. As her hand rests on Mistral’s arm, Cindie can feel the just-perceptible tightening of the muscles as he stands rigidly still, evidently disturbed by . . . something . . . in the appearance of the couple before them. Cindie risks a quick glance at his face, which is expressionless: no one would know anything was at all out of the way . . . no one but herself, and Cindie feels her heart beat faster, feels a clutch in the pit of her stomach at the knowledge. Not that the sensation is unpleasant. It’s as though he’s communicating to me, without speaking. I know he has something on his mind . . . and . . . and I don’t think he minds that I know. He doesn’t mind if I see him a little off balance, as long as no one else--

But her thoughts are interrupted as Mistral murmurs, "Characters, yes. Most definitely not just . . . costumes."

"You know who they’re playing." A half-smile from Mistral, but no response, and Cindie gives his arm a light slap of frustration. "Oh, you’ve figured it out, and you’re not going to tell me! That’s mean. And I’m just dying to know."

"Not as bad as that, I hope." Another smile, but Cindie can see the jump of a muscle in his jaw. Again, that strange tension. "Yes, I think I know, and I wouldn’t dream of spoiling their fun-but let’s find out for certain, shall we?"

And now Mary Anne, who has seen them approaching, steps away from Brandon’s side to greet them. "Cindie! You look wonderful-what a scrumptious gown." A glance at Mistral, and a twinkle. "Did Mistral pick it out for you?"

"Thank you, Mary Anne. No, one of my neighbours did." Even her voice sounds different, thinks Cindie. It’s higher, somehow. Younger.

"One of your neighbours? I’ll have to send them to pick out things for me. That’s just too gorgeous to believe."

"Well, you’re not exactly chopped liver yourself, you know."

Mary Anne smiles, fluffing out the folds of her skirt. "Thanks. It is a bit unusual for me, I’ll admit . . ."

"Quite." Mistral. "Cindie and I were just discussing that, a few minutes ago. It suits you very well."

"Kind of you, Mistral. And speaking of well-suited-your tailor knows his business, I’d say. You’ll be breaking hearts all evening in that tuxedo."

"Not nearly so many hearts as your partner will break," returns Mistral, turning his gaze to Brandon. "I was telling Cindie that you two are obviously appearing as film characters tonight, not just wearing period costumes. Am I right? Will you be so kind as to introduce yourselves?"

"With pleasure."

Cindie startles visibly. Brandon had remained silent through the whole exchange, but now--talk about a different voice! As deep and haunting and other-worldly as the darkness between the stars themselves.

"This-" Brandon indicates Mary Anne, who spreads her skirts and dips into a curtesy. "-is the lady Grazia. And I, while I am among you-I wish to be known as the Prince Sirki, of Vitalba-Alexandri."

MA--ROFLMAO over the list, especially #1, #7, and #10!! 8-D
Cindie--Names, as promised . . ., - Saturday, June 23, 2001 at 19:17:37 (PDT)

"Of course I can accept those conditions!I wouldn't want the people that I havn't meet at this place to think I was a nut or something like that!" Miranda told Julie and laughed out loud at the thought.

"I think you already are a nut." Metatron said to himself and smiled.

"Excuse me?" Miranda asked and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Oh, I didn't say anything." Metatron told Miranda who stuck her tounge out at him. They all laughed again and Julie finally replied to Miranda after their little 'laughing fest' was over.

"Good, I thought you would be mad at me for saying those things. I'm just glad that we can do it later so that more peoplw will be able to enjoy it and so your little heart won't be broken if they don't like it!" Julie told Miranda and smiled at her after it.

"Oh yeah, and the costume. You don't have to wear that. I didn't like it much either so me, Vanessa, and Tina brought another costume that would match the song but it wasn't so...I don't know the word. Anyway, we thought you would do this so it is your size, don't worry!" Miranda told Julie reassuring her that she wouldn't have to wear that horrible costume that pink had worn in the Lady Marmalade music video. Miranda sideglanced at Metatron for a second and she saw him just staring at Julie. She smiled to herself and then came up with a plan. Oh, this plans gonna be good. Better then any of my old ones, but Vanessa and Tina are definatley going to have to help me with this one.
Miranda
I wish Bartleby and Loki could have come! I think that Vanessa and Tina would much rather have done a Linkin Park song but ya know, it's my choice since they got to make the others! I'm afraid to say but I am addicted!, - Saturday, June 23, 2001 at 16:19:42 (PDT)

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled party to bring you: 12 WAYS TO TELL IF YOU'RE ADDICTED TO FoF! 1. You watch *S & S* and see Kate Winslet bawling, and think, *Mary Anne would have this sorted by now*.

2. You give yourself a headache trying to telepathically communicate with cats and/or horses.

3. You spend your whole dreary workday plotting your story.

4. You see a picture of an angel *anywhere* and wonder why her hair isn't purple.

5. You watch *AABA* and wonder where Dana, Claire and Sinclair are.

6. Likewise, you watch *CME* and wonder where P.L., Dana, and Claire are.

7. You see the "Robin Hood" cartoon with Daffy Duck in it and imagine that George and Joya are just inside that unreachable castle, laughing their booties off as the so-called "hero" beats himself up.

8. You pass by a newspaper and see a headline that says something about a "mistrial". Your mind reads this as "Mistral", and you think "What's Patrick up to, and does Cindie know?"(This happened to me this morning, the first brain mistake, not the second!)

9. You send angry letters to Galoob or McFarlane toys, demanding to know where the action figures are.

10. You don't think your character has really "made it" in the guestbook until s/he has been abused by Mr. I.

11. You watch *The Mummy* and curse at the writer for stealing Sandy's idea.

Finally--- 12. *The Empire Strikes Back* you watch. Like Phil you think Yoda sounds, yess, hmm. Hee hee!
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
How addicted are you?, - Saturday, June 23, 2001 at 15:25:13 (PDT)

Julie wasn't quick to answer Miranda's question. her mind was awash with thoughts. The first was: was this a heavenly mandate? Well, if it was, it would be a supreme irony that an angel was asking this of a witch, albeit a white witch. It would be the ultimate demonstration of Julie's belief in the unity of spiritual matters, that was for sure. She wondered if this was what Raspoooootin had felt like when he'd gotten his visions from the Virgin Mary. Granted, she'd never asked him to *SING*, but . . .

Her second concern was the song itself. Now, she liked "Lady Marmelade", and had the old disco version of it on a CD at home, so the words and the melody weren't a problem. It was a fun song, describable by all things that could be said of fun songs: "it has a good beat, and it's easy to dance to", as per the old cliche.

Nor was the problem her singing, if she was having a good voice night. Granted, she hadn't sung "professionally" in front of an audience since high school, about seven years ago, but she had a gold and a silver medal for soloing at State competitions from those days, so, it was logical that she could get through this without much of a hitch. Her friends told her she had a good singing voice. Julie wasn't that worried about whether they would harmonize well, either. Angels weren't classified into "choirs" for nothing. She was sure they, well, at least sure that Miranda could sing.

No, her concern was as to the occasion and to the timing. It might be a bit off-theme. Especially now, at the beginning of the party. If they ripped into the song right away, she was afraid it would go down like a Def Leppard song at a country line-dancing competition. If they got a lot of "huh?" looks from their audience, it would devastate Miranda, and Julie had made it a personal quest to look out for the young angel. Personally, Julie thought that every good movie should have a dance number, and that every good party needed a few upbeat dance songs. It looked like "upbeat" had better be swing dancing or the "Charleston", maybe a Chuck Berry song if one wanted to be adventurous, at least for this little shindig. It wasn't a bad idea . . . just the wrong time.

Which led to the next problem: the fact that Miranda would be miserable if she couldn't do her song, and she had been so enthusiastic about it, too. Julie had no idea what Vanessa and Tina would do, but she had suspicions that it would make them angry. A heartbroken Miranda would make Metatron angry, and the Voice of the Divinity was not a being to cross. What to do . . .

Wait a minute. The Universal Law of Long Parties! She'd forgotten: the longer a party goes on, the more loosened up people get! Wedding receptions, for example, always started out as formal occasions, but everyone knew, in their heart of hearts, that everybody would have their ties undone, their heels off, and be dancing to "Proud Mary" or "Love Shack" by the time the night was over. If she could only convince Miranda, the young angels would be happy, the adults would be happy, and she, caught in the middle at 24, would be just fine.

Stalling, Julie snagged a waiter and immediately got carded, as usual. The drink she had absently taken reminded her of the "magnolia wine" in the line she was to sing. Julie wasn't really fond of wine, magnolia or otherwise, but it was the rare person who didn't look cool with a wineglass in h*nd. She sipped the red liquid, which tasted like vinegar to her, as usual. Grimace. Sip. Grimace. *For the Gods' sake, keep a straight face. Miranda will think you're making goofball faces at her.* "Miranda, I would be happy to sing with all of you, on two conditions."

Miranda turned, brightened, and then frowned slightly when she asked what the conditions were.

"First of all, I think we should save the song till the end of the party, as sort of a special feature. It's not that your idea isn't good, it's just that I don't think this crowd is quite ready for us to come busting through the band quite yet. Let's let them loosen up a little. What we've got right now is a little too formal for a dance song just yet. Why don't we end this elegant affair with a little bit of a bang, right before the fireworks go off?"

Miranda was considering. "And the other condition?"

Julie chuckled. "I'm just requesting that I don't have to wear what Pink wore in the video. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but I don't think I wanna wear a black vinyl bustier, a top hat, garters, and a pink wig in public. Don't wanna terrify everybody before they get a chance to know me." The group of girls giggled, and even Metatron joined in. "Well, do you see my point?"

Julie took a deep breath and waited. *Compromise, Hodges,* she told herself, *always compromise.*
Julie
I hope this doesn't bother you, hon., - Saturday, June 23, 2001 at 14:52:28 (PDT)

The valet came and opened the doors for them and took the keys from Metatron. He looked at Metatron weird because of the wings and how pale he was, Metatron just looked at him and smiled. "Jeez, what's the problem with that valetm? Hasn't he ever seen an angel before?" Miranda whispered to Julie and they laughed a silent laugh while the valet got in the car and Metatron walked over to them.

"To bad he didn't know I was the voice of God, I would have liked to give him a shock." Metatron told them and they all laughed. "Are you all ready to go in?"

"Oh yes, of course. This is going to be really fun and it's going to give us and opportunity to meet more of the people here. Any way, I think we're performing Lady Marmalade tonight for everyone so they might like us more after that!" Miranda said and then came up with a brillant idea. "Hey Julie, I have an idea since Metatron didn't seem to like the idea of singing a 'girls part' would you like to take his place? It can be like this: Me with Christina's part, you with Pink's part, Tina with Mya's part, and Vanessa with Lil' Kim's part. Would you like to join us?" Miranda asked trully hoping that Julie would want to.
Miranda
PLEASE!, - Friday, June 22, 2001 at 18:07:50 (PDT)

When they arrived at the site for the party Mistral waived off the valet who was going to open Cindie’s door, he wished that pleasure for himself. Handing over the keys and a note, of sufficient denomination to draw a “sir” and straightened posture from the young man, he remarked, “You will take care of it.” The valet nodded nervously and waited at the driver’s side. Mistral came around and opened Cindie’s door and held out a hand to assist her out of the car. She reached out a hand to his, extended a leg, placed a foot on the sidewalk and with a grace and poise that he devoured, exited the car and stood next to him. She looked up and beamed. His eyes answered her smile. Their first FOF event arriving together.

They walked forward, arm in arm, and entered the room. “Oh, Patrick,” she looked about quickly, nobody was near them, “isn’t it gorgeous! I feel like a movie star in this setting!” Concern for her momentary lapse to his first, no make that third, name in a public place was overshadowed by her glee at the events to come.

He did not react to her gaffe, instead remarking, “you look like a movie star, my dear. I fear I shall have to guard you closely lest I become a former co-star.”

They descended the wide low stairs taking in the band, the main room and beyond it the patio and the fountain. The band was playing a Benny Goodman number. She surveyed the room to see who was already present. There was Jamie in a pin-striped suit and fedora titled jauntily on his head. His foot was propped up on a chair and his cello case was nearby, adding to the vaguely disreputable air about him. He was talking with Dwight Billings who was resplendent in a white suit looking like someone out of Guys & Dolls standing next to him and eyeing a woman Cindie did not recognize in a silver t-length gown. She spotted Anton Gruber at the bar and realized with a start that he had spotted her as well. She smiled at him across the room and he raised his glass to her and took a sip. The senior Gruber, bearing that moniker only because there was a junior Gruber, turned back to the bar and resumed his conversation with Colin Firth. She was glad to see Firth here as he’d initially been uncertain whether or not to attend. Cindie had tried to assure him that his status as ‘guest’ certainly extended to the party. When she made a vague reference to the fact that all the departments were welcome he’d reached his decision with alacrity.

“Would you like a drink?” Mistral enquired.

She gave a little sigh, though not sure where she and Mistral stood, exactly, this was a far cry from the Fancy Dress Ball on Halloween when she’d been completely uncertain as to her reception. Of course she’d had good reason for her uncertainty. Still, it was a nice feeling indeed to be here together. “Yes, that would be lovely. Then perhaps we could explore a little?”

“Still have a taste for exploring do you?” One corner of his mouth twitched. “Very good then.” He tucked her arm in closer to his body and they started for the bar. They secured their drinks and began to meander, taking in the venue and looking forward to an evening of friends and fun.

Cindie
Barbara, the song?! Perhaps after a few glasses of champagne you'll serenade Mistral. ;-)
Wonder who Colin F. is hoping to see at the party?, - Friday, June 22, 2001 at 17:13:07 (PDT)

Barbara's car

Phil opened the drivers door for Barbara and helped her slide in without ruining her dress. He saw her hat on the back seat. "Not driving with it on, I'm seeing," he said.

Barbara grinned. "Doesn't fit unless I drive with my head sideways." Phil walked around to the passenger side and let himself in. She turned the key. "And that would mean you'd get a face full of... stuff." She put the car into reverse and launched into the airy, impersonally friendly tone of flight attendants. "Please fasten your seatbelt low and across your lap. Please keep your head and hands inside the vehicle at all times. Please make sure all small children are stowed in the overhead compartments or in the area beneath the seat in front of you. In case of auto compression, airbags will inflate. Please do not inhale. Thank you for driving Barbara Carlines. We hope you have a pleasant trip."

Phil chuckled. "Someday, mimickry be the death of you yet."

"Oh, likely," they drove in silence for a few moments, Phil's thoughts turning, somewhat uncertainly, to the anniversary party.

"Phil?"

"Hrm?"

"Why Ameche?"

"When I was finding out what you were choosing, the only sensible choice Ameche was."

She looked startled. "How did you know I wasn't--"

"--choosing Rogers?" His eyelids dipped, amused, and his lower lip flexed, fighitn a smile. "I'm having my sources, lass, and you'll not be knowing."

"Oh? I'll fetch Mistral on you," she threatened.

"I'll be telling him about that song, if you're doing that."

She blushed and held up a long hand. "All right, you win. Please don't. He'd throttle me."

Phil's mouth twitched and he pursed his lips. "Easy, that was." He fell silent for a kilometer or two. "You're knowing how I'm thinking about unity."

She nodded and pulled into the parking lot. "Well, it's not Rogers and Astaire." They climbed out of the car.

"True."

"Is that all right with you?" She held out her hat and hatpins to him. He pinned it on, adjusted the angle and thrust the last glittering pin in.

"More fun, we'll be having this way."

Barbara grinned. "Oh, yes...."
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Clods! *grin* Doing or doing not, trying there is not.... , - Friday, June 22, 2001 at 16:05:11 (PDT)

Phew! Finally got caught up reading this weeks posts. Now, one quick question - every time I hear Phil speak, I hear the voice of Yoda?! Why is that?
Claudia
- Friday, June 22, 2001 at 15:36:22 (PDT)

Thanks, Miranda! I wasn't able to get to the GB last night, what with my fiends, err, I mean FRIENDS keeping me out to all hours last night.

And, Barbara, how did you know that all my fiends, uhh, FRIENDS (darn Freudian slip!!) call me Jules? :)
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
Grinning, - Friday, June 22, 2001 at 09:28:46 (PDT)

"Do you need a ride?" Miranda asked Julie as soon as she had looked up at her. Julie shook her head in what would be a yes. So, Miranda backed up and Julie opened the door and got out. Her face was covered in tears, and good enough her make-up hadnt run at all, so you really couldn't tell. "What happened to your car?" Miranda asked and opened the door to the backseat making Vanessa and Tina climb to the third seat that was in the way back of the Expedition.

"I don't know. It worked fine this morning, but it just would not start tonight. I think it hates me and it just wants to make me miserable!" Julie said in frustraition with that damn car.

"Well, it looks as if we're both having trouble." Metatron said and looked at Julie through the rear-view mirror. Miranda got in and sat next to Julie. She smiled even though she felt horrible about what happened to her and to Julie.

"What happened to you guys? Is Bartleby and Loki trying to kill you or something?" Julie asked curious to find out what had happened to these angels, who hadn't harmed a soul on this earth.

"No, Bartleby and Loki are actually trying to help us sort out what happened..." Metatron said but was interrupted by Miranda.

"Azrael is back! He stole all of the stuff from our house, including our clothes. We still have a house but nothing to go in it!" Miranda told her giving emphasis on the word all.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry about that. But, how did Azrael get back?" Julie asked.

"We dont know. Bartleby and Loki are trying to find that out for us right now." Metatron told Julie still looking through the rear-view mirror but every once and awhile glancing at the road. They continued to talk about this and didn't even realize that they were at the the party 'till Metatron said, "OK, we're here!"
Miranda
showing care even in the hour of sorrow!, - Friday, June 22, 2001 at 07:33:43 (PDT)

Therese´s cubicle

Therese finished typing. She had a bad conscience for not writing more, but she just couldn´t go on. Her fingers, wrists and forearms were sore and she had a slight, pulsing headache from sitting in front of a computer for so long.
She had had a lot of private trouble recently and The Director had rescheduled her shootings and story line so she had time to sort it out. But the story had to go on, there had been lots of fan letters asking for more. Everyone had been offering help and she was grateful for it. But she had to appear on screen every now and then nonetheless and the story wouldn´t write itself, so she had to do quite some work.

Jutta had come earlier and had offered help with typing or anything else, so Therese could attend the anniversary party on time. When Therese had complained that Tory wouldn´t let her work in peace, Jutta had offered to take the dog for a walk. Therese had accepted and really had been able to get a lot of writing done.
But now she decided she needed a break and opended a drawer and with drew a Mars bar. She had just opended the wrapper when the computer told her it couldn´t save the last chapter, the floppy disc space being full. Therese sighed, put the chocolate bar aside and reached for the box where she kept her floppy discs to find it empty.

"Damn!"

She got up and thought for a moment. She knew where Mary Anne kept her floppies. But she wasn´t here anymore, she had already left for the party. Therese decided to go to Mary Anne´s cubicle and nick one, just to save her story and tell Mary Anne at the party. She surely wouldn´t mind.

Therese went to the toilet first, then to Mary Anne´s cubicle, found the discs, saved her work to disc and switched the computer off. She leaned back, satisfied. She´d done a good job. The only thing that could be better... She suddenly remembered the Mars bar. Where did she put it?! She stood up and eyed her desk. Strange. She lifted some papers, ran her hand along the book shelf over her desk...

A little cough made her turn around.

"Lost something?"

The Director, already dressed for the party in an elegantly old fashioned cut tuxedo stood there. He looked stunning. For a moment she just eyed him from top to toe. When she reached his eyes again, she became aware of what she´d done and blushed deeply. He looked very amused and satisfied at the same time. He´d chosen the right outfit.

"Er, no, not really," stammered Therese, "I just thought I had opened a chocolate bar, but now I can´t seem to find it. I left my cub only for a second."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows.

"But apart from that everythings fine. I´ve finished the story line for the next few weeks." She held up the floppies.

"But lost a chocolate bar over it." He still looked amused.

"Yes. I always seem to buy such an awful lot of chocolate and then it´s gone so quickly. Sometimes I think someone steals my chocolate."

Suddenly his face froze. Then she remembered that there had been the theft of Claudia´s computer and that he had been very upset about it.

She tried to reassure him: "No, nothing´s got stolen from me. It´s just a saying like: I think my washing machine eats my socks."

He blinked a few times as if to get back to the present. "Yes, nothing to worry about. It´s wonderful that you finished your story. But now, come to the party. You do have a lovely dress, I hope?"

Therese indicated a small bag: "In there, I just have to get changed."

He nodded: "Great. May I accompany you to the changing room?"

"You may." Therese grabbed her bag, switched off the lights and took the offered arm.

Jutta
Another chocolate victim?, - Friday, June 22, 2001 at 05:00:19 (PDT)

"Daaaaaannaaaaa, where are you?"

"O'Hara! Over here!" Relief flooded Sinclair. please have the rifle PL Hopes were dashed as PL sprinted breathlessly into view.

Blood roared in his PL's ears as frantic eyes scanned the scene. Desperation allowed no time for thought. He rushed the cat, arms waving wildly and screaming like a crazed banshee. Caught in the adrenaline of the moment, Sinclair joined the charge and added his voice to the din.

Pain seared through torn shoulders again as the cougar tensed, confused, at the onslaught. It's now or never Summoning every ounce of reserve, Dana pulled her limbs to the center and pushed up against the shifting weight.

Primal screams rent the air. As if it had never been the cougar was gone…

Dana
- Thursday, June 21, 2001 at 20:29:43 (PDT)

Phil's Flat

Phil straighted his tie self-consciously. It had been... well, decades since he had gone formal. If not for the FoF Wardrobe Department, he would have been sunk for clothes this evening. And even then, if not for Melyssande in Wardrobe... when she had told him! How embarrassing that would have been.

Phil remembered sitting in Barbara's flat last year, when he'd come into The City to interview for FoF. That night, they'd gone out to a pub and come back to her place. She'd popped the telly on and they sat down to watch the Americans' cinema awards show. All the ladies in their sparkling gowns. All the gents in their tuxedos. Barbara'd been more forgiving of their presentations than he.

"Being a couple but not a pair, they are. Going with the lady and trying not at all. Going with the gent and trying not at all. No total look. No unity," he'd said. "What a waste."

Barbara'd leveled that Look at him. "They're individuals, Phil. Separate people. There's nothing wrong with them wanting to show that."

Phil'd drummed his fingers on the padded arm of the sofa. "Rogers and Astaire."

She'd rolled her eyes. "Rogers and Astaire?"

"Individuals, they were. As you say. But they complemented--" he savoured the word (homage) "--the one to the other." He'd nodded to the screen. "These don't. Not bookends, I'm wanting to see. Partners."

Barbara'd held steady eyes on him for a moment, then gave a swift, decisive nod and turned her attention back to the telly.

A light tap on his door recalled Phil to the here and now. "Phil?" he heard.

"Come in," he called back. "'sopen." He heard Barbara's heels on the wooden floor as she crossed the room.

Phil smoothed back his hair with a final swipe. He touched the glossy red jasper cufflinks and studs, wiping a half-imaginary fingerprint off the gleaming gold settings, picked up his gloves and hat and headed for the front room. Purest black. Deepest red. Brightest white. And, scattered half-concealed, the sudden gleam of gold.

Barbara was standing at the window, looking down on the people waving to her from the lawn below. She fanned her fingers at them, rising and falling like a bell curve. He left the hallway and entered the room, his patent leather shoes scuffed the floor.

She turned to look at him, her shoulders rising slightly as she tilted her body his way. Surpise. "But that's not Astaire!" she blurted.

Phil favoured Barbara with a slight smile and indicated her outfit with the barest lift of his chin. "That's not Rogers."

She had the good grace to look abashed. "Uhm. No." She tipped her head to the side. "Then who?" Puzzled.

"Ameche."
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Hope to see you at the party, Jules! Miranda--how thoughtful!, - Thursday, June 21, 2001 at 17:10:49 (PDT)

An Inhaler? That must be MY purse!!!!
a Rickman admirer
have to take a small pharmacy on plane when I fly to London, - Thursday, June 21, 2001 at 12:30:24 (PDT)

Barbara, thanks for the offer, but Miranda and co. sort of beat you to it! It was really nice of you to offer a ride, though!

As for the (homage), I admire any artist who is good enough to make a profession of it. Therefore, your sketches must be great. I only draw cartoons!

Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
your offer is very kind, - Thursday, June 21, 2001 at 07:48:08 (PDT)

Chris looked herself in the mirror one last time, briefly, just as the doorbell rang. After checking the spy-hole and seeing nothing, she opened the door. "So sorry, the light out there must have gone again," she said to the figure suddenly bathed in light from the hallway. "I think there's something wrong with it, the bulb blows every couple of weeks! Please, come inside." The figure moved gracefully through the door, and Chris gasped as she saw the change. Hamlet was dressed in a perfectly fitting top hat and tails ensemble, with a matching black silver-tipped cane. His shoes clicked slightly as he walked, and she realised he had stepping shoes on. "Do you know how?" she asked curiously, pointing at the shoes. At his nod, she looked at him in amazement. "I learned as a child. My mother thought it would be good for my errr balance." he responded equably. "I have actually continued, on and off, but I tell no one. Tonight will the first time I wear these things in public, but they were just too fitting to be left behind!"

As he finished the sentence, he stepped back a little, gazing at Chris, his mouth open as he allowed his eyes to take in the whole picture. She was just fixing a small strand of hair that worked loose from the immaculate hairstyle. He realised that her hair was longer than it had been previously that week, and frowned. She caught his gaze and laughed. "I'm impressed! You might not notice when I have it cut, but at least you noticed I'd had it extended. It was easier than getting a wig to cover it." The hair was styled back into a sort of a bun at the nape of her neck, held by a large, shimmering barrette. Her fringe-she had a fringe-was delicately curved to one side, held in place by a matching, smaller clasp.

As his eyes continued down, he drank in the splendour of her dress. A long, fitted white silky affair with a high neck and 3/4 length sleeves, its' hem just brushed the ground. There were little diamonds through it, making it sparkle. Her hands were encased in a pair of long gloves, which went up exactly to where the dress sleeves stopped. Around the neck was a heavy but simple necklace with one large diamond in a tear-drop shaped pendant. Matching earrings and rings on the outside of the gloves finished the picture, and Hamlet was dumbstruck with fascination. He had worked with this woman for how many months? And he'd never realised that she was actually good looking!

Still dumbstruck, he simply put his arm out for her to grasp, so he could lead her out to the waiting car. She checked her little purse quickly for tissues, lipstick and inhaler, then gracefully took his arm and they floated out together. Within moments, they were zooming down the freeway in the hired Humber, which completed the picture perfectly.

Chris
Fashionably late? A severe case of RT got in the way, but we're here now!, - Thursday, June 21, 2001 at 05:28:38 (PDT)

SECURITY NOTICE

As you may or may not have noticed there was some trouble in the woods behind the Delaford set last night.
Apparently someone has been playing with the flood lights and also with the different colour panes for them.

We would like to make clear that this is against the law, creating such a light in the middle of the night, and we would like the person responsible for this to come forward voluntarily.

Morrison, security officer

Jutta
- Wednesday, June 20, 2001 at 22:51:24 (PDT)

Alex hit his turn signal and made a left at the intersection, entering a quiet neighborhood that had a few single family homes. He drove slowly down the street, eyes darting back and forth until he saw the apartment complex on the right side of the street. He breathed a sigh of relief and pulled into the parking lot beside Sandy's car. He turned off the car's engine, unbuckled his seat belt and got out, shutting the black Jaguar's door behind him with a satisfying bang.

He entered the apartment building and walked up the stairs to the second floor, looking about curiously as he moved down the hall. Unit 205... Ah, there it is. He walked over to the door and rang the bell. He could hear the eager scurrying of canine toenails tapping on the floor and he chuckled softly. "Just a second," Sandy's voice was muffled behind the door. "Ollie, sit! Good boy."

Alex waited in silent amusement as Sandy unlocked the door and opened it a few inches to peer outside. Oliver stuck his head outside the doorway, his tail wagging furiously. "Ollie! Move back, you nut!" she scolded the miniature poodle affectionately. "Hi Alex. Come on in," she greeted him with a smile as she opened the door to allow him access after the dog moved away.

"Hi Sandy," Alex replied as he entered the apartment, lowering his head to kiss her in greeting. She breathed in the spicy scent of his cologne and sighed in contentment. "And hello to you too, Oliver." He leaned down to pat the dog briefly while Sandy shut the door behind him, turning around to face him so they could each take a look at each other's costume for the evening's festivities.

They stared at each other in silence until Sandy's cheeks flushed slightly. Oliver sat down and watched the two in silent interest. "You look great," she said finally in a strangely husky voice, taking in the wide-shouldered black blazer covered by a trenchcoat, pleated trousers, deep amethyst colored shirt and tie, shoes, and fedora perched rakishly on his head. A gold bracelet caught the foyer's light and glittered around his wrist.

"So don't you," Alex replied, a gentle smile on his face as he gazed at her dressed in a simple sapphire-blue silk spaghetti-strap gown that had silver flowers embroidered at the left side of the dress that crossed over the bodice and went down the right side of the straight skirt. On her ears were white gold earrings that matched the pattern with a diamond in the center of each flower and an accompanying necklace. Her makeup was lightly applied, giving her a dewy-faced freshness, but her eyes appeared bluer than normal - probably because of the dress, he surmised. Her blonde hair was freshly trimmed and styled in a tousled fashion so that it attractively framed her face, emphasizing her high cheekbones. "You really look lovely."

Sandy blushed again, lowering her eyelids. "Thank you." She gestured to the small but cozy living room and they walked inside. "Be right back," she said and entered another room.

Alex stood in the middle of the living room, admiring the Monet print hanging on the wall and called out, "What made you decide to move out this way?" He heard her open a door and rummaging for something. "It's hard to find a place that allows dogs around here. Cats never seem to be a problem though..."

"I'm not surprised by that," Alex replied and rolled his eyes, his lips pursing up in disgust. "Besides, I like it here. It's quiet, safe, and the price is decent," she returned to the living room with a matching pashima wrap and small silk purse with a white metal chain.

"Shall we?" Alex asked and she nodded. She knelt down to pat Oliver affectionately. "Don't worry. I'll make sure I get you some kind of goodie from the party," she chuckled. The poodle licked her hand affectionately and went over to lay down on his bed with a toy.

The two left the apartment arm-in-arm, walked out to the parking lot and stood in front of Alex's car. "Oh, before I forget. What detective ever goes without one of these?" Alex opened his trenchcoat and Sandy's eyes widened at what she saw.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked after several moments of silence.

Alex's hazel eyes twinkled and his lips curved up. "Yes it is."

"Alexander Dane, I love the way your mind operates," Sandy's eyes gleamed and she reached up to cup his face in her hands. He lowered his head and the two kissed, the exotic scent of her perfume - jasmine - wafting gently to his nose.

He sighed when they broke the kiss and he opened the passenger's door of his car for her to enter. She got in, lifting her skirt carefully so it wouldn't get caught in the heel of her silver pumps. "Hopefully we won't be too late," he said to her before he shut the door for her, walked over to the other side and slid behind the driver's wheel.

"I don't think so, but then again, I like to be unfashionably early," Sandy told him with a grin. Alex laughed as the engine roared into life. He backed out from the parking spot and the Jaguar shot off into the early evening.

Sandy - Don't worry, MA. I won't change - it's too much fun being this way!
The jewelry described are actually pieces that my mom owns, passed down from my grandmother., - Wednesday, June 20, 2001 at 17:44:30 (PDT)

Cindie's Flat:

“Hmmmmm.” She leaned back and eyed him dubiously. “Not that bad eh? Why doesn’t that make me feel safe?”

“I’ve no idea, for you are perfectly safe with me.”

Leaving that one alone for the moment, Cindie held out her right hand presenting a large diamond encrusted hair clip and asked, “would you clip this at the back for me? It’s hard since I can’t see to center it. Where the bobby pin is.” Complying with her request he turned her to face the oval mirror over the antique dry sink next to the door. Slowly and meticulously he fastened the clip in place as she watched him intently in the mirror. He was well aware of her scrutiny and the effect his attire was provoking. He relished it and reveled in it. Not vanity, but an appreciation of her very obvious regard. He took his time with the clip. The earrings, a line of diamonds set in gold dangling from each ear, were elegant and set off the dress and her features. Her neck was bare and he allowed his fingertips to brush along its sides and continue down and around the curve of her shoulders on his way to placing his hands on either side of her arms. He then turned her about to face him. They regarded each other for a long minute. Finally she said, “Patrick, you look so good in that tuxedo. If they had HIM stand trial dressed like that not even the Empress herself could convict HIM!”

Genuinely pleased with her compliment, he replied, “Except I couldn’t find my gold cuff links with the inlaid onyx and diamonds. I had to wear the silver ones and they don’t match the studs on the shirt.” He waived his hand revealing the offending silver cufflinks and indicated to his black onyx shirt studs.

Now Cindie’s colour was all scarlet. “What is it, my dear?” he asked.

“I, um,” she stammered, how could she tell him? Wordlessly she went over to the end table and pulled a small velvet pouch out of her handbag. She thrust it out to him. “Here.”

“What’s this?” he asked loosening the gold cord which held the bag shut. He spilled the contents onto his upturned palm. The cufflinks. Cindie’s treasure.

She looked so miserable. Gazing from the contents of his hand, to her face and back again, light dawned and he began to chuckle. “You absconded with my cufflinks!” She flushed deeper and he relented. He slipped the cufflinks back in the bag, took up her hand, and gently pressed the bag into her palm. “If you wished a token, you had but to ask. I do recall leaving them in the library, thank you for keeping them safe for me. If you would please continue to do so, it would please me greatly.” His hand closed hers around the soft black velvet.

“You’re not angry? I meant to tell you at dinner that night, and then I forgot.” Her thoughts flickered to how he’d come downstairs alone, without his mother. Daring now to meet his gaze, she continued, “and then I didn’t want to give them up.” She smiled ruefully, “I suppose you could borrow them for a few hours?” and proffered him the booty.

“Very well,” he replied gravely, taking the velvet bag back and slipping it in his pocket. “A few hours, and then I shall return them to your custody. I do have a condition, however.”

Her smile was no longer rueful, but somewhat uncertain. “What would that be?”

“A token from you, an exchange of keepsakes.”

“That’s fair. But I’m afraid I haven’t anything so nice. I don’t know what to give you.”

Mistral didn’t blush, but he reached into his pocket and brought out a slim gold case. It was nothing she’d ever seen before and she looked at it quizzically. “You’ve already supplied it, although unwittingly.” He opened the case which was lined with white tissue. Nestled on top was a lock of hair, a wave of auburn, brown and gold. Her hair. She looked up at him, the question in her eyes. “A visit to Mr. Allen. He was most helpful.” He closed the case and gave it to her as well. “But I should be most obliged if you would consent to bestow the gift upon me yourself.”

Cindie was incredulous. “You went and got a lock of my hair?” Shaking her head she continued, “I can’t believe it. That was so, so …sweet.” She put her arm around his neck, reached up and kissed his cheek and pressed the case back into his hand, “Whatever possessed you?”

“Whatever possessed you?”

The warmth flooded her cheeks again but what she felt was the warmth that suffused her entire being. He brushed her cheek with the curled knuckle of his forefinger and enfolded her again in his arms.

A few minutes later she assisted him in changing his cufflinks. “Should I keep these as ransom for the others?”

“If you’d like. Keep them here and I’ll return to make the exchange.” She dropped them in her little black handbag and they left for the party.

Cindie
Barbara, *sniffle*.
MA, I guess safety is relative., - Wednesday, June 20, 2001 at 15:59:27 (PDT)

Flashback continued:

Phil had frozen for a heartbeat. "Quite good?" he'd breathed back. Astonished at the understatement.

They'd been in his flat; Barbara had come up from London to visit on the one-year after Shelley had passed on. Brian had been off to London to visit his latest lady-love, so Barbara had invited herself up for the weekend. She'd known how terrible it was, that first year... well, anniversary was hardly a proper term for it, but what other was there? When Bernard had died, she had...

So she had known better than to leave Phil alone on that day, of all days. It had been a surprise to him, her showing up on his doorstep. She'd made her reservation at the hotel in Keighley, but he'd insisted she stay at the flat and save herself the funds. He had the room, he'd said, with Brian off gallivanting to London.

They'd talked. For hours. At first, Barbara had done most of the talking.

Then Phil had pulled out the glasses. And Barbara had asked about a photograph.

The floodgates had opened and Phil began to speak.

History. Culture. Art. Elegance. Style. Verve. Joie de vivre. Unity of character, presentation, thought. Grace. Movement.

"Like Astaire dancing, should be. Only always." Phil had gestured forcefully, sloshing his scotch slightly. "Be breathing in the world; be breathing out yourself. Astaire, belike."

"I suppose," she'd said. "I couldn't judge; I've never seen the man dance."

"You never have been seeing Astaire dance?" Appalled. Astonished. After he'd recovered from his shock, Phil had dragged her to the telly and the player and sat her down with his copies of Top Hat and Flying Down to Rio.

Astaire had amazed her. Such an unprepossessing man. Until he danced. Then... oh, then! Phil had smirked at her.

"Had the same effect on Shelley, Fred did," Phil had said, the slightest of smiles on his face. She'd looked at that smile, slight and thin though it was. It had been filled with sweetness and pain; when memory has grown treasured because it reminded not of new loss, but of old gain.

Barbara had given a secret inner sigh of relief. Good. Phil had gotten over the sharpest part, though not the hardest part.

Barbara told Phil about the Anniversary Party that morning, making it sound mandatory as she could. However, she had not told him what she was wearing, and hoped he would choose the obvious.

But now she had decided against the Rogers gown, in favor of this. Not so... elegant. But much, much more fun. Phil was going to flip.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Julia, need a lift? I've got to go pick up Phil...., - Wednesday, June 20, 2001 at 12:40:55 (PDT)

They all got in the car and sat there for a minute. Is this all just a dream and this didnt even happen? Miranda thought to herself and sat back into the seat. Finally she decided she would pinch herself and maybe she would wake up in her bed with all her stuffies (stuffed animals!), no Bartleby and Loki, no Azrael to reck everything, and the party still a day away.But of course that was'nt her luck, she only ended up giving herself a bruise and something more for Vanessa and Tina to laugh at.

"Are you sure that you girls want to do this? We could stay home and just go ahead and help Bartleby and Loki get all of our stuff back." Metatron said and turned to face them.

"Of course not! This is our first party and anyway we have come this far why should we turn back now?" Miranda said and Vanessa and Tina shook there head in aggrement.

"Okay, we can go." Metatron told them and saw the happy smile that crossed Miranda's face. He started the car and Miranda picked up a C.D. case that as stuffed under the seat. She flipped through it and finally she found her favorite C.D. It was the soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou. She turned to her favorite song on that C.D., which was Man of Constant Sorrow, and they all rode in happeness until they rode by the FoF parking lot.

"Metatron pull over, it's Julie!" Miranda told him and he did as he was told. They stopped the car right behind Julie's and Miranda hopped out of their car and ran to Julies. She knocked on the window of the drivers seat and waited patiently for and answer.
Miranda
ew, ew, ew, the choclate pudding totally turned out wrong. I think it about killed me!, - Wednesday, June 20, 2001 at 10:01:40 (PDT)

Barbara's Flat

Barbara surveyed herself in the mirror. She'd wavered between this gown and the other, modeled after Ginger Rogers' outfit from Flying Down to Rio. The so-called "Carioca gown."

Phil had introduced her to Rogers and Astaire. He'd been horrified to discover that she knew the names but had never actually seen them perform.

Flashback:

"You never have been seeing Astaire dance?" Phil had sounded... well, appalled, frankly.

Her reply had displayed her ignorance. "No," she'd said, rather matter-of-factly. "I've heard he was quite good, though."

Phil had frozen for a heartbeat. "Quite good?" he'd breathed.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
The party's just starting..., - Wednesday, June 20, 2001 at 09:29:54 (PDT)

Bartleby and Loki walked in said hello to the girls and then Metaton started to show them around. "Nothing much to show, just that how ever this was was very good at keeping their identity as secret as possible. "Metatron told them and proceded to show them the bedrooms which was just bare as the next room.

"Yeah and that's how we now who it is. A living person would have made a total mess of the place but someone of the none living type would have done this with ease with no mess to give him up by." Loki told Metatron and felt sad that this happened to the four. It was Bartleby and Loki who he was after for revenge mostly but he took some of it out on Metatron, but why Miranda, Vanessa, and Tina.

"I tell you who it is, with one promise. You swear that when you see this person you will not try and kill him but let me and Loki make the first move, alright?" Bartleby asked smiling evily like he wanted to kill this paticular person.

"I swear just tell me. I have to get to a party soon and trying to figure out who stole all of our stuff isn't going to get us there any faster." Metatron told them and put his hands up in front of him to show that he sweared.

"Okay, the culprit is Azrael. Yep thats right, the guy whos wanted revenge on us since day one." Loki told everyone.

"I thought so. But why would he take everything even our clothes, I don't think he will be wearing a 13-year olds clothes would he?" Metatron asked and frowned at the thought.

"See that's the problem, we have no idea why he would wanna do this. The least that Azrael would do would be to hide somewhere in your house and once your asleep kill you all one by one." Bartleby told him and shuddered at the thought.

"Well, since you have told me that, do you think that while me and the girls are at the party you could stay and look after the house? You could stay here the rest of your time that you will be here if you wanted to." Metatron asked them hoping they would say yes.

"Um..Yes we will but I think tonight you guys will be the ones who need a hotel room!" Loki said. Metatron said his sincere thankyous and then told the girls to go get ready for the party or they might be late. Miranda jumped up with the package, that luckily they all brought theres with them so it didn't get stolen, and ran into her room. He shut and locked the door and started to undress so she could put this outfit, that looked like it might be alittle tight, on. It came with everything she needed, the outfit, the shoes, the jewelry, and a blonde wig since Miranda has purple hair which wouldnt go good with a red outfit, she actually couldnt wait to get it all on.

The main outfit was a one piece thing that looked more like a bathing suit to Miranda. It was a briht red color and at the bottom left hand cornor was a flower type jewel thing. The shoes had red staps but then it had a silver heel and bottom to it and they looked pretty cool to Miranda but awfully high. She had earrings to match the flower thing and that was about all the jewelry and then for make-up she had lipstick to match the dress and a little bit of dark eye shadow. She put on the wig and then made sure that everything fit her properly. There wasnt a mirror so she would just have to go by her friends judgement, and she knew that Vanessa and Tina would definatley tell the truth. She went out into the hall and it seemed as if she was one everyone was waiting on. She went up to Metatron, who was dressed up like Frank Sinatra in a black tuxedo with a bow tie (like when he was with the rat pack) and a hat, and asked him, "How do I look?" She twirled around and then smiled.

"You look absolutley fabulous darling."

"Wow Miranda, you look great." Vanessa and Tina both said at the same time and the jinxed each other, which usually lasts a long time which is good. Miranda studeid Vanessa and Tina for a minute.

Vanessa, dressed like Betty Grable from How to marry a Millionaire, had on a bluish-grey shirt that had a checker board pattern at the end of the half sleeves and then at the top of the neck to match the shorts, which were very short. Then Vanessa had white high heel shoes and a salmon color belt and scarf. She had on a blonde wig, like Miranda's except shorter, and silver hoop earings. She had on make-up like Miranda's except it was lighter in color.

Tina, who was dressed as Lauren Bacall from the same movie as Miranda and Vanessa, had on a dress that had no sleeves and stopped in the right below the knee. It had a flower design on it and mixed the colors white blue and a pinkish color. She had on white high heels and no jewelry or make-up but she ha on a brown wig.

"Well I think we're ready to go!" Metatron said and then went to pick up the car keys. "But before we leave we should tell Bartleby and Loki our thank-yous and then give them instructions on what to do."

"What to do?Theres nothing to do in this house." Bartleby said quickley and they all laughed because of the way he said it.

"Just like try and get our stuff back, Please for me." Miranda said and made a puppy dog face at Bartleby.

"Fine. We will try adn get your stuff back. I know how important it is to you." Bartleby said and then nearly fell over when Miranda gave him a hug.

"Comeon girls. We have a party we must get to!" Metatron said and hurried the girls out the door adn into the car.
Miranda
call me crazy but this morning I woke up at 6AM just because I was hungry and I had the urge for some choclate pudding. I made some and now its cooling in the fridge, I want it now!, - Wednesday, June 20, 2001 at 04:54:41 (PDT)

Sometime close to evening at the FoF set:

Julie was working through some of the last of the scripts. She was so engrossed in her reading (and her 80's rock CD had been playing a bit loud {blushes at choice in music}) that she'd failed to notice the absence of an all-too- familiar loud purr.

When she looked up at a noise from the door, she'd seen her capricious tabby dragging in a package that was just about as long as he was. **What have you got there, Toms?**

Tommy, panting, released the paper-wrapped bundle. **Help me with it, will you? It's just something I thought you might want.**

Julie took the parcel from him, opened it, and was dumbstruck at the delicate, white-sequined gown it contained. It was quite like the dress Audrey Hepburn had worn to the Regency Ball in *My Fair Lady*, but not exactly. Folded beneath it were all the accessories to match, including an opal-silver pair of heels. All she would need to do would be to put the ensemble on, and she would be ready for the party. "Wh-Where did you find these?" she muttered, out loud, feeling like Cinderella with a feline fairy godmother.

**The dress, shoes and gloves, I found in Wardrobe, in a box no one will possibly miss. Just in case, I walked out a request on the computer.** The cat often walked on Julie's keyboard, but the idea of him filling out a request for a costume was ridiculous. Still, the cat knew her well enough to know that she would worry if the others would think the dress was stolen goods when she got to the party. Any excuse would do, even an outlandish one. **The other stuff is yours, in case you haven't noticed. The party's going to start within a few hours, so I'd suggest you just lock the door and put it on. Makeup's in your bag, of course, and the gloves will cover the fact that your nails aren't done, there's no time for that . . .**

**How did you get home to bring the rest of it in just a few hours?**

**Hitchhiked,** the cat looked smug.

Julie looked at him suspiciously. This was ludicrous! Even more ridiculous than when their mindlink had been started in the first place. "I thought things were supposed to be *normal* on this side of the camera." This was far too intelligent for a normal cat, and far more complex an act than he'd ever carried out. This wasn't *Sabrina the Teenage Witch*, or *The Incredible Journey*, or even that new *Cats and Dogs* film that was coming out, this was her LIFE, for crying out loud! The kindness of the gesture, and its complete impossibility, pulled her nearly to the breaking point.

**The angels are real, why not your very own "puss in boots" who helps you out when there's trouble? I help quite magnificently, too, if I might add.**

Julie patted him on the head, tears misting her eyes. **I know you do, Purrball.** Julie took a deep breath, to stem what would either been a sob or a sigh. Quietly, she changed from her tye-dyed shirt and black jeans into the beautiful gown and shoes. She also found that her silver tone filigree choker was folded neatly under the stockings, so she wouldn't have to go bare-necked. **How did you manage to finagle all this?** She asked as she applied her makeup.

**Don't look a gift cat in the mouth, dear,** Tommy paced across the desk to where her purse sat, next to the CD player which had already been provided with the cubicle. Pawing at the drawstring, he dragged her comb out of the bag, along with something that . . . glittered. **Don't forget the old big hair, mop-head. Put it up.**

"With what?"

**This,** the cat lifted his paw. Under it was a hair clip, gorgeous and delicate and undoubtedly expensive. Quite old, it consisted of three wrought silver stars, intertwined, with swirls of silver above and below, each arm of the swirls ending in a glowing opal.

"Where did that come from?" Julie took a dumbstruck moment to admire it before she combed her fine, red-streaked brown curls up to pin them with the barrette.

**Magic.**

She didn't doubt it at all. She mindspoke to him again. **I don't suppose this outfit comes with a new pair of legs? Mine don't exactly work right for dancing, or doing much of anything flexible, I'm afraid.**

**You won't have to dance. Now, I really should be going. I just met this marvelous she-cat, beautiful, with the most delightful sense of humor, while I was out. I'm afraid I'm spoken for for the evening,** Thomas Aquinas Shaw Hodges purred softly, and disappeared into the corridor.

Most everyone had gone home by now, and wouldn't have noticed Julie's Hepburn getup anyway; they were so used to seeing costumes. She prayed to the Gods no one would miss it, but no one seemed to mind. She made her way to her car as fast as she could skitter on the ungainly heels.

Turning the key, Julie was met with silence. She tried three times before she gave up. Her "technojinx" had finally destroyed her Escort. "Fizzling h*ll," she muttered before the tears finally took over.

Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
some people may have their wardrobe miracle workers- - - I have my . . . CAT?!, - Tuesday, June 19, 2001 at 20:14:04 (PDT)

FOF set, Costume department:

A voice from one of the dressing rooms. "Are you almost ready, Christopher?"

The reply, from another. "Almost. And if I am not, then we shall have to be fashionably late." A pause. "This costume . . . the purpose of a valet is much clearer to me, now. But I think . . . yes. And are you ready, Mary Anne?"

Rustling noises. "Yes. On the count of three, then? One, two-"

On "three," Brandon and Mary Anne step from their respective dressing rooms . . . and stand gazing at each other in surprise.

Each of them had seen the other’s costume, of course. But they had not seen the costumes on each other, and that is what makes the difference. To Brandon’s astonished eyes, Mary Anne is, completely and naturally, what she has been known to successfully counterfeit, whether in a scripted scene or in some teasing exchange with him or The Director-an utter innocent. The dress of pure white is simplicity itself, relieved only by a pleated frill at the neck and another at the hem, as though she had drawn a fleecy cloud about herself. No jewels--two white flowers, their glossy green leaves a stark contrast to the purity of the gown and the creamy skin of her throat; these are her only ornament apart from the curved hairpins, set with twinkling stones, that secure the soft coil of hair at the base of her neck.

But there is far more to this look than the costume. Tranquil though Mary Anne appears, it seems to Brandon that there is something more in her face, the haunted, mystical quality of a dreamer who finds her dream almost within reach, yet hesitates to grasp it. Unearthly, thinks Brandon, remembering to breathe again. Unearthly, and unworldly. Perfection.

Mary Anne, meanwhile, has not been idle in her appraisal of Brandon; indeed, she had hardly recognized him at that moment when he stepped from the dressing room. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.

Almost any man can appear to advantage in evening dress. Even an average man can be impressive. Begin, however, with a man such as Brandon . . .

Mary Anne’s eyes linger appreciatively on the black cutaway tailcoat, cut high and open to flatter that breadth of chest and shoulder. Then there is the gleaming white shirtfront, crossed with a tricolour ribbon sash, obviously intended as a badge of office and studded with medals and decorations, more of which adorn the lapels of the jacket.

But the change in Brandon extends further than costuming. His hair has been combed smoothly back, accentuating the bone structure of his face and seeming to expose a personality more worldly and, yes, more cynical than the gentlemanly Colonel for which Christopher Brandon is famous. It is clear that the man in these profusely-decorated evening clothes is a great force, royalty to be reckoned with, and even as he stands for inspection in this dressing room, there is an atmosphere about him of something sophisticated and vaguely sinister, the look of a being who can take his pleasures where he finds them and does not hesitate to do so.

Brandon finds his voice. "Will I do?"

"Do? Christopher . . ." Mary Anne sighs. "They’ll be falling at your feet all evening."

Brandon strikes a pose. "As all must, eventually," trying out the voice he will be using for the character, and smiling at Mary Anne’s little exclamation of surprise.

"Christopher, that’s perfect. It sounds just right. And you say it’s been a while since you’ve seen this film?"

"A few years, yes." But he had not forgotten the sound of that voice, with its blend of accents: the Teutonic flavour reminiscent of the Grubers, with a hint of the Slavic . . . world-weary and yet seductive, a voice to melt the heart. Or break it.

Mary Anne turns for his inspection, spreading wide her white skirts and smiling at him. "And do I pass?"

"O, the world hath not a sweeter creature, replies Brandon. "She might lie by an emperor’s side and command him tasks."

Mary Anne recognizes the reference, as Brandon had known she would-and shivers, though she cannot help smiling over the compliment. "Yes, and look what happened to her."

"True. But you will find-" Brandon taps his chest, and there is a faint jingle of medals. "-this Emperor far easier to command."

"If I do, the I’ll be one of the few who ever did."

"Then you had best begin at once. Shall we?"

"We shall-but wait, there’s a wrap that goes with this dress-oh, there it is."

Turning, Brandon picks up the cloak-white, like the dress, and trimmed in swan’s down-and settles it about Mary Anne’s shoulders.

"Wait, let me make sure I’ve remembered everything . . ." Mary Anne pauses for a moment, frowning in concentration. "I visited Barbara’s set today, and I’ve spoken with the techs; they agreed to place just what I told them we’d need . . . yes, I think that’s everything." Her expression clears, and she is once more the radiant maiden in spotless white. "I am ready, my Prince."

"After you, my lady," and Brandon bows, gesturing her toward the door . . .

MA--"don't worry," the man says. You behave yourself, Mistral! ;-)
"World hath not a sweet creature . . ." Shax, of course. Othello. , - Tuesday, June 19, 2001 at 20:03:51 (PDT)

Is the cougar coming to the party?
Cindie
*Bringing Up Baby*, - Tuesday, June 19, 2001 at 17:43:44 (PDT)

They had arranged that he would pick her up for the party. Cindie had found the perfect gown. It was simple but very elegant and, in keeping with the theme, based on one of her favourite movies, *Notorious*. It was the kind of thing she’d always dreamed of wearing to an elegant party but never thought she’d ever really have the chance. Black, low cut and class that just kept going. It was cut low in the back as well and had a belt of linked ovals at the waist. She surveyed herself in the mirror, her new haircut made it more difficult for the Ingrid Bergman look she was trying for but she knew she looked good. No Ingrid Bergman though. There was a knock on the door, she thought it was Patrick because he had the code to the building and didn’t bother ringing at the security door. When she opened the door she was surprised to find it was not Patrick but her across the hall neighbor. “I had to stop by and see how the dress worked out.” He beamed at her, his opinion of the effect clear upon his face.

She twirled for him and asked, “what do you think?” He’d helped her find the dress and have it altered, since she couldn’t find what she wanted in wardrobe this time. Besides, she’d wanted something original to her this time around. Well, original in terms of the show. Not that wearing the *Evil Mary Anne* ensemble hadn’t been …interesting. But time for something different.

“It’s perfect.” He smiled, “sure you don’t need a Cary Grant to accompany you?”

“Quite sure,” said a clipped voice over his right shoulder.

He turned, “Mistral,” he nodded.

“Good evening Chandos,” an answering nod.

“Why don’t you both come in and I’ll fix us martinis?” Cindie opened the door and beckoned.

Mistral flourished his arm in the classic ‘after you’ gesture and followed Cindie and Chandos into the living room. He chatted politely with Chandos while watching Cindie pour vodka and vermouth over ice and shake the martinis. Nodding distractedly at Chandos’ explanation of the vintage clothier that had located the dress, he watched her open the jar of olives and reach in with a slender finger and pluck out one olive after another and place them in the bottom of the classically shaped martini glasses. “Yes, its perfect,” he agreed, still watching as she poured the clear liquid into the glasses. “Here, let me,” he stepped forward as she began to try to carry the three glasses over to them.

“Thank you,” she accepted his help, “wouldn’t do to spill them.” She cast what she hoped was an unobtrusive appraising glance over her companion for the evening. She’d imagined he would look good in a classic tuxedo. She’d been wrong. He looked polished, urbane and impeccable. There simply weren’t enough adjectives to cover the effect of Mistral in his finery.

They sipped and chatted. Cindie excused herself to put the finishing touches on her attire for the evening. “Does she know that’s the original dress?” Mistral enquired of Chandos.

Chandos looked startled, “No. How did you know?”

“You can tell. What about the jewelry?”

“Just some things I picked up in Austria. I loaned them to her to go with the dress.”

“Ahh.”

“She looks very nice tonight doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” a sidelong glance at the young man, “she does.”

Cindie returned, mostly ready. Chandos said his good evenings and excused himself. Mistral was standing in the middle of the living room watching Cindie close the door behind her neighbor. When she turned around to look at him he walked over to her, pausing to place his glass on an end table, and took up her hands in his. “You are so lovely,” he said, his voice rough.

Cindie smiled, her surprise at the compliment plain on her face. “Thank you,” the apples of her cheeks were tinged with that shade of scarlet of which he’d become so fond. “I’m afr