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 afraid Chandos dressed me tonight,” the flush deepened, “I mean, supplied most of the outfit. I hope you don’t mind?” The last was phrased as a question.

His lip curled slightly, “no. I don’t mind. Remember, I told you that if I ever wished to see you in something, I would provide it. I trust this was a special circumstance?”

“Yes, of course.” It was now her voice that was becoming rough but she went on. “You probably don’t remember, but last year’s party was the first time I ever saw you. Saw, you, I mean.” She glanced up at him, then looked away. “I was in town on a visit and stopped by with the treats for everyone, just to say thank you, because I enjoyed the show so much. That’s when I dropped off my resume. I never dreamed then that….” Her voice failed her now and she looked back at Mistral. His eyes were like softened caramels as he gazed at her with an unfathomable expression.

Gathering her up in his arms he replied, “I never dared dream either. But, yes, I remember you there. As I recall you weren’t there long and you left too quickly.”

“I was just a visitor. I didn’t mean to intrude on the party, but everyone was so nice so I stayed for a bit. Now a year has flown by and I’m going. With you.”

“Yes,” he said softly, “with me.”

“I hope I won’t cramp your style.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I recall you had fun last year, deviling Mary Anne.”

“Long a favourite past time.”

“Not that I wish to encourage you, but I hope you don’t feel you need curb yourself on my account.”

“No, I don’t…. and I do have something special in mind for Miss Mary Anne’s birthday this year….”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“What, and make you an accomplice before the fact? Certainly not. However,” he regarded her down his nose, “you may be subject to the same treatment.”

“My birthday’s not ‘til February,” she said quickly.

A laugh began low in his chest and finally broke from his lips, “Don’t worry,” he gave a pseudo menacing glare, “it won’t be that bad.”

Cindie
- Tuesday, June 19, 2001 at 17:41:23 (PDT)

Sinclair flung himself up the last few yards to the edge of the glade. Hearing the cat but in the split second of action seeing only the standing figure, he launched towards protecting her from the foe.

Wawula he exhaled. Deer Tiger.

The giant billowing of the open shirted human rampaging forward startled the cougar. Ready to snap the neck of his victim the jaws snapped shut and the teeth were bared towards the newcomer.

Sinclair spun round fast stooping low to pick up a small rock, suddenly aware of the identity of the prey motionless under the animal. Afterwards he would blushingly recollect the white petticoats, swearing that the long brown tresses were hidden from view.

The rock bounced from the muscled shoulder of the cougar. Protective snarls turned into a long high pitched feminine scream.

Down at the shore, the sound stopped a heart.

Claire
Gold Rush still filming .. running behind schedule. Enjoy the party., - Tuesday, June 19, 2001 at 15:42:09 (PDT)

Just a few notes as I drop in today:

Julie -- *blush* It may be a homage, but still!...

May Anne -- *airily* Oh, I have my suspicions...

Miranda -- what an outfit. I *adore* that film.
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Too busy to write today--stuck at work, - Tuesday, June 19, 2001 at 12:11:47 (PDT)

"Are you sure thats how you wanna go to a party?" Miranda heard someone say behind her. She turned around and there stood no other but Marilyn Monroe.

"Oh my god, it's Marilyn Monroe in my bedroom, only a couple feet from me!" Miranda said excited that shes finally meeting her idol from way back when she was only 6 or 7.

"Yep, it's me, the real thing. I over heard up in Heaven you talking to Metatron, Vanessa, and Tina avout dressing up as me from the movie How to Marry a Millionaire, but you said that you were unable to get the right costume for it. I have the exact costume that you wanted with me right now, it only depends on if you want to still dress up as me or not." She took a package from behind her back and showed it to Miranda.

"Of course I do! Oh thank-you so much." Miranda said and gave Marilyn a hug. Marilyn handed her the package waved a good-bye and left leaving Miranda in awe at what had happened. (Yeah, your right. Miranda lived in Heaven and could have meet anyone she wanted but you know Marilyn was a movie star it might have been hard for her to actually meet her. This is one of the advanteges of being and angel!)

Miranda ran out of her room and into the living room where Metatron was. He was holding a package like Miranda was, so Miranda thought that Frank Sinatra had visited him to. Vanessa and Tina came out a minute later talking on and on how Betty Grable and Lauren Bacall had visited them.

"I have an idea, how about to get these odd ghostly visitations out of our head we go get ice-cream. Bring the costumes with you, for safe keeping, of course." Metatron said and grabbed the car keys that were sitting on the counter.

They ate ice-cream and talked joyfully, no one wanted to go home when it was time but they had to. They all got in the car still talking and joking with one another, but this stopped as soon as they had gotten home and opened the door. Miranda was the first to see this and she almost fainted becuase of what she saw. All of their stuff was GONE! Every last bit. They all walked in and headed towards their rooms first of all. Everything was gone in there to. Miranda started to cry and Metatron went to her and tried to comfort her. It helped a little but not to his satisfaction.

"Hey guys, you better come and see this!" Vanessa yelled from the kitchen. Miranda got up first and walked into the kitchen. Vanessa was holding a note in her hand and had her mouth opened in shock. Metatron took the note from her and began to read:

Dear Metatron, Miranda, Vanessa. and Tina,

As youve noticed I have taken all of your stuff. Why you may ask, one word, revenge!

No one signed the note, but Metatron had an idea who. "Girls, you are going to stay here while I pay alittle visit to Bartleby and Loki." Metatron told them and ran out the door, not knowing that he had the wrong people.

"I can believe what had happened! All that's going through my head right now is, why us? Why did they have to steal everything from us. This as totally ruined everything!" Miranda said and sat down in the middle of the living room floor.

"Exactly! Any way why would some one want revenge on us? We havnt done anything that deserves somone to take revenge out on us!" Tina said and sat next to Miranda who had began to cry again. Vanessa followed and they sat in silence until Metatron was home with Bartleby and Loki following him in thier car. Metatron opened the door and walked in. Miranda could tell that he was extremly mad.

"So was it Bartleby and Loki that did this?" Miranda asked and hoped that it wasnt so that Bartleby and Loki wouldnt get into any more trouble.

"No it wasnt. But they know who it was."
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
sorry this isnt very descriptive! I acciedently pressed the back button on the computer and lost the first one and I didnt feel like writing all that again., - Tuesday, June 19, 2001 at 10:03:26 (PDT)

FOF Set, amidst the roses:

“Mary Anne, what is it? Is something wrong?” Christopher Brandon was alarmed. First the fainting spell and now this. After a perfunctory knock, he entered her office and stood next to her chair. Mary Anne was sitting at her desk, her eyes red from crying and a handkerchief clutched in her hand. Slowly and carefully Brandon reached his arms around Mary Anne and pulled her to him. She put her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shirt front. “There, there,” he soothed, stroking her hair. Had he upset her somehow? “Can you tell me what it is?” His voice was gentleness itself. He wanted to know what had affected her so but did not wish to compel her to speak before she was ready.

Mary Anne was already in the midst of composing herself but at the tone of distress in his voice redoubled her efforts. “That was a lovely gesture Christopher.” The words came out one at a time with little gasps between them.

“The flowers? Is that the reason for the tears?” He felt the head on his chest nod an assent. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was worried I’d been…,” he paused and looked down at the mass of golden hair just as her face tipped up to look at him. Those azure blue eyes looked up at him now through thick lashes. A truly innocent look. He felt as if her hand clutched his heart, “…taking you for granted.” His own eyes reflected his regard for this woman, long more that simply a co-worker. “I wanted to remind you how important you are to me. How dear…” His voice caught, and he stopped, waiting to see how she would react.

“Taken me for granted?” After a lady like sniffle Mary Anne shook herself and stood next to Brandon. Indicating the collection of vases, she remarked, “This is hardly the act of a man who has taken anything for granted!”

“I hope not. I know they are a pale reflection of your beauty, but I’d hoped you would like them.”

“Like them?! Christopher I love them! Anyway I hardly think my looks are comparable to these gorgeous flowers.”

Mary Anne had been looking at the roses when she’d spoken and returned her gaze to Brandon to find his eyes fixed upon her. “Mary Anne,” his voice was still gentle, but quite firm, “you are beautiful in body and soul. Please accept that it is so and allow the pleasure of telling you as often as I may.”

Finding no way to squirm out of the compliment, Mary Anne simply replied, “Thank you Christopher.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “I meant what I wrote, thank you for four wonderful years.” He placed his hand, now gloveless, on her arm, “Now, are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m sure Christopher.” Mary Anne smiled at him, a glint showing itself in her eyes as she recovered her equilibrium, “I guess that massage therapy took out more than just tension. When I saw the flowers and read your note, I felt simply overcome. In a good way.”

“Your defenses are down.” An answering glint formed in Brandon’s eyes, “Shall I take this opportunity to launch an offensive?”

“What if I simply surrender and save you the trouble?”

Welcome back MA.
- Monday, June 18, 2001 at 18:49:25 (PDT)

Away for one weekend, and look at all the catching up I have to do! *enormous grin* Oh, well, better get started . . .

Claire, Dana--adding my ACK to the general ACK attack in progress. Good to see you two in action again!

Miranda--sorry no one has answered your question, so I'll jump in. Since the theme of this party is going to be "Classic" Hollywood, I think your earlier Marilyn Monroe idea would fit in well. Her films are definitely in that era.

Sandy--you definitely are evil, but don't let that make you think you need to change or anything. *wink*

Barbara--that set design . . . well, it couldn't be more perfect for what I have in mind for Mary Anne and Brandon than if you had already seen the film I'm thinking of. You haven't guessed it already, have you? ;-) Looks like we have lovely surroundings for the celebration. I'm looking forward to it more than ever.

Cindie--what can I say but *sigh*. Brandon sending those four dozen roses to the cubicle . . . what an adorable thing to do. *fanning madly* And I see that Mistral can indeed "ask nice" when the need arises.

So . . . come one, come all; it's party time! Happy Anniversary to FOF!

MA--and a toast to all of my wonderful companions here.
*POP* of cork on the Dom Perignon . . ., - Monday, June 18, 2001 at 17:29:15 (PDT)

Oh Julie, how kind of you to say that! (A big hug for you!) And the Party, you could come with me, you must come!Ill drag you there if I have to! No just kidding,but you really should come. We would have lots of fun and we could stick together all night so we will have at least someone to talk with! Just think about it.
Miranda
Im going over to my friends house tomorrow to watch Dogma. YAY!, - Monday, June 18, 2001 at 14:13:17 (PDT)

FoF set, shortly after Barbara had cleared things up with the Director:

**This place is quite magnificent,** Tommy tripped upon one of his greater understatements. **Just imagine what a vivid imagination could do with all these sets!**

**That's the point, Toms. The very point.** Julie "muttered" absently to the cat. She'd met various people around set, but none of the major actors had shown up since her encounter with Miranda. She liked the angel, and was, for some reason, reminded of the sister she'd never had. In actuality, she had no siblings at all, and was used to solitude, but it was nice to connect with someone. She wondered how she was to handle the upcoming party; crowds weren't exactly her forte, and she knew practically no one.

**Gods in their respective heavens, girl, don't worry so much,** Tommy jumped into her mind without so much as asking. **You don't want to have an anxiety attack and faint in front of the Director when you finally get to him.**

**I think that would be far more acceptable than me not knowing the right words and blithering like an idiot in front of him. Thanks so much for reminding me of that, cat.**

**You're good with words, you studied them for nearly five years,** Tommy let loose with an unconcerned, jaw-cracking yawn. As he stretched, a peculiar crackle of green sparks kicked up from his fur.

**What was that?**

**Static,** the tabby lied, yawning again. She wasn't ready to hear the real answer, and hadn't the leeway to ask the question, anyway.

Blissfully for the cat, Julie ignored it. **Anyway, when I've even so much looked at the man on television, my whole five years with words self-destructs. I'm shoved firmly into the "duh" category. I'll be lucky if I don't have an aneurism when I actually meet him.**

**Calm down, we're here,** the feline looked up toward the office building. He purred, twisting around her ankles, attempting to soothe her frayed nerves.

Julie gave her name to the receptionist, introducing herself as being their new proofreader. Julie had interviewed off-set, but she knew, as everyone did, the Director had the final say to anyone new entering the FoF organization. The receptionist made a phonecall, and there was a lot of murmuring coming from the other end of the line. Finally, the direction Julie received was "Straight down the hall."

As they walked down the corridor, Tommy just had to comment, **Does something in this remind you of The Wizard of Oz?** (Sorry, I don't want to risk italics, I'm afraid I might not shut them off.)

**SHUT UP!**

Julie carefully knocked on the door. "Come in," the Voice requested from the other side. A request, not an order. This might be easier than she'd anticipated. Julie straightened her hair and stepped through the door.

He looked considerably more relaxed than she'd expected, and was looking over a h*ndful of design sketches. The Director's feet were propped on the edge of his desk, and he looked to be in a fairly good mood. In fact, he was; Barbara had gone above and beyond the call of duty for him, and he hadn't had to fire the dear lady. The missing laptops were still of concern, but nothing seemed as bad now that he was surveying these marvelous concept sketches (homage).

Julie pulled up her greatest amount of courage and extended a hand, "Sir, I'm Julie Hodges, the new proofreader."

He grasped her fingers and shook h*nds with her. "Alan Rickman, but, obviously, you already knew that."

Julie blushed, though she couldn't put a name to what had caused it. "I'm afraid I haven't much job experience in proofreading, except with my university's literary magazine, but I was an English major. Graduated with distinction almost exactly one year ago. I suppose I was good enough to be sent here from my interview."

He looked over, scrutinizing her for an intense moment. "Do you write?"

"Oh, yes," she nodded, showing a little more enthusiasm than she'd intended. Julie had wasnted to keep herself collected and dignified, but it wasn't working that well. "I have two novels on deck, won a prize at Purdue University for short story writing, and tried my hand at writing a deliberately horrible musical. I also act, not professionally, but a few college-related things."

He looked over a few of her samples in the portfolio she gave him. The novel excerpts were rather good, and the musical, well, it was as she'd said. "The cat?" the Director asked, sidetracked, looking at Tommy. The feline sat at the arm of his chair, purring loudly, gazing up at him.

"I was told you don't mind animals on-set, and he, if you'll believe this, he sort of insisted."

The Director locked his amber eyes on the pleading set of green ones that looked up at him. He reached over absently from his seat in the chair to ruffle the top of the cat's head. Tommy rubbed his cheek against the Director's h*nd, purring loudly. "I understand." Tommy placed one white paw, claws safely sheathed, on the Director's wrist and puttered. The director scratched the cat's ears and was rewarded with another rub of the cat's cheek on his palm. "Well, it looks as if you'll do, Miss Hodges," he gave her a smile, since she seemed so nervous. He also went for a tissue in the box on his desk, since it appeared the cat had given him its version of a kiss.

Julie let a breath out in relief, then gave Tommy a stern look. "Thank you so much, Sir." They shook on it again.

The Director nodded, and gave her directions to her cubicle, himself. "I hope you write a better script here than you did your musical."

"How did you know I wanted to write a script?"

"Common knowledge," the Director replied engmatically. Amidst a flood of thanks(homage), Julie excitedly left for her cubicle.

**Did you have to drool on his h*nd like that? Can't take you anywhere,** Julie growled mentally as they walked.

**I was happy to see him. I like the guy. It's plain that he has sense, demands respect. It's certainly not often that I get to see a human with cat's eyes.**

**Egotist, he does NOT have cat's eyes,** Julie's own eyes searched out the door. Finding it, she shooed him inside.

**No slit pupils, of course, but I knew a black Persian with eyes the exact color. Rare, in a human.**

**Cats are colorblind.**

**Our color vision simply isn't as good as yours, let it drop. So, this is where I'm going to be staying during the party. Spacious. I think I'll take your chair.** With his usual skill, Tommy vaulted into the nearest place that Julie would rather be sitting.

Too relieved to do anything but humor the cat, Julie picked up the stack of scripts already piled on the desk, and sat on the floor, cross-legged, reading them. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn't notice her animal companion slink out the door.

**Whether you intend to go alone to that party or not, young lady,** Tommy thought to himself as he rushed off on his mission, **you ARE going to need that dress.**
Julie
Cindie, never apologize for having large amounts of inspiration, - Monday, June 18, 2001 at 13:01:11 (PDT)

Somewhere in Egypt, present day:

The three men had to slow down as they passed through a rough-floored section of the passageway. "SLOW DOWN!" Alexander yelled to the two women before them as they were plunged into complete darkness, forcing them to almost completely halt their progress. The three heard them stop in their tracks and turn around, even as the unsettling skittering noise grew closer.

They shielded their eyes when the flashlight's beam hit their faces and they squinted at the panic-stricken women. "Sorry," they mumbled. "It's all right! We have to find a way out of here - whatever here is - and we still haven't found the others," Alexander reminded them as they began hurrying down the passageway again, the chittering just behind them now.

"Tom! Colleen! Shelley! Can you hear us?" Their voices echoed eerily in the passageway as they moved forward, punctuated with groans of disgust as one of them would step on a stray beetle with a sickening crunch. Their hearts sunk when they heard no reassuring replies from any of the missing members of their party.

They turned several corners, fighting their way through now as the passage overran with beetles that squished loudly underneath their hiking boots. The stream that they thought they had left behind earlier picked up the trail at one point and they splashed their way forward, the water level about a foot deep. Roberta shuddered as she saw several beetles swimming in the water when Melanie stumbled over a rock, catching her by the arm just before she pitched forward. "You okay?" she asked anxiously.

"I'm fine...gotta keep moving," the redhead replied uncertainly as she steadied herself. They continued forward, calling out names of the missing members of their party to no avail, with an occasional sneeze from Jack.

"At least the water's not getting any deeper," David offered softly as they turned yet another corner. "Big bloody deal," Jack growled, sniffling miserably as he sneezed again. Alexander cleared his throat menacingly. "Right. Shutting up now," he muttered.

The five splashed forward uncertainly, hearing the rush of water in the distance getting louder as they moved forward. "Professor, you don't think we've made a wrong turn somewhere and we're going in a circle?" Roberta called out to the three men lagging a short distance behind them.

"I don't think so. See - there's more of those fake hieroglyphics," Alexander called back and pointed to the passage wall when the flashlight's beam touched upon it briefly. "Someone did this on purpose - to mark their way, I reckon." He cursed under his breath even as his curiosity was piqued by the mysterious markings.

The two women came to a sudden halt and the three men almost bumped into them. "What the...?!" David started to say when he saw the reason why they stopped and his eyes widened in alarm.

The five looked down at the river raging below them and back at each other. Roberta closed her eyes briefly. "This is all a really bad dream, and when I wake up, we'll be back at camp," she whispered. She opened her eyes. "Damn."

Jack, Roberta and David looked at Alexander anxiously. Melanie stared straight down the cliffside, her posture ramrod-stiff as she watched the water and beetles drop down into the current. "We don't have a choice, do we?!" David yelled over the water's roar.

"We can try going back...." Alexander yelled back, gazing into the grad student's worried face. "ROBERTA! NO!" he was too late to grab the young woman's arm as she suddenly ran forward and jumped from the cliff down into the river. They watched anxiously, hollering out her name until she resurfaced, spitting water and allowing herself to be carried away. "No choice now!" Alexander growled, furious at Roberta's impetuous action.

"Wish me luck!" With a curt nod, David pushed himself away from Jack and balancing himself carefully, he jumped as well. He resurfaced and treaded water as he headed in the same direction as Roberta. Alexander and Jack walked over to the unmoving Melanie. "You've gotta jump!" Jack shouted.

Melanie stared at the two men blindly, her green eyes wide with terror. The two exchanged glances. "Melanie, you have to jump. It's the only way we may be able to survive this," Alexander said in a soothing voice. There was no response from her.

"Professor, you go! I'll get her to jump," Jack said quickly, dark brown eyes narrowing in determination. Alexander's eyebrows drew together suspiciously. "No funny business, I swear," he added in. "Good luck."

Alexander's eyes narrowed before he relented, nodding his head briefly in thanks. He turned around and jumped feet-first into the river, resurfacing quickly and allowing himself to be pulled along by the current. He looked up quickly to see the two standing at the cliff's edge, Jack yelling something just as the river turned into a wide passageway, a shaft of sunlight shining down into the water from a hole in the cavern roof. He could see Roberta and David's heads bobbing in the water up ahead.

Jack turned to the terrified redhead and grabbed her free hand, gasping at her icy touch. "Mel, you have to jump, damn it! You don't want to go back there with all the bugs and stuff, do you?!" he yelled. Again, there was no response from her. "If you don't jump, I swear I'll twist your nose!"

"Like hell you will!" Melanie snarled suddenly, her eyes losing their dullness. Jack's lips curved up. "Thought that would get your attention," he grinned for a moment before his face turned serious again. "I know you're scared. So am I," he admitted. "We can do this together."

Melanie's eyes flickered uncertainly at his sincere tone. She bit her lower lip and nodded, gripping his hand tightly. He winced but said nothing as they stood at the cliff's edge. "On the count of three... One... Two... Three!"

They jumped from the edge, Melanie gasping loudly just before they hit the water. The two resurfaced, spitting and gasping for air as they rode the current where the others had passed through earlier.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"...and that's what's happened so far," Alex said, stabbing into his grilled salmon steak with relish.

Hamlet stared at Alexander and Sandy for a moment in stunned silence, his dinner untouched. "Hold on a second. Let me get this straight." He began ticking items off with his fingers.

"You've been trapped in a sandstorm with the battling...what did you call them again?" he asked, blinking several times.

"Bickersons," The two supplied and nodded, continuing to eat their meals. Chris hid her mouth behind her hand, although her body was shaking in silent giggles.

"Right. You made camp, only to be hit by an earthquake, where everyone gets swallowed up into the earth. You wake up from falling down a dark shaft to find that you're not dead, but in some kind of mysterious room filled covered in green slime with the Bickersons," Hamlet continued.

"Uh huh," Sandy agreed, blue-gray eyes twinkling as she paused briefly from her own meal of broiled swordfish to look up at the astonished actor.

"Smelly green slime," Alex corrected, his eyes darting over to Chris, who had stopped all pretense of eating at that point. His lips curved up in a smile before he went back to his meal.

"Right.... You then found one of the students, injured with a twisted ankle and another one much later, covered in slime, slugs that glow in the dark and softball-sized beetles," Hamlet said, glaring at Chris, who snorted with laughter. "You've since dove off a cliff into a river for parts unknown, and three of your students are still missing."

"That pretty well sums it up," Alex agreed mildly, nodding his head and grinning.

Hamlet sat back in his chair and shook his head before turning to Chris. "I take back everything I said about you being evil. She's -" he pointed at Sandy, who smiled winsomely, "-worse than I ever thought you could be."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Chris replied, blue eyes lighting up with mischief. Hamlet's eyes widened and the three burst into good-natured laughter. He stared at them for a moment before he joined in and signaled the waiter.

"Yes. How can I help you?" the waiter said as he arrived at their table.

"Uh, I'd like to change my drink order," Hamlet said. The others nodded at his words. "Of course, sir. What would all of you like?"

The four exchanged glances. "Anything with liquor in it," they chorused.

Sandy - definitely ready for a party....
A special thanks to Chris for letting me borrow Hamlet briefly!, - Monday, June 18, 2001 at 09:27:41 (PDT)

I noticed that I didnt give a very clear description of what my group is wearing so ill give a better one at the actual party!
Miranda
- Monday, June 18, 2001 at 08:34:34 (PDT)

When they reached the set they found out that there filming had been ended for the day and that they were permitted to go ahed and go home. To bad home isnt Heaven anymore, Miranda thought to herself and then of the new house which they had recently bought. God insisted that this would be best for them so that they wouldnt have to leave Heaven everyday, which was starting to be a bother. They had also bought a car. It was a Ford Expedition, silver and it seated 9 people. A bit big for the little group but it was helpful if somebody they knew needed a ride or anything.

"Well you heard what they said. Comeon girls lets go home." Metatron told them. Vanessa and Tina let out a sigh of relief and Miranda just looked at them and rolled her eyes. They walked through the building without talking and when Metatron found out they had to get searched he was mad. But they let them do it and left happy that that was over. They walked to the car and all got in. Metatron and Miranda were in the front and Vanessa and Tina were in the back.

They rode in silence and when they reached the house Metatron told them they should go lay out there stuff for the party. They all agreed and Miranda was the most eager to do this. She went to her room and went into her closet which held the costume that they had bought just yesterday. She took it out and layed it on her bed. It was a 50s style outfit which consisted of a light purple poodle skirt, but it had a cat on it instead, a white shirt and a ribbon for her hair and white shoes. Vanessa and Tina had quite the same except thier skirts where black and red and had a poodle and a duck on them. Metatron was going to wear a white shirt underneath a leather jacket and then just jeans and he insisted on wearing the shoes he always wore.

Miranda was pleased with these costumes that they had chosen so she just decided to get on the internet and see how many FoF sites there actually where.
Miranda
No one answered this question so I will ask again: Can my group perform the song Lady Marmalade for everyone? Hopefully we can and hopefully we wont screw it up!, - Monday, June 18, 2001 at 08:25:21 (PDT)

Barbara had pelted madly down the hallway, swooping into her office and sccoping up her keys.

Progress report.

She'd not had the chance to speak the "Thank you, sir," that had filled her throat, competing with tears of gratitude.

So, after getting searched upon exit from the sets, Barbara had driven to the party site. Crews were already there, hanging the temporary lighting indoors and... out.

The large dance room opened up onto a sizeable walled patio, paved with brick and flagstone, its focal point a low, wide-brimmed circular fountain. Each of the five jets was lit with soft light, casting a muted glow upward into the faces leaning over it. The patio opened on the fourth wall to a series of wide, low steps. They lead down into cozy garden, with meandering flagstone paths and hidden niches. The wrought iron benches scattered throughout had been painted white, and Barbara had insisted that each bench be lighted with a carriage style lantern.

Tables were being set up both inside the dance room and out on the patio. Barbara gave a nod of approval and went back inside.

The same theme of low-rising levels captured the corners of the room, different platforms being lit with slightly different intensities of light. Moving from the first rise to the next meant gliding from a low pool of light to a brighter one. With the help of Iain-Douglas--the FoF set lighting designer--she had the lights cycle through different intesities throughout the night. Someone dancing on the same platform for the entire night would be under different lighting every half-hour.

The main dance floor had been prepared and the live band was tuning. Barbara strode over to the bandmaster and exchanged some low words. The men on the horns grinned over at her. "Oh, yeah!" one exulted. "We can do that!" The low podium before each musician had been decorated with the FoF logo. Properties had laughed and laughed when she'd gotten those out of Stores; he'd called them the ugliest things he'd ever seen. Just wait, she thought. She'd make him eat those words.

It was time to go home and change, she thought. And go twist Phil's arm. There was no way he was going to get out of being introduced to every... unaffiliated... woman she knew in cast and crew. She rubbed her hands together with glee. She was going to have him dating sometime within the next six months.

Barbara sighed, unconsciously. If only someone would set her up with a nice fellow... Ah, well.

Home, she thought. And elegance to come.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
- Monday, June 18, 2001 at 06:25:52 (PDT)

Barbara knocked on the Director's door. At the muffled "Come in," she took a deep breath and turned the knob.

The Director looked up over his reading glasses at his visitor. "Barbara," he said, neutrally. "Ah."

She swallowed and broached the subject of her call. "Do you have a little time, sir? I'd like to, um, take about 15 minutes to, um, wrap up some of the projects I've been running here."

"The ladies' cutting room renovation?"

Barbara flushed. "That's one of them, yes."

The Director took off his glasses, tossed them on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Very well," he said. "Begin."

Barbara slid a piece of paper over the desk to him. "Here are the estimated costs for three different floor treatment plans for the ladies' cutting room, pending your approval. I have marked Mr. Allen's preference in red." The Director uncoiled long enough to reach over and pic up the paper. "Yes, I see," he said, recrossing his arms.

"Second, I have the site for the FoF Anniversary Party, with a spreadsheet of costs for decorations, catering and entertainment." She slid another sheet of paper across the desk. The Director glanced down at it but did not study it; his face grew more surly. Barbara swallowed again and cleared her throat.

"Third, I have re-created as much of the preliminary work I could recall for those sketches and designs you had requested. I'm certain I didn't get it all, but these should be some help to whomever you decide to pass the project on to next. At least they'll know what to avoid." As she laid the thick folder on his desk, the Director closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain.

"You replicated the work." It was not a question.

"Uh, yes, sir. It seemed--" she searched for the words "--only proper. After what I'd done."

The Director looked... aghast? The vertical line appeared between his brows. "If I'd know you'd..." he began and trailed off.

"Sir?"

"I hear you are the person to go shopping with--" he began.

Left field. "What?"

"--because you always find what you've come looking for. Properties calls you 'Fortune's Daughter.'" He reached above his head and pulled a heavy manila envelope from the shelf. He tossed it on his desk. "Looks like Mum was watching out for you."

With trembling hands, she reached for the packet.

Red ink.

Returned for insufficient postage.

She clutched it to her chest and looked up at the Director, her mouth half-open with the idiocy of hope. (homage)

He gave her a brusque nod. "Don't pack down your office yet." He slung his reading glasses back on his face. "Thank you for your... progress report. See you at the party."

She stared, dumbfounded. The Director looked up.

"Well, go get our party in order. You only have a day. Dismissed."

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Sorry, ducks, I was goine for the weekend!, - Sunday, June 17, 2001 at 23:27:23 (PDT)

One more thing, Claire and Dana, ACK!!!!
Cindie
Bad kitty., - Sunday, June 17, 2001 at 18:05:58 (PDT)

“What do you mean we have to be searched?” Cindie stared incredulously at the security guard.

“Sorry, I’ve got my orders. No one in or out without being subject to search until the missing laptop and plans are recovered.”

“My, my,” Mistral drawled, “it all sounds rather like an espionage plot.”

“Dunno, all I know is the Director is in a right state and nobody takes anything out until he gives the all clear.”

“What do we do now?” Cindie looked at Mistral.

“Get frisked,” he replied.

Later, as they stood outside the door to her flat, Mistral could not conceal the smile that sprang to his lips. He juggled the grocery bags as Cindie, with an ear splitting grin, proffered him the key to her apartment. “Hey buddy, got a match?” Her eyes danced.

He gave up, placed the bags on the floor along the wall and tried to sound vexed and displeased as he took up the key, “you could’ve done this yourself you know.”

“I know,” Cindie replied, her grin broadening. She’d offered to help carry the groceries but he’d insisted on doing it himself.

Once they’d eaten he had expressed the hope that her trip to the market was to buy some decent food for her larder. Cornflakes were all well and good but some variety wouldn’t hurt her any. As it turned out the planned foray to the market was actually more for chocolate and materials which could be dipped in chocolate. While he certainly did not disparage the stuff, he’d ended up going with her, purely to ensure that some vegetables made it into her shopping cart. “What in blazes to you need all that for?” He’d come close to sputtering when she placed a large number of huge chocolate bars of various types in the basket.

“The party,” she replied, as if explaining something very simple to someone with no grasp of the obvious. “Last year I brought a tray of chocolates to the anniversary party, as a thank you, from a fan of the show.” She continued, patiently, “I’m no less a fan now than I was last year, I thought I’d do the same thing again. Everybody seemed to enjoy them.” She tugged his jacket sleeve, “Come on, you can give me some ideas for things to dip.” Thus conscripted, he had grabbed another bar of the darkest chocolate they had, and threw himself into the task with gusto.

Now he found himself carrying bags of potential confections into her kitchen and donning the apron which she held out to him. “Are you sure you want to help?” Cindie slipped on her own apron and turned around for him to tie it, “I know you said you wanted to be home early.”

His fingers worked the ties into a bow and he paused, inhaling her scent while his fingers lingered around her waist, “I’m sure. I simply wanted to be home to feed Annabelle, but the landlord will handle it and,” he gestured towards the refrigerator as she turned around, “the treat will make it up to her that I’m late.”

They had bought a very nice bit of fresh tuna which was wrapped and waiting in the refrigerator for him to take home with him. Cindie refrained from commenting that Annabelle seemed to have her master wrapped nicely about her little paw. “Well then, let’s begin the meltdown.”

In short order there were several pots of melted chocolate on the stove ready for the ingredients that Mistral had arrayed on the counter. They worked together in the small space, creating a most impressive array of chocolate covered items. They arranged them on platters and placed the perishables, which included pineapple and raspberries dipped in dark chocolate at Mistral’s suggestion, in the refrigerator and the others in a cupboard, all wrapped and ready for the party.

Cindie rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek leaving a trail of dark chocolate, “I hope everybody likes them, I think we did good Patrick.”

He nodded, “I should think they will be well received.”

Cindie placed all the pots and dirty dishes in the sink, “I’ll take care of these. You need to get home to your kitty.” Turning to face him, she continued, “I almost forgot to ask you,” she paused, chagrin creeping into her expression, “would you go to the cast party with me?”

To his considerable credit, Cindie thought, he did not smirk. “I would be very pleased to attend the cast party with you.” He replied. “Have you given thought to our attire?”

“I have. How do you feel about classic tuxedos?” They came to agreement on their apparel for the party. He’d been watching her cheek for some time and could no longer resist its charm, or the chocolate.

Leaning towards her, he reached his fingertip to her cheek, “You have a bit of chocolate on your face. Allow me.” She’d imagined he meant to use a washcloth. She was wrong.

During the course of his attentions he managed to end up with a dab of chocolate on his lower lip. She returned the favour.

Cindie
All ready now I think.
MA - Hope I haven't left you with too much to catch up on!, - Sunday, June 17, 2001 at 18:04:57 (PDT)

"Agggghhh." Tools crashed to the ground from a nerveless hand as an unbearable pain seared down from his shoulder. O'Hara staggered back, gasping.

His shout brought a clutch of concerned travellers running towards the partially restored wagon. Catching his breath PL waved them away and sat down on a grassy knoll nursing the strange throbbing ache. Acutely aware of those his cries had not summoned O'Hara scanned the shoreline, with mounting unease, for his friends.

Strange knots tangled O'Hara's insides. He forced himself upright again staggering down to the water. Surely Sinclair should be within sight for they had spoken only minutes earlier. From the corner of his eye he had watched the careless amble, all shirttail and wind-ruffled hair, drop away to the shore in search of Claire.

Ready to holler he took a large gulp of air. But before any sound issued he heard the whisper. Inside his head, softly as a mewing kitten PL where are you? PL

O'Hara shook his head. "Dana?" at first a puzzled enquiry. Uncertain.

But it was there again stronger, drawing him up river. Help me. PL please don't let me die He began to run, heart pounding clutched in a ferment of panic.

Tripping, slithering, O'Hara bounded over the rocks possessed by the energy of fear. PL please ... I love you.

"DAAAANA" he cried and made and silent entreaties to God.

Claire
Can't resist such a good opening Dana (grin), - Sunday, June 17, 2001 at 13:45:59 (PDT)

FOF Set:

They sat down, Cindie loved to watch him move, even settling himself into a chair he was graceful, his long legs crossing and one hand running itself down the top of his thigh. He sighed.

“How is she?” Cindie had to ask.

The conversation he’d had earlier that day with the doctor came rushing back with sufficient clarity to nearly choke him. He looked at her a moment before answering. “There is little to do but make her as comfortable as we may.” Collecting himself further he continued, “I have arranged for additional around the clock help for Mrs. Thomas. There is precious little else to do. Ease her pain, a little.”

She reached her hand to him and he took it, giving it a squeeze. There was nothing she could do either, save be there for him, ease his pain, a little.

He continued, “She’s in her own world, even I’m not in it now. She didn’t recognize me last evening.” A dry sob racked his body and on impulse Cindie knelt near him and placed her head on his lap. His fingers clutched her hair.

They held this tableau for a time, frozen in emotion. Mistral finally shook himself and Cindie looked up at him. His face was composed. “A quick bite after work?” he enquired. “I need to get home early tonight, but I thought we could grab a bite first. Unless you have plans?” The latter was added with that note of humour she’d come to recognize.

Standing up and brushing down her clothes with her hands she replied, “serve you right if I said I did. But no, except that I have got to go to the market. So, a quick bite and then I’ll shop.” She continued, “And Mistral, please forgive me.

“I’ll come back and collect you at five.” The kiss on her cheek a promise and an answer.

Cindie
- Sunday, June 17, 2001 at 11:43:19 (PDT)

It all happened in a split-second of sound and motion. The cat's ears perked at the sound of Sinclair's voice. Compelled by pure, primal fear that broke through inertia, Dana broke from Claire's grasp and ran toward the shoreline.

"Sinclair! Over here!"

A golden-brown blur launched itself at the fleeing prey.

"Daaaaaaaannaaaaa….." The terrified wail was torn from Claire as the cougar flew through the air, made contact, and knocked Dana to the ground. Low feline snarls and piercing female screams rent the peace of the riverside glade.

Stunned by the impact, Dana made a feeble attempt to cover her head with her arms. There was a vague sense of burning pain in her shoulders but, robbed of breath and numb with terror she was unable to struggle under the pinning weight of the cat. Her thoughts were of PL, it shouldn't end like this….

Dana
..too long absent!, - Sunday, June 17, 2001 at 08:51:06 (PDT)

I´m sure no one minds...please continue!
Sigh...
- Sunday, June 17, 2001 at 02:11:08 (PDT)

FOF Set:

It was more than an hour later when Mistral tapped on the open door to Cindie’s office. “May I come in?”

Cindie turned around, “Yes. Hello Mistral.” She tried to be careful in the office to use his last name, now it seemed oddly formal. “Please come in.”

He crossed to her as she stood up to meet him. “I came to ask you,” his tone was neutral and there was no hint of his thoughts in his manner, “would you please accompany me to the opening of the new museum wing?” Not waiting for an answer he placed his thumb and forefinger under her chin he tilted her head up slightly and continued, “You are beautiful,” he added simply.

“You don’t have to tell me that. I know I told you to compliment me, I didn’t mean it. I don’t want flattery.”

“But beautiful you are, and you should know that I would not flatter you. I do not say such things idly or insincerely, not to you.”

Any number of retorts that she could have flung died unspoken on her lips. He wouldn’t. Whatever his rules were, they included being honest with her and she knew the sincerity in his voice.

He spoke again. “Forgive me.”

This, however, was unexpected. “Forgive you? I never asked you for an apology.”

“No, but you have one. I was presuming and rude and I am sorry. Forgive me,” he repeated.

His eyes were pools of molten honey. “I forgive you.”

His finger traced the line of her lips, “Just say you’ll go with me.”

She thought briefly of refusing. Very briefly. “I’ll go with you.”

The finger that had been caressing her mouth made way for his lips.

Cindie
Hope you all don't mind the "Cindie show" -- I want to get these two on better footing before the party so they can enjoy themselves. ;-D, - Saturday, June 16, 2001 at 17:45:57 (PDT)

Brandon remained in the lavish sitting room, staring into the non-existent flames. Had he been doing what Mistral had so nearly done? Had he been taking Mary Anne for granted. They’d worked together for almost four years now, been in each others’ company off set as well as on for a good bit of that time. Perhaps he had begun to assume her company. It hadn’t occurred to him that they would not go to the cast party together. But Mary Anne had arranged everything so that was her assumption as well. He was glad that he had asked Mary Anne about the opening of the new museum wing. A hint of a smile played about his lips and his features softened thinking of their many moments together out of character. The lips turned into a full fledged grin as he recalled her insistence that she would keep his gold collar stud, and the lengths to which she went to protect her prize. Yes, it had been far too long since he made it clear how important Mary Anne was to him. He would rectify that oversight immediately.

It was about two hours later that Mary Anne returned to her desk, thoughts bent on her ideas for the palace and the upcoming confrontation with the Interrogator. As she stepped into her office she was assailed first by the scent and then by the colours. For on her desk in an assortment of vases, were roses. Four dozen roses, when she collected herself enough to count them, ivory tipped with blush, palest yellow, apricot, and light pink old fashioned cabbage roses beautifully arranged in cut crystal vases.

The card read, Thank you for four of the most wonderful years of my life. Love, Christopher

When Christopher Brandon came to see how his gift had been received, he found his Mary Anne weeping.

He's so sweet.
USA - Saturday, June 16, 2001 at 05:53:10 (PDT)

FOF set-slight flashback, near the rose conservatory set:

Brandon, in full uniform, is headed for the Palace set when there is a rustle of movement behind him in the corridor and a pair of slim hands covers his eyes. "Guess who?"

Brandon pauses and considers, lifting one hand to caress the fingers that blindfold him. "Helen of Troy?"

"Wrong. Try again."

"Cleopatra of Egypt?"

"Wrong. And you have only one more guess."

"In that case-" Brandon twists deftly about, catching Mary Anne around the waist and laughing at her little squeal of surprise. "It must be Mary Anne of FOF!"

"Finally. What took you so long?" Teasing.

"Why, I was saving the best for last, of course."

"Of course. Be careful how you say such things, Christopher, or you’ll have me believing them."

Brandon raises an eyebrow. "I would see nothing wrong in that. But what are you doing off the set? I thought the shoot was in progress for Mary Anne having tea with Therese."

"It is, but The Director ordered a break. One of the techs apparently has some allergies to flowers and it was getting pretty serious in there for him. He held out long enough for The Director to call ‘Cut’ and then he practically had to be carried out. Poor man."

"Perhaps he should see Jutta. Which reminds me-how was your visit with her?"

"Excellent! I felt wonderful afterwards, except I had to rest in her office for a while. I was so relaxed I could hardly walk. She really worked wonders, Christopher. You should make an appointment, too."

Brandon grins. "What makes you think I have not?"

"Oh? Oh . . ."

Brandon turns his eyes away from that quick glance that sweeps over him and the blush that immediately follows that scrutiny. Hastily, Mary Anne adds: "And where are you going in your gorgeous uniform? Surely we aren’t up to the Palace shoot yet."

"It is for a lighting test," explains Brandon, running one finger inside his collar which, for some reason, seems a shade too tight. Mary Anne’s thoughts had been so plain in her face . . . "Apparently," he continues, "some bright colours don’t show correctly in the kind of light they will need for that scene in the throne room, so they want to test it beforehand."

"Can’t they colour-correct if it doesn’t turn out?" Mary Anne reaches out in an absent-minded fashion and strokes the sleeve of Brandon’s scarlet jacket.

"Well." Brandon swallows. "You know how meticulous The Director is. And with the mood he is in, now-" A shrug, accompanied by a flash of brass buttons. "I would not care to oppose him."

"Too right." Mary Anne shakes her head. "But it isn’t just what’s happened today, with the stolen laptop and all. He’s been watching me like a hawk . . . you know the way he does it? Just aiming those eyes at me."

He could hardly ask for a lovelier target . . . Brandon clears his throat. "He is simply concerned, Mary Anne. So am I, and everyone else. You have made light of it, but fainting away in your cubicle is serious. I can understand why he worries."

"I know." A sigh, but then Mary Anne brightens. "He did make one marvellous suggestion, though: he thought we should spend more time together."

Brandon frowns. "Why should you and The Director be spending more time together?"

"No, he didn’t-oh, you!" laughs Mary Anne as she sees Brandon struggling to conceal his smile. "He thought I should spend more time with you, though I’m beginning to wonder if it’s such a good idea, now-"

Mary Anne makes as if to walk away, but doesn’t get far, her shoulders caught firmly in Brandon’s white-gloved hands.

"I, on the other hand-" His arms about her, now; there is no one to see. "-think that it is an outstanding idea, and that The Director is showing his usual exceptional grasp of the sets dynamics-"

Mary Anne is giggling. "It does seem pretty dynamic at the moment."

"Quite. So, my dearest-in the interest of spending more time together, have you thought about the Anniversary Cast party? What are your ideas?"

Mary Anne beckons him closer. "It’s obscure, but you’ll have them swooning away in this part. I’ll bet no one will guess all evening and then just wait until we tell them . . ."

She explains what she has in mind, and Brandon nods. "Yes, I remember that film; I saw it some years ago. And I remember thinking that I would have liked to play that part."

A low whistle of astonishment from Mary Anne. "I’d love to see you in it-no one could possibly complain about typecasting, either."

"Very well; you shall see me in it, and may you enjoy the seeing." A fond smile. "As for your part, it requires that you appear sweet and virtuous and innocent. Far closer to typecasting, in my opinion."

Mary Anne chuckles. "Flatterer. It might be less of a stretch for me to play Helen or Cleopatra."

"For any part in which beauty is a factor-"

"Ah," cuts in Mary Anne. "But in the part you’ll be playing . . . well, it wouldn’t matter how beautiful the woman might be."

"Consider it settled, then. What about the proper costumes?"

"When I first had the idea, I checked Costume and they have everything that’s necessary. Just leave that to me and meet me there before the party."

"I shall. And what about that museum opening? The Director would like for all of us to be there. Would you do me the honour?"

"You know I would." Mary Anne smiles at him, teasing but tender. "My Prince."

Brandon shakes his head. "Your subject," he murmurs, lifting her fingers to his lips. And then he is gone, leaving Mary Anne to hurry back to the Delaford set, praying that she has not allowed her ten-minute break to turn into half an hour.

MA--ah, Brandon. *sigh*
Cindie, can't wait to hear Mistral's version of asking nice. ;-), - Friday, June 15, 2001 at 18:52:03 (PDT)

FOF Set:

He’d been walking, unconscious of where his long strides were taking him and was completely oblivious to the scuttle of the crew and as they sought a quick exit from the path of the preoccupied actor. A voice, mild yet commanding, cut through his thoughts, “Mistral, you’d best slow down, you’re alarming the palace staff.”

Becoming aware of his surroundings, Mistral realized that he was on one of the newly constructed Palace sets. It apparently was still under construction as scaffolding was in place along one wall. Brandon had been considering a piece of statuary situated on a pedestal off to one side, but now was giving that same intense consideration to his agitated friend.

A wave of his hand, “I was …thinking.” He barely acknowledged Brandon and gave the sculpture no notice.

“Think any harder and you’ll start to knock over the furniture. Come with me man, before you injure something.”

Mistral’s features began to form into a well practiced sneer as he said, “Save it for the audience.”

Brandon, for his part, was well used to his co-workers manner and fairly immune. For all that, he was surprised that Mistral distractedly allowed himself to be led into one of the Palace sitting room sets.

In this ornate room the two men stood as a study in contrasts. Brandon was in costume, preparing for the scenes where he returned to the palace. In honour of the occasion the actor was resplendent in full dress uniform, his gloves held dangling by one hand. He gleamed, white, red and gold, his face gentle but bemused as he viewed the figure of his comrade pacing before the Delft tiled hearth. Mistral was still in costume as well, his white shirt no longer fresh and his black suit pants, though of a good cut, rumpled. He looked discomposed and far from self assured.

Brandon eyed suspiciously one of the ornate gilded chairs with its heavy brocade upholstery before seating himself. Pleased to find it more comfortable that it looked he waited for Mistral to decide to speak. After a few more laps Mistral muttered, “Tell me Brandon, how the hell is a man to know what the rules are?”

“Rules?” Christopher Brandon had known where this was headed from the start. There were few things that could drive a man to the distraction he was witnessing in Mistral. Perhaps in Mistral’s case, only the one thing.

“Am I required to note each and every change in grooming habits and then formulate facile flattering remarks? Is it wrong of me to think that a woman might want to spend time with me?” He glared at Brandon as if daring him to answer in the affirmative.

“Sit down.”

Taken aback for a moment, Mistral shrugged, collected himself, and sat down. “Brandon, how do you manage?”

“Manage? Are you having difficulties? I gather that these are not hypothetical questions and that we are discussing a particular woman?”

“No, they are not hypothetical and yes, there is most assuredly a particular woman.” Too bloody particular by half, he thought uncharitably.

“Perhaps you ought to tell me what happened.” Brandon’s tone remained even and amiable.

“Yes, alright.” Mistral launched into his account of how he had suggested Cindie go to the opening with him and ended with “…practically threw me out of her office.”

Brandon, having listened to the account and developed his own version from Mistral’s, no doubt honest, but skewed narrative, enquired, “when you say suggested, just how was the suggestion phrased?”

“I told her I wanted her to go with me. I did, do want her to go with me.”

“And she objected to that.”

“She told me I had to *ask nice*.” It came out as a snarl. Simultaneously both men recalled that phrase, on another set, uttered by another woman to Mistral’s character. Brandon coughed, Mistral looked at a particularly interesting tile in the hearth. Neither acknowledged the recollection.

“Does that seem unreasonable? Her wish for you to ask her to accompany you? It’s not as though you’ve been dating for a long time and have a standing arrangement.” He added as an afterthought, “is it?”

“No. It isn’t. I know how I feel and want to spend all the time I can with her,” his elbows were on his knees and he placed his head in his hands, “she’s all I can think about. All the good that I think about,” he amended. “When is it long enough to take her wishing to be with me for granted?”

Brandon looked into the fireplace as if watching an imaginary blaze, “I don’t know. Perhaps never. Perhaps we should never take another human being’s wanting to be with us for granted. There may be the downfall of many a relationship.” Looking over at Mistral he continued, “But she does want to spend time in your company doesn’t she? She simply wants you to do her the courtesy of asking.” He smiled, “It is almost always nice to be asked, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mistral turned this over in his mind, “it is. And one might always wish to have ones’ desires considered.” He paused and then returned to his earlier thought, “you and Mary Anne seem to have that all worked out though. You seem so comfortable with each other, I don’t see her expecting you to ask her every little thing.”

“Noooo, that’s true. But I hope I never assume to know her mind. The surprises are constant and always a pleasure.” A smile tugged at his mouth, “If she thought I was taking her for granted, I’m sure I would hear about it.”

Mistral made a harrumphing sound, “And does she require you to praise every new dress or hairstyle?”

“No, if anything she finds it difficult to accept any such praise, no matter how true. I wish she would take my compliments more to heart. She is so beautiful and charming…” In imminent danger lapsing into reverie contemplating Mary Anne’s considerable virtues, Brandon returns to the subject at hand, “Mistral, about Cindie’s new hair style, did it occur to you that she might wish you to indicate your approval?”

“Why should she want my approval? She ought to know the cut suits her immensely and why should she care what anyone else thinks as long as she is happy with it.” He seemed genuinely baffled.

“Consider that your opinion may hold value that another’s would not.”

Mistral did consider this. “Oh.” He said simply. “It is quite possible that I am an idiot.” He had never told her how beautiful she was or how his heartbeat quickened at the sight of her. Wasn’t it obvious? Perhaps not to her.

Brandon chuckled softly, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, how many novels and songs concern themselves with the riddle of love? We’re all of us just muddling through the best we can. But, how can we tell the one we love too much, all the things that we adore about them, all the things that capture our hearts and imagination and set them apart from all others in our eyes, all the things that we find beautiful and dear about them?”

“We can’t.” Mistral answered in his own soft tone. “We can’t.” There were no options, save one. “Thank you Brandon. You have been most …helpful.”

Cindie
*sigh* Glad Brandon was there., - Friday, June 15, 2001 at 16:14:45 (PDT)

Check out a sample of the music for this at:
ftp://edge.twig.com/pub/callie/ECD-samples.htm

I heard this and thought of FoF. Call the piper, call the drummer, fetch the fiddle and the fife.
It's the beating heart of summer and the night is full of life.
In the morn we cannot tarry but must go our separate ways;
Come dance and be merry! The dance music plays.

Cast off anger, care, and sadness, let your feckless feet take flight.
As the music speaks of gladness you will find your heart is light.
Your troubles will be patient, they have time enough to stay;
If they don't, so much the better! They are free to go away.

There are maids in ribbons going where the dancing fires burn,
With their hair all loose and flowing, flying wide at every turn.
Their eyes are bright with mischief, you can hear the laughter spill,
And if you won't be their partner, why another dancer will.

While the dancing drums are sounding, come the lads from east and west
Like the stag in autumn bounding, so they seem to need no rest
While the music runs before them, every head will turn their way
And if I can't be their partner, then another dancer may.

Like a flock of eager swallows playing tag around our feet
So the music flirts and follows here where Bard and dancer meet.
His glance is bright and merry and I meet it more and more;
Someone else should play a tune so I can ask him to the floor!

The Heart of Summer
Lyrics and melody © 1999 by Catherine Faber
Arrangement © 2000 by Arlene "Callie" Hills and Bob Esty

Barbara the Wallpaperer
"Their eyes are bright with mischief"...I thought of MA, - Friday, June 15, 2001 at 14:43:31 (PDT)

"Miranda, arnt you going to eat? I thought you said that you were starving." Vanessa said acting like Miranda was a liar or something.

"I'm not hungry anymore. I dont know what happened, I was starving but now I like don't feel like eating at all." Miranda finished her sentance and then looked at the door. Two people had walked in. She knew who they were but she just couldn't remember their names. They seemed to be looking for someone and when they turned to where Miranda was sitting they whispered something to each other and then started to walk over to Mirandas table.Oh I know who they are! It's Bartleby and Loki! Miranda thought to herself.

"Hello angels, how are you doing?" Bartleby asked and sat down next to Miranda. Metatron looked at him and smiled.

"So you finally decided to come."

"You should thank Loki for persuading me to come. I didn't really want to, because this is on TV and you know who will come and bother us if they see me and Loki on TV?" Bartleby asked.

"No who?" Miranda asked curious to find out.

"Jay and Silent Bob. Seriously, if they show up I'm leaving!" Bartleby said and cringed at the thought of those two showing up.

"Oh yes. I never want to see those two again." Metatron said and had the same reaction as Bartleby.

"So when is this show going to start filming?" Bartleby asked and looked at Loki who was having a discussion with Vanessa and Tina.

"You know I'm not that sure. Next week maybe." Metatron told Bartleby.

"OK, thanks thats all we needed to know. Comeon Loki lets go back to our hotel." Bartleby said and grabbed Lokis arm.

"Goodbye Loki we hope to see you again!" Vanessa and Tina told him as they left.

"Comeon girls, I think it's time for us to be getting back to the set." Metatron told them and Miranda shook her head in aggrement. They could hear Vanessa and Tina whining under thire breaths but they did as they were told and in no time they were back on the set ready to begin filming again.
Miranda
My name is highlighted because I put the URL to my first fan fiction there. It's Dogma and it's five chapters, Even though its my story I think it's quite good., - Friday, June 15, 2001 at 09:32:10 (PDT)

FOF Set:

“What the devil happened to your hair?” Mistral demanded.

It was late afternoon and Cindie had intended to seek him out as soon as she was finished with her phone calls. Instead he’d turned up at her desk, this time his greeting somewhat less than warm and fuzzy. “What do you mean. I got it cut and I happen to like it.” Her tone was defiant but one hand flew to her shortened tresses.

“Yes. I suppose its nice” He waived his hand dismissively. “What I came to say is, I need to go to the opening of that new museum wing and I want you to go with me.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You do, eh.” I thought we’d covered this ground already. Taking a deep breath, she began, “well let me tell you what I want.” She pointed an index finger at his chest, “I want you to leave my office right now.” The finger now pointed to the door as his eyes widened in surprise and she continued unabated, “you may come back in ten minutes, if you’re prepared to act civilly, try out a compliment, I won’t even be particular about its sincerity, and, most importantly so listen closely,” her voice lowered a notch, “ask nice.” He stared at her through narrowed eyes for an instant, then turned on his heels and left.

While she was indulging in her little tirade Cindie felt quite sure of herself. The minute he left she began to second guess her reaction. Make that over reaction. She fingered her hair, she did like it, but it was quite a bit shorter. She thought Phil did a beautiful job creating a cut that took advantage of her hair’s natural wave. It actually seemed to fall in to place on its own. The auburn highlights were less pronounced, new gold highlights mingled with the auburn and brown. Mistral had been dismissive, derisive. Perhaps she should’ve said something to him before she had it worked on. NO. That was ridiculous. No man was going to dictate how she wore her hair.

Should she have been glad that he expected her to go with him to that museum function? She hadn’t thought about going, that was for the cast and their dates, the stars the ones in demand. The stars and their dates. That would be her now. Well this date wasn’t about to be taken for granted, even by, make that especially by, Arthur Sydney Patrick Mistral.

The allotted ten minutes came and went. Muttering under her breath about arrogant men and their presumptions, Cindie resolutely continued to work, very studiously *not* looking at the clock.

Mistral left her office doing some muttering of his own. Could the woman be any more maddening? He never said he didn’t like her haircut, it was simply secondary to his purpose for seeking her out at that particular moment. Functions like this one were bad enough but at least he thought he could take her and make the best of it. Usually he went alone. Though he seldom left alone. Actually, he’d thought he might even enjoy such a function with Cindie on his arm. To share the evening with her, perhaps laugh about it and even appreciate the exhibits. They’d spent precious little time together sharing such diversions, the weekend had gone some way in forging a bond but had been somewhat tense. In this he had imagined turning an obligation into a pleasant evening.

What was her problem? Didn’t she want to spend an evening with him? Of course, she’d never said no. What did she say? Ask nice. Ask nice! As if he’d come in and drug her away by the hair. Her hair, it was exceedingly attractive… that new cut complimented her features and the colouring suited her complexion perfectly. She was so lovely.

He thought of the *gala* opening, of going alone as he had so many times before to similar functions, of the women who would titter and flirt with him. The women who would flutter at his attentions and think themselves bold because they would spend a night with him. He knew they were spending the night with HIM, they didn’t know him at all and he didn’t care to reveal himself to them. Physically such encounters could be quite …gratifying. But over as soon as the passion was spent. Not even spending the night in reality. He wanted to wake up with the woman he bedded next, wanted to hear her say his name, had imagined her saying it in a number of ways. And he knew who he wanted that woman to be. His options were clear.

Cindie
Just finished reading Rebecca's second Snape story mentioned on Claudia's guestbook. Wow. Wonderful stuff. , - Thursday, June 14, 2001 at 18:54:14 (PDT)

FOF Set, Ladies Cutting Room:

“Do you want it washed?”

Cindie started to say no, she’d washed it that morning, but quickly changed her mind. “Yes, please.” She pressed her luck. “Perhaps some conditioning or hydrating too?”

“Leave to Phil, love.” His smile was brief but lit his entire face, “I’ll take care of everything.”

She leaned back and allowed his deft fingers to work their magic.

After she was ensconced in the salon chair he swirled a cape on her and fastened it, viewing her head critically. “A bit to cut. And the colour as well.” A hand pushed her head down and the scissors began to flash. Cindie had been disappointed to note that he was wearing shoes. Perhaps she should check with Barbara about doing something about the floor in here. . .

Phil worked quickly and quietly, concentrating on his work. When she could, Cindie tried to watch his hands, the artist at home in his new studio.

The blow dryer stopped and he spun her around to view the finished product in the mirror. She gasped, “Phil, is that me?”

His soft chuckle was mellifluous, “Yes, that’ll be you there. Like it?”

“Like it very much. Thank you Phil. I was relieved that you never reached for the buzzers though.” He gave her hand mirror and spun her around so she could view the back.

“Perhaps I ought to try that on the next customer, fun to see the reaction, no?”

“That might depend on who the next customer is!”

“I suppose so.” As he spoke, Barbara walked in with a thick sample book of flooring material. His face lit up when he saw her, “I’ll not be pulling them out around her.” He waved his hand at Barbara’s long tresses, cunnngly arranged but with no chopsticks in sight. “She’d turn them on me!”

Barbara heaved the large book up on to a table. “Schafly, I need a distraction, come here and help me chose a floor. Hi Cindie.”

“Hi Barbara. I was just thinking that this floor didn’t seem, um, quite right.” The quick glance she gave towards Phil’s footwear was not lost on Barbara and the two women exchanged conspiratorial smiles. “The wainscoting and wallpaper are perfect by the way.”

“Thank you. It seemed that a change was sorely needed.”

“It was. Barbara?”

“Hmmmmm.” She was absent mindedly flipping through her book as she took turns eyeing the floor and Phil’s feet.

“Do you think you could help me do something with my work area? Its so institutional, and I’ve meant to do something with it, but I’m no good at this sort of thing.”

“Sure, I’ll drop by sometime with some ideas.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll leave you two to it then. Thanks again Phil.”

Phil waved his hand as went to comply with Barbara’s request and Cindie left the two of them pouring over their samples.

Cindie
Barbara, hope this helps take your mind of your troubles with the Director.
Poor Joanna, just has a knack I guess!, - Wednesday, June 13, 2001 at 21:33:59 (PDT)

Flashback to Delaford set, in the conservatory:

With a sigh, Mary Anne enters the conservatory and pauses for a moment to delight herself in the scent of roses. A long breath, and then another. Smell, as she knows, is the most evocative of the senses, and in one moment she is carried back to other times here at Delaford: her early days, when she was new to The Realm; her first picnic on these grounds; her tour of the house-so different, then, in its appearance and atmosphere, but still pervaded by the fragrance of the Delaford rose potpourri. Only in Brandon’s own chambers does that scent give way to the Colonel’s preference, that earthier mixture of bark and cinnamon and herb.

Mary Anne smiles. The air is full of spices, indeed.

And so is the air of this conservatory. Competing with the roses are the notes of tropical exotics, splendid but fragile for all their splendour-no life for them away from the warmth contained in these glass walls. Hibiscus, gardenia, bird-of-paradise . . . One look through the glass walls about the grounds of Delaford, still streaked and laced with white from the snowfall, and Mary Anne shivers. They are so beautiful. Beauty is their justification for existence. "They toil not; neither do they spin . . . even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." But away from here, they couldn’t survive. Their life in the world, unprotected, untended-days? Hours? " . . . which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven . . ."

Mary Anne turns away from the glass, shaking off her mood by main force, and fixes her attention instead on the table set out by Miss MacLeod. One could hardly request more pleasant surroundings for mid-morning tea than this enclosure of sparkling glass, another of Colonel Brandon’s gifts to his beauty-loving bride; she shall have her roses throughout the year . . . and some of those roses adorn the table now, along with a scattering of violets.

Mary Anne smiles. That’s Chance’s contribution, no doubt. I’ll have to write to Renie and tell her about it. A paradox: she has little idea of Renie’s whereabouts, but knows a letter will reach her friend without difficulty. Another smile, a more sardonic one. Such are the powers of the Hansbank and Gruber Glassworks. She’ll get any message I send-never fear.

But what would Renie have to say to all of this? The summons to the Palace, and . . .

Mary Anne bites her lip, concentrating once more on the table arrangements. Another competing scent: Miss M’s fruit scones. Therese’s favourite. Indeed, the blooms of the conservatory are all but forgotten as she draws nearer to the table and seats herself, breathing in the perfumes of coffee and tea and cinnamon buns and . . . Well, I hope Therese’s appetite is in better shape. And even if it isn’t, then this should bring it back. I hope so, because Miss M made more than enough. Perhaps she thought Christopher would join us.

A glance at her watch. I hope Therese is feeling well enough to come. But if she isn’t . . . well, I’ll give it a few more minutes . . . And the door opens with a light creak. The sound of footsteps advancing along the pathway, toward the table . . .

Mary Anne looks up. "Therese?"

MA--poor Barbara! All right, now, that stuff MUST be found . . . bring in Sherlock Holmes, maybe?
Cindie--glad to see Joanna McCoy is still in good form. ;-), - Wednesday, June 13, 2001 at 18:30:25 (PDT)

Hi All? Did you miss me? Yes Barbara, I'd love to update the Profiles on Who's Who. If everyone writing would like to send me a brief profile of their characters, or the people working behind the scenes, that would be great. I'll even do it this week, if I get some through.
Claudia <claudia-riley@xtra.co.nz>
- Wednesday, June 13, 2001 at 14:11:24 (PDT)

I'm an angel and I talk directly to GOD so I have to warn the person whos stolen these items, If we find you you shall feel Gods rath as never before!Just looke at what youve done to these people.Oh, If I get a hold of you be assurered that you wont make it out alive!Im not kidding!Why dont you just give yourself up itll be much better!
Miranda(a very concerned angel)
- Wednesday, June 13, 2001 at 10:23:34 (PDT)

Oh, Barbara!

(Sniff, bawls in sympathy) Gods, that's so sad! If I run into that jerk who stole your sketches on the way to the offices, well, the terms "flaming death" will be too good to describe what happens to him! (Hugs to Barbara!)
Julie
Wanting to cry, too!, - Tuesday, June 12, 2001 at 21:14:53 (PDT)

FoF Set

Barbara sat, stunned, in her chair in her office. Her office.... if they didn't find the fellow who'd stolen the laptops--and her designs--

Terminated.

Oh, the Director was infuriated. Incensed. All those in- words. She didn't--couldn't--blame him. He guarded his privacy so tightly. And she had just put her foot in it, all the way up to the hip.

Nice going, twit.

She creaked to her feet, closed the office door and turned off the light. She retreated back to her desk, sat down slowly, placed both palms on the desktop, laid her forehead carefully between them and cried.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Has anyone been fired from FoF before? Has anyone screwed up as badly as me?, - Tuesday, June 12, 2001 at 20:28:45 (PDT)

Julie turned to the angel and smiled, shooing Tommy away from Miranda's wings. "I'm Julie," she answered, nodding. "The psycho furball is Tommy. Thanks for your help with all this stuff. I just got this purse, and I'm afraid I overloaded it." The bag was teardrop-shaped, green velvet, and had a Celtic knot embroidered on each side. She had only meant it as a travel bag for her tarot cards, but several things had managed their way into it in the past week or so.

One of them was a catnip mouse on a string, which she used to distract Tommy from what she was sure was absolute heaven for him, the biggest feathers he had ever seen, dangling just above the ground. It was like the time she'd bought that turkey quill to twine in her hair . . . that had been disastrous. He tended to go for the bigger plumes more than he did the little craft feathers she bought for sculptures and jewelry. "Sorry about they way Tommy's acting. Actually, I'm honored to meet you. I've always admired angels."

"Hey, thanks," Miranda replied. "Even though our mission right now is only acting here, it's nice to hear that what we do is appreciated."

Vanessa and Tina were mumbling at the table, giggling about something or other. "What's with them?" Julie asked.

"Oh, nothing," Miranda answered. "You're new here?"

"Yes," Julie nodded. "I've been a writer for a long time, but it's taken me a while to realize I wanted to write for the show. Ha, it's taken me a while to figure the FoF out, since it's so complex, what with all the plotlines and all. It greatly resembles something my friends and I used to write, with several different worlds and factions, and it was about the ultimate struggles of good and evil. Each of us had various characters and their celebrities in our factions, and we pitted them against each other as agents. Movies, television, literature, sports, music, even animation and video games, you name it, we would steal from it. If you weren't there from the beginning, you'd get terribly lost. In fact," she smirked, her fair skin coloring slightly, "I picked Metatron over there as part of my personal faction."

Miranda smiled. Julie didn't seem to really have a crush on Metatron, or, if she had, it seemed over. "I could introduce you, if you want."

"That's incredibly nice of you, Miranda." as they walked over, she whispered, "You like him, don't you?"

"A lot," Miranda admitted, whispering back.

"Don't blame you. Good luck," Julie smiled.

Julie and Tommy had soon met the whole table of angels. After a quick mental reprimand from Julie, Tommy didn't touch any of their wings, but, instead, was content to curl around Metatron's ankles and putt like a ceiling fan. Julie explained to all of them that she was really starting out only in a proofreading capacity, and that what she wanted to do as a writer would have to be approved by the other writers and the Director, and that she didn't know if she would even be able to proofread, considering the stress he was under.

"Oh, he'll say okay, no problem," Miranda reassured. "You got the invite to the party, don't be nervous."

**That's what I've been trying to tell you,** the orange and white tabby interjected, delighting in getting white hair all over the bottom of Metatron's suit pants without the seraph's knowledge.

**Butt out, fuzzy ball,**Julie sent back, nudging Tommy with her toe. Miranda graciously asked her to join them for lunch, but Julie had to respectfully decline, though she said she would see them for lunch later if everything went well. After wishing Miranda another good luck and thanking them all, Julie had to leave, Tommy reluctantly trotting behind. She thought she caught something from Vanessa or Tina about her being kind of a "goofy-looking neo-hippie", but she ignored it.

There was still a lot of ground to cover before she got to the Director's office. Miranda had told her she had to pass the Egyptian tomb set, go through the Delaford rose conservatory, and go around the dungeon set to get to the offices, and then find where the Director was hiding amongst all of them. Something told her she would need not only the blessings of angels, but the providence of the Gods to pull this off.

Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
Okay, Miranda! Thanks! Have I got the sets correctly named, everyone?, - Tuesday, June 12, 2001 at 19:31:41 (PDT)

Someone Metatron wasnt sure who yelled cut in the background after that. He let out a sigh of relief. I thought it would never be lunch time, he thought to himself. But the relief didn't last long becuase he saw Miranda, Vanessa, and Tina coming towards him. Miranda was OK in his mind, at times he even wished he could adopt her as his daughter, but sometimes her attitude made him have a quick change of mind. Vanessa and Tina though best friends of Miranda, he thought they were total brats. Metatron sometimes even thought to himself, Why is a sweet girl like Miranda hanging out with those to brats?But He has learned to put up with them. Once they were close enough to hear him he asked, "Are you guys ready to go eat lunch?"

"Oh yeah we are starving!" Miranda replied. So they all started walking to the cafeteria and Miranda all of the sudden came up with a topic they could talk about. She turned around to face them and walked backwards while asking, "So what do you guys think about the show Friends nows adays?"

"I think that its OK. My personal favorites are the older episodes." Metatron told the group. Miranda shook her head in aggrement still walking backwards. They kept talking until Miranda all of the sudden ran into someone who clearly wasnt paying attention. Miranda heard something drop and her immediate reaction was to turn around to help the person who she had just bumped into, on accident.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I wasnt paying attention to where I was going since I was walking backwards and talking at the same time!" Miranda told the person and she crouched down to pick up the things on the floor that had fallen out of, a purse?

"Oh don't worry I wasn't watching where I was going either." A female voice answered. Miranda finished helping this person pick up the things that had fallen out of the purse and then stood up to look clearly at this person and the first thing she saw was a cat?! Miranda jumped back knowing that cats love to play with feathers which would totally ruin her wings and it would really hurt, too! The cat jumped down and began to walk around Miranda, with an occasional swing of the paw at the feathers on Mirandas wings.

"I don't believe we have met, Im Miranda." Miranda told the woman, who was certainly new at FOF, standing before her while occaisionly having to jump when the cat took a swing at the feathers on her wings.
Miranda
OK, Julie could you take it from here, - Tuesday, June 12, 2001 at 17:33:02 (PDT)

Record of an Audience Granted to a Messenger from the Court of Anjou in France by the Lord King Richard of Glorious Renown, surnamed Lionheart

The messenger wore the livery of Anjou and the manners of a French ox. The former belonged to his master the Count; the latter was all his own. I was in the antechamber with the Lord King and some of the other clerks when the varlet was escorted in. His clothes were spattered with dried mud and it was obvious that he had not waited to clean himself but came straight from the stables. He marched right through the great wooden door of the king's room on the very heels of the porter and then shifted impatiently from foot to foot as the man announced him.

King Richard was not best pleased to be interrupted. We were deep into matters of high import pertaining to the ongoing war in France. He looked around in irritation, his brows puckered in a lowering frown. "Anjou? What news from Anjou is so momentous that it requires my immediate attention?" His tone was not encouraging.

The messenger stepped forward boldly, pushing the cowering porter to one side with a firm shove. "Sire, the Count my master craves your indulgence but bid me tell you the news in this scroll is vital to the very existence of your military alliance with Anjou, Maine and Poitiers." He reached into his belt and pulled out the scroll, wrapped in heavy leather and lashed with thongs.

The king dropped his quill and turned around completely in his chair. For a long moment he stared at the messenger and his gift, then reached for the scroll. The silence was broken by the crack of breaking sealing wax and the rustling of parchment.

"Damn!" It was a hoarse croak, followed by firmer, louder words. "No! It cannot be!" The king rose and advanced on the messenger, the scroll held in front of him like a javelin. "This is a pack of lies!"

The messenger stood his ground, like the ox I compared him to. "My master warned me you would not believe him at first but he bid me assure your majesty that every word is true and that you must take immediate action -"

The king cut him off with an impatient wave. "Tell me not my business, man. I know better than anyone what this news portends." He stared into space for some time, then turned back to the table where we clerks sat waiting. He pointed at me. "You. Write a letter summoning George, Lord Nottingham and Lord High Sheriff to me. Say nothing about the reason but stress that this is a royal command. And then send it by our fastest courier."

He turned back to the messenger. "Porter, find some food and bedding for our guest. Spare not the expense for his victuals for he must ride hard for Anjou in the morning." He paused and gave the messenger a hard look. "Tell your master that he had better be right or I will be most displeased."

We rose from the table and bowed ourselves out the door after the porter and the messenger. In the doorway, I looked back and saw the king staring down at the scroll in his hand, then slowly crushing the parchment in his powerful fist.

Magda
Let me know if this gets too complicated, - Tuesday, June 12, 2001 at 17:16:35 (PDT)

Dear giraffe

To be so compartmentalized is an honor. Really it is.

And Ed could have your eyes, if he's got those long, curly lashes. ;)

As long as Ed doesn't get those two nubby things on his head...
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Two nubby things... where's Mephisto? ;), - Tuesday, June 12, 2001 at 12:17:14 (PDT)

Make that Colin . . .
Fausta
- Tuesday, June 12, 2001 at 08:05:40 (PDT)

OH MY!
First, there's that sound file. "The birds . . ."
Then, Barbara sends 2 new wallpapers,
and now Colin Firth is asking for me.

Fausta
THUD!, - Tuesday, June 12, 2001 at 08:02:07 (PDT)

Ack! Ooh, Barbara, looks like the Director truly has something to be "bothered" about now! I'd hate to stumble across him in this mood ;)!
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
continuing to make goofy noises indicative of mild dismay, - Monday, June 11, 2001 at 20:35:49 (PDT)

OH MY, I just noticed something! I ask way to many questions! Sorry if I bothered anyone by this! Ill try to minimize my question asking!
Miranda
- Monday, June 11, 2001 at 16:29:55 (PDT)

FOF Set:

It was just noon when she went to the lunchroom to fix a salad and grab a bowl of soup. She debated whether or not to just take it back to her desk or sit down when she saw Colin Firth with a tray in his hand peering out into the seating area. Picking up her own tray and crossing over to him she introduced herself. “Would you mind if I joined you for lunch?”

Those dark eyes that could smoulder *almost* as well as some of the cast on this show mirrored his smile as he replied, “Thank you. That would be very nice. I’m Colin by the way.”

They sat down across from each other at a table for four. “Didn’t you stop in while we were filming earlier?” He’d been watching her as she laid out her lunch, placing the tray to the side.

“Yes. I hope I didn’t disrupt anything. I wanted to …see how things were going.”

“It was fine. You work for the Director don’t you?”

“Yes. And you owe me some paperwork.”

He grimaced. “I know. Linda gave it to me to fill out. I’ll have it for you this afternoon. I’ll drop it off.”

“Oh. No. That’s alright. I’ll, um, come pick it up later. You’re still filming the Interrogator surveillance scenes aren’t you?” The question put with the utmost innocence.

“Yes….” He started to say more when he realized she was looking past him to the luncheon line. His eyes followed her line of sight. She appeared to be staring fixedly either at the soda dispenser or the figure of the actor who played the Interrogator who was orchestrating his salad. His dark eyes turned back to her, definitely the latter.

Mistral came into the lunchroom to grab a salad. He’d thought to take it back to his desk and read the latest drafts from Mary Anne. The plot was thickening delectably. As he finished its preparation he felt her gaze. He knew she was there before he looked over and wondered how he’d missed her when he first came in. No matter. She was fixing him with a stare that caused a diffuse spread of warmth about his person. There was a man across from her … ahhhh, the guest director. Competent enough fellow. He would eat in the lunchroom after all.

As she willed him to join them at their table, Cindie realized that Colin had stopped speaking. “I’m sorry. You were telling me about the filming.”

Any reply became unnecessary as Mistral appeared and, settling his tray between them, enquired, “Do you mind if I join you?” Turning to Colin he continued, “I hope you’re going to be with us awhile Firth.”

“Well, the rest of the week at least,” he replied.

Mistral sat down and began to disassemble his salad. He and Colin discussed the mornings scenes and what was to come that afternoon. Cindie listened, fascinated, as these two men dissected HIS movements along with camera angles, lighting and a world of other details at which she marveled. “Tell me, Cindie.” Colin began with a note of hesitation in his voice, “Can you tell me, Fausta, where is her desk?”

Cindie gave him directions to her department, but added the caveat, “She’s not always here, a busy writer you know.”

“It can’t hurt to check.” His smile was sweet as he took his leave and went to try his luck.

Cindie and Mistral got up as well and then stood still. A foot away from each other their eyes locked. The tendrils of their gaze wrapped around each other. Hands trembled on the verge of reaching out to touch. Lips parted, about to speak.

“Excuse me.” Joanna McCoy, brushed past them.

Cindie
Did I just get thanked for being a pest? Claire, you are most gracious., - Monday, June 11, 2001 at 15:48:37 (PDT)

Claudia

Do you think it's time to update the "profiles"?

Barbara the Wallpaperer
I can't believe I forgot Ed and Mistral!, - Monday, June 11, 2001 at 14:51:58 (PDT)

Unlocking the taut gaze in which he mesmerised his prey, the cougar's yellow eyes flicked towards the sound. A pad lifted, a single ear twitched, while a faint tremor of anticipation rippled the sleek short coat.

The feline movement sent an adrenaline rush through Claire, fear drew pictures in her mind. Background became foreground. Inaudible river water chatter seemed to swell into an uproarious torrent. Faint rustle of late summer foliage orchestrated into a fierce cacophony.

Neither urgent nor discordant the syllables wove their way up through the trees again. "Claaaaaaaire."

Her senses screamed, but her mouth did not.

Claire
Proded into action by Cindie and Dana - thank you ladies!, - Monday, June 11, 2001 at 13:37:21 (PDT)

OK, I think I have an idea, if we can, of what my group should wear. We could wear clothes like they did in the movie Grease, not exactly what they wore but like the clothes of that period of time which was the middle 50's. I love the clothes in that movie and I'll rent it this weekend to see how I should describe them.

Also Vanessa asked that at the party of me, her, Tina, and Metatron could perform for you the song Lady Marmalade. Yeah I know all girls sang that song (Christina Aguilera {me}, Pink {Vanessa}, Mya {Tina}, Lil Kim {Metatron}) But he would be a good Lil Kim and it would be a first of you guys seeing a Alan Rickman charecter rapping! So do we have permission? We'll have costumes like they wore in the music video and we'll provide the music (without the words). Thanks!
Miranda
- Monday, June 11, 2001 at 13:10:57 (PDT)

First MA's neck. Now the Director's legs.
The Giraffe
What's next? Ed's eyes?, - Monday, June 11, 2001 at 11:25:46 (PDT)

FoF Set. Hallway to the Director's Office.

"Sir! Sir!" The Director strode on. "D*mmit, Alan, will you wait up?!" The black-clad legs froze, suddenly, surprise in every line of them. "I swear, man, you're built like a bloody giraffe. All leg."

One eyebrow shot up. Stayed up. Barbara finally caught up. The Director turned around. The eyebrow was down.

"The whole packet, sir. They're gone."

"Packet?"

Barbara pulled him aside to the wall and lowered her voice. "Remember you asked me to make up those sketches for that project of yours?"

"Project? Really, Barbara, I don't--"

"--the one coming out in November?"

Sudden understanding. "Ah. Yes."

"They're gone."

Concern. "You just found out?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about the anniversary party, so I was going to bring them up. I'd been trying to get them to you, but you've been gone, and..." Barbara's voice trailed off, nervously.

"And?" The Director hated it when Barbara got nervous. It didn't mean that she was up to mischief. No. Nervous in Barbara meant that something very, very bad had happened, something he wasn't going to take well. And she knew it. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. "And?"

"Iwasgoingtomailthemtoyou."

The Director paused a moment, mouth slightly open as if he'd been about to reply. He frowned. "What?"

"Iwasgoingtomailthemtoyou."

"You were going to mail them? All in one packet?" A brief pause. "Ah, so you've lost all the preliminary sketches, as well, haven't you?" A surprised dread crossed her face. Well, it wasn't that--that consequence was a sudden realisation. "Out with it."

A hoarse whisper. "It has your home address on it."

Silence.

Long silence.

Stretched.

Taut.

Each word, with careful, dreadful precision.

"My."

"Home."

"Address."

Suddenly speech was possible. More than possible. Words tumbled out. "Well, you wanted me to draw up those playsets and some basic designs for that project and I got them finished but then you were gone so long, you know, there was the benefit dinner and that voiceover work and the Stoppard opening and then that Amnesty Internation thing and I thought they'd get in your hands faster through the post, so I bundled it all together and was going to mail it to you but then you came back and you weren't in a hurry, so I justleft them in my office and I forgot... about... them..." Her voice trailed off.

Tension radiated from his shoes. It was the only part she could make herself look at. Some whimsical part of her mind high-fived itself. Well, you finally got his toes to curl.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Ohhhhh, boy....., - Monday, June 11, 2001 at 10:18:05 (PDT)

Metatron layes there on the floor and thought, here we go again, he couldnt help but be mad at her for punching him.There was no reason for her to do that, yeah maybe I did make Vanessa a little bit mad, but at me not her! Metatron thought to himself and felt a little foolish being stuck lying on the ground. he thought that he would try another attempt when he heard a voice of a person who seems like it came from no where say, "Do you need any help, Metatron?" Metatron looked up and there stood Serendipity.

"Oh, hello Serendipity. Yes please help me." Metatron said and held out his hand for her to help him get up. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up. "Thank you." Metatron told her and smiled.

"I heard what happened to you and Miranda." Serendipity told him with a look of concern on her face.

"Oh that. It's OK, I can take a joke. But it seems Miranda can't. I don't even know why I thought I would be able to marry! First of all I'm an angel and second of all she's only 16!" Metatron told her and looked around to see if he could see where Miranda had gotten to.

"I know what you mean. But I'm sorry it had to happen to you. I know that enough bad things have already happened, especially the little bit about not being able to drink alcohol, and that this just makes those things seem worse!" Serendipity said and looked at her watch after she did. "Oh jeez I gotta go, it was nice talking again Metatron." She said and gave him a hug, much to Metatrons dismay.

"Oh yes it was nice to talk again." Metatron said looking a bit proccupied thinking about what he would do when he found Miranda. Serendipity left and Metatron headed towards the first place Miranda might be, her room.
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
- Monday, June 11, 2001 at 08:05:00 (PDT)

Don't forget your thermos bottle, Mr. I.
Just a thought...
D.o.C.

I fear that currently my action figure would come with few accesories.
I
At least I still have my glasses., - Monday, June 11, 2001 at 06:39:07 (PDT)

Somewhere in Egypt, present day:

The four stared at Roberta, her head, arms and legs covered in the same green slime that Alexander, Melanie and Jack slid through earlier in silence. "So, how are things going?" Roberta continued, her voice a husky rasp.

"They could be much better than they are at the moment," David replied in a choked voice, his eyes wide as he stared at her.

"Tell me about it," Roberta swallowed loudly.

"Roberta, don't move, all right? Just stay right where you are," Alexander broke in softly, attempting to make his voice as calm and soothing as possible.

"Believe me Professor, I have no intention of moving from this spot," Roberta replied weakly. Her face contorted in fear as he approached her.

"Jack, get ready. Melanie, keep that flashlight steady, and David, lean against the wall," Alexander directed the others in a businesslike tone. Jack nodded and assisted David over to the tunnel wall. He turned away, sneezed twice, sniffed loudly and hurried over to stand next to Alexander, biting his bottom lip anxiously as they exchanged worried glances. Melanie shuddered but approached the others, her hands shaking slightly.

"It's not poisonous, is it?" Roberta broke the ensuing silence, her body beginning to tremble involuntarily.

"No," Melanie mumbled, closing her eyes briefly.

"That's a relief, I think," Roberta's light brown eyes were filled with anxiety and her voice rose to a high-pitched squeak, verging on hysteria. "By the way, exactly what is crawling all over the top of my head and back and seems to be rapidly heading down my body?" Her eyes grew glassy as she stared ahead in a concerted effort to keep herself calm. "Oh God. Please don't tell me that there's bats on me," she whimpered.

Melanie shook her head, her face paling rapidly in the dimly-lit tunnel. "Mmph." She covered her mouth with her free hand, swallowing several times in rapid succession to slow her gag reflex. "I think I'd rather have a bat crawling on me," she gasped.

"Take it easy, Melanie," Alexander cautioned even as his own complexion paled to a slight grayish shade. His cheekbones stood out in sharp relief as he stood inches away from the panicked young woman. He lowered his voice to a soft murmur. "There are what appear to be several slugs and very large beetles about the size of a softball all over you."

Roberta's eyes almost bulged from their sockets and her mouth shot open. Alexander's hand immediately flew forward and covered her mouth, muffling her scream. "I want you to keep very still while Jack and I remove them, okay? We'll try to be as quick as we can. I promise," he stared intently into her eyes for a moment. Roberta's head moved very slightly in response.

Jack ran behind the terrified young woman and blanched at what he saw on her back. "Glowing in the dark..." he muttered before he could stop himself. "MMPPH!" Melanie gurgled again, her mouth still covered as Alexander shot Jack a venomous glance. Sorry, he mouthed and sneezed several times. Roberta closed her eyes and did as she was told.

With expressions of extreme distaste on their faces and much cursing, the two men reached out and removed the creatures from Roberta, slime flying everywhere. They flung them as hard as they could against the wall, mercifully where David wasn't standing. The slugs made a horrid squishing noise when they hit the wall and broke open. They could see trails of slime running down the wall wherever the slugs hit. "EWW!" Melanie yelled, horrified.

Jack cried out in surprise, punctuating it with yet another sneeze as he threw the first of several beetles against the wall at full force. It landed against the wall with a sickening thud and fell to the floor, still alive. "That thing pinched me!"

"Step on them and try to be careful when you pick them up!" Alexander called out as he threw one down on the ground. He stamped on the bug before it could scuttle away, and it made a loud crunching noise underneath his hiking boot.

Jack did the same thing with the other beetles he removed, Melanie smashing her foot down with a strangely satisfied expression on her face as she took care of any bugs that got away from the two men. "Is that all of them?" she asked breathlessly. A loud crunch was followed by a yelp. "OW! Man, that was really, really stupid!" David winced, hopping up and down on his uninjured foot.

"David, are you all right?" Alexander called out, turning around briefly to see him nodding before turning back to Roberta. "And are you okay?" he asked softly while Jack walked over to David and the two joined the others already gathered around.

Roberta nodded and swallowed several times before she spoke, and when she did, it was in a choked whisper. "We have to leave here....NOW."

Melanie opened her mouth to ask why when Roberta lifted a trembling finger and pointed up to the ceiling of the tunnel. Four pairs of eyes and one flashlight beam followed the direction in which she pointed. "Holy..." David started to say only to be broken off by Alexander's roar of, "GO!"

The others didn't need to be told twice; they began hot-tailing it down the corridor as quickly as they could move, Jack and Alexander lagging as they assisted David. They could hear the sickening 'splat' of slugs and slime falling to the ground as they made their getaway. They also heard the even more unsettling sound of small thuds accompanied by skittering noises rapidly heading in their direction.

"Just...slowing...you down..." David panted, pain clearly in his voice. "SHUT UP!" Alexander and Jack replied, trying to keep up with the two women running ahead of them. They could just see the flashlight's beam roughly 50 feet ahead of them as they turned yet another corner in the cavern's labyrinth - and the skittering noise was getting louder.

Sandy ~ welcome to the set, Julie!
The Alexander Dane action figure - comes with his own sand and stinky green slime. Optional accessories include exploding slime-filled slugs and large beetles. (yuck!), - Monday, June 11, 2001 at 03:51:39 (PDT)

Wow, looks like I'm going to fit right in! There was really no need for my concern! On with the show! :)

En route to FoF set:

Julie'd just got done reading various information on her laptop by the roadside on yet another stopover before she got to the set. Tommy had spotted another cat out the window and was busily growling and bristling at it.

**You poor, antisocial thing,**Julie shook her head at the huge, fat feline's behavior. **Once a stray, always a stray, at least to other cats. I would THINK that you'd be a bit more civilized once I got into your mind, but no-o-o-o . . .**

**He's encroaching on my territory, can't help it,** Tommy shot a glance back at her.

**But we can't let them think, once we get there, that other cats aren't welcome around us. I like all cats, buster, and they like me, and, furthermore, there's no room for jealousy.**

"MMRR," the tabby continued.

**Then, there's this little feathers issue, oh-little-hunter-of-birds,** Julie stopped to consider. **You know I like angels, as well. If I had wings . . .**

**Can't help it, I'd try to eat them. Feathers,** the cat's mindvoice sang, "Featherrrrrs are yummmmy. Feathers. Talkin' 'bout those featherrrrrrrs . . . ** He forgot the cat outside and began to purr incessantly.

**Have you been in the catnip again, you nutter? Then again, if your mindvoice really is some subconscious thing of mine, it means I'm the nutter. Gods, I'm gonna have to keep you in my cubicle all the time, if you won't behave. Provided I do get a cubicle.**

**Sooner we get there, sooner you find out,** Tommy licked a paw thoughtfully.

Julie turned the laptop off, and the screen closed with a curious (zork) noise, "Aww, not again," she muttered as the sound of impending technological doom registered in her ear. **Keep your mutant power to yourself.**

**It is NOT a mutant power. It's bad luck,** Julie protested, pulling the sun visor down. Hiding in it was an extremely fancy, light blue vellum envelope, sealed in a gorgeous shade of golden bronze wax. "This wasn't in here a minute ago." Opening the envelope, she began to read. It was an invite to the Classic Hollywood FoF cast party. "Oh, wow!"

** I take it these don't drop into just anyone's lap,** Tommy settled onto the seat. **Congrats, schweetheart,** the mindvoice did a very lame Bogart impression.

"But, I . . ." Julie started, out loud. "What would I go as? I don't have anything in my wardrobe that's slinky. Gods, the closest I can probably get is James Dean. Leather jacket and jeans."

**I'd thought you'd be marvelous in a variation on the gold gown Liz Taylor wore in Cleopatra. Knowing your love of all things Egyptian, I'm sure you would be very happy. Or what about this? Audrey Hepburn.**

"Audrey Hepburn?" Julie gave an incredulous look at the steering wheel. "Come on, Tommy. I can't. She was tall and willowy and thin, and I am none of the above. I'd settle for thin."

**Who says you aren't, anymore?** Julie checked the mirror, and, as she'd gotten closer to the FoF set, it appeared she had indeed, gotten thinner. Easy enough, now, to fit into the ballroom dress Audrey Hepburn had worn in My Fair Lady, or something like, but it would have to be shortened to fit her height. **Come, now, it was always a little, private dream of yours to play Eliza Doolittle, with Alan Rickman as your Professor Higgins. Admit it!**

"Where will I get the dress?" Julie was scanning the off ramps for where she needed to be. The first one led to the FoF set, and the second, straight into the Realm itself. She'd been mulling over whether to talk to the Empress or the Director, as they both seemed quite busy people.

** These things have a way of working out, magic or no. Be practical, dear. The Empress has her hands full with HIM, I wouldn't recommend it.**

Julie took the first off-ramp, singing "I Could Have Danced All Night".

Sorry so long!!
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
This goofy feline . . . can't take him anywhere . . ., - Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 15:59:13 (PDT)

FOF Set:

Cindie’s duties took her next to the Delaford set where she stopped to speak with the Director. “How is the dungeon shoot going?” he asked.

“Fine.” How on earth did he know that’s where she’d come from? “Firth seems to have a handle on what’s required. The dailies will be ready for viewing this afternoon and the network called about that museum wing opening again, they want a list of who’s going to be there. The publicity department wants to do a press release.” The calculated glamour of the entertainment industry.

He made a noncommittal reply as his attention was already back at Delaford. Mary Anne was seated on the rose conservatory set. They were apparently shooting the scene of her waiting to see who would show up for tea. For her part, Cindie couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. She resolutely kept from reading the scripts too far ahead of time, unless her duties required otherwise, although even knowing what would happen rarely dulled her appreciation for the show. She once again counted herself lucky to be even a small part of this wonderful undertaking, and, captivated, watched the filming resume.

After the scene was completed and a break called, she watched the Director watch Mary Anne who had paused to take a sip of water and admire the roses. Another perk on this show, no faux flowers here. The roses in both the conservatory and the South Rose Garden were the real deal. Cindie often pestered the gardener for advise. She missed her rose garden from home but was planning some containers and sought ideas from the conservatory. “Mary Anne….” Cindie watched as the Director *finally* finished inspecting the script pages, and also departed, “is it my imagination or is he…?”

“He is, but its weird, he’s gone past his usual protectiveness, I’m not quite sure what it is.” Mary Anne’s eyes had been following the Director’s departing figure, but now turned to Cindie. “So, how was the weekend?”

“Oh, Mary Anne. . .,” she paused as her thoughts strayed to their time together. “I’d no idea what to expect, but….” She paused again, uncertain, Patrick didn’t talk about himself at work, it wouldn’t be right to discuss his private affairs, even with his friends. “It was very nice. Although I did have a run in with a wine press.”

“A what?”

Cindie told Mary Anne about her little adventure, from the foray into the cellar to the very timely arrival of Mistral. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life! When he insisted that I go down and face the dreaded monstrosity I almost balked. What got me was he just reached around the corner and flipped a light switch!”

“Where on earth was it?”

“I don’t know. I admit I didn’t even look. Personally, I don’t plan on ever setting foot down there again, creepy place and I mean it!” Cindie began to chuckle softly, “Oh, almost forgot to tell you the best part, I’m afraid I got a bit, um, gooney, I told Mistral that the set up looked like *The New Interrogator Workshop*.”

“You didn’t! What did he say?”

“After a few comments about some potential episodes,” Cindie related these to a snorfling Mary Anne, “He just fixed me with a look, you know the one, and told me he couldn’t possibly do it because he was contracted to host *This Old Torture Chamber* because they wanted his take on the adage ‘Measure twice and cut once’.” Cindie was fanning herself now, the terror of her predicament lessened in favour of the humour, now that sufficient time had passed.

“Oh goodness,” Mary Anne was laughing in earnest now, “I can picture that. But still, weren’t you scared?”

“Terrified. I had visions of being eaten by the Giant Rat of Sumatra.”

Mary Anne had a feeling Cindie had been genuinely afraid and was downplaying her fear. Listening to an account of the trip which included descriptions of the countryside and the café that they’d stopped at, it was also clear that the personal aspects were being omitted. Understandable, she thought, Cindie wouldn’t betray Mistral’s confidence. She didn’t press her. Finally, Cindie had to leave and Mary Anne exclaimed, “I’ve got to go find Christopher, I have an idea…” those blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

One of *those* ideas. Cindie loved this place.

Cindie
Clods, love the action figure idea!!! Yours would have thigh highs?
Barbara, can't wait to see what you design for the party. Fred and Ginger, sounds wonderful!, - Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 15:43:10 (PDT)

The idea for the party sounds lovely and I cant wait but...This may sound a bit odd of me to say, Im not familar with those type of things. Would Marilyn Monroe be concidered a person of that time? If someone could email me and inform me of what my little group should wear, I would be mighty glad! Thank you in advance!
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
I feel so ashamed that I dont know this stuff!, - Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 15:07:57 (PDT)

Welcome, Julie! Hope you'll have a good time here with us. I'll pass on the card reading--what I'm thinking is usually waaaay too obvious anyway without any fortune-telling. *grin* But I love that you're bringing your cat. Wonder how he'll get along with Mistral's Annabelle? ;-)

Barbara--"mayhem"? Moi? I'm must have a word with The Director as soon as the fuss dies down.

For anyone who hasn't heard yet, the theme for the FOF Anniversary Cast Party this year (begins June 18th, if I recall) is "Classic Hollywood." That could cover a stretch from the 1920's--I certainly think silent stars like Chaplin and Chaney qualify as classic--all the way through the 50's and early 60's. So, dig out your slinky bias-cut gowns, ladies. It's either period clothing or else the costume of a character from that film era. Let's have lots of fun.

And Barbara, I know you won't fail The Director. Find us a cool spot! 8-)

MA
Trying to picture Brandon in a pinstriped suit . . ., - Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 14:21:02 (PDT)

Rosie, the red shorthaired mini dachshund, loves parties {she was a rosebud in a terra-cotta pot last year} but she does not get on with CATS! Probably she will like the other dogs, but she loves to run around and chase them, so she might not be an asset at a hollywood party, although I believe those Hollywood people can be a bit wild....
a Rickman admirer
- Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 13:53:45 (PDT)

FoF Set. Offices.

"A theft? Really?"

"Really," Geoff said. "I just heard about it from Melyssande, down in Wardrobe. It seems some design work got taken, too."

Barbara did a quick once-over of her office. She didn't think anything was missing. The only new things she'd been working on she'd taken home last night.

"So, are you missing stuff, too?"

Sandy.

"I don't know. I don't think so, but..." Barbara gestured at her decidedly untidy desk. "I've never been the neatest person, so if someone decided to rifle through my desk, I'd never be able to tell."

Sandy chuckled. Geoff grinned and ducked out.

"Well, they say the best defense is a good offense. And that desk of yours is pretty offensive."

The bright pink kooshball hit the doorway moulding beside where Sandy's head had been. Barbara could hear her laughing on her way down the hall.

"Bah," Barbara said, laughing a little to herself. She opened up the first email. The Director? Oh, maybe he'd finally seen her renovation budget on the ladies' cutting room. He could put the kibosh on that in a heartbeat. But--what was this?

To: Barbara, the Wallpaperer
From: AR, Director
Re: FoF Anniversary Party

Barbara, you're in charge of finding and decorating a locale for this year's annual bit of self-indulgence and mayhem. Mary Anne is planning to attend, so "mayhem" is a proper descriptor for the situation.

The theme this year is "Classical Hollywood." I assume you have heard the term before but, in the unlikely event you have not, I shall say only one word:

Garbo.

AR, Director

PS: "Barbara, the Wallpaperer?" Where do you people come up with these absurd monikers?

Classical Hollywood? Ooooooo.... Barbara pondered.

Garbo, h*ll. Barbara was thinking Rogers and Astaire.

And what did he mean "absurd monikers"? It was a job description. Well, perhaps a vocation....

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Julie--no drooling? *peals of laughter*, - Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 12:31:38 (PDT)

Julie, I guess that means that we'll have to hide when your cat is around FOF, especially Metatron since hes the only one who has normal colored wings (I have purple,Vanessa and Tina have dark red {I believe}). Bad kitty, bad kitty. Hey is your cat friendly to others? I have a cat who is a persian and hes white and his name is sugar. I could start including him in my story and maybe we could have lunch together and they could meet! My cat is a bit big and sometimes I call him a lion, but he is the sweetest thing you ever did see!

The idea for there next mission is a good one, but I think I ll save it for later, when there missions and tests start to get more complicated. But the next one, I think, will be of them praticing how to change things into other things, almost like a witch type deal. Finally I have a game plan!
Miranda
- Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 12:17:53 (PDT)

Actually, the VCR hasn't tried to eat the Dogma tape yet, but there is this (zork, buzz, fuzzy line) disturbance that goes across the screen right as the scene changes to the restaurant. This arises from the fact that I love the scene with the wings and am constantly rewinding to watch it over and over. The tape-eating beast that holds on to my tapes and does not want to let go of them is probably just itching to take advantage of this fact. It's also probably not long before similar (zorks) start to take over the remainder of the tape before and after each of AR's scenes. But yes, the VCR is evil, and it's eaten Galaxy Quest, refused to spit out TMD (I won that fight), almost cost me a $150 rental copy of Rasputin, not to mention chewing down the Mummy, my best friend's Styx concert . . . sigh.

Miranda, how about your next mission being performing some kind of miracle, like healing someone terminally ill? Such an experience could be extremely draining on both student and teacher, and the result would be that your character and Metatron would have to become even closer to get through it? Angst is a great excuse for romance (wink)! A warning to all your angels--Tommy loves to CHASE things with feathers, especially white ones.

Claudia, methinks now would not be the best time for me to come in bothering the Director. Then again, it seems he's always bothered about one thing or another, even if it doesn't show! (hee.)

Later,
Julie
My Dogma tape isn't long for this world, I'm afraid, - Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 11:25:41 (PDT)

I'll take that advice and most of all I wont read scary stories, in the dark, in a room upstairs, all by myself again! Actually I watched a bit of Closet Land and it made me happy again, and who knew that that movie could make someone happy!

Julie, your first post was really good! Much better then mine. But as you see I've decided to stay so nobody worry! I wouldn't leave Metatron in the dust after what has happened in the story! So you wil be able to see the plan that Ive been planning out since the story began. Yep, thats right I already know the ending!
Miranda
OH NO I cant believe it tried to eat your Dogma tape. That must be worse then your mom throwing your tape away becuase she didn't like what the movie was about (yes, this happened to me!), - Sunday, June 10, 2001 at 09:05:11 (PDT)

Arrrgh! Apparently, the laptop thief has struck again here, but, instead of stealing my piece-of-trash computer, he stole my whole story before I could post it, instead! (waves wand violently). Ohh, he's going to get it!

En Route to FoF set, Julie's car:

**There you go again, technojinx,** came the mindvoice of the orange and white tabby that was coiling around Julie's feet. The cat communicated with her on a mild telepathic wavelink that only she could hear, rather like Chris' equines. **I can't believe you screwed up another computer, never mind that it's only yours.**

**Magic and technology just don't mix. Tell that to my computer, the toaster, my car stereo, my boombox, the rearview mirror (yes, these things have all truly broken in my presence for no logical reason), not to mention the VCR that ATE my Galaxy Quest tape and tried to eat Rasputin when I rented it and is currently attempting to eat Dogma at the point where Metatron spreads his wings out. I think it has something to do with your sitting on it. Cat hair clogs the mechanisms.**

Tomas Aquinas Shaw Hodges, known affectionately as simply "Tommy", sniffed at her. **If you don't need my help as a good judge of character, just say so.**

"You still think I should offer to be set astrologer and mythological expert?" Julie asked out loud. "Why would they need one, aside from the fact that the Director seems quite interested in his own Piscean traits?"

**See if you can't do a few card readings. You're good, and you know it. Besides, it's a great front over which to give advice, meet new people, and you know you don't charge a thing.**

**Somebody might turn witch-hunter and run me off the set. I still say I should just proofread. That's always useful. If they need a semi-expert on comparative religion or magic, they can ask.**

**You worry too much. Nobody's going to take objection to you. You want in, don't you? You want the chance to have a character that uses J.K. Rowling-style magic, don't you? You want to know what Snape's 'damage' is?** the cat, or what may have just been Julie's own voice of reason, snapped.

"I don't know if that's going to happen yet."

**Go onset. It couldn't hurt to see what happens. You're a fine actress, too.**

Sighing, Julie motioned the cat into the car. He began purring loudly. She checked her appearance in the mirror. She'd decided against tying her wild, long brown curls back with a scarf, deciding it made her look too much like a fortune-teller. The wire-framed glasses, slightly reminiscent of a certain Mr. I, made her young-looking face slightly more mature, but they also half-hid her large blue eyes, her best feature. "I still look like an eighteen-year old. It's a wonder I don't get carded."

Then, she her sights upon Tommy, turning the key. "No cowering from the dogs," Julie ordered, thinking of Oliver. As good a judge of character as the cat was, he was afraid of his own shadow. That was, until he found someone he liked. Then, he'd purr, roll onto his back, and, if he truly adored you, Tommy would jump on your chest and drool. "And no drooling on the Director's shoes."

**That goes double for you, dear.**

end, for now
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
Here Goes Nothing!, - Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 21:43:21 (PDT)

Genius, Clods!! I'm having a full-blown *snorfle* attack! I've always wondered what it would be like to be an action figure . . . ;-D

Hmmmmmmm: Collectors' Set, huh? Let's see--MA and Brandon in period dress, and don't forget MA's accessories of Damascus Aurientine and borasil body armour. There's the Toledo Salamanca for Brandon--and the Highwayman outfit.

Plus, there's always the optional Evil MA figure . . . heh heh heh.

MA--the possibilities are endless . . .
I have my fears that the Interrogator figure would probably be the most popular!, - Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 21:06:34 (PDT)

The Director pushed open the door to the security booth so it slammed against the wall. The guard watching the bank of TV screens, jumped from his seat. Then, on seeing who it was, said “Sir! It seems the perpetrator was waiting outside the building. When someone left, he got in before the door swung shut.”

“And what were you doing while he did this?” Asked the Director, marching into the room and scanning the displays on the wall. The guard looked guiltily down at the paperback book resting open on the desk. The Director followed his gaze and hurrumphed.

Ed and Claudia made their usual elegant entrance, trying to both go through the door at the same time. On two such tall people it was an amusing gangly tangle of arms and legs. “Did they get him?” asked Claudia.

“Well?” put in the Director.

The guard was shaking - things always went so smoothly round here. “I, err… The thing is, sir, there were more reported thefts round the building. Three laptops went missing from Marketing, sir, and also some sketches from the designers.”

“I knew it!” The Director thumped the desk with his fist. “They were after the details of our latest marketing campaign. If the designs get out, the market will be flooded with cheap imitation dolls, and we’ll see none of the royalties. I was banking on that money to fund our next big project.”

“Dolls?” said Ed, raising an eyebrow. “Why would you be selling dolls?”

“Action figures, you know, everyone famous has an action figure made of them these days. Can you imagine what a sought after collectors set Mary Anne and Colonel Brandon, in period dress would be, for instance? Or the Empress in interchangable royal robes and guard’s uniform? The possibilities are endless.”

Claudia snorted. “Or the Interrogator, with optional torture chamber activity set, including swirly table and hand cuffs? Don’t you think that’s a bit tacky?”

“Don’t be a snob,” said the Director, “Tack pays your wages.” Before Claudia had time to retort about doing 2 jobs for one wage, the Director turned back to the guard and barked, “Well? Did they get him?”

“Nn, not yet, sir, but the building is locked off, and we are undertaking a systematic search from floor to floor, and round the sets, sir.”

“I should think some bloke staggering round with a stack of computers and rolls of paper under his arm shouldn’t be too hard to find,” put in Ed. “Exactly.” Said the Director. “Now, show me the tapes, I want to see who we’re dealing with here.”

While the guard fumbled with the tapes, Claudia squeezed Ed’s arm and whispered, “You’d make a cute doll. If they made a cuddly toy of you, I’d buy one.”
Claudia
You missed me and Ed of your list... And I can say, from first hand experience, Mr I gives great massage, and yes, very good technique, - Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 20:28:15 (PDT)

FOF set, Jutta’s suite:

"Mmmmmmmm . . ."

Hearing this, Jutta smiles to herself. Mary Anne had been a nervous patient, but evidently her first massage is turning out to be more pleasant than she had expected.

Stretched out on the table, Mary Anne would find no quarrel with Jutta’s conclusion. After the relaxing Fango session, Jutta’s deft and gentle treatment is soothing her to a state of near-boneless contentment, and it is obvious that everything in this suite of rooms has been carefully planned for the relaxation of the patient, from the colour of the walls-a rose-apricot shade, neither pink nor orange but somewhere in between, that makes the room feel warm-to the structure of the table itself, with a hollow for the patient’s face and a roll to place under the feet so the muscles will not cramp from lying flat.

As for Jutta herself . . . She knows what she’s doing, thinks Mary Anne drowsily. Jutta had questioned her carefully about bodily pain and inflammations, anything that would have made it necessary to postpone the massage. Finding that Mary Anne was, in the words of her regular physician, "disgustingly healthy," Jutta had helped her choose a light lavender scent for the massage creme and set to work after she had settled her next patient over in the Fango room.

It had not taken her long to find the difficult areas. Trained from childhood in the faith of Stand up straight, don’t slouch, hold your shoulders back, Mary Anne has the reward of superb posture, but at the cost of some tension in her upper back, shoulders, and neck-that neck which, pleasing as it might be to certain fans and cast members, appears to her critical eye to be rather too long at times. Like a giraffe’s, she had once thought during the tedious fitting of a high-necked gown.

But Mary Anne smiles as she lies on the table, thinking of how Brandon had disagreed with her assessment of this particular feature-and of how he had supported his . . . disagreement.

And now, Jutta is smoothing and stroking away all stiffness and tension and aches as if they had never existed, and Mary Anne’s eyelids begin to flutter closed. The music is soft; the room is warm; Jutta is . . . speaking, in a low tone. "If you want to sleep, do so. It is not unusual; when they are this relaxed, patients often fall asleep . . ."

"Sleep is Death," murmurs Mary Anne.

A moment later, her eyes open abruptly, and she raises her head. "Where in the world did that come from?"

"I was wondering, myself," replies Jutta, who does not pause in her ministrations as she smiles down at Mary Anne. "Even though this isn’t that sort of therapy! You’re not worried about your scenes with The Interrogator, are you?"

Mary Anne re-settles herself, turning her head sideways to reply to Jutta, rather than resting her face in the cut-out portion of the table. "No-rather looking forward to them, actually; Mistral’s always a challenge." A wry grin. "Things happen when I write material for him-generally things I hadn’t even planned! If I’m worried about any scenes, it’s this material with Therese and Dev. That’s going to be hard, with both of them confronting my character at once. I’ll have to decide just how far Dev should go without getting him out of character, because I can’t see him harming a woman . . . and then there’s Brandon . . ."

Mary Anne stops, suddenly, and gives Jutta a quizzical look. "Do people generally spill their guts like this when they come in for a massage?"

Jutta laughs a little. "It has been known to happen. Some people fall asleep. Some have so much stress built up that when the tension begins to release, they burst into tears right on the table-"

"I’d heard of that," admits Mary Anne. "Maybe that’s why I was nervous about this."

"Vielleicht. Perhaps. But-" An intent look, though a kind one. "It sounds as if you had been ‘losing sleep,’ as you say, about some of this material you have to prepare. But you have faced deadlines and difficult material before. For now, you are to relax and not worry about any of it. I’m here to help you do just that."

"And you won’t say anything to The Director?"

"No. As I’ve said, you are my patient and this is all confidential. What’s done and said here is kept absolutely private."

Mary Anne sighs and lowers her head. "Thank you. And you know-for a massage therapist, you’re not such a bad therapist of the other sort, either."

"Thank you." Once again, Jutta enjoys her private smile: Mary Anne’s case is by no means unique.

Several moments pass without a word, as the soft music plays and Jutta works with her client . . . until she hears Mary Anne laugh once more.

"Can you share the joke, Mary Anne?"

Mary Anne lifts her head, with that mischievous grin that Jutta is already learning to recognize. "I was only thinking that if people give up their secrets like that while they’re on this table-well, had you considered the implications for The Interrogator?" Mary Anne’s eyes gleam with unholy mirth. "It’s obviously a waste of time, to put all that effort into torturing people. HE should just massage them into a confession, instead!"

MA--but I imagine HIS technique would be rather different from yours, Jutta.
And I don't know if HE would enjoy it as much as HE does the . . . usual methods. =8-O, - Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 19:34:17 (PDT)

Thanks, everybody, for the warm welcome. I've had the chance to look over the past month or so of stories and I intend to do more. Everyone's storylines are very exciting, even the (only sometimes!) more mundane struggles of The actors on the set. I especially love Chris's unicorn plot, since I have been very fond of unicorns since I was a wee thing of six. Having them juxtaposed with one of Alan's charcaters in such a vivid way is almost too much! Don't get me wrong, that's just my favorite, because everyone is talented, and so nice!!! (This is supposed to be a seperate paragraph, but the last time I tried this, it didn't end up that way) Miranda, I can definitely relate to how you're feeling right now. I have a fascination with the supernatural, and sometimes scare myself to death. (Hugs to Miranda) You'll be okay, hon. The prayer RA suggested will help, and we're here for you also. Finding a distraction also helps, like watching a movie (a Rickman flick if possible, but anything that makes you happy), or, heck, even a cartoon. Laughing helps me forget I'm scared or worried. Believe me, I worry a lot ;)! As for stories, I'll have to wait and see. If Jutta really does want to do something with Snape, well, she was here first, and it would be rude of me to cut in. As for my idea, it'll keep, no pressure, but I have to get a contingency plot. I haven't had the (aherrrm) pleasure of making Mr. I's acquaintance (Closet Land's impossible to find here), but I'm sure discussing ANYTHING with him would be trouble. Besides, I have a very low pain threshold. (hee) Later!
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
- Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 18:36:29 (PDT)

Sweetie, just say a prayer for God and his angels to protect you. I am sure that if there was a ghost he would be so lonely that he would only come around when people were there--your imagination is going into overdrive!!!!!!All of us have "been there, done that". PS-don't ever see or read the Excorcist-I didn't turn off lights for a month after that one.!
a Rickman admirer
- Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 13:27:57 (PDT)

Yeah I know this is stupid and I know I shouldn't post things like this on here but I have to! Well for the past hour Ive been reading peoples ghost stories online and I said to myself, "Oh this house isnt haunted!" and I looked in the closet (Anywhere but the closet!) and something moved inside of it! I'm home alone right now since my parents and sisters are car shopping, I didn't want to go, so it's extra frieky and I'm scared out of my wits! Oh jeez I'm hearing noises outside my door now!Breath, breath, i'm going to be fine! I hope, things like this have happened before but I didn't believe! Well My mothers family all the houses anyone of them have lived in is haunted. Especially when my grandmother was little her house was so haunted that when nobody was home you could walk in front of the house to the living room window and you would always see somebody walking around in there or just looking at you throught the window! Oh I'd much rather be in Closet Land right now! OK, I'm done sorry for rambling on like that!
Miranda
- Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 08:56:20 (PDT)

When Miranda and Metatron where safely in Heaven Miranda turned to Metatron and punched him. It was hard enough to knock him to the floor, and it did, which caused Miranda for no reason to start laughing at him. "Hey, what was that for!?" Metatron yelled and tried to get up but couldn't becuase of his wings.

"It's all your fault that Vanessa and Tina are still mad at me! If you wouldn't have been mean to them we would have made up then and there!" Miranda said and in no means intended to help Metatron up.

"Miranda I did that for your own good. When Vanessa was talking to me it sounded like she was going to beat you up or do something else to you!" Metatron told Miranda and made another ill attempt to get up. Miranda just stared at him and then began to walk away not knowing that someone was going to help Metatron, becuase of course she wanted him to stay there till he learned his leason.
Miranda
I'm still trying to figure out what the girls next assignment will be!, - Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 08:06:33 (PDT)

FOF Set (pre-theft):

The morning whirled by, Mondays were always busy, but Cindie made it a point early on to visit the dungeon set to watch the filming. Claudia and Rupert were rehearsing their latest when she passed the control room set. She stuck her head in, “And what are you two doing all alone in this little room?” she asked in a severe tone.

“Just what you’d expect us to be doing.” Claudia responded, too sweetly, one hand on a hip. Rupert simply smiled and Cindie departed, leaving them to work out the kinks of their upcoming scene.

She approached the dungeon set and paused, not making a sound. At the moment they were shooting the footage that would be seen in the control room from behind the two way mirror in the Interrogator’s cell. Mistral was basically just pacing the room and occasionally pausing to look in the “mirror”. He was very obviously HIM right now. Cindie tried to dissect what made the difference. There was no dialogue at the moment, simply movement and expression, but it was so clearly HIM that she couldn’t help the shudder that ran through her. Was it the tilt of the head, the bearing, even more straight and commanding than usual, the thinned lips, the glare of the eye? Yes, all those things and something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

She watched for awhile, there was a guest director, she knew the Director was working at the Delaford set today and it was not unusual to see well known people from the industry in to direct a segment or even a whole show. It was considered a coup to be able to add such a plum assignment to one’s credits. This director had little to do other than block out the scene as HE conveyed menace without uttering a syllable. Cindie almost had to force herself not to run back the way she’d come. But that would be silly and ridiculous. After all, she’d just spent an entire weekend with the man, driven hundreds of miles with him without so much as a hint of the deft evil she was witnessing now. Mistral was a devilish good actor.

He was also working, as was she, so she did leave, careful not to hasten from the set.

Cindie
Welcome Julie!, - Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 06:59:59 (PDT)

Of course, there are many who write about me.
I
Barbara & Julie, perhaps you would like to come see me. We could ...discuss plot lines?, - Saturday, June 09, 2001 at 04:31:48 (PDT)

Julie--add to Barbara's list:

Cindie.......Mistral, AKA The Interrogator.

Not that they're always one and the same, you understand. (At least, we HOPE not. Yeek.) And Cindie's storyline concentrates more on the actor than the character.

Welcome aboard! Plenty of scrumptious characters still to choose from. Have fun!

MA
Sending out the Welcome Wagon--ZOOOOM!!!!, - Friday, June 08, 2001 at 19:01:26 (PDT)

Well before I was going to say that Vanessa and Tina used to help me with FOF but now there to busy for it and wont even help me with deciding what the next assignment for the girls will be. That's maybe why I havnt posted alot because I just cant figure out what it should be. Would anyone like to help and give me some suggestions?
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
me again!Will I ever stop?, - Friday, June 08, 2001 at 10:49:17 (PDT)

Ok the girls name that wrote that was Lin. I've got it. But I still need to figure out what the next assignment will be!
Miranda
I'm so tired right now, I couldnt go to sleep becuase my braces hurt so badly. But now I've taken Ibuprofen and it seems to have gotten a bit better!, - Friday, June 08, 2001 at 10:39:53 (PDT)

Barbara, I know that I shouldn't listen to them and that I should do whatever I want and not what they want! So BLAH to them.

I've read in the back issues where this girl named Zelda wrote where she was about to be the apprentice of Metatron. But she quit on her 2nd post. Just maybe I could email her and find out if she would like to join me. MAYBE!

The only problem is I don't know her email adress! Does anybody else know it?
Miranda
T.G.I.F.!, - Friday, June 08, 2001 at 10:21:09 (PDT)

D.o.C. ~ thank you, thank you, thankyou....

Julie ~ The characters I know about are:
Mary Anne.....Brandon
Renie.........Hans
Chris.........Hamlet
Sandy.........Alexander
Claire........Sinclair
Dana..........PL
Joya..........George
Miranda.......Metatron
Barbara.......Phil
And, of course, AR the Director.

I might be missing someone.

No one has seen Dwight (FAngels), Elliot (Quigley), Slope (BChronicles), Raz (Rasputin), David (DHarbour), Friedman (JKiss), Antony (A&Cleo), Jacques (As You Like It) or Achilles (T&Cressida) for a while. And, of course, Snape. But... wasn't Jutta planning something for Snape? Jutta?
Barbara the Wallpaperer
How 'bout a padded floor?.... *blush*, - Friday, June 08, 2001 at 09:38:26 (PDT)

Miranda ~ do what you want. It's your story, not theirs. If they want to mess around with it, let them write their own bloody story. You don't have to mail it to them. You don't have to do anything except die and pay taxes (and yeah, they make you pay taxes even after you're dead....*sigh). Write what you want. Tell 'em to s*d off.

I think you should read the archives, too. It's nice to have the past. Metatron's been on FoF before.... you should see what he was up to before you arrived ;)
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Hey, it's a free country, - Friday, June 08, 2001 at 09:30:21 (PDT)

Julie, nobody has written anything for Snape yet, so I guess that means that he is available.

My story is in my mind to teenagerish for this, and the person(s) who caused this to happen was Vanessa and Tina. I always write my ideas on paper before transfering them here ,and well there more sophisticated before they read them and change half the things. But now that schools out for summer, I still can't do what I want because I have to email the stories to them. So I'm stuck! But the typos mostly come from me not watching the screen while I'm typing, which I should be becuase my mom is a typist and shes tried to teach me millions of times how to type but I never listen (I always daydream about some Rickman charecter!), But I've been working on these skills and now I've been using a spell check on it before I transfer it over here! So I still need more feedback before I can decide whether or not the show must go on!
Miranda
- Friday, June 08, 2001 at 09:16:02 (PDT)

Ah, darn, I sent that last message completely by accident. I suppose all of you can guess that I was about to request a list of which writer is working with whom. In particular, I was wondering who, if anyone, was writing for Snape. BTW, Miranda, I think your story's fine, in spite of a few typos. It's the essence of a narrative that really counts, and I think you should keep writing. Cheers and good luck, everyone!
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
- Friday, June 08, 2001 at 07:37:28 (PDT)

Hi, everybody! I've spent quite a while reading through the tangled web you all weave. As a writer myself, I've been toying with the idea of creating a story and posting, except for the fact about who (which of Alan's characters) is "taken" and who is not.
Julie <flashcat@csinet.net>
- Friday, June 08, 2001 at 07:30:29 (PDT)

OK, Ive made my decision. The best way to tell if you guys like my story and if you want me to stay is to have a Survivor style vote-off. If you choose to vote me off this team (and maybe Ill come back in a year or so, once school starts again, maybe) I'll end my story now, it won't be pretty. And as you can see I dont care what people think and I won't run crying out of here, like some people would, if you vote be off. So all you have to say, if you want of course, is you either want my story to stay or you want it to leave town and never show its face again. Thankyou for your time.
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
Now or Never., - Friday, June 08, 2001 at 04:29:01 (PDT)

Italics fixed.
Hope that was a padded wall...
D.o.C.

Dear D.o.C., please help me!

I missed an italic close after the word "kind". It should look like this:

Phil had been kind enough to not interrupt her. Well, perhaps kind was not the proper word. Wise, perhaps, was a better choice.

Barbara beats head against wall... *ack*
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Errors, more errors, - Thursday, June 07, 2001 at 21:11:09 (PDT)

FOF set.

Barbara snagged her sweater off the back of her chair. They were keeping the building cold for the benefit of the computers. It was disconcerting, however, to take her sweater off to go outside and put it back on to sit down and work. It ought to be the other way around, she thought.

Her fingers lightly brushed the mass--or mess, she thought whimsically--twined on the back of her head. Phil had done something with braids and coils back there, she wasn't quite sure what. From what she'd been able to determine, in the mirror, it looked like one of those take-it-apart puzzles people played with at pubs to prove how sober they still were. But Phil had kicked his shoes off and started humming, an intent, pleased smile curving the corners of his mouth. So she'd sat back and let him work. The person who needed to sit in that chair was Renie. Phil wold be itching to work with that hair.

It had given her a chance to eyeball the room. The baseboards were still off, waiting for her to determine flooring.

She'd glanced down at Phil's bare feet, earning a murmured reprimand. "Not," he'd said, tapping her lightly on the ear. He'd seemed oblivious to the temperature of the floor.

It was a painfully ugly floor. The spatterware-look was more than "out"--it was dangerous to one's health. Barbara'd wondered how Etienne, the former cutter, had been able to tolerate the room. Of course, with all the stories about Tien, he'd probably liked the terra cotta and lime... suite. Tien had been so focused on avant-garde, he'd had no sense of style. Rather than this... she'd hesitated to call it a medley... of color, Barbara wanted the cutting room to show a classic beauty, a timelessness, an awareness--a consciousness--of its own purpose. It had to have...

"Phil, I need a pad of paper. and a pencil," she'd added. "And I need it now. Before it gets away from me." With a few deft movements of his fingers, Phil had freed one hand and reached past her again to the counter.

"Not a pencil. Nonesuch here. Just a pen, for notes. And paper," he'd said as he handed each to her. She'd practically snatched them from his grasp, hunkering down a little over the paper, to sketch out the idea that had suddenly burst into her head. One idea had led to another and she'd covered six or seven sheets of paper with sketches and notes, with bracketed asides delineating color choices and schemes. Comments on contrasts and harmonies.

Phil had been kind enough to not interrupt her. Well, perhaps kind was not the proper word. Wise, perhaps, was a better choice.

She hadn't been able to believe he was still standing barefoot on that tile floor. His toes had to be numb.

"Aren't your feet cold?" she'd asked.

He'd stared, nonplussed. "No," he'd said, drawing the one word out a span of heartbeats. "Are you thinking they should be?"

"They ought to be, if you do this shoeless thing much." She'd grinned, suddenly. "Joe."

His eyes, meeting hers in the mirror, had shown only bafflement. "Joe?" he'd asked.

She'd sighed. Yorkshire, apparently, had never heard of American baseball.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet..., - Thursday, June 07, 2001 at 21:07:33 (PDT)

And then there's The Interrogator's cure (guaranteed) for those unsightly ingrown toenails . . . *shudder*

MA
Tucking my feet up under me!!!, - Thursday, June 07, 2001 at 20:27:25 (PDT)

MA,
Skin & a couple of other therapies, yes! At a price . . .
Some company might want to produce Rasputin's cure for hangovers, but then, maybe not!
Fausta
- Thursday, June 07, 2001 at 09:16:57 (PDT)

LOL, Fausta! Thanks for sharing those with us--I'm always amazed at the extent to which life imitates art and vice versa. For that matter, I'm still recovering from there actually being a character called "Minion" in the film Spy Kids. Makes me wonder who's reading this page!

Sooooo . . . in that picture where Valmont is poised on the woman's back, he's applying his own special brand of skin therapy? Is that it? ;-D

MA
And, as might be expected, Valmont's treatments carry a high price . . ., - Thursday, June 07, 2001 at 05:52:22 (PDT)

WHOA! What's that sound file from?
Fausta
race you to that hidden corner!, - Wednesday, June 06, 2001 at 08:51:02 (PDT)

While in therapeutic mode, here's a couple more real-life treatments:
First, from the March 2001 (British) House & Garden,

PEP UP SKIN suffering from the aftereffects of winter-sun holiday or air travel with Collagen Thymus Peptide Pentavitin hydration treatment from Valmont. The preparation, applied twice weekly for three-and-a-half weeks, is designed to rescue dehydrated skin. A course costs UK#165, exclusively from Harrods.

Just a few side notes:

Jutta has been most helpful and thorough in providing me with information about what's involved in massage therapy--so if I've made any mistakes, they're definitely mine and not hers. Hope I haven't made any serious gaffes in procedure so far. More on the way!

Barbara--lovely post. I loved the line about "eating Beef Wellington after Lent" and thoroughly enjoyed Phil reveling in his surroundings. It reminded me of Romeo's line about "beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear." And seeing him drag his fingers across those little streaks of gold wasn't bad, either! *wink*

MA
And there's no album entitled Boneless Baroque, so far as I know. But if there were, I'd probably buy it! 8-), - Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 20:25:45 (PDT)

Jutta’s suite:

"This is called a Fango treatment, and it will help you to relax before your massage-"

"A tango treatment, did you say?" Mary Anne grins at Jutta, her eyes twinkling.

Jutta turns from where she is placing Mary Anne’s dressing gown in the warmer and smiles at her mischievous patient. "No, no--Fango! Not that tango isn’t a wonderful idea, but I don’t think it would have quite the relaxing effect you need."

"You can say that again," mutters Mary Anne as she finishes undressing and hopes that her jokes conceal some of her nervousness-though precisely what she is nervous about, she cannot say. She guesses that part of it might simply be her strong physical modesty; she is not the type to go about casually undressed, on or off camera.

Get over it, she admonishes herself. Jutta’s services are in demand, so don’t waste her time with your silly vapourings.

And so it is that, almost before she knows what is happening, Mary Anne finds herself reclined on the table, her entire back and spine pressed against the warmth of a Fango pack as Jutta prepares to "wrap" her and let the heat do its work. At no time does Jutta seem to be in a hurry, yet her movements are remarkably efficient, the sign of long practice, and Mary Anne is suddenly much less anxious. It is obvious that she is, so to speak, in good hands.

"This . . . Fango. It’s-well, it’s mud, isn’t it? And it’s supposed to be more hygienic than a warm bath?"

Jutta, meanwhile, has put Boneless Baroque in the CD player and stands listening for a few seconds in appreciation. "Mmmmm, Bach. Oh, yes, the Fango. Yes, believe it or not, it’s much more sanitary-but I’ll be wiping you down before the massage, so don’t worry about that."

Then, arming herself with warmed sheets, Jutta proceeds to cocoon Mary Anne in a snug, relaxing pocket of heat, and laughs out loud at her patient’s little squirm of pleasure. "Rrrrrrmmmmmm," purrs Mary Anne. "Very nice. But I’m wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy, here-"

"That will not be a problem." Jutta allows Mary Anne’s hands to rest on top of the sheets instead of being wrapped inside, then covers her hands with a warm towel.

"And all of this is just to relax me before the massage? I’d think this Fango treatment by itself would be enough." A pause. "I just love being warm like this. Sometimes it seems like I can’t get warm enough."

"It’s that low blood pressure you told me about, most likely."

Mary Anne falls silent as Jutta puts the finishing touches to her handiwork, then adjusts the blinds, leaving the room in semi-darkness.

"Now." Quietly. "I’m going to leave you for a bit and let that heat do its work. You just rest there, close your eyes, listen to your music. I’ll be close by, so if you need me you can call and I’ll be here." She pauses to adjust the thermostat on the wall. "And, Mary Anne . . . it helps to think of something pleasant." A grin. "Perhaps this would be a good time to daydream about Brandon?"

Mary Anne does not answer, not in words. But the smile on her face suggests that she is once more following Jutta’s instructions to the letter.

MA
Wonder who Jutta's massaging while Mary Anne has her Fango treatment? *grin* , - Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 20:17:29 (PDT)

FOF set. Ladies' cutting room.

Phil wandered around the renovated ladiesí cutting room, slightly stunned at the change. His fingers trailed the edge of the wainscotting, feeling each ripple in the moulding, and the sharp dark crease between boards. The room was still missing floorboards, and still had the almost equally hideous Pollock-esque tile in terra cotta and lime, but the change Barbara had wrought was amazing. The input heíd flung at her had been less an assistance and more of a challenge--and she'd risen to it rather than flinging it back in his face. He raised his right hand to the blue paper and the pads of his fingers lightly brushed the subtle gold tracery, following the arcs of it across the wall.

Barbara had been right, though she'd done it in her usual teasing way: Phil was an asthete. This was the first beautiful place he'd worked in since, well, since he stopped competing. He suddenly felt ashamed of his shabby little shop in Keighley. He stepped back and looked at the walls, filling his eyes with the color and the sinuous pattern of brushed gold. He'd starved himself from beauty, because beauty made him feel, and he'd thought it would make things hurt less. This was like eating beef Wellington after Lent. He was almost afraid the beauty would be too rich for him, but he did not care. He indulged and over-indulged in it, letting the color roll over him like satin sheets, tasted it like fresh coffee, breathed it in like the air after a thunderstorm.

"Phil?"

The voice was familiar; the tentative and uncertain tone was not. Barbara stood in the doorway, greatly bedraggled. She clutched, in her left hand a hank of... her hair? Phil started.

"What are you wanting?"

He hadn't intended to sound so irritable, but it seemed to wash Barbara's hesitancy away. She stepped into the room. "I actually came to ask you a favor."

Phil stared. It was her hair that she gripped in her hand. Phil thought, suddenly, of a ring Sandra used to wear. The large smooth stone was called "tiger iron"--a dark rich brown stone with lines and flashes of shimmering tigereye. Tigereye in gold. Tigereye in red. The brilliant gleam of catseye. He saw her hair and thought of tiger iron.

He glanced up to her face. The tentativeness was back, sitting lightly in her eyes. Apologetic. She thrust her hair-filled fist at him.

"Can you do something with this?"

--------------------

Phil's fingers brushed the supporting muscles of her neck, gathering her hair. "I've seen you never wearing your hair down," he said, inhaling the scent of lavender that puffed up from each stroke of the brush.

"I don't like--it's too much--well, it tangles," she stuttered, and a flush rose into her face.

"You should be cutting it, then."

Barbara looked up, with horrified eyes, into the mirror. Phil leaned over her hair, working some indomitable snarl out of the back of her head, his eyes half-lidded and his lips slightly parted, tasting the warm scent that rose from her hair.

"Why are you keeping it long, if youíre never letting it down?"

Barbara frowned and winced, slightly, as Phil gently tugged out the knot. "I don't--I just--..." She swallowed. Her eyes flickered up to the mirror for a brief moment; he pretended not to see. She adopted an airy tone, a little self-dismissive. "Ever since I was a tiny little girl, I wanted hair like Rapunzel."

"'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair?'" he quoted.

She nodded, embarrassment reddening her face. "Silly childhood fantasies, really."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Lovely, your hair is. Very fine." He lifted a few strands away from the rest of the next knot.

"I know--that's why it tangles so badly."

Phil reached over to the countertop, his chest pressing for a heartbeat against the back of her head. For a brief moment, he wished he cut shirtless, like those flashy lads from Dorchester, just to feel the fine soft fall of hair against his skin.

He felt himself flush and react. It was the first moment of sensuality heíd had in years. He was both embarrassed and relieved. Am I alive below the neck after all? he wondered (homage).

He pressed a tube of creme conditioner into Barbaraís hands. "Try this. I'm not being a stylist, if thatís not keeping the mass in order."

She glanced up at him again in the mirror, the familiar amused look back. "Mass or mess?" she asked, half-laughing.

"Your choosing. Not mine."

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Hair! Hair! What's it good for?, - Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 15:41:09 (PDT)

"What do you two want can't you see that Mirandas crying because of you!" Metatron said and turned back around to face Miranda.

"Jeez, sorry Metatron what do you think we didnt know that?" Vanessa said and glanced at Miranda just to see if she had stopped crying or not because of course shes her friend and you wouldnt want your friend to be crying becuase of you.

"I'm fine okay so will all of you please stop fighting! The situation already can't get any worse!" Miranda yelled at the three like they were only children. She stood up and put her hands on her hips so she could stand her ground without any objections.

"Somehow I feel that she wasn't only crying becuase of us." Tina pointed out.

"I'll tell you later." Metatron said knowing that if he said what happened again Miranda would start crying.

"Are you guys still mad at me?" Miranda asked Vanessa and Tina hoping that maybe there was a chance that they were not.

"Maybe we are. You'll have to make up for this, you know Miranda." Vanessa told Miranda.

"Ok you guys it's time for me to go back to Heaven. Vanessa and Tina can come if they want." Metatron said and grabbed Mirandas arm.

"No thanks we gotta go back to." Vanessa said and they disapered off to, you know.

"I'm kinda glad they wern't coming." Miranda told Metatron and they went off to Heaven.
Miranda
only one more month till I get to go to Geogia (USA) and stay in cabins with my sister mom dad grandma and grandpa. YEA!!!!, - Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 15:02:04 (PDT)

"So just where is this place, Sandy?" Chris asked curiously as they entered the studio parking lot.

"It's only a five-minute walk down the street. They serve great seafood," Sandy replied, smiling as Alex offered the crook of his arm to her. She slipped her arm inside his and the four set off.

"Yes - the Manhattan clam chowder is especially tasty," Alex deadpanned as he turned his head around momentarily to wink at the two walking behind them. Sandy slapped her forehead with her free hand, groaning in mock-despair as the others laughed. "You know, you're going to ruin your reputation for being a grouch," she threatened, shaking her finger at him.

"Me? A GROUCH?! Where on earth did you hear that ugly, nasty rumor?" Alex replied airily, blinking innocently, left eyebrow raised up sardonically. "I pride myself on my professional behavior." The two women immediately burst into loud laughter and Hamlet hid a smile behind his hand. "What?!"

"I think your brain was more affected by the ladies' cutting room than you think," Sandy observed tartly as they arrived at their destination. "Ooo... You SAW it?!" Chris broke in, shuddering visibly. Hamlet groaned, shaking his head. "Horrible," he muttered.

The two nodded, disgusted expressions crossing their faces. "We were just leaving the scene of the crime when we literally almost bumped into you," Alex explained, holding the door open so the others could enter the cozy restaurant.

The hostess approached them with a smile, and the four were ushered to a quiet corner. A waiter showed up a few minutes later to take their orders and drinks arrived shortly. "I must admit that I haven't really gotten a chance to see much of your storyline, Alexander," Hamlet said, pausing a moment to squeeze lemon into his iced tea. He turned his head in Chris' direction, sternly eyeing her. "I'm too busy getting thrown headfirst into water by an ornery equine." Chris snorted in response before taking a sip from her Sprite.

"I wish that was all that was happening in the storyline at the moment," Alexander sighed, hazel eyes twinkling as he settled back into his seat. "NOT that I haven't been enjoying every minute of it," he turned to Sandy, who made a small growl of protest. "I wouldn't have agreed on doing it if I didn't like the outline in the first place," he added in quickly.

"Damn it, Alex! You don't have to placate me," Sandy grumbled, eyes flashing. "I'm sure you'd tell me loud and clear if you didn't like what you were doing." Hamlet's eyebrows rose at Sandy's tone while Alex blinked in surprise. "Gotcha!" Sandy chuckled, raising her iced coffee in salute. Chris started giggling while Alex shook his head in resignation with a sheepish grin, clinking his glass with hers.

"Are they always like this?" Hamlet asked, shaking his head in disbelief, remembering the rumors he had heard about the Shakespearean actor's standoffish behavior. "Actually, they're worse, if that's entirely possible," Chris admitted, still giggling as their salads arrived. Sandy rolled her eyes at her friend's remark.

"Thanks a lot!" Alex said, stabbing a piece of tomato with his fork. "You're welcome!" Chris retorted with a sly grin. "Oh, somebody save me from this insanity…" Alex sighed before inserting the tomato in his mouth and chewing slowly.

"It's way too late. You're on a non-stop train," Sandy observed. "The one and only stop at the end of the line: the Twilight Zone..." She imitated the TV show's theme to good-natured laughter.

"Okay, okay. So, let's be serious. What have you been up to?" Hamlet asked when they quieted down somewhat. Alex and Sandy immediately sobered up and exchanged glances. "You really want to know?" Sandy asked.

Hamlet nodded, his curiosity meter going through the roof. The two exchanged glances again. "You start. You're writing it, after all," Alex said. Sandy nodded in agreement. "Well, it's like this..."

Sandy
Oooo, that .wav file.... *thud*, - Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 08:53:07 (PDT)

Oh, what a .wav.... I'm glad I listened this morning, I'm awake now ;)
Barbara the Wallpaperer
tons of mistakes....tons!, - Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 06:53:00 (PDT)

We must strive to do our best against such... distractions. ;-)
Suzanne
For the next month, yes., - Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 06:50:55 (PDT)

Suzannnnnne, Merciful heavens! How am I supposed to get any work done today?
Cindie
You will leave that sound wav up for awhile won't you?, - Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 06:18:52 (PDT)

My dear Barbara, I must inform you that there is an imposter running around the set with my name doing dastardly deeds. It's not even a good imitation, since I am a miniature black poodle and this...this... terrier is soiling my good name. I would NEVER take your hair chopsticks - well, not unless you threw them first for a game of fetch.
Oliver
- Tuesday, June 05, 2001 at 02:10:50 (PDT)

FOF set. Offices. Episode Eight

"Oliver! You come back here!" The bellow ricocheted out across the maze of writers' cubicles. "Oliver, bring them back!"

The bellow was followed by a loud scrabbling and a streak of grey. People flinched back into their cubicle doorways as the terrier pelted madly along the carpets, a pair of bone-white sticks clenched in his teeth. Cindie, catching a glimpse of him as he flashed by, was positive the dog was laughing. He was followed almost immediately by Barbara, her hair flaring out behind her. She stumbled to a halt at a corner, and slumped against a wall. "I'm going to string him up by his stubby little tail, I swear," she panted and slid down the wall. "How can something that short move that fast?"

Cindie looked both ways and slipped out of her cubicle. She knelt beside the set designer. "What happened?"

Barbara grimaced, her face barely visible behind the curtain of her hair, as it streamed down either side of her face and pooled down to the floor. "I put them down for a second, to retwist. He just stood on his hind legs and took them right off my desk. I canít believe he stole them."

"What did he steal?"

"My chopsticks."

Cindie blinked. "Chopsticks," she echoed.

"For my hair. Now they have dog slobber all over them, if I even get them back. They've probably got chewmarks, too, for all I know. Why couldn't Sandy have a cat?" Barbara wailed. She clutched at her disheveled hair and brought a hank of it up to her face, looking at it cross-eyed and frowned (homage). "Now what am I supposed to do? The only way to keep it out of trouble is to have it all up. It's tangled now. If I brush it, it tangles. If I look at it sideways, it tangles. If I breathe wrong, it tangles. I don't have another pair of sticks here; I don't even have a comb! What do I do?"

Cindie looked at Barbara. It was the first time she'd ever seen the designerís hair down. Barbara always wore it pulled back into a knot, with a pair of sticks thrust into the lump at haphazard angles. A mischevious smile curled one side of her mouth.

"Go see Phil."

A look of realization washed across Barbara's face. "Phil. Of course," she breathed and looked up, gratefully, at Cindie. "He's an expert. He'll have something." Barbara got to her feet, brushed imaginary lint off her pantsuit and strode down the hallway, swath of hair brought forward over her shoulder and gripped firmly in one hand. Suddenly, she turned.

"Cindie? If you see Sandy or Alexander before I do... tell them their dog is -- on parole." She turned back and stalked off.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Hair! Sometimes more annoying than useful, - Monday, June 04, 2001 at 20:50:38 (PDT)

FOF Set:

She felt him behind her, felt his fingers slip onto her shoulder as he said softly, “I missed you at breakfast this morning.” He said it simply and without hidden meanings, his gaze level and direct into her now upturned face.

“I missed you this morning too. It seems I’ve got used to having you nearby.” Her own gaze was straightforward and without pretense. Then a smile lit her face, “I had to make my own tea and toast. And worse, no cheese.”

A smile just barely tugged at the side of his mouth, “Oh no my dear, we can’t have that now, can we?”

“No. We’ll have to think of something.” She smiled sweetly.

His eyes glowed as he bent to kiss her. “I’m due back on set. I will see you later.”

Cindie
Jutta, let them get a little tenser first!, - Monday, June 04, 2001 at 14:58:22 (PDT)

Congratulations George and Joya! Good to see you back!!

Mary Anne and Cindie - I am waiting for your tensed muscles!
Jutta
having a tea break..., - Sunday, June 03, 2001 at 06:31:31 (PDT)

Letter to His Excellency Hubert Walter, Chancellor of England

My Lord, in the course of our investigation of the late villainous activities in His Majesty's shire of Nottingham, we obtained a journal written by one who will play an important part in the upcoming trial. Much of the text is of purely - nay, we might say almost lavishly - personal interest to the writer. We respectfully request your opinion of the attached entry, which is typical of the journal. Should you feel that some vital information might be derived from a close perusal, we shall read each page thoroughly. Let it please your lordship to respond as soon as may be possible.

Signed, Eudo FitzAlan, Secretary of the Board of Commission Investigating the Recently Completed Disturbances in the Shire of Nottingham During the Reign of Our Glorious King Richard Lionheart

It was a blood-red sunset, portending good weather on the morrow. I paused at the window to watch the scarlet orb slip below the horizon, pulled the shutters closed and twitched the tapestry back in place. Then I strolled across the bedroom, a smile playing about my lips. Now that the day's work was done, it was playtime. After a glance to make sure the door was firmly barred, I stopped beside the hearth and looked down into my wife's face. "Tell me how much you want it."

Joya knelt in front of the fire, the flames burnishing her tawny hair into liquid copper. "You know that I want it. Don't torture me like this." She looked up at me, flushed and breathless.

"You can do better than that." I paused at the table, then dropped down beside her on the furs. She watched my every move hungrily. "Beg for it."

She licked her lips. "Please."

I pretended to consider. "No, not good enough. Try again."

"Please, George." She shrugged her shoulders and the nightgown slipped down her arms. Her skin glowed pink and hot in the firelight. She leaned forward to give me a better view. "I need it so bad. Don't deny me."

"Better." Total surrender was close at hand. "But not good enough. Try again."

"Damn it George! Give me that baked apple now!" Joya pulled herself upright and balanced on her knees. Before I could move, she reached out and snatched the bowl from me. "You know I can't sleep at night until I've had it."

I clasped my arms around my knees and watched her eat. It wasn't all that long ago that there was something else she couldn't sleep until she'd had and I had provided it. But now that she was mere days away from giving birth to my son and heir, we'd had to curtail our more strenuous activities. And so I was reduced to tormenting my wife by withholding baked fruit. Well, there was some comfort in the thought that it would soon be over. I knew Joya felt the same way.

Since we'd stood side by side on the battlements and waved farewell to King Richard back in the spring, there had been total harmony between us. My initial worry about matrimony had dissolved in the reality of our personal relations. Our interests bound us together. Our passions cemented the bond. Whether it was riding to church together throughout the town, holding court in the great hall in front of dozens of retainers or alone in our bedchamber, we were a team. When my son was born, the world would see yet another bond between us. I could hardly wait.

The scrape of a wooden spoon against the bottom of an empty bowl brought my attention back to my surroundings. Joya peered into the dish, looking for any residue she might have overlooked. She looked so charmingly disappointed that I couldn't help laughing. "Pregnancy has turned you into a glutton, my dear."

The next moment I was ducking for cover as the bowl sailed past my head and crashed into the wall. Joya surged to her feet, her ungainly bulk forgotten. "OOOOOHHH! You insensitive, thick-headed, lack-witted GOAT!" She stalked across the floor and flounced down on the bed furs, shooting fiery arrows from her eyes in my direction.

"What?" I got up slowly, keeping a wary eye open for sudden moves. "What did I say?"

"You said I was fat!" She looked around for another projectile. "I'm not fat! I'm pregnant!"

"Of course you are." I felt relieved. A woman's emotional upsurge. I could handle that. Some soothing was obviously in order. "And you look so beautiful too. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you right now."

Joya abandoned her search for artillery and glared at me. "Don't pacify me. You know perfectly well that's not true. You wouldn't even listen to me about -"

"Stop right there." I interrupted. My good mood had evaporated. Joya was treading on forbidden ground. "We have discussed the matter thoroughly and my mind is made up. I don't want to hear any more argument about it. It will only upset little George." I emphasized the last words.

"Little George could just as easily be little Henry." She rubbed her belly tenderly with one hand and placed the other one on her lower back. "And it would be a good political move too. I know you won't consider a name like 'Richard' but it would still make a good impression if we -"

"I'm going to check on the tallies for the next quarter. Don't wait up." I turned on my heel and stalked from the room, not stopping the door from slamming.

All the way down the stairs I seethed. There was only one issue that could disrupt the stability of our relationship and that was the name of our child. Joya had suggested that it might be a sound proposition if we named our heir after the king or at the very least Henry after his royal grandfather. I would have none of that. My oldest son would have my name and none other. Period. End of conversation.

The main hall was deserted except for servants putting away the trestle tables. They looked at me carefully when I entered. It was good to see that some people at least knew better than to try my temper.

In their workroom off the hall, the clerks were still at their labours, scribbling figures by candlelight. If they were dismayed at my appearance they did not show it and I spent the next several hours going over the financial situation of my shire. The clerks, too frightened to move off their stools, kept their heads down. The only sound was their quills scratching over the parchment.

It did something to restore my good humour but since I didn't want to return to the bedchamber until I was sure Joya was asleep, I went over every report at least twice. Occasionally sounds from the hall penetrated the room. At one point a maid shouted something and several people ran down the corridor past the door but no one knocked. Silence fell again. Hours passed.

The candles were guttering on their stands and I had just reached the final report from the most distant manor when a sudden explosion of noise erupted just outside my door. One of the clerks knocked his inkhorn flying in surprise. Someone hammered against the thick wood of the door and it swung open with a crash against the wall. Joya's maid grinned at me from the threshold. "Oh, sire! It's all over! They's both sleeping now but you don't have to worry none. They're both just fine."

I set the report down. "What on earth are you babbling about, wench?"

Her smile faltered and she took a backward step. "Why, the birthing, my lord. Lady Joya's time come and she's just had her baby. It were a quick labour, sire. The midwife said she's seen some as took most of a day."

Had I not been sitting down I would have hit the floor in a heap. Joya had given birth? Shock left me speechless for a moment but was quickly followed by rage and the return of my voice. "And why was I not informed?"

The maid shrieked and fled in terror. I threw the reports at the closest cowering clerk and stormed after her.

The previously empty hall was now full of roistering retainers, clapping each other on the back and hoisting tankards in celebration. I strode past them without responding to their shouted congratulations. I hoped they enjoyed their libations because I was going to have the whole lot of them hanged from the towers for not telling me what was going on with my wife. Taking the stairs three at a time, I arrived outside my bedchamber door in seconds. I pushed into the room, now full of women, and marched up to the bedside. They fell back as I passed and behind me I could hear a number of them leaving quickly.

Joya lay on the bed, still and silent. The sight checked me in mid-stride. For a horrific moment I feared the worst but then I saw the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She was sleeping. The midwife was on the other side looking down into the crib. She looked up with a smile as I loomed up beside her.

"Well, my lord, it's not quite what we expected but she's a taking little thing and there's plenty of time for boys yet. I'm thinking she has something of the looks of you about her."

For a moment I thought she was talking about Joya, then the impact hit me. She? A daughter? Joya had given me a daughter? I reached out and clutched the nearest bedpost.

"And here she is, all ready to meet her papa." The midwife stooped and picked up a small bundle from the crib. It began to squirm as she held it out to me. "Just feast your eyes, my lord."

My thoughts were chaotic. A daughter. A useless, worthless daughter! What good was a girl child to me? I needed sons! At Locksley manor, Marion had presented Robin of Locksley with an heir not two weeks before. A daughter! I would be the laughing stock of the shire. I looked down at the proffered bundle with growing distaste.

"Take her, my lord. You've got to get used to it." Before I could protest the midwife shoved the infant into my arms and lifted the cloth so I could see. Small fists waved under my nose and a small pink mouth sucked at the air. Frustrated whimpers turned into a small cry and then grew louder. I was about to give her back when one of the fists brushed against her cheek and she opened her eyes. They were the deepest blue I had ever seen - with one exception. Joya's eyes stared up at me, fringed with thick dark lashes. The fist was shoved into her mouth and the whimpers ended. I couldn't stop looking at her.

The midwife was talking again. "Lady Joya had a good time of it, sire. Some women last for hours but when her ladyship first realized it were happening she could tell it were going to be fast. Still I would have liked her to have been abed this afternoon but -"

I jerked my head up and stared at her. "This afternoon?"

"Aye, my lord. She started getting some pains this afternoon and they kept right on through dinner. Sent for me and told me to wait till she got you out of the way." She grinned at me conspiratorially. "Said she didn't want you to worry so she was going to have a fight with you so you'd leave."

I almost dropped the baby. Joya had been worried about me? At a time like this? Had she been awake and the two of us alone, I would have spanked her. At the moment all I could do was resolve to do it at the first possible moment. After I kissed her thoroughly of course.

The baby began to fret again. Joya stirred in her sleep at the sound. The midwife took the bundle back and laid it at her side on the bed before moving off. I stepped forward and looked at them both. My wonderful, magnificent wife and my beautiful, perfect daughter. What an asset she would be to my plans! We would arrange a great marriage for her to some potentate's son. I thought about Locksley and his new son; the child was condemned to inherit that paltry manor and not much else. I felt profoundly sorry for him just thinking about it. He would have none of the advantages of my daughter. She really was a most splendid child.

"Priest will be waiting to church her soon's Lady Joya's up, my lord." It was the midwife, again at my side. "Got to think up a good name for the christenin'."

A name. Of course she needed a name. And it must be a good one, something unusual, something that would stand out. For a moment my mind was blank, then it came to me.

I looked at the midwife. "Her name," I announced, "is Richard."

Magda
Sorry for the length but there's no natural break, - Saturday, June 02, 2001 at 18:23:20 (PDT)

The Director’s office:

Ed and Claudia skidded round the corner, and tumbled into the Director’s office without knocking. He peered at them over the top of his glasses, and raised an eyebrow. Nothing round here surprised him, much. “Well?” his voice boomed. “You must have finally written something worth looking at. Why don’t you sit down and tell me what you’re so excited about?”

“Sir, I…” began Claudia, but was immediately cut off by the ring of the telephone. Claudia jumped and looked at Ed, hoping he’d have some way of saving her. He just shrugged.

The Director held up his hand. “Hold that thought…” He picked up the phone. “Yes?” As the voice on the end of the phone began to explain the situation, the Director’s eyes widened, and looked directly into Claudia’s. She felt if she broke that stare, she’d crumple in a gibbering heap on the floor. “Lock down the set,” he barked. “No one leaves tonight, until we get to the bottom of this.” He slammed down the phone, and looked back at the two standing in the doorway. “So…” he began.

“I was hoping to tell you myself, that’s why I’m here.” Stammered Claudia.

“Its not her fault,” put in Ed, trying to be helpful, and failing dismally. Claudia gave him a withering look.

“Of course it isn’t your fault!” he barked, making the pair of them jump. “The ignoramus in charge of security around here - its his fault. Come on,” he stood up and pulled his jacket off the back of his chair, and slid in his arms. He strode round the desk, and through the open door. Turning he said, “well, are you coming?”

“Where are we going?” asked Ed. The Director on a mission was a force to be reckoned with.

“To the security booth, of course. Where the security monitors are. With any luck one of the cameras will have caught our thief on tape.”

Ed and Claudia looked at each other with relieved grins, and dashed after the already receding figure of the Director.
Claudia
Hmmm, could do with Sherlock Holmes. Don't know how I'm going to do any work this week., - Saturday, June 02, 2001 at 15:01:48 (PDT)

Claudia--Yikes!! This looks like a job for Sherlock Holmes! "The Adventure of the Missing Laptop," I can just see it now. The Director had better lock up the set, so no one leaves until it's found.

And Mistral in the shower . . . mmmmrrrrrooowwwwrrrrr!
NOT Annabelle, - Saturday, June 02, 2001 at 12:07:10 (PDT)

Mistral left Cindie and drove home to his town flat. Arriving home he turned his attentions first and foremost to Annabelle who for her part was glad to have the man home again. She was fed, watered, and most importantly picked up and petted. When he picked up his fur bearing room mate he moved to the black leather chair in his living room and tried to take stock of the weekend. Mother was not doing well. Although her physical condition had certainly deteriorated it was her mental condition which troubled him. The decline was marked. When he’d gone to see her this evening she had thought he was his father. A shiver ran through him. Stroking the purring cat soothed his nerves and he turned his thoughts to the other aspect of the weekend. Cindie. She had seemed to be taken by the place, charmed by the country and enthralled with the house. The cellar notwithstanding. He smiled to himself, remembering her reaction to his discovering her. Initially afraid he had frightened her, he realized as she clung to him, that he was calming her fears. He closed his eyes remembering the feel of her in his arms, felt his fingertips tingle as he recalled stroking her hair.

Spending the obligatory amount of time telling Annabelle that she was a good cat, that she was a pretty cat, (homage) he then decided to take a long, hot, shower. Rising from the chair, he crossed to the bedroom and began to undress. Before disrobing, however, he took a small silver ring out of his pocket and placed it in the lacquer box on his dresser. He then stripped off his clothes and crossed to the bathroom. He turned the water on and let in run hot in the shower stall before stepping in. Facing away from the nozzle he leaned his hands on the back wall and stretched his muscles, cramped from the drive, extending first one leg and then the other, and let the water run down his back. His thoughts turned back to his mother. He had spent some time conferring with Sybill and was convinced that she could manage the situation for now. The doctor would be in tomorrow and he would talk to her in the afternoon and determine if he needed to take additional steps to ensure his mother received the best care he could provide her.

Work tomorrow. It would be good to go in and work. Wondering idly what the shoot would be, he soaped up. His thoughts strayed back to his traveling companion from the weekend, he’d get to see her again tomorrow. This raised his spirits considerably as he rinsed off the soapy lather and grabbed the shampoo. She knew much more of him now, as had been his wish. When she knew the rest he prayed it would not change what he believed were her growing feelings for him.

Cindie
On a roll again., - Saturday, June 02, 2001 at 06:17:12 (PDT)

FOF Set (earlier in the day):

Monday morning, Cindie was at her desk sipping her morning tea and trying very hard to wrap her mind around the concept of work. Currently she was staring at a blank monitor trying to remember her password. Its only been two days, think, think, think.

The drive back had occurred in darkness, so there was no scenery to distract the mind. She’d poured out coffee once they hit the main roads. The warmth of the mug was welcome although the interior of the car was certainly warm enough. Mistral seemed to be flying on auto pilot as he negotiated the way back to town. When they arrived at her flat he carried her suitcase to her door and held out his hand for her keys. Insisting on checking the flat to make sure it was devoid of intruders, he then kissed her cheek and bade her goodnight. Now it was morning and she was back at the FOF offices with a blank screen and a blank expression.

“Good morning.”

She looked up, “good morning boss.” The Director was looking at her from the doorway. She nodded toward the guest chair and he strolled in and sat down.

“Did you have a pleasant weekend?” he enquired politely.

“Yes. And you?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He paused briefly and then continued in a businesslike tone, “We have some new people. Make sure everything is in order for them.”

“Consider it done.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, “Sir. . . ”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for asking.”

“Hrmf.” He stood up and gave an abbreviated stretch, “have a lovely day, Cindie.”

“You too, boss.”

Returning her attentions to the monitor she made a little exclamation as she recalled her password, “Nottingham!” Tapping the keys to complete her successful logon it occurred to her she hadn’t seen George’s scowling countenance in some time and wished for his return.

Cindie
Clods, Nooooooooooooooo!!!! , - Saturday, June 02, 2001 at 06:16:14 (PDT)

Somewhere in the labyrinth of writers’ cubicles:

“Ready to go?” Ed looked round the corner of Claudia’s workspace, head tilted on one side, hair suitably mussed, and a cheeky grin on his face. He was trying to look charming, but the effect was lost on the back of her head.

Claudia’s workspace was the usual disarray of papers, covering almost every inch of her desk, and other bits taped to her screen, and pinned to the walls. She was sitting on her swivel chair, hunched forward, and banging her head gently, but repeatedly on the only clear space.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He took two large paces towards her, and spun the chair round. She slowly lifted her head, her hair covering her face. She blew at the hair, but it just fell over her face again. Ed parted the sea of blond hair, and pushed it back where it belonged. He revealed red eyes and a pout.

“This is just not my year!” she sniffed. “The Director is going to go ballistic!”

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are we going to play 20 questions?

“Not only was I looked over for Charles Angels this year… What was that, huh? Aren’t I funny?!” She pulled a face. “Can’t I kick butt? Don’t I go to Sei’s kickboxing classes every day. I know some actors don’t like typecasting, but I was made for that role! Instead they chose Camren bloody Diaz! That’s what happens when you stick with a soap so long… people don’t see you doing anything else! Arghhh. Well, now they are going to have to!”

“Clods, you’ve lost me.” Exasperated, Ed flung his hands in the air. “Are you going to tell me what is wrong?”

“The Director, he’ll fire me when he finds out. He’s been on my back for ages to write more. That we’re falling behind with the storyline. But I can’t do everything! I’m suppose to write and act and be a mother, and and….”

“Stop it!” He took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Just say it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Weeks of work, all gone. Confidential storylines… if they get out of the building, its bound to reach the tabloids by the morning… He’ll go ballistic…” she said again, and turned back to her desk, and pointed to the clear space. A space about as big and wide as a laptop.

“My laptop - its been stolen. I called security… but… Oh, Ed, I can’t write all that again!”

“Oh, sh*t!… Come here.” Ed pulled her into his arms, and squeezed her tight. “It isn’t your fault, and the Director isn’t going to fire you, but we must find him an tell him, so we can do some damage control.”

“Do you think he’ll be here this late at night?”

“You are, so I’m sure he is… I don’t understand how anyone could have broken in. We have tight security. There are still people at work. I bet whoever it is, is still on set. Come on!”

“Oh, Ed! I hope you’re right!”
Claudia
I've no idea how they got in. I hope they can't get in through the passwords., - Friday, June 01, 2001 at 20:41:29 (PDT)

Metatron couldn't believe it. I'm so stupid how did I not know that was a joke? Metatron thought to himself after he had talked to God. Oh I know why, becuase I was just to excited to think about it at all when he told me. Now Metatron was exta worried becuase he didnt know what to tell Miranda and he didnt know what her reaction would be. But he knew it wouldnt be to bad since she was the one who asked him how it was possible for them to get married. Metatron finally decided to go off and find Miranda instead of standing there debating about it.

Cut to: Christian and Anthonys house, earth

Miranda knocked on the door and waited anxiously for someone to come to the door. Oh please let them not be mad at me! Miranda thought to herself and bit her lip. Finally after waiting a mintue or so she heard moving by the door and the barking of a German Shepard and Anthonys voice yelling, "BAD HITLER! GET IN YOUR CAGE!" Finally Christian opened the door and gave her an evil smile.

"Oh it's you" Chritian said saying the word you very evily to match his smile. Obviously Vanessa and Tina had been there earlier or are still there and they told them about what happened that morning.

"Oh cut the crap Christian. Wheres Vanessa and Tina?" Miranda said and put her hands on her hips.

"They don't want to see you. Go back to Heaven we don't like your kind." Christian said and slammed the door in Mirandas face. Oh so now there not my friends. Fine they can be that way! Miranda thought to herself and at that point was mad enough to knock down the door that separated her from Vanessa and Tina. She backed away from the door and began to walk through the lawn. She stopped at the curb by thier house since it was at the very coner of the neighborhood and sat down. But me and Vanessa and Tina have never gotten into a fight like this. Maybe a couple small fights but nothing that involved them not wanting to talk to me. Miranda had tried not to cry but she just couldnt take it anymore. She put her head in her hands and let it all out. This is horrible! Finally at the worst possible moment Metatron appeared with the bad news.

"Oh my Miranda what is the matter?" Metatron asked and sat down next to her on the curb.

"You wouldn't even know how bad I feel right now. Vanessa and Tina hate me and let me guess you have news thats going to make me feel even worse." Miranda said and looked up at Metatron. He tried not to grimance or anything becuase Miranda looked as horrible as she felt. Her mascara was running, her nose was red as a rose, and her eyes were all red and puffy.

"I'm sorry to say but I do, it's all a joke forget about the marriage and anythign I told you after that. I'm so so sorry Miranda." Miranda cried harder then ever then. Metatron didn't know what to do so he just took her face in his and hands and lifted face to face him. "Miranda you have to be strong about things like this. Noone wants an angel that's going to be crying at every single bad thing that happens to her. Am I right?" Miranda just kept crying so he let go of her and shook his head, She will never learn. He then heard footsteps behind him that stopped when they reached the two they stopped. Metatron turned around and there stood Vanessa and Tina.
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
I didnt know that summer was so BORING!!! and I hope that you guys arn't affended by what thier dogs name is!, - Friday, June 01, 2001 at 15:26:42 (PDT)

Hamlet grimaced as he got out of the water. "I hate this scene!" he said vehemently. "And having to do it 4 times really isn't helping you know!"

"I think we got it this time," Chris responded equably, as she handed the soaking man a large fluffy blue towel. "It looked much more like what I was thinking when I wrote the scene! And this new horse they've got in for Ki'li is so much better trained! Imagine getting her to buck on command-that's a lot better than doing it whenever she feels like it!" Chris ducked quickly as Hamlet threw her a mock-punch.

"What on EARTH possessed you to write me in being chucked off a horse into the water?" he asked plaintively as he finished rubbing his hair dry with the towel and put it around his shoulders. They both glanced at The Director, who nodded at them and waved them away. They both sighed in relief as they realised he decided to use the last cut, and started walking back towards the wardrobe area to get changed for lunch. "Well, I wanted some gratuitous wet T-shirt material for the viewers, and I had no idea you did your own stunts!" Chris responded with a grin as they walked slowly.

"I'm starting to regret that decision today," Hamlet said. "The Director did tell me you were a bit quirky when he signed me on, but I think he underestimated you!" Chris laughed at the pained look on his face. "I think you're right," she said in between giggles. "I'm not just quirky, I'm just plain mad! But he did know about the outline for the dumping in the lake before you were even signed on. We discussed it in great detail. It was about the only scene I had pre-written in my head before I'd even started here! He could've warned you."

"I seem to remember he did mention something about a lake, but I really wasn't paying attention. I'd already said yes by that stage, and had...other things on my mind! We had only just got back from honeymoon, you know," Hamlet pointed out.

Chris blushed slightly, as the man intended and she changed the subject quickly. "So, how is Rebecca? Is she settling in to being an actor's wife? Oh yes, and how is the house-hunting going?" She paused to take a breath, just as they rounded a corner to enter the corridor that contains the wardrobe department allocated to them. Suddenly, they're almost on top of a couple going in the opposite direction, and Chris smiled as she sees Sandy and Alex. "Oops, sorry guys," she says, laughing a little. "Guess we weren't watching where we were going!"

"That's okay," Sandy replied, and Alexander nodded in agreement. "Well, I'm glad you're here, you guys can finally meet," Chris said, smiling. "Alex, Sandy, meet Hamlet, the lead in my storyline and the poor sod who takes the brunt of my evil imagination. Hamlet, these are my good friends Sandy and Alexander. Sandy is a writer, and she currently writes the storyline for Alexander."

Sandy smiles and puts her hand forward to shake, then does a double-take. "It looks like your evil imagination has been out again, Chris! What have you done to the man? He's soaked through!" She quickly puts her hand back down at her side. "No offense Hamlet, but I kind of like my hands dry!" Chris grins. "You remember the lake scene we worked together on a while ago? Well, it turned out to be a bugger to film! We've just finished, but it took 4 takes!" Hamlet nods morosely. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Sandy and Alex, but I really need to get out of these wet clothes," he says, and sneezes as if on cue. They all giggle.

"Well, we were just going to dinner," Sandy says. "Why don't you join us? We're only going to that little place up the road, nothing fancy. And we could wait 5 minutes while Hamlet gets changed, I'm sure." Sandy looks at Alex for confirmation.

"Gee, I'd love to," Chris responds eagerly. "I'm on my own at the moment anyway, t'other half is on another business trip! Paris, I think" The three look at Hamlet, who thinks for a moment. "I could come too," he says slowly. "Rebecca is visiting her mother, so I would be on my own tonight otherwise. I'll just call her from the restaurant so she doesn't worry if she tries to call home."

"Right, it's decided then," Alex says. "We'll see you out in the parking lot in a few minutes." He and Sandy continue around the corner, and Chris and Hamlet hurry to the wardrobe rooms to get changed.

Ten minutes later, the whole building is empty and silent.

Chris <why1040@aol.com>
Back to you Sandy :o), - Friday, June 01, 2001 at 09:02:06 (PDT)

FOF Set, Early evening:

Sandy looked up from her computer when she heard a knock on the cubicle wall. She turned around and smiled as Alex entered the small area, casually dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. "Hi," she said, turning around to save her document and power down her PC. "Rough day on the set?"

Alex chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. "That's putting it mildly. The boom operator accidentally bopped Roberta on the head when he tripped over a cord in the dark. Almost took her out, but she seems to be okay - shook her up more than anything else. Then Jack and Melanie got a terrible case of the giggles that caught like wildfire..." he sighed as he shook his head, but his eyes were twinkling. "THAT was followed by the worst case of hiccups I've heard in a long time. Poor Jack sounded like a chicken being strangled."

Sandy's eyes widened in astonishment as Alex imitated the noise and she started giggling. "Never a dull moment, huh?" Sandy continued laughing as she retrieved her purse from her desk. Alex nodded in agreement, grinning wickedly. "At this rate, you'll be hiccuping like that yourself. Ready to go?" he asked as Sandy slowly regained her composure.

"Yes," Sandy replied as they exited her cubicle and began walking down the hall. They walked about halfway down the corridor when Alex halted, snapping his fingers. "Oh, wait - I almost forgot. Did you want to go see the ladies' cutting room before we go? Do you mind?"

"Are you kidding? I'd like to see this monstrosity Chris was talking about myself," Sandy nodded. The two turned around and headed in the direction of wardrobe, passing through several rooms before they reached the room in question. "Ladies first," Alex said, bowing his head slightly.

Sandy stepped inside the room, Alex following her shortly. The two blinked as they stared in silence for several minutes.

"Terra-cotta and lime-green? What were they thinking?" Alex said finally, shaking his head. "Ew... Chris was right on this one."

"I think the question really is: 'what were they smoking?'" Sandy murmured in reply, her nose wrinkled up in disgust. "Blech."

"We better leave before I lose my appetite," Alex mumbled. Sandy nodded in agreement and they exited the room in a hurry.

Sandy - okay Chris, your turn!
Wow - so glad to see the return of George!, - Friday, June 01, 2001 at 07:20:55 (PDT)

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