May, 2001
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Delaford. Dev's Quarters:
Dev let go a small sigh of frustration when the door burst open a second time--mere moments after a thoroughly disgusted Joanna McCoy had stalked from the room, none too pleased with a certain Irishman despite Therese's insistant defense.
"Aye, Miss Therese, t' Missus t'would be--" Miss MacCleod broke off abruptly at the sight of Dev on the bedside next to the recipient of her message. "Och, I 'ad no idea you were here too, Mister De Valera."
Dev waved a weary hand at the tall Scottish woman, "Think nothing of it, Miss MacCleod," he responded, "you're certainly not the first."
The other woman looked at the couple with trepidation--there was a decidedly tense undercurrent prevalent in the room. The wee woman's features were set stubbornly, and t' big Irish bloke looked as though he'd like to throttle someone, if only he could narrow down the field of candidates to the one. There was a time not too long ago when Moira MacCleod would not have left the wee lass alone with the Irish brute--and not only because it was well known just how uncivilized t' Irish were in general, but they'd all heard a great plenty about this one in particular. . .yet she'd come to know him just a bit, and unless he'd greatly fooled her--and that would be a first, she could admit with no sense of ego, but simply a truth. No, she well knew that this man meant no harm to the little woman, he'd proven to her and all the rest of the staff of Delaford and the Alliance how important she was to him.
Best to impart her message and leave these two to their own, whatever it was. "I'm sorry to be a bother sir, ma'am, I'd not known you had company Miss Therese. Missus Brandon wanted me to be tellin' ye that she is breakin' her fast in t' library, and she'd like to invite ye to join her if yer able t' leave yer room."
"Please inform Mrs. Brandon--" Dev began, his deep bass voice at its most direct.
"--that I must put on suitable attire, and I shall join her directly," Therese finished for him, her eyes flashing angrily.
"Aye, that I will," the older woman replied, and turning, she retreated from the room.
There was a long silence, during which time Therese rose from the bed, her body slightly unsteady, but growing stronger as she began to move about the room. Dev remained on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his hazel eyes fixed upon her angrily.
"So you mean to go to her then, despite all I've told you, despite all we've been through--it means nothing to you does it?" he demanded.
Therese stiffened at his tone, and turned back toward him slowly. "Certainly, that would be correct. It means nothing at all to me that I thought I had been taken from you forever. It means nothing at all that I lived through unspeakable horrors that I'd never dreamed of, let alone imagined I could survive. It means nothing whatsoever that for the first time in my life I thought that I was going to die--and that the thing that bothered me the most was I couldn't imagine having to leave you alone once again, knowing that when you lost your wife it almost killed you. So how could you imagine that what I'd been through could mean anything at all?"
Eamon's head snapped back at her response, and she saw all too clearly the pain that she'd inflicted. She wanted to recall her words then, knew that she'd always been one to speak her mind rather than think things through, and had never learned to bear the consequences of that action well.
"So then you'll take the chance of putting both of us through that once again?" he asked quietly.
Therese crossed back over to the beside one more time, and lowered herself to the bed beside Eamon. He stiffened for a moment at the contact, then, as had always been the case when he was near this woman, found that he could not hold himself apart from her, and took her in his arms. Therese drew in a ragged breath, and curled herself against his body.
"This is Mary Anne, not HIM," she said after several long moments of silence. "And I need to know whatever story there is behind such a concept as you've told me. At one time I would have been merely curious, but now I need to understand. I can't not know. Please don't be angry with me."
Dev held her to himself even more closely, breathing in the faint scent of lilac that she never seemed to be without and kissing her gently on her forehead. His eyes closed for long moments, fighting to understand and accept her needs, and battling with his own compulsive desire to keep her far away from the slightest possibility of harm.
"You will allow me to accompany you?" he asked bleakly.
"Of course, I always want you with me, you must know that."
"Well then, I suppose we shouldn't keep Mrs. Brandon waiting."
Therese
bottle feeding orphaned kittens right now (*not* mine before the untimely demise of mum, I might add--spay and neuter your pets being my middle name)--this post brought to you compliments of Ken, Bob, Phil, and Shirley, who all require their last feeding of the night in 45 minutes. . .right, best get on with it then, - Thursday, May 31, 2001 at 21:18:35 (PDT)
FOF set:
Mary Anne hurries through the corridors with a dressing gown flung over one shoulder, a pair of carpet slippers in one hand, and a CD in the other. Time had gotten away from her as she sat in her cubicle, drafting out script projections for the scenes of "Mary Anne and Brandon go to the Palace," and had looked up to discover that she had only ten minutes before her massage appointment with Jutta.
Down the hallway, around a corner--
WHUMPFF!!!
Mary Anne collides with The Director, and the CD goes flying--
--to be caught neatly out of the air by The Director, who hands it back as he supports Mary Anne with the other hand. "Steady on, now!" he laughs. "Really, Mary Anne, it will still be there when you get there—whatever it may be."
This, from the man who used to fuss at me if work wasn’t done a week in advance, no less. But she can’t help smiling back. "Well, ‘it’ is my first massage appointment with Jutta."
"Ah." The Director looks pleased. "Good to see you’re following her instructions."
"Yes," replies Mary Anne demurely. "I am following her instructions to the letter." It requires a truly heroic effort of will, to lay no particular stress on the her.
Meanwhile, The Director is peering at the cover of the CD that he has handed back to her. "Boneless Baroque"?
"Another of Jutta’s instructions, sir. She said that to help me relax during the treatment, I should bring a favourite recording of some soothing music." She nods toward the CD. "And anyone who can’t relax during this is strung tighter than Jamie’s cello."
"Sounds just the thing." Then, a little too casually: "And did you have a good weekend? Have some fun?"
What is he driving at? wonders Mary Anne, but she manages not to look at him too sharply. In a duel of wits with The Director, an innocent look is one of her best defenses. "Not this time, I’m afraid," she sighs—perhaps a little too exaggeratedly, for he frowns in sympathy, and she lightens her tone. "Well, you know how it is! Sometimes you have to do everything on the weekend you couldn’t get done during the week, and not always fun things, either—"
"Well, you should get out more. Consider that part of your, ah, relaxation regime."
"Relaxation regime? Sounds like an oxymoron to me." She smiles up at him, blue eyes twinkling through thick, dark lashes.
As if by magic, his voice softens. "I’m serious! It can’t be good for someone like you, sitting home by yourself—"
Hastily, Mary Anne throttles back on the charm. Good Lord, is he about to ask me out?! Say something; say anything . . . "Well, Christopher had a lot to do this weekend, too, but we talked about next weekend . . ."
"Brandon." Some change, here, that Mary Anne is not able to identify. Chagrin? Jealousy? "Ummmmm . . . yes. His company would be very good for you."
Possibly, just possibly, that change could have been relief.
"In what way, sir?" Teasing, now. "Because he helps keep me in order?"
"Partly." Some snap in that—now, that’s The Director she knows. But he is smiling as well. "Partly that, but partly because . . ." Again, that elusive gentleness. "He’s kind, and knows how to treat you well, and . . . and I just think it would be good for you to get out more, do more things you enjoy. You had been working so hard. And I want you to know that I do appreciate it, but the fans wouldn’t thank me if you worked yourself into an extended hiatus for fatigue."
Mary Anne cannot resist. "Or malnutrition, sir."
A piercing look. "Or that, or anything else! Now, get on to your appointment. You mustn’t keep Jutta waiting."
"I won’t. But it’s my first massage ever, and for some silly reason, I feel a bit nervous about it."
"No need. In fact, you should find it very enjoyable. Now, on your way."
Mary Anne nods and hurries on, her head whirling with what has just taken place, until she reaches Jutta’s suite.
As she had been instructed, Mary Anne passes by several doors and knocks on the one at the far end, hearing from within a call of "Enter!" Taking a deep breath, she twists the handle, opens the door, and peeks in.
Jutta is waiting. "Good day, Mary Anne. Everything’s ready for you. If you’d like to step over here, please?"
MA--more Welsh for me?Diolch, Cindie.
Jutta--hope everything IS ready. Bet you thought I'd never get there! 8-), - Thursday, May 31, 2001 at 19:17:02 (PDT)
They wiled away the last bit of the afternoon left to them by continuing to walk through the house as Mistral explained more of some of the rooms and their contents. No more rogue furniture was present and Cindie did not mention the gowns again. They agreed that he would sit with his mother for a bit while she got out the things for dinner. He initially objected but ultimately agreed, realizing that she needed to do something constructive.
Before going down to see what could be found for supper, Cindie went back to her room and began to pack. It didn’t take long but she lingered, looking back at the room she’d only occupied for one night. It might be a cliché but in some ways it seemed a lifetime. She placed the suitcase outside her door as she’d been admonished. Despite her protestations that she was perfectly capable of carrying one suitcase down the stairs, Mistral had insisted that she leave it for him to take to the car. She thought she should’ve found this irksome, but found instead that she appreciated this bit of chivalry.
She chose the route to the dining room which took her through the library. Going immediately to the window she peered out at the stream and its waterfall. It was a breathtaking view and she tried to imagine growing up with it every day. Seeing a flash out of the corner of her eye she turned and noticed Mistral’s cufflinks still on the end table where he’d placed them last night. Cindie strolled over to the table and deftly pocketed the treasure.
Continuing into the dining room she laid the table with china from the immense buffet. There were actually several patterns and she chose a different one from the previous night. She recognized another pattern as being from the same set Mistral had laid their table with that morning in the lunch room when he’d surprised her with the elaborate tea. She’d been so nervous! He’d seemed so stern and unapproachable on the set at first. Drawn to him, she found herself looking for opportunities to observe him, and soon suspected there was much more beneath that guarded exterior than first appeared. It was slowly sinking in that he was drawn to her as well and she found this prospect both exciting and frightening. Not a fear of him, a fear of the intensity. The riddle. In some ways it was more puzzling now than when they’d first begun to see each other. One thing she knew, in trying to untangle it, she was becoming more entangled by the day. Smiling, she also knew that she had no intentions of trying to become disentangled.
The refrigerator and pantry yielded cold ham, assorted cheeses, bread and salad. Placing the food on the table she cubed some of the cheese to make it easier for Mrs. Mistral to pick up. Deciding to go a bit further, she sliced the ham and cut it in manageable pieces and arranged it on a serving platter. She did the same with the bread. There was a water pitcher which she filled but she didn’t know where the wine was kept. She wasn’t about to go looking. Finally, she surveyed her preparations with satisfaction. Dinner was served.
She was just lighting the tapers which had been left on the table from the night before when she heard his foot fall. Looking up, she’d expected to see Mistral leading his mother into the room. “Where’s your…” her voice trailed as she noted his carefully controlled expression.
“Mother is feeling very poorly tonight and will not be joining us,” he said stiffly. His eye caught the carefully set table and the preparations which had obviously been made on his mother’s behalf. “Caaredigrwydd, what a lovely thought…” he began quietly. He pulled himself up and began to clear the place setting where she would have sat.
“Leave it,” her voice as gentle as the fingertips on his arm. “We can clear it later, when we do ours.” His face did not alter expression but he nodded and held the chair out for her. She sat and they ate in an unhappy, though not uncomfortable, silence. “Do you still want to leave?”
“Yes,” his voice was rough and he cleared his throat, “yes. There is nothing I can do and there is no immediate danger.” There was a slight emphasis on the word immediate which was not lost upon her.
They cleared away the dishes and returned the leftovers to the fridge. Cindie had started the coffee which was now ready and she decanted it into the thermos. She’d already located two travel mugs which she packed up with the coffee. “Shall we say our goodbyes?”
“I already did.” He replied stiffly.
Cindie
MA -- somemore Welsh for you.
Looks like Cindie is a klepto., - Thursday, May 31, 2001 at 16:33:26 (PDT)
Miranda woke up without opening her eyes so Metatron wouldnt know, becuase she knew that he was watching her sleep. She just couldn't keep quiet anymore so she said, "Metatron I just realized something. How is it possible for us to get married when you and especially God knows that angels are ill-equiped and that it's immposible for us to..you know."
"Good point. I dont know. I never thought about what God told me after he did." Metatron told Miranda and looked alittle dicouraged that maybe God was playing a joke on him. "Miranda maybe you should go find Vanessa and Tina, I have to go ask God something." So Metatron got up and went off to find God. Im not so sure that Vanessa and Tina will want to talk to me after I blew them off this morning! Miranda thought to herself right before she was about to exit the room. Oh I will go! She left the room sure that Vanessa and Tina were at Anthony and Christians house since she told them to go there and yesterday they told her they were going.
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
no this is not the plan!, - Thursday, May 31, 2001 at 04:47:14 (PDT)
Woo-HOO!
Cindie
I'm glad you're back., - Wednesday, May 30, 2001 at 19:00:46 (PDT)
We missed both of you.
a Rickman admirer
- Wednesday, May 30, 2001 at 17:30:11 (PDT)
Summary of an Official Document Pertaining to the Recently Completed Disturbances in the Shire of Nottingham During the Reign of Our Glorious King Richard Lionheart, Presented at the Trial of the Defeated Malefactors
The harvest was in and the men were celebrating. From farms as far as two miles away they came to the hedge tavern to wear out their elbows hoisting ales. The host and his wife were kept on the run, fetching tankards from the great barrels in the back room and slapping them down on the rickety board laid across two trestles that served as the counter. The shabbiness of their surroundings did not bother the celebrants; as long as they had the joint conviviality of friendship and strong ale, they were prepared to overlook the atmosphere.
It did not seem to bother the two strangers in the far corner of the room either. Despite the large fire roaring in the hearth beside them, they sat with their cloaks pulled close and hunched their shoulders at the crowd. Two cups stood half-full and ignored in front of them.
Whenever the door opened to admit another customer, the younger man twisted around in his chair to scan the newcomer with a distracted eye. Invariably the sight failed to please him and he returned to his companion with annoyance. The thin, bony fingers of both hands grasped his drink tightly. The older man sat motionless except for his gaze that swept back and forth over the room's occupants. To even the most befuddled observer, his quick examination was more thorough than the other's. Fortunately, no one challenged him or returned the stare. The outline of a sword under his cloak was unmistakable.
"How much longer, dammit?" The younger man threw a cursory glance over his shoulder as the door opened again, letting in another thirsty farmer. "You said it wouldn't take long."
"Patience." The older man's voice rumbled up from a deep cavern. "What have I told you from the beginning? Slow and steady wins the race. And stop looking over your shoulder like a purse-snatcher. You'll attract notice."
"I can't help it." An outburst of laughter from the direction of the counter caught his attention for a moment. He returned to his companion, his mouth turned down sulkily. "So close we can almost touch it and we're sitting here in this hovel like a couple of serfs. I thought you had a plan."
"I do. But killing is serious work." He paused to quaff some of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And I'm not going to let some spoiled rich boy ruin it for me. Understand?" His voice turned cold and deadly.
"Yes, yes, I understand. Sorry." The younger man cringed back in his chair. "But you haven't told me anything yet. I don't even know why we're here. You can't expect me to just traipse along after you like a puppy without some idea of what the plan is."
The older man seemed to weigh this comment with deliberation. He was silent for some moments. "Very well. But not here. We'll find some lodging and I'll tell you then. Take these," He dug into his purse and shoved some coins across the table. "And pay the reckoning. I'll meet you outside."
The younger man swept the coins into his hand and marched over to the counter. The older man watched his progress, then placed both hands on the table and stood up.
Silence fell like the blow of an axe on the assembled celebrants. They stared open-mouthed as the hulking giant of a man in the corner adjusted his cloak and stepped around the table. Men who were large and strong enough to wield a scythe from dawn to sunset staggered back like boys as he progressed to the door. Ducking his head to clear the lintel, he walked outside without a backward glance, followed hastily by his younger, slighter companion. The door slammed shut behind them.
After a stunned moment the silence was broken by a rising buzz of conversation as the local men speculated about what they'd just seen. No less amazed, the host of the tavern walked over to collect the abandoned cups from the corner table. He had just gathered them up, slapped at the stained wood table with a dirty rag and turned back to the counter when he caught sight of something under one of the chairs. He stooped with a grunt and rescued a scrap of parchment. With furrowed brow he examined it, regretting that he had never learned to read or write more than his name and tossed it into the hearth.
As he went back to his customers, the parchment caught fire. Flames raced over the words and devoured them hungrily. Soon only a single line at the bottom of the page remained. "George, Lord Nottingham and Lord High Sheriff" was briefly visible, then it shimmered in the heat and dissolved into ash.
Magda
Did you miss him?, - Wednesday, May 30, 2001 at 17:18:45 (PDT)
ok I changed my email adress. I didn't like the old one much!
Miranda <ab234rth>
ok rth=Remember the Holocaust, - Wednesday, May 30, 2001 at 05:03:48 (PDT)
Mistral Manor:
Once back, Mistral immediately went up to check on his mother. Cindie, after a detour to the bathroom, sat in the window seat and picked up a copy of Jane Eyre she’d taken from the library. Mistral turned up after a bit. He did not report her condition but instead suggested they stroll through the house together. So it was that they came to one of the bedrooms, Cindie exclaiming as she tugged him forward into the room, “Here it is. Isn’t it the most unusual chair you’ve ever seen.?”
An eyebrow arched as he looked from her to the chair and back again. “Do you know what it is?” the query came out in a drawl.
“No, it seems very old…”
“It is. It’s a bordello chair.” Each syllable was carefully enunciated for maximum effect.
“A what?” She approached closer to the chair, she hadn’t really studied it, just noted it in passing when she’d gone through the house yesterday. Looking closer, she realized that rather than arms it had handles rising from its side. When she saw the stirrups mounted in its elaborately carved frame she flushed a red almost as deep as the velvet covering it.
Mistral watched as realization slowly dawned on her face. As the colour scorched her cheeks he did not suppress his laughter. That this woman who stirred his passions and delighted his soul, this woman who responded to him… whom he knew would respond to him… was also capable of such embarrassment was a wonder to him. Tearing her eyes from the chair she looked at him now and began to laugh herself. She looked so sheepish he laughed even harder, she in turn, seeing his response, did the same. Tears streaming down their cheeks they held on to each other as they left the bedroom and the chair behind.
Having paused to compose herself and wipe her eyes, Cindie remarked accusingly, “you could have warned me! I’d no idea!” “Only because you allow me the privilege of seeing it, and do me the honour of not trying to pretend you’re not.” “You delight in the oddest things.” “Do I?” “Yes.” She slipped her arm through his again, “It’s a good thing I have peculiar taste in men.” “Oh,” he asked idly, “what taste is that?” He smiled as he saw the telltale flush. But of course the plan won't work itself in for awhile so just wait and you'll see it's good! I know that but I have a plan. ummm... Miranda--Metatron may have to cut off his wings-he's ill equipped in the marriage department. Maybe you should change his name to Ken for now. Miranda woke the net morning refreshed but for a moment she forgot where she was. Oh yeah I'm in Metatron's room, but wait, where is Metatron? Miranda thought to herself and she felt hurt that he had left without waking her to tell where he was going or at least good morning. She got up and proceded to walk to her room when she heard someone opening the door. She jumped back on the bed and covered herself up so she could pretend to be asleep. She peeked out from under the blanket just so she could see who it was but they couldn't see her. The mystery person continued to open the door slowly as if they knew that someone was sleeping in the room. Of course the mystery person was Metatron. Miranda couldn't help keeping quiet so she asked, "Where were you?" Metatron looked at the bed and saw her peeking out from the blankets. "Oh there was a emergency and I had to go, I'm sorry. How long have you been awake?" He asked her and sat next to where she was laying on the bed. "Only for about five minutes or so. Why didn't you wake me up before you left? I was worried sick!" Miranda told him and of course was exaggerating about the worried sick part. "Well because I know the mood you get in when someone wakes you up. I don't want you in that mood today. "Metatron told her and winced at the thought of Miranda in her 'mood'. "Why?" Miranda asked and uncovered her head. "Because I want today to be a day just for us to be together. No Vanessa and Tina just us. Would you like that?" He asked curious what Miranda would think about his plan for the day. "I would love that. "Miranda told him and leaned up to kiss him. "I'm going to go get my clothes, take a shower, brush my teeth, and then brush my hair first ok." "Yeah go ahead. "Metatron said. So Miranda went to her room and did everything she said she was going to quickly so she and Metatron could have all the time in the world today. Once done she went over to her mirror and made sure she didnt look like yesterday and once satisfied she went over to her door. She opened it and standing right there was Vanessa and Tina. "Hello Miranda. Are you busy?" Vanessa asked. "Actually yeah I am. Me and Metatron are spending the day together. Why don't ou guys go occupy yourselves with Anthony and Christian." Miranda said in kindof a sarcastic tone. "Ok fine we will see you tomorrow." Tina said. "Ok I guess I will." Miranda walked right past them and walked towards Metatrons room. When she got there she went in and saw Metatron just laying on the bed staring up at the roof. She went over to the bed and sat down. She put her hand on his cheek and began to lightly stroke it. He turned his head to look at her and then took her hand. He put it to his lips and kissed it and then gave it back to her. She leaned down to kiss him and then layed down next to him. He rolled on top of her and kissed her neck. "Metatron! You know that we cant do that. "Miranda said and tried to get up. "Yeah I know which makes it even better." Miranda finally got him off her and jumped up and leaned against the wall. "Well God might give us a chance to do that once we are married, can't you wait?" Miranda asked him and sighed. "Look I'm sorry OK. I didn't know that you wanted to wait. But now that I know I won't do that again. "Metatron told Miranda and got off the bed to go stand next to her. "I guess I overreacted alittle. "Miranda told him and put her arms around him and put her head on his chest. "That's ok. So what do you want to do now?" Metatron asked her. "Take a nap." Miranda told him and laughed. "A nap? Already?" Metatron asked alittle confused at her decision. "Yeah a nap. I'm tired." Miranda told him and took her srms from around him. She then jumped on the bed and covered up. Metatron followed and the out of the two only Miranda fell asleep but Metatron enjoyed watching her sleep. Shes so small, so fragile, why did I make a move on her? Oh I know beause I wasn't thinking. Metatron thought to himself and hit himself in the head as Miranda often does. If only you could understand how I feel. Wales: Rather than turning back the way they had come, Mistral proceeded in giving her a tour of the area. He took her around all the back roads until Cindie completely lost her bearings. It was all so lovely she wasn’t bothered by this in the slightest. He pulled over briefly and showed her the local castle ruins. A side trip for another day, he said, with a local legend to go with the ruins. Mistral had forgotten the thermos so they didn’t have coffee after their meal. When they reached the nearest town he parked the car and led her to a café in order to rectify this oversight. What interested her even more than the charm and beauty of the town, which was considerable, was the way that the people reacted to their presence. At first she’d simply chalked it up to Welsh hospitality and the friendliness of the townspeople. As they left the car and walked to the café she realized that along with the nods of hello, the greetings, more often than not, were by name. His of course. He in turn greeted many of the townspeople by their names and when they reached the café, it was clear by the demeanor of their host, that Mistral was known. Of course, it occurred to Cindie, he’s a local celebrity. But the realization changed as it became clear that these weren’t star struck fans but people proud of their local boy made good. Mistral for his part was polite and friendly. He seemed comfortable in these surroundings in a way she had never seen him. Always self possessed, his manner now held a different ease which was subtle but definite. The coffee was, not surprisingly, excellent, and they lingered over it. People came and went, most nodding their greetings, but no one came over to the table. They spoke quietly together of unimportant things. It seemed as if their coffee cups were magical as they appeared to be ever-filling as their unobtrusive host kept them well plied with caffeine. Mistral put out both of his hand in invitation and Cindie slid hers into them. “We should go back to the house now.” Cindie nodded. “We never talked about it but I thought we ought to leave right after dinner. We’ll eat early, a light supper, and then I’ll take you back to your flat.” Her exhalation came out as a sigh, “I hate to leave here. Everything is so beautiful and I feel as though I haven’t had a chance to really see much at all.” “We can come again.” “Yes, I suppose we can.” She paused, framing her question, “Is it always hard to leave? “Yes.” “You could take a leave of absence. I’m sure the Director. . .” His response cut across her, “Yes, he would. But. . .” “Then you’d feel helpless seven days out of the week instead of two.” She finished for him. Stupid of her to have mentioned it. He needed to immerse himself in his work, it probably was an anchor for him at a time like this. “Let’s go.” He left the money for their coffee and they returned to the car. Little was said for most of the return drive. Cindie felt like an idiot for even suggesting that he might want to stay here until …. Until what? Until his mother passed away. Could you be any more thoughtless? She mentally castigated herself as the countryside whipped by her window. “It is fine you know.” Mistral was addressing her. “What?” As soon as the word left her lips, she realized to what he was referring. “I want you to tell me whatever you need to, whatever is on your mind. I …need that from you …of all people.” Though she would never have described him as predictable, this truly caught her by surprise. It did not seem in keeping with his normally self assured manner to need to hear anything from anybody. She ached for him. “Be careful what you ask for…” she tried to keep her tone light, “you’re liable to get it. I’m afraid I’ve been known to have a rather over developed sense of candor.” “There are worse flaws,” was all he said as they sped back to the house. Delaford. Mary Anne’s chamber: "—some very fine hand-sewing that you said you wouldn’t trust to anyone else. So I thought you might be able to do this. But only if you wish," adds Mary Anne. "There’s a great deal to do, and I won’t burden you with it if it hinders your regular duties—" "Dinna fash, Missus," replies Moire MacLeod, eyeing the task set before her. "It’s nae trouble, hardly an hour’s work for sharp scissors and a quick needle. Ye need no’ gie it another thought . . ." A delicate pause. "If ye’re sartain ye wish t’do this—" "I’m certain," answers Mary Anne, firmly. "If I must go to the Palace . . ." If I must go, I won’t go looking like some ignorant provincial. If people are going to stare at me, I’ll give them something to stare at. Naturally, she does not speak one word of this to Miss M, who is watching her shrewdly but sympathetically, her manner that perfect balance, as always, of decorum and friendly support. "Will there be anythin’ else, Missus Brandon?" "Yes. You can come back to work on this here; that way, when you’ve done, it will be ready to pack. But first, if you please, go and find Miss Therese. I’m not sure she’s ready to be up and about, but if she is, tell her I’d be pleased if she’d have mid-morning tea with me. It might do her good, but I don’t think she should be with too many people just yet." "Aye, puir wee lass." MacLeod’s golden-red brows draw together. "If ye’ll no’ take it amiss, ma’am, I hope—we all hope—as ye can help send that murtherin’ divvil where HE belongs." "I’ll certainly try." She does not bother to ask how much MacLeod might know; the woman seems to absorb knowledge by osmosis. "Oh, and if you should happen to see the Colonel, tell him where I’ll be. I don’t know if he’ll be about the house mid-morning, but if he wishes to join us for tea, send him along. I’ll ring for you if he comes." "Aye, ma’am, and where should I tell Miss Therese ye’ll be?" "The rose conservatory. But if she doesn’t feel well enough to come, send word to me and I’ll still have my tea there." A sigh. A few minutes’ peace . . . "Aye, ma’am. Would there be anythin’ else?" "Not for now. Go to Miss Therese, and I’ll speak more with you about this other work later." "Very good, ma’am." When MacLeod has gone, Mary Anne spends some time dispiritedly in the chambers she shares with Brandon, making an attempt to pack but hardly knowing what she will need, nor for how long, and she finally gives it up as a bad job--I really need to talk more with Christopher before I finish this--and sits down for a moment on the end of the bed to rest her ankle. McCoy’s prediction had been correct; it is still sore but much improved. It won’t keep me from travelling, that’s for certain. And I wonder how we’ll travel? Surely they’d want to get us there as quickly as possible . . . It is a little while before Mary Anne realizes that she is distracting her mind with small details in an effort to ward off the thought of HIM. The great question and the great dread: what will it be like for her to see The Interrogator again? Since the time she had shared HIS mind, Mary Anne had developed the means of keeping The Interrogator’s memories at bay. Difficult at first, the process had become easier with practice, though she cannot help wondering what it will do to both of them when they meet again, face to face. If The Doctor was right about that feedback from the transfer, HE’s still suffering from it. I wonder if proximity affects it? The Doctor helped me . . . but what will happen with HIM? HE may already be unstable . . . Mary Anne grimaces and shakes her head. It doesn’t do to think of such things. Whatever happens will simply happen, though she is filled with a dismal sense of isolation; what is between her and The Interrogator is between them alone, their experience indescribable to most of the human race. Brandon protects her, of course, with his love and strength and sound judgment, but only so far as he can protect her. She has been where he cannot follow. This is ridiculous. Just go and get it over with. But before you go, there are things to do here, and Christopher needs you at your best in this, just as you need him. At least tryto live up to that. Now, suck up your gut . . . Her gut—such as it is—adequately sucked up for the time being, Mary Anne sets about the tasks in the chamber with renewed vigour and actually accomplishes some substantial packing, together with a list for Miss MacLeod and the housemaids . . . Suddenly, she stops. I almost forgot. I should have told Miss M while she was here. While in the library with Commander Hudson, Mary Anne had noticed a pile of glass fragments to one side of the fireplace. Looks like one of the snifters was broken. I wonder how? They were fine when Christopher and I were there. Mary Anne adds "broken glass by library fireplace" to her list. She leaves it where Miss M will see it when she returns to attend to the sewing, and glances at the clock. Good heavens, is it that time already? Therese will be wondering where on earth . . . A quick check in the mirror, and then a grin at her own self-consciousness. Therese isn’t likely to care whether Mary Anne’s hair is especially tidy, nor whether the velvet collar on her gown lies smooth and neat. But still, it’s only polite. She’s a friend by now, certainly more than a "guest," but a friend deserves better than to see me looking like I’d been in a thunderstorm, now, doesn’t she? Don’t want to scare the poor thing all over again. And with a little laugh at her own mental twists and turns, Mary Anne hurries away to the rose conservatory and her mid-morning tea . . . After the movie they all went outside the theater and sat down on a bench just to rest and get one last glince of Earth before they had to go back to Heaven and Hell. During the movie Miranda just couldn't concentrate on what was happening and thinking about what Metatron had said. Imagaine that I was wrong all along, Miranda thought to herself and smiled. Miranda looked at Vanessa and Tina now without jealousy but regret because she knew that as soon as this mission, test, whatever was over that they would have to leave Anthony and Christian behind and that they would get really mean towards Miranda since she still had her love with her. Miranda forgot about them for a moment and looked at Metatron. He was staring at something or someone in the distance and Miranda was curious as to what so she asked, "Metatron what are you staring at?" It seemed as if he wasn't paying attention because she said it again and this time he answered. "Oh sorry, I'm looking at that couple over there they look so happy so content. Are we like that?" "Kindof we haven't been in love that long to be like them. We have only been in love since I started my training 1, no, 2 weeks ago. "Miranda said remembering the first time Metatron kissed her and the shock she had been in. It seems like only yesterday, Miranda thought to herself. "You're right and you know what that also means your first mission is over. "Metatron said and smiled at her. "It is, already, what's planned for me next?" Miranda asked curious as to find out what she was going to be assigned next. "Um,/I think you're going to be, Oh I don't know." Metatron told her. "You don't know? I thought you knew everything that was planned out for me." Miranda said with great frustration on her part. "Well you thought wrong. "He told her and laughed. She hit him playfully on the back and said, "Hey that's not funny." "Yes it is. "Metatron said and continued to laugh. "Fine be that way. "Miranda said and she stuck her nose in the air with her arms crossed at ther chest. "Oh, look your using your little miss prissy attitude. You know I don't like that." Metatron said with a little bit of a mean tone. "Yeah I know that's why I'm doing it." Miranda said and had her share of the laughing. She kept laughing at him until she heard the beeping of his watch and stopped. "Why did it do that?" Miranda asked. "Because it's time for us to go."/Metatron said and made the watch stop beeping. "Bye guys." Miranda said to Vanessa, Tina, Anthony, and Chritian. Metatron then grabbed Miranda's hand and pulled her to a safe place where they could get back to Heaven without being caught. They arrived in Metatron s room and he asked Miranda, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" "J'aimerais cela."Miranda answered and gave him a kiss. "First let me go get ready for bed, OK." Miranda told Metatron and gave him another kiss. "OK go ahead. "Metatron answered back. So Miranda went off to her room and got on her PJs, brushed her teeth, and brushed her hair. She ran all the way to his room threw the door open closed it behind her and jumped in the bed right on top of Metatron. "Watch it Miranda." He said and she rolled off of him. He wrapped his arms around her in a silent embrace and they fell asleep shortly after. Of course having pleasent dreams about each other. Wales: She finally collected herself and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, its just…” “I know. Hush now.” He continued to press her close and laid his cheek on her head, knowing that some of those tears were for him, turned his face towards her hair. He made no move to let her go so she simply put her arms around him, hugged him and said in what she hoped was a steady voice, “It’s alright,” unaware her words echoed his, “shall we walk on?” They proceeded along the path, saying little, until it ended in what looked like a theatre made of earth and grass and rock. “What’s this?” she asked him. “It’s Roman. An outdoor amphitheatre.” “It’s certainly impressive.” He placed the basket on the ground and they walked around the expansive lawn. She ran her hand over moss covered stones, wondering at how something so ancient had endured, in its own way, to this day. “Lunch time,” he announced. There weren’t any trees here but they found a nice spot protected by a large grouping of stones. Mistral spread the blanket and Cindie sat down to investigate what he had put together for this picnic. She set out the plates, stone wear. Pulled out glasses, a bottle of wine, sandwiches, the leftover fruit from breakfast, and some other assorted containers. That basket must’ve weighed a ton and he’d carried it like it had held feathers. He joined her on the blanket which was thick and soft. Though a beautiful day it was chilly and they sat close together. They ate, and Cindie enjoyed her dessert, but it was too cold to linger after they’d finished. They gathered up the remnants of their repast and stuffed everything back in the basket and made their way back to the car. Yup, you forgot the slash (/) on your closing italics tags. It's all fixed now, no problem. YEA I realized what I have been doing wrong I have been ending the italics thing wrong I realized this while listening to my redio! I'M such a dummy! And yet again im sorry for messing it up! OK Im about to be sick because alas I did it AGAIN!! I'm so sorry! I better go hide so noone can hurt me for doing it 3 times! Brandon AMC: Miranda, Vanessa, and Tina arrived just in time because Christian and Anthony were about to leave. "Where were you guys we have been waiting for over an hour now!" Christian said loud enough to turn a few passerbys heads. Loser Miranda thought and laughed to herself. "Sorry Chris we where stuck in Heaven because Miranda wouldnt get up and then she came out looking like she just woke up so we had to go and do her make-up and stuff ourselves." Vanessa said and shot a cruel look at Miranda. Miranda smiled sarcastically and asked, "So what movie are we going to see?" "Um, I think we will see The Mummy Returns. That's the new movie with the Rock in it. "Anthony said. Miranda was at that point envious of Vanessa and Tina. Both the boys had thier arms around them and they looked happy. Why did I have to say all that stuff to Metatron? Our love was strong but now it's shattered in millions of pieces, Miranda though to herself and frowned. But at that moment Metatron appeared behind Miranda and put his arms around her waist. He then moved his hands to her eyes and whispered softly in her ear, "Guess who?" She whirled around and put her arms around him giving him a hug and a kiss. She didn't have to worry because this time Metatron was visible to the public. She put her head on his chest and began to cry. "I'm so sorry about this morning. Will you ever forgive me?" Miranda sobbed. "Of course! How can I ever not forgive you." Metatron said and kissed the top of her head. "Ok time to end this period of romance Miranda. Heres you guys tickets." Vanessa said and handed them the tickets. They walked in and handed the person at the front their tickets he looked at Miranda funny, yes the hair, and directed them to the theater where the movie they where to see would be playing. The group then walked over to the snack counter and bough a couple things. Miranda bought a bag of popcorn and a Cherry Coke for her and Metatron to share. Once in the theater they sat in the back and waited for the movie to start. Metatron then remebered the conversation he and God had had. Should I tell her? I think she's ready, especially since she asked for forgiveness in tears. "Um, Miranda I have something to tell you." Metatron said and faced Miranda hoping she would take this well. "Yes what is it?" She asked in a pleasent tone. "Well after you walked away this morning I went and talked to God and he said that, well, I will not be turning into a moratl once your training is over but I will be staying in Heaven with you and if our relationship is still sturdy we will be able to get married." Metatron said nervously. Miranda squeled and jumped up and onto Metatrons lap. "You're not kidding right?" Miranda asked. "Of course not this isn't a subject to kid about." Metatron told Miranda pleased that she had taken it the right way. "OHMIGOD this is great I can't wait!" She said and kissed Metatron. Out of all the excitement the two didn't even realize that the movie had started. "Hey you two lovebirds be quiet the movie has started." Vanessa said and turned back around to watch the movie. Miranda gave Metatron one last kiss and sat back down in her own seat and began to watch the movie. Italics fixed... again. OOPS I DID IT AGAIN! OK Im dangerous how could I do that again after being humiliated from doing it the first time! OI VAYE!! Metatron felt awkward(?) about what just happened between Miranda and him. Shes losing it. If only I would have kept my big mouth shut maybe she would be the normal person she used to be, before... Last night had been innapropriate as Miranda had said. But Metatron just couldn't fight the urge anymore. Wait I know what I can do in a situation like this. How bout I drink some tequila. No I swore to myself I would stop! Metatron said and frowned. Metatron kept walking around and then finally saw the person who he needed to talk to the most, God of course. Metatron walked over to him (as Metatron thinks God is but Miranda thinks God is a woman!). "Hello Metatron. I sense something is troubling you what is it my dear friend?" God asked and put a hand on Metatrons shoulder and they began to walk. "Well it's Miranda." Metatron said looking sad. "Oh yes. You've gotten yourself in a bit of trouble with her. But of course if this relationship is keeping you both happy and at the same time Mirandas able to complete her training successfully I'll allow it to continue. But I have a secret to tell you." God told Metatron. "And what is that?" Metatron asked curious to find out what this 'secret' was. "Well when Mirandas training is all complete you will not be turning into a mortal." God said and looked at the expression of confussion that came onto Metatrons face. "Excuse me?" Metatron asked God keeping the same expression locked on his face. "Well I've decided that if this relationship succedes that I'm going to allow you to stay in Heaven with Miranda and you guys can get married." God said and smiled as a look of joy passed over Metatrons face but then the same look of confussion came back when God mentioned Miranda and Metatron getting married. Is that even possible? Metatron asked himself and of course since God can read minds he said, "Yes it is Metatron. You see its happened before but that was before I declared that angels can't drink so you can't remember one bit of it." God said and laughed. "Oh, yes I vagely remeber the weddings but now that I know that me and Miranda can get married I'm happier then ever!" Metatron said and smiled. "Thats the spirit. Now you musn't tell Miranda until you know that she is ready, OK." God said and gave Metatron a stern look, the same that Metatron had givin Miranda a little earlier. "I will, don't worry." Metatron said and he and God talked for alittle while longer. Jump to: Mirandas room "Miranda, hold still youre squiggling like a worm!" Vanessa said as she tried to apply make-up to squiggling Miranda, so as you can tell she dosn't want them to. "Never! Do I have to always wear make-up it's not like I'm inpressing anyone?" Miranda said and stopped squiggling so they could answer. "Sure Miranda you want to impress Metatron because you think he the hottest thing since, well, Hell" Tina said and then Vanessa and Tina laughed at the joke while Miranda screamed in a high pitched voice, "I DO NOT!" "Yes you do Miranda face it. I'm done." Vanessa said and gave Miranda a mirror. Miranda looked at herself and she looked normal again. "Comeon you guys! We're more then an hour late and we told Christian and Anthony to wait for us at the movie theater!" Tina said and pointed to the watch on her wrist. So off the three went to meet the two 'mortals' at the movies. Italics fixed. All is being taken care of. OHMIGOD look what I have done. Jeez I knew I did something wrong! Oh I fell horrible. Can somebody fix this? Miranda woke that morning with a huge headache. She could remember all about last night and she felt, horrible, yes thats the best word to describe how she felt right then. She heard someone knock on her door so she said, "come in!" and in came Vanessa and Tina with aggravated looks on thier faces. "You were supposed to meet us at the movies Miranda, and that was one hour ago." Vanessa said and scowled. "OHMIGOD, I'm so sorry I totally forgot!" Miranda said and hit herself in the head. "Well we will be waiting outside. You have 10 minutes!" Tina said and then walked out the door with Vanessa close behind. After they had left, Miranda got up and walked over to her mirror. Uh, look at this hair I really need to do something about it! She picked up her brush and began to brush her hair. Once most off the knots were out of it she put the brush down and put on her clothes. She walked over to her door and stopped. Should I really go, I have a whole weekend. Oh, I'll go! She walked out with her eyes on the floor and she looked up only to see where Vanessa and Tina were. She looked down to the floor again and quickened her pace. She was almost to where thy were standing when she ran right into, Metatron. "Oh, I'm so sorry I wasnt looking where I was going." Miranda said keeping her eyes to the floor. "Miranda what is the matter?" Metatron asked and put his hand to her cheek. She reached up to where his hand was, squeezed it and then let go off it. "Oh nothing I'm just fine." Miranda looked up to face him said this and then gave him a kiss. "Miranda, thats not appropriate and you know it." Metatron said and gave Miranda a stern look. "Well then Metatron what was last night? That surely wasnt appropriate!" Miranda screamed at him. "Miranda, calm down. You dont need to be acting like this, especially in the state your in!" Metatron said and put his hands on Mirandas shoulders to try and calm her down. "No Metatron I'm not going to calm down! And what do you mean the state that I'm in?!" Miranda screamed once again. "Miranda you look horrible thats what I mean." Metatron said in a calm tone. Miranda slapped him and said, "Well I guess that means that you don't love me anymore." Miranda said and walked over to where Vanessa and Tina stood in shock. "Miranda you're really out of it today. Do you see what pain Metatron is in right now, you hurt his fellings." Tina said and gestured to where Metatron had stood just moments before. "And he's right Miranda you do look horrible. WHAT? NO MAKE-UP just what were you thinking?!" Vanessa screamed. So Vanessa and Tina grabbed Mirandas arm and begand to pull her towards her room. "No stop! I look just fine!" Miranda scremed and tried to pull away. Wales: As he drove Mistral kept glancing at his companion. She hadn’t said much since they left the house and appeared to be content looking out the window and tossing an occasional comment to him about what they saw. He didn’t mind this in the least. His frame of mind was hardly expansive. In just the week since he’d seen her last his mother’s condition had worsened dramatically. Perhaps he ought to take a leave of absence to stay with her more. The Director would allow it, he’d said as much. But then, there was so little he could do. He knew his mother liked to see him, but lately she couldn’t even make it past an hour or so…. He’d give it another week. When he returned next weekend he’d reassess the situation. He knew in his heart that things could not go on as they were much longer. He looked over at Cindie again. Had he been right to bring her here? Was it a selfish act, exposing her to this? He so wanted her to understand. The grip of his hands tightened on the steering wheel. There was so much to tell her, before…. He knew that he would be able to tell her all too soon. Then who knew what would happen. Spying the spot he’d had in mind he pulled the car over and parked. At her squeal of delight a bolt of pleasure shot through him. He knew it was all worth it. Exiting the car he reached back for the covered basket and joined her in admiring the view. The sweeping countryside unfolded before them like a landscape painted just for them. The few clouds that remained in the sky were picturesque rather than threatening. “Walk with me?” he invited, holding out his hand. She took his hand and nodded, smiling at him as he led them to the walking path. The path he’d chosen was gentle and sloping and for the most part they could walk hand in hand. Occasionally they would have to go single file and Mistral set down the basket and assisted her over the rough spots. He was not at all sure she needed his assistance, but he enjoyed giving it and the lady did not object in the slightest. The walk had various spots carved out in order for one to pause and take in the view. At one of these he paused to do just that. Not the one intended by the planners, but one that caught at his heart even more than this land to which he had been born. Realizing she was the object of scrutiny, she looked back at him, but did not move to touch him. As she stood there, he realized that her eyes were beginning to fill with tears. He moved to her and put his arms around her. As he did, he could feel her quiet sobs and he pulled her to his chest. Holding her tight he murmured, “Fy annwyl. My dear, its alright.” He felt his own throat tighten as he held her close. Barbara--oh, my! *blushing* Phil's very welcome, I'm sure. And no doubt . . . no doubt . . . Brandon would say the same. Wales: When they left the room Cindie was ashamed at how relieved she felt. Those two had talked about the past for the better part of an hour. His mother would occasionally become confused or simply drift off. Cindie would’ve thought she’d have enjoyed hearing about Mistral’s childhood and gleaning a hint of the man he had become. Instead it had been tortuous in the stuffy room listening to them talk of trivialities as the woman seemed to waste away before her eyes. She knew it was wrong to feel this way but she couldn’t help it. She’d lived through this before, and knew it wouldn’t be long. Did Patrick realize? He must. The calm demeanor was costing him, she was sure of that. Yet, when together, the family of two retreated from the present into what should have been the safety of the past. But even that seemed as riddled as a minefield. “Let’s go for a drive.” He said resolutely as they walked down the hall. She nodded her assent. Half an hour later they were in the car. Despite the early rain the sun was now out and it looked to be a beautiful day. Mistral had packed them a basket and they set out. FOF set. Cafeteria. "If meeting Brandon, tell him I've always thought him a dish." Shelley'd said that, near the end. "Did she now?" Barbara asked, her eyes alight over the rim of the waterglass. "Will you tell him that?" If Phil did, Barbara wanted to be there. Brandon, unlike Mistral, could still blush. And did. Phil shrugged, hunched over his mug of hot tea, both hands wrapped around the white porcelain like a bathrobe. "Not likely. I'll not be repeating that, belike. But I'll be needing to thank both Brandon and Mary Anne for what they'd done, all unknowing, for Shelley." Barbara put her glass down on the table with delicate precision. She gave him that level, amused look he'd come to dread--and appreciate. "Oh?" she asked. "I'd come in one afternoon. The pair of them, Shelley and Sandra, up on the sofa like a litter of kittens. Watching." Watching FoF. He'd never watched it, but apparently the pair of them were addicts. He'd laughed at them until they shushed him, glued to the details of Renie's wedding and the events on Egdon Heath. He'd been utterly confused by the interactions and shared histories, convoluted as they were, but he'd been slowly brought up to speed. Despite himself, he'd enjoyed it. Barbara nodded. Phil didn't often open up like this. He'd forgotten how. He'd forgotten a lot of things, like how to laugh alound, in those ten years in Keighley. Amused sneers had been about all he'd been able to generate. Joy had been a stranger to him. Barbara had come to visit Shelley off and on during the last year, when it was really bad. It hurt to see her old school chum looking so hollow. Illuminated one moment, cold and dark the next. Like a house people were packing to move out of. "Oh, yes, I remember," she said, pulling the toothpick from her sandwich. "I came in on them once in the hospital, rolling around on the bed and laughing like hyenas. I think it was something about Mary Anne's birthday at the aniiversary party. I asked some of the cast about it but everyone just blushed. Except Mistral, of course. Even the Director blushed. But no one will discuss it." She took a bite, her white teeth into the dark rye. "Ah." Phil avoided Barbara's eyes, though he could feel them on him. Abruptly, he wondered if she would go--no, she was Shelley and Sandra's friend. She was probably...not interested in blokes. "Tried not to be angry around Shelley. No help to her, being." He glance up to Barbara's face, to see her watching him with concerned eyes, her long fingers making dimples int he soft, dark bread. She nodded at him, encouragingly. She was always encouraging. Barbara had watched Phil fight his way out of the habitual dour mood he'd fallen into, in Heighley. She'd teased him, unmercifully, the way she teased Shelley, to make her laugh. Teasing Sandra had been more difficult, more delicate, though rewarding. But teasing Phil had been a joy; one which Shelley had been wickedly happy to help her do well. Phil had learned to accept the teasing; first, to bring increasingly rare smiles to Shelley's face and, later, to acknowledge the growing friendship. "Angry was easy?" she asked. "Too easy. Habit somewhat. So I'll be finding Brandon, and Mary Anne, sometime. Tell them 'bout it all. Thank them for what they'd been doing for Shelley," Phil said. "And what they'd done for you?" she asked. "Or will you neglect to mention that?" He looked at her with some startlement. She paused and released a little grin. "Schlafly, I'm shocked." Phil cocked an eyebrow and drank his tea. Mistral Manor: They both sat on one side of the hospital bed which had been set up in his mother’s room. The rest of the furnishings were an eclectic blend of very old and more modern pieces. There was a photograph on the dresser of her as a young woman holding a baby, presumably Mistral, but no other pictures. There was another room which Cindie could glimpse that appeared to have certificates or diplomas on the wall and a large desk. It must have been her office. She was only half listening as mother and son reminisced about the summer of the pony. When they’d come into the room Sybill got up and excused herself. Cindie wondered how she managed essentially by herself caring for this woman. Then she supposed arrangements were made to have someone come in and relieve her from time to time. The graceless hospital bed made Mistral’s mother appear even smaller. It was probably a necessity for comfort and safety but it jarred the senses. When she saw Cindie she gave a tight little smile “Oh, the writer girl. Come in and sit down.” Cindie had not bothered to correct her. This morning there was in IV in place and the woman occasionally hit a button on the IV cart. Pain killers. Cindie thought to herself. The drug seemed to be released on demand and Cindie shuddered as she realized there was no concern about addiction. Her attention returned to the description of the fat little creature that had seemed so daunting to Mistral at age six. “I took him down the road, dead center the whole way. I was convinced that I’d end up in a ditch if I let him get too near the edge. His forelock was so long I didn’t think he could see anything.” His mother chuckled, “But you were riding him like you were born to it by August.” Mistral smiled at the memory. “Yes. I did enjoy that.” “What happened to him?” Cindie asked. They both stared at her. “Sold,” was Mistral’s only response. LOL, Therese!! Poor, poor Dev. He just can't seem to catch a break, can he? And it's good to see that Joanna McCoy is keeping up the tradition of walking in at the worst possible time. ;-) Maybe everyone should just calm down and have a diversion-maybe watch Bambi? Delaford. Dev's Quarters: Mary Anne? Therese looked up into Dev's face, his eyes so close to her own, the weight of his body across hers, the despair so evident in every nuance of his body and face. "Mary Anne?" Therese said aloud this time, her voice showing her confusion. "How could someone like that possibly be involved with someone like. . .HIM? You've been upset lately, Eamon--we've all been under far too much strain. You must have misunderstood." She brushed the stray locks of hair from his forehead, her touch gentle. Dev shook his head slowly, his expression grim. "If only that were true, but the discussion I heard was between Brandon and Mary Anne themselves--I have it from her own tongue that she not only helped HIM to escape, but she was as HE was, very nearly a part of HIM." Therese shook her head, negating Eamon's words, simply unable to comprehend what he told her. "But that makes no sense, 'Nearly a part of HIM'? Eamon, how can that be? She could not have aided HIS escape, I simply cannot believe it of her. It's just not true." Therese's large brown eyes clearly showed the depth of her tormnet, and she blinked furiously at her tears. Mary Anne helped HIM to escape? She allowed HIM freedome so that HE was able to take me on what was to have been my wedding day? It can't be true--no one would have helped HIM, no one who knew of HIS evil would ever come to HIS aid. . . Eamon rolled over to one side, and drew Therese to his chest. "I know, it's hard to believe," he said, placing his hand underneath her chin and gently tipping her gaze up toward his own, "but I heard her myself. I don't pretend to understand it, but both she and Brandon said it just the same." "No!" Therese cried out her disbelief shakily. "I simply cannot believe that. . .that if not for Mary Anne then neither you or I would have--well that we would have had to live through the past several days. That if she hadn't helped HIM to escape that none of this would have happend." She wrenched herself from Eamon's grasp, and jumped up from the bed, her legs shaking crazily beneath her. "Just what do you think you're doing?" Dev demanded, quickly moving to her side and placing a steadying hand along her waist. "This, Eamon, is just too much to deal with, I'll simply not think of it until I can to make sense of this absurd tale." He considered her for a long moment, one eyebrow raised, both hands now placed firmly on her hips, no longer steadying, but now holding her possessively. "And just how, pray, do you anticipate being able to make any sense of it?" he asked, knowing and fearing her answer at the same time. "Well I should think that would be obvious," Therese sighed, "I'm going to find Mary Anne and ask her what this nonsense is all about." Eamon's eyes closed for a long moment as if seeking strength, but more likely grasping for patience as his hands tightened about Therese. "In your condition?" he finally managed, "I think not." "Oh, I think so," Therese replied hotly as she lifted a foot to step away from Dev. That limb never managed to touch the ground as she was immediately lifted into Eamon's arms, and returned to the bed. When she would have begun a volatle protest, he covered her again with his body, gently pinning her beneath himself, and propping the majority of his weight on his elbows as he looked down into her eyes. The trauma of his news was evident there, and she looked completely shell shocked by the information. There was little doubt in Eamon's mind that Therese would have told him very specifically her opinions of his high handed approach, and how she regarded his tendency, once again, to use force against her when she wished to defy him. There was no doubt she would have said much to him, had she not been interruptd by the sound of the door swinging open, and a startled female gasp at the sight of Eamon lying fully across Therese, her arms pinned beneath him on the bed. "For God's sake, have I not told you to leave the poor woman alone!?" Dev sighed as Joanna McCoy's voice, hot with indignation, rang across the room. Claudia felt the coldness from the stone floor creeping through the soles of her boots, and up her body. She shivered. HIS voice continued to probe her other self, on the video tape. “You left me alone.” “You don’t have feelings. All you know is how to hurt others.” “What’s going on? Bring it back!” Yelled Claudia, a little too loudly, and her voice trailing off into a high pitched squeak. She wondered how the Interrogator, through the thin mirror could possibly not have heard her. She turned briefly to look through the mirror, but HE was unmoved, still lying on his bed, and reading a book. As she moved towards Rupert, his stick came up and poked her in the chest, keeping her safe distance from him. “There in lies the problem,” he said. “that is where the recording ends… or rather, was interrupted.” “What…?” His stick moved from her chest, trailed down her side, then tapped against her thigh. “The implant in your leg, the one the Doctor couldn’t remove, in case it was booby trapped. So much had happened since then, the implant had slipped her mind, until now. “The implant suddenly changed its signal. The Doctor has been monitoring it, and came to us immediately. The change in signal coincided with the recording equipment failure.” “But I don’t even know what it does.” “Whatever it does, we now have a problem. The Interrogator obviously has some control over you. He could have programmed you to kill the Empress, and you wouldn’t know it. And WE wouldn’t know it, because we don’t have the tape.” “But I’m on your side!” Claudia sat back down hard on the chair. She hated not to be in control. Now, not only has she found some missing time, but the possibility she could be programmed by HIM, to do HIS bidding. How did she know that isn’t what happened before, when she’d gone on a mission to swap some test results in a hospital, far away. Was HIS power over her hypnotic or electronic? The Interrogator’s cell: With brisk, regular steps, HE paces the boundaries of the cell. This has become a constant practice with HIM—and if any observers read in it the signs of an obsessive behaviour, so much the better. Let them mistake this ritual for a means to stave off boredom or to prevent the atrophy of muscle. Let them see it for anything save what it is: careful scrutiny of that particular wall through which The Empress had entered the cell. Under the cover of those walks around and around the walls, The Interrogator has observed that one wall so intently that the outlines of a door are almost visible to the naked eye. To my eye. To any eye that knows what to seek. HIS patience and care are paying other dividends as well. The guards in the corridor have imperceptibly relaxed their once-constant vigilance; imperceptibly, that is, to any common observer. But HE has noticed. That, and several other things: HE is developing a hyperacute awareness of every sound, every motion, and even a sense of when someone might be watching HIM from the other side of the mirror. At first he could not think how he sensed this, until he had noticed that the lights would occasionally dim or flicker for a mere fraction of a second—in the same manner, he had noted, as when a nearby power source on the same line is activated. Another set of lights, perhaps? A camera? A re-boot on a computer? A small detail, but a telling one. HE might be tempted to dismiss this as a long guess, had he not since discovered listening devices in his cell. HE thinks of how Claudia had discovered the bugs he had placed in her room when she had appeared with her claim that she wished to offer her services as assistant, and smiles that thin, cruel smile that might make any hidden observer think twice about continuing to watch. Yes, her . . . services . . . proved most enjoyable. And instructive. She may yet be of use . . . HE recollects that she had found the more carefully-hidden device, but missed the obvious one. In this cell, he has discovered two devices and had the shrewdness to leave them strictly alone; no point in giving the game away by indicating that he has found them. If, he wonders uneasily, they are what they appear to be. I would not put it past her to plant false ones . . . He shakes off the thought. Better to assume that the bugs are what they appear to be, and not drive himself insane with second-guessing. But he has noted that from one of the devices near the head of his bed, there is sometimes a telltale crackle of static that coincides with the flicker of the lights. A mere whisper of sound, but still, occurring when it does . . . it could be a sign of activity. An indication that someone is there, watching. Coming into some room behind the mirror, perhaps, and activating surveillance equipment. The Interrogator’s eyes narrow as HE leaves his circling of the cell and draws close to the mirror, affecting to examine himself in it. After some moments, his reflection truly does catch his eye and he looks carefully at his own image. Some prison pallor: yes, that is to be expected. But without making a show of it before the mirror, he can see that his body retains its strength and flexibility; the walks around the cell have served more than one good purpose. Still moving with that casual deliberation, HE leaves the mirror and returns to the bed, selects one of the books sent down from the Palace library, and affects to read—and even remembers to turn pages at regular intervals, though his mind is far from the text. They have me, but they will not keep me long. A chilly smile. Those small clues his captors had overlooked: the lights, that little buzz of static—they have done a respectable job of confining him, considering the circumstances. But to allow a prisoner any clue as to when he is being scrutinized . . . well, a respectable job is not the same as the thoroughly professional service HE would render. The Empress and her subordinates are, in the last analysis, too hampered by a sense of ethics to carry out such a task in all of its fine details. My people would never have made such mistakes, and I certainly would not. If they are indeed mistakes. If he has not read extraordinary significance into misbehaving electrical circuitry. If The Empress, formidable adversary that she has shown herself, is not toying with HIM even now, before moving in for the kill. The Interrogator is under no illusions about what awaits HIM. Soon, they will come for him—once again, a courtroom and the apparatus of a trial, and . . . With a small tremor that even HE cannot quite suppress, The Interrogator turns his attention once more to the pages in his hands. Per me si va nella citta dolente, Very well, Mister I, if you insist . . . but meet me in an alternate timeline. What we have in mind would certainly never be allowed in this one. MA, I think SHE and I compliment each other rather well. Sorry I havnt posted my real story in so long. But I just had to say this. Last night I was watching a new movie on some cable channel called Anne Frank and well it came on for two hours on Sunday and two hours last night (it lasted 4 hours) but the one last night Anne was found hiding and taken by the Nazis and she went into like many camps (death camps, work camps, concentration camp) I just couldn't take it anymore when she was in the concentration camp I started crying and I didnt stop until an hour after it was over and by that time it was 12:00! It was very very sad. Re: rather handsome. Mister I, if you remember who said that to you . . . well, I don't think you want any more compliments from the likes of HER, do you? Mistral Manor: Cindie awoke slowly, drinking in her surroundings and relishing in the warmth of the quilts in which she lay curled. There was no sense of disorientation, she knew exactly where she was. The sound of a soft rain could be heard. It seemed to rain quite a lot here. Stretching, she wondered what time it was but didn’t bother to check just yet. She lay in the daze of half sleep and heard the sounds of doors opening and closing down the hall. After Patrick had said goodnight, for the second time, she fell asleep almost immediately and slept soundly for the remainder of the night. She hoped he’d done the same. She didn’t see or hear anyone on her trek down the hall and back. Dressed and feeling well rested she made her way downstairs. On impulse she’d chosen to take the back stairs and make her way to the kitchen. Her hunch had been right and was rewarded with the sight of Mistral, seated at the table where they’d lunched yesterday, sipping a cup of coffee and reading the paper. He raised an eyebrow at her in greeting and they said their good mornings. “What’s for breakfast? I’m starved,” she asked, seeing the table devoid of plastic wrapped goodies. “I’m glad you turned up. I was beginning to think I’d have to bring breakfast to your bed.” That flash in his eyes. He stood up and stretched. He was wearing a casual men’s shirt the colour of cinnamon and chinos. The silk of his shirt rippled as he stretched. Without another word he went over to the business end of the kitchen and set to work. Cindie checked out the stainless steel refrigerator and located the milk for her coffee. As she spotted the coffee pot and headed towards it, Mistral paused in his preparations and opened the cupboard above it, displaying the coffee cups. Cindie selected one, added milk first and poured the coffee. She watched him pop bread in the toaster and stir a sauce on the stove. It was all so regular and domestic and pleasant. “Something smells good. What are we having?” she asked as he pulled down plates and set two pieces of toast on each. “This is Wales, my dear. We’re having cheese on toast.” “Is that a rule? I didn’t know.” She found the juice glasses above the coffee cups and brought them to the table along with orange juice. Mistral followed with the plates, set them down and went to the refrigerator where he pulled out a platter of fresh fruit, and they sat down to breakfast. Mistral watched as she tried his cooking. Based upon the eye rolling and little mewing sounds she was making he judged that it was to her liking. This pleased him a bit more than he thought it probably ought. “So what is the agenda today?” She asked him, as she mopped up the last bit of cheese sauce. Thoughts of literally licking the platter clean had crossed her mind but she resisted the temptation. There really wasn’t anything left to lick anyway. He sat back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. “When mother wakes we can go sit with her and visit for as long as she is …able.” Pausing for another sip he continued, “Then we can do whatever you’d like.” He placed the cup on the table and ticked the items off his fingers, “We could go for a drive, I could accompany you on a *guided* tour through the house,” he beamed at her, “we could go hiking or fish.” “Fish?” Her tone was incredulous. “Yes. Fish. Although I must admit that wouldn’t be my first choice today.” “Shall we wait and see what the weather is doing later?” “Certainly.” He began to clear the table. “I thought Mary did the cooking and clean-up.” “Not on Sundays. A cleaning crew comes in weekly and Mary is here all day Saturday and on the weekday evenings, but other than that we manage for ourselves. I can handle a few dishes you know.” “I know. It’s just surprising somehow. It seems so normal.” He knew what she meant, but he certainly wasn’t going to let her off that easily. Assuming a pained expression he replied, “What do you mean? You don’t think I’m normal?” She flushed, “I’m sorry Patrick. No, I didn’t mean that at all. . . “ Then she saw that tell tale glint in his eyes. “Ohhhhhh,” the colour ran up her cheeks. Chuckling he took the dishes over the sink and began to run the water. Smiling to herself at the somewhat incongruous sight, Cindie located a tea-towel and began drying operations. Mistral finished the last of the dishes and paused to dry his hands on the towel tucked in at his waist. As he did this he watched Cindie replace a dish on the top shelf of the cupboard, standing on her tip toes. “Here, let me help,” she heard in her ear as Mistral easily reached the shelf and helped her settle the dish on the stack in the cupboard. He was behind her with his left hand on her waist and his right arm stretched up along side hers. A small noise escaped her throat and she froze in mid motion. He let go of the dish and took her hand, bringing it down as this arm too encircled her waist. She closed her eyes and leaned back into him, feeling the muscles of his arms and chest. “You haven’t been scared away. Have you?” Turning in his arms enough to look into his eyes, she replied with some surprise, “What do you mean? Of course not.” “Well, I hadn’t planned to have you locked in a scary basement …quite so soon.” “Saving that for another visit, were you? You’ll have to do better if you want to scare me away.” Smiling, he released her, only to whirl her around to face him and capture her quite neatly with the tea towel. He had it around her backside with the ends in each of his hands. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked. Using the towel, he pulled her in closer. That may be. I have no desire to be close enough to you to see for myself. Hamlet woke with the sun in his eyes. It was still low on the horizon, so he understood it was early yet. He discovered that Chris was nestled in his arms again, although he could not remember even being close to her when they had gone to bed. He wondered which one of them had moved in the night. He gazed down upon the sleeping form hugging him close. She looked so peaceful, without the slightly hunted look he realised she usually bore. He had not been aware of it before, but the transformation in sleep was dramatic. She looked almost serene. Hamlet decided not to disturb her, and made certain he did not move as he let his thoughts wander. The sunshine was nice, he decided, and it made him feel more relaxed. It was such a change, to be able to feel the sun’s rays without worrying about radiation or pollution. He discovered that during the past two days, he had not thought about his home once. He had been terribly home-sick in the block, and even when he’d started at the farm, although he had been forced to concentrate on what he was doing. Then his mind wandered to Chris again, and he thought about what was happening between them. He was undeniably attracted to her, and she was showing signs of reciprocating. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman, but he found that he was now feeling interested again. It had been more than 5 years since Kari died, after all. Perhaps it was time to start getting on with his life. He remembered calling Chris ‘petal’ the night before. That had been a pet name his father had used when he spoke to Hamlet’s mother. Hamlet had unconsciously used it in a similar situation as the last time he’d heard his father use it, effectively a council of war. Hamlet found he had tears in his eyes, and hurriedly dried them with his free hand. As it turned out, it was just in time, as Chris started to stir shortly afterwards. She opened her eyes, gazing up at him with a smile. In those few seconds as she was half awake, the peacefulness remained in her face, before being replaced with the slightly harder lines she usually wore. Chris hugged him close, smiling again. Hamlet found that he rather enjoyed it, and hugged her back, before they both got up. They walked together down to a stream, noticing that several unicorns were grazing nearby. Chris looked at the stream, looked at Hamlet, and then suggested having a bath. She gingerly tested the water, and found it cool, but not unpleasant. “Ki’li, is it okay to bathe in water?” she sent, knowing the unicorn would hear her wherever she was within a certain distance. “Yes, but come down-stream a little, there is a more appropriate area, with a wide beach,” came the response. So, they wandered down a little further, stopping to have a drink of the cool, clear water on the way. Soon they found the spot, and Ki’li was waiting there for them. The stream was wider here, and flowed slowly. The beach was sheltered by a few trees and bushes, and Chris realised that they could not be seen by anyone unless they were very close. “Right, now how are we going to do this?” Chris asked Hamlet. “I’m not hugely shy, and we are the only two humans around, so if you are amenable, I say we both strip off and help each other get clean! This isn’t exactly a sonic shower, you know.” Hamlet nodded, and started to take his tunic off. Chris couldn’t help glancing over at him while she did the same, seeing his chest for the first time and marvelling that what was a fairly slim build could be so muscled. Ki’li showed them some soap-root, a particular plant that if crushed and rubbed between the hands lathers and is very useful as soap. Hamlet was fascinated. Within minutes, they were both in the water, and started soaping their bodies. Hamlet helped Chris get thoroughly soaped, scrubbing her back for her, and Chris soon returned the favour. Then Chris accidentally squirted Hamlet with some of the clear water, and he roared, laughed and launched himself towards her. Soon they were squirting each other, laughing and splashing water everywhere. The unicorns nearby heard the commotion, and came over to the beach to watch. After a time, a couple of the younger ones gingerly stepped into the water and joined in, stamping their feet and blowing bubbles to make splashes. Then one particularly lovely iridescent mare with a pure black horn and hooves discovered that wetting her tail and swishing it made a very good ‘weapon’. There was much screaming, neighing and general merriment. Eventually, they all got out of the water. Chris and Hamlet settled down on the grass to dry off a bit before getting dressed again, and the unicorns went down to a particular spot and all had a good roll, before resuming their grazing, drying in the sun. As they lay in the grass, Hamlet eyed Chris appreciatively. She had a good body, her eyes sparkled and her face was a little flushed from the water fight. She saw him looking and smiled, catching his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment. That moment seemed to stretch and become infinite, as they both felt a warmth rising through them. Chris broke the gaze first, blushing and looking down. She knew she liked him, but she still felt ashamed about revealing her innermost secrets yesterday. That issue was her private nightmare, and one she had sworn never to share with anyone. How could he not hate her, knowing what she had been? How could he possibly want her as anything more than a mirror image of that person? Men liked sex without commitment, she knew. Maybe that was all he wanted. But he wasn’t acting like it! She sat, uncommunicative for a few minutes, searching deep inside herself. Hamlet did not know what was going through her mind. She was beginning to shield more naturally, and in this instance, her shields were locked down tightly. He sat, confused, looking at her. He had felt her joy and the beginnings of that mutual feeling known as love, as they sat and gazed at each other. Now, suddenly, all he got from her was a cold feeling. He couldn’t understand what had happened. She’s leading me on, he thought to himself. She’s not interested in me, she just wants to tease me. I’d heard of this happening, but never thought it was for real. I knew it, Chris thought as she watched him leave. I knew he didn’t really want me. He’s walking off in disgust! She started to cry, and ran off in the opposite direction. An hour or so later, Ki’li found Hamlet a few hundred yards down the stream, throwing stones in the water as he stared off into the distance. “Where is Chris,” she asked the man. “I can’t seem to contact her by thought!” At Hamlet’s nonplussed gaze, Ki’li became more worried. “She went off in that direction, I think” the man said, after thinking for a moment. He really hadn’t paid much attention to her after he’d walked off in a huff. Ki’li was getting more worried, and told Hamlet to get on and they’d go find her. Within moments, they were at the end of the clearing, and Hamlet got off again to check the trees for any signs of a human passing. Finally, he found a footprint, which was too small to be his own. They entered the forest together, and Hamlet continued to scout for signs. They made slow going, but continued to follow. Eventually, they reached a track, and decided to follow it. Hamlet got back on Ki’li so that they could make better time. As she trotted swiftly forward, they kept silent, trying regularly to stretch out their minds to find Chris. Hamlet was becoming increasingly worried as they went deeper and deeper into the forest. He thought about what might happen. What if there were wild predators or something? Ki’li confirmed his worst fear when she told him that they needed to find Chris before nightfall, as the wolves tended to hunt more then. Finally, they came to the end of the track. There was a huge lake in front of them, and sitting off to one side on a small stone outcropping was Chris. Ki’li snorted in relief, and Chris looked up. She had clearly been crying, and was quite dishevelled. She looked at Ki’li in relief, and ran up to hug the unicorn, and then noticed Hamlet. She stopped, looked at him, and then turned and walked off again. She sat down where she’d been, and this time she opened up her mind to Ki’li so she could read what was going on. Ki’li gave a snort of disgust, and asked Hamlet in a tight loop what he thought he’d been doing, walking off like that. “What do you mean, like that? She was teasing me, leading me on and then going off me again. I walked off to go calm down,” he answered hurriedly, a frown on his face. Ki’li snorted and bucked violently and suddenly. Hamlet went sailing over her head in a beautiful arc, landing in the water with a splash, legs and arms akimbo. “You complete IDIOT!” she shouted into his mind. “What, what did I do?” Hamlet asked plaintively as he picked himself out of the water. Chris was watching from the shore as he scrambled up onto dry land. “You actually thought I was leading you on, playing games with you?” she demanded, moving to block his way. “You must be the biggest egotistical blockhead I’ve ever met!” She shouted at him, continuing to block his way so he couldn’t get completely out of the water. Hamlet, still nonplussed, finally asked “Okay, so what WERE you doing, suddenly blocking me out and going cold on me?” Chris burst into tears again, turned around and walked away, finally allowing Hamlet to get out of the water. Ki’li blasted him with the thoughts and emotions she had gleaned from Chris a few minutes earlier, and he blanched. At the same time, she started a conversation with Chris, reminding her that he did not understand how deeply she had been hurt, how much it still worried her. Eventually, the two humans agreed to an uneasy truce, and they started travelling back to the camp. They started off alternating riding and walking, but soon got talking and both walked, giving Ki’li a well-earned rest. Finally, Hamlet broached the subject that caused all this strife again. “I…I’m sorry I hurt your feelings Chris, I did not realise how much you were hurting,” he started off, feeling completely inadequate. Chris sighed in response, and after a few moments answered “That’s ok, I don’t think I realised how much I was hurting myself. I’m actually quite insecure, and tend to take things too much to heart. I guess this was one of those times. I also hurt your feelings, and that was not intentional either. I therefore apologise too.” At this admission, Hamlet took her hand into his, and they walked on, feeling a little bit happier. The damage would not heal immediately, but at least both now knew that the other had not intentionally hurt them. *raised eyebrow* Just plain? But only some of those affected are special. Cindie: some of us consider those "effects" very special. MA, Would those be special effects? Delaford. The library: "—would be a violation of protocol to wear a gown in either pure black or pure white; those colours are reserved for The Empress. If you wore a black gown, you would have to relieve it with some other colour: a red sash, let us say, or—" Mary Anne nods and makes a note on the sheet of paper before her as she listens to Commander Hudson explain the fine points of Imperial etiquette. Definitely a crash course, she thinks, her lips curving into a wry smile of appreciation at Hudson’s memory for detail and her skill at imparting information. I wonder how many other times she has had to do this . . . "—one of the chief Imperial symbols is the gladiolus: the sword lily, representing both the beauty and the power of justice—" Mary Anne concentrates with one half of her mind, jotting down such points as she must remember for her presentation at the Palace; however, she cannot keep the other half of her mind from wandering to other matters. Her ankle, for instance, which is much improved but still aching. Housekeeping matters to be reviewed with Miss MacLeod—a formality only, of that she is certain. Miss M needs no instruction from anyone in running the household, but there must be some sense of Mrs. Brandon as the Mistress of Delaford . . . Mary Anne stirs fretfully in her chair, shifting her weight to ease her sore foot. How good it would be if life would settle down long enough for me to really have some part in things here. For Christopher to be able to take me over the estate and around the village, so that I could truly be a help to him . . . But it is not to be. Not yet. The thought of Brandon brings another fleeting smile to Mary Anne’s lips. It is common for him to be first to awaken; years of military experience have made the Colonel a light sleeper. But ah, the ways in which he contrives to awaken her . . . Mary Anne’s thoughts stray to the morning after her wedding, when Brandon had roused her by gently rubbing her back. Or what is more common: to awaken, and see him lying beside her, propped on one elbow and watching her with a smile . . . or, even before she fully emerges from sleep, to feel him there beside her, the warmth and solidity of him . . . or this morning. Strange, to be kissed in your sleep and know it is not a dream. A tiny grin, as Mary Anne bends her head lower over her writing to conceal her crimson cheeks. Yes, Brandon had set about his duties quite early this morning. Mary Anne’ smile fades as she recalls what Brandon had mentioned to her, that perhaps he would ask Mister de Valera to remain present as acting head of Delaford. Smart move, that. Dev won’t leave Therese, and I doubt seriously she could make the trip to the Palace, even if she had been summoned. And if HE is in the Palace, then that is certainly no place for Dev—or else The Empress would have another case to try, and this one would be open and shut. She sighs, knowing that she is in no position to lecture Eamon de Valera on the morality of violence. What could I possibly say to him? That murdering The Interrogator wouldn’t undo what happened to Therese? That wouldn’t matter to him, not at all . . . Nor can she pretend that she would be sorry to see the last of The Interrogator—but seeing that man again, that prospect is what makes her stomach clench. Just as well that Therese wasn’t summoned; seeing HIM again would be more than she could stand right now . . . "—know Her Majesty attended your wedding, but you’ll be formally presented at the Palace for the first time, and there is a greeting ritual. The Colonel will be able to advise you on this—" Mary Anne gives herself a mental shake and dutifully nods, hoping that Hudson has not noticed her distraction. Who do you think you’re fooling, hmmmm? She’s an Alliance Commander; she notices everything. She’s doing her best to help you, and the least you could do is pay attention. But Mary Anne cannot help giving one last thought to Therese—who, she hopes, will now begin to recover. At least she talked to me about it, a little. I hope she and Dev can talk things out; that won’t make it go away, but maybe it will ease her heart. If she feels up to it, maybe she’ll have tea with me later this morning. Miss M can look in on her and check—Therese might like to sit with me in the conservatory and talk. Do her good to get out of that room . . . Then, rebuking herself once more for her lack of concentration, Mary Anne settles her full attention on Commander Hudson and the "crash course" in Palace manners . . . Mistral Manor: Although she’d been tired enough to fall asleep in the overly warm library, she now was wide awake. Gathering up her bathrobe she proceeded down the hall for a hot bath in the immense claw foot tub. She laid out her things and prepared the bath. A mini bottle of bubble bath she had from the hotel she’d stayed at before she found her flat came in quite handy. Easing herself into the tub for a good soak she wondered if a cold shower wouldn’t be more appropriate. She knew this wasn’t the time or place ….but that kiss…. a girl could only hold out for so long. After a quick detour to check that his mother was sleeping comfortably Patrick Mistral went to his room and resolutely closed the door behind him. It had been hard to say goodnight. His bedroom had a bath immediately off of it. Originally the only door had been from the outside but it was kept locked the there had been a door placed from his room ages ago. He tossed his shirt in the laundry hamper and ran some cold water into the basin. Splashing his face he looked up as he heard her light muffled footsteps pass his door. He could clearly hear her in the bathroom which was actually next to this one and listened as the bath was drawn. He imagined her stepping out of her robe and into the tub. The temptation to go to her was so strong. He could offer to wash her hair. Shaking his head he splashed more cold water on his face. He thought of taking a shower but since the two bathrooms shared plumbing he didn’t want to disrupt her use of the water. He pulled the t-shirt off over his head and tossed it into the hamper. He finished undressing and washed up in the sink. Laying down on his bed he listened to the sloshing from the bathroom and let the sounds lull him to sleep. The tub was so comfortable, but eventually the water began to cool and Cindie got out. Luxuriating in the immense thirsty towel she dried herself off and got ready for bed. She rehung the towel and tidied the bathroom and headed back to her room. As she left the bathroom she thought she heard voices. Pausing to listen she heard a high pitched voice, “I did it for you Arthur. You know that don’t you. I did it for you.” It must be his mother. She stood immobile, uncertain whether to check on her or to get Patrick. She heard another female voice, soothing and coaxing. Sybill. Cindie teetered on the brink of going to the door and enquiring as to whether she could be of help. At that moment Patrick’s door flew open. He was tying his robe and striding towards his mother’s room. As he brushed past her he said only, “Go to bed. You can’t help.” She stood there and watched as he disappeared into his mother’s room. Feeling suddenly tired again and utterly useless she returned to her room. It was cold. She found a pack of matches and lit the fire which had been laid. It took immediately and she sat down in one of the armchairs. She understood that she couldn’t be of any use right now and that Patrick’s concern was for his mother. But despite the logic she did feel useless, there was nothing she could do for him and it made her feel very empty inside. She stared at the fire, wondering if he’d think to let her know if his mother was alright. She dozed until a soft knock at her door brought her out of her reverie. “Are you up?” Of course it was him. “Yes. Just a minute.” She went over to the door and opened it. He stood there looking as haggard as she’d ever seen him. He ran a hand through his hair and gave her a weak smile. “Is everything o.k.?” “Relatively speaking. Yes, she’s settled.” He noted her mussed hair and looked past her at the still made bed. Returning his gaze to her he thought she had never looked more beautiful. No makeup, but then she never wore much, a simple but elegant nightgown of black which, though made for comfort and not overly revealing, somehow managed to still provoke …his thoughts. Her feet were clad in little black satin slippers with pearls on them. Her robe was laying open on one of the chairs by the fireplace. “I wanted to make sure you were alright, I thought that, …perhaps, you were having trouble sleeping.” His expression was enquiring. “Not at all. I seem to be like Goldie Locks tonight, I’ve managed to sample much of the furniture for its sleepability. At some point I may even make it to the bed.” She quickly glanced away. “Come in and sit down.” She felt his hand, “You’re freezing, come sit by the fire.” His gaze never left her as she turned and walked back to the chair she’d been occupying before he’d knocked on her door. He watched as she slipped into her black silk robe and tied it around her waist. How could seeing a woman put on a robe rouse him so? A silent message to her, I needed to see you. “I didn’t light the fire in my room. Should have, just didn’t think of it at the time.” I’m warm enough for the both of us right now. With his tousled hair and clad, as far as she could tell, only in a silk robe of a deep midnight blue, he was even more compelling that in his finest haberdashery. He sat down in the other chair as she resumed her seat. “Does she often wake like that?” “Not always, there’s a monitor system hooked into the Thomas’ upstairs. Sybill manages quite well without me, but when I’m home I like to do what I can.” “I wish I could help.” It kills me to see you suffer so. He looked at her, long and steady and she understood what he didn’t need to say out loud. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything for your injuries?” Her face betrayed the thoughts which flickered through her head, but she said only, “No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you.” He’d known the sort of thing she wanted to say. Knew she refrained in order to make it easier for him. But my dear, it only makes me want you more… “I’d better let you get to sleep.” He stood up and walked over to where she sat and kissed the top of her head before moving quickly to the door. “Try the bed though. It is very comfortable …I’m told.” The door closed firmly behind him. She got up and slipped off her robe and under the covers. It was very comfortable. But her feet were cold. She was awakened by a gentle but persistent nudging. Opening her eyes she found Patrick leaning over the arm of the couch, a faint smile on his lips and a hand on her shoulder. She groaned, “Oh, I’ve done it again.” Of course he laughed at her, but it was sweet laughter, as though he was glad of it. “It’s fine. I would have stayed on the couch with you all night but I’m afraid you’ll get a sore neck and there’s a perfectly good room waiting for you upstairs.” Nudging her again he said, “Come on, lets get you to bed.” Holding his shirt in one hand he proffered her the other. Pausing to pick up her shoes, she entwined her arm around his, and rested her head as they moved toward the stairs. They climbed them slowly, both savouring the lingering closeness and proceeded down the hall. When they reached her door , Patrick bent close and kissed her. This was not the kiss on the cheek which he so often employed. His lips were on hers and she reciprocated. The kiss went on and she felt sure her knees would buckle as she leaned back against the door for support. His arm, which had been leaning on the same door, gathered her up. Pulling her to him he said her name. She kissed his cheek as he said her name again and his lips sought hers once more. They shared the embrace of their arms and lips until, slowly, and reluctantly, he released her. “Sleep well,” he said huskily. Now he did kiss her cheek and withdrew. Ok My wings go like inside my body where NOONE can see them!!h Sandy, I meant to also say that it was so sweet of you and Metatron to remeber the tequila. That was when I first stuck by toe in the water. Some asides: Sandy... the most hideous wallpaper ever seen? *g* Oh, good! Thanks for adding me to the story. Cindie... Oh, goodness! *fan, fan, fan* *swoon* *ker-thump* Miranda... where do the wings go? Oh my giddy aunt! Just a few asides: MA -- "charged with tendernes", *heavy sigh*. I expect MA will be rousing soon? Barbara -- Love the paper! So glad Phil has joined the set. Cindie will definitely be in line for a new cut. Since the set is hopping and Cindie and Mistral are still "weekending", please consider the doings at the Manor to be in flashback to the previous weekend. Naturally Mr. I is available on set for any required scenes. Mistral Manor: As the last bars of Night and Day died away he released her, held her at arms length and carefully gauged her expression. As if by mutual consent they returned to the couch. She sat upright on the end Patrick had previously occupied and he stretched out with his head on a pillow in her lap. She stroked his hair and massaged his temples. She had noticed that when he wasn’t working he wore his contacts and wondered if that was to differentiate himself from his character, or just a preference. He reached for her hand and drew it to his lips and kissed it gently. Placing it on his cheek he looked up at her. “You seem to be my personal spa.” His eyes crinkled, “are there other services available?” “Oh yes,” valiantly suppressing a grin, “you’ve just scratched the surface.” Whispering in his ear, “wait until you receive my own brand of massage therapy.” “If I must wait,” his eyes were regaining their sparkle, “then this is an agreeable way to spend the time.” Unable to repress her smile now, Cindie gently stroked his brow. He lay stretched out, one hand tucked back between the side of the couch and Cindie’s side, the other now laying on his chest. Unable to resist, Cindie placed a hand palm down next to his on his chest while tracing the line of one eyebrow with the other hand. “Patrick.” There was no question she had his full attention. “I want to tell you something.” He placed his hand on top of hers. It was warm and the combination of it and the feel of his muscles, slowly relaxing, under her palm was nearly overwhelming. “Tell me then.” Those eyes, somehow reflecting the embers of the fire, looked through her. “You’ve probably already figured it out. But I thought I should say something. I mean, here I am and all.” She was babbling. This had to cease. “Want I want to say is, I like you very much and. . .” He gave her hand a squeeze and she closed her eyes and opened them again before proceeding, “I’m very glad to be here with you.” His lips curled into a smile, “So.” The man was a cat. “You fancy me.” The man was maddening. “Yes. Yes you sphinx, I fancy you. So there you have it.” He now brought her hand to his lips again, “I fancy you too. But you’d probably already figured it out.” “Even if I had, it’s awfully nice to hear.” “Yes. It is.” He returned her hand to his chest but did not let it go. Correction made. *BONK*. Ow! D.o.C., could you please change "and depositing her trash" to "and deposited her trash"? Thank you kindly! FoF caferteria: As soon as Alex, Chris, and Sandy left, Vanessa had another one of her bright ideas. "Hey guys I know what we could do lets play Truth or Dare!" Of course they were whispering so Metatron couldn't ruin there fun, again. "That sounds like a great idea! Who goes first?" Miranda asked with a beaming smile on her face. "Miranda you can go first I have a great dare for you." Vanessa said and poked Miranda in the side. "Well OK but it better not be anything gross!" Miranda said and scrunched up her face in what would be the expression that someone gives when something is gross. "OK I dare you to kiss Metatron on the lips for at least 10 seconds." Vanessa said and laughed evilly. "No way he'll kill me for that! Anyway that's an only-on-the-show thing to do." Miranda said and winced thinking what Metatron would do to her after the kiss. "To bad Miranda, a dare is a dare. You have to do this." Vanessa said and patted Miranda's shoulder. "So just go ahead and do it!" "Well, ok. But if he kills me after this you're the first one to die when I come back from the dead!" Miranda said and laughed. Then she turned around and looked at Metatron. He was all done with his lunch and he was staring at something on the other side of the room. "Hey Metatron." Miranda said and when he looked at her she grabbed his face pulled it towards hers and began kissing him. "10..9..8..7..6..5..4..3..2..1! Ok your done!" Vanessa and Tina said in unison. Then they started to laugh at the event that just happened. "MIRANDA, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOURE DOING!" Metatron yelled and jumped out of his seat. "Jeez Metatron loosen up, it was only a dare!" Miranda told him and made a her little puppy face so he would forgive her. "Miranda why must you always do that face when you're in trouble? You know that I cant teach you dicipline if you always give me that look." He told her and rested his forhead on hers. "Just don't do that again OK even if it is a dare." Then he picked up his lunch tray and trough it away. He turned around waved to the girls and walked off to the set still dazed at what Miranda had done. "That was hilarious Miranda! You should have seen his face! It was priceless, if only I would have had a camera!" Vanessa said and slapped Miranda lightly on the back. "I've never seen Metatron act that way before." Miranda said dreamily. "Earth to Miranda, He is WAY older than you and you think you have a chance with him. In your dreams!" Tina told Miranda trying to drill some since in her. "Exactly in my dreams! So comeon lets go back to the set." Miranda said and laughed. So all the girls picked up there trays, properly disposed them and walked off the set still laughing at what had happened. FOF set (with a brief retcon on Shelley's death being not one, but three years ago. I know, I know...)
Barbara stood in the center of the room, hands on hips. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
The paper she'd chosen was an intense, rich blue, like burning magnesium or new born stars. It eased the eyes and energized the mind. Overlaid slightly with a faint, delicate tracery of warm metallic gold, the color both brightened and soothed.
But it wasn't the paper that completed the room. Oh, no. The blue ended at a hip-high horizon, leaving the lower part of the wall to the honey-gold wainscotting. In the same warm tones of the gold tracery, Barbara'd had Geoff and Sveyn install the wood on three walls. She knew Phil would find the wood's rhythmic lines irresistable to the touch; he'd be running his fingertips along the furrows, from board to board, everytime he worked in this room. She'd learned that much from Shelley.
Barbara smiled knowingly. After the first time he did that, Phil would find himself swamped with... clientele. He'd been alone too long anyway.
The next part, Barbara pondered, was the floor. How to make it comfortable to bare feet. Phil had to have incentive to flaunt that tattoo.... She smirked.
If the Director had seen this smile, he would have called for riot gear. FOF Set, Cafeteria: Sandy glanced down at her watch and grimaced. "Oh brother! I better get back to work before the Director has my head on a platter. Plus, I've got a meeting with the SFX staff at 3." She walked over to the table, grabbed her empty lunch tray and deposited her trash. She walked back over to the table, took the leash handle from Alex, who was holding Oliver for her, made sure that it was securely fastened to his collar and gathered up the rest of her belongings. "You're not the only one who may have their head on a platter. I have to go back to makeup and see Phil so he can cover over this godforsaken mess again," Chris pointed to the middle of her forehead, which was a spectacular display of blue, green, purple and yellow with a ferocious scowl as she rose to her feet. "He was extremely displeased with me when I covered over all his hard work with my riding helmet so I could see what was wrong with that blasted horse." She frowned again as she stared at the remains of her sandwich. "Well, that was completely unsatisfactory fare, but it's better than having a nasty sugar low in the middle of a crucial scene." Metatron smirked at the blonde's remark and Alex chuckled as he also rose to his feet, picking up his lunch tray. "And they say that actors are a temperamental lot. The ones who run hair and makeup are just as bad," he observed, depositing his trash in the nearby receptacle. He turned to the four who were still eating their lunch. "It's been a pleasure meeting you girls, and good to see you again," he acknowleged Metatron with a smile. "Yes. It's been great meeting you as well, but duty calls, as they say," Sandy said with a grin as she joined Chris and Alex, who were waiting for her. "Ready, Ollie?" The poodle wagged his tail happily in response. "Bye guys! It's been a pleasure!" "Bye!" Chris added in, rubbing her wrists absently. "Bye!" the girls called back and immediately started up an animated conversation complete with whispers, nudging each other and giggling, while Metatron attacked the remains of his lunch with gusto. Chris, Alex, Sandy and Oliver departed the lunchroom, heading towards the cubicles. "Are you sure you're okay, Chris? You really don't look all that great," Sandy said with concern in her voice. "I'm fine, really! I guess I had a little too much excitement," Chris reassured her friend with a smile. "Nothing that a couple of aspirin wouldn't fix at the moment - that and a long massage." She arched an eyebrow at Alex. "You know, it would be funny if you were Shaggy," she giggled. Alex rolled his eyes in mock despair as Sandy started giggling too. "I swear, you ARE concussed - or else you've completely lost your marbles," he growled before a reluctant smile crossed his features. "Didn't Sandy tell you? I didn't have to any begin with!" she chortled, sticking out her tongue playfully. Alex's head reared back and he roared with laughter. "Honestly, between the two of you!" he sputtered, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Well, we DO try to amuse," Sandy pointed out and Alex nodded in agreement. "Yes, you do - and you do a pretty good job of it," he admitted as they came to a stop in front of Sandy's cubicle. Sandy knelt down and let Oliver off his leash and Chris knelt down and gave him some well-deserved attention. "I'll stop by later if I'm not shooting too late to visit with you again, you cute little rascal," she said affectionately, laughing as the dog gave her a lick on the hand. She stood up and watched him take a toy bone from a small box containing several items left in the corner, walked over to his bed, where he turned around a few times before settling in and chewing happily. "If you don't make it here before I'm gone for the day, don't worry. I'm bringing Ollie in for the rest of the week," Sandy told her. "Oh good! I'll make sure I stop by tomorrow then for some quality Ollie-time," Chris said excitedly. She started walking towards hair and wardrobe. "See you guys later!" Chris walked about ten paces down the hall but stopped suddenly and turned around to face them as she remembered something, snapping her fingers. "Oh, by the way, have you seen the ladies' cutting room?" Alex and Sandy shook their heads, mystified. "No. What about it?" Alex asked curiously. "It's decorated in the most horrid wallpaper I've ever seen, but I heard it's being replaced. You've just got to stop by and see this monstrosity. Whoever made the color scheme had to have been color-blind, I swear," Chris told them with a chuckle. "Thanks for letting us know. I'll make sure I take a look before I leave today," Sandy replied. "See you later - and take it easy, huh?" Chris nodded and waved before she made her way down the hallway, determination in her stride. "I have to leave too. I'll come by when I'm finished for the day," Alex said softly, reaching out to caress Sandy's cheek affectionately. "Okay. I'll be leaving at five today so I can take Ollie for his run and stuff, but I'll be coming back here afterwards to continue working. See you then," she returned the affectionate gesture and watched him walk away with a fond smile on her face. Delaford. Dev's Quarters: Therese considered Eamon for several long moments, the evidence of his inwards struggle quite apparant. "I can't imagine that there could be anything we couldn't discuss at this point," she said with a tiny, humourless smile. "Out with it, then." "It's sometimes difficult for me, Therese," he began, holding up a hand when he knew she wished to interrupt. "Please, let me say this through." Therese nodded and remained silent, a task she found most difficult, and settled for taking his hand in her own, his fingers automatically intertwining with her own. "It is sometimes difficult. . .it is always difficult for me when I feel your safety is at stake. I know you do not believe me to be responsible for what happened. . ." Eamon's voice faltered at even the thought of HIS name, his fingers tightening involuntarily. He was still torn, unsure of whether to share what he had learned with Therese. He was the protector, it was his duty to shelter her, to make certain that-- "If you even think for one moment further about censoring whatever it is you have to say--" Eamon sighed. Whatever his ability to affect the stoic, indifferent mein with the rest of the human population, it seemed he was destined to be the proverbial 'open book' when in the presence of Therese. "--and you know that you are in no way responsible, in my eyes, or anyone else's." He nodded. "I know, though I wonder if you are too generous in that regard. However, my concern is for something I recently heard, though that information was not necessarily imparted with the knowledge of my presence." Therese frowned, throwing his own words back at him. "'Not necessarily imparted with knowledge of your presence?' You were spying, here at Delaford?" "Not intentionally," he replied, his tone wry. "And how does this information effect me?" "Because it involves HIM." Dev did not have to state to whom he referred, probably could not have brought himself to say the name even had it been necessary, which it most certainly was not. Therese knew full well who he meant, and she paled visably. "Tell me," she said, very simply. "Of anyone, surely I would deserve to know." "It is not so simple a matter," he responded with a sigh, loathe to impart the information he held, yet unable to withhold it from her. "For there is someone else involved, someone you
Cindie
- Tuesday, May 29, 2001 at 17:03:31 (PDT)
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
email me if you need me to answer any other questions!, - Tuesday, May 29, 2001 at 14:26:03 (PDT)
Miranda
- Tuesday, May 29, 2001 at 13:49:14 (PDT)
a Rickman admirer
- Tuesday, May 29, 2001 at 08:18:19 (PDT)
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
I have the day off today since it's memorial day. And then I have only 2 1/2 days left of school which means I will be posting ALOT! Summer better hurry up! Oh and I've noticed something my storied are so teenager something you guys probably dont want at all any complaints? I love when people tell me about something I should change in my stories., - Monday, May 28, 2001 at 09:43:45 (PDT)
Cindie
Maybe Cindie and Mistral will run into Clinton on the return trip. ;-), - Monday, May 28, 2001 at 04:26:10 (PDT)
MA
All set for tea--with Therese? Or . . . , - Sunday, May 27, 2001 at 19:13:48 (PDT)
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
- Sunday, May 27, 2001 at 18:02:39 (PDT)
Cindie
Don't worry too much Miranda, you're not the first person to italisize the guest book., - Sunday, May 27, 2001 at 08:43:47 (PDT)
Aside from the fine print, that's it.
D.o.C.
Miranda
- Saturday, May 26, 2001 at 17:57:38 (PDT)
Miranda
- Saturday, May 26, 2001 at 16:31:42 (PDT)
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
Me again just cant help myself. But if I do that one more time I'm going to do something really bad!!, - Saturday, May 26, 2001 at 16:29:10 (PDT)
D.o.C.
Miranda
- Saturday, May 26, 2001 at 15:54:21 (PDT)
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
OK I JUST HAVE AGAIN SAY IM SORRY!!!!!!, - Saturday, May 26, 2001 at 15:51:19 (PDT)
D.o.C.
Miranda
- Saturday, May 26, 2001 at 15:06:41 (PDT)
Miranda
IM stiil waiting for Vanessa's thing! She'll never finish!, - Saturday, May 26, 2001 at 15:05:11 (PDT)
Cindie
- Saturday, May 26, 2001 at 05:51:09 (PDT)
MA
But we may be doing Mistral a wrong; surely he does still know how to blush . . . ? ;-), - Friday, May 25, 2001 at 19:47:59 (PDT)
Cindie <cynthiagreen@ameritech.net>
Barbara, Would you please e-mail me? I have a question about Phil. Thanks!, - Friday, May 25, 2001 at 15:36:07 (PDT)
Barbara the Wallpaperer
Cindie... *goodness*!, - Friday, May 25, 2001 at 09:54:13 (PDT)
Cindie
Therese, I would definitely say!, - Thursday, May 24, 2001 at 15:02:06 (PDT)
MA
Now, if Miss M were to walk in as well . . . *gulp*, - Thursday, May 24, 2001 at 05:02:29 (PDT)
a Rickman admirer <I think they have a stuffed one at Madame Tussauds>
just kidding., - Wednesday, May 23, 2001 at 23:49:42 (PDT)
Therese
Uh, quite the disparity between Mistral and HIM, wouldn't you say?
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“I was distracted - briefly. Time to get down to business.”
“I don’t want to talk to you any more.”
“That’s not very friendly, when we’ve been so… intimate.”
Rupert gave a little cough, and she turned briefly away from the screen to scowl at him, and turn uncontrollably red, again.
“What can I say, I’m a perfectionist… and your emotions amuse me. Its time to regain control.” And at that second the screen turned to snow, and a loud chhhhhhhh of static filled the air.
Claudia
ready and waiting to be used - ahem, - Wednesday, May 23, 2001 at 00:16:41 (PDT)
Per me si va nell’ etterno dolore,
Per me si va tra la perduta gente . . .
MA--seemed a good time to bring HIM back in, as Cindie said Mistral was available . . .
But oh dear! It seems that one of me is in trouble again!! =8-O, - Tuesday, May 22, 2001 at 20:01:55 (PDT)
La Belle Dame Sans Merci (aka Evil MA)
*click* *click* of stiletto heels, nearer and nearer . . ., - Tuesday, May 22, 2001 at 17:53:23 (PDT)
I
Although I would prefer to meet HER under slightly altered circumstances., - Tuesday, May 22, 2001 at 09:57:25 (PDT)
Miranda
eyes still puffy from crying last night! *WAH*, - Tuesday, May 22, 2001 at 04:37:46 (PDT)
MA (who has certainly been close enough to tell)
Cindie, you win the award for best use of a tea towel in a post. ;-D, - Monday, May 21, 2001 at 19:16:13 (PDT)
Cindie
With Mistral, not Mistral. Everybody clear?, - Monday, May 21, 2001 at 17:28:35 (PDT)
Cindie
Rupert, is someone watching HIM?, - Monday, May 21, 2001 at 08:27:12 (PDT)
Hurt, he eventually got up and walked off.
Chris <why1040@aol.com>
It's another long one! For those of you who were around when I first started, I did promise Hamlet in the water :::grin:::, - Monday, May 21, 2001 at 08:24:43 (PDT)
The Interrogator
I've been told by some that I'm "rather handsome . . ." , - Sunday, May 20, 2001 at 19:33:55 (PDT)
Cindie
*gulp* Others are just plain scarey., - Sunday, May 20, 2001 at 16:30:09 (PDT)
The Interrogator
- Sunday, May 20, 2001 at 09:08:00 (PDT)
Cindie
Good to know the Colonel is so dutiful, - Sunday, May 20, 2001 at 08:15:34 (PDT)
MA--careful with those black nightgowns, Cindie; they've been known to have certain, um, effects. ;-)
"Try the bed though. It is very comfortable . . . I'm told." *tssssstt* Steeeeeeam heeeeat!!, - Saturday, May 19, 2001 at 18:58:25 (PDT)
Cindie
- Saturday, May 19, 2001 at 16:19:13 (PDT)
Cindie
Fell asleep?! As if....., - Friday, May 18, 2001 at 17:27:26 (PDT)
Miranda
- Thursday, May 17, 2001 at 13:39:49 (PDT)
Cindie
Splashing around up to my neck now! , - Thursday, May 17, 2001 at 11:49:54 (PDT)
Barbara the Wallpaperer
I feel so at home!, - Thursday, May 17, 2001 at 06:47:52 (PDT)
Cindie
- Wednesday, May 16, 2001 at 17:09:33 (PDT)
Cindie
- Wednesday, May 16, 2001 at 17:03:33 (PDT)
Did you forget your V-8?
D.o.C.
Sandy
Barbara, love the new wallpaper - very pretty!, - Wednesday, May 16, 2001 at 14:33:23 (PDT)
Miranda
Oh I love this!!, - Wednesday, May 16, 2001 at 13:05:04 (PDT)
Barbara the Wallpaperer
wainscotting is just panelling in disguise ;), - Wednesday, May 16, 2001 at 12:59:52 (PDT)
Sandy
- Wednesday, May 16, 2001 at 11:46:31 (PDT)