Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

FoF Screening Room:

The end of the film clattered through the sprockets with a thppppptt as the last of the dailies were viewed by cast and Director and the odd staff person. There was some discussion as to the results, some suggestions for the editing process and a few self directed comments on how to approach the next scene. There was a comment by Alexander Dane along the lines of having exchanged water and silt for sand. Mostly there was the camaraderie of a group of people working as a team to create something fine and the easy humour that came with working well together. The Director pulled the reel off the projector looking satisfied and they began to file out of the room. As the last of the group trailed out and the sounds of their banter faded away, the mini theatre was left in quiet and a blank screen.

After a few moments, Mistral returned to the darkened room and took a direct path to the deepest shadows of the far corner where a new cast member sat still staring at the swath of white at the front of the room. He sat down next to her and waited.

And waited.

Finally she looked over at him. "I know it was just a line, words on a page that were written for HIM…"

Mistral nodded, he had wondered if she would even think about it. He'd become so accustomed to his use of the term where she was concerned, used it as if it were her name. It was her place in his existence and he knew he would never use those words for anyone else. But HE was another matter entirely, HE could fling the endearment as a jibe and use it to mock its recipient.

She went on, "But it was hard, somehow, to hear those words from these lips…" She reached out a fingertip as if she would touch the lips to which she referred but drew back the hand and placed it on top of the other one resting in her lap. Her eyes looked down at her hands. "Even though they were HIS lips at the time." She tried to infuse her voice with humour but the remark sounded strained, as it was.

He waited still, knowing she had to come to terms with this sort of thing, even as he had watched her kiss Anton Gruber in her dailies last week. Though it had been a simple kiss on Gruber's cheek it had given Mistral no pleasure. But he was a professional and the irksome sight did not truly pain him. Only gave him the sort of little dig which made him appreciate his position all the more. His kisses from her were real and weren't watched by a room full of spectators and a camera. At this thought he winced inwardly at the one camera which did catch a kiss – one of his bestowed upon her in an unguarded moment. But that matter had been dealt with and this one would be worked through as well. Finally, he spoke. He said the two words which had caused her breath to catch as she'd watched the dailies. It had been a slight reaction, no one save him had even noticed. But he was attuned to her responses as no one else.

"My dear."

He heard her breath catch again and he held out a hand to her. Slowly she looked over at him. Her hand reached out to meet his and he covered it with his other. The man who held her gaze was very different from the one she had seen on the screen. These eyes held a look that would never grace HIS. Of course she knew the character from the man, but it had given her a start to see just how these scenes with Mary Anne played out, to be reminded of just how good he was, and to hear those words spoken in a manner so completely different but in his voice… She had been afraid Mistral would think her foolish or would be somehow wounded by their effect upon her. It was a joy to see that whether he understood or not, he was there, waiting for her.

He spoke again. "Come on, its late. Let's go for a walk, I've something to ask of you."

They stood up and he preceded her out to the main aisle. Pausing, he waited until she was even with him and then put his arm around her shoulders. They left the room together.

Cindie
- Thursday, February 28, 2002 at 18:48:29 (PST)

Hans Gruber's Domicile
Day Five of the Investigation

A faint floral odor perfumed the air, so subtle that Silvert almost didn't catch it. Her nostrils flared as she tried to identify the elusive scent. She glanced over to her partner, who was asking basic questions of Herr Gruber, and jotted Floral perfume ~ front room in her notepad.

While Gruber was occupied discussing men's suits with her partner, Silvert took the opportunity to glance around the tidy, almost spartan, flat. It had been converted from an old warehouse, with generous windows and high ceilings. Neo-classical detailing had been added to the walls, with half-columns between the tall windows, dentals at the ceiling. A carved Ionic capital, topped with a piece of smoky blue glass, and served Gruber well as a coffee table.

Gruber himself was dressed in the kind of casual professionalism Silvert didn't often see outside of the British Civil Service. His black slacks were tasteful, but fitted. (homage) His Oxford-cut shirt in deep forest green looked like brushed suede, flowed like silk. The only incongruity was the pair of genuine Birkenstocks on his feet.

"Detective Silvert?" Gruber said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Beg pardon?"

"May I offer you some --" zum "-- refreshment?" Gruber asked.

Silvert's thoughts were anything but proper.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
The Investigation Continues..., - Wednesday, February 27, 2002 at 17:45:25 (PST)

Flashback
Wagensburg:

Not surprisingly it was Anton who recovered his composure first. “You were not satisfied, then, with simply throwing us out? Now you must threaten us with a shotgun?”

The man looked them both up and down, turned his head to the side and spat. He then motioned with the gun and said, “go ahead, open the door.” Anton did as he was instructed and then stood still. “Inside,” he commanded. Anton and Cynthia stepped into the structure and moved well back to stand as far away from the door as they could. The innkeeper came up to the door, holding them both in his sights. When he went to close the door he held the shotgun upright as his other hand reached for the door’s edge. At this point a hand clamped down on his arm and he convulsed in shock or fear and the shotgun fired. The hand’s owner emerged from the corner where he had hidden himself and began to struggle with the innkeeper. The struggles ended abruptly when the smokehouse’s other occupant cried, “Uncle, what are you doing?”

At this their former host stopped all attempts to overcome Chandos and looked at the woman who had rescued Chandos just a short time before. He looked frightened. “Alex. What are you doing with these people? You should be home, safe.”

“I am home, uncle. And was quite safe until you turned up waving a shotgun. I’ve had an interesting talk with Chandos here, but I’d like to hear from you and Papa, what has been going on here?”

Now the man looked defeated and he shrugged, made a show of emptying the other chamber of the shotgun, and said, “we’d best get back to the house. They’ll be wondering what the shot was.”

The girl, who now seemed to be the one in charge held her ground. “Only if you promise that nobody will try to hurt these people.” She took the three of them in with a sweep of her hand.

“No girl. No one will try to hurt anybody. That’s what we were trying to do, stop anybody from getting hurt, stop you from getting hurt at least.” His shoulders slumped and he added, “it seems its too late for that though.” He began to walk to the house where they had almost spent the night, and seemed they were still going to spend the night in a very different fashion.

Cynthia, Chandos and Anton all exchanged looks, shrugged in unison and followed the Innkeeper and his niece. Cynthia made it a point to grab both of their arms and pulled them close like a shield. When they arrived at the house they were greeted by the sight of the couple looking pale and drawn and their agitated son pacing up and down the worn kitchen floorboards. The innkeeper spoke to his brother as they drew closer, “It’s all right. Nobody is hurt. Alex is with me.” He jerked a thumb behind him to where the three walked together, “But she’s been talking to this one.”

The man grew a shade paler and his wife threw up her arms and fluttered into the kitchen. They followed the girl and her uncle into the kitchen and slowly they all seemed to settle around the kitchen table as if in unspoken parlay. Though one of the strangers, it was Anton who spoke first, perhaps due to his stake in the matter. “It would seem that introductions are in order.” He then proceeded to introduce himself and his two companions. The innkeeper’s eyebrows shot up at Chandos’ name.

“I’m Gustav Dusek, this is my wife Sarah and my brother Johan, and my son Max, you’ve already met my stepdaughter, Alex.” Each of them nodded as they were introduced, save Max who stopped his finger tapping just long enough to raise a hand a few inches of the table before recommencing his tattoo. “Now that we have that bit of nice out of the way, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here, nosing around like you had a right.” His glare was directed at Anton who gave no indication of feeling its effects.

“Certainly, Herr Dusek, as soon as you tell me exactly where my associate spent the afternoon and why the knees of his trousers are covered in dirt and his wrists in need of medical attention. ” Anton returned his gaze with a passive expressionless look. Except for the eyes.

“It was all a misunderstanding…” Dusek began.

Chandos cut him short, “No, I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you tied me up and left me in your cellar for the rats.” Of course there hadn’t been any rats but Chandos was very unhappy at having been the one trussed up again. Cynthia sat back watching the show. Whatever was going on here it seemed that they were going to find out the answer to the puzzle of Anton’s …what would she be… half sister?

Dusek turned to his wife who had settled into looking morose and asked her to fetch the bottle. She returned with an unmarked bottle and cups of various sizes and styles. Dusek poured out for everyone, drank his in one gulp, poured himself another and, thus fortified, began the story.

“It was just before the war. It was already clear that the winds blew ill for this country. A man named Dellbrook Gruber arrived to recruit men to work in the Glassworks. I was a little boy, still in short pants, but thought I was tough and strong. I went up to this man, this bigshot and told him I would work. He looked down his long nose at me and told me to run home to my mama. He was offering good money to lure the men to go and work to his company. At the same time as this man a woman also came. She was very foreign, from Russia. She didn’t beg but she was looking for work and food and I saw her talking to this Gruber one day. She went away with him to the Inn. They were always seen together after that, at all hours.” The man snorted at this and took another drink. “When Gruber was done here they left. Some months after that my mother was approached by a man who said he worked for a businessman. He offered my mother a lot of money to take care a baby. My mother talked to the man for a long time and he left and came back the next day with the baby. The baby had beautiful green eyes. Momma called me in to the kitchen and told me this was my new sister, a gift from God. We called her Anna. She married Samuel Hauptman, the farm just down the road, and they had a child. Alex. Anna and Samuel died a few years back in the influenza epidemic. We took in Alex.” The big man’s voice broke as he looked over at his adopted daughter, “She has been our gift from God.”

At this his wife began to wail until he put his weathered hand on her arm. This seemed to calm her and she gathered her resolve to look at Anton. “Are you going to take my baby from me?”

Cindie
Almost done, - Tuesday, February 26, 2002 at 16:45:48 (PST)

Somewhere in Egypt, present day:

"Maybe we should spread out a little bit so we don't splash each other and scare the fish away," David suggested.

"Good idea," Alexander agreed as he stood up and got his bearings. "Are you sure you're going to be all right? The bottom really isn't what I'd call nice and firm," he said. His nose wrinkled as he felt his feet sinking into the soft mud of the riverbed. He lifted up one foot experimentally, hearing a tiny *squish* sound created by the suction, followed by some bubbles. He found it was an effort to move forward as did the others, but they managed to get a reasonable distance away from each other.

"I think so. I can't just stand around - well, sit around while everybody else is doing something," David replied, turning his face towards the water and lowering his arms so that they just touched the water's surface.

Alexander nodded and the group fell into an uneasy silence, searching the water for any sign of something that appeared remotely edible, all of them jumping when Jack sneezed loudly, followed by a loud sniffle. "Sorry!"

"Bless you! We have to find the others and get out of here before you literally sneeze your head off," Roberta said with an audible note of laughter in her voice.

There was a momentary beat before: "That's a truly disgusting image, if you think about it," Melanie shot over her shoulder, grinning wickedly at her friend before turning her attention back to the water.

"Har de har har har! Everybody thinks that they're a comedian," Jack rolled his eyes as David snorted with laughter and Alexander chuckled softly.

"Just trying to inject a little bit of levity here. We need some desperately, especially with..." Melanie trailed off and sighed as she lowered her gaze back to the water.

Jack's brow furrowed and he cleared his throat. "Mel?" he asked softly.

Melanie turned around to stare at him, left eyebrow raised warily. "Yeah?"

"It was kind of funny, if a bit on the gross side," he admitted with a sheepish smile.

Melanie nodded and turned back to the water, as did he. Alexander silently breathed a sigh of relief that the truce was still in place as he turned his attention back to the water. "I'm wondering if maybe we should have kept that eel," he mused aloud. The rest whipped their heads around and gazed at him with horrified expressions on their faces. "Just trying to be sensible," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm not exactly that fond of the idea myself."

"Too late now," David grumbled, his eyes narrowing when he saw a bit of movement by his legs. He slowly leaned down and lowered his hands into the water, taking care to disturb the water's surface as little as possible. The others watched him in tense silence, waiting to see what he would do. He suddenly clapped his hands together, splashing his face in the process. "BLAST IT!" he exclaimed, spitting water from his mouth. "Ro, it's coming towards you!"

Roberta tensed up, watching for any signs of movement in the water. She plunged her hands into the water and swore softly. They could see her struggling with something and they gave a ragged cheer when she slowly lifted her arms up, clasping a good-sized wiggling fish in her hands. "OW!" she yelped when the tail hit her arm. "NOW what do I do?"

"Just kill the damn thing!" Melanie exclaimed.

"HOW? I can barely hold onto it!" Roberta replied, eyes widening when she almost lost her grip, instinctively moving her hands towards her face. "OUCH!" she yelped again when she got slapped in the face by the tail, leaving an angry red mark across her right cheek. Jack winced in sympathy and exclaimed softly when he saw something moving in the water near him. He made a dive for it, lost his balance in the uneven riverbed and fell forward with a loud splash on all fours.

"The idea is to *catch* the fish, not *drown* yourself in the attempt," David reminded his friend with a chuckle when he lifted his head up, coughing and spitting indignantly.

"Maybe you're better off staying like that and holding your shirt open. You managed to catch an eel last time," Melanie pointed out, starting to giggle.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Very funny!" Jack sputtered as he looked up to face the two gazing down at him, his eyes growing wide as Melanie's giggles became louder and high-pitched in tone. He exchanged worried glances with David, who shrugged his shoulders and bit his bottom lip. Melanie saw it and began breathing deeply to calm herself down as Jack carefully rose to his feet again.

"Allow me. Why don't you walk over to the side and see if you can place that against the embankment?" Alexander's voice broke in calmly over the ruckus. Roberta turned around, her eyes widening and swallowing audibly when she saw him approaching her cautiously with a grim expression on his face as he withdrew his pocket knife. She did what he requested, still struggling with the fish. He mumbled under his breath when he too almost lost his balance and pitched forward but managed to catch himself at the last moment. He exhaled in relief and continued walking over to her slowly. She smiled weakly when he managed to make it over to her with a minimum of trouble.

"Hold still and move over a bit so I can try to impale it at the head," Alexander murmured as he carefully removed the blade from the pocket knife and reached out to grab the intended victim as Roberta watched him intently. "Here we... GOAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHOOWW!"

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" the three still attempting to catch another fish turned around, wide-eyed as they saw the normally unflappable Englishman's face set in a grimace of pain and flapping his right hand back and forth.

"It BIT him on the thumb!" Roberta called back, inwardly wincing as Alexander muttered several colorful phrases under his breath. "Are you all right, Professor?"

"Yes... I'm fine..." Alexander replied, scowling as he checked the injured digit. "No blood drawn." His eyes narrowed to angry slits as he gazed down at the fish, which finally appeared to be slowing down in the struggle to free itself. "I'm going to enjoy eating yeeeewwwww," he snarled, drawing the knife back and plunging the blade downward in a quick arc. It landed right between the gills. The fish struggled for a moment before finally giving in and becoming still. He performed a crude beheading with a minimum of movement and tossed the waste into the water with a satisfied look on his face.

"Uh... Nice job," Roberta murmured, her mouth suddenly dry as she watched him stand up while the three behind them immediately started searching for a fish with renewed vigor. She held the beheaded fish in her hands uncertainly.

Alexander's face softened as he gave her a slight smile. "Thanks. Why don't you toss that up on the path?" he suggested. Roberta nodded and did so. "I'm going to try for one. If I'm lucky I won't get bit this time," he tossed over his shoulder.

Roberta turned around just in time to see Jack plunge his hands into the water and yell with a triumphant note in his voice, "GOTCHA!" He raised his bounty - another fish - with a huge grin.

Sandy
- Monday, February 25, 2002 at 14:54:30 (PST)

The Imperial Palace:

"I can’t bear it if you’re not real . . ."

An instant of cold shock, before Mary Anne feels her eyes sting and her heartbeat thicken with pain at the memory. You unspeakable . . . But this is no time for tears.

"Yes," she replies quietly, with icy disdain. "I’m real."

"Prove it."

"How?"

It requires all of her courage not to recoil from the sudden thrust of HIS arm through the bars.

"Come here."

And now, all of her self-command, not to advance. That voice of HIS, and more . . . that taut-muscled arm straining toward her, fingers cupped to invite the clasp of her own . . .

"If you think," retorts Mary Anne, spacing her words with the precision of flung stones, "that I’d come anywhere near you . . ."

Abruptly and disconcertingly The Interrogator relaxes, laughing a little and withdrawing his arm, to lean casually against the wall beside the bars. "Proof enough. If you had actually been foolish enough to come when I called, then I would have known I was losing my mind."

" Have you had reason to think you were losing your mind?"

"Oh, at times . . ."

Mary Anne wonders if only she, out of all The Interrogator’s acquaintance, would catch HIS sudden tension that accompanies the airily-spoken words: the way HIS body seems to draw inward, arms crossed at the chest, the slight hunch of the shoulders. Not much taller than I am, but HE always seems so tall, as if HE were looming over you . . .

"And is this one of those times?"

That flick of HIS eyes toward her, the quick blink of light on a knife blade. And that smile. "I could lie, but what would be the point of that? Lying to you, of all people?" HIS smile widens as Mary Anne looks away, then forces herself to meet those eyes once more. Laughing at her, yes, mocking her with the connection between them, the monstrous intimacy. "Yes, I’ll admit I’ve been troubled by that thought a bit, here of late. Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose, for a man in my position." HIS gaze sharpens. "But what of you, my Lady of Compassion? To what do I owe the honour of this visit? A pity it is not a conjugal one; now that would be a true errand of mercy, though I suspect Braaaandon . . ." The hateful drawl. " . . . would hardly approve. Or—" Silkily. "—does he even know that you are here with me?"

Mary Anne reaches for the anger that casts out fear, or at least drives it back for the moment. "My husband knows exactly where I am. And I’ll thank you to remember exactly where you are."

Mockery in HIS eyes, and worse: a desire than can be neither described nor contained, drawing at her like the dark, strong tide that pulls the unwary swimmer out to sea. "I am hardly likely to forget it. So, if you are not here to commiserate and not here to gloat, then I ask again—why are you here? I can hardly believe it’s for the pleasure of my company, though the thought is immensely flattering, my dear."

"Don’t flatter yourself. And I am not your dear." Mary Anne takes a long breath. "I’m here because of what you say has been troubling you . . ."

MA
Glad to see I'm not alone in here; it was getting awfully quiet these past few days! , - Sunday, February 24, 2002 at 20:18:17 (PST)

Magda! - Thankyou, was definately worth the wait in what has been a very frustrating week.
Magda S <magdahorrocks@hotmail.com>
- Sunday, February 24, 2002 at 10:16:24 (PST)

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

I stared at the note until the words danced in front of my eyes.

“You were warned and you failed to heed. Do not make the same mistake again. Stay away from your wife – or she will die.”

Someone had actually had the audacity to enter my bedchamber and leave a threatening note for me - not once, but twice. Both times when I was actually in the castle and might have come into the room. I exhaled in a great gust of breath. Whoever this varlet was, he certainly did not lack nerve.

He would, however, lack a number of body parts and most of his internal organs when I got my hands on him. I folded the note into quarters, my fingers trembling with barely suppressed rage.

"What's that, George?"

I started. The voice was right beside me. While I had been distracted, Joya had climbed out of bed and padded across the carpet to my side. She craned her head over my shoulder to see what I was holding. Folding it didn't hide what it obviously was; she gasped when she saw the note. Wordlessly I held it out; wordlessly she took it and read it. For long seconds that stretched into minutes, neither of us spoke.

Finally she folded the note into quarters again and handed it back to me. She frowned in thought as she walked over to my chair and dropped into it. "Well, our mysterious persecutor doesn't waste much time, does he?"

"And neither will I, when I catch him." I shoved the paper into my belt pouch. There was no time to lose. "You'd better get back to bed. I'll handle this myself."

Joya looked around in surprise. "Handle what? Where are you going?"

"To see Locksley, of course." I pulled my sword out of the scabbard and checked the blade. "I want to see where his second note was found. Then we're both going to go through this castle inch by inch until we find the culprit."

"Let's discuss this first, George..."

The blade was in excellent condition. I slipped the scabbard into my belt and adjusted the straps. "There's nothing to discuss. We've wasted enough time. Locksley is not going to be convinced that I'm not behind it and I really don't care if he does. The only reason I want him along is so he can hear the confession before I dispatch the rogue. Then we can get back to our major problem with the king." Five days until his arrival and we had not even begun to plan our joint attack. By all means, this mysterious note-writer had to be dealt with immediately.

"Well then, I'm coming with you." Joya's lips were pressed tight in a firm line. I recognized the beginning of a determined mood.

"Very well. Then I am going with you. Just let me get my cloak." She stood up and shook out her gown, now looking creased from all the recent activity.

"You are not. You are staying right here and that is final. You've had a severe shock and you need to recover." I stepped in front of the door and folded my arms across my chest. "Now get back in that bed. That's an order."

I didn't really think it would work; giving Joya an order is a futile endeavour at the best of times and usually it just opens the floor to further discussion. I was prepared to waste the better part of an hour on the issue. But to my amazement, this time it worked.

"Perhaps you're right. Bed sounds very good right now." She climbed onto the mattress and pulled the bed furs up to her chin, then flashed a bright blue glance at me. "But you will tell me what happens right away?"

"I will, I promise." I was almost too stunned for words.

She nodded and sank back into her pillows. With her eyes closed, I was struck at the paleness of her complexion; it was indistinguishable from the linen sheets. I fumbled with the latch and eased myself out of the room, careful to shut the door quietly behind me.

I had imagined descending on Locksley with strong demands that we settle this nonsense immediately by jointly interrogating every vassal and servant in the castle, both his and mine. When the culprit broke under torture, we would dispatch him forthwith and then turn our attention to setting this marriage fiasco. But Joya's mood gave me food for thought and most unpalatable food it was. In the year that I had known her - and known her intimately - I had never seen her nerve fail. She thrived on the challenge of overcoming adversity. It stimulated her. As a sign of her emotional frailty, this lethargy was almost frightening.

As I strode down the corridor to the other tower, it occurred to me that I should just go back to our bedchamber to be with her. I slowed my steps and almost turned around, but then thought better of it. Locksley must have found his own second note by now; best to show him ours as soon as possible so his suspicions wouldn't get overheated again.

Locksley's men-at-arms were guarding their apartment with grim determination but they lowered their spears when I came up the stairs. It was one thing to protect their lord from unknown peril but quite another to repel the overlord whose castle they were staying in. Uncertainty flickered across their faces and while they sorted the legal niceties out I marched through their midst to bang loudly on the door.

It flew open immediately and Locksley surged over the threshold. "I said no inter-! Oh, it's you." He stepped back and eyed me warily. "What do you want?"

"To talk to you and Marion." I looked over my shoulder at the flustered retainers. "At ease, men. Everything's fine."

"Talk about what?" He retreated into the room, still holding the door and glaring suspiciously at me.

"About the repercussions of that attempt to murder our wives. I was thinking -" I stopped in surprise. Marion sat by the fire with an itemized document in one hand and a quill in the other. She lowered both as I came in. Two women were scuttling about the room folding and packing clothing into a large wooden chest; a third woman was fastening leather straps around a jewelry chest. At the sound of my voice, they curtsied low and disappeared into the antechamber beyond. I looked around at the signs of departure. "Am I interrupting something?"

"You are." Locksley joined Marion by the fire and dropped one hand possessively on her shoulder. "We're leaving. Now. Tonight. Before there are any more 'accidents' in this castle."

"It's dangerous to travel at night." I responded.

Marion stood up. "Surely not more dangerous than staying here." She walked over to the bed and dropped her list on it. "Let us be frank, Lord Nottingham. Robin believes you are behind this whole business for dark reasons of your own that are too deep to fathom. I shared that belief when it was simply a matter of threatening notes. Since the incident this evening, I have changed my mind. I believe that you cherish the Lady Joya too much to risk any harm to her."

I nodded in thanks and shot a withering glance at Locksley.

"But you must admit that what happened tonight changes everything." She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. "We will return to Locksley Manor until King Richard arrives. Then we'll come back. He'll understand."

Locksley crossed to her side and slid one arm around her waist. "As soon as the women are finished, we'll leave. We're not waiting around to find another damned note." Marion shuddered and he held tight, putting his other arm around her to pull her closer.

"Second note? No, indeed, that would be very unpleasant." The breath seemed to clump in my throat. I struggled for speech. "I can't imagine anything worse than a second note. No indeed."

"What did you come to talk about?" Locksley looked up briefly.

"Oh, nothing important." I waved a hand in the air. "Just - after that attempt tonight - you know - that is - I mean - uh - the morning meal! I was going to ask what you wanted for the morning meal! We have bread and meat and - uh - meat and bread."

They stared at me. I backed up to the door. "But since you're leaving it doesn't really matter does it? Well goodnight and do have a pleasant journey." I scrabbled for the latch and yanked the door open. The men outside watched me warily but I had no thought for them as I marched down the stairs and along the connecting corridor. My thoughts were in a swirling mass and I dragged in breaths through lungs frozen with dread.

Because if Locksley and Marion did not receive a second note as we did - and there was no reason for them to deny it and every reason for them to announce it - then there was no longer any doubt whose wife was being threatened.

Joya was in mortal peril.

Magda
Hoping the length will compensate for the wait, - Sunday, February 24, 2002 at 09:30:08 (PST)

Flashback
Wagensburg:

As suppertime came and went, Cynthia and Anton spoke in quiet tones in the attic. Cynthia urged a call to Chandos’ employer. She knew that his boss, though she had never met him, wielded great influence from his accounting office in Whitehall. Anton was more inclined to simply notify the local police. Cynthia didn’t know why but felt that was not a good idea. They decided on the compromise of not involving anyone until morning thus allowing for the possibility that Chandos had found more accommodating quarters elsewhere and would turn up under his own power in the A.M.

After darkness had settled, they readied to depart the house, restowed the baggage in the Rolls and indicated to their hostess that they thought just that. Their host and the young man were not anywhere to be seen. Anton and Cynthia seemed to be heading to their newly acquired estate. In fact Anton, who had resumed his position behind the wheel, doubled back and cut the engine some distance from the house behind an obliging clump of trees. “He’s back there somewhere, I just know it Anton.” Cynthia’s fists were clenched and she felt ready to flay someone.

“I agree.” Gruber reached into the glove box and took out a torch. He directed Cynthia to the toolbox in the boot, which after some rummaging she found, and she emerged with a second torch and gently closed the lid. By tacit agreement they headed back towards the farm house they had just vacated, circling wide and coming at it from the back. They did not use the torches, relying on moonlight to guide them, lest they give themselves away with the light. Approaching the barn they paused to discuss tactics. Their voices kept low, it was agreed that Cynthia would count to forty and then enter from this side while Anton would circle around and enter from the other side. They both recalled seeing a door from the other side which faced the house. Anton could not believe that Cynthia wore no watch. “We can’t synchronize now,” he hissed. Cynthia shrugged and indicated that she could count to 40 just fine. They began their silent assault. As she entered the barn Cynthia at first heard only the rustling of animals then the creak of the door at the far end. They both turned on their torches after the barn doors were closed. A search yielded them nothing save rusty farm implements that seemed to have no earthly use other than cultivating tetanus.

Certain that the barn held no occupants save those who belonged there they continued to skulk. At least Cynthia felt that she was skulking, Anton looked like a cat on the prowl and remarkably comfortable trespassing and probably technically breaking and entering as well. Tall and sleek and light on his feet, he seemed born to be a cat burglar. An exceptional cat burglar he’d be too. They worked through another shed of ambiguous purpose and then came to an outbuilding that had no windows and only one door. Anton began to work the latch with Cynthia holding the torch, cupping the beam with her hand so the light could not be seen, when they heard a sound that had to be that of a shotgun being readied for firing. They both turned to be greeted by the sight of the colloquial both barrels staring down at them. It took a moment for the realization to hit that the man that held it was their former host, the innkeeper.

Cindie
- Friday, February 22, 2002 at 18:06:27 (PST)

Devil's Food Cake -- definitely! (Sorry, Metatron...)
Gigi
Mmmmmmm (*licking icing from corners of mouth*) -- deeeeeeeee-licious!, - Thursday, February 21, 2002 at 13:27:54 (PST)

Lawds I'm hungry...maybe just a little...

Happy B-day! (not late this time!)

Carmen
~*stomach growwwl*~, - Thursday, February 21, 2002 at 08:17:59 (PST)

(Homer Simpson-style voice) "Caaaake . . . ohhhhhh . . ."

MA--cutting off slab of . . . er . . .
. . . taking dainty, miniscule sample of cake . . . 8-9, - Thursday, February 21, 2002 at 05:52:16 (PST)

One piece. Very small. It is quite good.
The Director
Munching., - Thursday, February 21, 2002 at 05:48:19 (PST)

A very Happy Birthday to our esteemed Director! 8-)

(May I please have a piece of the cake, sir?)

MA
Wide-eyed appealing look . . ., - Thursday, February 21, 2002 at 05:43:30 (PST)

Good catch. *wink back*

MA
- Wednesday, February 20, 2002 at 05:05:00 (PST)

"I can't bear it if you're not real...." Ah.
*wink*
- Tuesday, February 19, 2002 at 22:41:53 (PST)

The Imperial Palace:

At the turn of the corridor, Mary Anne pauses and lifts her hands to her ears, checking the placement of the filters that The Doctor had provided. Then, with no further excuse to linger, she squares her shoulders and steps forward. Around the corner, to the right . . .

Mary Anne halts abruptly, for the cell is before her and The Interrogator is there, closer than she had expected, at the bars and no more than six feet away. Like lightning the sight of HIM burns through her, causing her to gasp and flinch back a step, instinctively lifting her hands to fend off her enemy, even as her mind insists, HE cannot reach you; you are safe.

Safe? No, never. Not with this man. She would like to retreat even further but pride forbids it, and so Mary Anne remains wary, poised for flight, even as she looks for changes in the man before her. Visual memory keeps an imperfect record, and HIS appearance, she finds, has become blurred by time and distance, softened by the mind’s desire to avoid pain.

Even locked in a cell, clad in the simplest clothing, and pale with confinement, The Interrogator is a sight to inspire dread, projecting as HE does that indefinable aura of domination. The cold eyes are the same in their deep, shadowed sockets, golden and pitiless as the gaze of a raptor flying low to seize its prey. The thin curve of the lips, the imperious profile, the looming posture, the waiting stillness . . .

It is all just as Mary Anne remembers, and did not know that she remembered; it all passes through her mind in that split second before The Interrogator turns and meets her eyes.

HE does not seem in the least surprised to see her. There is a long silence as HE stares through the bars, looking HIS fill, and she permits herself to be inspected, knowing how she must look with her loosened hair spilling over her shoulders, bracing herself for one of those double-edged compliments . . .

"Mary Anne . . ."

She closes her eyes, then stubbornly forces them open. Here it comes.

"Are you . . . real? Please, I can’t bear it if you’re not real . . ."

MA--would those be the Giant Dungeon Rats of Sumatra, Cindie? A story for which FOF is not yet prepared. ;-)
And here is the *action* you requested . . ., - Tuesday, February 19, 2002 at 19:52:30 (PST)

FoF Buildings
Late evening

Erika’s dream notebook sat at the dark edges of the empty soundstage. She had been putting things away for storage for the Director before going home and was observing the empty space. Something was going to be built in there soon, a Hogwarts set she thought, but could not be sure. Setting her notebook down, she walked out to the empty space and spun around in it, feeling her body move freely.

No one would see her, she thought, as music played in her head and she began to dance. Not just moving her body to the music, but a choreographed, planned series of movements. Strong leaps and kicks and spinning and running around. It felt good, out of the small flat, in the open air, dark and comforting.

Her notebook sat, untouched, until someone began, unbeknownst to her, to watch her. She had just fallen to the floor, reaching her limbs and stretching and falling. Careening around the room, careful not to enter the dark edges of the soundstage.

She had continued her writing of the dream she had had, finishing after she got home from the play, and it was that memory that was on the marked page in the book. It read thus…

The poor little horse shifted beside her, most likely uncomfortable in the wake of the large male that stood before her, carrying a most impressive rider. If she could’ve, Lady Ivory would’ve acted the same way, however she jutted her chin in the silence as they observed each other like two eagle eyed falcons, not daring to blink.

Lord Ebony seemed to give her the tiniest of nods before he began in his rich, melancholy voice, “Lady Ivory, what are you doing on this land? If I am not mistaken this is Lady Sterling Silver’s land.”

She tried to delve deeper into the beautiful, different hued eyes as she shot back at him a cool stare, “You are not mistaken.” It was no doubt, she wished to toy with him slightly. He narrowed his eyes at her, fingering the crop slowly between his index finger and thumb, turning the horse around her in a circle.

“Again, I ask what are you doing here?”

She would’ve laughed, long and hard, at his irritation at seeing her here but she only raised an eyebrow at him and replied, “I’m watching her land for her. She has some business to attend to. I’m helping throw a colt for her…” He sniffed at her and she gave him a glare.

“Yes…she’s said something about someone who’s quite good at it. I would’ve never thought it could be you, dear young Ivory…” he said mildly.

“Appearances can be deceiving. That’s your land, then.”

“Of course…Lady Sterling Silver and I had a bit of trouble over boundary lines a few years back,” Lady Ivory stifled a smile as he continued, “And this brook is our boundary. However, I won’t have you for trespassing as before you were riding onto my land.” She gave him an outraged look as she brought Tinkerbell out of the circles he was making around her. The little Dun horse gave a soft whinny and she shot daggers at him.

“Oh really? You were following me then? All around this morning? How very kind of you Lord Ebony…and I thought you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.” His eyes blazed and she continued recklessly on, “Oh wait, I forgot, you do only care about yourself, and your land of course.” Lord Ebony straightened his, of course, black coat and rode the larger horse closer to her, its nostrils quivering in the cold as it shot smoke out.

“Was that supposed to hurt, dear Lady?” he asked in the softest tone and she studied every inch of him as he looked her straight in the eye. He was more formidable on a horse, she thought, taller, and the coat and boots make him more the Ebony lord that he is. His liqueur brown-hazel eyes, she couldn’t tell, she thought, as they shifted when light hit certain specks, flickered slightly and she brought herself to her full height.

“You’re out of bounds on my land, I think, Lord Ebony. I could have you taken out…” she growled back, angry at her own temper flaring. He smirked at her and she turned as the clops of hooves flew at her from behind. A young man on a Palomino Arabian flew up at her, turning the horse sharply.

“Milady Ivory, she’s throwin’ her colt. We’re needin’ y’now!” He said urgently, slightly breathless and she straightened herself on Tinkerbell as Lord Ebony watched everything with an appraising eye. “Actually, Lady, I think it’d be faster iffin ye rode with me. Tink can find her own way back. And Lord Ebony, if yed like to join us, I’m sure Lady would be delighted.” She choked as Lord Ebony gave a grim smile and nodded sharply as she primly sat behind the stablehand, side-saddle, and they took off to Lady Sterling Silver’s Stables.

The watcher left, Erika’s dream notebook in hand as she continued her noiseless flight over the stage and she didn’t even realize that it was gone until the Director called her at 3:45 the next day.


Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
And I thought I had scared everyone off....hmm..., - Tuesday, February 19, 2002 at 19:39:04 (PST)

Paragraph added.
Nope, no rats in the dungeon. But don't expect Jamie as a cellmate...
D.o.C.

Rats, and I forgot my paragraph marker. *sigh*
Cindie
I didn't mean rats in the dungeon of course... At least I hope not, since I seem to be headed there., - Tuesday, February 19, 2002 at 17:41:49 (PST)

Flashback
Wagensburg:

The broken glass proved much more elusive that Chandos had anticipated. For a beginning the shelves were too high for him to reach conveniently in his hog tied state and the work of knocking down jars both exhausting and bruise forming. What was worse they were stubbornly resilient and refused to break. Deuced Corinthian glass. He sat back on his heels and considered how best to bash two of those most recalcitrant objects together to create the desired shards. As he did so, the door from above opened up to reveal another figure looking down at him. It was back lit by a setting sun and appeared to be smaller than his earlier visitor. “Is anyone down here?” The voice was female.

“Hello.” Chandos was ever grateful he had mastered the German tongue after his first visit here. “Do you think you could give me a hand?”

The figure lowered the ladder and then clattered down and turned to face him. “Mein Gott!” The figure gasped. Chandos was trying to make out her countenance as she continued, “Who are you? Why have they done this?”

Had Chandos not been crouching behind the front desk stifling a sneeze when she came into the Inn the previous night he would have recognized her as the young woman on the arm of the fellow who had peddled up to them in their time of need this morning. Reciting his answer he said, “I am William Chandos, I am here with my friends looking for evidence that Herr Gruber’s father was here many years ago and I have no idea why they have done this.”

She appeared as if struck by a bolt of thunder. It was only when Chandos resorted to bumping her with his head that she roused herself. “Yes. I will get you out of here.” She began to work at the thick twine, cursed and looked around. When she began to climb the ladder, Chandos felt a twinge of apprehension. She appeared shortly with an ax and positioned his hands over it, guiding him as he sawed back and forth blindly. When he was freed of his bonds it took a long moment for feeling to be restored enough for him to risk moving on numbed feet. The woman went first and Chandos followed on her heels. When he claimed the ground outside it was nearly dark. She looked around and led him to an outbuilding which judging by the odours wafting from it was a smokehouse. Though less than eager to exchange one cell for another, her nervous glances made him think it best to be undercover again lest his host reappear and return him to his recently vacated hole.

When they were inside the outbuilding, which did not appear to have any lighting available, he turned to his rescuer. “Who are you?” He demanded, “and why have they done this?” His questions, echoing her own, were flung at her and she flinched from them.

Her response left him as thunderstruck as she had been only moments before. “I am Aleksi Andreavishch Hauptman.”

Cindie
That makes three in a row -- Come on ladies ...time to come out and play., - Tuesday, February 19, 2002 at 17:39:31 (PST)

Oh poor Chandos!
Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Such drama..., - Sunday, February 17, 2002 at 14:35:55 (PST)

Flashback:
Wagensburg:

It was dark when Chandos finally awoke with a headache in a room which was cold and smelled of onions. When he tried to rub his head he found his arms were bound. Not being without both experience and training in such matters he first took a moment to assess the situation. He had been wrong about the darkness, as his eyes adjusted he realized that there were minute chinks of light making their way into the room from above. He lay on his side on a floor of packed earth. No light came from the sides but he could see vague lumps of things hanging and the outlines of shelves. Judging by the smells, the configuration of the room and the cold, it appeared to be a root cellar. His hands were bound behind him at the wrists and his feet were tied at the ankles, a length of rope or twine running between wrists and ankles kept his posture bent. The job didn’t seem professional but it certainly was effective and his appendages were numb. He began to rock his body to gain momentum in order to get up on his knees so he could begin to look for a way to cut through his bindings or find a way out. The movement brought needle sharp points of pain and just as he gained his knees, the door from above was swung back letting in a weak light that still dazzled his eyes. He squinted up a the shape above him and heard a voice say in German, “I told you he’d be fine. Now I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

The man turned around and came down a ladder into the cellar. The door was left open and his captor, upon reaching the bottom, found a bucket which he turned over and sat upon. He did not appear to be armed but given the present state of affairs Chandos did not think it wise to rush the man, for he had, after all, been speaking to someone. His eyes were still adjusting to the light and took a moment for him to realize that his companion in this little oubliette was his erstwhile host. He recalled Cynthia and Anton leaving, he making sure the car was secure and having an early luncheon with their hostess in the kitchen. Then here. There didn’t seem to be a bump on his head that he could discern and it occurred to him that he had been drugged. But why? He looked at the other man and waited, perhaps he would have his answer soon enough.

“You will tell me why you have come.”

“I’m wondering that myself right about now.”

The man stood up and swept Chandos’ feet out from under him and rendered him a good swift kick in the gullet. The air gasped out him and while he was recovering his breath, the other man repeated, “you will tell me why you have come.”

“I say, there’s no need to get twitchy,” Chandos grumbled, “It’s no secret.” Not now anyway. “We’re looking to see if Herr Gruber’s father was here a while ago. There’s a woman who claims to be related to him and we are checking it out.”

The large man grunted and seemed to think this over. “If he was here, it’s too late now to do anything about it.”

This didn’t necessarily make any sense to Chandos but at this the man got up and climbed up the ladder, this time taking it up after him. The door banged shut. Chandos resumed his search for means of escape, though now his eyes were unaccustomed to the dark and he had to wait while for them to readjust before beginning in earnest. The bucket upon which his host had sat was useless. It seemed that there were jars on a nearby shelf and he thought that if he knocked one down he could perhaps use a bit of broken glass to cut through the thick twine which encircled his wrists and ankles.

Cindie
- Sunday, February 17, 2002 at 08:52:07 (PST)

Flashback
Wagensburg:

Now what, indeed. Anton Gruber had been pondering the question all morning. “Now, we stop playing at snoops and announce ourselves.”

“We might as well,” Cynthia concurred. “It seems like everyone knows who we are already anyway.”

“Chandos,” Anton continued, “I will need to take the car, we are not staying here tonight. I will buy a house if needs be.” The Siberian tiger was ready to forsake stealth for strength in pursuit of his prey.

Cynthia stepped in, “I’ll go with you. Even if I can’t communicate directly it would be unseemly for the Grubermeister to handle such affairs on his own.”

Chandos stifled a snort and Anton started but then grinned broadly, “Ja, we will, as you would say, go for broke.”

“If you can’t conceal, advertise, it’s the next best thing,” quoted Chandos. “I’ll hold down the fort here and begin to make a few enquiries nearby. We haven’t really covered this side of town yet. Perhaps someone here will know something.” Chandos was peering out the window and considering other tacts to try to breech the reserve of the locals.

Cynthia borrowed an iron and was turned out by the time Anton had changed into his most intimidating suit and brought the car around. “Move over, I’ll drive.” Anton began to protest but Cynthia favoured him with a look and said, “You said we were going for broke. Herr Gruber needs a driver.” He shrugged and slid over and she took the wheel.

They began their enquiries with an estate agent who informed them there was nothing suitable for lease, the castle itself was available to be sublet, little did he know their connection with the leaseholder, but its remote location and state of disrepair rendered it unusable for their purposes. So it was that on what was barely their third day, Anton Gruber became the proud owner of a seventeen acre estate complete with gardener, maid and cook recently placed for sale by the daughter of an old family who was tired of country life and had recently moved to the city. The name Gruber was thrown about at every opportunity as they put the finishing touches on outfitting and provisioning the home which even came with family portraits, two ancient cats and a very ill tempered pony. Anton dissuaded Cynthia from the idea of hitching the pony to the dog cart and retrieving Chandos in style, in favour of the Rolls, and by tea time they were back at the house to inform their erstwhile hostess that other arrangements had been made. Chandos what not at the house and in fact it appeared that no trace of him had been scene since lunch. Annoyance gave way to alarm when he had not appeared by supper. Chandos’ appetite made it extremely unlikely that he would willingly miss a meal.

Cindie
Oh, ACK!!!! Picturing that long stone hallway...and HIM at the end. ACK!!!!!!!, - Friday, February 15, 2002 at 17:56:58 (PST)

The Imperial Palace . . . near HIS cell . . .

Mary Anne comes to a halt in the stone corridor that seems to stretch away before her into infinity, then quickly glances down at herself, checking her appearance.

An ironic inward smile at the precaution. You’re about to face The Interrogator, and you’re worried about your CLOTHES? Still, she does not relish the prospect of HIS sneering compliments that are somehow worse than any insult. Remembering that chill golden-eyed gaze that seems to pierce through every layer of clothing, she is glad she had dressed as simply as possible for what she thought would be only a conversation with The Empress. The gown is certainly becoming—changeable silk that shows silvery-grey in some lights, ice-blue in others—but also modest, with its insets of lace about the throat and cuffs. Neat, respectable, tasteful . . .

Useless. Those eyes of HIS will strip her naked . . .

"—Mrs. Brandon?"

Mary Anne shakes her head slightly. "I—I’m sorry, Mister Cadell. I’m afraid I was thinking of something else."

Rupert nods. "As well you might. I was only explaining to Colonel Brandon that the guards will remain here—" Rupert gestures to the Imperial Guardsmen whose duty it would be to patrol the corridors. "—and they will signal to you to proceed, once we have taken our places at the surveillance post. Her Majesty is already waiting for us there. We will all be observing, and the guards will be within call." Rupert fixes an earnest gaze upon her. "And if you should feel that you need them, call them; do not hesitate. We have done everything we can to minimize the danger, but I would be a liar if I said that no danger existed."

This earns him a look from Brandon, in which there are things unlawful to be spoken aloud. But when the Colonel can and does speak, it is only to say, "Twenty minutes, Mister Cadell?"

Rupert nods. "That should be quite sufficient."

Mary Anne frowns. "May I speak with The Interrogator about anything? Does he know about the brainwave feedback, or should I avoid that?"

"Her Majesty imposed no restrictions. You may tell HIM, or not, as you think best—though HE is surely intelligent enough to know something is not right. Best to speak the truth. Oh, and another thing." Rupert hesitates. "I shall have to ask you to . . . remove your hairpins."

"My hairpins?" exclaims Mary Anne, keenly aware of Brandon just at her right shoulder and his outburst of "—demand to know the meaning of this—"

Rupert waits it out until he has their silent attention. "Yes, it sounds outrageous, but we are taking every precaution. Both of you have had plenty of experience with The Interrogator; you know HE can make a weapon of practically anything."

Mary Anne swallows, remembering the dungeons beneath the Manor House, one of her hairpins in HIS hand . . . HIS boast that HE doesn’t need instruments; it can be anything . . .

"It sounds absurd and far-fetched, I know, but suppose one of Mrs. Brandon’s hairpins came into HIS hands, quite by accident. A weapon, perhaps? Or a picklock?"

Brandon raises an eyebrow. "A lock that would yield to a hairpin? Here?"

"Probably not, Colonel. HIS cell door has a magnetic lock, and HE couldn’t deactivate that so easily . . . but remember, this is a safety measure, and with The Interrogator, there can hardly be too many of those—"

"We’re wasting time," interrupts Mary Anne. "I’ll do it. Here."

She begins to feel for her hairpins, carefully pulling them out one by one and trying not to blush. Not that there is anything so shameful about wearing her hair down; it is only that she has become accustomed to performing this ritual in rather different circumstances, for Brandon’s eyes alone . . .

Done. Mary Anne shakes down the coils of her loosened hair and smooths it as best she can, before turning to Brandon. "Here," she murmurs, laying her hairpins in his hand and closing his fingers over them. "Look after these for me, sir."

Brandon tries to smile reassuringly but it is a hollow attempt at best and he soon gives it up, turning to follow Rupert down the corridor and leaving Mary Anne with the Guardsmen.

Waiting for the signal that all is in readiness, Mary Anne listens to the thud of her own heart, telling herself that twenty minutes is not such a long time, that this will soon be over and that it is, after all, necessary and for her own protection—none of which avails her against the pang of anxiety when the Guardsmen signal that all is ready and that she may proceed.

Down the corridor . . . around the first corner and to the right . . .

Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate . . . "Not that bad—not yet. Now get on with it," mutters Mary Anne, chiding herself into taking the first step . . .

MA--well, back to work. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
I think The Director's keeping me busy to keep me away from the birthday cake and Valentine chocolates . . . 8-9, - Thursday, February 14, 2002 at 20:23:23 (PST)

Sorry I'm late!

Happy belated birthday Suzanne! ~*carries bouquet of flowers*~


Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
J'espere le gateau est bon! (Oh I'm horrid at francais...), - Thursday, February 14, 2002 at 17:06:54 (PST)

Corrections made.
I'll take that bottle, thank you.
D.o.C.

*hic*

That should be "rises above the gathering" and "her eyes beginning to light", and "finishes its serenade"....

R (Golly, that champagne hits home so fast!)
- Thursday, February 14, 2002 at 10:54:43 (PST)

Mary Anne releases--positively pitches Suzanne across the floor---who pulls up short in front of the Director.

Her Director.

For however much she is the Queen of the Realm, when she is on the Director's set, he is the boss.

A position he fully relishes, she sees, as their eyes meet.

The VOICE of the Director easily rises above the gathering.

"Better. Much . . . better . . . now." Those crinkles in the corner.

Suzanne collects herself, losing all the fluster and summoning all her luster. She smiles back at him, sweetly, first, her eyes beginning to light with a mischief equal to the moment

"Will my pay be docked, for delaying today's shooting?"

A soft voice, which powerfully reaches every ear without exception.

A loud pass of laughter breaks out, and the crowd no longer restrains itself. Shouts of "Happy Birthday Suzanne!" quickly turn into the full song, as the grip rolls forth the gateaux a la carte . . .

Though rarely showing physical closeness on the set, whatever his personal feelings, the Director gathers Suzanne to him, in a warm but respectful hug.

"Happy Birthday, Suzanne."

As she is unfolded, he softly kisses her cheek . . . and as the crowd finishes its serenade, there is no doubt--no doubt--that she is a happy woman.

Happy Birthday, Suzanne
Something about surprise parties...*wicked grin*--R, - Thursday, February 14, 2002 at 10:46:48 (PST)

Happy birthday Suzanne!

Patience, patience, Suzy.
Magda
wear fur, it's cold in the dungeon, - Thursday, February 14, 2002 at 08:03:24 (PST)

Thank you for the surprise party! How fun!!! :-)

Suzanne (getting on with it... with George) *grin*
So, Mr. I, was that a "yes" or a "no"?, - Thursday, February 14, 2002 at 06:44:11 (PST)

Unfortunately, my computer is still being repaired and I did not receive the notice until I got to work this morning and was able to check my email.

Happy birthday, Suzanne.
Magda
- Thursday, February 14, 2002 at 06:07:10 (PST)

Dana gave her short nails one final glance as they neared the doorway. Life on the Gold Rush set was sometimes less than hygienic by modern standards.

PL pushed her gently at the small of the back, "You'll do fine, quit fussing and head directly for cake."

Dana
hoping to make it in time, the very warmest wishes on your birthday, Suzanne, - Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 21:18:17 (PST)

"For pity's sake, what is the hurry?" a ruffled Irish brogue demanded as the speaker allowed himself to be uncerimoniously towed down the darkened hall.

"Didn't you read your mail, Eamon? My notice got buried under the ludicrous stack of paperwork on my desk--hurry now, we're late."

"Late for what?" came the demand.

Therese stopped, and stepping up on tip toe, whispered into his ear. The response was immediate. "Good heavens--what are you dallying for, woman, let's go!" And with that, the role was reversed, and long legs quickly traversed the set hall, half dragging a petite figure along.

"Did we miss anything?" came the breathless inquiry.

"Ah, goot--we feared you might not make it." The bearer of the deeply accented voice reached to take a bag of party hats and blowers Therese cluched in one hand. "Take your places, please."

Wordlessly two more joined the gathered crowd.

Therese
Happy Birthday, Suzanne!! I think that practically *everyone* is here--and can't come up with a better reason than wishing you the happiest of returns!, - Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 19:55:44 (PST)

A rustle of gowns as Mary Anne escorts--escorts?--hurries, pulls, drags Suzanne back down the hallway.

"Wait, wait," protests Suzanne, halting to catch her breath and smooth her silks as she turns toward Mary Anne. "Will I be all right, now?"

"All right?" smiles Mary Anne. "You'll be superb." (homage)

Mary Anne opens the door and playfully sweeps her "full court" curtsey before arising and waving Suzanne through . . .

MA (hoping I'm not TOO late)
The very happiest of birthdays, Your Majesty! 8-), - Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 19:30:39 (PST)

FoF set:

Alexander hurried along the corridor where the writers sat, glancing down to check his watch. He smiled and slowed down deliberately when he approached the aisle where Sandy was sitting.

Alexander smiled when Oliver's head peeked out from the open doorway of her cubicle. The miniature poodle walked the short distance to him, tail wagging furiously. "Hi," he murmured softly as he knelt down to pat him briefly. Oliver uttered a gentle 'wuff' in response before turning around and re-entering his mistress' area.

Alexander rose to his feet, quietly entered the cubicle and grinned widely at the sight of Sandy completely engrossed in what she was doing - and even better - wearing headphones.

He moved behind her, waited a moment, and turned to gaze down at Oliver. The dog wagged his tail and sat down on his bed with an expectant look in his bright dark brown eyes.

With slow deliberation, Alexander leaned down and lifted the left side of the headphone away from her ear and said in a sing-song tone, "Oh Sandy..."

"AAAAHHHH!" She jumped from her seat and whipped around, eyes huge. "Alex, you scared me to death!" she exclaimed when she could speak again.

"I..I..." Alexander couldn't stop laughing. "I'm sorry..." He leaned up against the wall of her cubicle, chuckling.

"No you're not!" Sandy glared at him then turned to face her pet. "Some watchdog you are," she sputtered. Oliver wagged his tail in response. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "What's up?"

"It's not exactly what's up," Alexander pointed at his watch and her eyes widened when she saw the time.

"Oh, good grief. I didn't realize..."

"...the time. Yes, I know. C'mon love," The three exited the cubicle and down the corridor. "If we hurry, Ollie should be able to get the lion's share of the begging," Alexander remarked. Sandy's laughter echoed down the hall as they turned the corner.

Sandy
Happy birthday, Suzanne!, - Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 17:59:10 (PST)

“All ready, my dear?” Mistral kept his back dutifully turned while Cindie finished changing behind a screen.

“Yes.” She appeared out from behind it, dressed for the job for which she was actually paid. “But why do you get two rooms and a bath for your dressing room and all I get is a glorified closet with a Chinese screen?”

“The privileges of primacy.” He held out his arm to her.

“Bunch of non-sense.” She took his arm and they left the room together, heading over to the Palace set. “So tell me, shall we chain you to the bed again this year for Suzanne’s birthday?”

The look he gave her in response sent a shiver down her spine.

Cindie
Merry Birthday, Suz!, - Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 17:07:53 (PST)

Double deleted - gave me a chance to fix my post too!

Happy birthday Suz from the crew.
Deputy DOC
- Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 15:55:59 (PST)

"So, this is how the other half lives," said Claudia to the Doctor, as they appeared arm in arm on the Palace set. "I'm getting fed up with dank dark tunnels."

"You wrote yourself into the situation," he pointed out. "The Tardis is very cosy, if you just got round to writing a bit more, you could be there, and lounging in the holosuite."

"Hmmm... where's the champagne?" she said, changing the subject.

http://claudia_riley.tripod.com/artgallery05.html
Claudia <claudia@paradise.net.nz>
Follow the link to some very good new fan art at Solo Flights. One good thing about AR being so popular now, lots of lovely new pictures, - Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 15:47:03 (PST)

Oops! Apparently when you work behind the FOF bar your hands get slippery and you're prone to double posts.
Kari again
- Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 15:03:30 (PST)

“What kind of a party is this?” scoffed Achilles as he approached the snack table. “No gyros? No spinach pie? No moussaka?” He turned away from the table and skulked his way over to the makeshift bar, behind which Kari the redhead was firmly ensconced in her latest duty - pouring drinks for the guests.

“What will you have, O Greek One?” she asked as she brushed a wisp of hair from her face with a forearm.

He narrowed his eyes and said menacingly “Ouzo, Red. And make it snappy.”

Kari (Hi Suzanne
- Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 15:01:00 (PST)

Steam rose from the shower on the GOLD RUSH set.

“Did you say G-a-t-e-a-u-x ?“ Sinclair rolled the word around savouring the sound. ”G-a-t-e-a-u-x “ his voice dropped emphasising the last syllable “ … fit for an Empress, now that should be ….” The tail end was lost in a bout of humming.

“I love G-a-t-e-a-u-x in the B-a-t-e-a-u-x”

“I love G-a-t-e-a-u-x in the Ch-a-t-e-a-u-x”

It was more than O’Hara could stand.

“No she said Birthday Cake, and if you don’t hurry there will be none left.” He lobbed the dry towel over the door into the full shower stream and left.

Claire
Happy Birthday Suzanne, - Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 14:39:43 (PST)

Phil nodded to Suzanne. "Just a bit here," he said, spritzing a fix on one of the Empress' formal curls.

Barbara leaned in the doorway and met Phil's glance in the mirror. She nodded at his questioning eyebrow.

"Ready," Phil said, releasing Suzanne from the chair.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
- Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 13:37:33 (PST)

Unt, pleeeeze join in, as all are welcome.....
Hans
- Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 13:25:55 (PST)

Scene: The Palace . . . or very nearly one . . . as the camera dollies back . . .

"Thank-YOU." The Director nods at the cast, and then to a grip, who scurries off in the direction of the afternoon's catering table.

As Mary Anne takes a moment with the Empress . . .

"Your Majesty, I think..." and here Mary Anne giggles in that irrepressible manner so enjoyed by her friends and fans alike, "I think you need a quick trip to make-up..." And squeezing her eyes together, she makes what can only be called a critical face at her Royal Highness, who is clearly taken aback.

"Why--what---" she begins, unaware of the growing number of individuals creeping onto the set. Have I got Bavarian Cream pie on my face? Mary Anne's hand secured locked in hers, the Empress feels sure she must have drawn every eye upon her. Yet no one seems to be noticing the cosmetic flaw that Mary Anne sees as a positive halt to further shooting. For now, at any rate.

"It'll just take a minute---" assures Mary Anne, whisking the Empress away, and speaking as much to her Realmeister, as to the Director, who almost seems to nod at the two as they depart. in a sweep of gowns, the pair disappear to a room most decidedly off the set, and distinctly out of the way.

On cue, the set of the Palace teems with all manner of FOF folk, as the grip returns, pushing a cart, which discreetly pauses unseen, waiting for the return of the only missing pair . . .

R
Take 5, everyone, for a moment....(dearest, we'll be ready in a minute!) , - Wednesday, February 13, 2002 at 13:23:18 (PST)

LOL, I've noticed that not too many people are coming to the chat room lately. If anyone out there wants to chat, that is one thing I love to do!

Diane Down Under

Part 3

HIS Plan For Diane

Diane's eyes were welling with even more tears. How could HE fire her? She desperatly wanted a good cup of coffee now, and to be able to settle down on the couch and read a good book. (She liked reading other peoples' stories just as well as her own.) Her whole body shook to and fro, wanting to give away and slide right out of the chair like a wet bar of soap. After all the hard work and effort...after everything she had done to please him... She sobbed even louder and shook her head in disbelief; he was such a horrible and cruel man... If only Lucas was here, maybe, possibly, she might feel a tad bit better. But no, he was off back at the ranch, probably reviewing her quickened letter and racking his brain for where she was to be found.

" Diane...oh Diane..." HE said, and leant over to wipe a tear from her cheek, " I'm NOT going to fire you...no...never would I do that..." She looked up at HIM, what did HE mean? Had she jumped to conclusions too soon? (If so, she was highly embarrassed after her little, errhem, "scene.")

" Then what am I here for? Must be of great importance...whatever it is..." she muffled, her nose a bit stuffed now. Diane knew very well that is WAS a big ordeal, HE never did anything (most of the time) without a reason. Especially if it was in his office...

HE scratched the side of HIS head, as if in deep thought. How was HE to say this? HE thought and gave a rather loud gulp. This was enough to unnerve anyone, HE told himself, Just play it cool... " I have...I have an offer to assemble," HE said, looking into Diane's watery eyes.

" Yes?" She could only think it to be something bad, Diane's usually positive attitude had been held prizoner by a negative one.

HE licked HIS lips, readying how to explain such a difficult concept to a woman so young, and with such a horrific past. " For quite some time, I've been watching you..." She nodded, HE had HIS ways of doing this, they were not to be questioned. " I've noticed that you seem to be...trying to hide something." Diane shuffled in her seat, she knew exactly what HE was going at. " Diane...Diane...you can't run away forever. That is why you are here, to re-open up, to make something of yourself. Lucas and I have been discussing this for quite some time..." HE placed HIS hands in HIS lap and groaned. Diane had begun to shake...no...not even HE could make her do this... " Diane, I would like you to become...a ranger."

The words were like ice, slipping down her back, sending chills throughout the entire body. Memories came flooding back, of screaming, and yells, and a burning fire, people all around her gasping for life. She stood up and shouted, " NO! NO! I WON'T! NOTHING YOU SAY CAN MAKE ME! I WON'T RE-LIVE THAT LIFE, NEVER AGAIN! DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU CAN DO AS YOU LIKE, FIRE ME, CHAIN ME UP, TORTURE ME, I DON'T CARE, BUT I WILL NOT BECOME A RANGER!!!" Diane screeched this at the top of her lungs, booming out every word with a fierce bellow. How could HE? How dare HE! To think she'd go back to everything she had tried to forget after all these years...

" Diane...please try to understand...you weren't born to be a lonely author, always cooped up in that miserable room of yours. No...no indeed, you are something much more." HE came over and massaged her shoulders, rubbing gently, trying to calm down her anger. She reached over and tore HIS hand away, digging her nails into HIS skin. HE jumped back and gave a cry of pain, peering down at the couple of red marks now imprinted into a cease. " Stop this Diane! Your parents would not have wanted you to be this way!" HE moaned, and again took a seat at the desk.

" How would YOU know what they wanted for me? All I can see is that you are purposely trying to ruin my life!" she fumed, cheeks burning fire red. If she had brought her bow with her, she'd gladly kill him right now for even mentioning such a thing.

" Diane...listen...people out there need you. A ranger is more than a spy, they help people, they can make a difference in history! You can go foreword, you can go back, you can change was would become now! Don't you see? This is a chance of a lifetime oppurtunity! Not many people, especially woman, are cut out for this job Diane. You have no idea how lucky you are..." HE stopped for a moment, waiting for a reaction, but when none came continued on. " Besides...something is going on right now in the past, something very important, but even I don't know what it is. I can't even begin to explain this all, how I know what I do, and what things come to be that aren't and shouldn't have, it is all a jumbled up mess, and YOU, YOU are the only one who can fix it all. You and Lucas."

" Lucas...he's a ranger too?"

HE nodded. " The best of the best. He's promised to take good care of you, and to work as your partner. He'll teach you everything he knows, which is a lot to say, for he does know all the tricks of the trade. Diane, this lifetime experience will change you forever, and it must be done. Please...do it for me...do it for your parents...do it for Lucas..." Now she felt like the entire world was depending on her, whatever the reason, or even why her she was clueless. HE always had a way of making her give it, to fall to HIS knees, no mater how she forced herself to stop. She never wanted any connection with this man, but HE had been a good friend of her parents, and now, possibly, a pal of Lucas's too. Diane began to sob again, so confused and hurt from her past. " I'll give you a little bit of time to think about it. Send me an e-mail tomorrow night, let me know..." HE held up a hand, snapped his fingers, and Diane felt herself fall face down flat on her bed in Lucas's ranch, shaking and sweating with fear.

OK, I know the "ranger" this is REALLY lame and TOTALLY dumb, but heck, give me a break! (lol, *ducks another fist*)

Ashley Diane Alan Rickmaniac

Ashley Diane Alan Rickmaniac <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
hehehe, FOF is so fun!!!!, - Tuesday, February 12, 2002 at 13:26:45 (PST)

The FoF offices
Later that night

A lone figure walked stealthily through the dim halls of Flights of Fancy. She gave a slight grunt as she adjusted the box she was carrying and set it down on the floor before continuing.

She couldn’t hide it, Erika liked Mardi Gras and she wanted to celebrate it. A big last hurrah, as the weeks grew more tiring and laborious. Smiling, she put up a small card table and placed bunches of large and skinny, shiny and sparkling and thick strands of purple, gold and green beads. She had already been down to the cafeteria and set out the rich Kings cake on the table, one for the men and one for the women, to see who would find the baby and be crowned the royalty of Mardi Gras. Erika pulled sticks and sparkles, sequence and ribbons out of another bag and arranged them on the table, then grabbed another box and began to go around the cubicles.

Masquerades always appealed to her, halloween and costumes, maybe that was why she liked to write, the reason she recorded her Lady Ivory dreams. Being someone that she wasn’t just appealed to her. She drew smaller boxes from the big box she pushed around and placed one in each of the cubicles. Each of the smaller boxes contained a blank mask and assorted colors, ribbons, bows, glitter and supplies to make a Mardi Gras mask. Maybe people would like it, she thought, maybe they wouldn’t. She’d celebrate anyway.

Finally, after putting many boxes in many areas, such as the salon, many of the sets, the prop rooms and all the cubicles she put up a many pocketed piece of canvas and hung it from the card table.

It had taken her a few years, a few parties and masquerades to collect all of them. Masks in all shapes and sizes, some full, some half, some eye covering, white and blue and green and all different colors and textures. One was a moon face, robins egg blue with a crescent moon on the side of the left eye, it’s compliment was a sun, the rays of it jutting around the whole mask. There was a jaquar, a snow queen, a fire prince, things from dreams and realities. She figured if people didn’t want to make one, they could always borrow one. She liked things like this.

Taking a deep breath she stashed the boxes in a corner of an empty soundstage and smiled, wiping her hands on her pants.

Mardi Gras was only a midnight away. She was ready for some fun.


Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Have fun! , - Monday, February 11, 2002 at 19:58:28 (PST)

Flashback
Wagensburg:

“Are you sure this is the only Inn in town?” Cynthia asked again.

“Ja, this was it.” Wearily, Anton replied.

“At least they let us stay the night, they could have tossed us out in our pajamas.” Chandos observed, trying to put a positive spin on their new status as homeless travelers. The looks from his companions made him quickly decide to cease his attempts to raise their spirits.

“Maybe somebody does B&B?” Cynthia suggested tentatively.

They stood outside the Inn, surrounded by their suitcases, Cynthia noted smugly that both Anton and Chandos seemed to require more luggage than she did. The smugness fled quickly as she considered that she had no where to place hers any more than her gentlemen traveling companions. On top of that they were beginning to attract an audience. In the way of small communities word of last night’s events seemed to have spread by osmosis and though no one said anything to them there was some finger pointing and obvious commentary developing regarding their plight. They were beginning to discuss whether to simply repack everything in the car or whether one of them ought to stand guard over the luggage while they made inquiries with the local populace as to the opportunities for at least two rooms for the night. If nothing turned up they would have to stay nearby and drive in if they were going to make further inquiries in the town.

They were in the midst of debating, ultimately deciding to lock everything up in the car to allow all three of them to search for accommodation when a young man on a bicycle stopped in front of the hotel. Cynthia recognized him as the male half of the couple who had found the service at the Inn’s restaurant lacking the night before. His smile was broad, whether due to amusement at their predicament, the potential to make some cash or a predisposition to being good natured didn’t much matter to any of them a the moment. He enquired, according to Chandos and Anton, whether they required a place to stay since the Innkeeper seemed disinclined to extend them his hospitality. The conversation went on with much gesturing and pointing, Cynthia understood little, but gathered that a bargain was being struck. It ended with the young man cycling off to ready things and Chandos going for the car. They loaded up their bags and headed to their new home.

What they found in following their new friend’s directions was a very solid looking wood shingled home on the western edge of town with a shed into which they could just fit the car. They were met at the door by the young man and an older man and a woman, presumably his parents, and three very large dogs. The latter far more effusive in their welcome that the former. After introductions they were directed to the house’s third floor. They hauled their luggage up and found the two rooms and center bath which they would share. Cynthia joined the gentlemen in their room, “Now what?”

“Now what, indeed?” Chandos echoed her.

Cindie
Poor Brandon -- he has to watch., - Sunday, February 10, 2002 at 19:07:19 (PST)

The Imperial Palace. Morning.

"You expect my wife to do WHAT?"

Mary Anne flinches. Rupert blinks in surprise, and two of the Imperial Guardsmen start perceptibly, reaching for their sidearms. Only The Empress remains perfectly calm, allowing the sudden silence to lengthen before mildly—almost too mildly—replying: "There is no need to raise your voice to me, Colonel. I do not take casual risks with the safety of a loyal citizen."

Brandon inclines his head. "Your Majesty, if I have offended, I beg forgiveness. But when you ask Mrs. Brandon to meet with The Interrogator alone--"

"Believe me, Colonel, I would not even consider this if it were not absolutely necessary, but I fear that it is. I have been consulting with The Doctor—"

At this, Mary Anne straightens up in her chair. "The transfer?"

The Empress turns toward Mary Anne with a look of grave sympathy. "Exactly. I have spoken with The Doctor, and he explained something of the aftermath of your experiences with that machine. He told me that he had corrected that brainwave resonance feedback in you, to a certain degree."

Mary Anne nods, slowly. "Yes, but . . . The Doctor never corrected that in HIM, did he? That’s what this is about."

"Precisely. Tell me, Mrs. Brandon, do you ever feel that you are still . . . connected with The Interrogator? That you can sense HIS thoughts, or anything of the sort?"

Mary Anne hesitates and glances at Brandon, who is stone-faced with the effort of self-control; nevertheless, he manages to give Mary Anne an encouraging look, as she falters out, "It’s hard to say. I . . . I know I have access to some of The Interrogator’s memories, and . . . skills." A long silence. Mary Anne looks down at the table for a time, then collects herself. "Things I didn’t know I knew. Then, suddenly, there they are. Or if I’m tired, not feeling well—things will surface, but most of the time, I can keep those things out of my thoughts."

The Empress considers. "So, it would seem that you are not severely affected. The Interrogator, however, may be suffering some very strong effects that have never been treated. We must determine the extent of these effects."

Brandon’s hands do not quite clench, though his fingers tighten on the rim of the table. "Is it necessary to endanger my wife, to do this? Your Majesty, I would not offend you if I can avoid it, but how can I permit . . . ?"

"Colonel Brandon, it is your wife’s safety that is paramount," puts in Rupert, passing smoothly over the matter of what Brandon can or cannot permit. "Let us suppose that The Interrogator’s crimes warrant a death sentence—but then, suppose that enough of a connection still exists between HIM and your wife, that executing HIM would do her an injury as well."

Brandon pales; he had not thought of this. "Do you mean to tell me that if any harm were to come to The Interrogator . . ."

"That is what we must determine," replies The Empress. "It would be far better for me to know this, in advance of HIS hearing. If there were the least possibility that HIS death would affect Mrs. Brandon, I would spare HIM. I meant what I said, that I do not play games with the lives of my subjects. I will not permit that man to do further harm, if it lies within my power. That means a death sentence for HIM, or incarceration for life, but I mean to have all the facts before it comes to either of those choices."

A weary smile from Mary Anne. "Your Majesty, there might be some people who would say that injury to me would be a small price to pay, if you could be sure that HE would do no more harm."

"Mary Anne—!" begins Brandon.

"Some people might indeed say that," interjects The Empress, her voice smoothly overriding Brandon’s. "However, I do not think your husband would be one of them, and I would like to consider his wishes as well." Acknowledging Brandon’s grateful look with a warm smile, she turns back to Mary Anne. "Here is what you would have to do. The Doctor has set up equipment with which we can scan The Interrogator’s brainwave activity; for us to determine the extent of HIS connection with you, you would have to speak with HIM alone for, perhaps, twenty minutes."

"I will go with her."

The Empress shakes her head. "No, Colonel. That would not work. She must speak with HIM alone; there must be no conflicting brainwave activity within range of the scan. They will be under surveillance, of course, and you may join that surveillance and witness the interview. And the guards that check that corridor on their patrol will be withdrawn but will be kept within call. The Interrogator will be in HIS cell and your wife will be outside in the corridor. And I trust I need not warn her about keeping out of range of the bars."

Mary Anne shivers—at the thought of stepping within HIS range, but also at the way Brandon’s brows are drawing together, and at the dangerous calm of his voice. "You say that The Doctor has arranged this . . . test. But just where is The Doctor? I would like to speak further with him about these matters."

"Quite understandable. The Doctor is looking into some other matters for us at this time. You will remember a woman called Claudia . . ."

A glacial nod from Brandon. "Yes. I remember."

"She may have been affected by HIM, as well. We are trying to ensure her safety, just as we are taking precautions to ensure your wife’s. And The Doctor is investigating a few . . . peculiar occurrences, of late. Power surges, that sort of thing. Possibly due to the renovations, but we wish to make certain of that. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to discuss this with him later."

From her heart, Mary Anne pities her husband, certain that he must be grinding his teeth over being so thwarted in his attempts to protect her. "Christopher—from what they say, The Interrogator is much worse off from this than I am. It’s far more likely that HE would suffer from harm coming to me, than the other way around. I’ll be all right." She knows better than to add, Don’t worry.

Brandon is clearly unconvinced, but understands that there is no choice; for all The Empress’ tact in presenting this matter to them as a request, he knows quite well that it can be phrased as an order. Still, it was one thing for him to envision Mary Anne at the hearing, presenting her evidence, safely out of HIS reach, and quite another to think of her approaching that cell and . . .

"Wait," exclaims Brandon. "Had you thought of this, Your Majesty? In the past, The Interrogator has been able to cause my wife pain with just the sound of HIS voice—"

Rupert reaches for an inside pocket of his jacket. "Yes, The Doctor had mentioned that to us as well." Withdrawing two small silvery objects from his jacket, Rupert places them on the table. "He said that if Mrs. Brandon would wear these, they’d filter the sound waves that reached her. If HE tries anything, they should screen her from the worst of it."

At once relieved and dismayed, Brandon stares down at the silver glint of the filters. Despite his best efforts, this thing must take place, and it will. And he must watch, and the thought of it leaves him wondering whether Mary Anne has the worse duty, after all.

The Empress breaks the silence. "So, Mrs. Brandon, you understand what is to be done?"

Mary Anne nods, and Brandon takes heart from that determined lift of her chin as she replies firmly, "I understand. When shall I speak with The Interrogator?"

The Empress rises. "There is no time like the present."

MA--about to walk into the lion's den, so to speak. =8-O
Enraged Snape, ACK!! Voldie's going to be in soooo much trouble!!, - Sunday, February 10, 2002 at 17:56:17 (PST)

Flashback, early morning, a few days ago:

Snape stomped from the studio building.
He was nothing short of furious. The man had looked at him as if he had a contagious disease. How dared he! Didn´t he know who he had in front of him?

Probably not.

Voldemort would pay for this. Dearly. The Dark Lord would meet his doom in the person of Severus Snape. He would show him that a Snape couldn´t be disposed of so easily.

A duell.

A winner.

In his final hour Voldemort would realize that he underestimated Snape. He pictured himself, standing over the body of Voldemort lying on the ground before him, without wand, defeated, crushed. In his last moments his former mentor would look up to him and realize that his once best student had surpassed him.

Imagining seeing that enlightenment in Voldemort´s eyes, Snape felt calmness and control once again. That was what he wanted: Voldemort defeated.
„Use your fury, channel your hate.“ he murmured. His eternal mantra that got him through so many humiliations. Hate and vengefulness were a great source of almost indefinite energy, but unless you knew how to use it, it was energy wasted. One day when he faced Voldemort he would need all the energy he could get out of his anger.
Being angry now and running around fuming wouldn´t help his current situation. The fight against the Dark Lord had given his life sense and direction for many years.
It was the end result that was important.
Voldemort wanted him to get upset by minor problems, such as that guard. Maybe he was even watched for amusement.
He had to concentrate on the final result. He needed to stay focused. The important thing at the moment was to communicate where he was. To get noticed he needed to be on Tee Fee, to be on Tee Fee he needed to see The Director this very morning. He knew he had been too early, so he would go there again when it was time and if the guard still not believed him, he could contact The Director and ask. Simple. He couldn´t afford to waste so much energy on this stupid little watchman.

But no humiliation would be forgotten.

Snape noticed that in his rampage he had gone beyond his present home. He turned and walked back. Just when he came to the front door, it opened and a person emerged. Snape suppressed a groan: the medical plant-talker!

She saw him and smiled: „Good morning!“

Snape thought that no one should be allowed to radiate cheerfulness so early in the morning. He gave her his most intimidating stare. She didn´t seem to notice.

„I´ve heard you got a job in Julie´s story,“ she said, “congratulations.“

„Thank you.“ Icily.

He got an inquiring look:“ Something wrong?“

Snape decided to tell her the truth. She knew he was employed, so she could tell the guard.

„Of course,“ she agreed,“ good idea to have a look around. I need to have a look at your cut anyway, so that´s done best before all my patients are streaming in. I won´t have the time for it later.“
Surprised, Snape touched the dressing on his temple. He´d completely forgotten about it.

Well, at least it was a good opportunity to talk to her about muggle potions.

Jutta via Therese
Posting this for Jutta, as she has no computer access at present--much to our collective dismay, - Sunday, February 10, 2002 at 16:30:15 (PST)

Hallo again fellow authors and AR fans!!!

Well, I couldn't resist posting Part 2 tonight, now that I just got it done! (Been typing all bloody day, lol, I had some new plot lines spring up, writer's block was the least of my worries.) I'd also like to let you all know that this story is taking place in the future though, no matter how odd it may be. As I go on it will all make sense, you'll just have to wait and see! *winks* So, if some things seem a bit unordinary and out of place (like, HE being out of HIS cell) just never mind and tell yourself, remember, this is in the future.... Thank u! *bows*

Diane Down Under

Part 2

The Appointment With HIM

Diane could only stutter and stammer as she held the letter in her hand. She had hoped it was for someone else possibly, but no, there was her name, Ms. Diane Ash Ferra. She thanked the man for bringing it to her, and as soon as he closed the wooden door she let out a stressed sigh of worry. What did HE want? Diane knew her books were far from done, yet still, it was not the deadline. Sooner or later she would have to read the note, and set it down on her nightstand.

She traveled back to her desk and cozied herself in the cushioned chair, and typed again. But, not realizing it, she was writing about HIM, and letters, and Lucus. GRRRRR, she thought in her mind, I cannot concentrate. Diane attempted again and took to the keys, yet now her mind went blank and every word she typed up turned out wrong or missplelled. It was no use, her conciouness was winning. Better get it over with now anyways, yet, as she reached for the note, her hand trmebled with fear.

Diane never knew why, but she had always been scared of HIM, and especially his lectures. They were likes bullets that didn't missed their targert. They came whizzing right into your body and soul, making you cry of pain and beg for mercy. HE was somehow or other not pleased with her, and HE never held back those kind of feelings. Sure, she'd had critics before, but when someone as important and with such a big influence as HE, well, it was unbearable. Pure toture, like her past, pure torture.

She slowly unfolded the top, ripping and tearing the envelope in the corners. Her teeth were gritted and ground themselves furiously as she fought the pleading thought in her head, throw it away! Finally she pulled out the note itself, written on plain lined notebook paper. When opened up and all revealed, it clearly read:

Dear Diane,

Meet me at my office at 8:00 P.M. sharp. Do not be late, we have many things to discuss.

The letter came not signed, yet she could even feel his presence, looming over her body, swaying slightly, haunting her thoughts. She checked her watch now, and gasped. It was already 7:30! Hurridly she combed her hair, brushed her teeth, added a quick sprit of perfume, grabbed her laptop and stuff it into her file case, and made haste to leave a note for Lucus, explaining where she was.

The watch now read 7:45, with fifteen minutes to spare. The watch itself was not ordinary, as it too was a gift from HIM. She felt a bit special when she recalled the day as he slid it onto her wrist, telling her it was more than a piece of silver junk used for telling time. No, it was a transporter, and now it would come in handy. She twisted her arms, revealing about ten tiny buttons underneath the clasp. She punched in some numbers, and held her breath. No turning back now. Then she hit the "GO" dial.

It was less than a minute later when Diane found herself in a completely new enviroment, clutching the top of her shirt, breathing hard from the journey. Diane sniffed as the smell of fresh doughnets filled the air, making her mouth water in envy. (Diane hadn't eaten anything yet) She looked around at the small cubicle, sat in a chair, and reached over for a magazine. It was a small room, not too big at all. The walls were snowy white, the carpet cream, and the counter stood out in a jazzy purple furnish. Paintings from the artist Ed hung all around, and Diane gazed at his work, constantly looking at her watch, waiting to be callled upon.

" Why, hello, Diane!" said a young woman's voice. Diane scanned above page 21 of The Author's Journal to come face to face with one of HIS secretaries, Mara Johonson. Her petite squarish face looked over the counter where she sat, drumming long fingernails on the surface. She was awfully short, only about 5'2" if even that, and had scraggely brown hair and muddy eyes to match. She had a rather toothy smile, as if someone had punched her in the mouth years ago while galloping around in the schoolyard. When Diane had come here more often, she had overheard people saying things like:

" Can't believe she got a job here, really, no matter how nice that lady is..."

" I agree. If I were sorting fruit, I'd probably cull her away."

But Mara had always been very sweet to Diane, and sort of called themselves friends. Even now she acted as if Diane was her long lost sister from the Sahara desert, finally found after ten years of searching.

" Hello, Mara," said Diane and gave her a warm smile, attempting to be friendly. Mara swung around in her chair, laughing as she made herself dizzy. " Feeling well, I hope?"

" Ah...I'm perfectly fine...nothing new here. Phone calls, faxs, e-mails, letters, you name it. Same o same o with me, but what in the world are YOU doing here Diane? Honestly...haven't seen you in ages...and to think we met in this office again, of all places where one could run into another. Strangly odd, don't you think?" Mara had always loved to talk (so had Diane, but only if the subject interested her) and now was rambling things off at the speed of light, chuckling at her own jokes.

Diane just shrugging, wishing that she would be called for her appointment. Mara opened her childlike eyes wide, her pupils expanding ten times in width, asking, yes? " I'm here for a meeting," Diane said simply and flashed the letter in front of Mara so she could see. " HE should be calling me in any minute now..." But no sooner were the words out of her mouth when a voice boomed over the intercom.

" DIANE FERRA!" Diane rolled her eyes, great, just great, time for some zippa-de-do-da-day lectures. She wasn't in the slightest mood, but shuffled her feet and rounded the corner down the left corridor, sighing. At least she was away from Mara...she was such a character...older than her too...

" Good-aye Diane! Give me a ring, will ya?" called out Mara as Diane stood up, resetting the magazine. She gave no reply back and turned down a dark and dingy hallway, glooming in the dim light. She trailed on down, making numberous lefts and rights, till Diane came to a large silver door, not marked with any sign. She held her breath, and rang the tiny glowing yellow electronic bell at the side. She hopped on one foot, then another, shifting her gaze all around. Breath she told herself in agony, breath...

A gruff and muffled voice rang out less than a minute later. " Come in!" it boomed. She twisted the rusty knob, the door creaked open.

Diane walked down yet another passageway, yet the appearance had as much difference as the words up and down. It was completely opposite, sparkeling clean and shining with delight, tiny flowers in hand-painted pots hung from overheard, as little trees dotted alongside the walls. There were many more paintings in here, and statues and fountains could be seen in miniature side rooms, the marbel they were carved with glistening from being newly polished. If it had been one's first time in here, she might've stopped to marvel, as would have many others passing through this enchanting sight. But Diane continued on, she'd seen it many times before, it no longer had a thrill.

Ahead was an opening from the hallway into a humongus circular room. A giant chandeliar hung from the ceiling, dozens of crystals steaming down, coloring rainbow patterns on the walls. In the back was three enormous glass windows, giving a rather spectacular sight of the city below. In front of the middle window was a desk, covered with scattered papers and tiny lamps, with a black computer sitting on the one side, giving it a lop-sided look. And behind the desk was a black leather chair, to match the computer. Leaning foreword and drumming his fingers, rapping on the wood, sat the Interrogator in the seat, looking up at Diane. This room had amazed her everytime, even more than the hallway, and a look of astonishment filled her round face. He smiled, and gaze a slight cough, bringing her back to life. She whipped around, a bit startled, and met his aproaching gaze.

" Diane Ash Ferra...how nice to see you again..." HE stood up and shook her hand, grasping it warmly and she trembled a bit. " Do sit down..." HE pointed to another leather chair, pushed it in front of HIS table, and montioned for her to sit. She did as she was told, her eyes still darting about. This place was SO different from Australia or England, or wherever...she bet there wasn't another place like it in the world.

" Thank you..." she mumbled, and set down her file case against the table leg. He folded his hands in his lap, and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

" You probably have no clue why I have brought you here..." She at first shook her head, but then recalled her books. " No idea at all..."

" Well..." she shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, " I believe it is because of...my books?" He gave her an akward look that made her break out in a panicking sweat.

" Please, just give me some more time! I know the deadline is near, but they aren't done yet! Please...please..." Diane began to sob, and covered her face in fright. But, surprisingly, he didn't yell back at her, or even click a tongue, nor shake a finger. She peeked through her spread out fingers, hiding her distressed tears from view. Diane knew that she had just made a fool of herself in front of her boss, and reckoned he was thoroughly disgusted.

" Hmm...well...you can have as much time as you need for your books Diane, for currently I DO have other things on one's mind..." He opened a droor and withdrew a folder. She gasped, he was going to resign her! " We have much to discuss Diane...a lot more than what should come to be nessacary..."

Well, there is Part 2! (Yes, I do cry a lot, lol, I'm very sensitive, but I DO wanna know what u think of it please ppls!!!) I'm sorry if this part isn't as good as the first one, I'll try harder on the third one, I promise! Thanks!

Ashley Diane Alan Rickmaniac
Ashley Diane Alan Rickmaniac <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
totally LOVE*** this site, who doesn't??? , - Saturday, February 09, 2002 at 21:51:41 (PST)

Hi,

Thought you all might kinda be interested to know this...

One day I was walking home from my bus, trudging along in the snow (remember, I live in bloody freezing northern Utah, kinda by Great Salt Salt, but not really) when I saw something glinting in the snow. I bent down, picked it up, and saw it was a key! I asked my neighbors and friends if they had lost it or knew someone who had, but apparently not. So, I've kept it with me ever since.

Now, just this evening, I was looking at the props page (any way to add to that? LOL) when I looked down at the sherrif's handcuffs and literally gasped. There, I saw, was my key! THE EXACT SAME THING, ITS TOTAL DOUBLE!!! Everyone, go back to that page, scroll down, and take a look. My key is the same size, color, shape, design, handle, hook, you name it!

Well, I thought i'd like to let you all know because I thought it was so weird and maybe you do too! (I'm not kidding either, I'm an honest person, I don't like to lie.) Hehehe, could this mean that George was passing by, searching for the fair Diane (hehehehe), and happened to drop it? LOL, the next time someone visits him, tell him I have his key! Can't catch good old Locksley without them, eh?

Ashley Diane Alan Rickmaniac
Ashley Diane Alan Rickmaniac <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Don't you just love how I sign my name? LOL, - Saturday, February 09, 2002 at 21:37:02 (PST)

Hi Ashley - no its correct - Adrianna startecd writing an Elliot story - I don't know if she is going to continue it. And you are writing about his brother, Lucas - two different people, I hope!
Claudia
- Saturday, February 09, 2002 at 21:34:59 (PST)

Hi, I just read the "Taken" "Not Taken" thing and it is incorrect, I have Elliot (actually Lucus) Marston, not Adrianna. I am SO confused now....

Ashley Diane Alan Rickmaniac

p.s.- Thank u for deleting my double!!!
Ashley Diane Alan Rickmaniac <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
LOL, I envy the person out there who took Sev! , - Saturday, February 09, 2002 at 18:35:53 (PST)

Barbara - hope you don't mind, but I've added your very useful list of all the characters in available/not available to the Whos Who page, linked at the top of this page. Hopefully this will keep it near the top, so it doesn't get lost in this guestbook.
Claudia
- Saturday, February 09, 2002 at 17:53:54 (PST)

“Mary Anne… she is here, I have felt it all day.”

“The official function Rupert had to attend”, confirmed the Doctor. “A dinner to welcome the Brandons.”

“Huh,” pouted Claudia, leaning back against the door, and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “They get a State dinner, and we get a damp dungeon. I like the Empress’ idea hospitality already.”

“In our line of work, my dear, you must get used to the fact there is never a fanfare to announce your arrival.”

The word our wasn’t lost on the Doctor, and he wondered what it meant, but for now… “Claudia, get away from that door. Come along, girl, we must get to the Tardis, and try and find out what is going on.”

Claudia turned and looked at the grill in to door, troubled by her need to stay close. A glint of the torch hitting a pair of glasses within made her shiver. “I’ve got to go.” She told the air, and ran off after the Doctor, who was already heading away down the passage.
Claudia <claudia@paradise.net.nz>
Welcome, Ashley, - Saturday, February 09, 2002 at 16:58:37 (PST)

No problem, live and learn. Double deleted.
D.o.C.

OK, sorry about my first mistake everyone, but I finally found out what I was doing wrong! So, I am posting it a second time so it is easier to read. Thank u!

First, I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Ashley Diane (Ashley, bleh, too common of a name, so people now call me Diane) and I haven't been a fan of Alan's for too long, but I basically learn everything I can about him. (lol, just take a look into my folder, I have a section just for my info and pics, hehe) I have always loved writing stories, especially fan-fics (yummy) and now I am here on FOF to produce my newest tale, Diane Down Under! (A Quigley Down Under fan-fic, but I changed things around some.) I have been discussing things with Claudia, and so, she has approved of it, and thus, here it is! PLEASE, e-mail me or post it on the guestbook whether any of you like it or not! (and, I also have borrowed some characters, don't worry, you can have them back, I hope I'm not messing up anything! AHHH) Well, now I turn the time over to my fellow authors and readers! (and just to let you all know, I'm 12, but don't underestimate me! I don't look, think, act, and definatly not write like it!!!!)

Diane Down Under

Part 1

Marston Hazelnut Creek Ranch

Diane Ferra was an American (that sometimes uses a British accent, for she lived in London for two years) that was offered a relaxful peace to stay and work on her writing by Lucus Marston, older brother of Elliot Marston. The pay was very low, so she decided to go. The girl had long blonde hair, gray-blue eyes, and a sliming figure, and many men noticed this and gave a wink as she boarded the boat to take her to the other side of the world. As an author, Diane always traveled or tried to find things for inspiration, but nothing worked. She used to live out in the western state of Utah, but peace and quiet didn't stay there for long, as she needed just that for work. People moved in by the dozens every single day, like flocks or herds of rhinos rampaging the land. Now was her chance to get her novels finished, it was too good of an opportunity to miss.

It had been a couple months wait, but now the boat pulled into port in the little old town of Beckbetch. She grabbed her luggage by the handle, made way down the platform, and was happy to see an actual sign of civilization again. She carried her bags over to the hotel, and leaned against the doorway, scanning the perimeter for someone who could take her to Mr. Marston's ranch. No one was to be seen, and heaved a heavy sigh as bunch of guys start crowding around her.

" Hey, hey, lookie here fellas. What did the seas bring to us today?"

" Looks like a babe to me. You single honey buns?" Diane couldn't believe this, what idiots. Couln't they just bug off and let her be?

" No, now go away," she spoke firmly, flexing her fingers with ease.

" Oh, tough gal! Let's go into the bar and I'll buy you a drink, what'd you say?" She had had enough. Men were always this way to her (yet she did not think herself to be attractive in any way) and she could never get them to listen unless she did it by force.

" I say take this you bastard!" Suddenly she pulls a small bow from her back, hidden by her shawl, places an arrow in the string, and releases it into his leg. He cries of pain and agony and hobbles away slowly, limping. " Well, you didn't listen to me. I said, GO AWAY!!!" They all scattered, except one, named James Hiker.

" You seem like an American."

" Why do you go and say that?"

" I just know one when I see it."

" You're bloody right."

" By any chance, is your first name Diane?"

" Yeah, why?"

" I've come to take you to Marston Hazelnut Creek. You are the new...erhem...I mean you have come to stay?"

" You could call it that. Alright, where is the carriage?"

" Right there m'mam." He points and shows her a little two horse cart, more fit for loading hay than carrying people. Reluctantly she jumps into the rear, usuing her bags as a seat cushion.

It was a couple of days before they reached the ranch, but at long last they did. When the wooden gates swung open, Lucus himself came out, bowed, and tipped his cap at Diane. His figure was tall, about 6'2", (even taller than her, 5'9") and he had the most beautifully cut blonde-grey hair that she could imagine. Mr. Marston's eyes were the color of hazel, and his hands were smooth and long, as his lips gave a delicate smile. He wore a fancy suit, collared with a sailor stripe amd tie, blue jeans, and a black jacket with two pockets in the front. Diane began to blush at his charm and friendly greeting.

" Diane Ferra, I have now the profoundest pleasure to meet your aquaintance. Please, come inside my house, it is much cooler. Can I offer you some lunch? Or would you rather talk?" She agrees to go in, hand loose to reach for her hidden bow in case of any funny business. They sit down at a long wooden table, perfecly furnished and shining from the oil. " I understand you are a writer. That is why you came here, to write. You don't have enough peace in America." " Yes...I see...but you have other talents, right?"

" I suppose so."

" Then I have a favor to ask you, just a little one." She pulls her hand back more, and an arrow is already drawn from her pouch from behind. " I would like you to...well..sort of, be my spy. A group of travelors have passed through, and I don't know them. Both British fellows, named Marianne and Colonol Brandon. Could you take a look up on them? They are being said to stay the night, so I'd like you to go meet them and find out who they are." This was a shock to her, completely. This was not why she came.

" Excuse me? I just barely got here!"

" I know, but ever since my meeting with Hans, he has told me ALL sorts of weird things in the world right now. I need to be sure that I am secure, unlike my unfortunate brother. He got himself shot, and why? Because he tried to kill the aberiginies, and was foul and mean. I'm not like that, but I do like being cautious. If you do this for me, I'll pay you fifty pounds and you won't have to pay rent for two months." She was now speechless and so decided, why not?

" Who is Hans?"

" Oh, Hans Gruber? Just and old friend. Mind you, he IS better at computers and that sort of thing."

" Oh."

" I can't begin to tell you though...one day, this fellow and some students were passing through, comparing our land to Egypt. Egypt, for crying out loud! He claimed to be some sort of professor, went by the name of Alexander Dane. Humpf, is all I say. He was a bit on the stressed side, if you ask me. Always acted as if a panic attack was coming on." So he tells her more about adventures, Diane completely forgetting about her task until they travel back outside then gives her a horse to ride down. " Just go south," he beckons. " You'll find them, a pretty little couple, least be what I heard. Ask lots of questions!"

" Umm, I don't know how to ride very well..."

" Try." So she gallops off, at first VERY unbalanced and straining to keep on the saddle. She finds a lovely little carriage, holding a nice and pretty couple indeed.

" Whoa there! And who may you be miss?"

" I am Diane Ferra, and I have come to accompany you to Marston Hazelnut Creek Ranch."

" Oh, what a kind dear! Brandon, will I finally get some rest? I am sooo tired..."

" Yes my love, for I have heard nothing but the best of Mr. Marston. Is it nice there, Ms. Ferra?"

" I don't really know too well myself. You see, I just pulled in as well. I'm an author, and wanted some relaxation time, but Mr. Marston had other plans for me. I take it you are Miss Marianne and Colonol Brandon?"

" Indeed, yes, we are." Are so they ride, and the couple seemed very friendly and nice. No weapons what so ever, no bad intentions; Mr. Marston had nothing to be afraid of. She then wondered why couldn't he or one of his men do it? There was more to this than she had thought before.

" Why are you traveling this way?"

" We're on our way back home from visiting the Empress, ruler and high command of this Realm. She is very wise and beautiful," said Marianne.

" Oh, I see. I have not heard of this Empress before."

" Some speak of her, but many do not. You see, most have not been to the Imperial Palace, and only think it to be a dream or fairy tale. Yet, they do not say so aloud, for she is too powerful in case you speak ill-willed. They almost seem to fear her, but all this land is hers. We know she is so, or in other words exsists. Others know as well as we," she whispered. Diane said no more. They rode back to the ranch, Lucus welcomed them, and they made themselves comfortable.

An hour later they had dinner, and Diane noticed how happy the couple was together, smiling and laughing. Lucus sat across from her, chewing his roasted chicken as he starred into her eyes as they connected. She looked at the floor, and suddenly felt a knife thrust into her heart. Is was not gone, the past was still there, she had not run away from it. The couple and Lucus was a constant reminder, but she pushed it aside as she did her plate. Food was out of the question, even though the sweet smell of honey biscuts filled the air.

She went to bed still with pain, the memories horrible. Diane had thought that going to Australia would leave them all behind, but they had bought a ticket too, for there they were, a small torture. She gazed into the mirror and sighed at her own stressed face. It was only full of woe, and sadly she wished to be happy again that she was here, able to get some of her work done. It only ceased to be though, and brushed her long dirty-blonde hair for it was frizzing out; it would not coroproate, so she gave up and changing into her soft flanel pjs and was about to flop into bed when there was a knock at her door. She was too tired to answer it, so instead the sound of a key twisting the lock was heard. In walked Lucus, still fully dressed.

" What are you still doing up?"

" What are you doing in my room?" Both looked at the ground, Lucus pulled on his tie.

" I just came to check up on you, that's all."

" Well..." she didn't know what to say, and blinked. " I'm fine, can't you see?"

" Yes. I supose I'll leave then." He turned back to the door, and Diane wanted to cry out, No please stay! but she didn't. Instead she just said hastly. " But thank you anyways."

" Just making sure my new guest is comfortable..." and he closed the door softly. She grabbed a pillow and threw it against the cream wall, trying to let out her frustration. She never got along well with people, it just never worked out. Lucus was trying to be nice, and she blew him off like a bullet taking off the top of a beer bottle. Nothing she did felt right...never...

The dawn broke out as the morning sun drifted atop the far west mountains. Diane sat up, rubbed her eyes, and shifted slowly to the small bathroom. Her face was pale and even more stressed than the previous night. She wondered why though, because she had slept wonderful and peacefully the whole night through, yet there it was, looking back.

" Oh, bug off and find someone else to scare up," she told the mirror. She answered for it, " Why, you are always miserable and have a rain cloud over your head. Why not add a bit to the ordeal?" " That's like saying let's just make you look worse than you already are." " Precisely."

" Precisley what?" Another voice called out smoothly in an amusing tone. She froze in spot, paralized at his voice. She didn't have to turn around or even see his reflection in the mirror to know it was Lucus. He just stood there, leaning against the bathroom door, arms folded, head cocked, eyebrows arched, and lips curled up. Definatly mocking body language. " Who are you talking to?" Diane still hadn't turned around, now too afraid to show him her horendous face.

" I am...ummm...er, well...you see..." She couldn't help but just mumbling sentences and embarrassing herself even more as her cheeks flushed deep scarlet. She quickly turned on the sink and splashed water onto her face, and dried it with a towel. Her movements were jerky and unsteady though, for Lucus's eyes watched every twist and turn she made. It was an uncomfortable thought, and even though it couldn't really be defined as a feeling, the eyes were that too.

Suddenly she was enraged. How dare he just barge in here! She could add, like he owns the place, but that statement was true. Yet, there was a word called privacy, and Diane needed it bad. Things were bad enough back at home, but this was un-called for.

" What do you want? Go away!" Her British accent once again let loose, and fumbled with fury as she dropped the hairbrush. She bent down to pick it up again, wishing with all her heart that he would just leave. But he didn't, no, instead he treaded over and placed a warm hand on her shoulders, patting gently.

" I'm sorry to interupt, it was getting late and all I wanted was to tell you that breakfast is on the table. I guess I happened to catch you at a bad time, eh?" Now tears fell down Diane's face, tears of pain, tears of stress, and tears of anger. She tried to hide it from Lucus (how embarrassing, her second day there, and already she was miserable and crying! Pathetic...) but the drops made spots on the carpet the size of dimes. He patted again with a sigh, knowing this was a no-win situation. " I'll be downstairs waiting. I hope you like ham and eggs." And thus he turned and left the room, leaving her be. Shaking and trembling, Diane again rinsed her face again and combed her hair. (It was less refusing today.) She threw on a pink tank top and a flowered knee-length skirt. Usually she'd wear jeans or pants, but today it disaproved of her mood.

Diane made way into the kitchen and noticed Marianne and Brandon chatting away with Lucus. Again a plate was set across from him, so unwillingly that was where she was to sit.

" Did you sleep well, Mrs. Brandon?"

" Oh, yes indeed! If we weren't so eager to be back at home, I'd stay at least another week. Australia does have so much beautiful countryside, doesn't it my dear?"

" Of course." " But alas, oh, how I long to be back at our home again! The trees, our orchards, the fields and flowerbeds...it all seems like a distant dream, tossed aside!"

" We will be back there soon enough my love, I can assure you of that."

" I'm glad!" Lucus sat there the whole time, nodding constantly, smiling too. He was happy his guests liked the place, but wished them to stay longer. One didn't get too much company here in the outback. Diane strolled farther in then, and took her seat without saying a word. " Why good morning Ms. Diane! I take it you slept as well as I?"

" Perhaps," she mumbled, starring at the tiled floor. She couldn't bear to look at Lucus, not even for a minute. No more was said, and again she didn't eat. Her work was calling her though, but noticed Lucus following her, pacing behind.

" Why are you following me?" she asked, getting annoyed with him. She turned around and faced him, still not looking him in the eyes though. Again he was smiling, yet she could not see it.

" Why haven't you eaten anything? My food is not poison, I swear!" He tried to be comical, but it didn't work for Diane. She was usually a very serious person, living in her own world of stories and books.

" I'm not hungry," she answered and unlocked her door.

" What are you doing?"

" Why? It isn't any of your business."

" Because I'm just curious. I was also going to say that the Brandons were leaving now, in case you wished to give them a farewell."

" Oh. I will say good-bye, they are a nice couple." So they both ran outside, Marianne and Brandon already loaded onto the carriage.

" Good-bye Mr. Marston! Thank you for the pleasant stay!" called Marianne, waving frantically. " And nice meeting you Ms. Diane! May pleasure and fortune find way to you both!" The two waved back, yelling out good-byes and so longs as the carriage drove out of site.

Diane then raced back into her room, and settled down at her desk. She just had to get these books done, or else HE would be not a very happy person. It wasn't easy always being an author, but it was especially hard working for HIM. HE could be very demanding at times, but just his power and voice was enough to give anyone the willies. Now if only Lucus could leave her in peace, they just might get finished...

Two hours later she was still typing on her laptop, a gift from HIM so she could work better. (She cherished it dearly, even if it was very slow and the keys at times stuck.) Her fingers flew away at the speed of light, a ball of sweat trickling down her neck. Diane was so obsessed and wrapped up in her work that she didn't hear someone at the door knocking until the third time, which was really pounding. " Come in," she called out. One of Lucus's men walked in, a letter in hand.

" Would you happen to be Ms. Diane Ferra by any chance?"

" Yes, that is me."

" Here is a letter for you m'mam. It's from HIM."

Ok, whew, that's better! Please e-mail me, or post it on the forum what u think! Ter-ra!

Ashley Alan Rickmaniac
Ashley "Diane" Alan Rickmaniac <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
Please don't be mad that I am posting this twice, AHH! *ducks a swinging fist*, - Saturday, February 09, 2002 at 11:27:15 (PST)

OK, this is a test to see if a can figure out my paragraphing priblem!

" You broke the ship! You broke the bloody ship!"

My favorite GQ line...lol...

Ashley
Ashley "Diane" Alan Rickmaniac <crescentmoonluna@aol.com>
- Saturday, February 09, 2002 at 11:15:38 (PST)

ACK, Clods! Ack, ack, ackity ack!! (BTW, Mary Anne was last seen asleep in the arms of Colonel Brandon . . . nothing new about that, eh?)

So, Therese, when's the wedding? Hope you don't elope; we want a par-TAY! ;-D

Barbara . . . Hans . . . " Zilfert . . ." *quiver quiver*

Okay, now back to plotting and planning . . .

MA
Feeling rather sorry for Anton right about now!, - Friday, February 08, 2002 at 19:55:10 (PST)

Flashback
Wagensburg:

Just as quickly as they went into the dining room the young couple came out chattering and apparently quite put out at the lack of hospitality they had encountered. Cynthia smiled and shrugged as they said something that sounded like “bilingual Frauen”. They seemed very anxious to tell her about how they had been slighted and when she didn’t respond simply turned to each other and exchanged opinions. Cynthia nodded and turned to her magazine giving every appearance of intense fascination with a photograph of the latest men’s underwear from Calvin Klein. The couple finally left and after what seemed an eternity of waiting there was no activity from the dining room.

Chandos meanwhile had dropped to the floor behind the counter with the box resting uncomfortably on his outstretched legs. It wasn’t overly large but was extremely heavy, all the more so because he didn’t dare move it. It might not have been so bad but it seemed the Inn’s staff skimped on the cleaning where it wouldn’t show and there were dust bison all over the floor behind the counter. Added to the old ledgers, he had to sneeze. Badly. He heard the visitors leave and tried not to breathe.

While he was certain all was quiet he waited until he heard Cynthia’s “s’all clear” muffled in what sounded a little bit like the sneeze it was supposed to. Unable to help it, he sneezed too and hoped it would pass for an extension of hers. While his current vantage point wasn’t particularly comfortable it did yield up the solution to his dilemma in the form of a letter opener which was laying upon one of the open shelves that made up the backside of the front desk’s counter. It wasn’t very sharp but it was serviceable as he sawed away at the string. It worked and he neatly deposited the string in the waste basket, then cursed himself for not thinking to cut it in such a manner that he could use it to retie the box. No help for that now. He opened the box and quickly located the book he wished. Scanning for the name he was rewarded with a Gruber, not pausing for any more niceties, he replaced the other books, closed up the box by the flaps and pushed into the back of the storage area. He arranged the other boxes in front of it, in approximate order, after all it was storage, who would look?, tucked the ungainly sign in book under his jacket and emerged, somewhat dusty, but triumphant from behind the counter.

Cynthia joined him, then quickly walked back and opened and closed the front doors, they were supposed to have been out walking, and they strolled arm and arm into the dining room. They were greeted with the sight of Anton Gruber sitting in an armchair near the fireplace with the Innkeeper’s wife planted firmly on his lap and her arms tendrilled around him. She was mooning at him with large cornflower blue cow eyes. Someone must have once complimented her about her eyes because she took every opportunity to open them wide and then bat her lashes at Herr Gruber who was bravely reading from a book clenched in his white knuckled hand. As they passed by he shot them a look of pleading mingled with horror. Cynthia bade him a good evening, as did Chandos, and they proceeded upstairs, leaving Anton Gruber to what must certainly be a duty far more dangerous than the one in which they had just been engaged.

They went immediately to Chandos’ room and he set the book on the large oak table and turned on the light. Deftly flipping pages and running his fingers down the page he soon gave a triumphant “Ah ha!” There it was, June 29th, 1939, Gustav Dellbrook Gruber. Cynthia knew this was Anton’s father. He had been here, in this Inn, over sixty years before. Chandos looked up and smiled at her, triumph in his eyes. She began to smile in kind when they heard the fierce bang of wood striking wood and heard a male voice resound with fury, “Was ist dieses!”, followed by the sound of a female scream.

Cindie
This has been a banner week!, - Friday, February 08, 2002 at 18:56:39 (PST)

Claudia was quiet for a while, leaving the Doctor to his ‘wondering’. It was odd being outside a cell, but still feeling just as much a prisoner. The walls were still the same thick stone, and she was still underground. The only difference was that she had more space to move around, and a different jailer. As much as she trusted the Doctor, she knew he wasn’t about to interfere – well, more than he had to, or upset the Empress. “A Time Lord observes, but never intervenes”. She remembered that primary rule from the Time Lord school, one thing that had stuck, unlike most of anything else they’d tried to teach her. She’d remembered it, because she found it so amusing – the one thing the Time Lords agreed on, and the Doctor did the exact opposite, most of the time. Whether he planned to or not.

“Ow!” she yelped suddenly. A small thing, a ball of light, floated between her and the nearest door. It bounced on the floor once, ghostly, then the electricity dissipated, forking out in three directions across the floor, one crackled across to her, and made the spot in her thigh, where the chip was burn. Another darted towards the door, disappeared underneath. She heard a surprised grunt, and ran to look through the grill in the door. But the lightening had been grounded, and inside the cell was once more dark. “Are you alright?” she called inside, but didn’t get an immediate answer.

“Most odd…” said the Doctor. “Quite remarkable. Ball lightening is quite rare, you know. But it always goes down. Never up.”

“What are you muttering about?”

The Doctor swung the torch round to light her face. “When the electricity dissipated… one fork went up that wall, and disappeared through the ceiling above. I wonder what is directly above this corridor which would make a thing act so completely against the rules of physics.”

“Perhaps it didn’t know the rules,” put in Claudia, who never knew the rules herself, until it was too late.

“Perhaps it senses the invisible bonds between us, and followed those tethers.” Claudia jumped at that voice, HIS voice. Her choice. Putting her fingers through bars in the door, they were met by the tips of HIS fingers, and with a crack of static electricity, a spark ran from her finger to HIS, she pulled her hand back again, and yelped.

“In that case,” said the Doctor, unfazed by the new voice in the conversation. “Who is it up there,” he pointed at the ceiling, “who is so connected to you two?”

There was silence for several beats then the Interrogator spoke. It was more a caress than a whisper, “Mary Anne.”

Claudia felt a stab to her heart. This time it was her own emotions fighting inside. Sadness, anger… and jealousy.
Claudia
I still have a lot of reading to catch up on, so I've no idea where MA is at the moment..., - Friday, February 08, 2002 at 17:55:15 (PST)

Dev's Flat

Therese gazed at Eamon soundlessly, her dark eyes wide. She'd been desperately hoping he could forgive her, and take her back on whatever terms. She'd not expected this, and couldn't seem to form the words to respond. "Oh," she sighed, her left hand rising to stroke his cheek, "oh. . ." "That's not precisely an answer, as such," he told her, a quiet smile warming his features as he leaned forward to take her face between his hands. "Tell me that you'll be my wife, Therese," he murmered, pulling her toward himself.

Therese fell toward him, found herself caught within his arms, and hugged tightly to his chest. "Yes," she replied, her voice shaking with emotion, "oh yes."

He stood up then, pulling her up with him, still holding her tight. His kisses were passionate and long, trailing down along her neck and collarbone, before returning to her mouth again and again until Therese thought she might collapse from the sheer passion of him. He seemed to consume her, his touch and scent and taste filling her senses and excluding everything else. There was no flat, no world, no sorrow of past separation, just themselves, tightly entwined.

She felt herself lifted when her legs would not support her body any longer, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, her head lying in the hollow of his collarbone as she inhaled the scent and nearness of him. He crossed the floor in several strides, pulling open the door to his bedroom, and depositing her gently on the bed. He might have risen then to shut the door, or begin to undress, or complete any number of other simple tasks, but Therese clung to him tightly, pulling him down upon her.

He needed little encouragement to remain, and situated himself above her, tasting, touching, and savouring their responses to one another. Then with a small sigh, he rolled to one side, and propped himself up on one elbow.

"What is it?" Therese asked, her left hand stroking his neck, and trailing down his chest.

"How could you have gone away like that?" he asked, his voice soft. There was no accusation in his tone, but she could hear the pain there, and was once again reminded how she had hurt him.

"I'm sorry," she told him, "I truly am, and I'll never do it again, I give you my word. It wasn't you I was running from, Eamon, it was never you."

He tucked her arm around her more tightly, pulling her even closer to his side. "But it was me who was left just the same." He paused, tracing one finger across the lines of Therese's face, over the bridge of her nose, and across her lips. "You know I grew up with my grandparents, of course."

"Yes, you told me that before we visited their farm in County Limerick."

"What I didn't tell you is that I was born in New York City--"

"New York City?" Therese asked incredulously. "But I thought you were Irish!"

Eamon pulled her beneath him once again with a growl, biting playfully at her neck. "I am Irish!" he rumbled, "birthplace not withstanding." He sobered then, looking down at her, his expressive hazel eyes reflecting his vulnerability. "My mother immigrated to New York, and met my father there, he was an artist from Spain. I came along after the first year of marriage, and I believe they were very happy, though that was short lived. He died when I was two."

Therese slid her arms around him, her touch had altered to one of comfort, as she could see what it cost him to recall the details of his past. "I'm so sorry, what a terrible loss."

"My mother didn't wish to return to Ireland, she had her life in Manhattan, but now needed to work to support herself. She sent me to her mother, my grandmother, to stay. I don't think I've ever really forgiven my mother for having sent me away--I love my grandparents dearly, but I always wondered what might have been. When you left. . ."

"Mistral told me you were like a wounded animal."

"I thought I'd hidden my feelings well."

"He's a bit more perceptive than most, that one, and I am desperately sorry to have brought this all back to you."

He leaned to kiss her gently on the mouth, "Just don't do it again. I meant it when I said I'd track you to the ends of the earth to find you if need be."

Therese reached up to kiss him along his jaw line, and worked her way up his neck to nibble delicately at his earlobe. She was rewarded in her efforts by a distinct quickening in his rate of breathing, which she encouraged by unbuttoning his shirt front, and trailing her fingers over the soft curls she found there. "You'll never have to look very far to find me Eamon," she said, rubbing her body against his. "More often than not, I imagine, I'll be right here, beneath you."

Therese
Wonderful to see so many different post-ers!
"No need for a nap, I shall be your guide. . ." Brandon as a nocturnal guide? Oh my. *THUD* , - Friday, February 08, 2002 at 12:00:38 (PST)

Here is, as far as I can tell, a complete list of characters claimed and mentioned in the entire history of FoF. Let me know if I'm missing someone.

FILMOGRAPHY (a bit trimmed)

The Search For John Gissing (2001)
as JOHN GISSING

Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone (2001)
as SEVERUS SNAPE
Snape has been claimed by Julie and Jutta

Blow Dry (2001)
as PHIL ALLEN
Phil has been claimed by Barbara

Help, I'm A Fish! (voice) (2000)
as JOE

Play (2000)
as MAN

Dark Harbour (1999)
as DAVID WEINBERG
David W was claimed, but is now available

Galaxy Quest (1999)
as ALEXANDER DANE
Alexander has been claimed by Sandy

Dogma (1999)
as the METATRON
Metatron has been claimed by Miranda

Judas Kiss (1998)
as DAVID FREIDMAN
David F was claimed, but is now available

The Winter Guest (1997)
as the DIRECTOR
The Director is a shared character

Michael Collins (1996)
as EAMON DE VALERA ("Dev")
Eamon has been claimed by Therese

Rasputin (TV) (1996)
as RASPUTIN ("Raz")
Rasputin was claimed, but is now available

Sense And Sensibility (1995)
as COLONEL CHRISTOPHER BRANDON
Brandon has been claimed by Mary Ann

An Awfully Big Adventure (1995)
as PL O'HARA
PL has been claimed by Dana

Mesmer (1994)
as DR MESMER
Mesmer has been mentioned but not claimed

Fallen Angels (TV series, one episode) (1993)
as DWIGHT BILLINGS
Dwight was claimed, but is now available

Bob Roberts (1992)
as LUKAS HART III
Lukas has been claimed by Grace

Closet Land (1991)
as the INTERROGATOR ("HIM")
The Interrogator is a shared character
The actor who plays the Interrogator -- "Arthur Sidney Patrick Mistral" -- has been claimed by Cindie.

Close My Eyes (1991)
as SINCLAIR BRYANT
Sinclair has been claimed by Claire

Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves (1991)
as GEORGE, SHERIFF of NOTTINGHAM
George has been claimed by Magda

Truly, Madly, Deeply (1991)
as JAMIE
Jamie was claimed, but is now available

Quigley Down Under (1990)
as ELLIOT MARSTON
Elliot has been claimed by Adrianna.

The January Man (1989)
as ED
Ed has been claimed by Claudia

Die Hard (1988)
as HANS GRUBER
Hans has been claimed by Renie

The Barchester Chronicles (TV miniseries) (1984)
as OBADIAH SLOPE
Slope has been mentioned but not claimed

Busted (TV) (1982)
as SIMON JACKS
Simon has been claimed by Dana

OTHER (a bit trimmed)

Les Liasions Dangereuses (1985)
as VICOMTE de VALMONT
Valmont is a shared character, though he was claimed earlier.

Private Lives (2002)
as ELYOT CHASE
Elyot has been mentioned but not claimed.

Shakespeare's As You Like It
as JACQUES
Jacques has been claimed by Carmen.

Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra (2002)
as MARC ANTONY
Antony has been mentioned but not claimed.

Shakespeare's Hamlet
as HAMLET
Hamlet has been claimed by Chris.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Did I miss anyone?, - Friday, February 08, 2002 at 11:54:43 (PST)

Ach...Hans....
;-)
*swoon* , - Friday, February 08, 2002 at 10:01:31 (PST)

Hans Gruber's Domicile
Day Five of the Investigation

Detective Ekaterin Silvert nodded politely to the lean, saturnine man who opened the door. "Herr Hans Gruber, bitte?" she asked.

The man frowned slightly and nodded back. "Ja, ich bin Hans Gruber."

"Hallo. Ich bin Detektiv Ekaterin Silbern. Dieses ist Detektiv Miles Graff. Wir telefonierte eher."

"Ja. Ich sich erinnern."

"Darf wir einfahren?"

At her question, Hans Gruber stepped aside and motioned the two detectives to enter. "Wir spracht an die telefonieren , Herr Gruber."

"Ja. Sich erinnern."

"Darf wir Betragen dieses Gespräch in Englisch?" Silvert noticed the blank look of incomprehension on her partner's face. "Detektiv Graff tut nicht verstehen Deutsch."

"Wahrhaft? Mit ein Zuname gefällt Graff?"

"Yes."

"Interesting, Detective Silvert." Zilfert. She felt her nerves thrill a sudden arpeggio up her spine as he spoke her name. With a firm inner hand, she flattened it back down. She could hear Miles intoning it now: "The Icewoman Thaweth..."

Piffle.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
Chris -- Annie's so happy to be back at work!, - Friday, February 08, 2002 at 07:54:34 (PST)

“Over the years, we have developed many new defences. There is a great deal of magic to be collected from the Earth, and we channel it well, even better than we did on our home planet." Chris refocused on the semi-lecture being given to them by a rather venerable deep blue stallion with grey above his eyes and along his mane. "We are going to teach you some of the methods of tapping into this magic."

The two humans looked at him sceptically. "Um, no offence, but I don't think humans can do magic!" Hamlet said.

The unicorn frowned. "Do you not know your own history? There have been several humans who have been fortunate enough to pick up on how to do our magic. Can you think of a few?" The two of them frowned.

Chris, who had heard more religious broadcasts exclaimed, "Jesus and Moses too, I guess!"

Hamlet looked at her uncomprehending, but the unicorn, whose name was No'ez, smiled and responded, "Ahh, so you do know something. This may not be as impossible as I thought!"

Chris turned to Hamlet and allowed her understanding of the religious stories come to the fore, so he could catch them. His frown cleared, and he nodded. "In that case, presumably anyone who performed so-called miracles would be a potential magic-maker," he responded.

The unicorn nodded carefully. "This is true, although not all of the historical miracles were real. Stories have a habit of being embellished over the years." The tone was cautionary, but the smile on his face was unmistakable. They were on to something. Chris zoned out a little again as No'ez started going through dates and specifics, but had to admit this was interesting. The thought that they might be able to learn to do magic...

Later that evening, Chris and Hamlet sat by the river, munching on some fruit after dinner. Chris was trying to show Hamlet how to block his thoughts off more effectively, but he wasn't having much luck. Finally, she thought for a moment. "Okay, try this. Imagine a massive wall of fog. Clear your mind of everything except the fog. It's dense and thick and goes on forever, and all your thoughts are hidden somewhere behind all that fog." As she was speaking, Hamlet was following her instructions. She continued repeating the instructions about the fog as she gently probed his mind. All she could find was fog. She probed deeper and still only found that fog.

"Hamlet," she exclaimed. "You've done it! That's how to block! I can't see a thing of your thoughts!"

Hamlet glanced at her briefly and then smiled tightly. "That might be because I haven't GOT any thoughts when all I think of is fog," he pointed out.

"Umm, yeah that's true," Chris admitted sheepishly. "But it does mean I can't see what you're thinking!" They looked at each other.

"It is progress," Hamlet admitted. He smiled at Chris, who visibly almost melted at his kind gaze.

“I’m glad you’re getting the hang of it,” she said, blushing slightly. They stood, staring into each others’ eyes for a few moments. Blushing, Chris finally looked away. “I should practice that meditation thing that No’ez set us,” she said carefully. Hamlet nodded, and the two of them faced the river again. They closed their eyes, breathing deeply. Gradually, Chris brought up the image of the flame in her mind. She could feel Hamlet doing the same next to her. Without even thinking about it, she cupped her hands together and raised them to about chin-height. She could feel the flame burning an image on her brain, wanting to be released. She focused her mind on allowing that flame into her hands, transferring it from her mind to the space between her two thumbs. She could feel heat in her hands, and somehow she knew that the flame was transferring. Without opening her eyes, she continued to focus, feeling power coursing through her as the flame grew in her hands. It was warm, but not burning, and she eventually opened her eyes in amazement. Hamlet, sensing that something was happening, had long since stopped his own meditation exercise, and was staring at her hands in wonder.

Suddenly, she felt the heat, and swore loudly as she shut down the flame in her mind. It took only a moment for the flame in her hands to also shut down, but it was enough to burn her quite badly. She lunged forward and lowered her hands into the river, allowing the cool water to soothe them. Once they had cooled down sufficiently, she sat back in the soft sand. Hamlet came and sat next to her, taking her hands in his. He stared at the red marks and blisters, a worried frown on his face. Very gently, he kissed them, to ‘kiss them better’ he said. When he released her hands, she noticed that they actually felt better, and smiled to herself at how the mind plays tricks. She looked at them, and then stared at Hamlet in surprise. The redness and the blisters were gone! Hamlet stared at them as well, his jaw dropped in shock.

Chris <why1040@aol.com>
Okay guys, I know I haven't posted any proper story since May last year, so if you need a refresher, you might want to go back to the archives! , - Friday, February 08, 2002 at 07:00:37 (PST)

Aye, keep it up! As oliver said" please sir, i'd like some more." We all enjoy your flights! Don't let daft little matters like life get in the way! I'm looking forward to reading every little poke. =D
Emily <Em_nescot0@hotmail.com>
UK, where its all happening. , - Thursday, February 07, 2002 at 20:18:49 (PST)

Flashback, (a v. long time) Friday Night
A small theater near by Erika’s apartment Erika tried not to quickly peek back into the playbill, forced herself to cram it under her seat as Tuck giggled to Anastasia about something. Fate, she smirked, is not with out a sense of humor. Her fingers itched as she yearned to pop open the program and look at Jaques face gracing one of the shiny pages.

What are you thinking?! she mentally scolded. He’s shown time again that he doesn’t like you. Why do you bother to just cause further injury to yourself? It was true, all the times she saw him he frowned, or grimaced or sneered, she bumped into him, she even overheard him calling her some kind of gypsy. At that she had responded with a prim thank you, but she was getting nowhere.

She had explained all to Tuck, Ana and Izzy after her face had slightly fallen as she saw the tickets. Tuck had called him quite a bad name and Izzy and Ana shrugged.

“What does he know? Nothing about you, obviously. He would love you if he did.”

She didn’t know and was not sure at all. Sighing, Erika pulled a cloth covered notebook from her large purse and began to record the most recent dream she had had involving her alter ego, Ivory and the land she didn’t know. Dream No. 5 she began and began to scribble furiously, giving one last glance at the beautiful flower, plant and vine covered set onstage. Lady Ivory was enjoying herself immensely. A mist hung in the grey air as she rode the very boundaries of Lady Sterling Silvers land, and she could feel the rain that had poured down the previous night. The mare under her shook slightly as she brought her to a halt on the hill that overlooked Sterling Silver and her neighbor, Lord Ebony’s land. She stroked the impatient horse, rubbing her hand down the Dun coat, readjusting the fluttering white skirt that sat pulled to the side and uncovered the breeches and leathery chaps her brother had given her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like riding sidesaddle, she didn’t mind it at all, but when she was alone she preferred to ride, what she thought, normally. The horse stamped the dewy ground and she smiled.

“Quiet Tinkerbell,” she said, remembering that she had named this young mare (her full name was Thalia Rosalind Tinkerbell), as she stroked the stripe running and disappearing underneath the saddle. The little horse gave a whinny and she hushed it, but stopped as she heard hoofbeats approach and she turned the small horse with a click of her tongue.

At first she couldn’t tell who it was, a large mahogany bay cantered into sight, rearing as it stopped across the line into her neighbors land. The horse fell to earth with a thud, revealing a silvery gray star as it snorted at her. Tinkerbell shifted and she patted the mare to calm her. She then saw the rider and her jaw set in place.

“Lord Ebony.”

He turned the horse with precision and skill, observing her skeptically.

“Ah, of course, Lady Ivory.” There was silence as they measured each other, his multi-faceted eyes taking in all her details as she looked him straight in the eyes, resolving not to blink.

She stopped scrawling and hastily pushed the notebook back as music coursed from an unseen source and the lights went down as Tuck gave a soft squeal next to her. Erika settled back into her chair and gave a sigh, waiting for the faery king to make his entrance.

“How quick such bright things come to confusion," she mused.

Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
I realize it's quite bad right now, I'm just trying to set up things and get things in motion. Forgive me! , - Wednesday, February 06, 2002 at 19:15:11 (PST)

Clods,

Now don't tell me that you're going to let teeny little issues like time continums, laws of matter, and twin birthdays get in the way of a post??

Write on! We'll pick up the pieces, wherever they fall. Gladly.

Therese
Hoping for something in her inbox as well. . ., - Wednesday, February 06, 2002 at 12:04:43 (PST)

I'm really sorry Cindie, I am expecting an e-mail any minute. I really hate posting when I'm not up-to-date on reading, and I've got about 2 weeks worth to catch up on. Boys birthday party tomorrow night, so no hope till the weekend!

I could of course, write something, but no guarantees it might not cause some problem with the time-continuum, including having a person in two places at once. But, if you're willing to take that risk...
Claudia
- Wednesday, February 06, 2002 at 11:43:52 (PST)

Definately always worth the wait Magda!
Miss 10:45
- Wednesday, February 06, 2002 at 07:24:11 (PST)

The Brandons’ suite:

Mary Anne lies in bed, listening to her husband’s even breathing as he sleeps beside her. Is he asleep? She glances at him but does not move; she does not wish to awaken him, even if she is having trouble sleeping herself.

The bed had been a target of much merriment when they had retired for the night. Brandon had insisted that the floor is not a good place to sleep when one has an appointment with The Empress the next day—the sensual attractions of a fur carpet notwithstanding. But that bed! "I’ll need a map," she had giggled as she demonstrated how many times she had to roll to get from one side to the other, until she had rolled directly into Brandon’s arms.

"No need for a map, my darling. I shall be your guide . . ."

And I still can’t get to sleep thinks Mary Anne with wry amusement as she listens to Brandon and remembers that a good way to get to sleep is to stop trying so hard. But if she allows her thoughts to wander . . . they will only lead her to what must happen in the morning, the process that will begin in conference with The Empress and end with confronting The Interrogator. It is a terrible thing to stand at the beginning of a hard task, knowing that it lies ahead of you and that one day you will be able to look back and say, "It’s over." But it is not over yet; it is still to do.

Mary Anne shuts her eyes. There’s no point in thinking about that. Think about something else . . .

Brandon stirs in his sleep, settling an arm and a leg over Mary Anne’s body, and she smiles. She had been startled the first time that had happened, unaccustomed to sharing a bed, but now she finds it most endearing that even in his sleep her husband reaches to embrace her. Warmth and strength, the two of them sharing the comfort of their bodies in the centre of this absurdly enormous bed . . . ahhhhh, that thought is much more conducive to peaceful rest. Almost before she has time to realize it, Mary Anne’s long and tiring day is good to her at last, and sleep is there.

Several moments pass . . . and Brandon opens his eyes and raises himself slightly, but carefully, so as not to awaken his wife. After listening to the soft sound of her breathing for a time, he smiles and relaxes once more onto his pillow, allowing sleep to claim him as well.

MA--y'know, I getting seriously envious of Frau Innkeeper . . . ;-)
Sandy--good to see you back! Therese--so, are you going to leave the Irishman in suspense, or what?, - Wednesday, February 06, 2002 at 05:51:09 (PST)

Flashback
Wagensburg:

Cynthia placed the bag on her lap and looked first at Chandos then Anton. “They were from July 13, I remember the date, and there was a notice about two inches high which mentioned Gruber Glassworks.”

“Perhaps the copies are in your room?” Anton suggested.

“No. I copied them and placed them in my bag. I never took them out again.”

“Could they have fallen out?” Chandos’ look indicated how unlikely he thought that was.

“I don’t see how.” Cynthia pondered, “I placed the bag on my bed while I went in and washed up and splashed cold water on my eyes. I suppose someone could have come in while I was in there. I might not have heard them over the running water.”

“But you said they were from the paper. What is the point of taking them?” Anton seemed to be thinking aloud, “It would be public record, we can simply obtain another copy.”

“Maybe whoever took it, didn’t know what it was. They may simply want to see what we discovered. What we are looking for and consider worth copying.” Chandos theorized.

“That is true.” Anton mused. “We can do nothing about it tonight, but tomorrow we can get another copy. For now,” he stood and walked over to the closet, exchanging his robe for his suit jacket, I suggest we dine.”

Going downstairs, arm and arm with two exceedingly handsome gentlemen, Cynthia felt absurdly happy. It was absurd because she was in a strange country, with little knowledge of the language, up to her eyeballs in an adventure concerning a relic which was probably illegally taken from another country, investigating its history at the behest of a man she hardly knew, and had drug her old friend Chandos along for good measure. She looked over to her younger dinner companion, he didn’t much look like he’d been dragged along, his eyes were bright, on the hunt, he was having the time of his life. So was she.

As for Anton Gruber, she was beginning to get to know him and liked what she saw. An acute business man he also had a sense of adventure, and a zest for life that many a younger man would envy. She was beginning to think about what working for him might be like and what it might offer her. He looked over and smiled, as if knowing where her thoughts were. She found herself smiling back her buoyant mood stubbornly in place despite the recent theft. They sat down to dinner, and though they all wanted to talk about their purpose and their theories, they kept conversation to neutral topics.

They lingered on after they had eaten. Coffee and dessert becoming a protracted affair as Anton’s new found amorata seemed to have little to do but ply him with cake and batting lashes. The place slowly emptied and save for them there was no one left. While Anton’s coffee cup remained ever full Chandos’ and Cynthia’s were slighted. With a smile to Cynthia and a nod to Anton, Chandos suggested that he and the lady go for a little stroll while Herr Gruber occupied himself. Cynthia agreed and stood, valiantly straight faced at the obvious relief of their hostess. They left the dining room, passing by the unoccupied front desk around the corner and into the main entrance room which posed as a lobby. There was a sofa on the far side from which Cynthia would be able to see anyone approaching the front door and which also provided a view of the doorway to the dining room. There would be little margin for error but it was the best they could do to secure a location from which the warning of impending company could be given.

Cynthia picked up a magazine, she couldn’t read a word of it, but it had plenty of photographs and advertisements, while Chandos slipped behind the front desk counter. Cynthia alternated watching him, the front door and the direction of the dining room. Chandos’ movements were steady, and he looked like a man who was doing quite what he ought. Nothing clandestine going on here, no indeedie. He located the storage area in a large cupboard behind the front desk and began to sift through ledger after ledger. Cynthia’s discovery, though currently missing in action, had given him a time frame from which to work. For certainly had there been some sort of mention of the Glassworks in the local paper at a given time, someone from the Glassworks must already be in the town to place it. It may not have been a Gruber, but it seemed a good place to begin.

The books were boxed but were in roughly date order, they seemed to have been stacked in and when the box was full it was sealed and the dates included in the box written on the top. Chandos located the box which included the year for which he was searching. It was tied closed, he would have to cut the string, no help for it. As he was looking about for a tool with which to do that Cynthia started. Someone was coming in the front door. A young couple walked in. Cynthia, rather loudly, wished them a good evening. The young man ushered his girlfriend into the dining room. When Cynthia looked over to the front desk, Chandos was nowhere to be seen.

Cindie
Magda, good to see you. I was beginning to experience the DTs., - Tuesday, February 05, 2002 at 18:04:03 (PST)

FoF Sets ~ Hogwarts Sets
Day Four of the Investigation

Phil turned to see Barbara nodding slowly, thoughtfully, as she watched them work. Phil cleared his throat. "Being a'right, then?"

Barbara turned her Thinking Face his way. "Yes." The word came slowly, poured, not spoken (homage). "I wonder..." Her voice trailed off.

"You're wondering what?" he asked gently.

"What...?" She blinked at him. "Oh, nothing really...." Her voice trailed off and the sharp line reappeared between her brows.

"Barbara." He dragged her name out, to the furthest extent three syllables could muster, an ominous frustration in his tone.

"Oh!" She seemed suddenly cognizant of Phil's presence. "I was just wondering about some set work. Just thinking aloud." She shrank into herself a bit. "I didn't want to bore you with my constant yammering about work." The phrase wasn't delivered quite in her own voice.

"A direct quote, I'm taking it?" Phil asked.

She shot him a quicksilver glance. The wide-eyed startlement that went with it came and fled, as she smoothed it over with a half-grin, like a plasterer with a damaged wall. "You did tell me that mimickry'd likely be the death of me."

Not like that, Phil thought with an internal wince, you know I was not meaning like that. He said only, "I'm full curious now. What were you wondering?" Barbara stared at him for a long moment. Phil tried to match her scrutiny, but ended up only feeling out of place.

"You baffle me," she said finally.

"I'm baffling you?" Phil blurted.

Barbara's lips curled at the ends in a slight smile. "It's odd, isn't it? Women are supposed to be the baffling ones. You men are supposed to be so easy to understand."

"How can I being baffling to you?" Phil asked, baffled himself.

"You -- it's tha-- when you-- bah!" She slammed the heels of her hands on the wall of the set. "Just when I'm certain I've got you pegged, you up and surprise me. You're not supposed to surprise me. You're not supposed to do that!"

"What was I doing, to be baffling?" Puzzled and concerned. What was I doing, to be acting so wrong?

"Why do you care about my work?"

"Why wouldn't I be caring about your work?"

"Well, you don't have to."

"You're being m'friend. You've been such for summat time, luv. There's no reason for me to not be caring." Phil frowned. "Are you saying you're not to be interested in my work?"

"No!" An explosive word. "No, no...." Her lips flattened and she started to pace the Gryffindor Common Room set. "No.... it's just that -- I'm interested. I like to know what's happening in your part of FoF."

Phil nodded slowly. "Then why is it being so surprising to you, that I'm being interested in return?"

Surprise thawed her frozen face, and she halted in her tracks, turning her multi-colored eyes up to him. "I -- I -- I don't know," she stuttered. Phil watched her as she picked up chess pieces from the table and put them down again. Her long white fingers traced the crenellations in the rook, and followed the line of the bishop's mitre. "I suppose I -- it's what I expected, really. My work is very boring to everyone who isn't me." She half-laughed, the tone flat and self-deprecating.

Phil felt his jaw drop halfway to his knees as she spoke. "Where on God's green earth were you getting such a d*mnfool idea?" His voice must have come out more harsh than he'd intended, for she winced and her chin lifted defiantly.

"It's not a d*mnfool idea, Phil," she said. "It's the truth."

Phil advanced on Barbara, the planes of his face stiff with frustration. "Not," he said. "Not a'all." She watched him grow closer, her eyes widening with every step. When he drew up immediately in front of her, her pupils were small and black in a vast expanse of teal-and-amber iris. Her mouth was open and soft with startlement, as his voice rose. "You're not be boring me, talking about your work. This'll --" Phil waved his arm backward, encompassing the Hogwart's sets and, by extension, the rest of Barbara's work at FoF "-- not be boring, and you'll not be yammering, to talk about the work." He looked down into her face, seeing the fine lines radiating from the corners of her eyes, a webwork of old laughters in her skin. He spoke softly, as to wild bird. "Who was telling you that?"

Her reply was almost too quiet to hear. Indeed, if he hadn't been watching her lips flex with the puff of air, he likely wouldn't have heard it at all. "Bernard."

Phil's world suddenly tilted, and rearranged itself on an entirely different axis. He had never thought that Barbara had been unhappily married.

Barbara the Wallpaperer
I think it's Old Home Week for Negligent Posters ;), - Tuesday, February 05, 2002 at 12:20:36 (PST)

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

The silence dragged out the minutes as we gazed at the burned rope. The crowd of servants and retainers crowded round to stare their fill. I hoped they appreciated the good show we were providing.

"So." Locksley breathed in a lungful of air and let it out with a whoosh. "So it was no accident. Someone tried to kill my wife."

"Nonsense." Joya frowned. She seemed completely recovered from the shock of almost being killed. "Absolute nonsense."

"Do you still deny the obvious, Lady Joya?" Locksley was incredulous. "I admit to being disappointed. I have no great expectations of honest dealings with your despicable husband but I expected better from you."

"I do not speak of the falling wheel, sir. That indeed was clearly no accident." Joya darted a warning glance at me before resuming. "But it might not have been Marion who was the intended victim. There is a good likelihood that it was I who was supposed to die.”

Locksley’s lip curled in contempt. “You are pleased to be cryptic, madame, but I have little patience for it right now. A little more illumination, if you please.”

“It was ‘a little more illumination’ that almost killed us.” Joya retorted. She pulled the second note out of her sleeve and held it out. “Read you this, sir. Familiar, is it not? We found it in our bedchamber, in a most private place, just before we came down to dine. I am reluctant to understand why anyone should wish me dead or your wife either but someone does and is not afraid to let us know his intentions.”

Locksley didn’t respond. He’d pulled the first letter out of his belt pouch and was comparing it to the second. Marion leaned over his arm and examined them as well. Everyone in the hall watched their every move; even the servants paused in their removal of the broken wheel to stare wide-eyed at the four of us. Joya rubbed her hands along her arms, as if she was cold. I pulled her back against me and partly covered her with my cloak.

Finally our guests raised their heads. “They were written by the same hand. There is no doubt about that.” Marion handed the second letter back to Joya.

“Of course it was. Your husband would have made sure of that.” Locksley was in full sneer now. He turned his attention to me. “How many of these letters did you have made up? Is there one for every local landholder? Is everyone’s wife going to be threatened?”

I rolled my eyes. “Locksley, what are you blathering on about now?”

“Why don’t you admit that you’ve planned this whole ridiculous thing? That you had one of your hirelings plant this letter at my manor? That you’re pretending that you found one yourself in your own bedchamber? And to top it all off, you arrange for my wife to nearly be killed.” He threw his head back and laughed. It had a bitter sound. “Oh, yes, I forgot. In order to make it all look realistic, you almost killed your own wife too.”

The servants were almost finished cleaning up. The rushes had been swept up and carted away with the rest of the mess. It would be easy for Locksley to find his teeth after I finished with him. Gently I eased Joya away from me.

“You insult me, my lord.” Joya’s voice was Spanish steel. (Much finer than our English blades.) She didn’t even notice me as she concentrated on him. “You have no proof that my husband or even one of our servants or retainers is behind this.”

Locksley pretended to consider her statement. “Well, not conclusive proof at any rate. But the attack happened in this castle and only your servants knew what arrangements were made for dinner. I have only four knights with me and Marion has three women with her. You have dozens of servitors in the castle, let alone dozens more outside. I think the burden of proof lies on your husband.”

So the burden of proof was on me because the attack happened on my land, was it? Well then we would discuss certain other attacks that had occurred recently. I glanced over my shoulder and scanned the crowd for Leofric. He was leaning against a pillar, the scorched rope still curled in one hand. He noticed my look and snapped to attention, hand dropping lightly onto his sword hilt. A faint nod indicated his readiness to follow my lead. I turned back to Locksley.

“Just because someone was attacked in the vicinity of the castle doesn’t mean that I am guilty of inciting it.” I smiled and bared my teeth; Marion swallowed nervously and stepped closer to Locksley. The sight pleased me. “As a matter of fact, the last time there was an attack – an undisputed attack, I might add – in the vicinity, I was the victim. And the attacker was none other than your bastard brother Will Scarlet!”

Locksley stared, then burst out laughing. “Oh, that is too pathetic, Nottingham. What a story! My brother is with the king in Winchester. He’ll be accompanying the royal party when they come north for the – weddings.” The reminder of our joint problem wiped the humour from his face.

“I regret the necessity of contradicting you but in fact your brother is here in the north and recently led an unsuccessful attack on me. And I have a witness.” I snapped my fingers. Leofric lumbered up to join us. “Leofric, please describe the young man who led that group of peasants against me and who you so valiantly aided me in defeating.”

“Well, my lord,” Leofric rubbed his beard and considered. “He were a short, rat-faced young man, not much more’n a lad and skinny too. Bad skin and greasy hair that needed a cut summat bad. And he were wearing that same livery that yer men are wearing tonight.”

Locksley frowned. Obviously he recognized the description but he kept trying. “Ridiculous. Of course your own man would back you up. I would require a more objective witness before I could believe such a thing of my brother.”

I was all set to enjoy myself with an appropriate retort when I caught sight of Joya’s face. She was still standing but pale and her hands were trembling again. The look in her eyes told me that what she needed was rest. Locksley could wait – for a while. When the king arrived, I’d ensure that Will Scarlet was hauled in front of the entire assemblage and accused of attempted murder. But first things came first. I pulled off my cloak, wrapped it around her and scooped her up in my arms. She immediately slipped her arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder. This passivity alarmed me almost as much as the falling wheel had.

I looked over at our guests. “We will talk about this later, Locksley. I have more pressing concerns at the moment. But rest assured this discussion is not over.”

The servants fell back as I carried Joya out of the hall and up the stairs to our bedchamber. Under no circumstances was I going to leave her alone tonight. A maid rushed ahead of me to open the door and light some candles inside the room. I swept over the threshold and headed for the bed. The maid fluttered over to arrange the bedfurs in a more comfortable manner. I set Joya down; she settled back with a drawn-out sigh. The maid stepped forward but I jerked my head at the door. She ran out without looking back.

I stopped on the way back from barring the door to pick up some. I didn’t like Joya’s pallor. She needed some stimulation. I tried to remember how much of a meal we’d actually managed to eat before the incident. The flagon was full. I reached for a goblet –

And froze.

A folded piece of parchment lay on the tray, half hidden by the cups. I set the wine down carefully and reached for the note.

The handwriting was now familiar enough to be recognized at once. The message once again was short and succinct:

“You were warned and you failed to heed. Do not make the same mistake again. Stay away from your wife – or she will die.”

Magda
Better late than never, I hope, - Tuesday, February 05, 2002 at 09:51:18 (PST)

Sandy! at *last*!
Barbara the Wallpaperer
It's getting pretty deep in here..., - Tuesday, February 05, 2002 at 07:15:12 (PST)

Sandy, You've certainly kept *us* wading far too long for your latest installment.
Cindie
Getting ready to compose an e-mail to Claudia. . ., - Tuesday, February 05, 2002 at 05:50:25 (PST)

Somewhere in Egypt, present day:

Melanie put her hands on her hips, staring down at the water nervously for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she carefully walked down the embankment and waded into the river, taking note of the wet, smooth sides. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she saw that the water level ended roughly six inches over her waist. "Uh, everybody, it's a bit..." she began to say when she turned around to face the others.

Her eyes grew huge when Jack, who was following her, stumbled on a rock in the wet, shifting sand-covered embankment. His arms flailed about wildly to keep him upright, looking rather like a human version of a windmill for about ten seconds. His efforts were unsuccessful and he tumbled down into the water with a loud cry followed by an equally spectacular splash.

"Aw MAAANNNNN... Why *me*?" he moaned when his head emerged from the water, spitting and coughing.

"...slippery, so be careful," Melanie finished, biting her bottom lip in an effort not to burst into giggles as Jack's head bobbed in the water. "Um, I'd just like to point out that I don't think that's the recommended way to catch fish. Are you okay?" she asked as he unsteadily rose to his feet, still spitting out water.

"Are you all right?" David echoed Melanie's query with combined concern and laughter in his voice as he warily approached the embankment. He sat down and pushed himself down the side so that he slid into the water legs first. He fumbled around for a bit before he found a stable place at the river's bottom. He stood up slowly, deliberately putting pressure on his good ankle first before completely up-righting himself in the water. He puffed his cheeks and exhaled loudly in relief. "Jack?"

Jack wiped the water away from his eyes and nodded in Melanie's direction before turning to his friend. "Just spiffy," he growled as a very odd expression came over his face. "Huh? What on earth..." he muttered and reached down the front of his shirt, his brown eyes widening in horror when he withdrew an eel roughly eighteen inches in length and a couple of inches in diameter. He threw it away with a muffled curse, David and Melanie yelling and ducking just before either one of them were hit by the creature.

"HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE THROWING STUFF LIKE THAT!" David bellowed as the eel landed several feet behind him with a loud splash.

"Sorry!" Jack replied, following it up with a loud sneeze that made him blink several times in succession. "Probably scared the blasted fish away with all the racket we've made," he sniffed indignantly. "ACHOO!" Another sneeze thundered through the passage.

"Bless you!" the group chorused as he sniffed miserably. He nodded in acknowledgement and shook his head, blinking fiercely.

Roberta didn't even bother attempting to contain her laughter as she followed David's example by sliding down the smooth, wet stones into the water and rising to her feet. "OOO, that's freezing!" she gasped, shivering slightly. She turned around and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw that Alexander had turned away from the others with a hand clasped over his mouth. Her mouth dropped open for a moment when she saw his shoulders shaking in silent mirth and she closed it quickly before anybody else would notice. She lowered her head and concentrated on looking for a fish.

Composing himself, Alexander suppressed a final chuckle and cleared his throat softly before he turned around and faced the others calmly. "Has anybody ever fished before?" he asked.

How *does* he manage to do that? Roberta wondered silently. "Not me," she offered in response.

The others responded in the same vein. "Well, this should prove to be an interesting learning experience for us all then because I haven't either," Alexander admitted as he slid into the water with a loud splash.

Sandy
"Wading" back into things (ducks at the rotten vegetables thrown her way)..., - Monday, February 04, 2002 at 19:11:51 (PST)

My compements to all! This is a wonderfully entertaining page of stories. Witty, well written, descriptive. Really, a great use of characters. I will keep my eyes opean for new additions! =)
Emily <Em_nescot0@hotmail.uk.com>
MY heart!, - Monday, February 04, 2002 at 16:03:59 (PST)

Magda - Where is the start of your Marston story?Sorry to ask you again.
Magda <magdahorrocks@hotmail.com>
query, - Sunday, February 03, 2002 at 13:00:58 (PST)

Another THUD! And it just gets better....
Carmen <DharmaChamelian@yahoo.com>
Medic!, - Saturday, February 02, 2002 at 17:59:26 (PST)

The Palace grounds:

“It’s breathtaking! How do they manage it?” Valmont and Cynthia stood next to each other gazing at the vision of the fountain at the center of the formal garden. It was as if a magic wand had frozen it in mid motion. The plumes of ice seemed ready to burst forth at any moment and the layers of falling water seemed to still be moving in the moonlight.

Valmont did not reply at once. He waited a moment as if considering and then said, “I do not know. Perhaps sometimes it is better not to ask how such beauty is created. It is meant simply to be enjoyed.”

“Perhaps.” Cynthia gave a little shiver, even in her heavy green velvet cape it was cold standing still. “Can we walk some more?”

“But of course.” Valmont pulled his own rich vanilla cape closer about him. “It is very cold …but that too is part of the beauty.”

Cynthia had expected him to offer to put his arm around her or to make some remark about warming her up. It was pleasant to find that he did not. They walked along the paths which were lined with white draped shrubbery. Even in winter it was lovely and the groundskeepers, not content with the natural sculptures created by snow covered flora, had placed ice sculptures along the way. Some were simple but there were some that were so intricate it seemed a shame to imagine them melting when spring arrived. They took a brisk tour of the gardens, keeping to the main paths before returning to the warmth of the Palace.

Valmont noticed how the cold had brought colour to her cheeks, very full of life, this one. She would prove an invigorating companion. The walk back to the section where the guests were being housed was more leisurely that their quick turn about the garden. It had been too cold to linger but they both agreed the fresh air had been welcome. Perhaps if there was time they would go outside in the daylight when the grounds could be better appreciated. He took her offered hand when they reached her door, naturally he noted its relative position to his own, and brushed her knuckles with his lips before bidding her goodnight. Cynthia was smiling when she entered her rooms.

Cindie
Does Therese want to open more fan mail with Mistral?, - Saturday, February 02, 2002 at 10:06:39 (PST)

Ladies,

THUD.

Cindie
THUD, again., - Saturday, February 02, 2002 at 04:35:33 (PST)

Dev's Flat

Therese looked at Eamon after she had spoken, and could feel her heart pounding. She knew that she had hurt him, that what she had told him tonight would come as a great shock, and she was unsure of what his reaction would be. She hadn't exactly planned what she would say, and wasn't all too certain if it had been the right thing to voice. Almost as if in a daze, he slowly rose from the sofa, and started across the room, then suddenly turned to her when he stood several paces away. "You'll have to pardon me, Therese, for I'm a bit confused."

"Anything specific you'd like me to clarify?" she asked, striving to sound relatively calm.

Eamon ran his fingers through his hair, absentmindedly pushing it back and out of his face. "I believe so--many things, in fact."

Therese began to feel a bit faint, and not for the first time since she had gone away, considered what her life might be without this man. It was impossible to contemplate. "Whatever you wish, just tell me."

He continued to prowl the room, his long stride carrying him to each end of the small area and back in a matter of several steps. He reminded her of the big cats she'd seen, light footed economy of motion, with inherent, rippling power. Finally, he stopped in front of the sofa, and once again sat down. Turning to face her he took her left hand in between his two larger ones, and raised it to his lips. "I do love you," he said softly, his voice little more than a ragged whisper.

"But perhaps it was a rash move to sell my house, is that it?" Therese asked, thinking that it was an amazing thing her voice should be so steady when her entire body might shatter with grief and frustration at his obvious reluctance.

"Not necessarily, unless you feel that things between us could continue as they've been."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Eamon?"

"Weren't you the one who didn't want a boyfriend, let alone a husband, just a short time ago? Didn't I hear you correctly when you told me that you were having too much fun?"

Therese nodded. "I did say those things, I know, and I said them not all that long ago, as well. But being apart from you, and not having you there when I was so sad, knowing that I had only myself to blame. . .I realized that I don't ever want to be without you again, if you'll still have me."

"Therese. . ." Eamon pulled her toward himself, hugging her gently. "You know I could never be without you, but if we should decide to do this--if you truly wish to be my wife--then there are things you must know."

A sigh of relief escaped her; he would forgive her, and he would have her for his own. She felt the tears gather, and wiped at them self-consciously.

"Why in heaven's name are you crying?"

"I'm not crying," she replied with a loud sniff, "it's just that I'm very relieved. I wasn't sure you could forgive me."

"I can forgive you most anything, so long as you promise never to go away from me, ever." He paused, and studied her for long moments, "And should you decide to leave me again, know that I shall hunt you down to the very ends of the Earth, if necessary," he told her, his voice ragged as he lowered his lips to hers, and kissed her deeply.

Therese was lost in his embrace, her senses reeling from the taste of him, and the feelings he elicited. "Believe me, I'd never put either one of us through that another time," she told him, when she was once again able to breathe.

"You're certain then it's not just the exceptional horses?" Therese looked at him, her expression puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"You told me you wished to live in Ireland, you remember, 'wonderful little island, lovely people, exceptional horses'?"

"Oh, I remember--oh!" Therese was cut off in mid-sentence by her own exclamation, as Eamon grasped her fingers with his own, and dropped to one knee on the floor before her.

He kissed her hands, one at a time, and then held them to his chest. "You know my heart is yours Therese, as am I, body and soul. Will you marry me?"
Therese
here you go MA, I told you I would if you would. . . Oh, Cindie--Mistral says to tell you he's feeling a bit neglected, - Friday, February 01, 2002 at 22:00:46 (PST)

The Brandons’ suite:

After removing his cloak and setting it aside, Brandon returns to Mary Anne and stands over her with his arms folded. "I am debating as to whether I should bestow my favours upon a woman who finds my attire so amusing."

Mary Anne allows herself to recline a bit more seductively. "Now that I’ve had time to look at it . . ." A mischievous grin. "You have very nice legs, Christopher."

Brandon glances down at the limbs under discussion with so droll an expression of puzzlement that Mary Anne has to bite her lip to keep from laughing again.

"And so have you, my dearest," he finally returns. "However, I cannot see your legs so well as you can see mine . . ."

Now Mary Anne cannot help laughing, as she obliges by extending her legs from under her nightdress and warming her feet at the fire. "Is this better?"

"Much."

In one graceful movement, Brandon seats himself next to her on the fur rug and indulges in a long stretch, easing his muscles after a trying day. Once, twice . . . before he gathers Mary Anne into his arms and, without a word, takes her face between his hands and kisses her, softly at first, repeatedly.

Maddeningly.

The balance has shifted so abruptly, as Mary Anne had known it can, and she has no objections. Laughter has fled.

"Christopher." That tremble of longing, and more than longing.

"Shhhhhh. It will be all right, my dearest."

That it, unspecified but present. The necessity of a terrible duty, but tonight, they must drive it far from them.

All sensations, heightened. The low hiss of the fire, its heat on her skin . . . is it from the fire? The taste of Brandon’s kisses lingering on her lips, and his circling touch, her skin tingling as if it could perceive each single and separate hair in the carpet of fur . . .

MA--so, Therese, I said I would.
Emily, thanks for the kind words. 8-), - Friday, February 01, 2002 at 18:41:11 (PST)

Back to top