Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

At the palace - the surveillance room behind the Interrogator's cell:

"But more about that later. Now, for your other questions . . ."

"Oh, I've got plenty of questions", said Claudia, sounding more confident than she felt.

"As does her majesty. But for now, I will answer yours. We left the door unlocked, knowing that someone as easily bored as yourself, would try and find a way out, even if there were none, just to keep yourself busy."

Claudia frowned at him - he knew well how to push her buttons. "How do you know…"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "The doors don't have a conventional lock, so there is no way you could have found it and forced it open. There is no visible lock to pick, and when the door is closed, it fits so snugly that you wouldn't even know it was there."

"But I did know it was there… it was like… it was weird." Claudia was thinking out loud, realised it and pulled a face at Rupert.

"You know, the Empress was hardly impressed with your story, and your relationship with the Interrogator is not clear. She wanted to know what you would do with a little freedom."

"I hardly had time to do anything."

"A report came to my attention, and I thought it warranted a little personal intervention."

"What sort of report?"

"One from the surveillance personnel in this very room."
Claudia
And when you get writers block, the best thing for the imagination is to read the archives!, - Monday, April 30, 2001 at 21:02:08 (PDT)

I totally agree, MA. As I said next door, I have written HyperMart about the problem. So far, I have received an automated e-mail from them, stating that a technical support agent would be writing me soon and that "we will do our best to help you." So we'll see. Though, I am already looking around for other possibilities in case they do not satisfy me.

As for the sound file, it *is* about time for a change, isn't it? :-) The Interrogator, yes... I'll see what I can find...

Suzanne
Perhaps that would change HyperMart's attitude: an introduction to HIM! >8-}, - Monday, April 30, 2001 at 13:36:11 (PDT)

Yes, Chris, I've gotten that same error. Also, the window went away for a while yesterday--I came to the page several times with no trouble from it, but now it's baaaaack . . .

At least the ad banner at the top is fairly unobtrusive. But this thing is a bother, and I don't understand why people think annoying a potential customer is a good way to get attention and try to make a sale. Hypermart should remove it, PDQ.

The aggravated MA
- Monday, April 30, 2001 at 06:46:00 (PDT)

Hearing a noise behind her, Chris looks up from her typing. Unconsciously massaging her wrists, she smiles as she sees the Director scowling at her from the doorway.

"Not you as well," he says in mock ferocity. "I thought you had orders to take it easy now things are settling in a bit more."
"Well, I had to finish this scene off properly, or we'll have nothing to film on Friday. It just wasn't working the way I wanted it to, and I don't want to get Hamlet in that pond without a darned good background reason," Chris replies. "I'm almost done though."
"And how are those wrists doing? Have you rested them enough? Maybe I should speak to Jutta about getting you booked in to have them seen to," the Director continues, almost as if she hadn't spoken at all.
"They're getting much better, I can type for about 20 mins at a time now without pain, and it resolves much quicker," Chris replies, looking at the offending body parts in frustration. "And I already have massage once a week! Any more, and I'll be a lump of jelly! As it is, I have to get someone to drive me home after it, because I get so sleepy."
Again, seeming to ignore what she has said, the Director continues. "I'll have a word with Jutta when she gets in on Monday. Now why don't you find Mary Anne, who shouldn't be here either, and go have some lunch?"

With that, he wanders off again, and Chris is left looking after him, speechless. She knows he's only trying to be nice, but she feels like she's just been told off by a parent-or worse! She sighs, turns around and types a few more words. Looking at it, suddenly she gets an idea, and in a few minutes, she has finished, having tightened up the story line to her satisfaction. As if on cue, her tummy rumbles, and she goes off to find the cafeteria. She wanders around for a while to see if she can find Mary Anne's desk, but gets lost. Me and my wonderful sense of direction. Shame, I haven't spoken much to Mary Anne, it would have been nice to meet up with her... she mumbles to herself, as she backtracks. She thinks she can smell chocolate cookies from somewhere, but decides it's her hungry self playing tricks on her, and keeps walking. Eventually, she finds the cafeteria, and settles down for some lunch, lost in her own thoughts about her story line and this week's acting.
Chris <why1040@aol.com>
BTW, I'm having the same problem as Mary Anne-on both home (AOL connection) and work (MSN connection). It says 'Access denied'!, - Monday, April 30, 2001 at 01:21:14 (PDT)

FOF set. The weekend.

The Director is walking down a corridor and then pauses, listening. The sound of singing.

Naturally, the FOF set is active even on weekends; with everything that must be done, the idea of shutting down for two days out of every seven is laughable. But the sounds are coming from Mary Anne’s cubicle.

There’s no reason for her to be here working, especially not when I put her on that new schedule so she could get more rest. I’ll just see about this.

With that, The Director stalks toward Mary Anne’s cubicle, but then pauses outside, listening once again in respectful silence, for Mary Anne is playing one of her opera CD’s and singing with it, her warm contralto harmonizing with the melody to the Barcarolle from The Tales of Hoffman.

Belle nuit, o nuit d’amour,
Souris a nos ivresses . . .

The Director lets out the breath he suddenly realizes he was holding. Mary Anne’s voice is no more than ordinarily pleasant on most occasions, a standard medium-strength contralto, inclined to go a bit thin and breathless on higher notes. But she is in better-than-average voice at the moment, and perhaps forgetful of how far her voice might carry on a good day.

Le temps fuit et sans retour
Emporte nos tendresses,
Loin de cet hereux sejour
Le temps fuit sans retour . . .

The Director shakes his head. If only she could always do that. There’d be a lot more singing scenes for her, if she could. He has to smile, however, at her choice of songs; a woman less like the heartless, greedy courtesan Giulietta could hardly be imagined.

He taps at the door-more gently than he had intended-and puts his head around the frame. "Hello, Mary Anne."

"Good afternoon, sir." Not at all startled by his sudden appearance. "Hope I wasn’t disturbing you, or anyone else."

"I don’t think so." A smile. "You’re one of the few people I know who are capable of singing along at the opera."

She grins in return. "I try not to. It aggravates the conductor, to say nothing of the singers."

The Director leans against the door frame, his arms crossed. "Mind telling me why you’re here? There’s not a working weekend in your schedule right now."

"Oh, I’m not here working or anything." Mary Anne points to her conspicuously neater desk, and an opened drawer of her file cabinet. "It’s just that I never have time to tidy up during the week, so I thought I’d take a day and do it. Then I’d feel better about coming in here on Monday. There wouldn’t be a mess waiting on me when I arrived."

"I see." The Director tries to remain stern, but those long-lashed blue eyes . . . no, certainly no Giulietta. "No harm in that, I suppose, as long as you aren’t doing anything stressful." Then, casually: "Don’t you have an appointment with Jutta soon?"

"Yes, and that’s something else I took care of today. She was in earlier to handle some weekend appointments, and did a patch test on me. She needs to make certain none of the creams or anything she’ll use for the massage will irritate my skin."

"Make certain of that," commands The Director, shaking his head as he remembers an unpleasant incident when the make-up department, during one of Mary Anne’s encounters with The Interrogator, had used a new type of stain to simulate the bruises of shackles marks around her wrists. Within a few moments, her sensitive skin had reddened and filming came to a halt as Mary Anne was rushed from the set to have the dye scrubbed off.

Mary Anne does not see the look on The Director’s face, for she is examining her right arm. "I think it will be all right." She points to her inner forearm. "Here, see, that’s where she did the test, and not a sign of anything-"

She pushes her chair further out from the desk, into better light, and that is when The Director catches sight of a canister standing on her desk . . .

"Ah-ha!" he exclaims triumphantly. "What’s this?"

The tall white tin in The Director’s hands announces that the contents are "Chocolate Creme Pirouette Entertaining Cookies." Then, in smaller print: "Chocolate Hazelnut Creme Filling," over a most enticing photograph of thin, cylindrical wafer cookies striped in chocolate, with a rich, dark interior . . .

However, The Director’s look of triumph changes rapidly to chagrin as he shakes the tin and hears a distinctly metallic clank . . . and then he notices the slot cut in the lid.

"This, sir," replies Mary Anne, trying to conceal her amusement, "is a coin bank. I thought the tin was too nice to just throw out."

"I see." The Director hands back the tin. "But I don’t remember seeing it here before . . . ?"

"I brought it from my flat. There was a lot of loose change in the desk, and I just threw it in here." Smoothly.

"Well, then." Absently, The Director drags a hand through his hair, hardly daring to look at Mary Anne lest she burst into laughter-and he has to admit he’s in some danger of it, himself. Very well, Mary Anne; that’s another one to you. But my turn shall come, never fear. "I’ll leave you to finish what you were doing-but I’d better not come in here and find you working." An oblique apology, tendered with a ferociously overdone frown that gets the effect he intended: that splutter of laughter and a cheeky smirk. "This, from the man who came in here once to fuss at me for not working? You slay me, sir; you really do!"

"Don’t tempt me." The Director sweeps toward the door. "Finish up, go home-and force yourself to relax." (homage)

Mary Anne chuckles as The Director leaves her cubicle . . . and after a long moment of waiting, she tiptoes over to the door and peeks out to make certain he has really gone. Then, returning to her desk, she reaches into the back of the open drawer, pulling out a second tin identical to the one she has converted into a coin bank. However, it is not coins she withdraws from this canister. Popping off the lid, she selects one of the long chocolate-filled wafers, runs it under her nose in a parody of a connoisseur smelling a fine cigar, and then proceeds to nibble at it with the self-satisfied expression of a cat who has just devoured an entire dairy full of cream. Then, still humming the melody of the Barcarolle, she returns to tidying her cubicle . . .

MA--cookies brought to you by Pepperidge Farm products, and yes, they are delicious.
Ever get the feeling that one day Mary Anne will go too far . . . ? ;-), - Sunday, April 29, 2001 at 19:15:55 (PDT)

Twenty minutes later Mistral was at her door as promised. This time they took the back steps down and after a few turns ended up in a cavernous kitchen. Lunch was laid out on a large and very solid looking wooden table at the far end. The windows here looked out to what must be the back of the house and what Cindie supposed was the garden. Now its colours were muted save for the patches of deep red and orange mums. As if reading her thoughts he said “You’re not seeing it at its best now. In spring and summer it’s a riot of colours. There’s even a small rose garden.” He lifted an eyebrow, “Though not as extensive as the South Rose Garden of course.”

Cindie smiled, remembering their walk through there. But my dear, you are far from wicked. She wondered if he still thought that. Wondered why it was important to him for her to see this place. Glad to be here, with him, but puzzled nonetheless. It seemed incongruous for such a guarded, self assured man to bring her out here for…for what? Surely not simply to meet his mother? To know something of him, to see where he came from he’d said. Well, she would see then wouldn’t she?

They busied themselves with peeling cellophane from sandwiches and uncovering containers. Fixing their plates they sat down and munched, both of them hungry after the drive. “Would you like to know the agenda for today?” Mistral enquired.

“Yes.” She replied. “I rather thought you’d have one.”

Ignoring her remark he proceeded, “I have to meet with John and go over some things this afternoon. I didn’t think you’d mind being on your own for a bit.” He glanced over to make sure he’d been correct in his judgment. Meeting no opposition, he continued, “You can explore the house or go for a walk, it seems a fine day.”

“Yes, it is a fine day. And no I don’t mind being on my own to explore. But is there anything I should know?” She half expected cryptic warnings about not going near the east tower. The fact that there were no towers did nothing to quell this expectation.

“No. Other than be careful and take a torch.” At her expression of puzzlement he explained, “The electricity is wired for the entire house but not every room will have overhead lights. Even with the windows it is a bit gloomy.” He stood up and walked over to one of the large oak drawers among the cabinetry and produced a flashlight. Cindie was reminded of him rummaging through another drawer and producing a corkscrew with a similar flourish. Placing it next to her on the table he resumed his seat. “As for going out, just keep the house in view and don’t fall in the stream.”

“Very sound advice. I will endeavor to stay dry. Then what?”

“Then, we shall, dress for dinner, reconvene in the library, and you shall meet Mother.”

“All right then. I’ll see you in a few hours.” She extended her hand hoping to find his. She was not disappointed.

Cindie
- Sunday, April 29, 2001 at 18:25:39 (PDT)

I must briefly interrupt this narrative to report an annoyance . . .

Suzanne, I sent you an e-mail about an error message I've been getting when I log on to FOF. Well, I thought it was just my computer, but I tried on another and the same window opened on that computer as well. Here's the URL of the pesky window--

http://exitstitial.infospacehosting.net/exitpage/index_hm.html

This thing pops up when I open FOF, and that's usually the first place I go when I get on the internet. (Big surprise to no one here, I'm sure.) But now it's also plaguing me on the GB, and it came up when I posted at the GB just now as I submitted the entry. And after I "x" it out, that's when I get the IE error message that I mailed you about, Suzanne.

Is this something Hypermart has attached to the pages? I hope not. It's bloody annoying and should be removed. Has anyone else been having this problem? I'm using Internet Explorer; has it happened with Netscape users?

And now, back to our thrilling narratives . . .

MA
Where's Minion's computer expertise when I really need it?!, - Sunday, April 29, 2001 at 11:25:00 (PDT)

She didn’t have to wait long before Mistral returned. He walked over to where she sat and took up her hands. “Would you like to see your room?”

“In a minute. Could we just stay here for a little bit first?”

“Of course.” Keeping a light hold on one of her hands he deftly reached out with the other and pulled a chair up to the window and sat down. He watched her as she continued to stare out the window. They sat in silence, the rushing of the stream over the rocks the only sound between them. Her eyes on the waterfall and his on her.

“Patrick,” she turned to him now, “why am I here?”

Suppressing the sarcasm which sprang naturally to his lips, he gazed at the cascading water as he formed a reply. “I’m not sure. It seemed important to me….” He paused, “that you saw where I came from.”

The exhalation of her breath came out with a quiver. She said only, “I see.”

“Do you wish to leave?”

“Oh no. No, of course not.” She squeezed his hand, “I’m just a bit unsettled. Why don’t we go was up. Lunch does sound good, I’m awfully hungry.”

He cocked his head towards the door, “Come on then.” He led her back out into the entrance hall and up a flight of stone steps. This part of the house had the feel of a medieval castle and lacked the warmth and finish that the library possessed. There were several corridors at the top of the stairs. Mistral chose one that apparently led to one of the newer sections. The walls here were of a polished wood and had the air of being lived in. “This section is where Mother and I have our bedrooms. I thought you’d rather be near to people so I’ve put you here. The Thomas’s have a set of rooms just above us.” He indicated to another set of stairs a bit further down the hall. Opening another door he continued, “I hope you like it.” He stood aside for her to enter and she proceeded through.

“Patrick, its…., its lovely.” It was lovely. It was a large and surprisingly airy room after the heavy beauty of the entrance hall. It was done up in a pale yellow with blue accents and with a large mahogany four poster bed. A small alcove had a window with a window seat which looked out over the stream and the woods beyond. In addition to the dresser there was a small writing desk and two very comfortable looking chairs upholstered in the same pale yellow flanking a Rumford fireplace. There was a fire laid and her suitcase was placed upon a large chest at the foot of the bed. She hugged him impulsively. He closed his eyes and returned the embrace, holding it was a moment before releasing her.

“I’m afraid you have to go down the hall for the amenities.” Taking her hand up again he took her a bit further down the hall and pointed them out. “You will have it to yourself though.”

“Where is your room?” He gestured several doors down from hers and also pointed out his Mother’s set of rooms on the other side of the long corridor. Leaving her to her own devises he indicated he would collect her in twenty minutes. Returning to her own room she listened as his footsteps retreated down the hall and she heard the click of his door open and close. She turned her attentions to the suitcase and, collecting her toiletries, adjourned down the hall. The bathroom looked as though it had been fitted out in the twenties, with everything marble and porcelain and an art deco feel to it. There was an old fashioned claw foot tub and a rack with black fluffy towels. Unable to resist checking these out, Cindie found they were of enormous proportions. A quick check of the cabinets revealed, in addition to extra towels and washcloths, a bottle of aspirin and a tube of Crest. She added her own things to the cabinets and proceeded with her ablutions.

Cindie
On a bit of a roll., - Saturday, April 28, 2001 at 05:31:29 (PDT)

As if by magic the doors opened for them. Of course it wasn’t magic at all but a diminutive woman with keen eyes and a friendly greeting. “Welcome home sir.” Her manner was polite but not overtly deferential. She appeared to be in her late fifties with brown hair streaked with grey. Mistral made the introductions. The woman was Sybill Thomas, the nurse who looked after his mother as well as the household in general. She had a no-nonsense demeanor, but her eyes, for all they didn’t look as though they missed a thing, were kind. She indicated that her husband, John, had gone into town but was due back shortly. She went on to say that the guest room was ready as he’d requested and Mary had lunch for them whenever they should want it.

“And how is Mother today?” His question was clipped, betraying his concern.

“Oh fine sir,” she checked her watch, “She just fell asleep a bit ago. I expect she’ll be able to come down for dinner.”

He nodded. “Good.” Turning to Cindie he said, “why don’t you wait in the library for a bit while I settle our luggage, then you can refresh yourself and we can have lunch.”

She nodded and he escorted her to a large room filled with books from floor to ceiling. Maps adorned what wall space was left and there was an elaborate stereo system in one corner. At first, the latter seemed incongruous in a place so obviously old. There was a large oak desk in another corner, empty save for a blotter and two telephones.

Mistral’s face held a tension that wasn’t there before as he murmured something to the effect that he’d return shortly and show her the room she’d occupy. His mouth turned upwards in an attempt at a smile but it did not reach his eyes. Cindie had hung her jacket in the hall closet but even without it the room was very warm. There wasn’t a fire lit although there was a large fireplace. The windows were covered in heavy draperies that came down almost to her knees and she went over and pulled a set back. This room held a view of the stream and she cranked open the window to let in some fresh air and the sound of the cascading water. Perched on the windowsill she idly surveyed her surroundings and wondered at such a huge place with apparently only three regular inhabitants.

Cindie
- Friday, April 27, 2001 at 17:30:18 (PDT)

Royalties?

Plutarch
- Friday, April 27, 2001 at 16:09:28 (PDT)

It was originally Plutarch (AD 46-126) in his "Life of Alexander". The wording may vary depending on the translation from the Greek. Interesting how far back studios will go to find writers who aren't in a position to demand royalties.
Magda
- Friday, April 27, 2001 at 15:39:03 (PDT)

Its Hans, isn't it, in Die Hard?
Claudia
- Friday, April 27, 2001 at 15:25:34 (PDT)

This story is abruptly interrupted for an inquiry:
Does anyone know the source of the quote in the sound file, "When Alexander saw . . . "? Have not been able to locate it, but would would like to know.

Thank you for your patience, & now back to the story
Fausta
- Friday, April 27, 2001 at 12:28:26 (PDT)

Chris woke reluctantly. She was frightened of something and knew that if she woke, she would have to face it. She didn’t remember what it was, but knew that only by staying where she was could she avoid it. Yet she was being pulled away from the bliss of unconsciousness, slowly, inexorably. Finally, despite fighting, she reached enough of a conscious level to hear Ki’li talking to her mentally.

“You must come back to us Chris, we need you. You must tell us what happened so that we can find the one who did this to you and stop them from doing it again. We love you, Chris, come back to us, come back to you. You are safe now. Nothing can penetrate a circle of unicorns. Come back to us!”

Finally, Chris opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, surrounded by about 20 unicorns, standing around her in a perfect circle, facing her. Hamlet was kneeling next to her, holding her hand. His face was a picture of concern and worry, and she smiled feebly to reassure him. She tried to sit up, and groaned out loud as a thumping headache hit her. One of the unicorns, a large, pure white one with an ivory horn and hooves came up to her and lowered its’ horn towards her. She flinched, unsure of the intention, as the horn moved closer to her head. She glanced at Hamlet, who nodded, almost imperceptibly, and smiled. Trusting him, her fears notwithstanding, she allowed the unicorn close, and the horn came to touch her forehead gently. Immediately, her headache dulled, and she glanced up with an astonished and grateful smile.

“Your mind has been tampered with,” Ki’li said gently. You fought off the assailant, but it takes a toll on untrained minds and their bodies. You have a very strong mind, which is lucky. Had you been weaker, let the attacker any further in, you would most likely have died. Once you recuperate, we will train you to withstand such attacks, but I thought that you would be safe here.” The sadness in Ki’li’s thoughts was almost tangible, and Chris impulsively got up and hugged the mare close, though standing up made her feel giddy. “I suppose we were naïve to think that nothing would have changed in the 50 years since the great leaving, but we did hope that this had remained the sanctuary we remember. I do not know what happened, nor who did it, and I’m not certain we’ll be able to find out. There is a group who do not want to get involved in the fight against the Sh’rin, who think we should just hide here and not risk ourselves.”

Chris and Hamlet looked at one another, then at Ki’li. “We understand the reluctance of some to get involved,” Hamlet said. Chris nodded by his side, as he moved closer to help her stay standing as she wobbled. “I believe that the humans would be even more reluctant, and I know that it might not be a huge loss to get rid of the humans on Earth. I don’t know much about the one who attacked me, but it was an ,angry presence, and I got the distinct feeling that it really hated me! Not just humans in general, but me in particular. Does that make any sense to you?” Chris sighed. She felt weak and nauseous, and she wanted to sleep for a week. She didn’t want to talk about what happened, yet felt that if she was ever going to feel safe again, she needed to give them as much detail as possible. “I would probably know the mind again, if I spoke to them, but without that, I simply don’t know how we’re going to find out who it was. And I’m not really keen on the idea of seeking them out!” She wobbled again, unable to remain standing, and sat back down on the grass quickly. “I need to eat something,” Chris said weakly. Hamlet got his backpack off and took out the last of their provisions, which he gave to Chris. She ate quickly, ravenous.

Once she was more comfortable, Chris felt a little less tired. “We must go,” Ki’li said. “We must be at the Conclave for the meeting.”
“Why do we have to go? We don’t even know what’s going!” Hamlet said, feeling belligerent. He put his arms protectively around Chris. “Besides, she’s not well enough to travel yet.”
“I would not ask you to do this if it was not necessary. Please, believe me when I say you two must be there,” Ki’li stated firmly. “We will continue to maintain a circle formation, to ensure you two are safe, but you must come with us.” At that, Ki’li moved round so that Chris could get on her back. Hamlet had to help her up, for she was still weak, but once up, she sat tall, trying to make herself look more confident than she felt. Next to her, Hamlet walked, feeling just as nervous, but steeling himself to be brave and protect Chris. Amazing, he thought to himself. A couple of days ago, I didn’t even know this woman. Now I find I care about her most strongly. I must be strong for us, so that we can get through this safely.

Chris <why1040@aol.com>
Ohhh, MA, you do know how to keep us on our toes!, - Friday, April 27, 2001 at 07:55:29 (PDT)

Delaford. The library.

A man of iron self-control on most occasions, Dev cannot help shuddering at the memory of HIM. Do you know whose help? And now, he knows . . .

CRASH!

For several seconds, he does not realize what he has done-only stands and stares at the glittering shards of the glass he has thrown at the fireplace. Shattered crystal, on the flagstones, the carpet . . .

I have always wanted to do that. A grim smile, then, at the theatrical futility of the gesture, for what has it accomplished? Only a momentary relief of his overwrought nerves-yes, he admits it to himself. He had already been tried to the uttermost; having to stand by as a helpless witness to Therese’s suffering had taught him a thing or two about his own strength. And there was so much that she could not tell me, at first-yet, she could tell Mary Anne . . .

Dev thrusts his fists into his pockets and stares at the fire.

Yes, Therese had finally spoken to him of all that she had suffered at the hands of The Interrogator. All. Hearing it, he had understood why she could not speak of it to him, not at first. She had needed what he could not be-a sympathetic and female presence. But what Therese had told Mary Anne had apparently opened the floodgates, for there in the stables, Therese had told him the story of HIS attempts to play upon her fears, explore her weakness, and break her will.

They had sat curled up together, there in the stables, and Dev had held her as she spoke, and wept . . . and dozed briefly, then awakened to speak again, the tale emerging in fits and starts until they had both realized it was far into the night. No one had disturbed them; there must have been orders from Brandon to leave them in peace. Ah, Therese. What better place for you to free your heart to me, than in the stables? No other setting could have put you more at ease . . . And he had kept her warm, wrapping them both in a blanket, holding her near him until, worn out with crying, she had fallen deeply asleep. Not wishing to disturb her, he had waited until first light to bring her back to the house, and even then she had just barely opened her eyes, long enough to see him, and smile, and nod off again.

And, of course, he had caught hell from Joanna McCoy. A long lecture and a series of questions on the subject of how he expects Therese to get well if he allows her, in her condition, to spend a cold night in the stables-and his protest that he had kept Therese warm had only made it worse for him.

Dev’s eyes focus, and his gaze returns to the glass fragments on the floor. That, then, is the result of hasty action. He can feel it in his muscles, the physical effort of not running from the room, not charging about Delaford like a madman in search of Mrs. Brandon, to learn the truth . . .

Dev winces. Mrs. Brandon. Has he decided already, then, to mistrust her and put some distance between them? In the midst of his worry over Therese and his growing indignation that something important has been kept from him, he is conscious of the pang it would cost him to lose these friendships here at Delaford. He would regret the loss of . . . yes, say it, her name is Mary Anne and you don’t know everything yet, wait until you do! And to lose her would be to lose Brandon has well, for he will be unshakeable in the defense of his wife. Just as I would be with Therese.

Reader, be not deceived by these efforts of Eamon de Valera, to think this matter through. Perhaps you are saying, "How can he be so calm and take the time to ‘think it through’ in this manner?" But long habit prevails, even in such times as these. And Dev knows, in his bone-deep manner, the cost of his temper if he does not actively struggle to keep it in check. His detractors had been ever eager to berate him for his self-control, dubbing him The Monster for his ability to look upon the aftermath of violence without flinching. Now, that stonefaced self-mastery comes to his aid, and he makes his decision.

There is nothing else for it. He must hear the story from Mary Anne’s own lips. ALL of it. He had heard something, as he had wandered about the house earlier, or how she had injured herself slightly-there is his excuse to seek her out, preferably at a time when Brandon is otherwise occupied. Protective as the Colonel is of Mary Anne, any inquiry would go nowhere quickly, if Brandon were present.

However, Dev privately resolves that, Colonel or no Colonel, he will find out what he needs to know. He will not have a moment’s peace of mind about Therese until he does. And what then? What to tell Therese . . .?

Dev shakes his head. First things first. Removing his clenched hands from his pockets, he picks of the hearthbrush and sweeps the shattered glass, as much of it as he can find, into a small, neat pile at one corner of the hearthstones. There is no good place here to discard it, but at least it will be out of the way until someone can remove it. Unless you simply sweep it under the rug?

No. There will be none of that-not with the broken glass, nor with anything else.

MA--breakables just aren't safe around these men!!
Therese: ah, a night in the stables with Dev, the two of you wrapped in an old horse blanket--isn't it romantic? ;-D, - Thursday, April 26, 2001 at 20:08:56 (PDT)

"What are we supposed to do about a mountain lion?" Dana fought the urge to move as Claire's hissed question tickled her ear.

"I don't know." She replied from the corner of her mouth. Her mind raced through the list of possibilities-scream, run, hunker down and cover her head-what was the best? All she knew was that something had to be done right away.

A low growl rumbled from the cat above them. What it actually meant was anyone's guess but the two women gripped hands tighter and moved even close together. Little did they know that by doing so they appeared a larger and less appealing prey.

"Claaaaaaaire" Sinclair's voice drifted on the evening breeze.

Dana
- Thursday, April 26, 2001 at 19:44:40 (PDT)

Miranda waited patiently outside the door hoping he was in there and hoping he would answer to her knock. She was encouraged when she heard someone moving inside the room but got a wave of fear when Metatron opened the door. "Hi, this morning you said you needed to talk to me and I blew you of. Do you want to talk right now?"

"Sure come on in." Metatron said and held the door open for her but he kept his hand on the handle for some reason like he would just open the door and run out like he did the other night. Miranda walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder and he put one of his hands on her hip causing her to shake alittle bit. "Look Miranda Im sorry about last night. I don't know why I told you now or how I even got the guts to do that stuff but my question to you is do you love me like I love you?"

"Yes Metatron I do. But why did you tell me this when you probably knew that it would ruin all my training and that in a year we would have to leave each other forever?" Miranda asked him.

"Like I said before I don't know it was a spur of the moment thing."

"Metatron you should have at least thought it over a bit and maybe we could have made it work out somehow. You know that it's immpossible for angels to have any kind of relationship. But I want you so bad."

"Oh Miranda," and with that fireworks went off between the two. But of courese it wasnt sex because angels can't have sex and it's a joke to all the angels in Heaven.

An Hour Later:

Miranda ran out of the room feeling much better then she had felt and hour ago, she also felt surprised at what she had done. When she saw Vanessa and Tina she ran over to them. "What happened?" Tina asked when she saw Miranda come over because of course Vanessa and Tina had waited outside for Miranda to see what Metatron was going to say to her. "Metatron and I made-out so to speak."

"Oh no Miranda you have to be kidding me!" Vanessa said with her mouth open in shock.

"I'm not and I dont know how we started in the first place!" Miranda yelled and ran off to her room and slamed the door. "My God that girls got an attitude." Vanessa said and her and Tina disapeared off to *ahem* Hell.

Miranda layed down on her bed and closed her eyes. I cant believe what I just did. I shouldnt have said I wanted him that's what started us. This has ruined EVERYTHING. Miranda layed on her bed for awhile and finally drifted off to sleep that was filled with nightmares to horrific to put on this.
Miranda
This calls for a flashback (if my friend Vanessa who is helping me will ever fininsh it! But it will hopefully be up by Friday!), - Wednesday, April 25, 2001 at 17:42:01 (PDT)

OK i have this major question: What do you guys think of my story so far. It probably sucks and I want the truth because I can take it so could you guys post it here or email me PLEASE!!!
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
- Wednesday, April 25, 2001 at 13:52:53 (PDT)

Miranda had also found out that her angel friends Vanessa and Tina were asked out by Christain and his brother Anthony which is strictly against the rules. Does that mean me and Metatron were breaking a rule too? Why did he tell me last night? Why do I feel the same way about him? Miranda pondered over these questions all day barely even paying attention to Mr. Hans's lecture about the French Revolution. At lunch Miranda, Vanessa, and Tina were talking about all that had happened last night and this morning and Miranda told Vanessa and Tina that, "I guess staying up all night and thinking about everything that happened wasnt enough becuase I just cant stop thinking about it!"

"Miranda just forget about it! Tina and I just told Christian and Anthony why we cant go out with them and it was a piece of cake. So I think that you should go talk to Metatron as soon as you gat back to Heaven, so we can continue being Independant Women." Vanessa told Miranda.

"I cant forget about it I just cant! I just have this feeling inside of me no matter what I do and eveytime I try to forget about it the feeling comes back even worse!" Miranda told Vanessa and Tina sort of yelling it out.

You want him Miranda face it. You wouldn't have that feeling if you didn't so maybe you should do what Vanessa said. Hey maybe he'll take it a step further or you could." Tina said and laughed at the thought.

"But do you guys really think I'm ready for it?" Miranda asked through her laughing.

"Miranda I think youre ready for anything!" Vanessa told Miranda with enthusiasm.

Jump to; Metatrons room in Heaven:

Metatron lay in bed staring up in the ceiling. Oh how could I be so stupid, Metatron thought to himself with rage. I could have least waited until her training was over But no I had to tell her last night and I probably ruined her training. Wow i'm a good mentor. Metatron though awhile about what he would say to Miranda when she came home even though he knew he would forget when he saw her. He then decided he would get some sleep instaed od worrying over this so five minutes later he was asleep. But two hours later he was woken up by the sound of someone knocking at his door.
Miranda
Oh jeez i have to go to an ortho appoitment tomorrow and they said its gonna be long which translates to its going to hurt!!, - Wednesday, April 25, 2001 at 13:49:39 (PDT)

MA -- Yes the black iron gates were for you. ;-D
Cindie
And yes, you are the mistress of the bad pun., - Wednesday, April 25, 2001 at 10:16:01 (PDT)

Suzanne--since Mistral/The Interrogator seem to be the heavy hitters (pardon the pun) for the moment, both here and next door, maybe the next sound clip should be one of HIM? Just a thought . . .

MA
(Now, Mister I, don't go getting any ideas; it's just for continuity, you understand!), - Wednesday, April 25, 2001 at 05:52:39 (PDT)

Cindie--"black iron gates," hmmm? You she-devil, you.

MA, with the size extra-large grin.
("Internal homaging"--and here I thought that I was the mistress of the bad pun. LOL!!), - Tuesday, April 24, 2001 at 19:10:59 (PDT)

After a time they turned down a narrow road which Cindie came to realize was the drive. The vegetation grew close to the edges and she was unable to see anything much as they followed the dips and curves of some unknown rambling plan. At last, they came to a set of huge black iron gates set in stonework. They were thrown open wide in welcome but oddly this did little to assuage the trepidation she realized had been creeping up on her as they neared their final destination. Mistral slowed their progress considerably, perhaps to allow her to take in the view before her.

The family home of which he’d spoken was an immense rambling structure. It was constructed of stone and looked as though additions had been built as needed rather than according to any master plan. Despite this somewhat haphazard development the effect was a kind of shambling nobility. The main part, which was presumably original was taller than the additions. The stone of the wings was not quite a match for the rest of the house but the overall effect was grand.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked over to see Patrick pointing off to the left. Her gaze followed his direction. There was a large stream running past and a waterfall with three drops created by a series of large rocks which looked as though they’d been placed there by God’s hand. It was a glorious sight and she quickly put down her window to get a better look. The car rolled to a stop and she felt his hand on her shoulder again. “It is beautiful, isn’t it.” he said softly. Turning to him and smiling, the house now was back in her field of vision. A well of panic rose up inside her and she didn’t know why. It must’ve shown on her face, as he said, “don’t be nervous. You’re here with me, remember?” His voice was still soft as he searched her eyes.

Her smile had become a bit ragged around the edges, “Just a bit nervous I guess. After all, I’m a stranger meeting your mother for the first time. That could be considered a daunting prospect under any circumstances.”

“Are you daunted?”

“Just stay close,” she replied, surveying the house, “I don’t want to get lost.”

“Fear not my lady…” He exited the car and came around to her side and opened the door. Holding his hand out he continued, “…you are under my protection.”

She gave him her hand, “I hope I won’t need it!” Standing up she stretched muscles cramped from the drive. Mistral tucked her arm in his and they proceeded up the stairs to the set of doors.

Cindie
Internal homaging, - Tuesday, April 24, 2001 at 18:32:39 (PDT)

Miranda couldnt sleep that night because of the kiss. Why did he lie to me all this time. He could have at least waited till my training was done! Miranda thought to herself. "I dont know how I will be able to confront him today," Miranda said out loud for no reason. But she got up anyway and went to her dresser. She pulled out her fave outfit that she has to wear every day and put it on. After that she went back over to her bed and layed down. She covered her head with her pillow and shut her eyes. She fell asleep and managed to stay asleep for about five minutes until Tina and Vanessa came in and one of them she couldn't see which one shook her and said, "Comeon Miranda were going to be late if you keep this up!" But obviously they had not a clue of what happened last night. "I dont know if I want to go today because last night, well, last night Metatron told me the truth. Hes not my brother, God told him to pretend to be my brother so I would have someone to help me with my training and things like that. But he told me that," Miranda paused for a moment and then began again, "that he loved me. Then worst but also best of all he kissed me." By that time Miranda had burst into tears. "Oh my God Miranda. He really did do that! I can't picture him ever doing something like that. "Vanessa said and gave Miranda a hug. "Would you like us to leave and you stay here for today?" Tina asked. "No, I was by myself all night because I couldnt sleep. Lets go to school." Miranda said and got up and went over to the door. She opened it and to her surprise Meatron wa standing right there about to knock. "Miranda can I speak with you," He looked over her shoulder and saw Vanessa and Tina standing there, "Alone." Vanessa and Tina went outside the door and Miranda closed it. "Look Miranda Im sorry abou.." "Save your apologies for when i have more time because right now i gota go or i'll be late, ok" Miranda then kissed him and walked out the dorr to meet up with Vanessa and Tina.

At school the girls tried to fininsh there mission but Miranda just couldn't think strait. But she did learn one thing tennage boys love to talk about sex sex and more sex. Which Miranda knew that sex was a joke in Heaven so she just ignored them or laughed at them and they would ask her 'Whats so funny?' Miranda would just shrug her shoulders and walk past them.
Miranda
Sorry it's been so long!, - Tuesday, April 24, 2001 at 17:43:05 (PDT)

Singing: "Happy Birthday, dear Shakespeare, Happy Birthday to you . . ."

As much as he's used around here, it seemed appropriate.

MA
Yes, "used"--and misused and abused and contused. Alas, poor Will!! *grin*, - Monday, April 23, 2001 at 08:21:13 (PDT)

Within moments of their arrival, they were surrounded by equines. The new ones were clearly happy to see their friends, and there was a general time of chattering and catching up, as the huge group walked along a dirt track. There was so much of it happening simultaneously that the two humans could not keep up with the mind-talk. They sat silently, simply allowing the impressions to come at them. There was so much love in the eager mental voices that even Chris, who was still feeling vulnerable, opened up and allowed her mind to absorb some of it. She felt warmed, wanted and loved, and she revelled in the feeling, starting to relax. Then suddenly, she felt a different emotion deep in that merged consciousness. It was a feeling of hate, of darkness, of such raw emotion that she didn’t know what to do. She glanced around at the others, but no one else seemed to have noticed it. She was starting to feel nauseous, but she tried to fight it off, as she fought the hate threatening to overcome her mind. She knew her mind was vulnerable, for she was not used to this sort of fighting, but she had to know who this was, so she sent out a probing thought of her own. “Why do you hate me?” she asked, keeping her ‘voice’ quiet and aiming it straight at the dark, dank thought she sensed. An instant later, she felt the force of this hate, being aimed straight at her, and knew the intention was to kill her. “Ki’li!” she shouted, as she lost consciousness and fell off her already precarious position on the unicorn.

Chris
Never mind 'ack', I think I'll go for an 'EEEEEK!', - Monday, April 23, 2001 at 06:33:11 (PDT)

"--and it could only be a parody, from him." Too good.
Oh Dev, don't do anything rash. . .
Cindie
The castle -- just part of the scenery. They're all over the place around here!, - Monday, April 23, 2001 at 06:07:44 (PDT)

Delaford. The library.

With slow, pained movements, Dev stills his shaking hands and manages to pour himself a glass of brandy. Some of it ends up on the table, but there is enough in the glass to be lifted to his lips and, as the vulgar expression has it, "tossed back" with an abrupt motion of the wrist and a grimace as the liquid burns its way down his throat. More steadily now, he pours a second drink and swallows a mouthful, then sets down the glass and pushes it away. Perhaps the caution is unnecessary: the sort of constitution that can handle Irish whiskey is more than equal to French brandy. Nevertheless, this is no time for drunkenness. Now is the time to think.

And think he does. Eamon de Valera possesses, to an exceptional degree, the ability to keep his head in a crisis; lives have depended upon this ability before, his own not the least. And now, though his senses shriek demands for an explanation, he remains obstinately sober and does not budge from his stance before the fire.

Think, man. Yes, what you heard was damning. But how could it be true? Still, she did say it. You heard her say it, and that she feared for you to know . . .

Slowly, Dev reaches out once more for the glass of brandy, and sips it.

It was only by accident that he had come to be in the library-Therese, drained by her talk with him in the stables, had fallen at last into a deep and natural sleep after she had been brought into the house and put back to bed in Dev’s room; he had insisted that she be there, where he could watch over her. At that, Doctor McCoy had objected.

"Oh, no you don’t," she had ordered. "I know you, Dev; you need rest, too, or I’ll have another patient on my hands, and that’s just what I don’t need, with Therese worn down like this. I’ll watch her, and you go and sleep."

"Very well. I shall be across the hall, in Therese’s room-"

"Oh, no," McCoy had retorted. "If you were just across the hall, you’d be back in here every five minutes."

"I’ll not leave her-"

"And you’ll not help her, if you make yourself sick."

Frustrated as he had been, Dev could not help appreciating the irony of the situation. In other circumstances, he can dominate almost any personality who opposes him; here at Delaford, however, it seems that most of those who can oppose him are gathered beneath the same roof. And this woman is making an unusually good job of it.

"Look-" McCoy had relented slightly. "I’ll take care of her, and if she wakes and asks for you, I’ll see that you’re sent for, but for your own health and sanity, you need a break from all of this." A pause. "You said that Therese finally talked to you about . . . what happened."

"Some of it." A few words, forced from his lips.

"Good. That’s a step forward, to get some of that off of her mind. But you’ve been carrying the load for her and yourself both, and now you need to rest, too."

Dev had thrown up his hands in a parody of surrender-and it could only be a parody, from him. "Well, Doctor McCoy, where would you have me go, then?"

"I don’t know!" The tone, abrupt, but the twinkle in her eyes had softened it. "Delaford’s a big place. Go find a corner where no one will disturb you, and curl up, and sleep! That’s an order!"

"Yes, ma’am." Again, a parody--this time, one of meekness. But he had obeyed, wandering about Delaford like a lost soul until he had finally sought the haven of the library . . . and he had been tired; he could not deny it. That sofa, and the dim, quiet corner-he could see no harm. Had anyone come in, he had been certain he would awake; the danger of his adult life has made him a light sleeper. But on this occasion, Dev had overestimated his physical resources, formidable as they are. He had stretched out on the sofa and slept-until awakened by the voices of Brandon and Mary Anne.

And by the time their conversation had penetrated his consciousness . . . well, it had been too late to regret being an eavesdropper. His only recourse had been to lie as quietly as possible, controlling his shock, his compelling desire to rush from his hiding place and demand some explanation. Mary Anne got HIM out of jail? And what is all this, that somehow she "became" The Interrogator? What does it mean?

Abruptly, memory turns tormentor. He is back in the West Wood, when the Imperial forces had broken into The Interrogator’s hiding place.

HIM. That gloating voice. That smile.

. . .Dev speaking, his voice low but penetrating, directed at The Interrogator. "I meant what I said. You will suffer for this."

HIS smile. "Shall I?"

In spite of the crowd about him, which now includes Sifuentes, Dev still manages to draw nearer, his gaze fixed on The Interrogator as if there were no one else in the room. No one else in the world. "You will be taken out of here, alive, and brought to trial. And this time, you will not escape . . ."

That smile is sharp enough to cut skin. "So, you know about that, do you?"

"I have heard something of it. That you had help before, that someone helped you break out of prison. That shall not happen this time, I swear it! I will petition the Empress herself, to have the Justice in your case invoke Rights of the Victim-" Dev voice breaks here, and ordinarily he would hate himself for betraying any sign of the emotion that masters him. But for now, all such considerations are trivial. All that matters is Therese. "-and Miss Gellert shall be at the front of that line, and I shall be there beside her-"

Renie, alarmed, tries to make herself heard, knowing how terribly this might end. "Dev, don’t--!"

But she cannot be heard, for HIS laugh rises above all other sounds, spine-chilling, momentarily daunting even to the fury of Eamon de Valera, who falls silent as those glittering golden eyes turn upon him in malevolent hilarity. "Oh, Mister de Valera, I can’t tell you how you terrify me. And you know that I had help, do you? Do you know whose help--?"

And now . . . he knows.

MA--well, maybe this will be good for another "ACK" or two. ;-)
Cindie--a ruined castle, hmmmm? That would be so appropriate, but . . . *shiver*, - Sunday, April 22, 2001 at 20:20:57 (PDT)

They left the main road and Mistral began to take a series of back roads through the countryside. It was beautiful and Cindie was glad they’d made the trip in daylight rather than at night. The road signs were posted in English and what Cindie presumed was Welsh. They passed an area of standing stones. “They come alive you know.” He said in his ominous mocking tone.

“What, the stones?”

“Yes, on Midsummer’s Eve they roam the countryside. If you see them, you are fated to an early grave.”

“Then I’ll be sure to avert my eyes.” She wanted so much to settle in against him but didn’t want to interfere with his driving. As if sensing her thoughts, he lifted his arm invitingly as if creating a space for her. She leaned against him, careful to avoid the gear shift, and he put his arm around her shoulders. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?” That seemed a safe question.

“I come almost every weekend. Mother doesn’t see many people now and I like to keep an eye on things.” He paused again. Cindie wondered why this was so difficult for him. “The house is very old and requires quite a bit of attention as well.”

“I see. So are you going to tell me where we’re going?” His reply seemed to consist entirely of consonants. She decided to watch the signs and look it up on a map later. As they drove on there was a ruined castle on a hilltop visible out Mistral’s window.

Cindie
- Sunday, April 22, 2001 at 19:21:58 (PDT)

As the unicorns cantered, the humans soon grew bored. The rhythmic rocking of the smooth gaits lulled Chris until she almost fell asleep. Her mind started to wander, first going over everything they’d been through and what they’d been told. She was still worried, and a bit confused, but it was reassuring to have the others with her, and she figured that they’d come up with something. After all, the equines-no, unicorns, knew so much more.

As she went through the past day’s events, she was fascinated at how they had just reacted to things, going with their four-legged friends even though they had no clue what was going on. She continued to wonder about the panic at the announcement yesterday-was it only yesterday? What could have caused that? Then she remembered the unnatural panic she had felt when one of those creatures had come near her during their escape. Maybe that was one of the aliens’ weapons, she mused. Complete panic would certainly put them at an advantage, as no one would have the organisational skills to mount an effective defence.

Gradually, inexorably, her mind brought her back to their foray into the rec area earlier in the day. She shuddered inwardly, but her mind kept going, almost against her will. She remembered that same rec area some 5 years earlier, when she had been young and care-free. All her friends had hung out in that rec area, and she’d spent many hours there, chatting up males, laughing with her friends, generally doing what young people did when they were not working or at school. She remembered them all vividly. As with any group, there had been some tensions, and Chris and a girl called Crystal had not been on very friendly terms, although they hung out with the same gang. Chris had never really understood why, but they simply did not get on. Thankfully the group was big enough that it didn’t generally cause any trouble. Chris saw in her mind’s eye the few times they had run into each other. It had never been pleasant.

Then Sean had joined the group. He was the handsomest man any of them had ever seen, and Chris had flirted with him just as avidly as all the other girls in the group. To her delight, he’d responded, and they had been out for a couple of dates. She’d known the other girls were jealous, but she’d been naïve, thinking they would be happy for her, really. Gradually, she had realised that although Sean was good looking, they were not going to remain an item for long. He was violent, and although he had not tried to take it out on her, she sensed it was only a matter of time. Eventually, she had dumped him. He had continued to pursue her, and she’d had to make quite a spectacle to get him to leave her alone. Finally, he seemed to back off, and she’d breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, just as she thought things were getting back to normal, she’d gone out to a nightclub with the group. Sean and Crystal were among those who joined them, but there were about 20 people there, and she had plenty of friends to talk to, and could avoid them without being too obvious. They seemed to be getting along very well, and Chris hoped that Crystal knew what she was getting herself into. Yet she knew the girl would not take a warning from her kindly, so she kept quiet, thinking that she would have a talk with one of the guys who hung around Crystal, see if he would keep an eye on her. She took a sip of her drink, and suddenly her sight went fuzzy, and then everything went black.

When she woke, she was tied and gagged. She tested the ropes binding her wrists and ankles, and found them tight. The gag tasted awful, and she wondered where she was. She felt the panic rising, and the tears welled to her eyes, spilling down the side of her face. Then, she heard someone talking. It sounded like it was coming from a room next to her or at least far enough away that she couldn’t hear all the words. But the voice, oh, did she know that voice!

“But Sean, I want to see her before she wakes up,” Crystal said, her high-pitched voice carrying easily. Chris strained to hear the response, but could not. Then Crystal spoke again. “I know all that, but I want her to know why she’s here, I want her to think over those mistakes for the rest of eternity!” Suddenly, Chris heard a hard slap, and Crystal’s voice again, even more high-pitched than usual “Owwwww, what did you do that for? No, I won’t shut up!” Then another slap, and then all was still.

Chris lay still, not daring to move. She didn’t know what was going on, but now she knew who was responsible. She hoped someone would come, and that it wouldn’t be Sean. But her hope was in vain. After some time, she heard heavy footsteps coming her way, and she quickly shut her eyes and slowed her breathing. If only she could make him think she was asleep!

He didn’t fall for it, and he slapped her face roughly, telling her to open her eyes and look at him. The gag took some of the force, but it stung nevertheless, and her eyes filled with tears again. She felt her anger rising, and he must have seen the look in her eyes, because he laughed. “So, you’re angry now are you? Well my dear, you’ll soon have other things to think about. You’re a tramp, and now you’re going to live like one, for the rest of your life. If you’re lucky, it’ll be a short life. Don’t worry, I’ll be back to enjoy the fruits, but only after you’re suitably restrained. You will learn that no one makes a fool out of me!” With that, he laughed cruelly, and walked off.

Chris lay back, breathing heavily. She’d been worried he was going to harm her, but it appeared as though he was leaving her alone, at least for now. She waited and waited, but no one came to get her, nor did she hear anyone nearby. She tested the ropes again, but they were tied thoroughly, and she could not move. She thought about the obscure comments he’d made, and worried about what was coming. After some time, she realised there was nothing she could do, and eventually she fell asleep.

She woke several times, each time hoping that someone would come and rescue her. She wriggled as much as she could, between resting. She was getting hungry, and most of all thirsty, and very uncomfortable. She had no notion of how long she lay there, but it must have been several days. Her mouth and throat were burning with thirst, she had soiled herself several times, and she was weak from hunger. She cried, knowing that it did no good and was really just wasting liquid, but she could not help it. She wondered if she had been left here to die of dehydration or starvation.

Then, suddenly she heard someone coming. She wasn’t certain whether it was real, she had been hallucinating on and off, but this felt more real. She looked at the doorway, and sure enough, a stranger walked through it. He was a rough-looking man, and Chris couldn’t think why she recognised the face. He laughed grimly as he untied her legs. “You think you recognise me, but you can’t place the face, isn’t that right my little pretty?” he asked. She nodded, wishing he would remove the gag. “Ah, well, you’ll soon figure it out, I’m sure. They told me to be wary of you, because you’re a smart one, so I’ve had to wear you down a bit before we start your training. Not that you’ll need much, so I’m told.” At this, he laughed again, and it was such a grim sound that Chris shuddered.

Eventually, she had figured out who he was. One of the brothel owners, and of course she was to be his latest piece of merchandise. She had been told that she had cost a pretty penny and would be re-earning that with interest for the rest of her life. She had been kept drugged and chained, the chains mainly for the customers’ views rather than a particular need to keep her in one place. The drugs had done that quite thoroughly. Despite the drugs, her mind remained her own, and she relived the horror every day.

Eventually, the place had been raided, and some of the girls had been released. By chance, she had been one of them. By that time, she’d been there for 2 years. At her next health-check, which she was finally able to go to, they had discovered that she was undernourished but otherwise healthy. She had managed to avoid all the current STD’s to her great relief. Some of them were really quite nasty, and there was always the worry of new variant AIDS. She also tested higher than average in the psi-test, although not enough for compulsory re-training. That glimmer of talent was enough to get her the job at the Farm, and she’d buried herself in work, soon becoming the most proficient groom. Her calm attitude and that bit of talent was enough to keep even the most fractious equine at bay, and she had gained a good reputation. Thanks to the distance, she had managed to bury the whole episode deep inside her sub-conscious, and she had not even thought about it since.

Chris awoke out of her reverie as the unicorns slowed. She was crying, and she was dismayed to realise that she had broadcast the whole episode. Her friends now knew about her, and she wanted to run and hide. Her face burned in shame and confusion. Then she felt Ki’li’s gentle thought brushing her mind. “Nothing to be feeling shame about. You were tricked, and treated badly. It was not your fault.” In the same instant, she felt agreement from Hamlet and even Zi’el, and she was astonished to feel the love and compassion flowing from them, directed towards her. “If I ever meet those two…animals (no offence you two), I will kill them with my bare hands,” Hamlet almost shouted. She glanced over at him, and noticed that he was red with rage, even through the goggles and mask. She remained ashamed, but felt a little better. She smiled tentatively, and saw Hamlet’s eyes light up in response.

“We are nearing the gateway,” Ki’li said suddenly, and both humans refocused on the task ahead. Chris was still feeling shaky, but less so than before. Soon, the unicorns had slowed to a walk, and they moved nearer each other. The two touched horns, and a glowing light appeared some 10 metres away. Within moments, they had walked up to the light, and Zi’el asked “Is everyone ready? This may be shock to system of humans. Our Home is preserved as Earth should be.” They all nodded, and the ‘corns walked into the light. Chris felt like she was falling, for just a moment, before they passed through and out the other side.

Chris and Hamlet sat in wonder, looking around. This place was beautiful! Abruptly and without really knowing why, Chris started crying again.

Chris <Why1040@aol.com>
Awwww :::blush::: thanks everyone! On a roll at the moment! (which is uncomfortable...I'll get off it and have it for lunch in a minute!) , - Friday, April 20, 2001 at 08:25:39 (PDT)

Cindie gazed out the window, and after awhile Mistral opened the glove box and took out a ten and a five pound note. “What are those for?” Cindie asked.

“The toll,” he replied.

“Toll for what?”

“The bridge.”

“Bridge, what bridge…..” She gasped as the panorama unfolded. Gulping, she asked, “are we going to cross that?”

“Unless you’d rather swim. But it is a long way and I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mistral paid the toll and they began to cross the River Severn. Cindie put down her window to get a better look over the side. “This is incredible!” The wind whipped her hair and face as she leaned out and looked ahead.

Mistral smiled to himself then said to her, “Welcome to the Land of Song.” He reached out his left hand and tugged at her jacket, “and get yourself back in this car.”

Grinning from ear to ear she resumed her seat and restrapped herself in. “Wales?”

“Mmmm hmmm.” Clearly pleased with the effect her entrance into his homeland was having on her.”

“Darn you. I wish I’d known where we were going so I could have read up.” Although vexed with his being tight lipped about their destination, she was in too good a mood to let that spoil things. “You’ll have to tell me everything.”

“Of course, my dear. You have but to ask.”

Cindie
- Thursday, April 19, 2001 at 18:22:08 (PDT)

Somewhere in Egypt, present day:

The four hurried down the passageway as quickly as they could. David somehow managed to hop forward with the assistance of Alexander and Jack. "Melanie, slow down!" Alexander called out anxiously when she disappeared around a corner, plunging them into darkness as she ran forward at full tilt. The three halted in the middle of the path to await her return.

There was a momentary pause as they heard a muffled curse and footsteps grinding to a stop before echoing back to them as she turned back in their direction. They squinted as the flashlight's beam hit them in the face as she returned, hands immediately going up to cover their eyes.

"Sorry guys. I got a bit carried away with myself," Melanie apologized with a sheepish grin as she stood before them. "The passage splits up again once you turn the corner," she informed the group, elicting a series of groans from the men, punctuated with a loud sneeze and a sniffle from Jack.

"Oh, man. That's just wonderful," David groaned, shaking his head in resignation. "Now what?"

Alexander's eyebrows drew together. "I'm not willing to have us split up, especially with an injured party member ..." He silenced David's about to begin protests with a look. David's mouth immediately snapped shut when he saw Alexander's face. "...plus, there's only one flashlight between the four of us," he continued. "Which way did you go?" he asked Melanie.

"I tried the right side of the split," she told them. "Also, there's more of those hieroglyphics on the wall. Maybe whoever we heard screaming is drawing them," she suggested breathlessly.

"That would be a happy coincidence, wouldn't it?" Jack grumbled, sneezing again. "I just have a bad feeling about all of this..." he trailed off, holding a hand to his forehead and wincing when his fingers brushed over the rapidly swelling bump there. "If I didn't know better, this is someone's idea of a sick joke - or we were drawn here for some other purpose entirely." The others shifted uncomfortably at his last words.

"I don't know what to think right now. I'm just concerned with finding the others, getting the bloody hell out of here and arriving at the dig site," Alexander admitted, noting with some concern that Jack appeared even paler than normal, but dismissed it as due to lack of sleep - or at least he hoped so. He brushed his hair away from his eyes and tapped his foot on the stone floor for a minute.

Alexander closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts before speaking in what he hoped was a calm, reasonable tone of voice. "Right. Let's go the way Melanie went. We can always backtrack if it turns out to be a dead end," he pointed out.

The others quickly agreed and they turned the corner, stepping over the small stream that forked to the left passage only and entered the right side. "Hello! Is there anybody there?" Alexander yelled. There was no reply, just the echo of his words coming back in their direction. The others added in their voices to no avail.

"I'm beginning to think that we're all suffering from a group hallucination of some sort," David interjected over Jack's third sneezing fit in as many minutes. "Or we went the wrong way," Alexander added in, frowning when he saw another series of hieroglyphics. What's really weird is that they're all drawn at the same height on the wall, and quickly too, as if whoever did it was in an extreme hurry...

His silent reverie was interrupted by high-pitched sounds and fluttering noises. "What the...?!" Melanie let out a hoarse yelp, dropping the flashlight and throwing herself down on the floor to shield herself as several bats flew about them and made their way in the opposite direction of whence they came. The three men crouched down and covered themselves up as well as they could, David almost falling over when he overbalanced himself in an effort to not injure his ankle further. He was pulled up at the last moment by the other two.

The high-pitched screaming of the small flying animals echoed back to them and faded away. "Everybody okay?" Alexander asked huskily as they slowly rose to their feet. A chorus of "Yeah" answered his query. "Well, that was completely disgusting," Melanie growled, shivering as she picked up the flashlight that had gone out when she dropped it on the ground and turned it back on.

"Okay, let's..." Alexander started to say when he was interrupted by a loud "HEELLLLOOO! CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?!!!!" The four exchanged wide-eyed glances, eyes lit up with relief. "Roberta! Are you all right?!" Alexander called out. "She sounds like she's not too far away..." he said in an aside to the others.

"Professor?! Is that you?" Roberta's voice rose considerably in volume, almost to the point of sounding hysterical in tone. "Is there anybody else with you?"

"Yes. David, Melanie and -" he stopped momentarily as Jack interrupted with a loud sneeze, "- and Jack are with me. Are you hurt and is anybody with you?" he asked, hastily motioning to Melanie to start moving again. She quickly complied and the men followed her.

"Just some cuts and bruises, but I seem to be okay otherwise. I wish somebody else was here with me, but no, there isn't," Roberta replied shakily. Their hearts sank at her words, David muttering, "Crap."

Alexander shot a glance at David and the grad student fell silent. "Good. DON'T MOVE! We're on our way!" he said with what he hoped was the most reassuring tone he could muster as they moved along.

"Believe me, Professor. I have no intention of moving from where I am," Roberta's voice drew up to a high-pitched squeak. The others could feel the hairs on the backs of their necks rise at her panicked reply. They turned several times as the passageway twisted around until they found Roberta standing in the middle of a slightly wider part of the tunnel. Her face twisted in a rictus of a smile as she said with false brightness, "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Oh my God," Melanie whispered.

Sandy - what a nice present, Mary Anne & echoing Cindie's ACK!
Chris - excellent post! Cindie - I could handle Alexander yelling at me, but if he ever went into full beserker mode, I'd be high-tailing it to the hills., - Thursday, April 19, 2001 at 11:15:48 (PDT)

At the Palace:

Claudia remains frozen in her seat, watching The Interrogator.

HE has returned to the bed and settled upon it, and Claudia notices for the first time that the bed is scattered with books in various sizes: some thick and leather-bound with elaborate gold-leaf traceries on the binding; some standard cloth covers, and at least one large "coffee table" sized edition that lies open to display some colourful photographs and detailed drawings. All that reading. Well, suppose there isn’t much else to do around here. She smiles to herself at the vindictive thought that occurs to her: that perhaps even HE, the bloody almighty Interrogator, could be a bit worried about what’s going to happen to HIM in here and might need something to occupy HIS mind and distract it from the suspense . . .

"Like what you see?"

Claudia’s smile vanishes and she whirls in her seat, tensed and ready for a fight. Unfortunately for her, the seat is a swivel chair on wheels, and her abrupt motion sends the chair, with her in it, sliding sideways across the small room, to bump up against the wall within a yard of where Rupert stands, leaning on his cane and watching her.

Furious at being caught off guard, Claudia considers jumping out of the chair straight at him and trying to make her escape; how hard could it be, to take out a man who needs a cane? Then again . . . she takes another look, thinking hard. Something about the way he stands-leaning on the cane, yes, but that relaxed alertness . . . There may be more to him than meets the eye. Better wait.

"There’s not a lot about HIM to like," she finally replies. Bluntly.

"Well, you obviously found something to like, or you wouldn’t be where you are now. But never mind about that," continues Rupert, lifting a hand to ward off Claudia’s retort as she goes red in the face and reconsiders her idea of jumping at him. "It’s good that you found your way here-we thought you might. Now, we need to talk."

"Wait a minute," interrupts Claudia, fuming. "First of all, how was I able to get here? Who left that door unlocked back at my cell, and what made you so sure I’d find it? And what if I hadn’t found my way here?"

Rupert smiles-and something about that smile makes Claudia certain that she had done the right thing in not trying to attack him.

"I’ll answer the last question first," replies Rupert. "There are only a few places you could have gone, other than here, and you wouldn’t have liked any of them. Not that you would have come to any harm if you went there alone, but it would have been a bit of a shock."

He falls silent, looking at her intently, and Claudia swallows, not entirely certain what he means but able to make a good guess.

"But more about that later. Now, for your other questions . . ."

MA--and a little present for you, Claudia . . .
Well, what can I say? It's a productive week, for some reason. ;-), - Thursday, April 19, 2001 at 05:56:22 (PDT)

Another Day, Another show:

The rest of the day went smooth right up until it was time for the group to go home. The girls and Metatron got on the bus and sat in the same seats. "Today has been a LONG day." Miranda said and sighed.

"Metatron how long do we have to actually stay in school?" Vanessa asked him.

"Only intill next week." He told the girls.

"Jeez thats short." Miranda said and turned to look out the window. But she felt like someone was watching her. Miranda turned to face the front of the bus and looked around. Stop being so paranoid Miranda Miranda thought to herself. Then she turned back around and continued to look out the window.

When it was their time to get of they got off but noticed that someone had followedthem. Thats odd ,Miranda thought, Nobody else was at this stop this morning.The group of four started walking to where they would make the jump back to Heaven. They stopped dead in their tracks when the boy that followed them yelled, "Hey angels!" Miranda turned around and yelled back, "How do you know where angel smart guy?"

"Because I read a book about angels and you match every single description. Also I can see your brother!" The boy yelled back.

"Hey what your name?" Vanessa asked.

"My names Christian Cline!"

"Are you going to turn us into the goverment or anything?" Tina asked.

"No way Ive been waiting to meet an angel or angels so I would never turn you guys in!" With that Christian turned around and ran to go home. Leaving the group wondering if he was playing a mind game with them and was going to call the FBI or some goverment agaency when he got home.

When they were back in Heaven Metaron told them, "Alright girls its time for Miranda to get to bed so Vanessa and Tina you better go back to *uhum* Hell" "Alright" Vanessa said and gave Miranda a hug. Tina did the same thing. Then they disaperred. Miranda ran to her room and went to her dresser she took out her fave PJ's with kitties on them and put them on then she jumped on her bed. Metatron came in 5 minutes later and said, "Alright lights out." But instead of turning of the light and closing the door he went to Miranda bed and knelled beside it. "Miranda I have something to tell you," He changed his tone to a serious one and went on, "Im actually not your brother. See God chose me to be your gaurdian because I was lonely and she thought I would do a good job but in these 16 years Ive come to, well, Love you so to speak." He then kissed her on the lips and left the room leaving Miranda with her mouth wide open in shock.
Miranda
Oh Jeez im not sure if you like what I did!!! *Goes and Hides*, - Wednesday, April 18, 2001 at 17:58:54 (PDT)

Somewhere in England in a Jaguar:

“Really, you’ll like Paris,” Chauvelin was saying as the flight attendant came around taking drink orders. “They hardly ever guillotine people nowadays.” In a conspiratorial tone, “You’re not one of those League people are you?” At her negative response he patted her arm, “Good. Everything will be fine then.” The plane was going very fast and Cindie could hear the hum of the engines. Idly she wondered if Chauvelin’s mother would resemble him. It gradually occurred to her that this wasn’t quite right as the hum of the plane gave way to the purring of the Jaguar.

Slowly she sat up and rubbed her eyes. The countryside was flying by at an alarming rate. No wonder she’d thought she was in a plane. “Where are we,” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Over half of the way there.” A bit of a smirk, “Good morning. Again.”

“Oh.” She sat up and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.

“That’s all right. I liked watching you sleep.” His glance at her was quick and then back on the road but she was left with the after-image of something smoldering.

“The car is so warm and the seat so comfortable….”

His smirk returned.

“Oh, be quiet.”

He just laughed at her and drove.

“How am I supposed to admire the countryside if its just a blur?”

“You mean with your eyes closed?” But his foot did ease off the accelerator.

Cindie
Dev was there the whole time.....ACK!
Chris -- this is *really* getting good!, - Wednesday, April 18, 2001 at 15:41:17 (PDT)

WOW!
a Rickman admirer
- Wednesday, April 18, 2001 at 14:08:53 (PDT)

The equines moved away at a slow canter, their strides eating up the ground. Chris and Hamlet studied the landscape as they rode, both surprised at how much further the atmosphere and land had degraded since they were last out.

The wars had set off many bombs, which had ruined the land, and biological warfare and several atomic bombs had ruined the atmosphere. Although the Government had been formed during the Peace, and had pledged to clean it all up, it was all they could do to keep the population fed and clothed. The entire American continent was uninhabitable, and unusable, covered in radioactive fallout and biologically engineered viruses. The few people who had survived the wars had fled to Europe. The last anyone had heard from the Americas was over 50 years ago. The same had happened to Russia, and much of the Eastern Block. All of the refugees had come to Europe. AIDS had mutated in Africa, creating an even more deadly strain. People had fled in masses, again up to Europe. During the time immediately post-war, and before the Peace was properly established, people had died of starvation, of illnesses, and there had been much organised crime. Then, the Government had centralised, and all of Europe had become one giant habitation. They had built blocks, trying to cope with the ever-increasing population. Many of the survivors felt that they needed to have lots of offspring, to make up for the ones lost. What they did not take into account was that they had such a small area of land to live on. The Government had tried to curb the prolific breeding, and this became easier as they took over food-dispensation. Now all women were dosed with contraception every day through their food. They had to apply for breeding-licenses, which would allow the contraceptive to be withdrawn temporarily from their diet. Technically, each woman was legally allowed one child, to carry on her own genes. In effect, the Government was denying most women even that. They were breeding specifically for the future, manipulating the gene pool. No one knew quite what they were trying to achieve. However, there were tribes of women, especially of the dwellies, who had found ways of circumventing the laws, and the population was still growing at an alarming rate.

Of course, much of this was common knowledge, taught in schools. What many of them did not know, and what the Government had done their best to hide, was that even Europe was becoming uninhabitable. The air was now so degraded by what came on the winds, that in many districts, it was impossible to go Outside a Block without special masks. The eyes and skin needed to be covered by goggles and material, to prevent radiation burns from the sun’s rays and anything else that might be lurking in the atmosphere. The Earth was dying, and no one knew how to fix it. This was why the Space Station was so important. As soon as it was completed, they would be able to use it as a platform to explore and find other habitable planets.

Chris finished her ruminations, and was surprised to learn that her three companions had been following her thoughts with interest. Especially the equines had been interested. Then again, she realised, they had probably not been told anything in the 50 years since they had been captured.

“We understand much of what is talked about-and thought, around us, but it is different to be outside in it,” Ki’li explained. She sounded subdued, and Chris and Hamlet both echoed the feeling. It was sad to see their world looking so unhealthy, especially knowing that humans were the cause of it.

As they continued cantering along the bleak country, their mind-talk turned to more pleasant things. After some time, Hamlet asked where they were going.

“We go to a gateway to our world,” Ki’li said. The two humans glanced at each other, nonplussed. They came to realise how much they did not know about what they were doing out here with the two equines, and began to wonder how this was possible. Why would they have agreed to go this far with two animals, when they knew nothing about what was going on? The equines slowed to a walk, and gradually stopped, allowing the humans to get off.

“It is time we explain, but you must listen first, please, do not interrupt until we are done,” Ki’li said to them. The two humans agreed, albeit reluctantly, and while they stretched their legs after the long ride, Ki’li launched into a story unlike anything they had ever heard.

“We come from another planet, far away. The Sh’rin attacked our world many centuries ago, and only a few of our kind managed to flee. Eventually, our ancestors landed on this planet, long ago. The planet had primitively sapient life, and they would have preferred to have gone on and found a planet with no sapient life, but their fuel was almost gone, and they needed to replenish food and water. The ship crashed on the way down, and they were stuck.”

Realising that this was going to take a while, Hamlet and Chris settled on the scarce ground and made themselves comfortable, getting some provisions out so they could eat as Ki’li continued. Zi’el grazed in the background, making little disgusted noises at the grass.

“Our ancestors soon settled in, and realised that this was a beautiful planet. They stayed away from the most dominant of the animals, humans, so as not to interfere with their development. Eventually, humans managed to develop the wheel, and things went quite quickly after that. Occasionally, one of the ancestors would be seen, and this would fuel stories about the unicorns. Soon, humans became so prolific that the ancestors decided to withdraw from the world, to effectively hide.”

At this statement, Zi’el stamped his feet and clearly rebuffed the young mare, for she argued back-“But that is what they did, and don’t deny it! They ran away from the humans, fearing what they might do, instead of working with them, to enable them to do what they could!” She paused, listening to the big stallion for a moment, before continuing, “Well, why they did what they did is of lesser consequence. The facts remain that they merged the magic in all the horns, and created a home outside of time and space, but still tied to this world. Thus, the stories of the unicorns were relegated to myth and legend status, for no one could see them anymore. This was pleasing to the ancestors, who did not want foolish humans searching for them, trying to use their magic for their own purpose.

So we lived for a couple of millenia. The humans grew stronger, and started fighting all over the world. They were slowly poisoning the very planet with their greed, although to start off with they did not realise it. Then the great Wars came, and so much was destroyed. Shortly after the Peace was formed, a great seer was born among us, and she was named Ko’li. The gift of seeing into the future is one that comes along only rarely, and only when it is the most needed. It is highly prized among us. She became our Seer, a position that only exists when we have someone of sufficient power, but whose influence over the group is the highest of the high. Everyone must listen to the Seer, even our Council. She foresaw three further disasters which would affect us: the dying of the land, which would make our gateways impenetrable; the return of the Sh’rin; and betrayal from the inside. She saw that only two of us would be able to save our kind, saving the world and all its’ inhabitants at the same time, bringing back the golden time. But we had to make the ultimate sacrifice. We had to give up our home for the duration of time until the coming of the enemy. We had to live with the humans, for two humans would have to help us.”

Chris glanced over at Zi’el, and was astounded to see him standing, a few metres away, staring off into space. His head was lowered, and she could have sworn there was a tear in his eye. Then he saw her looking at him, and reared before galloping off. Chris sat still, staring off in the direction he’d gone, confused.

“He is sad, remembering the free times, and all the sacrifices made,” Ki’li explained. “Give him time, he will return and be as normal.”

Chris nodded reluctantly and settled back to listen to the story. Without really noticing, she settled closer to Hamlet, and he shifted slightly so that they were almost touching.

“So, eventually all the unicorns came out, and walked to where the humans would see us. They were surprised, and shocked, but took advantage of us immediately, chasing us and capturing us for sport. They did not realise that we wanted to be caught, and when we did not run away, they shot at us until we ran in fear. Many died in the name of sport, before all were caught.” There was bitterness in Ki’li’s thoughts, although it was well hidden. It was more the undertones of her thoughts, than the thoughts themselves.

“We learned to fear those humans, but they took care of us, and eventually things settled down. They retained their fear of us, the fear of the unknown. And so we have lived until now. Some of the elders have in their hearts much anger because of all the ‘corns lost during the capturing, but we cannot change the fates, and so we continue as agreed.” Ki’li looked over to one side, and Chris and Hamlet glanced over. Zi’el had joined them again, sweaty and dusty, but looking a bit better for his run.

“I don’t know what to say,” Chris said. “I learned human history, as it is taught in schools, and this, although similar, has many new elements to it. I cannot deny what I see before me, the pollution is clearly getting worse, no matter what we are taught, but it is so much to take in at once! And I’m ashamed to be human at the moment.” Chris lowered her eyes. “If only there was something we could do to clean up the world,” she sighed despondently.

“We may not be able to clean it up, but how do we save the world?” Hamlet asked. Ki’li looked sheepish and fixed her gaze on the ground. “We, ummm, we don’t really know,” she admitted sadly. The two humans looked at her incredulously. “What do you MEAN you don’t know?” Chris asked, startled. Ki’li and Zi’el looked at each other. “We don’t know. It is foretold that we must, so we will do this. But we are not certain how, yet. This is why we go to the Home, to speak with the elders who have lived free.” The four companions stared at each other in silence for a few moments. “OK, so how far is it to the Home now?” Chris asked. “Is not far. We go now, we arrive by nightfall,” Zi’el responded. Chris and Hamlet winced at the volume, but had to admit that he was learning. It was still loud, but didn’t give them a pounding headache each time he spoke anymore. They mounted quickly, and soon they were cantering off into the distance.

Chris
OK, so this one is a bit longer...warming to the task, although it's going to continue to be bitty for a while. Work and painful wrists getting in the way!, - Wednesday, April 18, 2001 at 08:29:39 (PDT)

ACK!!!!!!
Cindie
ACK ...again!, - Wednesday, April 18, 2001 at 05:59:41 (PDT)

After Brandon has left the library, with Mary Anne in his arms, the camera turns back to the empty room. Silence.

The late afternoon dimness, lit only by the fireplace.

Slowly, the camera tracks across the room . . .

. . . to the high-backed sofa in the corner.

Silence.

Then, movement.

Someone rising from the sofa, where he has been lying.

The figure moves toward the camera. Out of the shadows . . .

Toward the fireplace. A flicker of light on crystal. A hand, reaching unsteadily toward the brandy decanter, pouring a glass . . .

And the camera tracks upward-to reveal the appalled and appalling eyes of Eamon de Valera.

MA
And while I'm still shivering . . ., - Tuesday, April 17, 2001 at 19:50:40 (PDT)

Delaford, the library:

Mary Anne wonders at first whether she has had too much brandy.

"That woman," she manages at last, "was--is--The Empress?"

Brandon nods, and Mary Anne can see the rise and fall of his chest, that silent sigh as if some burden had been lifted. "Yes. Then, she was one of the maids of honour, the ladies of the court, but now . . ."

"I don’t understand. Her family--?"

Brandon smiles a little. "I sometimes forget, my dearest, that you were not born to The Realm. The succession here is not always a dynastic one. It was not a matter of her birth and family; she was chosen Empress because of her talents, her worthiness of character, and the honest acclaim from the hearts of her people-an acclaim that has been more than justified."

Mary Anne is silent, taking it in. "And-you? After what happened-"

Brandon reflects for a moment. "It was not my last visit to the Palace. After what had happened . . . well, she visited me during my recovery, and wrote to me, from time to time, after I rejoined my regiment. And at times I would call at the Palace, as opportunity permitted. It was during one of those times that I stood for the portrait."

"Ah," replies Mary Anne. That very portrait now hangs in the Delaford gallery, a wedding gift from The Empress. "It was very gracious of her to part with it."

"A gesture of good will, indeed," agrees Brandon. Then, with some hesitation: "Mary Anne . . . do you understand, now, why . . . we must do this?"

Why "we" must. That’s like you, Christopher, to take my troubles on yourself. And after I acted such a fool upstairs! "I think so, yes." Mary Anne swallows. "I’m sorry to have acted the way I did. I’d have to obey an Imperial command, yes-but you owe The Empress your life. How could I defy her, when without her, you wouldn’t be here? Of course I understand."

Moments pass, in which Mary Anne wishes she could remain just as she is, forever. She is aware of her many faults of vanity and selfishness and quick temper, but for a time is lifted above them by the knowledge of just how worthily and well she is loved by the man beside her, and there descends upon her a feeling of calm so strange to her that it takes her some time to recognize it: humility, without the sting of humiliation.

For this brief time, she does not think of her faults, nor of herself at all. Only of Brandon.

"That explains it," she finally ventures.

"Explains what, my darling?"

"Well, I’ve heard of the training of the Guardsmen. They’re known for their loyalty. After what you’ve told me-well, she’d see to that, wouldn’t she?"

"Indeed. Though it is not all a matter of their training, I should think. From what I have seen of Her Majesty, she inspires those qualities quite naturally."

Though not in everyone, thinks Mary Anne, or else they wouldn’t be having these troubles with The Interrogator. Quickly, to push all thoughts of HIM away, she forces a smile. "It’s no wonder that she had your portrait taken, sir. What better example could anyone have before her, of loyalty and courage and honour?"

Her reward is Brandon’s most affectionate smile: wide and unfeigned, his eyes glowing with tenderness for her. "Thank you, Mary Anne." Softly, as he turns her face up to his . . .

When Brandon breaks the kiss, Mary Anne fans her hand rapidly before her face. "I think I’m going to faint, sir," she teases.

"Perhaps it is the brandy," ripostes Brandon. Knowing quite well that it is not.

Then his brow creases anxiously. "Are you in any pain? You should not have come down here, after all; it would have been better for you to remain upstairs-"

"Ah," laughs Mary Anne. "Now comes the scolding!"

Brandon raises an eyebrow and fixes her with a look. "You may consider yourself scolded-as if it would be of any effect." Brandon rises from the armchair and stands over her, assuming an expression of severity that does not deceive his wife for an instant. "However, it would be better to spare that ankle. Here." And in one motion, Brandon leans down and assists Mary Anne from the chair, allowing her to test her weight on the injured ankle for a moment; seeing her slight grimace, he lifts her in his arms and heads for the library door. "You are going upstairs, now, to bed." Another theatrical scowl. "No arguments."

"I wouldn’t dream of it," concedes Mary Anne with becoming meekness as Brandon bears her away, tucking her head against his shoulder to conceal her smile. Hmmmm. I notice he didn’t say anything about rest when I go upstairs . . .

Thinking of what lies ahead in the days to come, Mary Anne stifles another pang of anxiety. Yes, she understands what she must do, and why she must do it, but the fear does not leave her; once again, she has been caught up in events beyond her control, swept away by them even as she is now being borne away in Brandon’s arms. She is not fearful of that strength, at least. If only fate were as kind as Christopher!

And if Brandon is aware of any change in his wife’s mood, he does not show it, but exits the room, carrying Mary Anne easily in his arms . . .

MA
Poor doctor, who suggested a facility to Mistral. Brrrrr!!!, - Tuesday, April 17, 2001 at 19:46:48 (PDT)

They lapsed into silence for awhile, Cindie immensely enjoying the drive. When he’d found that she hadn’t left the city since beginning her job, Mistral took it upon himself to suggest other excursions they might take. Suddenly, out of the blue, she asked one of the myriad of questions that he knew she had about this little outing. “Will I be meeting any family when we get to… when we get to your home?”

He debated briefly then answered, “just my mother. That is the only family I have.” He said nothing else for a little time and she thought that was all he would say. Finally, he continued, “she is unwell. That is, she has begun to have difficulties….” His features were strained, “I’m told there is nothing to be done for her. They….” He looked over at her, “..the doctors, want me to place her in a facility” His tone made it clear that was not an option. His gaze returned to the road, “but I have a couple who live there full time. She is a nurse and he handles the care of the house and grounds. There is a cook who comes in as needed, so things run pretty well.” She didn’t know how much he was leaving unsaid, but what he did say seemed to cost him.

“Of course. Thank you for telling me now. I’ll be prepared and have a better idea of what to expect.” There was much more she wanted to know, but she didn’t want to press. Gingerly she reached out and touched his upper arm, rewarded with a reassuring smile, she gave his arm a squeeze before settling back into her seat.

The sunlight warming the interior of the car soon relaxed Cindie to the point that, nestled back in her seat, she began to doze. The nights of insufficient sleep caught up with her and the dozing turned into a full fledged nap. Mistral, looking over and seeing that she was truly asleep, gave her a look that was so full of indulgence and tenderness that it certainly would have turned her to mush had she but seen it. He hit the gas and continued to drive, proceeding along the familiar route as he headed home.

Cindie
- Tuesday, April 17, 2001 at 15:54:25 (PDT)

"He promised me that he wouldnt leave me but as you see hes broken that promise" Miranda sobbed. "He'll be back Miranda" Vanessa told Miranda to comfort her. "Why do you want him to be here so badly?" Tina asked. "See thats the problem, I dont know why I feel the way I feel about him. But for some od reason I think something awfull is going to happen to him" Miranda said. Vanessa went and got a tissue and handed it to Miranda "Thank you" Miranda said and wiped away the tears that stained her face. "Oh just forget about him he broke a solem promise so when he comes back how 'bout I give him a big punch for you." Vanessa said and held up a clenched fist. "No that won't be necarsary, But it's just that..." Before Miranda could finish her sentance Mr. Hans walked in the room and said "Hey how's it goin' everyone?" Only a couple people answered "First day blues i see. Don't worry the year will get much better." "Sure" Miranda said sarcastically to Vanessa and Tina.

The rest of home room up to lunch was boring. But at lunch the girls felt weird being the only ones that wern't eating since angels cant eat. Everything was going fine till Metatron reapered. "Im sorry I had to leave but it was an emergency. Miranda turned her back to him, crossed her arms, and stuck her nose in the air. "Oh so now I see you're not talking to me are you?" "Uhum" Miranda said and slapped her hand to her mouth because he had tricked her into speaking. "Ha, I knew you would do that Miranda!" Metatron laughed out and then hugged his little sister. Miranda I've been watching you for the past 2 hours and you have been doing well. Keep up this good efort and I think that you will pass all the tests." Metatron whispered to Miranda and then gave her another hug. But Miranda, Vanessa, Tina, and Metatron didnt know they were being watched, and worst of all this person knew there secret.

"Cut! And thats a wrap. Good first day ladies and gentleman!" The director called out. "Finally!" Miranda said. "I think i'm ready to go home" Metatron said to the girls. "Well lets get goin, I can't wait to see the REAL Heaven again!" Miranda said and waved her friends and her brother to were they would be in private so they could get back to Heaven.
Miranda
Oh i think i've eaten to mauch candy!!, - Tuesday, April 17, 2001 at 13:53:05 (PDT)

Thanks! We aim to please. :-)
Suzanne
Still working on the synopsis., - Tuesday, April 17, 2001 at 13:51:55 (PDT)

My compliments to the Imperial Archivist on the new design for the Archives page. It looks very neat and well-kept.

MA
(who was in there for a browsing session last night), - Tuesday, April 17, 2001 at 05:08:17 (PDT)

The Interrogator, how come your SO bad but then your SO cute!! Oh no i'm an angel I shouldnt be saying this!! Bad me!!
Miranda
yeesh, - Monday, April 16, 2001 at 09:32:11 (PDT)

Mary Anne, do feel free to come and share my cell. What a delightful prospect.
The Interrogator
Who would be pleased to exercise any restraint you need..., - Monday, April 16, 2001 at 07:49:37 (PDT)

Re: "nice use of random statuary." I'm trying desperately to avoid several bad puns about statutory rape, lest I join HIM in the Imperial dungeons! ;-)

MA
Attempting to exercise some *restraint* . . ., - Sunday, April 15, 2001 at 20:17:15 (PDT)

They headed out of the city, Mistral threading the car through town until they were traveling west on the M4. As interested as she was in the route they were taking and the sights to be seen outside the window, Cindie found it difficult to tear her eyes away from the hand resting on the gear shift next to her. His driving gloves made a vague creaking sound as he shifted gears and maneuvered the responsive vehicle. Her thoughts kept straying to the things she’d heard about that cast party. You can leave your hat on. She started, realizing that she’d been staring at him, and that he was completely aware of that fact.

“What are you thinking of, my dear? You look positively sheepish.” His expression was not quite a smirk, but it was more than a smile.

“Oh, well,” trying to sound casual and failing utterly, “some people at work yesterday were talking about one of the cast parties.”

“Really,” making a much better job of casual, “which one?”

Clearing her throat, “the, ah, first anniversary party.”

His face was in profile but Cindie could’ve sworn that his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Whether it was because she knew about it or because she mentioned it she couldn’t be sure. “Yes. That was a very …memorable event.” Now definitely a smirk, “What …aspect of the festivities were these people discussing?”

“I expect you know the answer to that already.”

Mistral threw back his head and gave a full throated laugh that sounded of sheer joy and abandon. “Yes, I did.” He glanced over at her, his smile broad and teeth gleaming, “but I didn’t think you’d ever bring it up.” His attention returned to the road, traffic was still heavy, but his expression still held its humour. “Our line was exceedingly well …choreographed.”

“I’m sure.” There was a catch in her voice.

“Perhaps sometime you would like a private performance?” His eyes not leaving the road.

“Oh.” A little gasp. “Perhaps.” He stole a quick glance in her direction. Scarlet became her.

Cindie
Empress -- Nice use of random statuary!
Sandy -- An angry Alexander Dane, I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that!, - Sunday, April 15, 2001 at 17:21:02 (PDT)

Wishing everyone a merry Easter.
Cindie
Brandon -- Have you been working on your eggs?, - Sunday, April 15, 2001 at 12:57:34 (PDT)

Wonder if Brandon's making an appearance at the Children's Hospital today . . . ;-)

MA
Have a happy one, everybody!, - Sunday, April 15, 2001 at 07:45:52 (PDT)

Since I will not be able to come on tomorrow I would like to wish you guys a happy easter. I even died my fingers to look like the eggs we died at my Grandmothers house. Hehe!!
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
- Saturday, April 14, 2001 at 10:03:35 (PDT)

Egypt, present day:

The four made slow progress down the passageway, feeling their way in the darkness as they called out for the missing members of their party. Their voices grew hoarse after several minutes of continuous shouting with no answering replies. "We might as well stop for a while. We're not going to have any voices left at this rate," Alexander observed unhappily. The group fell silent and the sound of the waterfall in the cavern they left several minutes prior grew fainter as they moved forward. Already cold, damp and miserable, they shivered involuntarily when a cold breeze hit them in the face.

Alexander, in the meantime, had dropped back to assist David and Jack, who were moving at a virtual crawl. He gave Melanie the flashlight with a soft, "Go no further than a few paces before us. We have no idea as to where we're headed." Melanie nodded and took the lead. The four continued to creep along the passage, using the wall as a guide.

Several sneezes from Jack broke the silence of the four. "Bless you," Alexander muttered. I hope this doesn't mean people aren't going to start getting sick. We're in a enough bad situation as it is, he thought to himself sourly. Jack sniffed and grunted in reply. "Professor, it seems like we're dropping further from the surface area, doesn't it?" Melanie asked softly.

"You're right. The downward grade does seem to increase as we move along," Alexander replied. David hissed sharply when he stepped down too hard on his injured ankle and plunged forward. "Are you all right?" Jack asked his friend with concern in his voice as he and Alexander pulled him back up before the three toppled over onto the rock floor. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just did a misstep," David mumbled in reply.

The flashlight's beam hit the wall and they saw another small series of hieroglyphics - the same pattern that he, Jack and Melanie had seen previously. "Fake again," Alexander mumbled, his eyebrows drawing together in a ferocious frown if anybody could have seen it.

David didn't even bother to stifle a yawn as he stared in amazement. "I don't get it," he said finally, blinking furiously in an effort to keep awake. He put a hand to his pounding temple, carefully touching the emerging lump on his head. He winced and shivered involuntarily as the dampness settled about them again.

"Neither do I, but I don't like it," Alexander replied darkly, stifling his own yawn behind his hand. "Something really stinks, and I'm not just referring to us," he continued. Jack snorted at the half-hearted joke attempt, followed by another series of vicious sneezing. "Sorry," he muttered, sniffling loudly.

"Let's keep going. It's really creepy in here," Melanie said with an uncertain note to her voice. The others murmured in agreement and they pressed on for a while. David broke the silence, the pain evident in his voice. "Listen, I'm sorry guys, but I've got to stop for a few minutes and rest. My ankle's killing me."

The four leaned up against the wall, teeth chattering involuntarily as the coldness hit against their skin. "Gotta sit down," David grunted, cursing softly as pain shot up his leg. With Alexander's and Jack's assistance, he sat down. The others sat down, knees drawn up in an attempt to warm themselves with no success.

"We should move closer to each other to try to keep warm," Alexander said, closing his eyes as he waited for the protests that were sure to follow his suggestion to begin. The three men moved over while Melanie hesitated. Jack let out a long-suffering sigh and sneezed twice. "I won't bite," he said with a note of impatience in his voice. "Although I should," he added in an undertone.

David poked him sharply in the ribs, making Jack yelp in pain. "Will you cut it out?!" he hissed. "We have enough to worry about without the two of you going at each other like cats and dogs," he pointed out.

"I couldn't have said it better, David. In case you've forgotten, we're still missing four people and we have no idea where we are, much less where they're located - or if they're even alive," Alexander added in angrily, his voice rising exponentially as he completely lost his composure. I - and everyone else - have had it up to here with your nonsense!" His hand shot over his head in a graphic illustration of his growing frustration. "I SUGGEST THAT THE TWO OF YOU GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER AND GROW UP!" he finished at the top of his lungs, wincing at the feedback that echoed in the passageway.

The three grad students stared at the normally unflappable Englishman in astonishment. The tension grew thick in the small space as several minutes passed in complete silence. Finally, Alexander passed a hand over his eyes, letting his breath out in a loud whoosh. "I apologize. That was completely inappropriate behavior," he mumbled.

"No, you're right, Professor. We've been acting like complete jerks," Melanie admitted, completely chastened by his outburst. Jack grunted in agreement and sneezed again. She slowly moved over so that she was just touching his right shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled under his breath, staring straight ahead. "Me too," she sighed and yawned audibly.

The four sat in silence, staring ahead into the darkness beyond the pale beam of the flashlight, blinking hard in an effort to keep awake. "Turn it off, Melanie. We need to conserve the battery for as long as we can," Alexander said. She complied and the four were plunged into complete darkness. "I can barely keep my eyes open," Melanie admitted, stifling another yawn.

"Perhaps we should try to get some sleep," Alexander suggested after a minute's contemplation. "Each one of us can take a turn keeping watch. I'll take the first one." The others agreed, Jack offering to take the next one. Shortly after, the rhythmic breathing of three people sound asleep echoed in the darkness.

Alexander blinked hard, even slapping himself lightly on the cheeks in an effort to keep awake. His efforts were not completely successful, and he could feel himself succumbing to the lure of falling asleep slowly but surely. He idly wondered how long he had been awake and if he should wake up Jack.

Making a decision, he turned in the lanky young man's direction, noting with silent amusement that he could just barely make out Melanie's head leaning on Jack's shoulder. He was just about to gently shake him awake when a blood-curdling scream echoed in the passageway.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Melanie yelled in terror, lifting her head from Jack's shoulder as the others immediately woke up with loud gasps. "Make that who was that!" Jack replied as he, Alexander and Melanie shot to their feet, the two men assisting David to his feet. "Did you recognize who it was?"

Alexander's heart was beating like a sledgehammer, yet he somehow managed to answer in a normal tone of voice, "No, but we better hurry. Whoever it was could be in big trouble."

"You better leave me here. I'm just slowing you down," David muttered, hissing painfully as he tried to put pressure on his ankle again. "We're not leaving anybody behind," Alexander hissed angrily. "Now let's go!" he urged the others. Melanie snapped the flashlight on and the four started down the passageway again as quickly as they could.

Sandy
- Friday, April 13, 2001 at 11:03:08 (PDT)

Opps I forgot to explain why there was a writing on the board that said Welcome Brown Bears! Well our school has 3 grades in it (6, 7, and 8) and well each grade level has three 'teams' that the teachers and students are broken down to which they all have animal names. This year im a brown bear of course! Brown Bears rule!!
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
- Friday, April 13, 2001 at 07:52:11 (PDT)

When the group arrived at the school it was first day havoc. Miranda way scared for like the first time since she tried out for the lead in the play they were having in Heaven. "I don't want to go in. Take me back" Miranda said nervously. "But Miranda you said this was your dream. You shouldn't ruin it because you're a little bit scared." Metatron told her as he pushed her firmly to the door. Vanessa and Tina both yelled together, "Comeon Miranda this will be fun!!"

They found the classroom after searching for 5 minutes and went inside. It was of course since it was a Geography room decorated like one, but in the theme of Europe. The board had writing on it that said

Welcome Brown Bears!

Suzanne--the Palace physician? Well, one of them, anyway. Surely there are excellent medical facilities there, along with everything else Brandon could not tell without talking until dawn. ;-)

MA
And soon, Mary Anne will see some of those wonders for herself . . ., - Friday, April 13, 2001 at 07:37:53 (PDT)

I somehow knew you'd work that in sooner or later, MA. :-) But, wow! Better than I could have ever imagined.
Suzanne
The "Palace" physician, right? *grin*, - Thursday, April 12, 2001 at 21:56:55 (PDT)

The library:

Mary Anne can hardly bear to hear what will come next. "Christopher, if you don’t wish to tell it-"

Brandon gives no sign of having heard. "The insurgents were upon us." Grimly. "And it was clear what they meant to do. A gathering of beautiful women, with only I and my comrades to defend them." A pause. "But there were not enough of us."

She can feel Brandon’s heart beating beneath her fingertips and Mary Anne moves closer as if she can somehow insert herself between this man and his memories.

"For a moment, they seemed as surprised by us as we were by them. Perhaps they had expected to find the women alone-easy spoil." Brandon’s jawline is set like granite. "It gave us just enough time to draw our swords. It was our good fortune that they had passed themselves off as Guardsmen in dress uniforms, so that they, too, were armed with swords and not with pistols. Perhaps-" Bitterly. "-they had not expected to need such weapons, for what they intended-"

"It hardly seems possible!" blurts Mary Anne. Say something, anything, to break the ghastly spell of Brandon’s narrative. "I mean, from what I’ve heard of the Guardsmen, the idea that any of them could be traitors, or that any traitor could pass himself off as an Imperial-"

" You are quite right. It hardly seems possible in these times . . . but you shall see." Brandon reaches for the snifter and drains it, seems to debate for a moment whether to fill it again, then sets it resolutely aside. "We fought, of course. But there were not enough of us. And-" Brandon does not quite smile, but there is a brief lightening in his expression, a wistful admiration. "The women were frightened, as well they should have been, but they fought as well, with whatever came to hand. For as long as they could-"

That perilous break in his voice. Mary Anne waits, hardly daring to breathe, as Brandon’s right hand lifts in an unconscious gesture of drinking a toast to the fallen, though he no longer holds the glass.

"As long as they could. Yes. But some fled to the inner chambers, where the women slept, and some were forced back there, struggling all the way. They fought. Among them, they even managed to kill some of the attackers."

"Good for them," exclaims Mary Anne, the tears standing in her eyes.

"Yes. But-I can remember . . . hearing, from back there in the inner rooms . . . the cries . . . there was nothing to be done, nothing at all I could do; I expected to die, myself, any moment-"

Brandon falls silent for so long that Mary Anne wonders whether he has decided not to go on, but she knows her husband well. He will make an end of this.

Brandon covers Mary Anne’s hand with his own, pressing her fingers against his chest, guiding them over the outlines of the long scar. "Finally, it was hand to hand-and I received this. My opponent was too fast, too strong, and there was much that I had not learned. Later, perhaps . . . but it is no matter. The pain, the blood-I was certain my wound was mortal, and that he would finish me in an instant. I could hardly even keep to my feet; I was braced against a table . . . Mary Anne, I dream of it at times, even now. Seeing what I thought was my life draining away, preparing myself for the death stroke . . ."

Mary Anne abandons the idea of holding back her tears, though she refrains from sobbing. She can see it all too clearly, vivid as some of her own nightmares. But Brandon is speaking once more . . .

"And suddenly, my attacker fell before me-his skull crushed in, and I could see . . . a woman. One of the ladies, who had escaped the . . . who had escaped from the inner rooms. She might have fled the women’s quarters entirely, for there was no one in that outer room, by this time, except us. My attacker and I. But she did not run; she came to my aid. She had taken one of the marbles from a table-a small sculpture, it was-and come up behind the man who was about to kill me, and struck him. He did not notice that she was there, he was so intent upon me, and that was his last mistake."

Mary Anne breathes again. "She saved your life."

"She did. Not merely in striking down my opponent, but in helping me from the room. My-" Brandon’s voice catches. "My comrades who were with me . . . did not survive. But she had me lean on her, and we were able to escape and find some true Guardsmen, who saw us to safety. After that, I remember little, for I was weak from loss of blood. What I remember next was awakening in a bed and being tended by a physician, and hearing that the revolt had been quelled."

Mary Anne’s eyes are sparkling, as much from wonder and relief as from her tears. "Christopher, I can see why you wouldn’t tell me that story, but I think I’m glad you did. And as for that woman, I wish I could meet her, to thank her for your life."

At this, Brandon turns his head and looks Mary Anne full in the eye.

"You will have that opportunity, my dearest. That woman is better known to you as Her Majesty, The Empress of The Realm."

MA--more from the secret history of Colonel Brandon . . .
Not to mention the secret history of The Empress!! Suzanne, you set it up when you posted about Brandon having been to the Palace before. ;-), - Thursday, April 12, 2001 at 20:03:36 (PDT)

At 7:58 the next morning Cindie was ready. Suitcase packed, comfortable clothes on for a drive of several hours, plants watered and neighbor retained to look in on things and turn lights on and off. Anticipation and nervousness took their turns with her. She reflected on yesterday and thought Mistral’s manner had changed subtly, almost overnight. He was still commanding, self assured, but she’d noticed for all this he had begun to ask her. Some things.

He had told her to go home, pack and get a goodnight’s sleep. This was not exactly what had happened. Chandos had acquired theatre tickets and instead of packing she had gone with him to see *The Scarlet Pimpernel*. It was wonderful and she was glad to have the opportunity, but that meant she didn’t even begin packing until after 11:00. Her tiredness was overcome by the prospect of the journey ahead. She hadn’t spent more than a few hours at a time with Patrick and the thought of an entire weekend with all its possibilities was intoxicating. Perhaps she would get to know him, meet family, if he had any. That he had her in his thrall there was no doubt. That she was beginning to care for him very much was also certain. Where any of this would lead was a yawning abyss of the unknown.

At exactly 8:00 there was a knock at her door. With a basketful of emotions she opened the door and, confirming it was him, released the chain. “Good morning my dear.” His tone was light, his mood effusive and infectious.

“Good morning,” she replied, feeling cheered and excited at the sight of him. He was dressed more casually than usual, in chinos and a sweater, his overcoat replaced with a leather jacket and silk scarf - the colours the same. Cindie shrugged into her own leather jacket which was a close match to his. “I’m all set,” she offered.

“You’ve eaten?”

“Yes, those corn flakes you passed on the other night.”

He made a face and then inclined his head towards the single suitcase. “This is it?”

“Yes, its only one night isn’t it? You didn’t mention the need for any ball gowns.”

“Not this time.” He picked up the suitcase and Cindie grabbed her purse. She locked the door behind her. Following him down the stairs and out the front door she watched as he walked to a car and began to stow her suitcase in the boot. It was a Jaguar XKR of deep green, it was a convertible but the top was up. The license plate: not CONFESS, nor IMHERE, but simply ASP. He closed the trunk lid and came around to the passenger side. He began to open the door for her and then pausing, placed his hands on her shoulders and grasped them. “You are certain?”

“Yes, Patrick.”

A quick embrace from him and she was seated in the passenger seat. The upholstery was the color of light caramel, soft as butter, and the seat was immensely comfortable. The vehicle was not a late model but was obviously cared for meticulously. Mistral went round to the right side, slid in behind the wheel, buckled up, and with a quick glance at Cindie to make sure she was belted in as well, started the car. They were off.

Cindie
- Thursday, April 12, 2001 at 18:34:21 (PDT)

"Done some damage there I see." Sinclair surveyed the bent metal band at his feet before raising eyes to meet those of O'Hara.

A tuneless whistle issued from the lips of the man sitting astride the trunk. Swift strokes fashioned the strutt, tapering the ends to fit the hub as O'Hara whittled at the replacement spoke. Sinclair watched in silence.

"Nothing irrepairable." PL ventured finally. "This pine is really too soft for the job, but I don't see too many oaks lying here abouts." He swung off his mount and bent down to measure his handy work against the prostrate wagon wheel.

"Lucky the main axle didn't sheer. I'd be sad to loose this one after all these weeks." Sinclair patted the conestoga body."We have barely enough oxen to last the journey and I'll be damned if I have to sacrifice another wagon at this moment."

"Good strong hickory this." O'Hara prodded the hub. "Nothing but the best for Mr Simon Jacks."

Sinclair shivered as the first brush of evening breeze tugged at his open shirt. "Whatever brought HIM to mind? "

O'Hara walked back to the trunk, picked up the metal band and bent it double, leaving that particular question unanswered.

Claire
- Wednesday, April 11, 2001 at 16:54:50 (PDT)

When Miranda, Vanessa and Tina were teloported (sort of) down from Heaven they relized they were not at a school but a bus stop. Miranda opened the instructions and the first thing said, 'Wait for the bus here. Then get on when it comes because it will take you to the school.' Second it said 'Here are youre class assignments. I hope youll like them!' (As you can tell Metatron wrote these instructions for Miranda)

Class List:
Homeroom: Mr. Hans
Period 2: Mrs. Poole-Math
Period 3: Mr. Hans-Geography (geo)
Period 4: Coach Caraballo-Physical Eduction (PE)
Period 5: Mr. Gill-Science (Sci)
Period 6: Ms. Perryman-Language Arts (LA)
Period 7: Mrs. Wylie-Orchestra (Orch)

"We got a full day dont we?" Miranda said sarcastically to Vanessa and Tina. "You could say that again!" Vanessa said. Well to say if you were going to desribe Vanessa in two words they would be 'Hitler Reancarnation'. She's nice to only the angels and people she likes. She's being trained to do the same thing as Miranda exept it's for satan, so shes a "satan-angel". But she's still Miranda best Friend. But God allows her in Heaven for an unknow reason. Metatron had told Miranda it was probably some sentimental reason.

"Hey here comes the bus!!" Tina yelled. Tina is actually the same as Vanessa and is competing for the spot. But their little friend group still sticks together through thick and thin.

The Bus pulled up and stoped at the bus stop. The girls got in and took 2 seats at the back. Vanessa and Tina in one, Miranda in one by herself in case her brother shows up. And he did. "Hello," he said cheerfully, "are you ready for this Miranda?" "You think" Miranda answered back in a sarcastic tone. "Don't start with me Miranda, Weve already had to sit down and talk about your attitude, dont let me have to talk to you again, ok?" "Fine, I will." Miranda answered. Then she smiled and puched him playfully in the arm.
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
these are actually my real teachers. Mr. Hans is German and actually looks like Hans Gruber. Frieky!!, - Wednesday, April 11, 2001 at 13:59:42 (PDT)

"Where?"

There was no answer but it took Claire only a moment, following Dana's rapt gaze, to see the crouching cat. Her breath hissed out, ruffling the tendrils of hair at the base of Dana's neck. Suddenly-icy fingers sought one another and gripped tightly. Seconds stretched out like hours as they stood frozen in fear.

"Has it moved? Should we back away?"

"I don't know. Let's just wait a minute; I don't think I can move anyway."

Words between the two women were exchanged more quietly than the breeze in the trees around them. The electricity of adrenaline coursing through their bodies seemed to flow through their linked hands, reinforcing the inherent courage of each. By unspoken agreement each stood straighter…waiting.

Dana
- Tuesday, April 10, 2001 at 20:18:22 (PDT)

His hands were on either side of the window, staring intently at her. Her breath caught, at the briefest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Then he turned away, and sat down on a bed in the middle of the room.

Curious she stepped through the door, and only then realised what she had been seeing. The room beyond the doorway was set up with recording equipment, and the window wasn’t a window. HE hadn’t seen her at all. She could watch him as much as she liked, and HE wouldn’t know she was there.

The Interrogator had been looking into a mirror in his cell. HE knew HE would be observed through it, but HE couldn’t see what was going on beyond it.

Drawn like a moth to the flame, Claudia stepped further into the room, and sat down in a chair that had been placed in front of the mirror. With a horrified fascination, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, she settled down to watch.
Claudia
- Tuesday, April 10, 2001 at 19:10:54 (PDT)

The tunnel was narrow, Claudia could reach out both arms, bent at the elbows, and run the tips of her fingers over the rough stone walls on either side. The light from her cell grew dimmer the further she walked.

The tunnel only went a short distance before it turned to the right, and darkness greeted her. But in her calm state, it didn’t daunt her, and she carried on, her fingers telling her the stone walls were growing cooler and damper. She wondered idly, when the white rabbit would run passed, shouting “I’m late!”.

Then her fingers felt a change in the stone wall on her right. She turned and felt it with the fingers of both hands. A regular crack in the wall that seemed to go from ceiling to floor. She flattened her palms, and ran them over the stone on either side of the crack. Ah, a handle. “Curiouser and Curiouser,” she muttered out loud.

She turned the handle, and looked inside. The moment she saw those eyes, staring back at her, she felt herself falling. Like some mad special effect in a movie, she felt herself fall from a great height, back into her own body, and she was still standing in the same spot, at the open door, but now she knew this wasn’t a dream. She knew someone had been playing in her mind, and this moment had broken the spell.
Claudia
Re-written after my computer crashed the first time - sigh!, - Tuesday, April 10, 2001 at 18:32:16 (PDT)

This is such a great site! I never would have found it if I hadn't started with askjeeves.com where I typed in "Where can I attend a posh event in Britain and wear a big puffy gown?" This popped up, and I'm thinking to myself, "who is Alan Rickman?" When I saw his picture recognition dawned! He's the guy on Galaxy Quest! Hooray! What a kewl guy : BTW: If anyone knows where I can go in England to dress fancy, please email me pronto! THANX tons :) slkp@memberofparliament.co.uk
Mrs. Phillips <slkp@memberofparliament.co.uk>
STORY, - Tuesday, April 10, 2001 at 18:25:34 (PDT)

FOF Set:

“You …make …it …very …difficult …to say …no.” Her gaze into his eyes was direct as he lowered her hand and placed it back on his chest. His attentions to her wrist had been almost more than she could bear.

“Then I shall be most careful what I ask of you.” He said this in all seriousness and his demeanor remained so as he continued, “I am glad that you did not say no.” He paused and she thought he appeared to almost falter, “It is my wish that you learn something of me through this trip.”

“Well, then I shall be certain to pay particular attention. Will I be allowed to take notes?” She scrutinized him, her eyes aglitter, “Are recording devices permitted?”

“Oh no,” he intoned. “If I suspect such devices I shall have to subject you to a very thorough …search.” She knew he was having her on but his grave countenance gave her pause.

“Patrick, stop it,” lightly pushing on his chest, “or I will chicken out after all!”

The eyes narrowed ever so slightly, “You know, of course, that I am…”

“…Yes, I know. As am I. Mostly.” She patted him, “I still have mixed feelings about this though - so you’d best behave.”

“Indeed. I can see I will need to be on the very best behaviour.” He added, “…until I have you securely in the car.”

The look she gave him would have withered a lesser man. “It appears we will have much to discuss on our journey together.”

He knew that she was simply referring to tomorrow’s road trip but those words caused a surge of feeling within him. The effect she had on him - and he knew she hardly guessed at it. He was, on the other hand, very aware of the effect he had upon her. She took precious few pains to hide it and this captured him further. He meant what he said in being careful. Not that she was defenseless. That was hardly the case. For all his perceptions of her feelings and passions he also knew that although she had a weakness for him, had feelings for him, trusted him, she knew her mind. Kept him wondering enough, and would not, indeed had not, hesitated to tell him what she thought. Harass him in the most delightful fashion. Had the nerve to wear that costume. “Yes.” He said finally, “We will have much time to talk. And since it will be daylight, to admire the countryside.” He continued on in a preemptory tone, “Now, you should go home, pack and get a good night’s sleep.”

She fingered the third button of his shirt. “You’re still telling me what to do.”

“Yes, I suppose I am.” He offered no apology. Not that she expected any - After all, he was going to be the man he was. She wouldn’t want that to change. Too much. Just so he understood she wouldn’t necessarily pay any attention to him.

They both had some things to attend to before finishing up for the day. As much by design as by serendipity they left the building at the same time. He walked her to her car and kissed her cheek before taking her keys and opening the car door for her. She had come to look forward to their little ritual. It warmed her. “Good night Patrick.”

“Goodnight. 8:00 tomorrow morning. That is not too early?”

“No, its fine. I’ll see you then.” He returned her keys and closed the door.

Cindie
MA - thanks for the warning. I'll cover my eyes and read through my fingers., - Tuesday, April 10, 2001 at 16:16:13 (PDT)

And her journey has begun!
D.o.C.

Opps should be HER journey was just beginning!!
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
- Tuesday, April 10, 2001 at 14:55:15 (PDT)

Miranda woke up that morning with a huge case of anxiety because she knew what was happening today. As her very first test she was to report to a middle school ans study the mortals there so she would know more about them since in the future she was going to be working with them, hopefully. Good thing my friends Tina and Vanessa are coming with me for there first test too Miranda thought to herself.

Miranda knew that to become a full angel you had to pass all the tests which as you go along they get alot harder then just studying mortals. But Miranda also knew that when all of her training and tests were completed her wonderful brother Metatron would become a mortal and have to leave her all alone in heaven. But that was still a year away so she would make the most out of all this time. She was especially happy because Metatron was the one training her.

Metatron had woke her up this morning with a rare smile on his face. He said to her "Get up my sleeping beauty, todays the big day. So go gat ready and meet me in the dining hall for your intructions. Then he kissed her on the cheek and left the room, leaving a trail of colonge that Miranda will definatley remember him by.

Miranda got up and put on her favorite outfit which consisted of lavender nylon pants, black vans shoes, and a dark purple tank top with a lavender streak running through it. Miranda's big on lavender as you can tell. After all her clothes were on she went in front of the mirror and started to brush her blonde curly hair with lavender streaks in it. "stupid knots" she said aloud. Then she smoothed out her wings and said what she always says to herself in the mirror "Todays gonna be a big day" Because everyday in heaven was a big day. She rubbed her eyes and studied them for a second. Everyone tells Miranda that she and her brother have lovely colered eyes, and shes proud of that.

Miranda set out for the dining hall where her brother was waiting for her. She saw him and went over to him. "Hi" she said and then she hugged him but didnt let go "Please dont leave me!! I'm not letting you go intill you vow you will never leave me!!" He looked at her and said, "I'm sorry Miranda but be strong you can do this. I've been doing this job for a long time so I think you can manage it." He gave her another smile then gave her a folded up piece of paper and said, "Here are your instructions so go get started!" Miranda looked at him like he was crazy "What? This is all your giving a folded up piece of paper!" "Yeah, Why are you asking that I can't tell you anymore than what's on that piece of paper." With that Miranda hugged her brother and kissed him on the cheek. "Miranda dont worry I will be following you around making sure you dont get hurt, ok" She hugged him again and went over to where her friends were waiting. Her journey was just beginning.
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
Here I go I hope you guys will like it!!!! Sorry if its to long!, - Tuesday, April 10, 2001 at 14:52:42 (PDT)

The library:

Mary Anne catches her breath. "Now, Christopher?" she falters. "Why, I was only teasing . . ."

"I know. But you may understand . . . some things . . . if you know."

There is a brief silence as Brandon reaches for the decanter and freshens the brandy snifter before he settles back in the armchair and fixes his gaze on the fire.

"Years ago," he begins, "when I was with my regiment, it fell out that we were sent to the Palace. Yes-" At Mary Anne’s start of surprise. "The Imperial Palace, no less. If a regiment had suffered a particularly arduous tour of duty, they would from time to time be furloughed at the Palace. It was always eagerly anticipated-" A sigh. "I am sure you can imagine, especially when one’s men have suffered battle and thirst and disease and wretched food, and then to be taken from that, to recover in luxury unimaginable to most-" Brandon takes a sip of his drink, then offers the snifter to Mary Anne, sharing the cup with her.

She passes it back, as he continues. "I will come straight to the point. One attraction in particular for the men, and I will not except myself from this . . ." A sidelong glance at Mary Anne. " . . . was the company of the ladies."

"Ah-ha," exclaims Mary Anne, trying to smile.

"I know what you are thinking, but it was their company, and that alone, that we sought. And all that we were allowed, I might add; they were respectable young women, maids of honour at the Palace, and carefully chaperoned. They had come, most of them, to be educated there and gain polish from the court life, for the Palace has a magnificent library, not to mention its art collection, along with more than I can tell without talking until dawn. Yes, we would call upon the ladies, there in the women’s quarters-in a group, with some of the older women there with us."

"Like duennas," supplies Mary Anne.

"Very like. They were ladies, and we were expected to behave as honourable men." A fleeting smile. "Believe me, we had little opportunity to behave otherwise. Have you any idea what terror a grande dame of a certain age can strike into the heart of a young man, when she believes he might be a threat to one of her . . . charges?"

Mary Anne grins. "All too easily. However-" Slyly. "I’m sure that was never a problem with you, Christopher."

Brandon turns the snifter idly in his fingers. "You laugh-but no, it was not a problem. After the matter of Eliza, I was . . . unwilling . . . to even attempt a liaison, had the opportunity been offered me. But it was pleasant to join the ladies and talk with them, and hear their music, and enjoy their sweet voices. Heaven on earth, after some of our more hellish campaigns. And the receiving room in the women’s quarters . . . believe me when I tell you, Mary Anne, that you can hardly enter any room of the Palace without seeing artwork that would be deemed priceless in another setting. But there, art treasures have been collected in such abundance that only the most valuable, irreplaceable pieces reside in the museum wing. I remember paintings and marbles and furnishings in that room that would have graced the British Museum or the Louvre."

"And the ladies?" prompts Mary Anne, playfully. "Could they compete in such a setting?"

Brandon is silent for a long moment before he replies. "In my memory," he finally answers, "they charmed us all, my comrades and I. But my memory may be affected-"

Mary Anne waits.

Brandon sips, then continues. "One afternoon, a few of my friends in the regiment were with me, and we called upon the ladies. One moment, all was peace and music and conversation and laughter."

"And the next?" prompts Mary Anne, feeling a sudden chill.

"Yes. The next. We had not known this--no one had known it-but a Palace revolt had been brewing. Had, perhaps, been planned." Brandon’s lips are a thin, hard line. "To this day . . . no one knows if it was truly a revolt among the guards themselves-"

"Like the revolt of the strelsi," Mary Anne murmurs, "in the reign of Peter the Great."

"Perhaps. Or it could have been an infiltration from the outside. Who is to say?" Brandon’s brows draw together. "Even from HIS people. It is not out of the question."

Mary Anne shudders, sensing what is to come.

Brandon’s eyes remain fixed on the fireplace. "But it matters little, in the end. As I have said, one moment all was peace and pleasure, and the next-the door burst open, and the insurgents were upon us."

MA--upcoming scenes could be violent.
This is an early warning--activating the Gore Avoidance Alert (GAA!) for all who need it!, - Monday, April 09, 2001 at 20:14:10 (PDT)

should be 13-year-old angel!!
Miranda <CoyoteUglayGal1@cs.com>
I already made a mistake, oi vaye!!, - Monday, April 09, 2001 at 09:59:02 (PDT)

Im not sure if I would want to do this but I would like to join your story telling. But the problem is Im scared my story line isnt good enough because I was going to do A 13 year-old girl named Miranda who was being trained as an angel to take her brother Metatrons place as the voice of God, I would tell about her training and the tests she has to take in order to take his place (she is being trained by her brother!!)

But if I can join I would need the rules and regulations so if I CAN join will someone send them to me?? THANKYOU!!!!!
Miranda <CoyoteUglyGal1@cs.com>
Oh Im not so sure!!, - Monday, April 09, 2001 at 07:46:31 (PDT)

FOF Set:

It was getting late in the work day and Mistral now did head towards Cindie’s cubicle. Having thought over all that Mary Anne had said and having reflected on his own actions, and Cindie’s reactions, he was determined that she should join him for the weekend. He was certain that she was beginning to trust him. Hadn’t she stayed with him on the Valley of the Moon set? She was far from guarded with him and he knew she wanted to go. He had thought over the question Mary Anne put to him, though he hadn’t framed it in that manner. But trust her he did or he would not consider taking her on this trip. There were, after all, some risks. She would say yes. He would ask her. Nicely.

As he approached near to her work area he could hear her concluding a telephone conversation. He turned the corner and looked in on her. She was making some notes on a legal pad. As he watched she finished and began to doodle. The scent of her perfume, barely discernible, reached him. He inhaled deeply. Continuing to view her he tapped lightly on the open door. She looked up and saw that it was him. Tossing the pencil on the desk she stood up and walked over to him. She didn’t stop until she was directly across from him. Reaching for his hand she pulled him into the little office and closed the door. Now she looked up at him, her lips parted in a wide grin, “Have you come to tell me that I need to get ready to go?” He began to protest but she went on, “perhaps you have list of things I should pack.” Holding up her hand she continued, “No, wait, you’ve no doubt taken the liberty of packing for me.” Now she looked at him slyly, “I know you’re good at getting into secure spaces, so this would pose no problem for you.” Although aware she may’ve gone too far, she simply couldn’t resist the opportunity.

Mistral stood, waiting until she was done amusing herself at his expense. “As for getting into secure places,” Mistral began his response, “I seem to recall I’m not the only one with some experience in that regard.”

“Ouch.” Her conscience was truly pricked.

“As for packing for you,” bending low he whispered into her ear, “whatever I wish to see you in, I would be happy to provide.”

A delightful shiver ran through her, “Ah, but where? For you will be away this weekend.” Placing the hand she’d help up on his lapel, “And don’t tell me I’m going with you. You can’t simply make pronouncements and expect me to go along with them. You can *not* tell me what to do.”

“No. I can’t. But I can *ask* can’t I? You will allow me that?”

Pausing to search his eyes for a hint of the sarcasm she would have expected in his tone and not finding it, she replied, “of course.”

“Then, my dear, it would please me greatly if you would consent to join me. I am asking you, won’t you please come?”

Her wall of resolve was apparently constructed of wet sand, and didn’t survive his first wave. She’d meant to keep him at bay awhile but found herself saying yes, she would go. “But I haven’t packed a thing. If you really did want to leave tonight?” Her tone questioning and not enthusiastic.

“Tomorrow will be soon enough.” He looked at her with an intensity that was most disconcerting. She found her hand, still resting on his lapel, being covered with one of his. Another wave. That wall was history.

Mistral began to bring her hand to his lips. That was when he noticed her wrist. A bracelet of purple bruises encircled it. “Is that from me?” He asked the question, though he knew the answer. From when he’d tried to stop her and she’d wrenched her arm from his grasp to be free of his company. His gaze now was troubled, “I’m sorry. I hope you know I had no wish to harm you.”

She returned his gaze. “I know. If I hadn’t pulled away… But please, if we keep on we will certainly sound like a scene with Mary Anne and Colonel Brandon.”

He smiled at this attempt to diffuse his concern. “But perhaps, like Mary Anne, you will allow your wound to be kissed and made better.”

“Certainly.” A passive expression as she looked up at him, “do you think Brandon would mind?”

The look that he gave her through narrowed eyes made it clear that he would mind. “I’d prefer to handle this myself, one should be prepared to answer for one’s own actions.” His kiss on the inside of her wrist was careful and sweet.

Cindie
The Colonel and MA have me all atwitter, hope my punctuation is better with this one., - Sunday, April 08, 2001 at 17:23:12 (PDT)

ACK!!! The exact colour. And twice as intoxicating These two really are breaking my heart.
Cindie
Any more *conveying* and I'll need to be conveyed out on a stretcher., - Sunday, April 08, 2001 at 17:14:59 (PDT)

The library, Delaford:

"Christopher, I’ve come for my scolding."

Brandon smiles, though his face does not lose its careworn look. "Then, my dearest, you have come to the wrong place."

His arm around her, drawing her head down onto his shoulder. The lightest touch of his lips against her ear.

"A place like Hilltop would be more appropriate, I suppose . . ."

She feels Brandon’s movement, but cannot see his grateful look: he knows the memory of Hilltop is a painful one for her. That she should attempt to lighten his heart by joking about it in this manner . . .

Still, there are serious matters to be considered. "I hardly think," he says slowly, "that this is the proper time for a trip to Egdon Heath. Though I should very much like to see it again."

"So would I." A pause. "But no, we couldn’t go there now. The Commander read me quite a lecture about how I shouldn’t try to run away." Sardonically. "As if I could."

Mary Anne does see Brandon’s expression this time, as he turns sharply toward her in the chair, a look of consternation on his face. "As if you would, indeed. Did she think you would defy an Imperial command?"

Mary Anne shakes her head. "I appreciate the thought, Christopher, but don’t give me too much credit for noble motives. If I thought I could get away with it, I might run to the ends of the earth to escape from this. I’m so frightened of it, I can hardly tell you how much-"

Scarcely has the word frightened left her lips before Brandon has put both arms about her. "Tell me," he murmurs. "Remember when we spoke of bad dreams?"

Mary Anne sighs. "Even if I tell this one, it will not go away."

"Perhaps not, but remember our vows. We will share each other’s sorrows and joys. This fear-you spoke, upstairs, of having everyone know--"

"Yes." Miserably. "To tell all that . . . and have everyone looking at me and wondering and gossiping . . . and people are so inclined to believe the worst! You’ll say that it isn’t my fault-"

Brandon nods. "True, because it is not. You could not help it."

"No, I couldn’t. But it’s just such an odd business; the truth is much harder to believe than all the stories people will invent about it. And you’ll be involved in it, too, and I hate to see you shamed by any of it-"

"None of that," soothes Brandon. "There is no shame in any of it, for either of us. And what is more-think of what has happened, when people have been told. Renie understood, did she not? And Andrea, when you spoke with her. And even Hans, though you were terrified of what he would do-"

"But it’s different," protests Mary Anne. "Completely different. They were our friends already, and we were able to tell them privately. But this way-" A long silence. "It would also depend on-" Her voice breaks. "Can you imagine what Mister de Valera would think?"

"It would be possible to explain to him, if necessary. He is our friend as well."

"But after what HE did to Therese . . ." Mary Anne’s voice trails off, as her inner eye presents her all too readily with the image of an enraged Dev, turning from her in shock and horror. Or perhaps not turning from her, which would be far worse. "After that, I can just imagine how tolerant he’d be of the idea that I broke The Interrogator out of his prison, and that I was The Interrogator for a while, as nearly as doesn’t make any difference. You know how protective he is of Therese."

"Almost," replies Brandon, "as protective as I am of you."

"But I wouldn’t want to have you at each other’s throats." A little smile. "At least, not again. Once was bad enough."

Brandon smiles down at Mary Anne, taking his tone from her. "No doubt, we could trust Miss Therese to collar him, if he created any difficulty, and show him the error of his ways."

"No doubt." Mary Anne’s smile fades. "But I wouldn’t want Therese to know this about me, either. It would terrify her. She’d never trust me again."

Brandon gathers Mary Anne closer, offering no reply for a time. Then his gaze falls on the abandoned brandy snifter on the table, and he reaches out for it. "Will you have some of this, Mary Anne? It will make you feel better, I think."

Mary Anne accepts the snifter, smiling at Brandon over the rim of the crystal. "Why, Christopher, I thought you were too much of a gentleman to try and get a lady drunk! No doubt you think to render me helpless, so that you can do as you please with me . . ."

Brandon’s eyes are the colour of the liquid in the glass. "No doubt," he replies. Slowly. "No doubt."

The exact colour. And twice as intoxicating.

Mary Anne sets the brandy aside and reaches up, allowing her hand to slip along Brandon’s throat. No attempt to loosen his cravat . . . not at the moment. Merely a lingering sweep of her hand, during which he catches her fingers in his, to kiss them, then releases them to continue their explorations.

Her fingers trail down the front of Brandon’s shirt, and her palm flattens to feel the contours of his chest through the fine linen . . . and there, the familiar ridge of that long sabre scar . . .

"You said," she teases, "that one day you’d tell me how you came by this."

For a moment, Brandon does not reply. Then, he straightens in the chair and settles his hand over hers, holding it against his chest as he turns to face her, his eyes filled with a desperate resolution.

"I think . . ." Softly. "I think, Mary Anne, that the day has arrived . . ."

MA--a cougar?! *gulp* Niiiice kitty . . .
Cindie--so, Brandon didn't think he conveyed all he could with the snifter. Hope this, um, "conveys" a bit more. ;-), - Sunday, April 08, 2001 at 14:49:50 (PDT)

Tiny stones spluttered onto the next rock.

Claire waited for a response. There was no sense in allowing Dana to disappear into the spindly trees too far from view they had water to fetch and evening chores to complete. Seconds passed and she moved to peer round the boulder that had served as an excellent place to watch Dana daydream as she picked her way upriver.

Perhaps it was the unnatural stillness of the figure poised at a dozen yards that strangled the shout of triumph.

Small steps became an unladylike scramble until she stood brushing down her apron scanning for what had Dana's rapt attention. Somewhere in the fading light she hoped lurked another black tailed rabbit rather than one of the wolves whose constant howling had disturbed their previous nights sleep.

"Where is it?" she queried.

Claire
- Friday, April 06, 2001 at 17:58:16 (PDT)

Just ahead-a flash of movement-where in the world was Claire going?

"Claire! Wait!"

Claire lifted her head to listen.

This was where she had seen the motion. Around this rock surely. Hide and seek was fine but it was beginning to get dark. As usual, Claire was going to pop up and scare the daylights out of her. Somehow even on the prairie she had found places to spring out from.

She has to be right here. I know this is where I saw something Feet moved in a circle once more. Eyes scanned for movement. "Cla…."

For and endless moment there was nothing-no breath, no heartbeat. Everything froze in time and space as Dana stared into the face of the cougar.

Dana
- Friday, April 06, 2001 at 13:54:46 (PDT)

FOF Set:

Christopher Brandon was still sitting in the armchair by the fireplace of the Delaford library set. The last scenes had called for him to convey much emotion while seeming to maintain a façade of control, and then to allow that façade to slip only enough to betray his strong feelings where Mary Anne was concerned, and so that only she would notice. Going over the dialogue in his mind he wanted to make sure he’d wrung all he could out of the lines. The Director had been satisfied but he wanted to be sure in his own mind that they were the most effective and best of scenes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were still here.” Looking up he saw Cindie hesitate in the doorway. “I saw the Director and I thought he said you were all taking a break for a script revision.”

“It’s all right. Come in. I was just mulling over that last scene. I’m not convinced I conveyed everything I could with the brandy snifter.”

“Do you mean pondering whether or not to fling it into the fireplace?” Cindie sat down in the other armchair. “I’m no actor of course, but watching the dailies I felt you conveyed all the frustration and love and…” Her voice trailed off. “Sheese, don’t you know that between you and Mary Anne you’re breaking our hearts?”

“Delighted to hear it. It’s nice to get instant feedback.”

“Delighted! Here I thought Mary Anne was the wicked old trout making these fine people suffer and you’re in on it just as much!” She was trying not to smile as she said this but was only partially successful.

“All in a day’s work. They wouldn’t tune in if it were all the Colonel and Mary Anne frolicking in the …snow.”

“You might be underestimating the appeal of …snow. But anyway, I thought you and Mary Anne were both marvelous. I don’t make any pretence of being unbiased though. I’m still a bit star struck. But if you notice I’ve managed not to call you Colonel for some few weeks now.”

He gave that smile that went straight to his eyes and replied, “But I think your attention has been occupied elsewhere.”

Cindie blushed but admitted, “Yes, that is true.” Remembering the dance she and Christopher shared at the Halloween party, “We are, I think, still trying to solve the riddle.”

“That *is* a tricky one. You know, of course, that there may not be a solution.”

She sighed and stretched, “Sometimes the more I think about it, the further I feel from knowing anything at all.”

“Well, I don’t recommend that you stop thinking, but there are some mysteries that were never meant to be solved. It could be more important that you do your *solving* together, whatever you discover.”

“Christopher,” she smiled, “I’m not at all sure what that means, but when you say it, it sounds like very good advice. You told me to be kind to him… and that has given me much pause for thought. I’ve never tried to hide how I feel but I’m concerned about becoming an accessory. Sometimes you men are very tricky beasties!”

“Beasties are we!” Chuckling, “Well, just scratch us behind the ears and feed us regularly and we’ll generally fall in line.”

“Sometimes you can be no help at all. You know that don’t you?”

After making vague beastly noises, Brandon replied, “He’s obviously crazy about you. What more do you need to know?”

“What to do about it! How to make sure he understands I’m not to be humoured, or taken for granted.”

The actor stood up and reached his hand out to her, “Tell him of course.”

“Of course,” she muttered as she exited the library with the dashing Colonel. Quite forgetting she’d actually gone in there for a book.

Cindie
- Thursday, April 05, 2001 at 19:35:55 (PDT)

Thanks, alter Éamon. After the kind invitations, I think I will drop in now and again to keep my beady eye on things. I was very entertained looking back on the stories, although having read a bit about Sinéad, Dev's wife, I don't think she'd stand back and let you kill her off like that! :-)) I found out yesterday that 'Michael Collins' is on RTÉ television on Friday week. Coincidence, no?
Claire <claire_mcgrath@campus.ie>
I am, kind ladies, yours etc., - Thursday, April 05, 2001 at 06:09:52 (PDT)

Delaford:

Leaning on Commander Hudson’s arm, Mary Anne makes her way down to the library but stops short of the partially-opened door. "Let me go in alone," she murmurs to Hudson.

A skeptical smile from The Commander. "So he’ll think you came down here under your own power? He won’t be fooled; you know that."

"Not fooled, no. But if he sees I’m even trying to get about and that I’m not so badly hurt, that will be one worry off his mind." A pause. "I’ve given him plenty of other worries; let me relieve him of that one, at least."

Hudson releases her, and Mary Anne makes a few trial steps and then nods goodbye to The Commander before easing into the library and closing the door behind her.

She finds Brandon apparently alone in the library. Lieutenant Sifuentes seems to have finished whatever business he had with Brandon, if there had been some other purpose than leaving her and Hudson together for their talk. However, all thoughts of what Sifuentes may or may not have contrived are driven from her mind by Brandon as he waits there before the library fire.

It is a large room, the Delaford library, and rather a cluttered one, but still inviting with its generous fireplace and its comfortable seats, such as the huge high-backed sofa in one corner, turned toward the windows for the view, or the deep and comfortable armchairs that are the furniture of choice throughout the rooms of Delaford. In just such an armchair, Brandon waits before the fire, and Mary Anne watches him, her breath taken as always by the mere sight of her husband; his appearance is always compelling to her, but particularly striking at this moment with his profile outlined in the firelight. It seems that no one has come in to light the lamps, thinking either that they would not be needed or that the watery late-afternoon daylight showing through the windows would be sufficient for any brief use.

Brandon. A waiting presence there before her, the gleam of the fire off of his white shirt throwing his face into even deeper shadow and striking glints from the glass in his hand . . . a brandy snifter. Mary Anne breathes, slowly and carefully. Brandon has been known to enjoy a glass; she knows that. But even as she watches, the crystal quivers in his fingers, as if he contemplates flinging it into the fireplace. The crash-it would be a momentary ease to overwrought nerves . . . but still momentary at best, and Brandon sets down the glass on a table. Watching, Mary Anne sees in it the amber glow of just so much cognac as could be warmed by Brandon’s palm nestled against the curve of the glass . . .

In a new bride, such an observation must lead to a certain type of thought, and Mary Anne can feel herself turn scarlet, there in the shadows by the doorway. It is in that instant that Brandon senses her presence-perhaps observing from the corner of his eye her involuntary movement as her thoughts had led her . . . elsewhere. Or perhaps he has heard the soft sound of her breathing. Or simply knew she would come to him.

His head turns, and with it his body; a gentleman always, Brandon is rising from the armchair even as Mary Anne moves forward, gesturing for him to resume his seat, which he does as he watches her keenly for any sign of pain, but makes no sound as she approaches.

Hmmmm, thinks Mary Anne. No "Mary Anne, you should be resting" or anything of that sort . . . this could be bad. To her own relief, her ankle does not hurt-much. A dull ache, quite bearable. Far less bearable is the look on Brandon’s face, this waiting . . . You told him once that you wanted to have more than his tolerance, or his doting on you-you wanted to have his respect. Well, earn it.

The armchair is wide enough for two, and Brandon makes no move to stop her as Mary Anne slips into it beside him, feeling him relax against her; she had been afraid he would hold himself aloof or draw away, and reads in the silent language of his body that all is well.

But all will not be well until she speaks. Which she does, turning her face up to his with her best attempt at a meek expression-an attempt that makes Brandon smile a little even as she murmurs, "Christopher, I’ve come for my scolding."

MA--"making nice" with Brandon . . . ;-)
Claire: you found us by accident, but do come back on purpose. Enjoy!, - Tuesday, April 03, 2001 at 20:31:24 (PDT)

Claire: I take it upon myself to say "Greetings" and that I hope you will enjoy this site. Do feel free to visit often, and do not allow yourself to be deterred by the treatment of me that you see here. You have heard of an alter ego--you may wish to think of me as an alter Eamon.

Many thanks for your kind words. I remain, etc.

Your obedient servant,

Eamon de Valera
- Tuesday, April 03, 2001 at 18:53:50 (PDT)

Claire <claire_mcgrath@campus.ie>
Came across the site by accident. Just to say, as a historian with a high regard for E. de V.: yikes! ;-D , - Tuesday, April 03, 2001 at 11:01:35 (PDT)

The afternoon sun blazed in a cerulean sky and poured its white heat into the small beachfront cafe. The owner flicked a towel lazily at the dust motes floating over the bar and watched the busboy heft a loaded plastic bin of used crockery to take to the kitchen. The cafe's sole customer - a middle-aged man with flowing black hair and a perfectly shaped beard and mustache dressed entirely in black - ignored the activity and stared moodily into his coffee. Suddenly his head jerked up and he stared out the window with furrowed brow. In the distance, like a basso profundo bumblebee, came the dull sound of a motorcycle engine. It gradually grew louder and reached a crescendo before stopping abruptly outside the cafe. The man stood up and wiped his palms on his napkin.

Footsteps tapped along the stone-flagged walkway and the door swung open. The busboy looked over and almost dropped his bin. The cafe owner stared with his jaw hanging open. The black-haired man glared at both of them, then stepped forward to greet the stunning woman who entered. She was clad from head to toe in black leather, from her spike-heeled boots to the collar of her jacket. She cradled her helmet under one arm. Long tawny, not-quite-blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Huge blue eyes swept the room and took in everything with one glance; one warm smile pushed the temperature up another twenty degrees. The busboy leaned against the closest table as if his legs could no longer support him. The woman examined him closely and winked at him.

"Joya! You're late." The man barked possessively. "What are you looking at?"

"Just the scenery." Her smile deepened and the busboy flushed a deep red as he scrambled out of the room, just steps in front of the advancing customer. "I like the scenery at the beach. Hello George. Sorry I kept you waiting."

The man harrumphed loudly and turned to the owner. "Another coffee for me and the lady will have a mint tea."

"You remembered." She slid her arm through his and allowed herself to be steered to the table in the farthest corner at the very back of the room. "It's been a long time. I thought you'd forget."

He resumed his chair and watched her settle in. "I remember - everything!"

"That's so sweet." She made a moue with her lips. "I missed you so much on my trip. It was so lonely sometimes I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking that the script will be finished and we could start as soon as I got back."

George cleared his throat. "Well, there's been some delays. Nothing major, nothing that can't be overcome. But unfortunately delays."

"Oh." The moue turned into a pout. They were silent as the owner brought their drinks and set them down. She watched as George paid and the owner retreated. "So we're no further along."

"Well, I wouldn't say that." George watched her stir honey into her tea. "We know the broad outlines and we know how it all starts. But the development needs work, no argument about that."

Joya licked her spoon. "Perhaps it's a good idea I came back then. If Rickman Admirer hands over what she's got, I can start to flesh it out."

"Yes. Flesh. That's what I - uh, that is, that's what the story needs." George swallowed at the sound of the word.

Joya gestured with her cup. "We have to establish that George and Joya have reached another level in their relationship. They've grown as individuals. They are part of a team now. And that's bound to change how they react to things. We need something to show how much closer they are now." She shifted in her seat and moved the chair closer to his. One hand disappeared under the table and landed on his thigh.

"How -" George croaked, swallowed hard and tried again. "How are we going to do that?"

Joya smiled. "I've got some ideas. Trust me." She patted his leg and then removed her hand. George immediately jerked his chair closer until it bumped against hers. She seemed not to notice and checked her watch instead. "Look at the time! I've got to get going. Get the script from Rickman Admirer and we'll start after Easter. Now be a dear and walk me to my bike."

The owner and the busboy, now recovered the use of his limbs, watched as the pair left the cafe. At the door, they turned around and the woman smiled at them both. The man frowned worse than before and pointedly slammed the door behind him.
Magda
Still waiting..., - Monday, April 02, 2001 at 13:03:25 (PDT)

FOF lunchroom:

"All right, Mary Anne-what are you up to?"

Mary Anne’s gaze is as blue and serene as a summer sky. "Up to? Why, what makes you think I’m up to anything?"

"Look, haven’t you figured it out by now? That innocent act only works with Christopher-"

"And not always with him," chuckles Mary Anne. "You’re right."

"I am, am I? Well, c’mon, then. Give!"

Mary Anne watches as The Director draws nearer, then stops to speak with Sandy and Alexander Dane at another table. A few steps, then another pause for a conference with Dev.

Mary Anne, meanwhile, touches her lips daintily with her napkin, and then deftly tosses the napkin across her plate, concealing the half-wreck of her slice of cheesecake. The conspicuously chocolate-stained fork, however, is still visible.

"Remember what we said about Mistral’s strong personality?"

Cindie nods, watching in amusement as Mary Anne keeps her eyes discreetly fixed on The Director.

"Well," continues Mary Anne, "The Director’s another example of that. One of the finest men I’ve ever known-certainly the best boss I’ve ever had. But he’s another one of these types who thinks he has only to say a thing, and it is. He thinks my eating habits aren’t very healthy . . ." A sidelong glance at the crumpled napkin, and a sly grin. "And he’s probably right about that. But when he told me to go and see Jutta, I’m sure he was thinking that she was going to make me swear off chocolate and cheesecake and things like that, just because that’s what he thinks I should do." A pause. "Well, I think his views require a little . . . modification."

"How’d it go with Jutta, by the way?" whispers Cindie hastily, seeing that The Director is headed straight for them. "You are all right, aren’t you?"

"Fine. Just fine," murmurs Mary Anne. "Thanks. But now, I’m going to be even better."

The Director is beside the table. "Cindie," with a nod and a friendly smile. "Mary Anne."

"Good afternoon, sir," replies Mary Anne, slowly lifting her head and turning the full force of that blue gaze upon him, as Cindie quickly reaches for her teacup and raises it to her lips to conceal her smile. Clearly, not even The Director is proof against that look; he stands and stares for a moment, but even as Cindie watches him he tenses warily, though the smile does not leave his face.

"So, Mary Anne. Are you feeling better today? How was your appointment with Jutta?"

"It went very well, sir. I think she’ll be a real asset to us."

"I’m pleased to hear it." A pause. "So . . . what did she say?"

"Oh, she examined me and asked me some questions, and made a few suggestions." Mary Anne sighs. "You know how it is, sir; it isn’t always what you might like to do, but it’s best to follow your doctor’s advice."

"True." The Director’s eyes flicker toward the napkin-covered plate, taking note of the fork, and Cindie can see his right hand clench slightly; she wonders whether he is even conscious of it. Clearly, he would like to lift that napkin and . . .

But that would be too blatant. The Director is on his guard now, and that lifted eyebrow conveys that he doesn’t find the prospect all that unpleasant; he has matched wits with Mary Anne before, and he makes a point of allowing his hand to rest on the table, near one corner of the napkin.

"So, Mary Anne, just what did Jutta . . . suggest?"

Mary Anne does not so much as twitch, even as The Director’s fingers inch nearer to the napkin. "Some exercise, for stress relief; she thought long walks would be good. And she set up some massage appointments for me."

The two gazes intersect: azure with amber, both alight with good humour over the sort of mock-battle for which they have become notorious. Finally, The Director withdraws his hand, without touching napkin or plate. "Very well, then," he replies. "See that you keep those appointments. And keep me posted on anything else Jutta suggests."

Mary Anne lowers her head-which, as Cindie knows, might convey demure acquiescence. Then again, it might convey a valiant attempt to keep from bursting out laughing.

With that, The Director is gone, and both women give way to their repressed giggles.

"Owwww," Mary Anne finally sighs. "I thought I was going to hurt myself, holding that in. In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny--Of course you realize, this means war."

"And here I am with a ringside seat."

Mary Anne glances at her watch. "Speaking of war, he will declare war on me if I’m late for my next scenes, especially after this. I have to run." She gathers up the debris of her snack. "But I’ll be interested to hear how things go with Mistral. Let me know, will you?"

Cindie nods, and Mary Anne hurries off to dispose of her utensils and get back to the set. It would tempting to sit for a while longer, staring down into an empty teacup, but Cindie resists the temptation and gets to her feet, though she can’t think how she is going to get any work done that afternoon.

The weekend.

Mistral.

What to do, what to do . . .

MA--"A kind of merry war . . ."
And so, en garde to The Director! ;-), - Sunday, April 01, 2001 at 18:30:07 (PDT)

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