*********************************************************************
                            War 7 File 2
*********************************************************************

Vaqueras Dig The Scene
Location: By the River Don, Somewhere in Toronto
Time: July 28th, 12:01 am.
by Sherri L. Campbell & Torrey Harris

<Insert sheepish expression> I left out a Vaquera in the list on our
first post - also add Pat Casey. Oh, and Toby B. is not on our loop.
oh well...
---------------------------------------------------------
DISCLAIMER: YOU - READ THIS! We asked for and received special
dispensation from the War Mistress for the attack at the end of this
post. DO NOT DO THIS AT HOME boys & girls... it isn't common in the
wars... it just happens to be necessary for someone else.
----------------------

A figure stood in the shadows of a large tree, observing the activity
down on the river bank. It was obvious that something was going on;
but what, exactly, was open to question.
                  * * * * *
The Vaqueros stood loosely grouped on the bank of the River Don.  They
were nervously watching as Torrey finished pouring a large circle of
salt around the small mounds on the river bank. The small murmur of
voices stopped when Torrey stood straight.  Sherri stepped over to
Torrey's side.

"Torrey, are you sure this will work?  What on earth is the salt for? 
And, how do we know which mound is Vachon's?" Sherri was surveying the
ground worriedly, noticing as an aside that one mound looked...
*fresh* and ... *muddy*?!!!

Torrey finished wiping her hands off on her jeans.  "Oh, come on,
Sherri.  We're dealing with a vampire here. They are fairly hard to
kill.  As to the salt?" She looked beyond Sherri to the nervous clumps
of Vaqueras. "I'm just trying to keep everyone calm.  I have no idea
what salt will or won't do, but at least it is keeping everyone back
from the grave site.  As to which mound is Vachon's?" Leaning over,
she picked up a small rock on one mound. Turning it over, she showed
Sherri the small "V" etched on the underside. "Tracy was thorough, she
marked his grave." Turning toward the others, she raised her voice.
"Okay, guys, that's part one.  Now, I need volunteers for the
shoveling."

Amidst the renewed mumble of discussion, one figure stepped forward.
"I'll dig! I'm good at it, after all, I'm an archaeologist." Debra E.
strode over to the pile of shovels, and snatching one up with
practiced ease, approached the grave, carefully stepping over the
circle of salt. Surveying the site, she scratched an outline in the
dirt, and began to dig.  Cindy B. and Crystal G. grabbed shovels and
went to help.  6' 2" Jay Diemert looked at the three diggers, none of
whom topped 5'6", and shook his head.  "I think I'll give you a hand,
ladies!" Taking a shovel, the muscular Vaquero with long, dark, curly
hair strode to their sides, and began digging furiously.

Sherri looked at Torrey, and shook her head. "Nope, don't look at me,
I'm an archaeologist, but hopelessly inept with a shovel!"

Torrey just laughed. "Okay, Sherri, why don't you post some pickets
and keep us from getting arrested for vandalism, that's a much better
use for my teniente anyway!"

Turning to the group, Sherri picked out a few look-outs. Detailing
Sarah and Jenn to keep an eye out upriver, and she sent Lisa Marie and
Jerimi to keep a look-out downriver. Knowing Apache was at home with
nature, Sherri asked her to be a roving sentry.  As the Vaqueras
headed out on patrol, Sherri looked around, and realized that the rest
of the preparations needed to be taken care of, as well.

"Carla, could you go to the van and get that crate of bottles? Nancy,
why don't you go with her, and fetch something back to put the stuff
on."  It was better to have everyone in pairs until this was finished.

Carla and Nancy returned quickly, Carla hauling the crate of bottles,
Nancy with a second crate to set them on.  Torrey gestured towards the
shade of a large tree upwind from the grave. "I think it would be best
if the blood is upwind!"

The figure in the shade of the large tree had faded back when the
Vaqueras were setting the blood on the crate, and opening the bottles.
Once they were finished setting up and they returned to observing the
dig, the figure drifted forward again.

Jay and Debra were making great progress with the pit, Cindy and
Crystal were eagerly helping, although they were not used to using
shovels. Suddenly there was a clink as a shovel struck something.

Everyone froze.

The ground suddenly erupted, throwing Debra, Cindy, Jay, and Crystal
aside, and away from the pit. With a sound of ripping canvas, Vachon
appeared.  He moved rapidly, heading for the blood scent.  The rapidly
moving vampire ran into the silent observer under the tree. With a
blood-curdling snarl, he pounced.

Torrey yelled wildly. "Come on, we've got to stop him!" With shaking
legs, the Vaqueros ran to the melee.  Piling madly on, they were able
to peel Vachon off the still body. Thinking quickly, Bonnie grabbed an
open bottle of blood, and poured it into his snarling mouth.  As the
snarling receded, Bonnie snatched another bottle, and handed it to
him.

The Vaqueras began to crawl to their feet, as Torrey leaned over the
body under the tree. Looking up, she shivered. "She's hurt! Fetch Kat
from the vans!" Jenn, having returned from lookout duty upon hearing
the uproar, sprinted for the vans.

Torrey looked at the unconscious figure; she saw a woman who was 5' 4
3/4" tall, 180 pounds, brown, naturally curly hair, with wire-rimmed
glasses slightly askew on her nose. She quickly applied pressure to
the the woman's bloody throat.

As Charlyne and Bonnie led Vachon over to one of the vans, handing him
a new bottle of blood as he finished each bottle, the other Vaqueras
were quickly backfilling the pit. Some of the others were picking
everything up, quickly smudging the circle of salt into oblivion.


*********************************************************************


The Phantom Emerges
by Cousin Erik LeBeau
TIME : Sun July 28th  Approx 12:30 am

'What am I doing in Toronto?  What am I doing in Toronto?'  He
repeated it like a mantra, as if continually asking the question would
somehow provide an answer.  He hadn't been in this city for more than
a few hours and already the attacks had begun.

Erik was not a hopeless romantic by choice, but through the influence
of several of his now ex-girlfriends, he had been drawn kicking and
screaming into that state of mind.  Nothing, however, could have
prepared him for the rose-petal-and-bad-poetry assault he had just
suffered through.

It was low.  It was very low.  The sonnets were bad enough, but when
the invading Nick & NatPackers had started in with the haiku, he had
quite literally passed out.

"It is well that war is so terrible -- we would grow too fond of it,"
he said to no one in particular as he unpacked.  Having finished that,
he began his next task.  He set the makeup kit on the sink in front of
the mirror and pulled an old white t-shirt over his black silk button-
down. No sense messing *that* up.

The base was first.  He sponged it onto the right side of his face,
giving the skin a slightly reddish tone.  Latex next.  He lifted the
prosthetic skin from its holder and applied it to his face with a
little spirit gum.  Erik blended the base tones into the new
appliance, creating the appearance that the latex was, in fact, his
own skin.  The last step was the final detailing of the appliance, an
illusion created by a little stage blood and red greasepaint.

Once the stage blood had "congealed", he powdered the whole makeup job
down so it would set and then added the final touch: the white mask
that would cover the right side of his face, obscuring the whole job. 
'It's ironic,' he thought, 'that I would spend so much time doing
something that I was just planning to cover anyway.'  Erik shrugged
and reminded himself that the original Phantom had been unmasked, and
the same could happen to him.  Shock value was important.

He carefully removed the now smudged t-shirt and threw it into the
corner he had designated for dirty laundry.  Adding the black and red
cape to his ensemble, he made his way back to the main meeting area.

The Phantom had arrived.


*********************************************************************


WHO's Been Hurt????!!!!! 1/2
Location: By the River Don, Somewhere in Toronto
Time: 1:00 am, July 28th
by Sherri L. Campbell & Torrey Harris

See disclaimer on previous post (Vaqueras Dig the Scene.)
-------------------------------------

Kat and Jenn came running back down through the trees.  Kat
immediately knelt by Torrey at the the injured person's side.  Leaning
over, she checked the vitals as best she could without any equipment
with her.

"Where's the ambulance?  She's got a lacerated throat, but I need a
flashlight to see better. She appears to have blood loss." Kat was
brisk and forthright, her braid waving sharply in response to her
quick movements.

"Kat, we can't call an ambulance! What about Vachon? How would we
explain this?"

Kat looked over at Torrey. "She needs expert assistance!"

Torrey grabbed the woman's identification.  Grabbing the "In Case of
Emergency Card", she shone her flashlight on it. "It says to call
Sarah Chodrow in an emergency.  Handing the card to Ann S. she sent
her off to call Sarah.

The Vaqueros stood in shock.  They had not realized that anyone else
was in the vicinity; not even their pickets had spotted anyone.
Torrey looked up from assisting Kat, and realized how strange it would
look if there were 28 people standing around an accident site.
"Sherri! Quick - get most of the Vaqueros out of here! Have them take
the other vans!"

Sherri spun and grabbed the nearest body. "Uh.. Gay! Quick, take the
keys and get up to the black van! You know the way back to the
church?"

Nodding, Gay E. grabbed the keys and headed out at a run. Quickly
pointing at the nearest group of people, Sherri waved them after Gay.
Looking around frantically, she spotted Katya.

"Katya! Take the red van, drive back to the church, take this bunch
with you!"  Katya yelled an acknowledgement and ran.  The second group
of Vaqueros took off after her. Waving the third group at the yellow
van, she sent Lisa-Marie M. with the keys.

"Okay, Torrey, I've sent all but you, me, Kat, Apache, Bonnie, and
Vachon back to the church. What else do we need to do?"

Torrey looked up. "Do you know who this is?"  Her voice was shaking.

Sherri looked at the woman lying on the ground. Shaking her head, she
replied. "Why, no, I've never seen her before. Who is she?"

Torrey shook her head in disbelief. "It's Diane Echelbarger! The
unaffiliated listee. How on earth did she get here? What is she doing
here?"


*********************************************************************


WHO's Been Hurt????!!!!! 2/2
Location: By the River Don, unspecifed location
Time: July 28th? 1:10 am
by Torrey Harris & Sherri Campbell

see disclaimer on "Vaqueras Dig the Scene"
This follows directly after Who's Been Hurt????!!!!! 1/2
-----------------------

The Vaqueros had scattered to their vans and sped off into the night
leaving just the small group around the still body of Diane E.

"Give me a flashlight!" Kat yelled to the group. Grabbing the light
handed to her she started to look over Diane E. looking for any major
injuries. "Move your hand, Torrey, let me see her neck." Torrey and
Kat both looked at the bloody area of Diane's neck and were terrified
to see that there were in fact bites. Two of them.

"I...." Torrey said, as she looked at Diane E.. "What are we going to
do? She's nearly exsanquinated!"

"What do we do now?" Apache asked looking around, from her nearby
watch post.

"He bit her!" Torrey gasped, "What if she..."

Kat cut her off "No, look. She's unconscious, but I don't think it's
that bad. I don't think he had time to take too much blood before you
pulled him off."

Looking down at Diane E., Torrey agreed "She still will need some
help, we just can't leave her here. Sherri, are you sure someone is
coming for her?"

"Yes, Ann got Sarah on the phone and she said that she was on the way
right now to pick her up and take her to the hospital."

"O.K., where is Vachon?" Torrey asked looking around.

"He's right here........." Bonnie answered, looking around. "Well, he
was right here a minute ago."

"He's gone?!?" Torrey shrieked. "Oh, My God! The Church! We just sent
everyone back to the Church! He's going to go back there and find it
packed with people he doesn't know and go nuts!"

Kat grabbed Torrey's shoulder. "Go!" she yelled. "I will stay here
with Diane until Sarah shows up. You get back to the church, maybe he
didn't go straight there."

Looking down at Diane, Torrey hesitated, then looked back to Kat.
"Don't leave her!" Spinning around she jumped to her feet and yelled
"Move it!" to the small group around her. As a group they headed for
the last van in a dead run. Throwing the keys to Bonnie, they piled
into the van. With a screech of tires, the van sped away, throwing
Apache and Torrey backward in the van.

Clawing her way back up to the front of the van, Torrey growled, "When
I find him I'm going to kill him!"

"You can't kill him, we just unkilled him." Bonnie said as she speed
down the deserted street.

Holding on to the dashboard, Sherri turned to Torrey. "Don't worry, I
know a way to keep him in the grave." She mimicked "Salt, sheeeezz,
Torrey!"

Torrey turned to give a sharp reply, when Bonnie took a corner a
little too fast throwing Torrey into the back of the van again.
Instead of getting up she just laid there. /I haven't even been here
twelve hours!/ Torrey whined to herself just as she went skidding
across the van yet again. "Someone shoot me, please?"


*********************************************************************


A Call in the Night
By Sarah Chodrow, Diane Echelbarger,  AJ Schaafsma, Lana Soward,
and Spifff, all unaffiliated

Sunday, 7/28, 1:15am (immediately after "WHO'S Been Hurt????!!!!!, pt
2")

Spifff, Lana, AJ, and Sarah entered the apartment quietly, in case
Diane was still asleep.  They were immediately accosted by the two
cats, who began sniffing the smokey smell from the club that clung to
their clothes.

"I thought we left them in the bedroom with Diane?"  Sarah protested
as she dug out her allergy medication.

"We did," Spifff agreed, "but the door's open.  She must be awake.
Diane?  You OK?"

"No one here" mused Spifff as she peered into the bedroom.

AJ noticed a piece of paper on the kitchen counter.  "Found a love
letter," she said as she scanned Diane's writing.   "She's gone out
for something to eat.  After a migraine like that, she must be
ravenous."

The phone drowned out the others' comments, and Spifff snatched it
from its cradle.

"Hello, Lothar's body massage, may we help you?"

"Sarah Chodrow?"

"Oops, sorry, hold on." Turning red, Spifff put a hand over the phone.
"It's for you, Sarah."

"Me?"  Sarah frowned, puzzled, and took the receiver.  "Hello?"

"Sarah?"

"Yes?"

"You need to get down here right away.  Diane Echelbarger's been hurt.
Bring an ambulance."

"What?  Wait!  Who are you?"

"No time to talk.  She's at..." the voice read off an address, which
Sarah hastily scribbled on the note Diane had left.  "Hurry."

The line went dead.

"Sure, use the note.  No worries."  AJ tried not to look insulted.

Sarah gulped, then turned to the others.  "Diane's hurt!"

The others erupted into excited questions, but quickly organized
themselves.

"Spifff," Sarah asked, "How do you call an ambulance in Toronto? And
can we use your car, Lana?"

"Sure," Lana agreed.  "Where's the map, so we can find it?"

Sarah and Lana hunched over the map of Toronto and quickly found the
location while Spifff dialled 911 to dispatch an ambulance.

Grabbing the cellular phone that Lana had gotten from the rental car
agency, Sarah and Lana were out the door.

AJ opted to stay in the apartment with Spifff.  "Make sure to check in
when you know something, 'kay?" she called after the others.

Then she and Spifff sat and stared at the phone, waiting for it to
ring again.


The ambulance arrived before they did, and the paramedics were loading
Diane's still form into the vehicle as they hurried up. Bystanders
stood around the scene gawking.

"Excuse me!" Sarah cried.  "We're the ones who called you.  Is she all
right?"

"She's stable," the first paramedic replied.  "The doctor who found
her did a good job, but she's lost a lot of blood.  Looks like she was
bit by a dog or something.  Nasty neck wound.  We're taking her to the
hospital now."

"Neck wound?"  Lana and Sarah exchanged worried glances.  "Can I come
along?" Sarah asked.  "I've got her medical power of attorney."

"Sure, hop in," the man agreed.

"Call the NatPack," Sarah whispered before climbing after him.
"They'll know what to do."

Lana nodded and watched the ambulance leave before pulling out her
cell phone.  Quickly she called the others back at the apartment and
briefed them on the situation.  They agreed to meet at the hospital.
They also managed to dig up a phone number for the NatPack in Toronto.

After leaving a message on the 'Pack's machine, Lana climbed back into
her car and headed toward the hospital, wondering which vampire had
attacked Diane.

Whoever it was better have a damn good excuse.


*********************************************************************


Psychotic Reaction (1/1)

Back at the old church
Sunday July 28th, ~1:30am

By Bonnie Pardoe
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vachon dropped from the air in front of the back door of the church.
Vague memories of biting into flesh and having a bottle practically
shoved down his throat flashed through his mind.  He wasn't quite sure
what the hell had happened.

Down in the basement, Vachon curled up in the corner, and tried to
sleep. \\Being dead really takes it out of you!\\ he thought to
himself as he closed his eyes.

* * * * *

Not too long after, the first mini-van load of Vaqueros spilled into
the condemned church -- all were pretty worked up after what had
happened down at the river.

"So where did everyone else go?  I thought the other vans were right
behind us."  Lisa-Marie said as she plopped down in one of the pews.

"I saw some of them pull up to one of those all-night markets," Sarah
volunteered.

"Good!  I think we could all use something to eat and drink right
about now," Jay piped in.

"Yeah, we really should have stopped for dinner on the way to the
river," Shannon added as she also took a seat in one of the pews.

Just then Vachon, still covered in dirt, appeared in the door way.  He
glowered at them -- they were noisy and they were in *his* church.

The small group descended upon their idol, all talking at once.
"Vachon!" "Are you okay?"  "I can't believe you're here!"  "This is so
cool!"  "Can we do anything for you?"

"GET OUT!"  Vachon boomed at them.

The Vaqueros stood, staring, unblinking, at their vampire.  Vachon's
eyes began to glow yellow.  He took a slow step toward the intruders;
they slowly backed up.  Vachon stared them down, backing them into a
corner.

Lisa-Marie, being the quick thinking blonde that she was, grabbed a
bottle of blood and held it out to him.  Vachon snatched it out of her
hand and ripped the cork out with his teeth.  He brought the bottle up
to his lips, but stopped -- he sniffed at the contents.

"What the hell is this?  Swine!"  Vachon threw the bottle to the
floor, splattering the terrified Vaqueros with blood and shards of
green glass. Stephanie, at the back of the crowd, tugged on Shannon's
arm and they stole off unnoticed.  "I've been dead for god knows how
long and you give me pig's blood?!  Do I look like Nick Knight to
you?!"  Vachon ranted sarcastically at the weak-kneed group.

Heather blurted out before thinking, "Well, you never did tell your
mortal girlfriend you loved her."

"And I bet Janette wouldn't give you the time of day, either," the
stylish Gay piped in.

"Oh, and I bet someone has a bottle of peroxide you could have," the
dark-haired Dona Nancy added.

Jay, too, had to assist, "I have a black silk shirt you could borrow -
-after you take a shower."

"Who the hell are you people?"  Vachon growled, not amused by their
pathetic attempt at humor.

"We're the Vaqueros!  We're the ones who dug you up!" they all
announced, not quite in unison, but Vachon was able to make out most
of what they said.

Just then, Shannon and Stephanie returned with each with a dust-
covered bottle in their hand.  "Vachon?"  Shannon spoke slowly and
calmly.  "We found these for you."  They held out the bottles to him,
though neither took a step closer.

"We think they're human, but it's hard to tell."  Stephanie added.

Vachon took a step toward them, his eyes still feral, and the two
Vaqueras took an unconscious step backward.  Just then Torrey, Apache,
Bonnie and, Sherri burst in through the front door.  "Have you guys
seen...," but there was no need to finish the sentence; the one they
sought was there, intimidating their compatriots.

"Vachon!" the Vaquero leader yelled at the irate vampire.

He turned yellow eyes upon her.  Slowly, recognition sunk in and his
eyes faded back to that fathomless brown.  "Torrey?  What the hell is
going on here?"  He stepped calmly over to the smaller group
containing a few faces he recognized.

"Vachon.  It's kind of hard to explain.  We dug you up tonight and
things got a bit out of hand."

"And you couldn't bother to plan ahead and get me something better
than pig's blood?"

"What?  Pig's blood?  Damn that Merc!  It was supposed to be human!
Really," Sherri interrupted.

"Here.  We think we found a couple of old bottles of human blood."
Stephanie and Lisa-Marie asserted helpfully.

Apache took the bottles from them.  "Come on, Vachon, let's get you a
little privacy," the dark-haired poet said as she motioned toward the
hallway. Torrey took his arm and began to pull him out of the chapel.

Vachon took a step, but then pulled his arm away from Torrey.  He
walked over to the young woman who stood alone by the front door,
"You're the one who shoved that bottle of blood down my throat."

She nodded, her ample curls bouncing more playfully than she felt.

"Thank you."  He said quietly as he reached out to stroke her cheek.

She pulled back from his hand as if it were a flaming stake.  "You're
welcome," Bonnie said in a flat, not-very-sincere, tone.  Vachon
stared at her for a moment; he cocked his head slightly to the side,
confused by her attitude.  With those soulful brown eyes and his head
tilted like that, he look amazing like her German Shepherd -- she
would have laughed but she didn't.

Sherri took Vachon's arm and lead him out of the room.

Moments after, the rest of the Vaqueros arrived, ladened with grocery
bags full of sodas, juice, cookies, fruit, bread, peanut butter, and
cold cuts. Thankfully, the first van full of Vaqueros descended upon
them -- all talking at once -- telling them about their near-death
encounter with Vachon as they tore through the bags of food.

No one noticed Bonnie as she picked up her tote bag and silently
walked off toward the back of the church.


*********************************************************************


Sightseeing
by Cousin Erik LeBeau
Time: 7/28/96  early morning (various times)
Place: Various

1:30 AM -- Vachon's church

A vanload of Vaqueras pulled up to the church, very shaken from the
attack they had just witnessed.  The tension was only heightened by
the appearance of the newly-revived Vachon, ravenous and furious.
Such was the emotional level that few, if any, noticed the scant flash
of a white mask watching from across the street.

2:00 AM -- The Raven

Depressed over the shambles of the club they had once called home, the
Ravenettes stumbled around the Raven, trying to repair it.  Then came
the arrival of an attractive singing virtuoso looking for a job, and
spirits lifted, the cause renewed and refreshed.  And, not half a
block away, a Phantom looked on, with scarce a trace of not being
there.

2:30 AM -- NatPack HQ

Newly installed, the NatPacks security cameras recieved their first
test as they tracked a figure in black, a splash of white across his
face, step just into the view of the camera.  The figure stood almost
unnaturally still as the camera trained itself on him.  He looked up
into the face of the lens, and then, whipping the cape around his
face, the camera lost him in the surrounding bushes.

3:00 AM -- Nick's loft

Just outside the window, those Knighties present could see in the
corner of a streetlamp, a shadowy form in black, complete with a cape
and... a mask?  The figure waved a gloved hand toward the loft, and
faded into the shadows and was gone.

3:30 AM -- CERK

He entered the station, passing the security checks, and joined
several of the Cousins on a nearby couch.

"And just where have you been, young man?" Marg asked in jest.

Erik shrugged.  "Oh, just doing a little sightseeing."


*********************************************************************


RUNNING DOWN A DREAM
The Old Church
Sunday, July 28th, not long after 2 am

By Bonnie Pardoe (with input from Cynthia, and special thanks to Jane)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonnie finally managed to sneak away from the herd of Vaqueros.  She
took a long, deep breath and reveled in the stillness of the small,
back room. \\Another all-nighter -- so what's new?  Well, it *is* good
to be back in Toronto,\\ Bonnie thought to herself.  \\And thank
goodness it's warm this time!\\

She started flipping through the pages of the telephone book she had
previously absconded with.  \\Since I'm gonna be here for a while this
time, I'm gonna make the best of it -- war or no war!\\  She quickly
ruffled through the pages until she reached the 'N' section, then she
ran her finger over the page.  \\Newspapers... NewsRacks... Nickel...
Nightclubs.\\ "Ah!" \\R... R... Raven.\\ "Ah ha!"  Bonnie wrote down
the address on a slip of paper.

"Excellent," she said, unconsciously imitating a certain dark-haired
vampire she had recently assisted in resuscitating.

Now, all the young woman had to do was get dress.  Bonnie plopped her
only piece of luggage on top of a crate and unzipped it.  \\Next time
*I'm* bring more stuff, so I don't end up carrying everybody else's
crap!\\  Out of the tote bag, she produced a long-sleeved, dark blood-
red, crushed-velvet dress and a pair of black thigh-high stockings.
She slipped on the dress, with it's very flattering almost-off-the-
shoulder neckline, and then pulled on the stockings.  Bonnie laced up
her Doc Martins, and then took a quick couple of strides across the
room just to check that not too much thigh showed when she moved.  A
quick run of her fingers through her naturally-curly hair -- the only
styling method which didn't either destroy the curls or turn them into
something reminiscent of cotton candy -- and she was all set.

Bonnie pulled two tapes out of the front pocket of her pack.  The
first one -- a Tom Petty compilation tape of her own making -- she
kissed for luck and slipped back inside the pocket of her black
leather jacket.  The second one -- her club audition tape, just in
case they weren't set up for a live audition -- she tossed in the
folder containing her sheet music.  So, with fingers crossed and a
song in her heart, Bonnie grabbed her jacket and the folder of music,
and snuck out the back door.

* * * * *

Cynthia leaned against the bar, her head resting against her left hand
as she tapped her pen against the pad of legal-sized yellow paper.
\\There is just too damn much to do before tomorrow night!\\

She was tired and the dust was getting to her to!  Standing up
straight, she decided she needed a break.  She looked about for Jane,
but she was no where in sight.  Sighing, Cynthia headed toward the
front door.

The door creaked as she pulled it open.  \\Damn, another thing to
remember to fix!\\  The cool air swept over her as she stepped out
into the moonlight.  The air was so refreshing after the stuffy, dusty
club.  The dark-haired Raven took a deep breath -- there was a tinge
of sea in the air which reminded her a bit of home back on the West
Coast.

As she paced leisurely in front of the club, she noticed someone
approaching from the end of the block.  As the figure approached,
Cynthia determined it was a woman.  \\It's a little late to be bar
hopping, and *we're* not even open yet.\\

Just then the young woman stepped into the light of the street lamp
and Cynthia immediately recognized her friend from back home.
"Bonnie?  What are you doing here?"

"Cynthia!  Am I glad to see you.  It's been a hellava day!"  The two
friends hugged and smiled at each other, both pleased and surprised.
"Does this mean that Janette is back in charge?"

Cynthia nodded, a smug smile played over her lips.

"Good!  Say, can you guys use a singer?"

"Sure can!  Whom do you have in mind?"  Cynthia lovingly teased her
friend.

"Me!  I can sing, ya know," Bonnie replied indignantly.

Cynthia raised an eyebrow at Bonnie, which caused both to flash back
to that trip to the airport last spring when Bonnie had treated
Cynthia and Jane to her rendition of 'The Vachon Song' -- a torturous
song on the best of days. The friends laughed and fell into each
other's arms again.

"Come on inside, Bon, and we'll see what we can do?"


*********************************************************************


A Crusade of Knighties
by Perri Smith and Catherine Boone

Toronto, Quebec
July 28, 1996, 10:13 a.m.
Nick's Loft

This takes place after Getting the Show on the Road.

It was a solemn group of Knighties who assembled in the loft, huddled
on and around various pieces of furniture and luggage as if they'd
never left the last time. Cath and Perri had spent a little time
finishing the cleanup Myra Schanke had started -- the last of the
fingerprint powder was gone, and the furniture was uncovered, at
least.  It would still be quite a while though, before it became
comfortable enough to call home.  Lit by what few candles they could
find, the room was filled with shadows, real and imagined.

Huddled was the right word, Perri reflected; while not the compulsive
huggers the NatPack were (Perri herself being accepted), the Knighties
were grouped in small clumps, apparently taking comfort from each
other, the first time they'd been able to be together since Nick had
left. Perri sighed. The next ten minutes were not going to be fun.

"Nick's alive and fine," she started bluntly.

Cath glared at her. "That was real tactful."

"You can think of a better way to tell them?" Cath started to answer,
then stopped, yielding the floor. Perri smiled with grim triumph. "He
asked us to come to Toronto to do him a favor. We haven't been able to
yet, which is why the two of us called all of you."

"Wait a minute." Predictably, Amy Denton popped in first. "Nick *is*
alive, like we thought, he just didn't bother to tell us?"

"That's about right," Cath said neutrally.

There was a moment of silence, then their voices arose in a din of
accusation toward Nick's intelligence and antecedents, defense of
Nick's intelligence and antecedents, and general havoc.  Perri and
Cath, remembering their own swearing binge, sat it out patiently.

Until the yelling threatened to turn into violence, anyway.

"All right, that's enough!" Perri pitched her voice to carry over the
din with long experience. "It doesn't matter why he took off on us,
and I guarantee you'll all get an explanation and a chance to yell at
him. For now, we have to worry about finding that damn book."

"What book?" Maryann asked from the bench of the piano.

"Nick's little bl-- *brown* book." Cath grinned as Perri went on. "The
one with his bank numbers and contacts in it."

"Oh," Vicky said. "That book."

Perri rolled her eyes and turned it over to Cath. "He lost it when he
was scrambling to get out of here the night he and Natalie
disappeared," she picked up smoothly, "and he sent us here to find
it."

"But...?" Dottie asked suspiciously.

"But we can't find the stupid thing. Not here, not at the station, not
in the Caddy."

Allie piped up from the back, wearing her customary wry smile.  "Did
you check under the fridge?"

"Ha ha.  You buckin' for dumpster duty, or what?"  Allie wrinkled her
nose and looked innocently at the walls.

"So anyway, that's the deal.  Now, knowing how much territory Nick
covers over the course of a day, by car and by air, that little gem
could be anywhere in the city.  We need to make a systematic search,
going over places he frequents first, going on a street-by-street
search if nothing else.  We *need* to find this thing, guys," Cath
emphasized.

Perri piped in, "It's got his whole life in there.  If some random
schmoe should lay hands on it, they could ruin Nick, several times
over."

They looked to see that everyone understood the urgency of their task.
They shared a glance, satisfied, and Perri reclaimed the floor.  "All
right. We'll spend tonight getting unpacked and settled in, go on a
grocery run and all that.  It'll allow for some of us to get over our
jet lag and get some food in our stomachs while we all catch up.  It's
been a while." She smiled, but it suddenly faded to a look of grim
determination.

"Tomorrow morning, we get to work."

A pause.  "Perri -- it's already tomorrow."

"Don't bother me with details.  Go to sleep."


*********************************************************************


Battlefield Promotion
by Tigon Diana Hooker

2am-ish EST-28 JUL 1996
Jody's Jet

A few hours later and they were close to landing in Toronto. Tigon had
spent the time playing catch-up...not that there were a lot of facts
so much as rumor and suppositions. One thing she discovered was that
Jody wasn't staying in Toronto with Perry and the WoofPack. She now
ran a private one-plane airline that catered to vampires. It was quite
logical, actually, and she was very in demand by those who often had
to be shipped in steam trunks to get around. As it was she had had to
cancel several paid flights in order to gather the various members of
the pack.

Tigon sat enthralled in the cockpit with her...flying in the cockpit
was too kewl. Jody even let her take the wheel...or whatever the
proper airplane name for the thing was...for a too brief spell. Then
the silence was broken by Jody's casual question, "So, what are you
going to do once you get there?"

"Whatever whoever's in charge says to do, I suppose."

"You're in charge."

It was a good thing that Tigon was no longer holding the wheel.


*********************************************************************


Candid NetCam
by Sharon Himmanen
Time: 7/28/96, 2:30AM, shortly after "Sightseeing"

Sharon clicked on the new link.  She'd never been able to resist those
pages that had cameras hooked up to the internet, and now was no
exception as she sat at the NatPack HQ unable to sleep.  SpamCam had
been down for weeks, a fact she was most disappointed over.  In the
interim she'd contented herself with having an observatory in New
Mexaco take pictures of the Gemini constellation for her every night
for a month.

But that was getting old.

"HostelCam," she said aloud, deciding to follow that particular link. 
It took her to a page that indicatated that they had a camera hooked
up at a local Youth Hostel over on the other side of the city.
"Pretty cool," she added, wishing there'd been something like that
when she'd been traveling in England a decade ago.  It would have been
neat to see yourself on the Net while travelling in a foreign country.
Though considering how dragged out she'd been at the end, not having
widely publicized pictures at the time was probably a Good Thing.
That's when Sharon realized *that's* what the camera was set up for--a
sort of "look at me, ma" joke people here were playing on unsuspecting
foreigners.  It was amusing, she decided, in a cruel way. Almost
worthy of a war.

A picture loaded, and Sharon leaned forward, frowning.

"Weird," she said, deciding that even somewhat innocent things like
this somehow managed to attract freaks.  And this guy was certainly a
freak she mused as she watched the series of frames the camera had
taken in rapid succession.  He stepped out in obvious view of the
camera, his face covered in white greasepaint like he'd just gotten
back from a KISS concert, then he'd pulled the collar of his coat up
like he'd been embarrased by the whole thing, as well he should be,
and made a beeline for the nearest bushes.

It seemed like KISS was suddenly everywhere now, and she wondered
briefly if Jamie was up to something.  But Sharon decided this Jamie
just wasn't that cryptic.  If this was some attack Sharon would know
by now.  No, it was some bizare coincidence.

With a shrug she was suddenly glad she'd decided to avoid PottyCam,
considering the luck she'd had so far this evening.  Instead, she hit
the back button and decided to look for SouvlakiCam.  It had been a
while since she'd visited that particular link and she was rather fond
of it, when all was said and done.


*********************************************************************


An anxiously waited phone call...
By:  AJ Schaafsma & Diane Echelbarger, unaffiliated

2:30 am Sunday 7/28

Spifff yawned hugely as she sank onto the couch.  It wasn't that she
wasn't worried about her friend; she was.   But she'd been awake since
6am and had tromped over half of Toronto as "native guide" for her
friends, and it was beginning to catch up with her.

AJ paced back and forth between the living room and kitchen as they
both waited for the phone to ring.

Time passed.

Slowly, Spifff's eyes closed.....

"A-h'on, a-dha, a-tri, a-ceither, a-coik..."  AJ began to count as she
paced back and forth.  "What's taking them so long?  Enter manic mode.
Nope. Already there.  How long has it been?" Taking a deep breath, she
rambled on, not noticing that Spifff was asleep.

"A sheana bhean-bhochd, cha'n fhalbh thu an nochd...  What?  How about
Am Muilean Dubh?  Faster and faster until I run out of breath.  Tha
nead na circe-fraoich, anns a' mhuileann dubh, 'sa mhuileann dubh..." 
And so it continued...

The phone rang.  AJ jumped towards the phone, and looked blankly at it
while she waited (hand on receiver) for the second ring.  "Spiff,
shouldn't you--"  Only then did she notice that her hostess was
asleep. "It's kinda late don'tcha know..."  AJ reminded herself, and
answered in a midwestern  drawl.

AJ started taking notes as she listened to Lana's account of what
they'd found.  Almost professional, her voice showed no sign of the
manic fit of moments earlier.  Her wrinting was large, and Tuppence
jumped up on the counter and followed the pen's movements with
intelligent interest.

"The NatPack? ... Sure, no prob. ... The blue duffle bag isn't in the
corner. ... Oh! Got it. It was near the closet. ... Okay, X-files
notepad."  AJ gave Lana the phone numbers for for Jennie & Amy, U
Toronto. "Okay honey. Uhh... Yeah, I'm on my way. I'll leave Spiff
note asleep. Err... A note for Spiff, who is asleep."

When off the phone however, she repeated everything, somewhat out of
order to Spiff and the cats.  The fact that Spiff was sound asleep did
not stop her from repeating it all again.

The cats, at least, listened intently.

"Yeah, you're right."  AJ said when Tuppence gave vent to an imperious
"Myow-yow-*yow*!",   "It's late and we should be asleep.  You *can*
run amok while we are awake, ya know."

"Okay Spacelady Spifff, what's next?"  AJ turned to her hostess, who
merely murmured in her sleep and burrowed deeper into the sofa
cushions. AJ scribbled a quick note under the notes from Lana's phone
call, and pinned it to the fridge.  Then she turned to the cats. "Tell
me what. You tell her what's gone on, and give her this when she
wakes. Thanks muchly." She stroked each of the cats under the chin
before grabbing her backpack, checking for her wallet and other
essentials, and locked the door behind her.


*********************************************************************


You're Not Leaving *That* In Here!
By:     Mercenary Cousin Lisa Prince

[timing: early morning 7/28; follows "What Shall We Do With a
Drunken Sailor?"; before "Do You Hear the People Sing?"]

*****************

Mercenary Cousin Lisa was finally falling off to sleep in her
specially constructed war room in the basement of Merc. Central. She
had kicked the workers out a half and hour ago, explaining that there
were more than enough side tunnels and dead ends to prevent anyone
from accidentally stumbling in here on the off chance that they found
one of the hidden outside entrances.

She had turned this one, little, basement, utility room into a four-
room suite that had everything she could ever want or need. The
tunnels were an afterthought really.  She knew that as a split faction
Mercenary/Cousin she would need to keep her dealings with either side
fairly quiet.  This suite offered her that opportunity. Of course, her
father was going to have a fit when he figured out that she had hi-
jacked a bunch of his workers and equipment and took them to another
country, but she'd deal with that problem when it arrived.

Thoughts of her upcoming job and her current situation were flitting
through her mind as she dozed off.

Suddenly, her tranquillity was broken by a loud knocking on the door. 
She knew Dianne and Christina had warned people to stay away, so she
was alert immediately.

Lisa stumbled through the darkened bedroom and the control room to the
door.  She peered through the peep hole and saw Dianne standing there
smiling pensively.  Unlocking and opening the door a crack, Lisa
asked, "What's going on?"

"We need a favor," Dianne replied.

"Already?" Lisa said, "Well, what is it?"

Gesturing behind her, Dianne said looking rather hopeful, "We need to
lock him in your room."

Lisa leaned over to the right to see what Dianne was pointing at.
Once she saw it, she stayed there unmoving.  She looked like a
blinking Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Straightening back up, Lisa snarked, "Now *that* gives new meaning to
the term -- looks like a drowned rat."

"Well," Dianne snapped, "open up and let us dump him."

"You're *not* dumping him in here," Lisa snapped right back. "I paid
the guild a lot of money for this little set-up and I'm not about to
smell it up by having a rat-sucking vampire locked up in my bedroom!"

Dianne put her hands on her hips, rose up to her full height and
bellowed, "YOU'RE IN MY HOUSE AND UNDER MY ROOF AND AS LONG AS YOU ARE
YOU'LL OBEY MY RULES!!!  NOW, OPEN UP!!!!"

When Lisa just stood there staring at Dianne for several minutes,
Christina thought that there was going to be a fight any minute.

Glaring, Lisa said, "Fine bring him in, but I'll lock him up where I
want him."

"Fine," said Dianne smugly.  She swished into the room with a superior
GHP-air and pointed to the corner where she wanted Christina to dump
Screed.

Huffing and puffing, Christina dragged him into the room and propped
him up in the corner.

Before leaving, Dianne turned to Lisa with a smile and said, "Of
course, we'll reimburse you for the inconvenience of storing him."

With a slam of the door, they were gone.

Lisa stood there staring off into space for a few minutes,
contemplating this new wrinkle.  Then, a wicked grin began to form on
her face.  She remembered that the worker's foreman had mentioned that
they had mistakenly broken into the sewer at the end of one of the
side tunnels.  She turned and walked to the utility/storage room and
pulled out a wheelbarrel.

Once picking up Screed and dumping him into it, she punched in the
door code, allowed the scanner to read her handprint, and used her key
to unlock the door leading out into the tunnels.

After around fifteen minutes of navigating through the twisting and
turning tunnels, she arrived at the broken sewer wall. She
contemplated Screed for a moment and almost changed her mind. She
almost felt sorry for him.  'Afterall,' she thought to herself, 'the
poor guy *was* just dug up.  Maybe I should be nice to him.' She
laughed out loud at that thought.  'Yeah, sure Lee, nice to a hungry
vampire.  Good plan.'  With a smirk on her face, she pushed him
through to the sewer.  After checking to make sure that he was still
fast asleep, she ran back to her storage room, scanned the shelves of
bottled blood.  It was a good thing she had planned ahead.  She knew
that some of her employers would want her to deal with the vampires
and she'd rather they had something to drink before they considered
her neck.  To that end, she had gone to the trouble of getting several
different kinds of blood: rat, cow, human, she had even located a
crate of Lacroix's Special Stock that had been sitting untouched in
the alley behind the Raven.

Grabbing three bottles of rat blood, a piece of paper and a pen, she
ran back to where she had left Screed.  Sticking her upper body
through the whole in the wall, she placed the bottles by his hand.
Then, she sat down in the tunnel to pen her note:

        Dear Screed:

        I know you're probably hungry, so I've left you a couple of
        bottles of blood.  I hope you don't mind that I couldn't sit
        and wait for you to wake up.  I trust that since you're back
        in your home, you'll be very comfortable.  If you need
        anything, feel free to contact Dianne the GHP at Merc.
        Central.

        Your Friend,
        Mercenary Cousin Lisa

Reaching back through the hole, she stuck the note in his pocket,
trying not to breath too deeply when she was doing so.

Knowing that having a vampire lurking down here in the tunnels could
be hazardous to everyone's health, she grabbed some of the left over
mortar and bricks and quickly filled in and double reinforced the hole
leading to the sewer.

Her work for the evening done, she hoped, Lisa headed out of the
tunnels.  Once back in her rooms, she plopped down in bed, still fully
clothed and was asleep in seconds.


*********************************************************************


Do You Hear the People Sing?
   by Dianne la Mercenaire
      <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>

[timing:  early a.m. Sun 7/28-- after "...Drunken Sailor" but well
before dawn]



Her Chocolateness Dianne la Mercenaire, by Divine Right and Cool Karma
Grand High Poohbah of the Forever Knight Mercenary Guild, sat in her
office and brooded.

The office was not the cause of the brooding. It was a lovely, custom-
furnished office with dark wood paneling nearly obscured by loaded
bookcases. Plush carpeting caressed her bare feet and luxurious
leather upholstery embraced her as she sat at the large, walnut desk.
The computer system was state-of-the-art, as was the built-in stereo
system.

Sound proofing protected high Guild secrets from prying ears (and let
her sing along with the CDs as loud as she liked). Elegant sliding
panels opened to reveal intricate blueprints for future plots... (Oh,
all right.  So they're stick-figure drawings.  They _work_-- and
that's what's important.  That and the paneling to hide them behind
when receiving visitors :-)

An automatic iced tea machine was on at all times, and as she sipped
she could open the remote-controlled shutters and look out over the
hot tub below. (Oooops!  Look,... no... don't....*Again*? Maybe better
just keep those blinds shut.... <sigh>)

Over the newly-installed finger-print scanning lock plate on the door
was carved and picked out in gold the Guild's motto: "Chocolate,
Freedom, Mayhem for Profit." Beneath it, a cat door was installed in
such a way as to allow free access only to the four footed residents
of the place.

No, all in all it was a *lovely* office-- quite befitting her
position.

What was bothering her late into the night, long after the urge to
sleep had come and gone, was The Pack.

They seemed harmless enough-- cultish, eerie... even 'Borg-like'--but
essentially just a little more bounce than sense. Or so they
*seemed*....

But since the last outbreak of war, they had single-handedly had a
devastating impact upon the Guild roster-- siphoning off the
strongest, most experienced Mercs and sucking them into the gritty,
dark void of NatPackerism.

She shook her head as she reviewed the damage: Last War's GHP, taken
even as the War ended, spirited away in a suspicious manner and never
heard from again. The whole situation _reeked_ of foul play.

Jamie-- sudden and unexpected star in that War-- had since also been
seduced by the Dark Side. But Dianne had in her possession, acquired
with no small sacrifice, a photograph of the WebGoddess dressed in a
NatPack shirt and surrounded by smiling, bouncy, glassy-eyed Packers.
She shuddered-- it was so obviously a brain-washing in progress.

They'd even come after her! As she was being elected they had
appeared. Luckily, she had the advantage of being one of the few Mercs
who had never been anything but. She'd joined up as the affiliation
began and never been tempted to leave. She had been ambushed in the
parking lot outside a Wisconsin Red Lobster by a Pack-let, but had
fought back bravely against overwhelming odds and escaped with her
sense intact. The Packers had finally given up on her in disgust.

But now she worried about Christina. She was Merc Mommy General-- a
strong, commanding, skilled voice of experience upon whom Dianne
relied heavily in the day-to-day leadership of the Guild. She was also
a personal friend.

That made it doubly hard to admit to the dark suspicions growing in
Dianne's soul. Christina had been spending a lot of time with the Pack
recently.  Sure, it had started out as a job, but she was practically
_living_ with them as she guarded Jamie.

And the Pack needed far less than that to get their insidious hooks
into someone. Yet she needed to be able to trust her second-in-
command.

She needed to be able to trust her *friend*.

It had gone on too long.  Their depraved plotting had decended into
depths no Merc should know. It was time to take her Guild back from
the Shadow of the pack.

It was time to bring our people *home*.

Dianne's brow furrowed as she looked out the skylight, eyes resting on
the stars while her brain wandered dark, lonely, trecherous paths.


*********************************************************************


Recriminations

[timing:  early a.m. Sun 7/28-- after "...Drunken Sailor" but well
before dawn-- concurrent with "Do You Hear the People Sing?"]

By Lane Lombardia (with suggestions and helpful hints from the GHP)

Lane sat on the floor of his darkened room in Merc Central, one leg
tucked underneath him with the other wrapping around in front, in the
classical fudo za meditative posture. His breathing was long, and
slow, as he tried to clear his mind and meditate. Unfortunately, it
just *wasn't* working!

Self-recriminations about how he, as Guild Recruiter, had failed to
prevent the defections of the former Grand High Poohbah, Maureen, and
a key figure in the fifth war, Jamie (who had been both an employer
and one of his star recruits) haunted him. Both had been lost to the
Natpackers, and now, there were signs that he might be losing his most
stellar recruit, Christina Kamnikar, MMG.

Each of these realizations was like a hot brand on bare flesh, and he
physically winced under their influence, as they flashed through his
mind.

It was just far too galling to him that the very people who had placed
Nick, LaCroix, Vachon, Screed, and Janette in jeopardy by withholding
valuable information on a band of flagrant lunatics (after all, what
is the problem with a few vampires? sheeesh!), were the very same
folks who had managed to steal away some of the Guild's best talent.
Frankly, it was really ticking him off!

That was when he caught himself...

"Revenge is a dish, best served cold."

He realized that he wasted time and effort brutalizing himself for
Maureen's and Jamie's defection. The task at hand was to get them
back, and make deadly certain that they DIDN'T get Christina.

His breathing slowed again, evening out. His thumb and little finger
looped together, and he regained his center. An evil smile crept
across his lips.


*********************************************************************


Hospital Horrors
Time:  Sunday, July 28, 3:30am
      After "An Anxiously Awaited Phone Call"
Authors: Lana G. Soward  & AJ Schaafsma


Hospital Horrors

Lana pushed through the double doors of the hospital and stopped to
look for directions to the emergency room.  True to hospital form, the
visitor parking lot was on the other side of the hospital and the only
spot available was in the outer Siberia of parking lots.

She ran down the corridor looking for Sarah.  She was so intent on
looking for Sarah that she almost ran *past* her.  Quickly going into
reverse, she stopped and sat down, trying to catch her breath.  18
hours a day in front of a computer was not inducive to physical
fitness.

"How is she?"  she asked Sarah, when she'd caught her breath.

Sarah shook her head.  "I don't know.  They took her in there," she
said, waving at the doors that said "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY".  "And
I haven't seen her since.  Did you call the NatPack?"

"I left a message," Lana said.  "AJ and Spifff should be here soon.  I
called them, too."  She rubbed the back of her head and hoped that the
pressure she felt there wouldn't turn into a migraine.  "I hope that
we have something soon.  I have a meeting with Felix at 8, that I
don't want to miss.  I probably wouldn't get another appointment until
the next ice age.   Look here comes AJ."

AJ rushed up to the two women, nearly falling over from her sudden
stop.  "Spifff's taking a holiday from conciousness.  I left her a
note and instructions for the cats to make sure she gets it."

The three unaffliates decided that it would be best to mount a guard
over Diane until they understood what was going on and to make sure
that the vampire didn't return to finish the job.

"This is where being unaffliated is a disabvantage," bemoaned Lana.
"Unlike the other factions, we can't dragoon some poor soul into
staying with her for the duration.  We'll have to take turns."

"Excuse me."

The three women turned to face the nurse, who'd approached them and
was waiting for their attention.

She consulted her clipboard.  "Are you here with ... Diane
Echoburger?"

"Echelbarger," they corrected automatically and simultaneously.  They
looked at each other and laughed.

"Well, you can see her now."

The nurse led them down a hall into a room.

They stood in silence and looked at Diane.  Finally Lana said, "Looks
like she's doing a Michael Jackson impersonation."

"It looks like it would take forever to get in there.  That will buy
us some time and make whoever think twice."  said AJ quietly.

"How long do you think she'll have to stay in there," wondered Sarah.

"About a week," said the doctor, who'd just come through the door.

Lana, AJ and Sarah glanced at the doctor and then as a group took a
step back, bumping into the hyberbarlic chamber.

"I'm Nigel Wetmore," said the doctor.  "Diane's physician."

The three just stared at him.

Nigel Wetmore was a dead ringer for Lucien LaCroix.

"Oh, Murphy..." swore AJ.


*********************************************************************


Tape Tree Dreams
Time:  Sunday, July 28, 3:30am
Place: Spifff's Apartment
Author: Lana G. Soward


Spifff rolled over.  Her movements barely disturbed the cats as they
crawled over her desk.  One stepped on the power switch to her
computer and it sprang into life.

Deep in sleep, Spifff heard the computer come on and her subconscious
incorporated it into her dream.

****

She sat at her computer answering her mail.  Dressed in a swim cap and
flippers, she occasionally jabbed at the keyboard with a spatula.

When she paused to read a message she would use the spatula to flip a
piece of pizza up into the air, catch it and eat it without losing a
pepperoni. (Hey, this is a dream.  You want sense and feasibility?)

One message in particular caught her attention.

Date:         Sun, 28 Jul 1996 21:05:40 -0700
From: LG Soward <lgs@ix.netcom.com>
Subject:      Another Tape Tree Tour

Since FKFIC-L is begin held, I'll throw this into the vastness of
cyberspace

In the grand tradition of my fellow weekender, Tami LaFrank, I'm
offering to sponsor another Ger Weekend Tape Tree Tour.   The number
of tapes that go on tour will depend on the number of responses I get.
So, if you'd like to get a ticket for the tour, please email
lgsoward@aol.com, NOT my netcom account.   I'll be taking names until
Wednesday NOON.

Put GER TAPE in the header, so I'll know it's for the TapeTour.
What I'll need is your name, address, and email address.

Ta!

Lana
the invisible weekender
lgs@ix.netcom.com


Suddenly the landscape changed and she was standing in front of the
mythical tape tree.  Cassettes dangled just barely out of her reach.
She tried to jump up to catch one, but was hampered by a fat pad that
had mysteriously appeared around her waist.  Finally, she untied it
and tried again, but she still couldn't reach a cassette.  It seemed
as if the branches were deliberately moving out of the way.

"Why can't I get one?"  she cried in frustration.

The tree rustled and the cassettes clicked together.  She heard a
voice boom, "BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T FOLLOWED THE INSTRUCTIONS!"

The tree rustled again and a single leaf fell from the tree.  Spifff
picked it up and saw that it was an email form.

"ADDRESS IT TO LGSOWARD@AOL.COM" , the tree boomed, since, of course,
it was the tree talking.  "AND PUT GER TAPE IN THE HEADER"

Spifff hastily scribbled down the information and waved it at the
tree.

"WRONG ADDRESS"

She looked at the form and realized that she'd written down
lgs@ix.netcom.com, instead. Hastily, she changed the address and waved
it back at the tree.

"PUT YOUR REAL NAME, SNAIL MAIL ADDRESS AND EMAIL ADDRESS AND THEN
MAIL IT."

Spifff scribbled down the appropriate information and then said, "Now
what?"

"WHY YOU MAIL IT, SILLY" rustled the tree.  "IN THE SEND BOX."

She turned and saw the silver mailbox, marked SEND MAIL.  She dropped
her email form in the box.  As she listened to it drop, she was
suddenly seated back at her computer, staring at a message that said
"You mail has been sent."

She reached out with her spatula and flipped up another piece of pizza
and went onto the next message.

***

Spifff licked her lips in her sleep as she savored the pizza of her
dreams. The scampering of the cats still failed to wake her up.

The cats ignored her as well.  They were too busy logging into COL
(Cats On-Line).  Once logged in, they started answering their email
and sending mail to HUMANS-L, a mailing list devoted to the discussion
of the care and handling of humans.

Spifff slept peacefully on.


*********************************************************************


Marking Our Territory
by Tigon Diana Hooker

Predawn to mid-Morning-28 JUL 1996
Toronto, Lizbet's FG Headquarters


As the disembarked from the plane, Tigon struggled to take it all in.
Why her? Sure, she had been with Perry's pack for nearly a year now
while the others had only been with him for a couple of months at the
most. And she did have at least twice as many dogs as the others. And
she was the only one that could make heads or tails of Perry's
sendings. But still....!

So, here Tigon stood on a deserted back runway with two people and
twenty-two dogs, the sun due up in about an hour, and no real idea why
they were here in the first place. Not good. She stood and tried to
look like a leader thinking great thoughts as her brain skittered
around like the rat in her backpack. Then a thought finally occured.
Just before her computer had crashed, she had gotten a post to the
FangGang from Lizbet...something about renting a house in Toronto. It
had made no sense to Tigon at the time, but now...

:::Which house? Which house? Come on, Tigon, remember::: Tigon was
going to have to see about upgrading her brain to a Pentium 150. She
knew the information was there...THERE! Slow but sure, she finally
recalled the house. "Do you guys fly?" she asked her new followers.

Pasty faces were her answer.


It had taken a lot of cajoling and the threat to their vamppuppies
from impending dawn to get the troops airborne. It had also taken
quite a bit of logistic and a stop at an all night gas station for a
map to find the bloody house. Landing on the lawn with the horizon
turning pinkish-red, Tigon hoped that this was the right place,
otherwise the occupants were in for quite a shock. Approaching the
front door, she found this note to it:

1.  This house is the for the sole use of the members of the Fang 
Gang and their friends.  No one else may enter without permission.
2.  No fighting allowed.  Plotting, yes (like I could stop you),
fighting, no.
3.  Permission for parties must be asked of the den mother (Lizbet)
ahead of time.  Clean up after yourself and refill the fridge.

There was also something about where to pick up a key. Looking at the
brightening sky, Tigon decided to bypass such niceties. "Steve," she
said, "Do you think you could kick this door in?"

"No problem." And he did so to prove it.

"Tsk tsk," said Tigon as the group poured in, "They just don't make
them like they used to." She shut the door and hoped Lizbet wouldn't
notice the large footprint imprinted on her elegant note. Joining the
group in the foyer, she looked and felt the utter stillness of the
place. "I don't think anybody's here, pups." she said. A quick search
verified her observation. "Well, grab a dark room and get some rest,"
Tigon told the others and hastened to do the same.

She found a largish bedroom with heavy curtains and installed her dogs
in there, promising herself to join them within an hour. First she had
responsibilities. She needed to get hold of Lizbet...maybe she knew
what was going on. Also, there were Maryann and the Knighties to
contact. Rummaging through the kitchen, she realized that
kibble...lots of it...needed to be bought, and a blood supply found.
Kosher deli's were always good for that. Tigon stared aimlessly in the
fridge, wondering if there was anything *she* could eat.

Then childhood swept her away as the house vibrated to the sounds of
ROCK and ROLL.

"I...wanna rock and roll all night...and party every day!"

Concerned that one of the dogs had tripped the stereo, she went in
search of it only to hear the doorbell. Opening it, she found the
source of the noise to be the band playing outside. Also present was a
messanger with chocolate and coffee...things that never crossed
Tigon's lips...and a postcard from the Web Goddess herself. Signing
Lizbet's name on the dotted line, she went outside to see if she
persuade these guys to do a rendition of 'Beth,' oblivious to the
groaning inhabitants of the house and neighborhood. After a few songs,
the band finally begged off and left.

Tigon hit the proverbial hay, only to be woken a few hours by a high-
pitched squeal, "What the devil is going on here!!!" She debated
whether she wanted to deal with Lizbet, but realized from the thudding
sounds of Lizbet's feet (how could such a tiny person make *so* much
noise???) that the choice wasn't hers to make. "Tigon! I know you're
here somewhere! Who else would bring the wild kingdom?!" The door
flung open and Tigon debated doing her best possum imitation. "There
you are!"

The dogs still in here room slunk quickly out as Tigon said as non-
chalantly as she could manage, "Bore da, Lizbet."

Lizbet shoved the front door's note in her face, "What is this?"

"Um, I believe it's a note inviting me in. Very beautiful calligraphy,
by the way."

"Key!" Lizbet yelled, "Discover the concept!"

"Wasn't time...sun was coming up." Tigon strove to look penitent,
"Sorry."

"What happened on the front lawn then...forget the fact that there's
at least half-a-dozen piles of...um..."

"Doggie doo?"

"Forget that! It looks like someone threw a party on the lawn."

"Uh, that would be KISS," said Tigon. "Well, they weren't *really*
KISS...but they were pretty good."

Lizbet paused. "They were here too?" she asked, then continued her
tirade before Tigon could answer, "And what did I say about filling up
the fridge?"

"KISS was hungry."

"So let me see if I have this right...you've been here only a few
hours yet have broken my door and two out of three rules?"

The sounds of snarling and barking drifted up the stairwell as did
Becky's shrieked, "Dog fight! TIIIGGGGOOOONNN!!!"

Lizbet crumpled the note forlornly as Tigon went to break it up.


*********************************************************************


To Make a Dulcet and Heavenly Sound 3/3
by: Cousin Candice
time: right after part 2
        WELL after WAR: Liquor *is* quicker by Lisa McDavid

4:00 am Sunday Morning 7/28

....Seven hours and a TON of fineggling and promises later....

Candice stepped out of the limo, wrinkled in her kakhi's and tee-
shirt, at the front door of the CERK station.  She turned to the
driver.

"Wait here, I'll be just a few minutes."

It was unusually quiet, especially quiet for War time.  No door
guards? No shifting shadows?  Candice sighed and cursed herself for
the 7th time in an hour.  They all must be out galavanting around the
city or sound asleep in bed.  But they were Cousins and Candice had a
feeling it was the former, rather than the later.  The front door was
locked, but she still had the keys LaCroix had given her from her last
war-time venture into Toronto.  She hadn't even made arrangements to
stay anywhere yet and thought better of the idea to plotz herself down
on LaCroix's couch again.

Candice entered the station through the side door.  She ran quickly up
the stairs -elevators were noisy and she didn't really want to deal
with peppy Cousins at the moment- to the On-Air room.

Taking a pen and paper from the outside desk she left a note on the
glass in big bold letters:

                HEY LISA & TOK
                  JUST MADE IT.
                  516-524-8624
                (new cell phone)

                        -Cousin Candice

Candice left as unobtrusively as when she came in.  She locked the
side door and climbed into the limo.  After she pulled out her little
black book with the ~Carpe Noctem~ engraving on the cover, Candice
told the driver to head for the nearest hotel.  She started x-ing off
the to-do list since she had nothing to do.

A nudging at her thigh made her jump a little.  The cat that she had
aquired, or rather had aquired her during the last war was attempting
to make himself comfortable on the seat beside her.

"Aw c'mere Embris."  Candice pulled the sleepy tan and orange Siamese
into her lap where he promptly settled himself and purred.  How he'd
managed to stay hidden on the train the entire way up was still a
mystery to Candice, but she was still glad to have the Temple Cat for
company.  She picked up her phone and dialed the last possible hotel
Stu could have booked her a room in.

"Hello, Radison reception desk, how may I help you?"

//Thank you Stuart..//, Candice blessed him and gave the reception
lady her name and in return she got conformation for one of the
suites.  She only hoped it had a jacuzzi bath -it was going to be one
hell of a War....


*********************************************************************


Kiss Me Not
by Scottie

Sunday, 7/28, 4 a.m.--Nick's loft

I must be dreaming. I must, I must. Otherwise why would I be hearing a
bad--really bad--nay *horrible*--imitation of KISS in my sleep? I
don't like KISS. I never liked KISS. Yeah, it must be a dream. Maybe
if I turn over it'll go away.

Nope.

Maybe it's a really loud car stereo, and the guy will blow his
speakers and go away.

Nope.

Or maybe it's Armageddon, and in a second or two we'll all be blown to
smithereens and I won't have to hear this any longer.

Nope.

Who--or what--is it, and why won't it go away? It may be music, but
it's definitely not Sting. I *like* Sting. Maybe if I think real hard,
I can turn it into Dream of the Blue Turtles.

Nope.

Still there. Louder every second. And now, in this horrible dream,
somebody's knocking at the front door. Maybe if I get up and start
towards the door, they'll go away.

Nope.

I open the front door, and have a cup of capuccino thrust into my
hands. Then pastry, then something called The Aquarian, and then a
postcard. I stick the postcard into the pocket of my pajamas. I let
the pastry fall, and very slowly squash it into the pavement. Then I
take the top off the drink and pour it on the delivery guy. And take
my lighter out of my other pocket, catch the edge of the Aquarian on
fire, and threaten to burn the guy's eyebrows off.

He takes off at a run, tripping over the power cord that's fueling the
musicians. Their amps go up in a flash of sparks and smoke.

The music stops. The musicians go away. The delivery guy is no longer
to be seen.

I put the lighter back in my pocket, take the postcard out, and read
the inscription. Jamie. The list-something or other. The one who has
had a bit of trouble deciding what faction she belongs to. Hm.

 I like postcards. I collect postcards. I decide the postcard is a
good thing.

And go back to the sleeping bag from hell and start snoring again.


*********************************************************************


Kiss me, Kate...
by Jamie M.R.

Time: Sunday, 7/28; morning, early; like, just before dawn.
Takes place immediately after the 42 War story posts that've dropped
as of 11:22 am Eastern Time.


It had been a long time, and she'd feared that she wouldn't be able to
find it, but there it was: her trusty little tub of Mehron Star White.
It had been so long, however, that the white substance within was
dried through, and she wondered whether she could get it to work...

A little hot water, a little patience, and presto! there it was.

Lovingly, she daubed the stuff onto a star-shaped makeup sponge,
remembering the long-ago days when she'd done this in the back seat of
a car, mixing it up with spit, and struggling to see her own
reflection in the rear-view mirror... ah, but those were the days when
she'd gotten paid for it.  Times were much different now...

It baffled her that there were people for whom whiteface Kabuki makeup
was not an essential part of existence.

Years since she'd crafted this particular configuration, but her
fingers still knew how -- and rapture! she still had half a tub of
metallic silver. This was a Good Thing.  This meant that she could be
the Space-Ace.

She glanced lovingly at the root source of her blissful joy, at the
little scrap of paper whose number she'd repeatedly checked and
rechecked against arena seating charts.  Logic dictated that there was
no way anyone could expect to walk into the box office and find a
ticket for a show that'd been sold out for months -- but not only had
she procured that ticket, against all odds, it was for a front-row
seat.

Blissful, joyful, thoroughly enraptured, she daubed white makeup on
her face, grinning like a happy idiot.

And a thought came to her.

Why not share this joy with her closest friends?

Thus it was that on Sunday morning, at the moment of sunrise at
whatever geographical location they were at at the moment, EVERY
SINGLE PERSON listed as having given a permission slip to participate
in the war received a visit by four KISS impersonators on a flat-bed
truck loaded with sound and pyrotechnic equipment; and at that precise
instant of dawn, each War-rior was awakened by the sweet strains of
loud, screaming, raucous heavy metal:

"I... wanna rock an' roll all night
an' party every day!"
(insert appropriate wailing of electric guitars)

Along with the portable rock concert, each participant in the War
received a small box of Italian pastries from Ferrara, a large cup of
cappuccino, a copy of the Aquarian Weekly and a postcard of the New
York City skyline at sunset, on which was written, "Good Morning!  :-)
Love, JamieMR".

And back in her room, the WebGoddess smiled, knowing that she had done
a Good Thing.  She had, after all, bestowed upon her fellow list
members (what she considered to be) some excellent music.  What better
way could there be to wake up in the morning?

She fully expected that each and every one of her friends would
appreciate the gift they had been given.

Humming happily, she put the finishing touches on her makeup and
headed off to the show.


*********************************************************************


Wake-up call
Sharon A. Himmanen
TIME:  Sunday, July 28th.  Early morning

"AGH!"  Sharon yelled, her tousled head emerging from under several
layers of sheets and blankets.  "What the..."

Outside, a din loud enough to wake the dead was ensuing.  Was someone
having a block party, she wondered as she staggered to her feet and
pulled on a robe.  Making her way over to the window she vaguely
thought about calling the police and complaining about the racket.

(She hadn't had her morning coffee yet, and as such had forgotten that
there was a war on).

Pulling the curtain aside she squinted out into the pale morning light
just as a red and white firework burst just outside the window.

"GAH!" she gasped involuntarily, stepping back away from the loud
noise and bright lights.  There was nothing pretty, bright or shiny
about any of this, she thought grimly as she made her way to the
window again and cautiously peeked out.   Another burst of fireworks
accompanied the snarl of guitars and through the smoke and haze Sharon
made out...well, she wasn't quite sure what.  She vaguely remembered
something years ago resembling this--a group of grown men in spandex
and heavy face makeup pranced about on a flatbed truck trying
desperately to hide behind the smoke of the fireworks.  What was the
name of the group these guys were prestending to be.  She remembered
seeing them on lunch boxes when she was a kid.

What was it?  SMOOCH?  No, she frowned.  That wasn't it.  She rubbed
her eyes.  Jamie liked this group, if she remembered.  What *was*
their name? PUCKER-UP?  LIPLOCK?

Then she had it.  KISS!  KISS?  Not the real KISS...  Well,
considering they seemed to have died out as a fad in the 80s it was
entirely possible they were now doing block parties from the back of
flatbed trucks.  This merited further investigation.

*****

She'd resorted to pulling the plug on their portable generator to get
the music to stop and wasn't at all surprised to hear a loud round of
applause issue forth from the houses and appartments up and down the
street.  It was then that she discovered that these guys barely knew
one end of the guitar from the other.

"So let me get this straight," she said attempting not to yawn and
trying not to think about the fact that she was standing in the middle
of the street in her robe talking to a guy with a big black star on
his face. "You're KISS impersonators."

"That's right," he nodded.

Sharon threw up her hands.  "Why are you here?"

"Oh, well, somebody named Jamie got a ticket to the KISS reunion
tour."

"Yeah?  And?  She was so overjoyed she decided to treat all her
friends to a little slice of KISS?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning.  "Exactly.  You want us to start playing
again?"

"No, no!" Sharon said, holding up her hands quickly.  Then she looked
at him thought fully for a moment.  "Do you guys do impersonations
other than KISS?"

"Us?  No.  We don't even look like them but they're easy to
impersonate with the wigs and makeup and all.  But we do work for a
pretty good company."

Sharon grinned as an idea began to take shape.  "I'll be right back,"
she said.

When she returned she was carrying an autographed picture of The
Nightcrawler.  "Do you think your company can find someone who looks
like this?" she asked, holding up the picture.

He studied it for a moment.  "Yeah, I think we can get something
pretty close."

"Good, I'll need him, and someone short dressed in an Elmo costume.
Here's what I want you to do..." she said, leading him to the side and
quietly outlining her plan.

He looked pretty disgusted for a moment.  "I can pay," Sharon said.

His face dissolved into a grin at that.  "Well, OK, then.  I'll call
you when everything's in place."

"Excellent," Sharon said.

And then realized she'd managed to pull all that together before
morning coffee which was nothing short of a miracle when she thought
about it. She'd have to remember to thank Jamie, but she somehow
doubted Jamie would appreciate the outcome of that.


*********************************************************************


Wake Me Not Into Temptation
By Gehirn Karies  (CerkJerk@aol.com)

Time: 7/28 Morning, early, too early.
Takes place after "Kiss Me, Kate..."

Kaires heard a buzzing and rolled over on the too soft hotel bed. She
was not in the mood for waking up with ringing ears again.  She could
have camped out at Cerk with the other Cousins, but she was far to
ornary in the morning to be near so many people.  Then she heard a
tapping on the door.  Throwing off the sheet she rambled to the door,
cracking it open.

A cute delivery man, about thirty two stood looking her up and down.
"Gehirn Karies?"

"Mmmmh," she mumbled returning the measuring glances.  Blinking
against the light and glaring at the Kiss impersonators banging wildly
at their instruments in the parking lot.  Well, at least her ears
weren't really ringing to the tune of some strange cultish pop music.

"Sign here, nice PJ's"

She looked down at her PJ's, grinned, signed the list on the clipboard
and he handed her a small box of Italian pastries from Ferrara, a
large cup of cappuccino, a copy of the Aquarian Weekly and a postcard
of the New York City skyline at sunset, on which was written, "Good
Morning!  :-)  Love, JamieMR".

"She's the warmest and fuzziest thang." Karies said, cradling the
cappuccino like the prize it was.  She pointed at the band.  "Isn't
there some kind of law against that?"

"That's your's too."

"How ... Retro, how horribly retro.  You deserve a nice tip. Do you
have many more deliveries?"

"You're the last."

She handed him the pastries.  "Very thoughtful of the Fuzzy One, I'm
sure they're yummy, although not exactly what I want for ...
breakfast."  He flashed back a sinister grin.  "I'll be right back."

Karies sauntered over to the band, actually quite good at what they
were doing.  "Guys!"  She yelled, making a time out signal with her
hands.  The woman playing the lead motioned for the band to cut. "This
has been ... alarming ... I mean, a great alarm ... I mean, awakening
... uh ... I'm awake now, you can go."

"We're not finished," said the lead.

"Yeah, yeah you are."  A crabby expression krept across her groggy
face.

"Nuh-uh, not yet."

She loomed as much as a 5'7" grown woman in Batman PJ's can. "Either
you're finished or you're gonna eat those guitars."

"Spoil sport!"

Grinning with the compliment Karies hurried back to the room, the
delivery man leaned on the door, munching on of the pastries.  She
opened the door and they entered the room, locking the door behind
them.  Spot rubbed his tail up against the delivery man, and Pugsley
dove under the bed, sending orange fur flying.  Guzzling down the
cappuccino and eyeing her visitor, nice soft but muscular body,
reddish blonde buzzcut and aimless stance, Karies said, "Jamie sends
the nicest deliveries, but she and I *have* to have a talk about
music."


*********************************************************************


Re: WAR: Kiss me, Kate...
by Storm

Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Dawn, 07/28/96

>Thus it was that on Sunday morning, at the moment of sunrise at
>whatever geographical location they were at at the moment, EVERY
>SINGLE PERSON listed as having given a permission slip to participate
>in the war received a visit by four KISS impersonators on a flat-bed
>truck loaded with sound and pyrotechnic equipment; and at that precise
>instant of dawn, each War-rior was awakened by the sweet strains of
>loud, screaming, raucous heavy metal:
>
>"I... wanna rock an' roll all night
>an' party every day!"
>(insert appropriate wailing of electric guitars)

Storm tried to sit up in bed, but was impeded by a grey mound of fur
(Tynan) draped over her shoulder, purring ecstatically -- but not
loudly enough to counter the sounds from outside her open window.

"Hello," she muttered to the Persian.  "Am I back in college?  Or have
the locals changed their taste in music *dramatically*?"

She picked up the cat and sat up in bed, leaning on the footboard to
see out the window.  Then she was on her feet, nose to the screen.
"Omigod.  KISS is doing a *street show*?  On Juneau Avenue?"

It's Summerfest in Milwaukee.  Party on the beach, where the water is
still too cold for all but the bravest to venture for more than a few
minutes. Craft fairs.  Concerts almost every night.  Local
neighborhood festivals, celebrating heritages of German, Irish,
Hispanic, Amerind, Polish and more. And lately, downtown Milwaukee's
main drag, Wisconsin Avenue, has been rocking to outdoors oldies
concerts throughout the lunch hour.

However, today is Sunday.  The time is Oh-Gawd-Awful.  And Storm's
house is over twenty blocks from the downtown stage.

"Someone has more money than sense," Storm muttered, trying not to
grin as Peter Criss (or a very good imitation) saluted her window with
a whirl of drumsticks.  "Oh, boy, I think I'd better get down there."

Tynan trotted down the stairs in front of her, looking back over his
shoulder like a small furry owl.  "I have *no* idea," she told him.
"But we'll find out."

She unlocked the door and stepped out on the porch to find:

>Along with the portable rock concert, each participant in the War
>received a small box of Italian pastries from Ferrara, a large cup of
>cappuccino, a copy of the Aquarian Weekly and a postcard of the New
>York City skyline at sunset, on which was written, "Good Morning!
>:-)  Love, JamieMR".

Storm sat down on the front steps, cup in hand.  Tynan checked out the
pastries with real interest, since he *is* a bread freak.  "Uh-uh,
buddy," Storm told him, pushing his non-existant nose out of the way. 
She sipped the coffee and looked at the postcard again.  "Gods, I
wanna go to New York. Jamie, you are out of your metal-soaked mind."

She took another sip of the cappuccino. "Man, good coffee."  She
picked up a pastry.  "Oh, gods, I'm *such* a pastry freak... Tynan,
*move* your little flat nose -- I'll give you some in a minute.  The
"Aquarian Weekly", huh? Haven't seen a copy of this in *ages*.  Too
cool.  Off the paper, already, cat.  Here, have a pastry...cheese,
even."

She looked up at the group on the truck, who were seguing into "Beth".
Peter Criss (or his *very* good lookalike) sat on the edge of the
flatbed, singing right at her.

"Geez.. .bet this is the only time in the world KISS has had *five*
members "on stage" at once," Storm muttered, leaning against the porch
column.  "But hey, Jamie did it.  Good stuff.  Good coffee.  Good
morning!"

>And back in her room, the WebGoddess smiled, knowing that she had
>done a Good Thing.  She had, after all, bestowed upon her fellow list
>members (what she considered to be) some excellent music.  What better
>way could there be to wake up in the morning?
>
>She fully expected that each and every one of her friends would
>appreciate the gift they had been given.
>
>Humming happily, she put the finishing touches on her makeup and
>headed off to the show.

Storm let the band do half a dozen songs, then decided she'd better
shut them down before someone complained -- as unlikely as it was in
this neighborhood.  Besides, there was always the possibility that her
roommates *might* wake up.  Unlikely; but possible.

Finally, the street was clear and quiet.  "I think I'd better go
downstairs and email a thank you to Jamie," she told Tynan.  The cat
looked up from his cheese danish and blinked wide amber eyes.  "Yeah,
I know.  What the heck is she thinking -- I never knew Jamie to have
*that* much money.  C'mon."

Tynan sat down and looked at her. "Okay, I'm bringing your pastry.
And mine.  Now let's go get online."

The computer groaned its way to life, then began the laborious process
of downloading and sorting.  "Man, I like Eudora, but I *wish* this
baby were faster."  Tynan sat beside her on the desk, contented
munching and purring. He looked up, poked his nose into the cappuccino
cup and sneezed.

"Oh, thank you *very* much."  She looked over the messages.  "Oh, man,
here we go..."  Jamie's note about the KISS concert explained just
about everything *except* the sudden influx of cash.  However, a post
from Sherrie did much to clear up the confusion.

To:     Storm <wabbit@execpc.com>
Date:  Sun, 28 Jul 1996 02:32:02 EST
From: Sherri C <sherric@EMPNET.COM>
Subject:  Looks like WAR

Storm --

Sorry you had to leave the party!

It's War, and we're all in Toronto.  You've got to get here -- I know
you've got a new job, and all that, but this is *IMPORTANT*.

You did get paid recently, didn't you?  We don't have the kind of war
chest some of the other factions do, but maybe Apache will let you
borrow her gold card.  Let us know fastest -- we need every Vaquera on
hand!

**********

"Oh happy day," Storm muttered, staring at the screen.  "They are
luckier than they deserve -- John decided to go take that two week
vacation in the boundry waters after all.  Hardly anyone will notice
if I take a vacation, too.  I hope.  Ah, hell, he may be the boss --
but I'm the one in charge."

She moved Tynan off the phone book and began checking.  Would
Greyhound be faster than Amtrak?  Would Amtrak break her?  No matter. 
Toronto called. It was high time she was more than just an electronic
"voice" online for the Vaqueros.

"I'm a Vaquera and I don't even know if the vampire I'm supporting is
alive or dead," she noted, reaching for the phone.  "Gods, I can't
believe I'm doing this...."


*********************************************************************


KISS Me in the Morning... Or Kiss My *Elbow*
Sunday Morning, at the faintest stroke of dawn (approx 4:30AM)
After Kiss Me, Kate, at the same time as all the other "Oh, no, KISS!"
posts <g>
Merc Central
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis

Dawn crept across the city gently, highlighting building, creating
lines and shadows where none were before.  The weary warriors, having
just made it to Toronto, were trying to catch up on rest.

Good luck.

Lizbet's first thought was that someone was killing a cat outside of
Merc Central.  At the first screech of heavy metal guitars, she fell
out of bed, promptly tangling herself in her covers and the long
Victorian cotton nightgown she was wearing.  Dragging the folds of
fabric behind her as she tried to untangle herself, she stumbled out
of her room and ran into Kira, having forgotten her glasses and not
having put her contacts in yet.

"What the *heck* is that!" Kira demanded.  Her brown hair was standing
on end, and in deference to the heat of summer she was wearing a
negligee.

Clamping her hands over her ears, Lizbet went to the window and looked
out. "It's a bunch of guys wearing too much make-up playing bad
music," she reported.

Another Merc made for the other window.  The two Mercs in the hallway
cleared out of the path. Berg's grumbling cleared up as soon as the
band outside was identified.  "Cool, KISS!"

Lizbet made a face, too young to have been involved in KISS-dom.
"Ugh."

Liz leaned on her doorjamb.  She peered around nearsightedly,
venturing slowly out into the hallway.  "Like my head wasn't hurting
enough already," she grumbled.  She took three steps into the hall and
tripped over the blankets Lizbet had left strewn on the floor.

Sonja stepped out of her room.  "What is that *noise*?" she demanded.

"Can't you tell?  It's KISS.  Or, at least, KISS imitators." Berg told
her.

Shaking her head, Sonja said, "I'm culturally deprived.  I have no
idea what KISS sounds like."

"Don't worry, neither do I," Lizbet told her.

Dawn blinked her way into the hall, rubbing sleep-grit from her eyes.
"Mfphogh?"  Her plaid housecoat covered shorts and a tshirt, and her
hair rioted over her head in a style that looked like it took an hour,
a touch of hairspray, and a wind tunnel to achieve.

"Should someone wake Dianne or Christina?" Sonja asked hesitantly.  "I
mean, since their rooms are soundproof, presumably they can't hear
it."

Berg turned away from the enjoyment of the music outside to stare at
her. "You do realize, that Christina would consider this grounds for
homicide, don't you?"

"Um, maybe not," Sonja agreed.

Lane came out of his room.  In his hand was his ninjato.  In his eyes
was the fixed, glassy stare of someone who had been roused from the
dead.  Bad combination.  Dawn backed away from him.  "Um, Lane?  What
were you planning on doing with that?"

He didn't bother to answer, merely headed for the stairs.  Kira and
Sonja dived after him, trying to restrain him.  With zombie-like
stubborness, he simply shook them off and headed out after the band.

Through the window, Berg and Lizbet watched as one of the guitarists
stopped playing and used his guitar to fight off the Merc.  "I've
never seen anyone use a guitar like a sword before," Lizbet commented.

An enraged scream sounded through the hallway.  The six Mercs in the
hall turned--and quailed.  The GHP burst out of her room.  Dressed in
baggy blue pajama bottoms (silk, of course) and a large, loose white
t-shirt, she didn't look like she had been roused from sleep.  But she
did look like she had been roused from--and by--something!

Dianne marched over the window (which Lizbet quickly vacated, not
wanting to be within striking distance) and stuck her red head
outside, shouting at the performers at the top of her extremely well-
trained lungs.

"I'm really, really glad I can't hear what she is saying," Kira said
feverantly, and the other Mercs agreed.

Except Liz, who was still untangling herself from the bedclothes. From
her vantage point and general inability to see so early in the
morning, the GHPs major feature was a pair of bright red fuzzy socks. 
She pointed them out to the other Mercs, who in their sleep-deprived
state found them hilarious and promptly started snickering.

The music outside shut off as though someone had thrown a switch.
Berg grumbled, glaring at Dianne, amazingly without fear of the
consequences. Satisfied, Dianne shut the window with a decisive bang,
then turned around to face her troops.  The other four Mercs were
desperately trying to muffle their laughter--and failing miserably.

Dianne took one glance at herself in the mirror--wrinkled shirt,
tangled hair and reddened eyes.  The fuzzy socks definitely did
nothing for her dignity.  Drawing herself up to full I-Am-Grand-
Poobah-Hear-Me-Roar stature, she fixed the garbling Mercs with a
steely gaze.  Head high, she marched into her room and slammed the
door.

A knock on the front door of Merc Central echoed the boom of Dianne's
door. The six Mercs in the hallway went downstairs.  "Coffee," Lizbet
mumbled. "If I can't have sleep I need coffee."

Kira pulled open the door a crack and asked, "What now?"

A messenger shoved a clipboard into her hand.  Kira signed and pulled
the door open more fully.  Outside on a small skiploader sat a score
of small boxes of Italian pastries from Ferrara, a vat of cappuccino,
a stack of Aquarian Weekly and 18 postcards of the NYC skyline at
sunset, on each of which was written, "Good Morning!  :-)  Love,
JamieMR".

Lane came back, snagged the vat, and disappeared upstairs.  No one
contested him.  None of them was dumb enough to argue with a man with
a sword.

The phone rang, and Sonja answered it.  "Lizbet, it's for you!"

"Who is it?"  Upon learning that it was one of her prospective
employers, Lizbet said, "Tell them I'll call back."

"Um, why keep them waiting?" Liz asked.

Lizbet grinned as she went into the kitchen and pulled out the makings
for a killer omelet.  "Mercenary Rule of Acquisition number 214:
Never begin a business negotiation on an empty stomach."


*********************************************************************


KISS from a Rose?
by Kristina Buhrman

July 28, 1996    just before daybreak
Toronto

House sitting, Kristina decided, was a very good gig. She'd have to
thank her mom again for finding the job for her. Especially in
Toronto: it had just been too long since she was last in town. And the
city had a university. A university with a library. That and a good
coffee shop was all she needed.

She sat in the kitchen of her mother's cousin's house surrounded by
Gargoyle action figures for some of her friends that she heard might
be in the area, and her books and notes on several languages and
dialects, most European, some not.

Over on another counter there was a local paper opened to the
announcement of the history of Brabant exhibit at the ROM. The
question was what to wear. It was going to be formal, so she probably
wouldn't be able to get away with just a skirt and the t-shirt with
the smiley face and the caption "Mean people suck". Nah, she'd
probably have to wear a jacket too.

Kristina looked out the window towards the east, paused for a minute,
and tried to figure out what she felt about the figure in the
graveyard last night: confused, scared, happy, scared, relieved,
scared, superstitious, scared, optimistic, scared, angry, scared,
wary, confused, scared, or frightened. She did a mental "eeny, meeny,
miny, mo" and decided on confused with a twist of optimistic wariness.

She made some more notes on post-its and stuck them over some pages in
classical Mongolian, kicking the table leg (thereby scaring the cat),
and singing a little under her breath.

"I... <thunk> don'... <thunk>
wanna biddy bunny in my widdle woo <thunk> boat
in my widdle <thunk> woo boat in da pond
Cuz... <thunk> da... <thunk>
bunny might be cwazy and <thunk> bide me in da fwoot <thunk>
in ma widdle woo boat <thunk> in da pond."

-Gee, who'da thunk that my sister could get that song in my head for
so long...- Kristina opened her mouth for the second verse.

> "I... wanna rock an' roll all night
> an' party every day!"
> (insert appropriate wailing of electric guitars)

-I'm pretty sure that didn't come from me...- Kristina thought and
followed the heavy metal outside, and almost knocked over a cappuccino
on the porch. She quickly picked it up to avoid any other near-
disasters of that sort. There was also a box of pastries and something
called the Aquarian Weekly, which she leafed through. A postcard
fluttered down from between the pages.

There were also some guys in spandex and leather on a flat bed truck,
playing instruments.

She patiently waited for the musicians to finish, their tongues
hanging in the wind, then she tilted her head to one side. "Hi!" she
said brightly. "And you are?"

The musicians just stood there. "I mean, I recognize the song; the
guys at the lunch table sing it all the time... hey! Can you guys do
'Blister in the Sun' too?" Not waiting for an answer, Kristina began
singing, "'Lemme go o-on like I blister in the sun, lemme go o-o-
on...'"

An errant explosion drew her attention to the title on the truck. "Oh.
KISS. Never heard of you before. Well, I've heard *of* you, just none
of the songs. Well, the one song, but I had no idea. I think it
predates me. So does Bach, and I can recognize Bach, but then again
Bach predates just about everyone, so we're all about equal there..."

One of the heavily made-up guys (hey, that's all of 'em...) spoke up.
"Actually, we're impersonators."

"Ah. Well, I'm sure you've done a very good job." Kristina toasted
them with the coffee, backing into the house. "I'm sure you'll excuse
me, but I gotta write a thank you letter for this. It's not that I
didn't like the music or anything like that. Really, you shouldn't
think that. Okay, luv ya, bye-bye!" she called out, closing the door
firmly behind her.


*********************************************************************


KISS em Goodbye

By Kevin Matsumoto
Nick & NatPackers

Time: Concurrent with all the other KISS posts.


Kevin almost jumped out of his skin as the raucous music began
playing. "What the hell is that!?"

"Hey Kevin, you still got those earmuffs?" Laura's voice shouted from
the other room. "I saw you wearing them when you did that barney
tape."

"Here," Kevin tossed Laura the heavy set of shooter's earmuffs.
"What's that racket?"

"KISS, or at least a set of KISS impersonators.  You've never heard
them before?" Laura began adjusting the earmuff's.

"Sure, But who's blasting it this early in the morning?"

"There's a group of KISS impersonators outside."

"What?" Kevin turned and out the door.

About a minute later, Mel came in with a slightly weird look on her
face. "Laura, Kevin's upstairs and he's unpacking a gun."

"Say that again?

"He pulled out a long black gun with a major silencer on it."

Just then Kevin returned with a truly ugly looking gun.

"What are you going to do with that?" Mel asked.

"Get rid of that noise." Kevin replied as he headed for a window.

"Oh no you don't" Judy said as she grabbed the gun.

"Hey! Leggo" The two struggled with the gun until one of them pulled
the trigger.

A soft twhipp was heard as a large red stain appeared on the ceiling.

"What kind of gun is that?" Laura asked as she looked at the ceiling.

"A paintball gun, for playing TAG." Kevin explained as he jerked the
gun free and opened the window.

The was a steady racheting sound as Kevin pointed the gun and held
down the trigger.  After several seconds he released the trigger.
Running down the street, the KISS impersonators looked like a bad 60's
psychedelic poster.  Smiling to himself, Kevin closed the window and
headed back to his duffel bag.

"Not so fast," Susan stopped him.

"What?"

She pointed to the ceiling. "Clean it up."

Sighing Kevin walked the kitchen and picked up some paper towels. "I
would use oil based paints."

Susan decided to recconoiter the outside of the house.  She wanted to
be sure that it hadn't just been a diversion.  As she opened the door
she saw a delivery man plastered against a wall.

"Is the shooting over?" He asked.

"Yes," Susan replied.

"These are for you." He handed her box of chocolates and what looked a
magazine and a postcard.

"People." She turned around. "This was Jamie's idea of a gift."

"If it had only been an Elton John impersonator singing Can you feel
the love tonight." Kelly sighed.


*********************************************************************


Cousin Willow gets KISSed
by Cousin Tok
CERK
concurrent with all the other KISS wake-up call posts (Sunday morning,
early)

Tok opened one eye, stared at the clock, and then started cussing in
every language she knew.  Not only was it God-awful early, it was
*Sunday*.  When she'd run out of languages, she started making it up. 
Eventually, she dragged herself over to the window.

"Double take" does not adequately describe Tok's reaction to the sight
below her.  Is it possible to do a quintuple-take?  She started
cussing again.

"You're repeating yourself," observed a nearby Cousin.  Most of them
were awake now, some holding their hands firmly over their ears and
some enjoying the music.  At least, they were until they saw Tok's
expression.

"What's going on out there?" someone asked.

"There's a flatbed truck outside carrying a rock band that looks like
KISS," Tok  explained, calmly and reasonably, she thought.  Quite well
for someone who wakes up only slightly less cranky than Divia.  She
wouldn't want a perssonal live concert from Garth Brooks at this hour,
let alone KISS.

As several Cousins rushed to the window to see for themselves, Tok
sighed and shrugged.  It could have been worse -- at least it wasn't a
bunch of Steve Miller Band impersonators playing "Fly Like an Eagle". 
Someone would have been seriously hurt (if this weren't a family
list).

Just then, the doorbell rang.  Tok and the others rushed downstairs.
Tok reached the door first and opened it to be confronted by a
delivery person with several large boxes labeled "Ferrara -- fine
pastries", a large tub of what smelled like cappuccino, a stack of
Aquarian Weekly's, and a similar stack of postcards featuring the NYC
skyline at sunset.  Tok signed for the delivery and snatched one of
the postcards before the entire stash disappeared inside.

"Good Morning!  :-)  Love, JamiMR"

<<I *hate* perkiness in the morning,>> thought Cousin Tok.  <<Even if
it's by remote.>>
                                 * * *
Cousin Willow peeked out the door from between Mom's legs.  That truck
out there looked interesting, and in her young lifetime she'd never
seen *anything* like the men on top of it.  She decided to go check it
all out. A kitten's gotta do what a kitten's gotta do.
                                 * * *
Before Tok could shut the door and go back to pretending the KISS
impersonators weren't there, a gray streak bolted through the opening.
"Willow!  Come back here this instant!"  Tok ran after her, leaving
the other Cousins gaping in amazement and amusement.

Willow darted toward the musicians.  Defying the laws of gravity as
only a kitten could, she leapt to the platform and started purring at
the men.  The sight of the shrieking Cousin Tok running at them caused
the concert to come to an abrupt halt; for a moment, the only sound
was purring.

As Tok explained to the men just *why* continuing the concert was a
really bad idea, the purring became muffled.  Tok looked around,
trying to spot Willow.  "Did anyone see where my kitten got to?"

"I think she's in there," one of them said, pointing at the large box
sitting behind them on the truck.

"What's in there?" Tok asked.

"Our make-up, spare costumes, that kind of thing."

"Willow, come on, kitten, let's get out of here," said Tok, whispering
sweetly as she looked into the box.  Ah...there was a flash of gray
fur. "Come on, Willow -- come to Mama."  Clattering arose from the
box. "WILLOW!!"  Much to the consternation of the band and the vast
amusement of her fellow Cousins, Tok dove into the box after the
errant feline.  For a moment, there was only a loud clatter-crunch-
squish (squish?) from the box, and then silence.

Tok emerged holding the purring Cousin Willow.  Both were covered with
splotches of white greasepaint.  Tok *glared* at the band, who
suddenly remembered another engagement and sped away as soon as the
two Cousins got down.

Tok got Willow back inside CERK, choosing to ignore the giggles and
outright guffaws and belly laughs from her friends.  She glared at
Willow as she hunted for the basement stairs.  "I should let you stay
this way for awhile, but I'll catch hell from LaCroix if I let you get
greasepaint on anything. Now where do you suppose I can find a bucket
big enough to wash a kitten in?"  Basements always had stuff like
that.  <<I really must remember to thank Jamie properly for her lovely
wake-up call.>>


*********************************************************************


KISS wake-up call
Tina Cooling (aka Bast)

Time: concurrent with all the KISS posts
University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign

Tina was sleeping peacefully in her dorm room, her blanket over her
head trying to block out the light that the pitifully inexpensive
curtains the University of Illinois had provided let in.  It wasn't
succeeding, and she was half awake, trying, and slowly succeeding in
getting back to sleep, when she heard...it.  Blaring music, screaming
from somewhere five stories down.  Standing groggily, she tottered to
the window and pulled the curtains open, wincing at the onslaught of
light.  'That'll teach me to stay up until six in the morning on e-
mail!  SKL generates *far* too much mail!' she thought.

Tina blinked, unknowingly doing an imitation of a certain (not quite
so at the moment) long-haired vampire.   She peered down, not quite
believing what she saw.

"That's KISS!" she yelled.  Wait.  Maybe not.  She reached for her
glasses and put them on.  "Ok, they're impersonators, and they're
screaming my name and waving at me.  Why are they doing that?"

Suddenly, there came a knock at her door.  "Uh-oh," she said, opening
it to see a deliveryman.  She wasn't worried about him.  Behind the
delivery man was a *very* upset Resident Director.

"Miss Cooling," he said stuffily.  "It has come to
our...attention...that this disturbance was somehow caused by you.  It
must stop."

"What?  I can't stop it.  I didn't hire them."

"Look," said the guy in the uniform rather quickly.  "I just have to
deliver this stuff to you, then can I leave?"  He hated seeing people
get in trouble.  Handing Tina a bag, he had her sign for it, and ran
off before the daggers the RD was glaring into his back actually did
kill him.

Tina walked into her room and sat down on the bed, examining the
contents of the bag.  "Hmmm...Ferrara pastries, cappuccino, a
postcard...and Aquarian Weekly!  Cool!  Someone has great taste!"
Turning the postcard over, she saw "Good Morning!  :-)  JamieMR" on
the back.  "Hah, Jamie, I should have known!"  Tina grinned, sipping
the cappuccino, listening to the KISS impersonators, ignoring the
complaints of her neighbors and the write-up slips that began to pile
up beneath her door.  If they didn't have any taste, well, that was
their problem.


*********************************************************************


Early Morning Coffee and A KISS
Sunday 7/28, 5:00 am
Partly and the Perks

Partly rolled over in the large, soft bed and stared at the closed
curtains of the hotel room.  Stupid idea, closing the curtains.  How
could the morning sun shine in?  A room facing the east should let the
sunrise in, she believed.  There was movement in the other bed in the
room, and Partly sighed.  Robin was a Perkulator, but she didn't share
the same view of mornings as Partly did.  Oh, well.  She'd just have
to go down and get some sunshine in the hotel restaurant.  Partly
quickly dressed and grabbed her PowerBook on the way out of her room.

The Four Seasons hotel certainly lived up to it's reputation as the
best in Toronto and the suite they were in was be best Partly had ever
been in (although that's not saying much, the only time she ever had
money was when she was in a war).  The suite consisted of two
adjoining rooms, both with their own bath, and one, the one she took,
had a hot tub.  The four bed's were all king size and very plush, and
the paintings on the wall had the matting, frame and glass of original
art.  The bedrooms opened out into a large sitting room with a bar,
sitting area with fireplace and large screen TV, and balcony with
seats.  The bedrooms also had balconies, and being on the top floor
gave one a beautiful view of Toronto.

Partly tiptoed through the outer room, being careful not to wake
Frederic. As the only male in the group, he had gallantly offered to
sleep on the sofa, giving the four women the beds.  Not being a fool,
Partly accepted his gesture.  She did, however, give him her spare
silver coin from Lake of the Torches casino, the twin to her lucky
one.  Frederic thought it was a good trade.

She slipped into the elevator, noting that it was card-keyed from the
hours of 9 to 9.  She pushed ground floor, and watched the numbers
count down to G, a process she always found amusing.  It was good that
no one learned to count from elevators.  The doors opened and Partly
followed the aroma to coffee.

Seated at a table in the sunshine, she flipped on her computer, stared
at the almost empty tables and smiled.  At five, it was early, even
for her. But the quietness was nice and she need time to think.
Yesterday's events needed sorting out, and for that she needed coffee.
The waiter brought her a cup and left the pot at her request.  He
noted her order on a tab and left.  In addition to the room, they had
won complimentary breakfasts and had been given a fully stocked bar.
Winning the raffle had been one of the better things that happened.
As for Tracy...

Tracy had to be dead.  Too many people had seen her die.  So that
meant she had seen a look-alike, a ghost, or just a figment of her
overactive imagination.   The computer's desktop flashed at her and
Partly signed onto AOL, checking her mail.  Jennie still hadn't
answered her e-mail, making Partly think that the Pack was up to
something (not a  surprise).  The you've got mail tone sounded and a
new message appear.  It was from GoodCopT.

TO:  PartlyK
FROM: GoodCopT
DATE:  7/28
MESSAGE:  Thanks for the flowers.  Feeling guilty?

Partly swore under her breath.  What is going on?

"Such language in a public place,"  Robin's voice behind her made
Partly jump.  "I though you gave that language up when you had
children."

The rest of the Perks followed the redhead to the table.  Partly spun
the computer so they could read the message.  "This is too weird."

Frederic nodded his agreement and sat down, pouring everyone some
coffee. "You think it's her?"

"How can it be?  It could be someone impersonating her..."  Partly
suddenly stopped and looked at them.  "What are you all doing up?
Couldn't sleep, either?"

Courtney grimaced.  "It's very hard to sleep when someone forgets to
turn off her alarm."  She stared pointedly at Partly.

"Country music at 5:30 is almost intolerable," Robin added.  The rest
of the Perks nodded.  "Especially that loud."

"Sorry," Partly apologized.

They sat in silence for a while, then Lynne spoke.  "If it's not her,
then who?  And why?"

"War?"  They had all been thinking it.

Partly shrugged.  "I don't even know if one's going on."

Almost immediately there was a jarring cord on a very loud electric
guitar. A drum beat followed.  Four large men in black leather and
face paint pushed their way into the restaurant and began playing.

"I... wanna rock an' roll all night an' party every day!"
(insert appropriate wailing of electric guitars)

The band played until a panicked waiter managed to pull the plug on
them. In the few minutes that it took the Perks ears to stop ringing,
the largest, hairiest band member dropped off a package on the table,
then they left.

Partly grabbed the postcard of the New York City skyline at sunset,
while the others  went though the gifts.  They included:  a small box
of Italian pastries from Ferrara, a large cup of cappuccino, a copy of
the Aquarian Weekly.  Partly read the scrawl on the back of the card: 
"Good Morning! :-)  Love, JamieMR".

"I think was can assume this is war."  Frederic said.

Partly nodded, and the waiter walked back over to them.  "Was that
KISS?" He asked.

Partly shook her head.  "I doubt it."  She looked at everyone and
smiled. "Everyone knows that you never KISS with morning breath."


*********************************************************************


Pig's Blood and one Angry Vaquero
Location: The Old Church
Time: 6 am. July 28th
By: Torrey Harris
-------------------------------------------------------
"Pig Blood?!?" Torrey yelled, looking at the offending bottle in her
hand. "I paid for human blood! That's it!" Digging around in the pile
of bags still on the floor, Torrey frantically searched for the Cell
phone and phone book. Finding them, she sat down and dialed the phone
number.

"Hello, Merc Central." The voice sweetly answered on the other end.

"Hello, can I speak to Mel, please." Torrey replied, just as sweetly,
grinding her teeth.

"One moment, please."

"Hello?" a sleepy voice answered.

"Hi Mel, this is Torrey." Torrey responded sweetly.

"Ummm, Hi Torrey. How are things?" Mel answered with a trace of worry
in her voice. There was a sound of a bottle of Tums being opened in
the background.

At that Torrey's voice dropped to a low dangerous growl. "Now you
listen to me...I *know* what you did last night. You have until this
afternoon to get the real blood to me or I will report you and have
your head. Do I make my self clear? Or, I could just tell Vachon *who*
was responsible for the pig blood."

"Yes! No! Uh, You don't understand...."  Squeaked the voice on the
other end. "You see I ran into some problems.." There was the sound of
multiple tablets of Tums being violently chewed on.

Torrey cut her off. "I don't want to hear it! You have until this
afternoon...make it happen!" With that Torrey slammed the phone down.


*********************************************************************


HEAVEN'S ON FIRE
6:06 AM Sunday, July 28, 1996
The Old Church

by Nancy W. (Vaquera)


Apache and Torrey had gone off somewhere with Vachon. Alone. This left
the remaining Vaqueras wanting to know exactly *who* had decided that
*they* should have that particular privilege.

Debate ensued and it wasn't pretty.

Tempers flared, names were called. Undignified references to both
animals and ancestry were made. Snide remarks about Apache's Gold Card
entered the conversation. Jay, Cindy, Debra and Crystal were quick to
remind everyone just who had done most of the work of digging up their
favorite vampire. Sherri mockingly reminded everyone of Torrey's Salt
Circle. Pat and Nancy muttered threats to find the Inca and form their
own faction.

Yes, there was discord in the ranks. The Green-eyed Monster had
struck, and this time, its name was not Vachon.

"Well, it's not like Vachon really belongs to any of us. He is his own
vampire, after all."  Jenn, The Occasionally Responsible Vaquera,
spoke up, responsibly.

Everyone agreed she had a point, and soon thereafter it was decided
that a hungry, dirty, crabby, probably dangerous <and a few mutterings
of the word 'ungrateful' were heard> vampire was, in the long run, too
much like a Responsibility.

The herd cringed collectively at the dreaded "R" word.

Still, as the sun showed its face over the eastern horizon, appearing
very much like it does on the opening credits and causing everyone
pangs of nostalgia, mirth did not reign amidst the Vaqueras.

And then they heard it.

At first, some thought they were only imagining that glorious and
heavenly anthem, that heavy-metal hymn to the God of Spandex and Big
Hair.

But the poignant, moving words were unmistakable:

"I wanna rock and roll all night/And party every day..."

They flocked en masse to a shattered window and beheld the source of
this enchanting reverberation. There, on a flatbed truck outside the
church, was KISS!

Nancy muttered, "I am not worthy," and fainted.

Pat revived her with a kick to the ribs. "They're fakes, moron."

This, alas was true. The band was bogus. But the music was real. This
was especially heartening to Nancy, who had opened the case of the
only CD she had brought to Toronto (Guns N' Roses' "Appetite for
Destruction", which she had considered appropriate background music
for a war) to discover that somehow Axl Rose & Co. had been replaced
with Corel.Draw Version 3.0.

Of course, any kind of rock music stirred the heart of a True Vaquera,
but there was something special about the kind of rock music performed
by musicians with lots of hair and tight pants who did other
interesting things with their guitars besides play them...

One by one, Vaqueras began to move in time with the music.

In no time, the formerly dour group had been transformed into a
headbanging, slam-dancing, moshing mass of joyous abandon. Sarah, Gay,
Ann, Charlyne, Debra, Jill and Sarah whipped their long hair in unison
in a formidable cascade of follicular frenzy. Lisa-Marie and Shannon's
waist-length tresses and Nancy's braids became lethal weapons.

(Shortly thereafter, the pastries arrived, much to the delight of the
more experienced rockers who knew the importance of stoking up on
carbos before going into the moshpit... Some would have preferred a
beverage somewhat less pretentious than cappucino, but hey, they were
Vaqueras - they made do with what they had.)

The appropriateness of "Creatures of the Night" brought cheers of joy
from the herd. "I Love it Loud" sent them into a blissful delirium.
Some were moved to dedicate "I Was Made For Loving You" to Vachon (and
the lesser-known "Parasite" to Apache and Torrey...). Only the more
conservative in the group questioned the taste of participating in a
sing-along to "Unholy" in a church. All were moved to tears by "God
Gave Rock and Roll to You," during which hands were joined and
camaraderie was shared.

Later, they would learn that it was intended as a wake-up call.
Someone thought Vaqueras would actually be *getting up* at that hour?!
AS IF!!!

But it was the thought that counted.  It was agreed that, once he
could be safely approached, Vachon would be asked for a lock of his
precious hair, which would be sent to Jamie as a token of appreciation
for her most thoughtful and generous gift.

As the band pulled away to the waves and cheers of the Vaquera's,
Jerimi's voice emerged with a question.

"Hey, where's Bonnie?"


*********************************************************************


Seek, Locate, Destroy (2/2)
By Cynthia Hoffman, with input from Raven Jane and Vaquera Bonnie
July 28, 1996
6:30 a.m.
The Raven, after the arrival of the KISS impersonators, before Chain
of Thought 2

It was finally quiet.  Blessedly, peacefully quiet.  No one demanding
her time, no one asking her questions she had to pretend to know the
answers to, no one banging on walls, knocking down runways and ramps,
destroying stages ... although she did have to admit watching that
runway come down once again, this time to be totally destroyed and
then gleefully burned in the back alley had been a pleasure she was
glad she hadn't missed.  Still, the quiet was a gift she wished to
savour for as long as she could.

Cynthia sat at the bar, on the one bar stool that still cooperated in
holding human weight, and inhaled the steam coming from her large mug
of Peet's Coffee (tm), the look of sheer bliss on her face making it
clear once again why she never traveled anywhere without it.  This was
her third cup and the cobwebs left by no sleep, a debate with a
potential songbird about working at the Raven and a visitation by
white faced KISS impersonators had left her feeling less than warm and
fuzzy.  She hated mornings enough as it was, although of course this
morning had the distinct advantage of being one she was awake for, as
opposed to one she had been awakened to see.  Remembering her friend
Shael's admonition always to remember to be grateful for the little
things, Cynthia sighed, grabbed the coffee thermos and settled in to
make sure she'd covered all bases.

She began by carefully reviewing her notes from the last evening's mad
phone calls.  The painters were in at 7:30 a.m. to do the walls,
followed by the woodworkers at 10 to handle the floors and the bar
paneling as well as the new stage. At around one she was expecting a
delivery of glassware, two new beer refrigerators, a large supply of
liquor and other drinkables for the human bar along with furniture
that didn't split apart when you looked at it wrong.  She glanced down
at her bar stool, unwilling to tempt fate but remembering the number
of times she'd landed on her butt in the preceding hours because the
stool decided not to hold her weight any longer. Jessica seemed to be
the only person not having that problem ... but then she only weighed
45 pounds.

Cynthia ran her hands through her hair, sending it into wild disarray,
well wilder disarray, and tried to figure out what she was missing.
Walls, floors, bar, liquor, alternative liquids, refrigeration,
furniture... oh damn.  Music required a sound-system that both Lorelei
and Chris had assured her was no longer in existence any where in the
club.  Bonnie had given her some information on her requirements.
Where had she put those notes?  Grabbing Lorelei's cell phone,
ignoring the time of morning, Cynthia began to call electronics supply
houses and proceeded to order microphones, speakers, tweeters,
blasters and generators that she had been assured would do the trick. 
She'd send Chris out later to buy stereo equipment and enough CDs to
keep everyone happy when there wasn't live music.

The last thing on her list was the rather dicey question of stocking
the *vampire* bar.  She really wasn't up to handling that one on her
own on no sleep, and was about to start whining to no one in
particular about it when a very sleepy looking Jane emerged from the
back room, looking lost and alone and totally disshevelled.

"What happened?  I thought you were coming to bed hours ago, after
those idiots with the loud music left."  Jane yawned widely.  "I
waited and waited, but you never showed up."

Cynthia waved the cell phone at her notepad and glared at Jane.  This
was the last thing she needed after a night of no sleep.

Confusion filled Jane's eyes for a moment -- what had she done to get
Cyn so angry -- then comprehension dawned.  One of these days, she'd
learn to put her brain into gear before speaking.  "Too much to do,
huh?"

"I have no idea how I get myself into these things.  I mean I never
actually said "yes" this time, did I?"

"You forgot to say no."  Jane covered her mouth as another yawn worked
its way out.  She wandered over and they stood quietly for a few
moments with their arms around each other, Jane's head resting on
Cynthia's shoulder.

"How are your shoulders and neck?"

"A bit stiff."  Cynthia admitted.

"Want a quick neck rub?"

"Mmm... please."

Jane moved around so she was behind Cynthia, pushed her hair forward
and began massaging her neck and shoulders.  Experienced fingers found
the tight spots and worked them until the tension eased and muscles
began to feel softer and less like bone.

"Feel better? Mmmph."  Whatever Jane was going to say got lost in
another huge yawn.

"Much."  Cynthia swung around and faced Jane.  "You should get some
sleep. You won't be much use later if you don't.  I really need
Miklos, you know. He'd know where to get blood for the vampire bar,
wouldn't he?"

But Jane was already gone to bed.  Leaving Cynthia alone once again
with the task of finding blood for the bar and a cleanup crew that
could be trusted to arrive before 4:00 p.m. and be out of there by 7
at the latest so they could put the finishing touches on the bar
before opening.

Grabbing the yellow pages and the cell phone, Cynthia punched in
numbers.

"Spic-N-Span Cleaning Service? I'm calling from the Raven on Richmond
Street.  We have a need for your services, *today*, this afternoon in
fact.  I don't care what it will cost me.  Just get me a crew here by
3:00."


*********************************************************************


The Vaqueras/os Get Wired!
by Charlyne L. Walker

July 28, 1996 starting at 7 am
At the church.

Charlyne woke up very early the morning after Vachon returned to the
living. She normally got up by 7:00 am anyway and today was definitely
not a day to sleep in. A few hours of sleep to clear the brain and she
was ready to start getting the computer room set up.  The first order
of business was to find an electric source. Then, when the computers
she had shipped from home arrived, they could be setup right away.
Good thing the computer store that her friend runs is being renovated
for the next few weeks. Of course, it didn't hurt that she had some
*interesting* photos from the last Christmas party. Getting the
machines the Vaquera's needed was no problem at all.

Charlyne grabbed a bagel from the food stash on her way outside to
check out the wires near the church and see if any led into the
church. On her way out of the door, she noticed that Jay was awake as
well. "Jay, would you like to give me a hand chasing down some wires?"

"Sure, lead the way," he replied as he scavenged for his own
breakfast.

Once outside, they noticed that there was a set of electric wires
leading into the basement of the church. It also looked like there was
a phone wire as well. "I guess this means that we will have to go into
the basement," Charlyne said more matter-of-factly than she felt.
//Just what I always wanted to do, find out what a vampire keeps in
his basement. Boy am I glad to have someone else to come along with
me.//

Jay and Charlyne returned to the inside the church. Charlyne picked up
the two large flashlights she had packed with her luggage. //Once a
Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout// she thought to herself. They located
the door to basement. Jay gallantly offered to lead the way. They both
clicked on their flash lights and began to descend into the basement.
The box was near the stair landing so they didn't have to explore too
far, a fact both were profoundly grateful for. Charlyne looked over
the box. "It looks like everything is in pretty good shape. All we
should need is to have the electricity to be turned on."

As they made their way back upstairs Charlyne said, "On to Phase 2. We
need to find a room that is wired for electricity. Can you check out
the rooms while I use the pay phone to setup the electric, phone and
Internet service?"

Jay began looking through the rooms in the church to find one suitable
for the computer bank while Charlyne went to call in a few favors.

<7:30 am at Pay phone, down the block from the Church>

"Hi, may I speak with Dale?" Charlyne waited while Dale was summoned
to the phone.  "Hey Dale, it's Charlyne. I'm in Toronto. Remember you
said next time I was in town to look you up? Well, I need a favor, a
few favors actually." Charlyne began to list the things she needed. "I
need to have phone and electric service connected at this address...I
also need to have our Internet connection established immediately. Oh,
and bill it to the advertising/promotional account." Charlyne listened
the other end of the conversation for a minute and a frown began to
form on her face.

"What do you mean you can't get the service connected until tomorrow
at the earliest! Do you really want to see the pictures of your last
birthday party on my web page?"

Another pause while Dale considered his options. "Good. I thought you
would see things my way. Today by 10:00 am would be fine. The phone
number will be 555-1531. Thanks buddy, I appreciate it."

Charlyne made her way back to the church. //The computer shipment
should be here by the time the electricity and phones were ready.//
she thought as she walked back.

<back at the Church>

Jay met Charlyne at the door. "I found the perfect room. It looks like
it might have been the pastors study and there seem to be several
electric outlets in the wall. I think it would do quite nicely if we
could find some tables to setup the computers on."

"Not to worry, I included some tables with the computers."

Jay and Charlyne cleaned out the newly dubbed computer room while they
waited for the computers to arrive and the service to be connected.
Charlyne pulled out a phone from her luggage and connected it to the
extension in the computer room. She also setup her laptop and
connected the modem.

<9:00, computer room at the Church>

Charlyne picked the phone up to see if it had been activated. She was
pleasantly surprised to hear the phone line active. As she dialed into
her ISP, she thought with a smile //Sure is nice to have to know
someone who has something to hide.// As soon as the connection was
established, Charlyne's first priority was to check on the progress of
the computers. //Hm...they should be here within the next half hour.//

Charlyne went out to let the Vaquera/os in the church know that their
computers would be here soon. As she finished telling everyone the
news about the restoration of the electricity and telephone, the
delivery truck arrived. She drafted a few volunteers to unload and
setup the machines. It was going to be a nice setup when they
finished!


*********************************************************************


Laura Gets Some Bad News
By: Laura Ruggiero (Die-Hard)
Date & Time: Sunday July 28, about 8 am
Place: Die-Hard HQ

Laura was checking her e-mail. She hadn't gotten much sleep last
night, but that didn't matter, this was war, and it was fun. *What's
this, a message from mythesischair?  From Friday?  it took 2 days to
get to me!!!!  SIU had better stop messing up the mail system...., *
Laura thought as she opened the message.

--------------------
Date: Fri, 26 Jul 1996 09:04:09 -0500
From: MyThesisChair (thesischair@siu.edu)
To: larug@siu.edu
Subject: **** BB is going to Kenya, the deadline is near ****
Status:

Laura-
Two important items concerning your thesis. I just found out that BB
is heading of to Kenya for some unknown amount of time.  She leaves
Tuesday.  You need to get at least a partial draft to her by then.

Also, you have not been given an extension yet.  In order to get one
you must have a  very good draft of your thesis done by the end of
Summer Session.  I know you've been working on it, so it shouldn't be
a problem. Get those draft chapters to me as soon as you can.

Remember though, you can't send large files to me through e-mail, or
you'll crash my computer.  I would prefer printed copies anyway.  We
should meet on Monday to go over what you have written, and what you
should give to BB.

Get back to me as soon as you can.

mythesischair
-----------------------------
Laura's face paled to an almost vampiric shade as she read this. "Oh
s**t, I can't believe this is happening.  BB couldn't have told me
something herself, long ago?  How am I going get even a partial draft
done by the end of summer session?"  Laura's voice was taking on a
near hysterical quality.  Then she became too calm, "This is not good.
I've got to go home.  Now."

She quickly informed the Die-hards what had happened and that she had
to go home and to temporarily withdraw from the war.  "I'll be back
though, as soon as I can, maybe even by August 2nd or 3rd.  Until
then, I'm sure Ron will be able to handle things here.  If you really
need me, I'm only an e-mail away."

With that she quickly packed, and headed back to Carbondale, IL.


*********************************************************************


Twisting in the Wind
Time:  Sunday, July 28, 8am
Place: Felix Twist's Office
Author: Lana G. Soward

Lana sat across from Felix Twist, steadily reading and signing papers.

"Who'd ever have thought there'd be so much bloody paperwork," she
grumbled, as she struggled to focus on the words.  She still hadn't
been to bed and the lack of sleep was having it's effect on her
concentration.  It didn't help, when the phone on his desk rang.

Felix quickly picked it up and became involved in arguing with the
person on the other end of the line.  Lana ignored them, until her
attention was grabbed by one word.  "Nicholas."

"... Nicholas.  I can't help you without them," Felix said.  "If you
can't find it, then we'll have to contact Larry Merlin for help.  And
you know what happened last time we did that."  Felix listened some
more.  "Well, that's hardly my fault.   You should have hid it in a
place you'd remember."

Felix hung up the phone and wan