*********************************************************************
                            War 7 File 4
*********************************************************************

Exhibit(ionists) 1/5
By:  K. S. Gritten, Mei Wa Kwong, Alora Chistiakoff, Amparo
(Pod) Bertram and Jill Kirby, with suggestions by Sharon
Himmanen and the NatPack
Time:  Monday, July 29, about 7 pm
Place:  NatPack limo, enroute to ROM exhibit


The limo slid effortlessly through the evening traffic. The occupants
of the car, however, were less calm.

"Are you sure that you know how to get there?" Alora asked, slightly
worried. She fiddled with the car front panels absently, turning down
the volume of Kelly's tape (not that Jim Byrnes' voice wasn't lovely,
but still...), changing the air conditioner setting, and finally
settling upon the cigarette lighter which glowed cheerfully at her.

"You aren't going to smoke in here," Kelly said, turning the volume
back up. Her navigation always improved with a little driving
distraction. "Besides, I thought that Jill knew where we were going."
It wasn't that she particularly enjoyed driving this huge hunk of
metal, but Sharon had her car, and they had all that money, so it
seemed logical at the time to rent a limo. Besides, the driver got
first choice of music.

Lounging in the backseat with Amparo and Mei, Jill sighed. "It's not
much further," she said, plucking a non-existent piece of lint from
her black silk shirt. "Oh, these clothes are so hard to keep clean."

"I'd settle for any clothes," Mei grumbled. All this money, and the
only thing that she had to wear was a silver airline peanut bag. And a
cellular phone. Maybe if she draped the cord of the phone
suggestively...

"I think that we're going to be late," Alora continued, cutting off
the conversation before it could digress any further. She definitely
did not want to talk about clothes.

"Do you think that Nick will be there?" Pod asked suddenly. Jill shot
her a curious glance at the almost... longing tone in her voice.

"In spirit, if not physically, I'm sure," Kelly said evenly, grinding
her teeth a little.

"Oh, I hope that he is," Amparo continued. "I've got this tape I made
of his voice from various episodes...you don't mind if I put it in, do
you?" She lunged for the tape deck and popped the cassette of Jim
Byrnes out, but Kelly, one hand still on the steering wheel, grabbed
her arm with the other in a death grip.

"You are not putting a tape of Nick Knight babbling on in my car!" she
exclaimed.

"It's not your car!" Amparo retorted, snatching her arm away from the
rabid NatPacker. "We all paid for it."

"Well, I don't--"

"Shhhh..." Alora commanded, suddenly turning the volume on the radio
up.

"...the car, an Autumn-Wine (tm) Chevy Cavalier with US license plates
appears to be in pursuit of another vehicle. They've been disrupting
traffic all along the main thoroughfares, but city officials are
gaining quickly. We'll have more news for you as the story
progresses..."

"Sharon!" they shouted.

"My car!" Kelly moaned.

"We've got to find her!" Alora cried.

"Wait! Wait! Stop! There!" screamed Mei.

"What is it? Is it Sharon?" asked Kelly, swiveling around to look at
the other occupants.

"The road! Kelly watch the road!" Jill sputtered, gripping the
driver's shoulder painfully hard.

With cat-like reflexes--okay, fear-driven reflexes--Kelly spun back
around to see the limo about to barrel into a sixteen wheeler. With a
sharp jerk of the wheel, she managed to maneouver the limo back into
its lane. "Male, Canadian drivers," she muttered under her breath.

The passengers in the back slowly picked themselves up from the floor
where they had been thrown by Kelly's creative driving.

"Now Mei," began Kelly in an irritatingly calm voice, "What did you
see? Sharon?"

"No." Mei answered excitedly, an unholy gleam in her eyes. "A mall."

"We nearly got killed because you saw A MALL?!" screamed an
incredulous Alora.

"Hey!" Mei said, defending herself. "You try taking a simple flight
from Washington, DC to Toronto which happened to be delayed two hours
but they don't bother to tell you so they leave you sitting on the
runway. Then when you finally take off, you get re-routed to Omaha.
Then they stick you on a flight to Baton Rouge with a connecting
flight to Dallas from there to New York and fifteen hours later you
wind up in Toronto. Wearing the same clothes I might add.  You would
get excited about a mall too."

"We're going to be late to the exhibit," Alora muttered.

"I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL I GET SOME CLOTHES!" Mei said, deadly
calm.

With a far-away look in her eyes, Amparo patted Mei on the shoulder
comfortingly. "Don't worry. They can drop us off, and we'll meet up
with them later. We need to shop."


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


Exhibit(ionists) 2/5
Time:  Monday, July 29, c. 7:30 pm
Place:  A Really Big Mall


"I can't wear that!" Mei squeaked.

She was staring at the black leather dress that was slit up the sides.
Slit in the more metaphorical sense of meaning barely qualifying to be
called a single piece of clothing. Opened all the way up to the top of
the thighs, the only thing that held the front and back of the dress
together were criss-crossing ties. The front was conservatively cut,
but the back plunged down to the bottom of the spine.

"Why not?" Amparo asked in all innocence.  She looked at the dress in
her hands. "You would look great in this."

Mei glared at her. "I'm going to be a future lawyer. Future lawyers do
not wear that." She stabbed a finger at the dress to emphasize her
point.

"And I guess that is what they wear?" Pod asked looking at the
leggings and oversized T-shirt on her companion who also had a
sweatshirt knotted around her waist with a raised eyebrow.

"This is my travel outfit," Mei said with as much dignity as she could
muster for someone wearing battered Reeboks and purple leggings while
browsing in the evening wear.

"Okay," said Pod as she replaced the dress on the rack. She pulled out
another outfit. "How about this one?"

Mei stared at the dress that looked like a piece of black lace on a
hanger. "No." Mei walked over to another rack and pulled out another
dress. "Yes?"

Amparo looked at the high-necked, matronly dress. "No." She selected
another one. "Yes?"

"I don't have the right equipment to keep that dress up."

They finally compromised on a strapless red gown that was tight enough
for Mei to keep up and short enough to satisfy Pod.

"Now," Amparo said, rubbing her hands in glee, "My turn." She gave the
remains of Mei's hunt a withering glance. "No...no...I do have
*standards*--after all, *he* might see me in the dress I choose...."
She trailed off dreamily, her eyes glazing.

"He?" Mei was perplexed."He who?"

Amparo shook her head, her long hair swishing back and forth. "Hmm?
Oh, no one, never mind." She continued her search, finally selecting a
form-fitting, thigh-length, sleeveless number, elegantly cut from
midnight blue crushed velvet. "Now--accessories! We'll have to try
another shop," she sighed. "Come on."

They paid for their outfits and Mei followed the other NatPacker
through the mall. They passed by shop after shop, none meeting with
approval, until Pod practically screeched to a halt. Her eyes shone.
Her breathing grew shallow.

"What is it?" Mei asked, pushing her aside to look in the shop window.
There it sat, sleek and glistening black, coiled like a deadly snake
poised to strike. "A *whip*? What on Earth would you do with a
*whip*?"

Amparo floated into the store, mesmerized. "Rank hath its privileges,"
she murmured. "It's perfect. The ideal Zine Organizer's Whip(tm)."

"But why...?" Mei persisted.

Pod smiled at her own private vision, worlds away. "When he comes
back, I'll show him a night he'll never forget!"


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


Exhibit(ionists) 3/5
Time:  Monday, July 29, about 7:30 pm
Place:  ROM, the Brabant exhibit


"What a slob," Alora muttered as she tried to wipe soot off her
sequined halter top and black pant suit. Tiring of playing with the
lighter in the car, she had begun lighting and blowing out matches, to
the bemused glances of her companions.  The NatPackers had made it to
the Royal Ontario Museum, relatively unscathed, but they were awaiting
the arrival of their comrades missing-in-shopping-action. They stepped
on the escalator and rode up to the reception area.

"Can't take you anywhere, can we?" Kelly teased as she and Jill
scanned the room for any signs of Mercs, Cousins, Knighties, or any
other semblance of trouble.

"Apparently not," Alora grumbled. Giving up on cleaning her attire,
she looked up at Kelly, and noticed a change in her companion's
expression. "What are you doing?"

"Huh?" Kelly mumbled as she stared at the champagne fountain. She
ignored her fellow Natpackers and crossed the room to the overflow of
champagne. "Oh yum."

"Kelly?" Jill started to follow her.

Alora stared after them for a second, but she became distracted by
movement from the lower floor. Hopping on the down escalator, she
disappeared from sight.

"Alora!" Jill called after her, looking between the two as they headed
off in different directions. "War newbies!" she thought irritably.

Alora had continued through the foyer and out of the main building.
Stepping outside, she approached a stranger as he was lighting a
cigarette. "May I?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, tapping his cigarette carton and handing her one. Her
hand took the cigarette but her eyes never left the lighter.

"Uh, would you like a light?" the gentleman asked awkwardly as Alora
stood in the doorway holding the cigarette at her side.

"Huh?" She glanced at his face, "Yes, please." She lifted the
cigarette to her lips and watched as the man's thumb struck the shiny
lighter and the flame burst from the top. He held it to the end of her
cigarette and then quickly snapped it shut.

As the flame vanished Alora shook her head to clear it. "What was
that?" she thought. An image flickered in her memory--she and a woman,
talking somewhere. In a room...

The image disappeared.

Jill, who had pursued her, approached her cautiously. "Alora?"

"Yes?" She turned around, looking more than just slightly odd with a
cigarette dangling from her lower lip.

Jill arched her eyebrow, "Alora, I thought you had asthma?"

"I do," Alora said, missing the point.

"And I thought you didn't smoke because of it," Jill continued.

"I don't."

"Then why do you have a cigarette in your mouth, cheri?" Jill reached
up and took the cigarette from between the girl's lips. Waving it in
front of Alora she said, "These are very bad for asthmatics, non?"

Puzzled, Alora stared at the cigarette for a moment.

"Oh geez." She doubled over against the door as she convulsed in a fit
of choking and coughing.

"Are you alright?" Jill asked, once Alora stopped coughing.

She straightened and shook her head.

"You're turning blue!"

Alora nodded, and pointing to her purse on the ground, she wheezed,
"Inhaler!"

Jill reached for the small handbag lying on the sidewalk. Opening it,
she dug through several lighters and a dozen books of matches before
finding the medication necessary to keep one of the NatPackers from
being carted from the museum on a gurney.


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


Exhibit(ionists) 4/5
Time:  Monday, July 29, about 7:30 pm
Place:  ROM, the Brabant exhibit


After stationing Alora outside on a bench to rest, Jill returned
inside and headed up the escalator to the reception.

She found Kelly at the end of the bar, staring at the glasses in front
of her with great concentration, "That one needs more," she mumbled as
she reached for the bottle of vodka.

"Kelly, what are you doing?"

Kelly stirred the drink carefully, "The color is still wrong," She
reached for the cognac, before changing her mind, "Hey barkeep!"

The horrified bartender slowly approached the end of the bar, "Yes
ma'am?"

"Do you have any Ribena?"

"No ma'am." /What the hell's Ribena, anyway?/

"What about tomato juice?"

"With vodka and amaretto?"

"I want something red," Kelly shook her head at him as if he should
have known that.

"Yes ma'am." He reached beneath the bar and handed her a bottle of
tomato juice, "Anything else?"

"Got any orange juice and Peppermint Schnapps?"

The bartender looked at Kelly and then at Jill, who was staring rather
blankly at Kelly herself. Reaching into a box on the floor he handed
her bottles of each.

"That's much better!" Kelly smiled as she added a splash of each.

Jill felt her stomach turn as the tomato juice swirled through the
amaretto, "That is *disgusting* Kelly!"

"Hhmm?" Kelly jumped, "Oh, Jill, where have you been? Wanna drink?"
She offered Jill a glass.

"No. And I think you have had quite enough yourself, come on." Jill
grabbed Kelly by the arm.  Before they could make it out of the room,
however, they were confronted by a pair of women.  One wore a sapphire
blue satin gown, but she was without shoes; the other was more subdued
but still stunning in a black and pink ensemble. Jill eyed their
clothes with a practiced eye, and bristled slightly.

One of the them spoke.  "Hi, my name if Robbi Egersdorf and this is
Nancy Taylor.  We couldn't help but notice how much you look like a
certain... "

The other broke in. "Vampire we know."

The first gave her companion an evil glance, but continued, "Yes, as
Nancy so aptly put it.  You look so much like a Janette duCharme that
we know."

Jill smiled graciously. "Yes, I've been told that before.  My name is
Jill Kirby and my companion is Kelly Gritten." With a perfectly
manicured nail, she indicated to Kelly, who was less composed.

Kelly eyed the newcomers critically. They looked as if they needed a
few more vitamins in their diets. "We're NatPackers," she said, as if
that explained everything. "Would you like a drink?"

Nancy wrinkled her nose at the concoction which Kelly thrust towards
her. "No thanks, I've got something to drink. Thank you. We're
Knighties," she announced, and quickly took a sip of her undoctored
champagne.

"I'm so sorry," Jill said smoothly.  The Knighties appeared not to
notice.

Robbi elbowed her companion, then said in an attempt at being casual,
"Oh, so, have you heard from Natalie lately?

The NatPackers eyed them suspiciously. "Have you heard from Nicola?"
Jill retorted.

"Well, no. Not personally," Robbi admitted. Nancy broke in, "Have you
seen her lately?"

"We haven't seen her since...well, for quite a while," Kelly answered,
a grim look in her eyes.

The Knighties seemed anxious to continue the interrogation. Kelly
wondered whether the concern was theirs, or Nick's. "We've been so
worried. No one has heard from her in so long. Do you know what's
happened to her?" Robbi continued.

"Has something happened to her?" Jill answered glibly. "Perhaps she
went on vacation. Sunny beaches. Well-tanned beach volleyball players.
Sipping drinks in the sun. Maybe she'll send us a postcard one of
these days."

"Is she alright?" Nancy pushed. Jill was touched by the genuine
concern that she heard in the woman's voice, but she continued with
her light-hearted banter.

"Wouldn't you be alright if you had a well-tanned volleyball-playing
love slave? Of course, I'm not saying that's where she is...but you
never know." The conversation was wearing thin for the NatPackers, and
they eyed the Knighties carefully.

Robbi seemed to realize that the interview was at a close, and she
took her friend by the arm. "Come on Nancy. We need to get back."

The NatPackers watched them leave silently, lost in thought. Suddenly
Jill nudged Kelly painfully in the shoulder, almost making her spill
the drink concoction.

"We've got to get out of here," Jill said.

"Yeah," Kelly agreed. "Those Knighties are entirely too curious."

"No, look over there," Jill hissed. Kelly followed her gaze.

"Cool! Is that LaCroix? I've never actually met him. Or seen him in
the flesh, for that matter. I wonder if he likes Valentine
stories...."

"No, you don't understand," Jill continued, plucking the drink from
Kelly's hand, putting it on the bar, and steering her friend towards
the escalator.  "It's his flesh that is the problem."

"Huh?"

"Sometimes I forget that you weren't around for the last war. It's his
rear.  His bottom.  His butt."  She sighed.  "I'll tell you later.
Let's get out of here!"


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


Exhibit(ionists) 5/5
Time:  Monday, July 29, about 7:30 pm
Place:  ROM, Brabant exhibit


They found Alora still sitting on a bench nursing her inhaler, but she
had been joined by Mei and Amparo, who had returned from their
extensive shop. Pod had a whip--which the others instantly recognized
as a Zine-Organizer's Whip (tm) and watched her nervously, thinking of
all the zine stories that they still had not written--wrapped
decoratively around her waist.

"I think that we ought to get out of here," Kelly urged them, trying
to herd the NatPackers towards the limo. "I think that I saw a couple
of Unaffiliateds, we've been interrogated by Knighties--"

"Seen LaCroix," Jill interrupted darkly.

"LaCroix?!" Mei exclaimed enthusiastically, but quieted at Jill's
glare.

"--and besides," Kelly continued. "The bartender won't give me any
more alcohol to mix.  I think we should hit the bars."

The word choice was, perhaps, unfortunate. As if to illustrate the
REAL meaning of the word "hit", an ear-shattering squeal assaulted
their ears. They turned, and saw a variety of well-dressed,
exquisitely-coiffed museum patrons diving for cover as an Autumn-Wine
colored <tm> Chevy Cavalier, which had been flying through the parking
lot, came barreling towards them.

Kelly looked from the car, to the elegant and particularly-sturdy-
looking facade of the museum, and ran out towards the automobile
waving her hands madly. "Noooo!" she cried.

"Kelly!" the NatPackers screamed from behind her.

Anti-lock brakes are a Good Thing.

The car squealed to a halt in front of its owner. Sharon, a
surprisingly wide grin adorning her face, jumped out of the driver's
seat and said, "Hey, Kelly--your car handles like a dream! Thanks a
lot!"

Kelly whimpered back at her.

The other NatPackers pushed towards them, peppering Sharon with
questions. "Where have you been?" "How did you know that we were
here?" "Are you okay?"

Jill's voice cut through all of them. "Quiet!" They looked at her, but
she was pointing inside the car, indicating towards a figure in the
driver's seat. "Is that who I think it is?"

Sharon smiled even wider--if they hadn't been concentrating on the
stranger, the other NatPackers probably would have fainted in
amazement--and laughed, "It's a pretty good likeness, isn't it? He's
not the real The Guy; he's a part-time salt smuggler. I finally caught
up with him. We, uh..." she looked at The Guy Look-alike and waggled a
few fingers in his direction, "...came to an agreement. He's going to
be our chauffeur."

"Ooh," they breathed in unison, but quickly caught themselves so as
not to endure the wrath of Sharon.  Drooling over The Guy in any form
was not permitted in her presence.

Sharon, still high from the grand entrance, only gave Pod, who was
looking at The Guy Look-alike with an expression of longing, a
slightly belligerent glare. Alora nudged the girl pointedly. "Don't
look too long," she whispered.

"I think Sharon's so lucky," Pod said abruptly. "It's not the real The
Guy, but still....I was just thinking about Nick," she said in a
wistful sigh.

The change in Sharon was immediate and frightening. "Where is he?" she
howled. "Where's his sorry butt? He's a dead man!"

"He's already dead," Mei said helpfully. "He's a vampire."

Undeterred, Sharon continued. "Dead! And *I'm* gonna kill him! Mangle
him! Rip his sorry lips off, not that he would ever use them for
something as silly and useless as *foreplay*, because he's too busy
*lying* and being a waste product of undeadness!"

The other Natpackers slowly edged away from the Angry One, who had
gone so far beyond even her usual Nick-ranting that they were all
frightened.

"Something's not right here," whispered Kelly to Jill. "Just the
mention of his name set her off."

"Hands off the silk," Jill admonished Kelly, who quickly took her hand
off Jill's shoulder. "You're right. Sharon hates Nick, but not like
*this*. This is even worse than she gets when she's been drinking
Harp. Believe me, I know."

"Shave his nasty blonde head!" screeched Sharon, demonstrating by
pulling her own hair into a ponytail on top of her head and yanking it
violently, causing her head to flop around in a very unusual fashion.
"Shave it right the hell *off*!"

Amparo, who had snapped out of her Nick fantasy, nudged Kelly. "We
need to get her out of here," she said quietly over the roar of
Sharon's ever-increasing rage. She nodded toward several Knighties who
were gaping at them. "We'd better go." Amparo's eyes filled with
tears. "I don't understand why she *hates* him so, but we need to
leave."

"Well, we finally have my car," Kelly said with relief. "And the
keys," she added, as they flew out of Sharon's hand during one of her
pantomimed smacks of the "Nicky-twit." Kelly caught them neatly before
they smacked her in the head, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Anyone have an extra AK-47?" Sharon asked one of the spectators
hopefully, her eyes glittering. "And some ammo?"

"Come on Sharon," Jill soothed.  "Nick's not here.  Let's get back
home."

"Let's get out of here," Kelly agreed, moving towards her car. She
smiled suggestively at The Guy Look-alike, and was rewarded by a shift
in Sharon's attention.

"Grrrrrrrrrrr."

A dangerous shift, but a shift nonetheless.

"Here, Sharon," she held out the car keys, her hand shaking ever so
slightly. Don't show fear. Don't ever show that you are afraid. "Why
don't you take my car, and we can all go back to the NatPack Hostel.
We've got salt."

"And beer!" interjected Pod.  "Lots of beer."

"Salt." Sharon smacked her lips. "Beer." She grabbed Kelly's keys and
started towards the car, but Kelly beat her to the driver's side door
and pushed the seat forward.

"Why don't you and The--" she looked into the interior of the car and
addressed the man who had been taking the scene in silently, "Uh, you
sir...why don't you guys sit in the backseat."  She smiled helpfully
at Sharon.  "It's crowded back there."

The other NatPackers breathed a hearty sigh of relief when Sharon and
TG-L were settled calmly in the backseat, and they headed towards the
limo gratefully.


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


THE GIFT
by ??? aka The Cow
Idalia Kakesako  <idaliak@ix.netcom.com>
TimeKeeper and Comma Queen for the N&NPack

Monday, 29 July 1996    8:00pm
The Raven, Toronto, Ontario


The Cow appproached the front door of the Raven and knocked lightly.
An annoyed Immortal Beloved opened the door and was shocked to find a
person in a cow suit standing there with a box in hand. It took the
Immortal Beloved less than a minute to realize that this was the
Cousins' Cow.

"What can I do for you?" asked the IB.

"I have a package for the Immortal Beloveds and Raven/ettes from
Lacroix and the Cousins," responded the Cow.

"Oh....come in," suggested the Immortal Beloved with a little
unsureness in her voice.

The Cow followed her inside. The Cow then handed the Immortal Beloved
the package and the accompanying card. The IB opened up the card and
read it.

        "This is a token of my appreciation for your loyalty to my
daughter Janette. Loyalty of mere mortals such as yourselves is, I
must admit is important to the vampire community,  without which no
vampire except myself could survive. I do hope you tune into listen to
my radio show nightly.  --LACROIX"

The Immortal Beloved placed the card on the bar, then opened the box
of chocolates.  Her eyes widened in delight.  Cautiously she took one
of the confections from the box and smelled it.  She slowly bit into
the chocolate, and the delicious flavour burst into her mouth. The IB
sighed and reached for another piece.

In between bites, she called the rest of the Immortal Beloveds and
Raven/ettes over. The Cow watched as they swarmed over the chocolates.
The Cow swore that the crowd must not have eaten in months, the way
they gobbled down the chocolates! Within minutes the box was empty.

Suddenly the IB who had first eaten the chocolate doubled over,
grabbing her stomach and moaning.  Soon the others joined the cry.
The Cow smiled triumphantly at their first signs of illness.  "You
actually thought," the Cow said, "that Lacroix and Cousins would send
you a gift? This is war and Lacroix and the Cousins thank no one. You
will all be asleep for the next 12 hours, and when that wears off
you'll be spending the next 3 or 4 hours in the washroom with the
runs. I hope you learned a valuable lesson today."

Snickering, the Cow walked out of the Raven as IBs and Raven/ettes ran
for the nearest toilets.


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


Decorating the Raven
by Judith Freudenthal (DanaKnight@aol.com)
Time - After the Ravens and IB's eat the chocolate given to them by a
cow.
Place - Toronto, The Raven & N&Npack headquarters.

Four N&Npackers parked outside the Raven in a large delivery truck.
On the side was a magnetic sign which had the logo and name of a
furniture store on it (one that the Ravenettes would use/did use).

"Does everyone know their parts?"  Judy asked.  She was grateful for
the drugged chocolates as it allowed her to be in on this bit of
mischief. Especially since she was one of the main instigators of it. 
"Does everyone have everything?"

Judy saw the nods.  She quickly checked over everyone to make sure
that everything was just so.

"Then let the redecorating commence!"  Judy said as back doors opened.
She donned her baseball cap that would help hide her face and watched
as the poly coating was taken into the club.

The unconscious Ravenettes and Immortal Beloveds were carefully
carried to the back room so that work could commence without having to
step over the bodies.

"How long does this stuff take to dry?" Kelly asked.

"Hours.  Let's get the furniture in place first then we'll put this
down. We'll make sure it gets under the furniture as well."

Some of the furniture was quite colorful, definitely not standard
Raven decor.  Rather perky, actually.

A few hours passed as the club was completely redecorated.  Smiley
faces, butterflies and daisies were put everywhere.  There were even a
few cute bunnies pasted on the walls.  The club was just so perky.
The colors were also very happy bright colors like yellow, red, sky
blue.

The very last thing that was done was the poly stuff on the floor.
Smiley faces, and daisies were pressed into the stuff.  The sticky
stuff was placed under all the furniture and on all the walls as well.
It wouldn't do to have everything easily removable.  It would take
major work to scrape the walls and floors clean.  Just so that every
angle would be taken care of a giant flourescent smiley face was
painted on the ceiling.  It would not be noticed until the lights were
turned out.

The N&Npackers looked around satisfied with their work and left.  To
make the most out of it they mounted a micro camera in a spot where it
would never be found.  They headed out before anyone could catch them.

Judy sat in the truck monitoring things.  She had a laptop which was
hooked up to recieve the incoming color images.  What she saw
impressed her.

Her crew reentered the truck and they took off.

"Great work!  Now we just sit back and relax."


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


Decorating the Raven 2/2
by Judith Freudenthal
Date and time are the same as in part one.

The Ravenettes and Immortal Beloveds slowly awoke from the drugged
chocolates.  They were a little disoriented at first.  Soon enough the
other part of the sickness hit sending them fleeing to the bathrooms.

Once they began to feel better they headed out for the main room of
the Raven.  Someone flipped on a light.  Screams could be heard
throughout the building, making any able bodies come running who
weren't already occupied.

Language which would make a sailor blush came out of their mouths as
they saw the decor.  A brave Ravenette stepped onto the floor to start
undecorating the place.  Further shock crossed her face as she
realized she was stuck to the floor.  Others came to help their friend
and found themselves stuck as well.

Meanwhile back at N&N headquarters the camera's picture had been piped
to the large screen tv.  Everyone was glued to the screen laughing so
hard they had tears running down their faces and their sides felt as
if they would explode at any moment.

"Who do you think did this?"  A Ravenette asked.

One quick look around told them all they needed to know.  "Who else
would put smiley faces, and all this other perky crap?"  Another
Ravenette answered.


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


Lifting the Book
Monday, around 9pm, right after ROM-ing in the Gloaming
Partly K

Partly stood in the corner of the bar at the ROM opening.  She had
enjoyed the art, the food, and the free drinks but she still wasn't
having a reall good tie.  She kept expecting to see Tracy's ghost
hovering about, and kept expecting to start getting phone calls from
her dead friend.  For dead she was, Partly was sure of that.  She had
managed to get a copy of the death certificate, burial permit and
autopsy report.  Depressing, grusome reading, it convinced her that
what ever was going on it could be Tracy.

At least that's what Partly kept telling her self.

Right now, she was adding more torture to the night by watching
Tracy's father.  He had made the rounds, still accepting condolenses
on his daughters death, smiled, talked, and was now at the bar
drinking.  His drinking companion looked familiar.  Partly frown and
tried to place the face.  It was...  Lisa McDavid.  Counsin Lisa!
What was she doing here. Partly edged closer to overhear the
conversation.

"I'll have a Zombie Beachcomber myself."  The Commissioner was saying.
"I need it. I.A. finally released Tracy's things from her desk."

"It was a terrible tragedy," Lisa said.  Partly thought she detected
true regret in those words.  From what she knew Lisa was an honorable
cousin. "They never found her partner, either, did they?"  Lisa asked.

Vetter gulped half his drink. "No, and he didn't have a next of kin. I
don't know who to give the book to."

"Book?" Lisa still sounded casual, but Partly listened closer.  She
hid behind a large man was was drinking a beer and looking very
uncomfortable in a tux.

"Yeah," said the Commissioner, finishing his glass. "Bartender, I'll
have a refill. It was in with the stuff in Tracy's desk drawers." He
produced a small, brown leather notebook with the intials N.K. On the
cover in gold from his breast pocket.

"May I see it? I used to be a rare book librarian."  Partly watched
Lisa examine it.  She had heard rumours that the Knighties were
looking for a book, maybe this was it.

Lisa spoke again.  "The binding's 17th century Spanish and these look
like Mayan glyphs to me. It could be very important."  It could be
true, Partly thought, but you never know what to believe when there is
a war on. And besides, it wouldn't do to have the cousins -- and
LaCriox -- getting ahold of Nicks stuff.  Besides, it had been Tracy's
after all.

Partly watched at Lisa expertly worked her way into Commissioner
Vetters ood graces  --  she even introduced him to LaCriox!  -- and
patiently watched for an opening.

It came when Lisa excused herself to go to the Ladies room.  Grabing a
leather bound wine list from the bar, Partly staggered toward the
unsupecting Commissioner.  Bumping into him, she manageded to pour
most of her drind down his front.

"Oh, my God!  I am so sorry,"  She blurted.  Nervousness made her
hands shake.  She wiped at his tux with a large cloth napkin that she
also carried, keeping up a streem of appologies and ignoring his
protests.  Just when he began to push her away, she managed to swicth
the wine list for the book in his coat.

The slight crowd that gathered began to disapate and Partly dashed for
the corner to put her book in her purse.  At least the Cousins won't
get it, she thought.


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


Book 'em, Dan-o
by Kristina Buhrman

July 29, around 9pm, during and right after "Lifting the Book"
ROM exhibit on Brabant

Kristina had been the last of the Perkulators to actually enter the
museum, as she was carrying a huge stack of paper which blocked her
view, making getting up the front steps fairly difficult. "Remind me,
*oof*" she asked herself, "Just whatever possessed me to volunteer to
translate something from Catalan to Esperanto?" The coat-checker soon
found himself suddenly buried by computer print-outs, while Kristina
dusted off her hands and wandered around the exhibit.


Frederic found her about half an hour later trying to convince a guard
to unlock the case to one of the rare books. He made some apologies to
the guard and dragged her off. "How'm I supposed to finish my project
on Brabantish if they don' allow me to look at some sources, huh?"
Kristina muttered.

"Have you been drinking?" Frederic asked suddenly.

"Um, erm..." She held her fingers about two inches apart. "Just a
little. Not much, I swear. In fact, I think I could use another just
about now..." Frederic steered her away from the bar, where
Commisioner Vetter and... Cousin Lisa? were talking. However, at the
mere mention of Mayan hieroglyphs, Kristina broke away and veered
straight for them. She came back later with two glasses of Merlot.
"False alarm. No actual hieroglyphs that I could see," she said,
handing a glass to him. "Gift shop?" she asked politely, walking off
before he even had a chance to answer.

In the gift shop (amazingly open, despite or perhaps because of, the
gala) Kristina headed straight for the books and started leafing
through them, while Frederic looked at a few reproduction prints of
paintings in the museum. Amazingly, a large number had yellow smiley
faces added in; some sort of gag gift thing, he guessed.

There was a display table nearby that Frederic jostled with his elbow
as he turned the prints, and something fell off. Frederic noticed that
it was a handsewn leather blank journal. "Hey, look at this."

Kristina walked over, balancing a large number of books between her
arms and her chin. "Wuh?" ('Grimorum Arcanorum' Frederick read off of
one of them, or was that 'Grimorum Magnorum P.I.'? Another one was
something called 'The Nife and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter,
Witch'; another, 'A Survey of Nivkh Grammar'. He shook his head.)

Frederic held up the book. "Doesn't this look like the description of
that brown book the Knighties are supposed to be looking for?"

She put down her books and picked up his. "Yeah, I guess..."

"Kristina, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Um, sure, but isn't Antartica a rather large continent?"

"No, no, no." Frederic also picked up a gold leaf embossing kit. "Now
do you get the idea?"

"Oh!" She nodded enthusiastically. "Souvenirs are always nice..."

Frederic slapped himself on the forehead.


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


Bonfire of the Vanities
by Mei Kwong, Linda Rose Pierce, K. S. Gritten, and the NatPack
Time:  Monday, July 29, about 9 pm
Place:  NatPack Hostel

"Look who's here!" the entering NatPackers cried, with Sharon and TG-L
in tow.

"Sharon!" exclaimed a group sitting around the television set. In
front of them, a movie flickered on the screen. Others were gathered
around a table playing Operation.

"Hello, all!" Sharon waved.

Jill's attention, however, had been drawn by the gruesome events on
the television screen. "Halloween?" she exclaimed, surprised.

Amy took a long gulp from a glass of clear liquid, and shrugged.
"Jennie chose it. Not really sure why. Something about pumpkins."

A few of the Babylon 5 fans, however, were staring after Sharon's
companion, whom she had dragged with her off to the kitchen in search
of beer.

"Is that...?" Lynn asked.

The NatPackers home from the exhibit sniggered. "No, he's our
chauffeur," Kelly chuckled, before she plucked Amy's glass from her
hand and headed to the kitchen with it. "You need some vegetables in
that, Amy. Let me find you some nice tomato to add to it. It'll give
it more nutritional value."

Jennie, lounging on the couch, greeted the newcomers calmly. "I
figured that Sharon would turn up eventually.  Grab a seat." She
shifted a little to allow Jill to join herself and Betsy on the couch.

"This place is a mess," Jill said, surveying the living room. "I wish
that Maureen were here--she keeps everything so neat."

"Harrumph," said Sharon B., who had had Maureen pick up her feet to
vacuum under them, and admonish her about using coasters on tables in
the not-so-recent past.

"Personally, I think that Maureen has been acting a little too 'neat
freakish' lately," Betsy complained. "It's weird.  I wonder--" She
broke off suddenly. "Hey! Did you see that?"

"What?" Lynn asked. "Where?"

"Over there in the corner," Betsy pointed. "I thought that I saw
something...or someone."

"Speaking of weird," Alora muttered to Linda Rose, as they began
arranging candles around the room. Betsy shook her head a little as if
to clear it, and shrugged.

"So how was the exhibit?" Leslie asked.

"We ran into a couple of Knighties," Jill yawned. "They wanted to know
where Nat was. And it sounded as if Nick has been in touch with them."
She purposely kept her voice low to avoid attracting the attention of
Sharon in the kitchen. She could not help but grin, however. "If Nick
is in town, I hope that he goes by Nat's place looking for his stuff."

The other NatPackers chuckled with a dark overtone that would have
made the Cousins proud, and felt themselves slipping into yet another
group flashback...

********

Place:  NatPack HQ
Time:  Not long after "Last Knight"

Jill looked up into the night sky and sighed. It had been such a short
time since they found Natalie at Nick's apartment that evening. She
shivered at the thought, but blamed it on the cool night air. Darn
Nick. They had missed the Shakespeare. Even worse, they had been in
the midst of a Cult of Skinner meeting when they realized that Natalie
was late.... Interrupting a CoS meeting; quite frankly, that was
unforgivable.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the others. She turned
at the sound and asked, "You got everything?"

Linda Rose grinned. "Oh yeah. We cleaned out Nat's place of his stuff
completely."

Linda, Alora and many other Natpackers were dragging several large
trashbags behind them as they entered the backyard of the highly
secured and top secret headquarters of The Pack.

Jill looked approvingly at her fellow members. "Serves the blond brick
right. I must say it was a stroke of genius to clean Nat's apartment
out of EVERYTHING belonging to Nick and a bunch of photos of him too."

The possessions of the blond one were dumped into a common pile. Jill
shivered again. "It's too cold tonight."

"Hmmmmm," Alora purred, "There are some graham crackers, marshmallows,
and of course chocolate inside. Thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Ohhh," enthused GT, "S'mores. Let's do it."

"I'll start the fire!" volunteered Linda Rose, perhaps a bit too
eagerly.

While the other Packers entered the house to get the required
ingredients, Linda began to gather the fuel and clear an area. Someone
in the house turned on the stereo and put on the "Greatest Hits of the
Doors."

Darling we can't get much higher
Come on baby light my fire.....

Her face serene, Linda knelt almost revently before the small pile of
wood and fuel she had constructed. With the touch of a match, the
debris caught and a lovely orange glow sprang to life. Singing along
with Jim Morrison, she strolled over to the pile of material objects
that belonged to one Nicholas de Brabant. Absently she picked up a
black shirt and launched it into the air. It arced gracefully and
fluttered in the middle of the fire.  Like Michael Jordan shooting
jump shots, Linda began to pitch Nick's possessions into the flames.
The funeral pyre for Nicholas de Brabant's belongings began to grow
and gather strength.  She reveled in the warmth and the glow lit her
angelic face in its radiance. Her hand strayed absently into a bag and
pulled out a little brown book that she herself had found secreted
away in a box of kleenex.

"This is next!" Linda cried. She and Mei began to rip out the pages
filled with names, addresses, and what looked like bank numbers and
passwords.  They handed them to Alora who, with a smooth toss that
would have made Cal Ripken envious, hurled them into the heart of the
bonfire.

Watching them burn, Jennie cooed, "Look at the lovely orange flames."

"Hang on, you've got a thread," Maureen leaned over to pluck it off
Jennie's shirt, "a bright red one. It was standing out against the
black. Looked very messy."

Meanwhile, Sharon, cackling maniacally began tossing all the photos
that the Pack had scavenged into the fire. "Burn Nick, burn, burn!!!"
she chanted from the other side of the bonfire. Beside her, Leslie
counted the flaming photos one by three.

"Linda!" Jill yelled from behind her.

Slightly startled and a little bemused, Linda Rose turned to her
friend, her face completely innocent.

"The fire is big enough."

"I guess so," Linda agreed, "Someone get the s'mores."

**********

They shook their heads collectively, sending the remnants of the
flashback skittering away.

Jennie yawned dramatically.  "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I
think a couple hours of Babylon 5 and some of the All-Skinner channel
will put me at bedtime." She looked down at her hand, which had been
absently scratching at some hives on her arm until it turned bright
red. "Though I am going to need to take some Benadryl and that will
probably knock me out like a light." She smiled. "Still, I'm game.
Anyone else?"

"Oh good!" Amparo squealed, "Cap'n Skippy!"  She paused for a second,
however.  "He's not as gorgeous as Nick, of course... but then who
is?"

Her prattling was cut off by a deluge of pillows flung from various
parts of the room.


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


Nightmares
By:  The Raven/ettes
Date:  July 29, 1996
Time:  9:30 p.m.
Place:  The Raven
Immediately following The Gift and Redecorating the Raven, Redux


Jessica wiped the sleep out of her eyes and wandered out to the front
of the bar.  The Raven/ettes were huddled around the stage, talking
animatedly about the evening's excitement with Cynthia and Janette and
no one noticed Jess, or her obvious distress.

She continued to wander about the bar, checking under tables and
examining furniture and touching the walls.  Clearly, something was
bothering her, but she was reluctant to share it in a room full of
almost total strangers.

"Want to tell me about it?" asked Lorelei.  "Sometimes it helps to
talk it out, you know."

"I don't know."  Jessica shook her head.  "I want my mommy.  Where is
she?"

"I think she's out trying to find Cynthia and Jane.  It might help to
talk," Lorelei tried again.

"There was this cow -- and it came to the front door of the Raven
bearing chocolates from Lacroix."

"Chocolates?  Why would anyone bring us chocolates?  Everyone knows
that most Raven/ettes don't eat them?"  Lorelei laughed.

"I don't know.  It was just a dream.  Dreams don't have to make sense,
you know."

"I know.  Go on."

"Anyway, the chocolates were poisoned or something like that, and we
all got sick from them.  Then, when we were unconscious, the
Nick&NatPackers came in and re-decorated the Raven ... with smiley
faces and butterflies and daisies and something that looked like
bunnies.  It was horrible."  Jessica shuddered again.  "They even used
bright, shiny colours."

Lorelei reached for Jessica and held her tight.  "It's okay sweetie.
It was just a dream.  Not even the Nick&NatPackers would be that
nasty."


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


A Pair of Knighties do the Town part 2c
Time: various times Monday 7/29
By: Robbi Egersdorf and Nancy Taylor


Where: The Museum
 Time: After the exhibition about 9:30ish

The pair of Knighties had just stepped into the taxi that would take
them back to the loft.  Both had decided, intelligently not to drive
the caddy after drinking all that champagne.  "I sure hope Perri and
Cath aren't mad."

"What they would be mad about would be us driving the caddy back and
wrecking it."  Nancy reminded Robbi.

"Cut the chatter and tell me where you're going."  The taxi driver cut
in.

"I hope you know Nick's address, cause I can't remember it."  Nancy
turned to her companion with pleading eyes.

"Gee, I can't remember so well.  Driver, do you know a former homicide
detective by the name of Nick Knight?"  Robbi questioned the driver.

"Look lady, if you don't know where you're going get out.  I have
plenty of other paying customers waiting for my services."

"Just a minute,"  She made a quick intake of air.  "I just remembered,
I wrote the address in my trusty address book.  Unlike Nick, I know
where mine is."  She reached into her purse and pulled out a small
yellow book covered with flowers.  "Ah hah.  K, where are you K.  Here
you are,  Nicholas Knight 101 Gateway."

The driver turned around and immediately headed for the address that
had been provided him.

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

Where: Nick's Loft
 Time: A few minutes later

Robbi paid and accidently, without realizing gave the driver a twenty
as a tip thinking she was handing him a one.  This made the driver
understandably happy.

While she was paying, Nancy had opened the door and sort of fell out. 
Her buddy scooted across the seat and didn't look where she was going.
They both ended up on the pavement in a tangled mess.  Neither of them
could help it and they started to giggle uncontrollably.

>From the loft above,  Cath looked out the window.  "What's all the
commotion."  Spying what she hoped wasn't her stray Knghties, she,
Perri and a couple others ran for the lift.

"Thanks, driver.  You can go now."  Perri got rid of the taxi driver
who was trying to get paid again.

She turned back to the two women who had been helped to their feet.
They sobered noticeably.  "I suppose you had a good time."  She said
with her arms crossed in front of her.

They both shook their head affirmatively.   Both started to speak at
the same time and no one could understand a word being said.

Cath held up her hand and there was silence again.  "Let's get you
upstairs and get some coffee into you and maybe you can tell us what
happened.

"By the way, where's the caddy.  You didn't wreck it, did you?"  Perri
inquired as she stood by Cath.  She could feel her heart jump up into
her throat.  <Boy, would Nick *kill* two particular Knighties if he
found out.>

Nancy shook her head guiltily.  "We didn't want to drive in our
condition."

"Wise choice.  Give me the keys and tell me where you left it and I'll
send someone to fetch it." Perri took the keys from Robbi.  She picked
a couple of the Knigties who were watching to go get the caddy and
bring it back before something happened to it.

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

Where: Inside the Loft
 Time: about a half hour later

A small group of Knighties had formed around the pair as they drank
the coffee that had been offered them and related their story.  "We
can't leave that painting on display.  Nick's honor is at stake."
Nancy pleaded.  "We have to hire a Merc to steal it and bring it to
us."

"What if someone recognizes him?"  Robbi commented, hoping to add
weight to their case.

"Then we could have it all for ourselves.  I could take it home for
safe keeping."  Dotti Rhodes chimed in with a wicked grin on her face.

Sandra disagreed with them, "Shame on you for wanting to steal
something!"

Perri let out a sigh, "I don't think this is a very good idea.
Remember why we are here and what we need to do.  This would be too
distracting.  This is the Nineties for heaven's sake, no one will give
it another thought."

"I have to agree with Perri on that one.  It wouldn't be very
honorable to steal the painting."  Cath added.

There was scattering of disappointed groans from the group.

"Don't despair."  She held up a hand.  "Everyone that wants to go to
the exhibit can go tomorrow.  It will be open to the public.  "Sandra,
you can organize that."  Cath turned back to the pair of returnees and
asked,  "Did you recognize anyone from the other affiliations?"

"Yes.  We talked to a couple from the NatPack.  One looked an awfully
lot like Janette."  answered Nancy.

The pair of Knighties related the conversation they had had earlier
with Jill and Kelly.

The Knightie leaders sat in silence, pondering the new information.
"That's not a whole lot to go on.  What do you think."  Perri turned
to Cath.

"Well, I'd say they know where Nat is, but it *seems* she's not in
Toronto. If she were, they would have seen her sometime lately.  That
is, of course if they were telling the truth, which I'm sure parts of
it are out and out lies.  I'm only gonna say *seems*, 'cause she might
just have contact with a certain few NatPackers, even though all of
them might know where she is."

"Mind games again." Perri laughed and Cath nodded her head.


end


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


Sock It To Me, Baby
July 29th, about 10 PM
The Morrigna Sisters Secret Hideout
Toronto

"Did you really have to blindfold us?" Kira groused.  Trusting their
fellow Merc to lead them safely went against her instincts.

"Now, I'd hardly harm you when I have need of you, would I?" Lizbet
said slyly.  She unlocked the door of the command center, deserted now
that erica and Bianca were off doing... something.

She maneuvered Liz's chair inside, helped Kira stumble in, shut the
door and turned on the lights.  "OK, you can remove your blindfolds
now."  The two Mercs blinked and looked around at the small but well-
equipped area.

"Nice," Liz said, "But why did you bring us here?  Wherever--here--
is."

Lizbet smiled.  Obviously, the hidden command center was well-hidden
indeed.  "Because I didn't want anyone to overhear our plans.  Are you
ready to hear what I have for you?"

"Definitely!" Liz said.  "You've been mysterious all along."

Lizbet perched on the table that held a computer a fax machine and
said reasonably, "I need you two to help me steal all the socks in
Toronto."

The two Mercs gaped at her.  "Um.  Socks?  Did you say *socks*?"  Liz
asked.

"*ALL* the socks?" Kira asked.

"Well, all the socks of people in the fac--uh, affiliations."

"Why?" Kira demanded.

Lizbet folded her hands in her lap and looked innocent.  "Because,
that's what I've been hired to do."

Kira rolled her eyes.  "Clear as mud," she muttered.  "OK, what do you
want us to do?"

Lizbet held a piece of paper out to each of the Mercs.  "This is a
list of all the affiliations and their headquarters.  There are 11.
We need to split them up between us, invade them and get all their
socks."

Liz studied hers.  "I'll take the NatPack and the Vanqueras," she
offered.

Kira added, "And I'll take the Cousins and Perkulators.  If the
Perkulators are *in* Toronto, that is," she muttered under her breath.

"I'll cover the Knighties and the Woofpack," Lizbet checked her list.
"That's six.  What about the other five?"

Liz offered, "I'll handle the Immortal Beloveds and the Nick&NatPack."

"OK, then I'll take care of the DieHards and the Mercs," Kira said.

"Be careful, Kira," Lizbet warned.  "Remember that you can't *steal*
from your own Guild members.  Trick them, yes.  Steal, no."

"Gotcha."  Kira grinned.  "Is that all?"

Lizbet nodded.  "I'll do the Ravenettes.  I've been wanting to get
into the Raven.  Yup, that's it."

"Wait," Liz said.  We haven't discussed payment yet.

Lizbet raised an eyebrow.  "Mercenary Rule of Acquisition number
eighteen: A Mercenary without profit is no Mercenary at all.  Well?
What are your demands?"

"One piece dark or Belgian chocolate per sock, rounded up to the next
full box," Liz said immediately.

"Done.  Kira, what about you?"

"I can have *anything*, right?" Kira asked.

"Anything within reason," Lizbet said cautiously.  She still had this
minor cash-flow problem that this job was going to do *nothing* to
help.

"OK.  What I want is a full set of gourmet kitchen knives.  That's
seven knives and a whet stone."

"Knives?  You want me to give you knives?"  Lizbet said weakly.  The
idea of sharp objects in the hands of a Merc was a little frightening.

"I'll be paying my rent by cooking 3 meals a week for the entire
guild," Kira explained.  "Deal?"

"Deal,"  Lizbet agreed.  "Bring the socks to this address by Wednesday
evening."  She handed Liz a slip of paper with the address of the
house she had rented for the Fang Gang on it.  Kira, being a member of
the Fang Gang, already had it.  "Now put on your blindfolds again.  I
have to take you back."


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


The lonely Knightie arrives in TO

Time : 10 pm. Monday Morning July 29
Place: TO Airport

*********************************************************
She hated to fly. It made her paranoid. If it wasn't for the soothing
sounds of the Bryan Duncan that had come out of her cd player, and the
fact that she had those nude pictures of David to look at during the
flight, she would have totally lost it. She was cranky, and tired, and
she still wasn't over the *Assault of the _Killer_ Rock Band* from
Sunday morning.

Departing the plane, the sun hurt her eyes. She couldn't find her
sunglasses  in her backpack or her carry on. What a nightmare this had
been. From having the airline call to make sure her American Express
was good, to the long and drawn out flight, to all the plane switches
she had to make to get here... it wasn't pretty. And she still hadn't
heard *anything* from the Knighties, even though she was sure she had
e-mailed them about wanting to join up with them. It was a fiasco all
in all.

She walked to the luggage claim, knowing that the way things were
going, she wouldn't see her duffle bag for days. Well hell, she
thought, they won't be sending that stuff down the chute for a while,
she should go in search of a Pepsi(tm) Nectar of the Supreme Power
(whoever He or She might be).

Checking with an employee of the airline, she dug out about three
dollars in change from various pockets and hiding places, made sure
her wallet was secured in her front pocket, and took off in search of
her morning caffeine fix...


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


The Vampire Sex Bar (1/2)
by Jane Credland (with input from Tami, Tara, Catherine, Felicia and
Cynthia)
Date: Monday, July 29, 1996 (around 10:30 to 11:30 pm)
Place:  Sanctuary on Queen Street West

Two cabs pulled up from opposite directions in front of Sanctuary --
Toronto's own vampire sex bar. The doors of the first one opened and
Raven/ettes spilled elegantly out onto the sidewalk.  Then the doors
to the second one opened and Jane crawled out.  She had tried to spill
out elegantly, but hadn't been a Raven long enough to get the hang of
it.  To make matters worse, she followed this by hauling on her dress
as she stood up, trying to pull it down.  She had no idea how it had
managed to twist itself around in such a quick cab ride.  The dress
was supposed to be short, but this was ridiculous.

Cynthia slid out behind her and smiled wickedly.  "Need some help?"

"I'm fine.  Just fine."  Jane snapped, aggravated by her inability to
get the darned thing straight.  Dressing in full Raven/ette style had
seemed like such a good idea the other day, when Catherine, Felicia
and Tami had dragged her with them to check out Madam Strang's House
of Ill-Repute.

Cynthia shrugged and moved away to join the rest of the group.  "Suit
yourself.  You were the one who wanted to get all dressed up,
remember.  You could have just worn black jeans like me."

"It's a goth bar ... even if it is a low budget one.  And I've always
wanted to dress up in full goth style."  Jane muttered to herself as
she finally got the clinging black velvet to hang the way it was
supposed to.  Heaving a sigh of relief, she hastened over to the
others.

"What happened to the two of you?  We waited as long as we could, then
decided to follow Tara's advice and meet you here."  Tami stuck her
hands on her hips and glared at them.  Unfortunately, the effect was
spoiled by the grin on her face.

Cynthia responded edgily, "We went to see the Brabant exhibit at the
Museum. I wanted to see Garden of Delights.  And I needed to get out
of the Raven and away from Janette."

"Shall we go in?"  Jane changed the subject before Cynthia could start
ranting about the unfair demands of a certain female vampire.

"This is the place?"  Tara eyed the grungy bouncer suspiciously.
Dressed in a black t-shirt with the Sanctuary logo, torn jeans
(definitely from wear not fashionably ripped) and scuffed biker boots,
he bore no resemblance to the classier gentlemen who had once stood
guard outside the doors of the Raven.

"This is it."  Catherine brushed imaginary lint off her little black
dress, and tucked her duck-headed, magenta-coloured umbrella firmly
under her arm -- the weather forecast called for rain and she wasn't
taking any chances that it would turn her hair into a bedraggled mess.
"We warned you it wasn't in the same league as the Raven."

"Is that what I think it is?"  Lana took a step backwards and pointed
at the doorway.  The skirt of her 40's style dress swung attractively
as she moved.

"What?"  Tami followed the direction of Lana's finger with her eyes.

Lana's voice shook with outrage.  "There's a cross hanging over the
door. That... that's..."  She floundered, unable to find the right
words.

"A bit odd for a bar where vampires hang out."  Felicia finished
helpfully. "Then again, they probably have their own entrance in the
back."

"I don't know about this."  Lana said doubtfully.  "This might not
have been such a good idea."

Felicia grabbed Lana's arm and pulled her in the same direction as
everyone else.  "Come on.  It'll be fine.  We'll take care of you."

With Catherine, Jane and Cynthia taking the lead, the Raven/ettes
ignored the short lineup and walked towards the entrance.  When they
got close, the bouncer put a thickly muscled arm out and barred their
way.  With a sneer, he pointed to the back of the line.  Catherine and
Jane exchanged glances. Now what?  They hadn't had any problems
getting in last time ... and that had been a Saturday night.

"Janette sent us."  Tara pushed forward.  "Janette DuCharme from the
Raven. She said the owner would let us right in."

"Janet sent you, huh?  Izzat s'posed to mean somethin'."

"*Janette*.  Her name is *Janette*."  Tara growled.

"Alright.  No need to get all uptight, eh.  Lemme check."  The bouncer
got a tattered, handwritten list from his back pocket and checked it
carefully, mouthing the words as he read.  Eventually, he dropped his
arm and said grudgingly, "She's on the list.  I guess it's okay to let
you in."

Inside it became increasingly obvious that Sanctuary was no Raven.
The walls and ceiling were decorated in early industrial, to match the
music which pounded from the dance floor.  The club was very dimly
lit, with almost all the light provided by the fixtures over the two
pool tables which had pride of place in the middle of the floor.  The
patrons ranged from pvc, leather and velvet clad goths to shaven-
headed grungies with their barely clad girlfriends.  Most of them were
so pale that it was nearly impossible to tell mortal from vampire.

Tami and Cynthia moved forward to grab a large table that was being
vacated by a group of slumming suburbanites, instantly recognizable --
and rendered completely out of place -- by their Gap attire.  The
Raven/ettes filled the bench and the chairs, and sat quietly for a few
minutes, looking around.

//Is that Lillian at the back?// Jane thought.  It certainly looked
like her, and that was definitely the dress that Lil was showing off
when she and Cynthia were visiting her in Chicago.  Jane squinted, but
as soon as she tried to focus on Lillian, she faded into the
background and disappeared.

"Interesting place."  Tami played with the caduceus that hid among the
ruffles of her burgundy poet shirt.  "I can see Vachon fitting in
perfectly, but I'm not so sure about Miklos."

"I need a drink."  Lana leaned back into bench.  "Service is slow
around here.  How long does it take for a waitperson to get here?"

"Umm... they don't actually have table service here."  Jane swung her
leg. She was stuck between Lana and Cynthia.  There wasn't enough room
to sit cross-legged, and she could never get comfortable sitting in
any of the usual positions.  "We have to get our own drinks."

"Oooh.  Look!"  Catherine spotted a couple of goths with long black
hair, poet shirts (one in black, the other white) and kilts.  She
sighed happily, "Men in kilts, and with great legs too.  Don't you
just love them."

"Not particularly."  Cynthia slammed one hand down on Jane's leg to
keep it still.  "So, who's going to the bar?"

"I'll go, but not by myself."  Tara pushed her chair back a little.

"I'll come.  What does everyone want?"  Jane removed Cynthia's hand
and squeezed between her and the table.

"A cherry coke, please."  Lana jumped in.

Tami thought briefly.  "Absolut vodka with a twist."

"Ginger ale.  In a sealed bottle.  If they don't have that, then
mineral water, as long as the bottle hasn't been opened."  Cynthia
pulled out her inhaler, thinking that coming to a bar might not have
been the best idea. She still hadn't recovered from all the cleaning
solutions at the Raven; there wasn't a lot of smoke at Sanctuary, but
there was enough to bother her.

"One of *them*.  Preferably the one in the black shirt."  Catherine
smiled back at her chosen prey.

The two men conferred briefly, then one of them wound his way over to
the Raven/ette table, stopping between Catherine and Felicia.  "Hi.
My friend and I were wondering if you and your friend would like to
dance."

"Of course we would."  Felicia stood up before Catherine could say
anything. "Wouldn't we, Catherine?"

"Sure.  Why not."

As Catherine and Felicia disappeared in the direction of the dance
floor, flanked by their new "friends", Jane and Tara walked over to
the bar.  Tara used her elbows and pushed rapidly through the crowds
to the front.

"What'll it be ladies?"  The bartender definitely wasn't Miklos.  He
was also the first goth they'd seen with a tan.  Golden brown skin and
black curly chest hair peeked through his Dr. Frankenfurter lace-up
corset.

"Absolut with a twist, a diet coke, a ginger ale in an unopened bottle
or can ... Tara, what're you having?"

"Gin and tonic.  Oh, and don't forget the cherry coke."

"A cherry coke?"  The bartender repeated disbelievingly.  "Someone
comes to a place like this and wants a cherry coke?"

"Yes, a cherry coke.  Is there a problem?"  Tara leaned against the
bar.

"No problem. None at all."  He hummed with amusement as he got the
drinks together.

Tara grabbed her, Lana and Tami's drinks while Jane paid.  "I'll see
you back at the table."

"Sure."  Jane was shoved back against the bar and the change grabbed
from her hand before she could close it.  Noxious fumes reminiscent of
the sewers made her eyes water.

"I fink that lolly's mine, girly-wirly.  That and more of the pretty
polly. You niver paid up what you owed for 'elping you 'unt down the
ol' gen'ral. No-one, breather or vamp, gets away with shivin' old
Screed."


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


The Vampire Sex Bar (2/2)
by Jane Credland (with help from Tara and Cynthia)
Date: Monday, July 29, 1996 (after 11 pm)
Takes place directly after The Vampire Sex Bar (1/2)

Note to timeline keeper:  both parts of The Vampire Sex Bar take place
after An Excuse to See a Garden of Delights (1 and 2)



Tara looked back over her shoulder when she heard Jane's squawk of
surprise. She recognized the bald headed vampire immediately.
Hesitating for a moment, she decided that discretion was the better
part of valour -- not to mention that four Raven/ettes were more
intimidating than one -- and hurried back to the table.

"Thanks."  Tami grabbed her drink from Tara before she could open her
mouth. "So, did the bartender know anything about Miklos?"

"Uhh... I forgot to ask."  Tara craned her neck, but couldn't see the
bar from the Raven/ette table.  "I think we might have a slight
problem."

"Problem?"  Cynthia leaned forward and followed Tara's gaze.  "What
kind of problem? And where's Jane?"

***

Around the corner, the object of Cynthia's inquiry smashed the heel of
her shoe into Screed's foot.  "Ow.  Damn it! That hurt!"  Jane shook
her foot carefully, and re-thought the concept of stiletto heeled
shoes.  They might kill her toes, but they definitely did more damage
than the low ones she normally wore.

"Quit yer crarkin'.  I haven't done owt to you yet."  Screed got a
better grip on Jane's arm and dragged her over to a dark corner at the
end of the bar.  "An' if yer've got any mozges upstairs, I won't."

"What do you want?"  She pulled her arm free and rubbed the marks left
behind by the carouche's fingers.

"Me green.  What you owes me fer takin' you and yer pally-wallies
gallivanting through t'tunnels last year."

"Gallivanting?  Tunnels?"  So much had happened in the last five or
six months that it took Jane a moment to remember back to the past
year.  "You mean the search for Lacroix.  I thought ... you know,
you're right.  We never did pay you the second half of your money."

Screed growled and leaned over Jane, baring his fangs.

***

"Where.  Is.  Jane?"  Cynthia growled, repeating her question slowly. 
Her temper flared back up again -- she still hadn't calmed down from
the confrontation with Janette a few hours earlier.

Tara gulped her drink and tried once more to answer.  "Screed..."

"Screed?  What does he have to do with this?"  Tami broke in, hoping
to defuse the situation before Cynthia lost her notoriously short
temper again.

"I saw him slam Jane back against the bar.  He looked really angry.  I
couldn't hear what he was saying over the...."

"He what?"  Cynthia exploded, obscuring the rest of Tara's sentence.
"I'll stake the ratlover."

Tami reached out and pushed Cynthia back into her seat.  "Hold on.
You're not going to help matters by running over there unprepared.
Besides, you know Jane won't appreciate being treated like a damsel in
distress."

Grumbling and cursing incoherently, Cynthia settled back down
reluctantly.

"Now."  Tami continued, "What we need is a plan and to gather up
Catherine and Felicia."

"They're not going to appreciate that."  Lana rummaged through her
capacious yet stylish bag.  "Ah, there it is.  Here.  That should help
even the odds." She yanked out a thick, sharp wooden stake and thrust
it at Cynthia.

"Thanks."  Cynthia got up from the table, hefting the stake to test
its not-inconsiderable weight.  "Why don't you guys go get Cath and
Felicia. I'm going to have a chat with a carouche."

***

"Look.  Can't we work something out?"  Jane shrank a little closer to
the wall.  Screed's breath definitely hadn't improved during his
sojourn under the earth.

"Mebbe."  The carouche looked at Jane speculatively.  "Else I could
just chomp yer malenky neck and fergit the whole kit'ncaboodle.
Betcher krovvy tastes sweet ... like cinnymon."

Reaching up instinctively to put one hand over her neck, Jane tried to
come up with a solution that would be acceptable to an angry and
greedy carouche -- not easy to do when that same carouche was leaning
over her, threatening to drain her dry.

"Need some help, sweetie?"  Cynthia held the stake in one hand,
slapping the side of the pointed end against the palm of her other
hand.

"Oo'er you?"  Screed peered over at the newcomer.  He'd thought the
mortal was alone.  He hadn't anticipated her having help.

Cynthia smiled wickedly.  "Your worst nightmare."

Taking advantage of Screed's distraction, Jane shoved him out of the
way and moved to stand beside her partner.  "He's not worth the
trouble, love.  All he wants is to get paid for some work he did for
me last September."

"You didn't pay him?"  Cynthia asked.

Jane pushed her hair out of her eyes.  "I was planning to.  I even had
the money for it. But you know how abruptly the search for Lacroix
ended.  And then I heard that Screed was dead, so I forgot all about
it."

"How much do you owe him?"

"Four 'undred big ones."  Screed said helpfully.  "Plus innerest and
an appypolly loggy."

"A what?"  Cynthia usually didn't have a problem understanding Screed,
but every once in a while...

"Four hundred dollars, plus interest and an apology."  Jane
translated.  "I have the money in the bank, but we need every penny
we've got right now."

"How about trade?"  Cynthia stated, still toying with the stake.

"Like what?"  Screed narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  "An' why would I
trust that git again?  I'm not bloody barmy."

"Yes. Like what?"  Jane hissed.

"Whatever he wants.  You're trying to clear stuff out of your
apartment, right?  Why not let Screed have first choice?"  Cynthia
coughed.  Some idiot at the bar was smoking.  She needed her inhaler,
but wasn't about to drop the stake in order to get it from her fanny
pack.

"Sure."  Jane looked at Cynthia.  She knew exactly what that cough
meant. "Look Screed, how would you like a nice diamond ring.  Pear-
shaped solitaire, almost a full carat, with four smaller diamonds on
either side. Would that be enough?"

Screed nodded.  This had not turned out to be as much fun as he'd
thought it would be.  And now there were a bunch more of them coming. 
He backed away as Tami, Lana, Tara, Catherine and Felicia took up
positions behind Jane and Cynthia.

"Where do you want it delivered?"  Jane clutched Cynthia's arm as her
leg muscles collapsed in relief.

"Merc 'eadquarters.  Send it t'Johnny boy."

"Johnny boy?  You mean John Ewan?  Okay.  No problem.  I'll have it
delivered tomorrow morning."

***

The next morning, a small package was delivered by Network Couriers to
Merc Headquarters.  John Ewan opened it curiously.  Inside was a blue
velvet box containing a diamond ring.  He read the enclosed note and
smiled.  All he had to do was find out where to get the best price for
this ring -- a simple matter for someone hanging around with Mercs.
And Screed would love the apology.


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


Out of Commission
by Lisa McDavid

11 p. m. Monday, July 29th through about midnight. The last scene
takes place at sunrise on Friday morning.

Lisa McDavid was starting to fidget. Richard -- when someone takes you
to Azure for dinner, you quickly get on a first name basis -- would be
finished signing the credit card receipt in less than a minute, but
her ride hadn't yet shown up.

Her instincts had been correct. Richard Vetter's hints about
accompanying him home to see his collection of police memorabilia were
getting more and more heavy-handed. She couldn't afford a vindictive
commissioner in war time. So where the --

Just then the cavalry galloped, well, hopped to the rescue. A mini-bus
driven by Screed pulled up outside the pale blue glass front wall that
made everything outside look faintly subterranean. Seventeen kangaroos
disembarked and filed into the restaurant.

Wait a minute! Seventeen? Lisa counted. Twelve jurors, four alternates
and a huge male roo in a bush jacket and Crocodile Dundee hat. Lisa
gulped. Dawkins -- did blooper script characters count as part of the
FK universe? She could only hope.

Never mind. She'd just sit quietly at the table as they surrounded her
and carried her out of the door. Richard couldn't possibly blame her -
-

"You, driver! Get these wild beasts out of here *now*!" Vetter was
shouting out the door, but he was audible all over the restaurant.

Screed's reply was intelligible to Lisa only because she'd found that
idiom in the Russian dictionary one day while looking for something
else. Dawkins' response, unfortunately, required no interpretation.

"Who're you calling a wild beast, you stinking *mammal*?" roared the
kangaroo in an Antipodean accent that made Paul Hogan sound like a BBC
newsreader, just before he punched the police commissioner in the jaw.

Vetter flew ten feet and crashed into a cart of dirty dishes.

Lisa ran for the door, yelling for Screed, while the kangaroos made
the most of their revenge. Several of them commandeered the desert
cart. Others played leapfrog across the tables. One of them, having
burnt his foot on a table candle, kicked the offending globe right up
the the ceiling. That was when the sprinkler system (a misnomer for a
sudden flood) went off and the fire alarm deafened everybody.

Who knew kangaroos have sensitive ears? Everybody except Dawkins, who
was yelling that he would *not* go back to somewhere and pummeling the
commissioner, swept back out to the mini-bus. Lisa was genuinely
caught up in the tide. Before she could remonstrate, two of the
marsupials had hurled her under one of the seats and Screed had taken
the bus off at warp speed.

By the time Lisa clambered out from under the seat they had a police
escort. Five blue-and-whites, all with sirens screaming. Screed yelped
something about his ears hurting and switched on the radio.

Of course, since they had just screeched around a corner and onto the
long hill which had given Schanke such a roller-coaster ride in Dark
Knight, it was simply fated that the radio would be playing the same
music. Down they swept, slipping and sliding, as Screed and the
kangaroos tapped their feet in time and sang along. "Ya-Ya polka!"

The police cars gained. In fact, their blue lights made the inside of
the mini-bus feel like K-Mart on sale day. Lisa had just finished
praying to all the saints and promising to be a paragon of virtue
henceforth -- "Ya-Ya polka!" -- when the bus shot off the road into --
"Ya-Ya polka!" a small park.

Everything would have been fine if the alley hadn't happened to
contain a number of people in black face masks (and nothing else), a
black-robed figure with horns, and a black-draped picnic table on
which a goat was tied down amid a lopsided pattern of candles.
Blackrobe had a knife raised over the goat.

As it was, the bus careened into the group, splintered the table and
shot out the other side of the park with the goat bleating wildly as a
hood ornament.

The cop cars (six of them now) hurtled after them. Screed yelled
something that sounded like ship ahoy, turned down a side street and
shot straight toward Lake Ontario.

He had enough time to turn. The police cars didn't. Even over the
polka, stamping kangaroos and Screed's highly Elizabethan English,
Lisa heard the splash as all six cars went into the water.

After that, her homecoming was relatively tame. She paid off Screed
and the kangaroos, sending Abby's cut with them, and let herself into
CERK. The goat tried to follow her in. When she evicted it, she was
bitten.

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

Midnight, as Thursday Aug. 1st becomes Friday Aug. 2nd, through
midnight as Sunday, Aug. 4th

The bite marks from the goat, which had scarred in a strange pattern
much like those on the picnic table altar, woke Lisa. Her hand was
throbbing where the goat had chomped her and the scars were red.

She didn't remember anything more. Striding into the operations room
with blazing red-purple eyes which shot fire left no impression.
Neither did calling Lacroix, in a voice like the base in a concert
sound system, to come out and fight didn't register. She didn't even
have any impressions of proclaiming herself Belial and demanding that
the Cousins worship her.

It was to be days before she remembered anything at all, which was
just as well. Padded cells and straightjackets are so boring, even if
your occupant does busy himself with turning your head around like a
top and levitating you onto the ceiling.

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

Note: I will be back Monday. In Real Life <tm> I have to go out of
town, so just figure my persona's possessed and locked up during that
time.


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


Precinct House Blues
or, 101 Ways to Amuse Yourself Behind Bars
by Christina Kamnikar

11:52 PM, Monday July 29th, 96th Precinct

Forget embarassment. Forget tiny twinges of guilt. Forget, even,
anger.  Jail sucked mostly because it was so damn boring.

Inside her cell at the 96th Precinct, the Merc Mommy General in
captivity contemplated her predicament with what little interest she
could muster.  Christina's moods had swung from anger to disbelief to
rage to guilt to depression to loneliness all day, and all of them had
eventually dissolved into overwhelming boredom.

Jamie was mad at her; she'd said as much before the arraignment that
morning. "You owe me a KISS concert and men in spandex, Chris. Or the
whole concept of No-List, No-Post, and No-Mail will be dwarfed by what
else I'll think of." The MMG had some vague idea about taking Jamie to
the Shakespeare festival to fulfill the Men in Tights requirement; but
how the heck was she supposed to get Jamie to a KISS concert?

Dianne was mad at her; partly because she'd taken off with the Web
Goddess without warning her, and partly because she'd left a smart-ass
note behind saying, "Gone on a job. Hope you slept well. Don't wait
breakfast for us. Love, Chris & Jamie." But the GHP had her revenge
right here: Christina was in jail. Dianne wasn't.

Something about that struck her as deeply unfair.

The Cousins were mad at her. Well, not very. Not any more. Not after
the smug look Lisa McDavid shot her when *she* was bailed out, and
Chris had to stay in jail.  Of course, the Cousin's intoxicated leader
was actually looking at the political activist in the next cell, but
Chris knew Lisa had been smirking at her, and just couldn't focus well
enough to know which cell she was in.

Lacroix was mad at her. Chris pointedly decided to think about
something else. He probably wouldn't waste his time looking for her
after she got out of jail, but if she should accidentally be in his
way, and no one happened to be looking, and he thought he could get
away with it... Chaos wondered where she'd left that silver cross her
mother gave her.

"Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms..."

The police were mad at her, because she still wasn't cooperating very
well. Her pitiful excuse for an attorney advised her to plead guilty,
for Chrissakes, so she'd fired him and demanded someone else. They
were being very slow about finding another Public Defender, and Chris
suspected it was purposeful on their part. The hijack was still
ongoing, erica and Bianca were still transmitting away, even though
*Chris* hadn't gotten to hear any of it.

She hadn't been able to go to the Brabant Exhibit at ROM, either. Or
participate in Maureen's trial. It was so cruel... she'd come up with
some really cool ideas for the proceedings, and now she'd have to read
the court record to find out if any of them got used.

Maureen was mad at her. But Maureen was always mad at someone. And it
would be worse, later, after Mo told the Natpackers about the
Strikeforce... they might also become upset with Chris at that point.
They'd be more furious with Dianne, probably, but Chris had helped,
and Chris had known all along that Dianne was Sue and Sue was Dianne,
and had sort of, kind of, maybe, planned the trap for Maureen at the
CN Tower.

Mercenary Generals don't pout. But if they did, it would have
resembled Chris's expression when she realized  that she was missing
*everything*, all the cool fun stuff happening out there, and who know
when she'd get out?

Maybe erica and Bianca would rescue her. Maybe Dianne would come and
bail her out really soon. Maybe there'd be a jailbreak when they tried
to transfer her to maximum security, and she and Harrison Ford would
go on the run together, and... sighing, Chris regretfully pulled
herself back to reality, because as much fun as being pursued by Tommy
Lee Jones might be, she just didn't feel up to it. Right now she
didn't have the energy to keep carving "Ladies: For Phone-Sex A-Go-Go,
call Lucien at 555-CERK" into the wall with the back of her earring as
she'd been doing for the last hour or so. The phones at the station
still worked, even if the Morrigna had the signal.

Captain Reese was mad at her. They'd been moving her around between
holding and the interrogation room, and she'd asked for a drink at the
water cooler where Reese was struggling to get water, and she'd very,
very thoughtfully gotten it to work for the 96th's beleaguered leader.
So she'd taken the opportunity to try to explain (okay, lie, but she'd
believed it at the time, so it was almost the same as telling the
truth) that she was a friend of Nick Knight's, and that she had
information about his disappearance. Reese had been interested for
about three minutes until he'd decided she was completely nuts, then
he'd yelled at her keepers to lock her up again, and where the hell
was that psychiatrist, anyway?

She'd slept for hours after that, and awakened to chat with her
cellmates, most of whom were convinced that she was going to the
Toronto Mental Hospital. But they were nice to her anyway. They
weren't mad at her. Not even after the guards stopped the Alannis
Morrisette singalong, and put her in a separate cell, all by herself.
They thought she was cool. They were more understanding than some
Mercenaries of her acquaintance.

Somewhere between trying to figure out how to make Dianne pay for
this, and how to get KISS tickets for Jamie, and wondering if there
would be any really hot actors at the Shakespeare Festival, Christina
fell asleep again, dreaming of revenge, men in spandex, vampires, and
the wages of sin.


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


War 5 Slightly Revisited
Date:  July 29, 1996
Time:  11:59 p.m.
Place:  Spifff's apartment

Lana crept gratefully into her bed.  Finally, a night of uninterrupted
sleep, she thought.  She tossed and turned for a moment, trying to
find a comfortable spot and then dropped off into an uneasy sleep.

And dreamed.

***

She was back in War 5 at the Die Hard headquarters.  Dawn was
attacking Nick again, but this time the ATC (Atomic Flash Camera)
wasn't working. Supersoakers proved ineffectual also, merely making
both Dawn and Nick wet, to Dawn's great enjoyment.

Suddenly, Janette, on a pair of silver rollerblades, skated into the
room .

"Janette," cried Nick.  "Help get this woman off of me!"

Janette circled round the couple several of times, taking stock of the
situation.  It started to make Nick feel slightly sick at the round
and round motion.

"I'm sorry, Nichola, but I really can't right now," she said, as she
executed a triple axle flawlessly.  "I'm really too busy now."

And with a graceful twirl, she leapt out of the window and landed on a
Nissan Multi, which racked and wheezed down the road, blowing smoke as
it went.

The Die Hards resumed their struggles to free Nick from the horrible
Dawn, but stopped when they saw LaCroix enter the room.

"Oh Nicholas," said LaCroix, sporting a huge black and purple knot on
his forehead.  "Not again.  Don't you ever think?"

"LaCroix..." began Nick, but was cut short by LaCroix.

"No Nick, not this time," and then he was gone with the speed of a
truly worthy pan and flash.

Lana slid down the wall and watched the struggling duo in despair.
May, they should just let nature or psychosis take it's course.

Suddenly, Cynthia and Jane sailed in through the window on a diesel
powered broomstick.

"She's at it again," said Jane in disgust.

"Jane," said Lana.  "You've come to help."

Jane started to get off the broomstick, but was stopped by Cynthia.

"No," commanded Cynthia.  "Remember, we have to find Janette."

As they turned around to sail back out the window, Lana saw that they,
too, wore silver rollerblades.  Cynthia fired up the broomstick and,
riding sidesaddle, they gracefully sailed out the window.

"It's useless,"  said Lana to Nick.  "You may as well let her win."

"NEVER," roared Nick and renewed his struggles.

Suddenly, there was a clanging and Tracy came riding in on Vachon, who
was a cow.  A cow bell hung around Vachon's neck and with every step
to clanked louder and louder.  Tracy was dressed as Little Miss
Muffitt, complete with a tuffit.

Of all things, this, stopped Dawn in her tracks.

"A cow!" she exclaimed, letting go of Nick.

Nick was momentarily surprised at the cessation of the attack, but
quickly regained his senses and fled through the door.

"Nick," cried Dawn.  "If you're hungry.  There's plenty here."

She grabbed a sword from the mysterious Highlander place where all
swords reside and waved it at Vachon.

Vachon gave a frightened moo and jumped out of the window and over the
moon, causing Tracy who was still on his back to bang her head and
drop her tuffit.

Dawn vaulted over the tuffit and was after the cow in a flash.

The Die Hards crept toward the window and watched Nick run down the
road. He was closely followed by Vachon, with Tracy bobbing up and
down on his back, grasping his mane extensions.

They were all chased by Dawn who screamed, "Wait!  Wait!  I must have
your head."

They could hear the ringing of the cow bell increase as Vachon picked
up speed.

Lana dropped her head and rested it on the sill.

"Things have got to be easier in the next war,"  she said and promptly
woke up.

***

She reached out and turned off the alarm clock, which had been
clanking away.  It was time to get up and see what the others had
discovered.

Things have got to be easier today, she thought, as she headed into
the kitchen for a Diet Coke.


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


The Great Knightie-Napp Caper (02/03)
 By: April Ruskin with input by Denise Underwood and Shirl Cline
& the kind assistance of Angie Lotto <eg>
 Monday, July 29, 1996. 11:59 pm


"That's it! I'm not waiting here any longer! Two hours is enough!
Especially since I spent the last 36 hours taking a trip that should
only take seven hours at the most!" Angie stormed toward the airport
exit.

"Excuse me miss, are you Angie Lotto?" A woman in a chauffeur's
uniform asked.

Angie stopped in surprise. "Yes, yes I am."

"I was sent to pick you up." the woman said as she opened the door to
a black stretch limo and motioned Angie to enter.

Angie shrugged her shoulders and got in. She didn't notice the four
women sitting in the back of the limo until the door shut behind her.
She heard an audible click as the door locked behind her. "What's
going on?"

"So, you're our assignment." one of the women said.

"Who are you people?"

"I'm Dee." The woman who had spoken said. "This is  Lu, and Shirl.
The really quiet one is Denise."  Dee looked over in concern at her
TEDT who had not said a word since her encounter with LaCroix earlier
in the day. "The driver's name is April."

"But why are you here?" Angie asked perplexed.

"The General has assigned us to kidnap you."

"The... General... Then, you are Cousins?" Angie worked her way
through the situation.

"Give the woman a prize!!" April said from the front.

Dee rolled her eyes. "Just drive April!"

"Sorrygeeztrytolightenthemoodalittleandwhatdoyougetcouldcut
thetensionbacktherewithaknifeButohnoIgetsnappedat" April muttered
to herself as she drove the limo out into traffic.

"Now my dear, you have nothing to worry about. If you would put on
this blindfold." Shirl told Angie.

"Why?" Angie asked. Spending 36 hours in airports and planes does not
make you a candidate for the clear thinking award.

"So you don't know where we're taking you!" Lu exclaimed while rolling
her eyes.

Angie put on the blindfold and decided to let her tired body rest.




Translation of Aprilese:

Sorrygeeztrytolightenthemoodalittleandwhatdoyougetcouldcut
thetensionbacktherewithaknifebutohnoIgetsnappedat

Sorry geez try to lighten the mood a little and what do you get could
cut the tension back there with a knife but oh no I get snapped at


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


VOICES IN THE NIGHT
Callie Jones
Sunday Night July 29th

Callie Jones couldn't sleep.  Every time she was just about to settle
her head back on the cotton clad pillow she kept hearing a sepulchral
voice calling her name.

"Calantha", she started. Their it was again, "Calantha"

Callie turned and pulled the pillow over her head. "Go away", she
spat, "I don't like that stupid old name anyway..."

"It's what your mother called you isn't it?"

"...that's what comes of having a mother who read romance novels for
entertainment when she was pregnant" the attractive girl in the bed
mumbled sleepily

"Callie!" the voice spoke prempterily.

"What do you want!", she said jumping up in bed. She started with
horror as she saw a shadowy figure of a young girl with long golden
brown hair like honey in a diaphonous white gown hovering in her room.

"But your dead", she stammered.

"Am I?" the young phantasm gave an evil throaty laugh.

"I saw it," Callie replied.  She continued "You were staked and yiur
head got cut off and you were burnt up to ashes" she said that last
with her lower lip quivvering remembering how THEY had killed off her
favorite character.

"Oh no "Callie", I'm much too old and too powerful for that" said the
willowy apparition sarcastically.

"I'm in trouble", Callie thought to herself.

"You may well be", the specter said derisively echoing her innermost
thoughts, "but not with me." "Come on, your leaving."

"Now?" Callie said looking rather frightened for the first time.

"Now" the shade confirmed, "Pack what you need, I have need of you."

"Where am I going?", Callie asked unawares of the absurdity of
conversing with, much less following order from an apparent ghost.

"Toronto", the pallid figure chortled mirthlessly." Go to the old car
lot at the edge of the lake."

Toronto, Callie thought, Oh boy, her sister was going to be upset
about *this*... "Wait", she said as the wraith started to disappear.
"How do I get there?"

"You'll figure something out", said the pallid spook as she drifted
into smoke.

Callie thought for a moment.  Her sister had give her her gold
american express card to buy something for her recent birthday.  She
still had the charge receipt with the numbers. "Well it serves her
right for trying to keep me off-line", she thought remembering the
battle she'd had with big sis about that one.   She looked back at the
bed and grabbed her old but well beloved talking Ariel vudu doll and
stuffed her on top of the clothes in her bag.  "Never know when you
might need a friend", she thought.


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


The Raven Re-Opens
Date:  July 29, 1996
Time:  12:00 midnight

Janette duCharme and her Raven/ettes have returned, and they have
brought with them the inimitable style and grace that once
characterized the Raven.

Ms. duCharme cordially invites you to visit the newly re-opened Raven
featuring live music, dancing and a fully re-stocked bar.

Place:  The Raven, Richmond Street West, Toronto, Ontario

Time:   The stroke of midnight on Monday, July 29, 1996


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


The Great Knightie-Napp Caper (03/03)
 By April Ruskin & spur of the moment input by Denise Underwood
Technical assistance by Cherri Munoz and Shirl Cline :)
& the kind assistance of Angie Lotto <grin>
Tuesday July 31, 1996 01:30 am


Angie woke with a start as the limo stopped. "Mmmph... Can I take
this off now?" She asked.

"Nope, not yet." Lu said. "We still have a bit to go."

"But how am I supposed to walk?" Angie asked.

"Don't worry about it. The way we're going is level and almost totally
clear of debris." Shirl explained.

The Cousins and the Knightie got out of the limo. April watched a
still silent and unsteady  Denise while Dee led Angie to a manhole cover
leading to the sewers. "OK, we'll be going down a ladder first, then
Dee will lead you to where we are going to keep you."

April leaned down and tried to lift the manhole cover. She looked up
at the others and motioned for someone to help. Lu sighed and helped
April lift the cover.

After everyone was underground, Angie asked, "Why are we in the
sewers?"

"Easier to walk a blindfolded person that way. No one asks questions.
Now hush." Dee told her as she guided Angie down the tunnel.

After many twists and turns (and many "Stop singing April! Or
we'll take your walkman away!" and muttering of
"NexttimeImplayingNineInceNailsandsingingontopofmylungssee
howtheylikethat.*), they finally stopped.

"Just let me get the door open." April said as she searched a section
of wall for something. "Hope the General's instructions for opening
this thing work. Ooo! I think I got it!" Suddenly, the wall opened,
revealing a passageway.

The passage lead to five doors. "Okay, Angie, you can take the
blindfold off now." Shirl said.

Angie willingly took it off and looked around. "Are we near a
nightclub? I can faintly hear music."

Denise suddenly became alert and said, "Yes, there's a nightclub
within a block of here. But don't think that will help you. The only
way out of here is through the door we came in and the door at the
other end of the tunnel can only be opened using a secret switch. Now
then, we're to stay here until called for by LaCroix. Or someone else
if they know the password we came up with to tell if it's the real
thing or not. Everyone remember the password?" Denise looked around as
her fellow Cousins all nodded. "And everyone left their regular
cellular phone at CERK? And you only have the special one the General
gave us?" More nods all around. "Good."

"What's with the new phones?" Lu asked.

"These phones are virtually impossible to trace, unless you are with
the NSA or something. The calls will be routed between five different
satellites and at least four different US states before the signal
reaches Canada. Then it gets routed through all sorts of relay
stations before we get the call. And April, I've been told that if you
lose this phone, don't bother to make plans for the rest of your
life." Denise told the others as April paled.

"OK, Angie, you will be in this room. There is a bathroom behind the
door on the far wall of your room. As soon as we search your luggage
for possible weapons and tracking devices, you can have it back. Don't
know how long we'll be here, so make yourself comfortable." Denise
continued as she opened one of the doors.

"Those must have been some instructions LaCroix gave her." Shirl
muttered to Dee, who nodded in agreement.

Denise, overhearing the exchange, gave the two a hard look.

Angie walked into a room with a bed, a chair and a dresser in it. All
were obviously second hand, but were still comfortable. She peeked
into the bathroom and noticed that it was clean. Angie looked at Dee
questioningly.

"What? Just because we kidnapped you doesn't mean we have to torture
you."

"Consider yourself LaCroix's special guest Angie." Denise said coolly.

Denise's friends found her tone disquieting, and looked at each other
perplexed.

Dee noticed that Angie's eyes were red and started to tear. "It'll be
OK. Don't worry about it." She told Angie.

"It isn't that, it's my contacts." Angie replied.

"Well, let me check out your contact gear and you can have it." April
replied as the door was shut and locked.

A few minutes later, April reappeared and handed Angie her contact
supplies and glasses. "We're searching your luggage now. Nice knife by
the way."

Angie searched for a way out. After all, she was supposed to be at the
loft helping her fellow Knighties search for some book. She finally
stopped searching and sat down on the bed. 'Maybe I'll find something
after I get some sleep.' She thought.

The door opened again about twenty minutes later. "Here's your stuff
back." Shirl said as she put Angie's luggage on the chair. "We're
going to bed now. Need anything, just yell. Breakfast is at nine."


Angie yawned and got ready for bed.


*Translation:
NexttimeImplayingNineInchNailsandsingingontopofmylungssee
howtheylikethat.

Next time I'm playing Nine Inch Nails and singing on top of my
lungs see how they like that.


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


THE SIGHTING

by Laura MacMillan and the N&NPack
Tueday, 30/96   2:00am
Toronto Ontaario

Laura sat in front of the computer looking over the information
reports she received from surveillance teams. It was all standard
stuff till she reached the report from surveillance team one. She read
it over carefully. She smiled to herself. She knew it the whole time
and now she had the proof.

She called the memebers of team one into her makeshift office.

"Pat. Paula. Please have a seat. I was just looking over your
surviellence report about tonight. Are you sure you saw what you said
you saw? " Laura questioned

"Yes, we are sure. It was her, " replied Pat confidently.

"We did see her. She was wondering aimlessly around the block near the
church Vachon is at, " added Paula

"We tried to follow her but we lost her after a few blocks," said Pat

"Okay, then we have some work to do. We have to find her and bring her
back here before anything  happens to her, Nick and Nat would never
forgive us if we did nothing, " Laura stated

Laura called everyone into the room and once they were quiet she told
them the news and arranged the appropriate actions be taken.


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


ACTIONS 3/?: You Want Me to Wear What?
Location: The Old Church
Time: July 30, 2 am.
by Sherri Campbell

Follows ACTIONS 2/?: Let 'er Rip (The first two ACTIONS posts haven't
been posted yet, they are in process - but I have to get these posted
so others can get their stuff written.)


Later, Approximately 2 am.

Vachon's muffled voice came through the door. "Are you sure this is
necessary?"  He sounded dubious.

Apache leaned forward. "It is a well known weakness in our victim.  If
she sees someone walking past, with long dark hair, and wearing what
you have on? She'll follow you anywhere!  Once you get her out of
sight, all you need to do is bring her back to the church."

"Okay. But, this is a one time deal."  The door opened and the few
Vaqueras in the area paled. The sight of Vachon dressed as he was,
completely devastated those present. Torrey's knees buckled, and only
quick actions on the part of the Vaquera's standing next to her saved
her nose from smashing into the floor. Vachon raised one eyebrow
elegantly. "What is it?"

Sherri stammered "Sh-she just isn't quite herself right now! Now, you
do have the plan memorized, right?"

Vachon nodded in amusement. "Yes, I do know the plan. I'll be out
looking to implement it.  Where is the cell phone you wanted me to
use?" Apache numbly handed over the phone. Vachon nodded to them all,
turned, and was gone.


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


VAQ ACTIONS 4/?: Vachon Takes Flight
Location: Toronto, July 30th, 2 am
By Sherri L. Campbell

(Takes place directly after WAR: VAQ:ACTIONS 3/?: You Want Me to Wear
What?")

Shifting his shoulders uneasily, Vachon took to the air with a sense
of relief. It wasn't that he didn't *like* the Vaquero/as, it was the
fact that he wasn't used to that much... 'company'. /It's fun to watch
the mortals... I even enjoyed cooking the soup earlier tonight./  He
veered to the roof of a tall building, and came to rest. Tugging at
his outfit, he shook his head. /What I do for the 'cause'.../

"All right, Javier. You volunteered to do this, so let's see what the
best way is... " Thinking back to the brainstorm session with Torrey,
Apache, and Sherri, he remembered all the pointers they had given him.
"Hmm. Watch out for suspicious car activity, look for a tall blonde
woman, watch the various locations for the different affiliations....
Hmm. I may have bitten off a larger job than it appeared when I
volunteered.  I guess I will fly a loop around the likeliest spots,
and if it doesn't work this evening, I can try again tomorrow night." 
Taking his bearings, he lifted off and began to search in earnest.
                        * * * *

3:20 am

Vachon headed for The Raven in frustration. He had poked, pried,
searched, and still hadn't found who he was searching for. /I guess I
will go get a drink before The Raven closes. Maybe I can think of
something.../ As he reached the area of The Raven, he noticed a non-
descript van, with a tall, blond woman unloading boxes against the
door.  He slowed, and perched on a building nearby. Checking his
memory against the image he had been shown, he began to smile. /Yes!
It is her! So, now all I have to do is follow her to my target!/

The van peeled out as if a maniac were driving.  As he exerted himself
to keep up, he began to wonder who was driving. He thought the tall
blonde had jumped into the passenger side of the van. He was
distracted by the realization that the area was beginning to look
*very* familiar.  As the van jerked to a stop across from the church,
he landed just outside of the pool of light near the van.  Tensing as
the tall woman leaped out, he wondered how severe the attack was going
to be this time.

The woman ran around to the back, and got an armful of something and
headed for the alleyway.  As she left his sight, he realized who else
was in the van! It was she! The target he was supposed to search for.
He smiled very quietly, and implemented the plan.


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


Post Operation Knightie-Napp

Angie
Place : somewhere below TO
time :  approx 2 a.m. Tuesday morning
(hey I'm in the dark here and there is no clock!)

*******************************************************
She slept very, very fitfully. Kept having nightmares about bad
eyebrows and cows mooing at her and chasing her around. When *he*
showed up to taunt her in her sleep, she awoke with a start.

The strangeness of her sourroundings gave her pause for a moment, and
then it all came rushing back. The phone call about some missing book,
someone telling her that *Nick* needed her, she must come at once, the
horrible racket she woke up to on Sunday morning as the bad KISS
impersonators cranked up their instruments in her driveway, //must
remember to properly thank Jamie for that soon she noted//, the
neighbors screaming and thowing food stuffs around the drive, the
horror as the bowl of catfood hit the Gene Simmons impersonator, those
neighborhood cats howling along. But mostly, she remembered the
strange look in David's face as he put her on the first of many planes
to get to Toronto. And those fateful words he spoke, *Angie, you hate
to fly, this can only mean trouble for you honey. Please be
careful...*

Yep, she remembered it all. And she was starting to figure it out too.
It was apparent to her now that the letter that she had sent to the
Knighties and their leaders, had been intercepted by that bizarre
eyebrowed LaCroix and his band of Shakespearian weenies. What the hell
could he want with her? //Unless the evil cousin Cherri had put him up
to it because of all the bad cow jokes she had made in the last two
months//. Maybe Cherri had stopped at her home page and gone to the
movie review section. Cherri wouldn't have been pleased at all that
Angie had used the *4 Cow* rating system in Cherri's honor... //no
silly! Cherri wouldn't know about that, she's too wrapped up in the
war.// But that was the only cousin that Angie had thought she could
have insulted! She had not been mean to April, Denise, Shirl or Lu...
Fer chrissakes, she like all of them! They were a lot of fun to hang
with.....

She snapped on the little swing lamp over the bed and grabbed her
duffle bag. She pulled out the Gameboy and popped in the Adventures of
Link... and thought, long and hard. This was an apparent setup from
the start, the Knighties couldn't know she was here, or even that she
was supposed to be one of them.... Well at least they had laid in a
supply of nice cold Pepsi (tm) and some bubblebath. They were trying
to be nice... nicer than cousins should be... whats up with that?????
Nice cousins, a terrible concept indeed!

Ah well, she was where she was, and there was always the hope that
someone would come and rescue her. Maybe someone actually did know whe
was in TO and would send a Merc //oh boy// to come to extricate her
from this situation. Whatever, might as well grab a Pepsi(tm) and try
to find the king's armour. Theres a long road ahead, nice to see that
at least the place is clean....//Thanks goodness I am used to keeping
vampires hours//.


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


Sometimes You're the Windshield; Sometimes You're the Bug
   by Dianne la Mercenaire <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>
      (based on an idea by Diane. E. and with much-valued
       assistance from Cousin Cherri & Vaq Sherri-- who
       pointed out, then helped me fix a... um... 'little'
       boo-boo in "Don't Worry 5/5")


[Timing: After "Pretty in Pink" and before "Don't Worry 5/5"--
probably _very early_ in the a.m. of Tues 7/30]

[Place: The Old Church]

<backdated as a fix post w/ special permission of the WMs>




Sometimes, life just didn't seem worth living.

She thought she'd gotten over it by now; she thought she'd developed
some immunity to the humiliation, the awkwardness, the pain.

But she was wrong.

LaCroix didn't appreciate her. He'd only let her live to make her a
laughingstock of the entire city. For six *months*.

The Cousins didn't appreciate her. Lisa had chewed her out earlier for
getting *another* fine for being the inadvertant cause of yet
*another* downtown traffic jam.

She felt like she'd been in that horrible cow suit *forever*. The Vaqs
probably laughed themselves to sleep every night.

And tonight she'd caught some of the newer Cousins laughing at her.

After that, Cherri had found herself stumbling around Toronto for what
seemed like hours-- depressed, miserable.

Until she saw the old church.

Then she was *angry*.

"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" she screamed, throwing herself at the chainlink
fence and frightening the... um... well, some more 'glop' <g> out of
the geese.

Hearing the ruckus, Sherri ran to the front door-- to see the fence
almost give way under the raging assault (with what would have been
dire consequences to the relatively-clean streets of Toronto on a
level _no one_ really wants to contemplate).

Taking pity on the raving bovine before her, Sherri grabbed a broom
and a couple of spare Vaqueras and headed out to fetch the poor
benighted soul.

Expertly sweeping geese out of their way and supporting Cherri over
the.. um... 'slicker' parts of the route, the Vaqueros ushered her
inside the church, where she sank to the floor in exhaustion.

"They're laughing at me," she sobbed.  "The Cousins are _laughing_."

Sherri offered the distraught cow a shoulder and murmured soothing
reassurances until the shaking stopped. Realizing that Cherri had
fallen asleep, the Vaqueros kindly laid her on a spare pew, tucked a
pillow under her head, and returned to their work.

****

Cherri woke later to the sound of worried, hurrying Vaqs calling her
name... and was that _mooing_?

Attempting to sit up, she bumped her head and fell back down on her
back. Somehow she'd rolled off and _under_ the pew in her sleep.

Slightly disoriented (and amazed at how out of it she'd apparently
been), her eyes focused slowly on something stuck to the underside of
the pew.

It was a book.  A little brown book.

Grabbing her find quickly, Cherri crawled out-- not without serious
difficulty-- and went after the Vaqs to find out what was going on.

But first, she *really* needed to go....


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


(Don't Worry,) Be Happy 1/5 -- The Raider of the Pack
   by Dianne la Mercenaire <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>
    with help from Jamie the Web Goddess <Immajer@nyc.pipeline.com>
     (Under contract to the now-comatose Diane E. <Gryphon@execpc.com>)

[Timing: 2:30am Mon night/Tues morn.]



With an already-tired sigh, Dianne finished her plotting for the
evening.  At this rate she wouldn't make either the museum opening
_or_ the Raven re-opening.  She considered tacking on an annoyance
surcharge to her contract just for that.

Sure, the Rabidly Unaffiliated Listmember had disappeared quite
mysteriously amid vague, yet dire rumors, but the job had been paid in
advance and completing it was a matter of taking pride in one's work.

That and encouraging repeat business.

*********

"Come on Jamie, we're going on a field trip!"

"At 2 a.m.?" the Web Goddess trusted her Merc Mommy, but late-night
excursions in the middle of a vampire-infested War were enough to give
anyone pause.

"Yup. You're coming along on a job with me. It's time you remembered
what it's like to be a real Merc-- the thrill of the sneak, the rush
of the lurk...."

"The joys of jail?" Dianne ignored the comment, but Jamie persisted.
"Are we going to get Christina out?" She felt bad at the prospect of
leaving her other Merc Mommy locked up indefinitely.

Dianne shook her head. "No, no. Later. When she's learned her lesson."
She continued before Jamie could object. "We're going to visit the
'Pack!"

The Illustrated Merc Baby smiled... then frowned. "We're not going to
_attack_ them, are we?" Her frown was heading towards a something
decidedly less pleasant.

"No, no," the GHP assured her, "We're just going to get some pretty-
bright-shinies!" Jamie's eyes lit up, and Dianne sighed quietly.
<_Way_ too much time spent around the Pack.> "Starting with," she
reached into a pocket and dangled them in front of her as she spoke,
"the keys to the Merc van."

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

"Now remember: Be _quiet_," Dianne reminded Jamie as they entered the
beachhouse.

Tiptoeing in amongst the sleeping forms, Dianne could see they had
their work cut out for them.

"Oooooh!  NatPack!" Jamie cooed as she reached out to pet Jennie's
hair.

"*Sleeping* NatPack," Dianne reminded her in a fierce whisper as she
batted Jamie's hand away. "Don't wake them up!"

"Ooooh!  Pretty-bright-*orange*!" Jamie responded, pointing at the
NatMare under Jennie's head.

"Pretty-bright-orange, indeed!" Dianne agreed, shaking her head, as
she started to work the stuffed animal out from under the Pack
Leader's head without waking her.

"If this isn't an attack, why are you taking the NatMare?"

Dianne winced, feeling like the Grinch faced with Cindy Lou Who. Not a
bad precedent, actually....

"I'm going to clean it... and fix that spot on its nose." A couple of
stitches and a wipe-down weren't going to kill her in the grand scheme
of things. And she *never* lied to her Merc Baby.

"Oh.  Well, then, you'd better take the other one, too; we don't want
them to get lonely," Jamie warned.

Dianne looked at her for a moment. "There are *more* of them?"

"Only two."

"Thank heaven!" Dianne muttered under her breath. "You go find the
other one, OK? And take... uh 'round up' any other stuffed animals you
see while you're at it."

"Oh-kay," Jamie agreed happily.

Dianne started gathering every prescription lens and medication-filled
purse she could find, doing her best to ignore the sounds of Jamie
tripping over things in the dark. Luckily, the Pack was apparently
*really* tired.

"If this isn't an attack, why are you taking their glasses?"

_Just_ managing not to yelp in surprise (how could someone who
stumbled that much sneak up on her like that?), Dianne took a very
long slow breath, let it out, then turned to face Jamie.

She was standing there, next to a pile of critters, a *bright* orange
NatMare under each arm. "And if you take their inhalers, they can't
breathe!" she accused with a frown.

"It will be OK, Jamie," she reassured her calmly. "I know *exactly*
what I'm doing." Jamie looked less than sure. "Why don't you go in the
kitchen and make yourself some coffee-- some _quiet_ coffee, OK?"

Jamie thought for a minute.

Dianne thought it was a very _long_ minute.

Then she said, "Oh-kay!"

As Jamie retreated to the kitchen, bright orange NatMares at her side
[Have you guys *seen* these things? 'Bright' does not _even_ do them
justice-- try 'radioactive orange'! <g>], Dianne spotted something.

"Jamie!" she hissed. "Take your jacket with you. We don't want to
leave any evidence."

The Web Goddess took a few steps back, looking at the proffered
article of clothing. "That's not mine."

"Yes it is!"

"No it isn't. That one says 'NatPacker' on the pocket."

"Fine, whatever!  Just take it anyway." Jamie shrugged, accepted it,
and headed back to the kitchen. Cursing herself for not having brought
more muscle on this job, Dianne started carting luggage, purses,
stuffed animals, and all manner of corrective lenses out to the
waiting van.

"I only hope it's _big_ enough...."

Looking at her watch, she decided she'd better let Jamie drive.


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


(Don't Worry,) Be Happy 2/5 -- Plushies from Heaven
   by Dianne la Mercenaire <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>
    (Under contract to the now-comatose Diane E. <Gryphon@execpc.com>)

[Timing: 3:00am Mon night/Tues morn.]



"That's a Bad High Place."

"No it's not!" Dianne was trying, unsuccessfully, to get the height-
phobic Web Goddess to come closer to the wall she was in the process
of scaling awkwardly. "Besides, *I'm* going up... not you. I just need
you to send up the loot!"

Jamie still frowned, but moved slightly closer to the foot of the
building, as she tried not to watch Dianne's progress.

At the sound of her name in an urgent whisper, she tied the large
bundle to the end of the rope and looked down to terra firma as it was
hauled up into the night.

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

*BONK!*

Perri stirred ever so slightly in her sleep.

*BONK!* *BonkBonkBonk!*

Now other Knighties were waking. A mild panic ensued as it became
evident that they were being attacked from above... in the dark....

***********

Hefting the last NatMare, Dianne aimed carefully.

*BONK!*

"Yes!" she exclaimed happily, as she beaned Catheboo with the super-
soft plushie. Sadly realizing she had run out of stuffed animals, she
quickly vacated the roof and hurried off to make a few phone calls.


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


Rude Awakening Number Two
by Perri Smith

Continuous to (Don't Worry,) Be Happy" 2/5 -- "Plushies from Heaven.

July 30, 3:05 a.m.
Nick's Loft

Perri grunted when the first soft, fuzzy thing hit her face. She
swatted at the second, mumbling something threatening her kitten's
way. When the third one hit, she sat straight up.

"Who's things throwing me DIE?" she yelled somewhat incoherently. Of
course, considering it was still dark outside, that was basically what
the Knighties expected of her -- their co-fearless leader *hated*
waking up --and none of them were doing too much better.

"Turn on the lights!" someone yelled from the other side of the room.

"Got 'em!" someone else yelled. A moment later, the room was flooded
with lights, which did nothing to improve Perri's mood. She reached
for her glasses, unwilling to fuss with contacts, and squinted as
blurs resolved themselves into Knighties -- and animals.

Something like forty of them -- stuffed and littering the floor of
Nick's loft. Every Knightie stretched on the floor had been hit with
at least one, she figured out through the layers of sleep fogging her
mind. She and Cath had both been targeted by about five.

"Oh, hell," she swore quietly. "Attacked by teddy bears. Lovely."

"Could have been worse," Cath yawned from across the room.

"Yeah, I know," Perri yawned back. "Blood." She shook her head and
threw back her blanket, pulling herself to her feet. "We really do
have to start setting guards. Does someone object to us getting
sleep?"

"Guess so." Cath struggled to her feet and kicked a stuffed tiger off
of her sleeping back.

Perri shrugged and yawned again. Then she blinked, as a very familiar
bright orange blob resolved itself at her feet. "Ohmigod. The NatMare.
Allie, Marcia, Courtney -- get outside and catch this character before
she escapes! I want her in this loft now!"

The other three blinked, then obeyed -- no one wanted to become the
focus of Perri's 'I do *not* want to be awake' ire, in which her
usually bad temper became positively filthy. The elevator door slammed
shut behind them.

"What's up?" Cath asked in confusion.

Perri had picked up the orange monstrosity, which was so ugly it was
adorable. "The NatMares -- the 'Pack *always* has them with them.
Whoever stole this knows where the 'Pack is. *I* want to know where
the 'Pack is." Perri was looking as intense as someone who can't quite
focus *can* look.

"Are you sure it's *the* Natmares?"

Perri pointed to a scrawl along the orange fabric of one of the
creatures. "Check out the signature. This is it."

The search party returned then. "No sign of her," Allie reported.
"Gone without a trace."

Perri swore again, then reluctantly grinned and reached for her
computer. "Well, they'll have to return my e-mail if I tell 'em I'm
holding the NatMares for ransom. Everyone else, start sorting these
things out. If whoever this is stole from the NatPack, that's probably
where they got the rest of these things."

She started to type, then looked up and blinked. "Hey, that's *my*
teddy bear. Leave him alone!"

********

DATE: July 29, 2:13 a.m. EST
TO: Finabair@aol.com
FROM: perridox@intex.net
SUBJECT: Missing something?

Jennie,

We were just bombed by a shipment including the NatMares. If you want
it back, talk to me.

Perri

*******

Cath yawned yet again, keeping one eye on the sorting and another on
her possessed co-leader. "Why are you so hot to find the 'Pack?"

Perri disconnected her computer and put it to sleep. "Mostly because
they apparently don't want to be found. Guess I'm just a slave to my
curiousity."

"Besides, you just can't stand not knowing about Natalie," Cath
finished knowingly.

Perri shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, I *am* an honorary NatPacker."


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


(Don't Worry,) Be Happy 3/5 -- What Do the Simple Thieves Do?
   by Dianne la Mercenaire <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>
    (Under contract to the now-comatose Diane E. <Gryphon@execpc.com>)

[Timing: 3:15am Mon night/Tues morn.]



*Nothing* was working.

It seemed so simple.  Just deliver a box to the Cousins.  Not even a
booby-trapped box.  A box they might well even _want_.

But it was Wartime, and nothing was simple anymore.

She'd tried tying it to a hunk of raw meat and luring Fred the Eagle
into taking it back with him.

All that had gotten her was a torn, crushed, bloody box left right
where it had started.

She'd tried to find Lisa the Perpetually Wasted. Surely *she* could be
tricked into taking back a simple box with her-- providing, of course,
she could find her way home.

But Lisa was nowhere to be found. They must be keeping her under lock
and key.

She'd _even_ tried to deliver it herself, sinking so low in her race
against time that she would try outright *honesty* in achieving her
aim.

It had not been a pretty sight.

And, after all that, it hadn't worked either. The Cousins weren't
about to take delivery of *anything* from the Merc GHP in the middle
of the night. Especially when she swore up and down it was _not_ a
trick.

Jamie-- beloved List Mommy and Web Goddess, and former Cousin herself
[for about 2 days back in War 5... go look it up! <g>]-- had no more
luck.

Dianne sighed. Fine. She had promised to deliver it, not force it down
their suspicious little throats.

Propping the box containing all the NatPack's various glasses and
contact lenses up against the front door, where it would fall into
whoever next tried to exit, Dianne made a rude gesture at the nearest
security camera and left to complete her assignment.


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


(Don't Worry,) Be Happy 4/5 -- The Long Orange Veil
   by Dianne la Mercenaire <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>
    (Under contract to the now-comatose Diane E. <Gryphon@execpc.com>)

[Timing: 3:25am Mon night/Tues morn.]



"Delivery!"

"Yeah, yeah. Get in line," Cynthia muttered. Even after the grand club
re-opening, the back door deliveries went on... and on.... She was
really starting to wonder where Janette had found suppliers to deliver
at such odd hours on a regular basis.

"So what is it this time," she asked, reaching automatically for the
proffered clipboard.  "Glassware? Liquor? Little black and red drink
umbrellas?"

"I'm from Siren's, ma'am," the deliveryperson responded in a rather
miffed tone. "These were purchased by a...." he checked the board... "
'Janet Dutcham' earlier today."

"Why am I not surprised?" Cynthia grumbled as she opened the door to
the back room. "You can put it here."

"Well, actually, there's more."

"More?"

"Um... yeah.  *Lots* more."

*******

Within a half hour Cynthia had received parcels from La Vie en Rose,
Madam Strang's House of Ill Repute, DarkAngel's Dangerous Liasions,
and half-a-dozen other of the finest stores in Toronto.

Finally closing (and _locking_!) the door behind her, she surveyed the
piles. Opening the top box closest to her, she found... a piece of
luggage.

Luggage? In concern she started opening more.

When she was done she had entire *sets* of luggage-- from about twenty
people, if she guessed right.  Twenty _good_ packers. Containing
clothes that her fine Raven sense of fashion told her could only have
come from one place.

"NatPackers?"


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


VAQ ACTIONS 5/?: Jamie takes Flight
Location: Toronto, Various, July 30, approximately 3:55 am
By Sherri Campbell

Follows VAQ: ACTIONS 4/?: Vachon Takes Flight

Jamie was sitting in the van, listening to KISS on the tapedeck, and
inhaling the aroma of her coffee. It was *ssooooo* nice to be driving
around with Dianne, and she had even provided the Coffee. This Was
Important. As Jamie was purring over the combined ecstasy of coffee
and KISS, she noticed a figure approaching the van.

Jamie gazed fuzzily at the person walking up the sidewalk toward her.
<blink><blink> Leaning forward, she began to shake slightly. He, oh
yes, HE, had long hair, and was wearing *spandex*; black spandex! Her
contentment vanished. She must see more. Touch him, explore the
territory. Yes, that was needed. Looking around, Jamie searched for
her Merc Mommy, but didn't see her. Turning back frantically at the
slowly strolling figure, she noticed he was fading into the darkness.
"Ooooooo, yummy man *not* go bye-bye!" she gasped quietly.

Quietly opening the door of the van, Jamie headed after the mysterious
figure. Reaching the limit of the light from the nearby lightpole, she
stumbled. Strong hands caught her, and steadied her until she caught
her balance. Peering up at her rescuer, she realized it was Vachon!
"Vachon? You're not dead! Coool! What are you doing here? and..." she
paused, scanned her eyes from feet to face, and smiled joyfully, "You
look *goooooood*! Why are you dressed like that?"

Vachon smiled a sparkling smile at Jamie. "I dressed this way for you,
my Jamie. I heard you would like it.  I also thought that I would take
you for an aerial flight over Toronto..."

Jamie had at first purred with delight at the thought that Vachon had
dressed in Spandex *especially* for her... then heard the fateful
words aerial *flight*, and panicked. "Oh, no, no, no... I can't fly! I
get vertigo, I get hysterics, I am not doing *up*!!"

Vachon gently gripped Jamie by her arms, and gathered her close. "Shh,
my Jamie. I can help you. Let me?"

Jamie looked up (as best she could, being under Vachon's chin) and
nodded trustfully. "I will let you help me." She smiled innocently.

Vachon leaned back slightly, and focused on her eyes. "Jamie" <thump
thump> "Jamie, listen to me. Let go your fear... you *have* no fear of
heights... you do *not* have vertigo..." <thump thump>

Jamie relaxed, repeating "No fear... No vertigo... "

Before Vachon released her from his will, he took out the cell phone
he was carrying.  Dialing rapidly, he waited for the connection.
"Hello, Torrey? I've got her. I'll be back to the church with her
before dawn." With a click he closed the phone, cutting off Torrey's
questions.

Vachon grinned at his kidnapping victim, breaking the connection.
"Want to go fly now, Jamie?"  The grin grew wider when Jamie responded
enthusiastically.

"I would *love* to fly! Can we see the CN Tower? Can we see Nick's
Loft from overhead? Please? I want to see it all!" Laughing, Vachon
grabbed her up, and took off into the night.
                 * * * *

A few minutes later, they were perched over Nick's Loft peering into
the skylight. There wasn't much to see, so Vachon lifted her up again,
and headed for the CN Tower.

Landing on the Tower, Vachon steadied Jamie so she could stand on the
top edge, and look at the city. It was beautiful...

Jamie turned to Vachon with tears in her eyes. "Thank you. Thank you
so much. I have always wanted to see this for myself, and I couldn't
get past the fear and vertigo."

Vachon slid his hand down the side of her face. "I understand, Jamie.
It's all right. I must warn you, though, that the fear may come back,
but hopefully it will be reduced in size if it does." Jamie nodded
gratefully, just glad to be on the Tower, in the night, with Vachon.
                     * * * *

It was nearly 4:29 when Vachon approached the church, with a sleeping
Jamie in his arms. As he landed on the roof, Torrey was standing there
tapping her foot, and looking at him. He smiled at her, and leaning
over carefully, pecked Torrey on the cheek. Then, carefully, as if he
were carrying fragile eggshells, he carried Jamie down to an unused
room and settled her in bed.


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


(Don't Worry,) Be Happy 5/5 -- I Heard Somebody Moo
   by Dianne la Mercenaire <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>
    (Under contract to the now-comatose Diane E. <Gryphon@execpc.com>)

[Timing: 4am Mon night/Tues morn.]


Dianne stumbled out of the van near an old, abandoned church, mumbling
to herself.

"Damn those new high-tech security precautions anyway! Being a Merc
wasn't like it was in the Good Old Days<tm>! Then you could sneak
about as you pleased, trading secrets and smooth-talking your way past
the guards."

"Now it's just a mess-- retinal scans, infrared. *Geese*, for heaven's
sake! Ridiculous!  Soon a Merc won't be able to make a decent living
in this reality. Why when I was a newbie...."

She stopped when she noticed a smile on Jamie's face that suggested
that her internal monologue had wandered out past her lips when she
wasn't looking again. "Hmph!" she concluded, turning from the pile of
NatPack purses and reaching into her own bag for a popular novelty
item. All these high-tech precautions meant was the increasing need to
resort to lower- and lower-tech solutions.

After all-- if you can't beat 'em, trick 'em into beating themselves.

**********

Hearing a forlorn, plaintive lowing from the alley behind the church--
before it was drowned out by the sounds of many, many pissed-off
geese-- the Vaqueras emerged. Dragged from their sleep or their
preparations, they cautiously slipped out of the church--leaving
behind sentries, of course.

"Cherri?" the voices strained to be heard over the honking. "What
happened?  Cherri?"

Turning the corner, the first Vaqueras stopped. Directly in front of
them, in the center of the alley, was a mound of purses and shoulder
bags-- twenty or thirty at least.

This, in itself, was odd-- but not of great import to them. It was,
rather, the soft black tress laid atop the foremost bag that so
stunned them that no one noticed the lowing had mysteriously stopped.

"It's *his*!" The cry went up. "Whose are these? They're gonna *pay*
for what they did!"

Quickly, the small mob gathered up the purses-- each of which
contained some part of a lock of long dark hair-- and retreated into
the church. Within minutes, peace was restored to the night.

Once inside, some even noticed when Cousin Cherri came stumbling out
of the bathroom-- cursing at zippers and glue and mumbling to herself
'and they think _pantyhose_ are a pain!'

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

Dianne-- smiling, now that the Monster Night From Hell job was
*finally* complete-- sauntered back to the van.

"Jamie!  They went for it!  Mission accomplished, purses delivered,
and we are *out* of here!" With a big grin she opened the door and
swung herself into the passenger seat, looking across to find
Jamie...
                ...*gone*.

"Dead bunnies through a *straw*!" Dianne cursed. "*Big* ones!" She
added, as she looked frantically around for any sign of her errant
Merc Baby.


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


VAQ ACTIONS 6/?: The Phone Call
A Phone Booth in Toronto
July 30th, 4:05 am
By: Torrey Harris

I just noticed one part of this posted as 3/3. Sorry - It is open
ended at this point. This is during Jamie Takes Flight.

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

"I can't believe I am doing this." Torrey muttered to herself as she
made her way through the geese around the church. Once outside of the
gate she jumped into one of the vans and took off for the other side
of town.

Pulling up to the phone booth she had found earlier in the day, she
pulled a phone number out of her pocket and dialed.

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

"Dianne, please." Torrey replied, trying, but not succeeding in
disguising her voice.

"Hello?"  It was Dianne...time to put the plan into action.

"I have what you are missing, if you want her back unharmed have a
truck full of chocolate parked in front of the Raven in two hours. No
funny stuff, we will be watching." Torrey tried to keep her hands and
voice from shaking.

"What...who is this...how dare you!" Dianne practically screamed into
the phone.

"You heard our demands; now, make it happen or face the consequences."
With that Torrey hung up the phone and raced back to the van.


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


Eagle on a Bust, or This Ain't the Maltese Falcon
Part two of Dawn and Lizbet's nefarious scheme...
CERK Central, or rather, the building across the way...
Tuesday, July 30th, just before sunrise
By L. Dawn Steele and Elizabeth Ann Lewis

"Um, Dawn? Have I mentioned I'm afraid of heights?" Lizbet whispered.
They were standing on the roof of the building located next to CERK
Central. LaCroix's penthouse suite was on the top floor of the radio
station. Going in from below was unlikely to work, since various and
assorted Cousins were asleep on the floor inside, so the two Mercs had
decided to go in from above. It was just before daybreak, dark enough
that no one would see them break in, but close enough to light that
any enraged vampires they might encounter would not be able to chase
them for long.

Not that enraged vampires would need long...

"As a matter of fact, so am I," Dawn said calmly. "We don't have a
choice." Dawn shifted the weight of the bust that she carried in a
knapsack on her back. Inside the sack were a few breaking and entering
tools as well. "Just take a few deep breaths, and try to pretend that
you're a teenager and therefore Immortal -- that's what I'm going to
do."

"Yeah, but in that case, there can be only one," Lizbet joked.  "And
neither one of us have swords."

They had found a sturdy board and laid it across the seven-foot gap
between the building they stood on and CERK. The board was strong and
fairly wide, but... "It's a loooooooong way down," Lizbet said.

Dawn unslung the backpack and handed it to Lizbet. "Hold this while I
go across." She stepped carefully onto the board, ready to jump back
to safety at the slightest creak, then ran across to the other side.
Lizbet slid the bust across to her, then whispered a few prayers and
crossed the board herself.

With a lockpick, Lizbet jimmied open the roof access door. Both Mercs
held their breath going down the steps to LaCroix's penthouse. "OK, if
I were a two-thousand year old vampire, where would *I* keep my
memorial to my megalomania?" Lizbet mused.

Lizbet and Dawn looked at each other. "The bathroom," they said
together.

Sure enough, on a pillar of snowy marble sat the arrogant bust. And
sitting on the bust was a bloody, bloomin' bald *eagle*.  "Um, well.
This is interesting. Now what do we do?" Dawn asked.

Lizbet looked at the sharp beak and sharper talons--from a safe
distance. "Hey, mister, call off your eagle," she joked weakly.

"Huh?" Dawn asked, confused.

"It's an old joke my dad tells," Lizbet explains.  She drapped her own
hand over her head so that the fingers reached over the forehead and
just missed her eyes.  "Call off your eagle, get it?"

Dawn considered her for a long moment. It *could* look like an eagle's
talon was sitting on Lizbet's head--provided the person viewing it had
severe astigmatism, was sleep-deprived, and was under the influence of
no less than three hallucinagenic drugs.   "No."

Shrugging, Lizbet dropped her hand.  "So my dad tells bad jokes."

"We still have this problem," Dawn pointed out. "That bird is sitting
on what we need to steal."

"Wait, I have an idea." Lizbet dug into the bag she was carrying and
pulled out the half of the hamburger she hadn't been able to finish.
Tying some string around it, she held it up. "It's a lure. People used
to train falcons with it."

Backing out of the bathroom into the spacious living area, Lizbet
began swinging the lure around and around above her head. "C'mere,
birdie," she said. "Nice birdie. Come get the good hamburger, there's
a nice bird."

After several moments, Fred the eagle decided that it was necessary to
discover just *what* the crazy girl was waving around. He hopped off
the bust and flew the short distance to the lure, which Lizbet
immediately dropped. She made a dive for the bathroom and Dawn slammed
the door behind her.

First crisis over, they turned to look at the bust they would be
removing. "Looks good for having been through the erruption at
Pompeii," Lizbet commented.

"He probably had a dozen of these. Then, you sent busts of yourself to
everyone. Now, people write holiday newsletters. Same thing." Dawn
fished the pseudo-bust out of the bag and put it on the pillar as
Lizbet removed the original. The heavier marble pulled Lizbet's arms
to the floor at an alarming rate, and she dropped to the tiled floor,
breaking the bust's fall with her stomach.

The bust landed on her lower ribs, then gently rolled to the floor. As
it did so, a secret compartment was knocked open.

"Hmm, what have we here?" Dawn said, her eyes lighting with mercenary
glee. A small backup computer tape lay innocuously on the floor -- at
least unless Dawn snatched it up. It seemed tiny, but could hold about
100 Megs of material.

"Ooooooooo."  Lizbet recovered from being viciously attacked by the
bust quickly. Greed will do that to you.  "Are you thinking what I'm
thinking?" she asked.

"If what you are thinking is holding this for ransom, then yes."

Lizbet grinned.  "Mercenary Rule of Acquisition number eight: Only a
fool passes up a business opportunity."

"And we're not fools."  Dawn handed the computer tape to Lizbet with a
slight twinge of regret. It was Lizbet's job though, and she had just
been hired to help. "You know, I'm always willing to extend my
services for a portion of future... proceeds."

Lizbet tucked the tape into her front pocket. "I'll keep that in
mind." She grabbed the bust off of the floor and (with difficulty)
handed it over to Dawn. "Here! You're half a foot taller than me, you
carry it!"

After setting her backpack on the lid of the clean (and suspiciously
immaculate) toilet, Dawn started to carefully push it between the
layers of padding. Her fingers stilled. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh? What do you mean!" Lizbet glanced nervously out of the room.
The cousins hadn't discovered them yet, but the longer they stayed,
the greater the possibility of one of them coming in for a 'pit-stop'.
At the very least, they would be suspicious at finding the eagle out
of the bathroom, gorging himself on the remains of a Big Mac.

A worried frown creased Dawn's face. "LaCroix's a tall guy... I mean,
I knew he <had> one, but I never figured the original sculpter would
actually put it..."

Lizbet pushed Dawn's hands out of the way. There, revealed in all its
glory, was a small, scupted bald spot. "Tell me you put a bald spot on
the replica." She was feeling the overwhelming urge to start pacing --
not a good idea at the moment. For one thing, her ribs still hurt. For
another, there wasn't much room.

"Don't worry! I thought we might have to make last minute changes."
Dawn pulled a small white packet out of the backpack. She went over to
the duplicate, and squished a small portion onto the top of the bust.
"There!"

"Don't you think that's a bit <bigger> than the original?" Lizbet's
eyes flicked between the top of the two (almost) identical busts. "I
mean, it's going to be really <noticeable> when ... "

"Well, it's not as if they wouldn't figure out it was a fake in a day
or so anyway." Dawn lifted up the fake bust and placed it on top of
the pedestal.

"True enough," Lizbet agreed, remembering what was underneath the
white paint.

"If a man almost two thousand years old isn't secure about his bald
spot, then I'll give up hope for the rest of testosterone-high
mankind." Dawn picked up the backpack and bust and with Lizbet's help
slung it onto her back. "Come on, let's get out of here before any
Cousins decide to answer the call of nature."


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


Fast Moving Chocolate on the Loose! (1/2)
Place:  The Rich, Dark and Mysterious Chocolate Shop
Time:   Tuesday, the 30th approx. 4:15 am
Author: Dawn Steele (h36a@unb.ca)

The alarm work everyone up.

Actually, the VERY LOUD alarm that was only supposed to be used in
dire emergencies woke all the Mercs up who weren't already up in the
first place.

This number wasn't very high, but <still> ... it wasn't appreciated.

After a full minute, the alarm shut off and the Mercs were treated to
the sound of the phone ringing madly away. The mercs who saw it could
have sworn that the phone was trying to jump up and down like in the
cartoons, but it couldn't quite manage it.

Kira was the first phone to reach the phone. She picked up the
receiver, and put it hesitantly beside her ear.

"I need CHOCOLATE!"

Kira pulled the receiver away from her ear, and winced. "Is it that
time of the... ?"

"No!" There was silence on the line for a minute. When her voice
continued it was far more controlled, but every word echoed with
authority. "I want you to pack up every single bar and stick of
chocolate in the shop and truck it over to the Raven... BEFORE 6:05
am!"

Wrapping one hand over the mouthpiece, Kira mouthed "she's gone loco!"
and used her other hand to make circling motions at her ear for
emphasis.

The other Mercs gathered around her nodded in agreement. Still, it
wasn't as if they could do anything about it (even after her
irrational actions at Maureen's trial). They <had> elected her.

Kira rolled her eyes and put the phone back at her ear.

"I'm not crazy!"

"Why do you need the chocolate to be sent to the Raven?"

"I'm the Great High Poobah! You don't question me!" Faint imaginary
steam (in accordence with the cartoon theme of this post) trailed out
of the earpiece. "Just send it?"

"Who's paying?"

"...." Silence on the line.

Kira put the now dead receiver into it's socket, and put her hands at
her hips. "I imagine you could all hear her... Who wants to help me
load up the truck? We can add a 'service and handling' charge to
Dianne's bill."

"But we won't have any chocolate when we open the shop!" Abby
exclaimed. Just the thought of dealing with hordes of chocoholics
facing them when they couldn't provide their fix... She shuddered in
horror.

"That's not something we have to worry about. Dianne does."

"We <can't> send all the chocolate off!" Lane said. "We have to make
deliveries today to promote the store. In fact ... " He looked at his
watch. "I have an early morning delievery."

Kira sighed. We did she have to be one of the volunteers for the
chocolate shop? "Just put aside our gifts, and take everything else."

And so on that early Tuesday morning, the 'Rich, Dark, and Mysterious'
chocolate shop was... cleaned out!


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


Bail from Heaven?
or, Forget the Fine Print, Chaos
by Christina Kamnikar

Metro PD, 96th Precinct
Tuesday, July 30th, 5:13 AM

"Kamnikar! Get up!" A clanking noise, and Chris blinked sleepily.

"Just five more minutes, okay...?"

"Now!" That was not Christina's mother. Chris's mom used to just take
her pillow away and yank the covers off her when she'd beg for five
extra minutes. The Mercenary General bleerily sat up, rubbing at her
eyes crankily, and squinted at Captain Reese, who glared back at her
in disgust. "You've made bail. Time to get OUT of my precinct."

"I did? I mean, I did. Of course I did."  Dianne had finally finished
punishing her, had she? Well, fine. Chris had a few choice words to
say to her GHP. Words like "power-mad arrogant double-crossing
tyrant".

"Don't even think about leaving the country," Reese lectured her as he
took her to the front desk and gave her an envelope with her personal
effects, "and don't start spreading those crazy stories about Nick
Knight around, either. I'm still not sure you shouldn't be in a mental
hospital." He pointed a finger at her menacingly. "And I'd really
consider the Crown's offer to turn state's evidence, mental problems
or no mental problems. Do you understand?"

"It's nice to know you care, Captain." He stalked away, and feeling
punchy, the MMG turned to claim her things, then got a good look at
her rescuer for the first time.  Chris blinked at the woman paying her
bail ticket. "You're not Dianne la Mercenaire."

"Not even on my bad days." The younger woman was wearing a purple silk
shirt, her dark brown hair pulled back with a barette, and didn't seem
at all bothered by the earliness (or lateness) of the hour. She shook
Chris's hand and smiled fondly at her. "Hi. I'm Heather Parks. I'm a
Cousin. You owe me."

Chris tried to yank her hand back. "Hey! No! Not a chance!"

"Do you want to go back to your cell?" Heather asked, tipping her head
slightly, then her voice took on a wheedling tone. "Oh, look, all you
owe me is one measly job next week. It won't even be hard."

"Lisa sent you to torture me, didn't she?"

"Nope. This is all my own idea."

The MMG's eyes narrowed, but an involuntary yawn spoiled the
threatening Klingon effect. "What's the job?"

"Does it matter? I'll tell you when it needs to be done," Heather said
soothingly, guiding Chris out of the station and flagging down a
passing cab.

"Wellll..." Chaos swayed a little on the sidewalk, squinting in the
sunlight, and then sighed. "What the hell. I've done stupider things
than accept a contract without asking what it was before. Actually,"
she muttered under her breath, "that's how I got into this in the
first place... Jamie just *had* to offer me Mulder fanfic, and did I
ask why? Nooooo." She shook herself, then climbed into the cab,
turning back momentarily to ask Heather, "How do you want me to get in
touch with you?"

"Don't bother." Harmless-looking Heather gave the cabbie a twenty,
slammed the cab door, then yelled as it left, "I'll find you when I
need you!"

Fighting back the sinking feeling that she was in over her head
*again*, Chris gave the driver directions to Merc Central. Perfect.
Juuuust great. Well, it was all Dianne's fault.

And she'd tell her so, right after she got into her own bed, and after
she checked on Jamie, and after she thanked Berg and Lane and John for
their nice offers to bust her out of jail. She'd have taken them up on
them if she hadn't thought they'd make more trouble than they could
handle. Well, maybe not more than _they_ could handle, but more than
the Guild would want to deal with later. Attacking a police station is
no picnic.

Oh, well. Chris slipped into a doze as the cab headed for Little
Italy, innocently assuming she'd come back to a nice, calm Merc
Central.


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


Chaos Returns.... and Jamie's Gone *Poof*!
by Christina Kamnikar, Merc Mommy General
Tuesday, July 30th, after dawn, very early morning
Merc Central
[After "Bail from Heaven?" by CLK, and in between the two parts of "Fast
Moving Chocolate" by Dawn Steele (and you can shoot me for back-posting
later... It's getting late, and SOMETHING has to happen)]

Most Mercs work most nights, and when they don't, they're partying.
But there were actual conscious bodies frantically running hither and
yon, from attic to cellar, checking phone lines, polishing weapons,
readying combat gear, when Chris returned to headquarters. All of them
were too busy to note Christina's stealthy, silent entrance through
the back door. The MMG grabbed one of her sodas from the fridge (all
carefully labelled "Mine! Mine! MINE!" to keep her cohorts from
snitching them) snuck up the back staircase to the second floor, and
paused to eavesdrop on the following conversation outside the GHP's
Office:

"We do not give in to terrorists!" A >THWAP!< that might have been the
Shillelagh of Extreme Pain hitting Dianne's desk could be heard out in
the hall. "And we aren't now! This is to buy time, got it? We will get
the ransom back after she's safe."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't pay the ransom, I'm saying that a
strategic strike at the drop might recover her more effectively, and
guarantee her safety---" Lane was sounding quite persuasive, but
another loud >THWAP!< cut off the rest of what he'd said. Christina
frowned. Ransom? Strike? Who had gone missing? And why on earth were
they even *thinking* of paying?

"Dianne, don't you think it's time we bailed Chris out of jail?" Abby
pleaded. "My spy network hasn't got a clew where she is, and if they
don't know, we just can't find out. We need Chris." Chris nodded in
appreciation of the Spymaster's words, only to frown at her leader's
response.

"No, I don't. I'm not bailing her out. This is all her fault."

WHAT was all her fault?

"If Chris had told me where she hid her Jamie-tracker, we could have
found her by now. We wouldn't have to even _discuss_ ransoming her
back---"

"JAMIE'S MISSING?" Chris shrieked out in the hallway, slapping open
the oak door on Dianne's office with one hand, her other hand still
clenching her Diet Pepsi. "Gone? As in KIDNAPPED? As in what she
*hired* me to PREVENT?"

"Uh, yeah," Abby confirmed, looking guiltily from Dianne to Christina
and back again. "Guess you made bail, hunh?"

Dianne was glaring down at Chris, slapping the Shillelagh of EP(TM) in
her hand to a Carribean, voodoo-drums kind of beat. The MMG glared
back, too angry to be intimidated. "How could you let this happen?
How? How? HOW?"

Something akin to guilt, but not actually guilt, since no GHP worth
her chocolate has ever felt real remorse or regret or guilt, crossed
Dianne la Mercenaire's face. "That's not important. What's important
is that you tell us where you put your Jamie-tracking equipment, so we
can get her back without paying the ransom. You've got twenty-four
minutes to find her." Chris took a swig of the Pepsi, crushed the can,
and threw it at Dianne's head, sending a spray of cola across the
floor. Chris's aim being what it is, Dianne ducked easily, but only
Lane's quick reflexes saved him from being brained by the aluminum
can. "Hey! You're going to have to clean that up!"

"It can't be done."

"Oh, I don't know, a little seltzer water, a sponge---" Abby said
thoughtfully.

"I can *not* find Jamie using a triangulation tracking signal in an
area as large as Toronto in 24 minutes. Twenty-four hours, yes,
easily. Two hours, even, quite possibly. But twenty four minutes????
No. And it is NOT my fault, Dianne. We talked this over when I took
the job! You said there wasn't a problem, and then what do you do? You
leave me in jail! To rot! Separated from my client and Merc Baby, who
is probably scared out of her mind and lonely and---" 36 hours in jail
had left Chris with a bit of repressed anger, and as everyone knows,
that sort of thing can be unhealthy if it goes on too long.

"SPARE ME." The GHP collapsed onto her chair and groaned aloud. "Okay?
I'm not a Knightie. I have no guilt. I'm doing everything in my power
to get her back safe, so just lay OFF." She grumbled under her breath,
"Nag nag nag. Someone is taking her title way too seriously."

"You should talk."

Lane cleared his throat significantly, interruptting the staring
contest between the two Merc officials to diffidently point out that
they still had to drop off the ransom and pick up Jamie. "And if they
don't come through, we can still use Chris's tracker to find Jamie and
the people who grabbed her."

Kira came to the door just then. "We're all set! We've got to go NOW,
Dianne, if we're actually going to do this---" The younger Merc was
dancing in the doorway, adrenaline overriding the fact that she'd only
been awakened twenty minutes ago.

Dianne sighed in defeat, snarled, and rose to her full height. "Fine.
Chris, you use the tracker to find Jamie if this doesn't work. Lane,
get a team together. Abby, double check with the spies, and try to
find out who did this. Kira..." An indescribable emotion, equal parts
anger, frustration, disgust and resignation crawled across Dianne's
face. "Deliver the ransom. Aaaaagggh. I can't believe I just said
that..."


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


VAQ: ACTIONS 7/?: The Pick Up
July 30th, 4:25 am
By : Torrey Harris
**************

Running back into the Church, chased by 20 irate birds, Torrey came to
a skidding stop in front of Jay.

"Good...I need you." She panted, as she pulled him into the other
room.

"What's up?" Jay asked, looking down at her. "And... why are you
dressed like some one out of Mission Impossible?"

"Oh, ...well, you see, ..ugh! Never mind." Torrey was trying very hard
to keep it together, and, well, trying to explain her wardrobe was
just a little much for her at the moment.

"I need you to go down to the Raven, Cindy will drive you. You need to
watch for a large truck being parked there. It is supposed to be at
The Raven no later than 6:15 am. You need to drive the truck back
here, to the back of the church. I will have people waiting for you to
help you unload it. We need to get it done fast. Then I need you to
drive the truck over to where the NatPack is staying. Leave the truck
there, Cindy will be waiting for you to bring you back." Torrey looked
at Jay to see if he had caught even half of what she had just blurted
out.

"Sure. Anything else?" Jay asked, still looking down at her.

"Ummm. Don't let anyone see you, and make sure you are not followed."
Torrey was still wondering how he could have understood everything she
had said.

"Okay then... I'll get right on it." Jay turned to leave, then looking
back at her he said "You know, I really like the outfit."

Torrey just rolled her eyes and went to go find the rest of the
Vaqueros to unload the truck when it came.

*************
Later, approx. 5:15 am.
*************

The reports were coming in. Jay has the truck. He is on his way.

"Everyone get ready to unload."  Torrey yelled to the group huddled
around the back of the church.

The truck pulled up and was immediately attacked by Vaqueros who had
it unloaded in minutes. Jumping back into the truck Jay took off for
the NatPackers' Headquarters.

Leaving the truck parked innocuously a door down from the
headquarters, Jay ran to the van driven by Cindy, who quickly pulled
out.

"Wow, now that was fun!" Jay said with a huge smile, flinging his hair
back off his face.

"You did a great job. " Cindy smiled back at him.

Jay leaned back in the seat. "You think so? ...you think maybe Torrey
will give *me* a cool Mission Impossible outfit for it?"

"You never know." Cindy answered, with a giggle.


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


I'M TIRED JOEY BOY (1/3)

The Old Church
Around dawn, Tuesday July 30th

by Bonnie Pardoe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonnie had finally made it home -- well, the church was her temporary
home anyway, and as they always say, 'Home is where you sleep.'  And
she needed sleep.  After being up all day yesterday, and then all
night singing at the Raven, she was wiped out.

The young woman stood in front of the chain link fence and stared at
the enormous flock of geese in the yard around the church.  She sighed
to herself. There was no one in sight, and she wasn't about to mess
with those nasty fowl. So, she hollered, "Hey!  Anybody!  Hello-O!"

Finally, two heads peeked out of the freshly painted, dark-red front
doors of the church.  It was Debra Eve and Pat Casey and they both had
industrial-strength geese deterrers -- brooms.  They made their way to
the front gate, and unlocked it to let Bonnie in.  Then, like two
sweepers on a Winter Olympic Curling team, they made a path through
the flock for their fellow Vaquero.

Half way to the church, Bonnie, in her very stylish, but not-very-
practical-for-stepping-on-goose-glop, Ravenesque boots, slipped. Her
friends, wearing far more appropriate footwear, dropped their brooms
and made an expert grab, saving Bonnie and her dress from a major
goose-glop disaster.  She thanked them profusely.  The three made it
inside the church without further incident.  Bonnie thanked her
compadres again and then dragged herself off to find somewhere *very*
quiet, intending to sleep for most of the day.


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


Days Gone By 1/3: RD&M
by: Cousin Candice
date: Tuesday July 30th note: *+=*+= designated Flashback
time:Tuesday morning -sunrise

It was Tuesday.  Morning to be precise.  Candice awoke in her hotel
room, not really knowing how she'd gotten there.  What was more was
that she wasn't in her own clothing either.  It seemed like only
yesterday it was Sunday night....

Flashback: Sunday Evening July 29th

Lane stood behind the counter of RMS cleaning up a recently spilled
drink when there was a jingle at the door.  She had shorter hair, but
it was still the same brown that he remembered.

Candice sighed heavily, looked for aplace to sit, and dropped her
backpack onto the table.  She hadn't noticed anyone at the front of
the store, but was scanning the small counter-fridges for Godiva
chocolate.

"Pardonez moi, mademoiselle?"  Lane cleared his throat, waiting for
her to notice him.  Candice turned at the roughly spoken french...such
a familiar voice..she looked up.

"Lane!!!" she rushed over to the counter "I didn't know you moved to
Toronto!?"

"I didn't.."he smiled sheepishly and pointed to the bottom of th e
painted window.  Even backwards, Candice could see the crossed swords
and dollar symbol.

" I shoulda known,.." Candice grinned, "Ah well, never mind that -you
have NO idea how much good it does me to see you!"  She smiled and
took his hand, squeezing it gently.  "So how have you been, oh-hire-
of-mine?"

"Well, it's been a helluva year, Candice."

"Heh, I've got plenty of time -could you makeus some capuccinos and
sit and talk a while with me?  Oh, and some Godivas?  I don't care
which ones."

"Sure thing, be with you in a sec."

*+=*+=

Candice didn't remember all the details of her afternoon with Lane,
but she knew it had been pleasant.  She had come back to change for
the ROM at 6:30 pm,.....

(Continuous to 2/3 ROM Madness part 1)


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


Days Gone By 2/3: ROM Madness part 1
by: Cousin Candice
date: Tuesday July 30th         note: *+=*+= designated Flashback
        time: sunrise

Candice walked into the small kitchen area of the suite and made
herself some coffee.  She couldn't sleep.  She looked at her clothing,
now that her eyes were open.  They were definitely masculine.

 But whose?  She had to think.....

*+=*+=
Flashback to Monday night the 29th
at the ROM Brabant Exhibition 7:00 pm

Candice stood waiting impatiently outside on the steps of the Royal
Ontario Museum.  Will and Cherri were late and she was anxious to get
*inside* the museum.  Candice looked at her watch for the millionth
time that evening and wondered why she had offered the tickets to
those two anyway.

Of course she was oblivious to the two figures approaching from the
bottom of the steps.  She paced back and forth, invitation in hand,
feeling tense and very librarianish in her new grey pants suit.  While
the color was nice, the collar kept digging into her neck irritating
her further.
*+=*+=

Where <was> that suit...Candice wandered over to the closet where
she'd unpacked, mug of light coffee warming her hands..

*+=*+= Even more anxious than before, Candice headed for the entrance,
pausing after she heard someone shouting and running behind her.

"CANDICE!"  Only 8 minutes late, Will was rushing toward her with
Cherri not far behind.

"Nice of you to show, come on, let's go.  Oh, nice threads guys.."
Cherri was still sporting the cow costume, but had tried to cover it
in something less conspicuous.  It didn't work.  However, Will's tweed
jacket made up for the constant mooing of the steps Cherri took.

*+=*+=

Candice set the mug down and rifled thorugh the things on hangers.
She found the suit in the back of the closet just where she had thrown
it before.. before...

"Damnitalltohell, why can't I remember?"

*+=*+=

The exhibit was going on in the rooms off from the major permanent
sites.

"Alright, so you two go your ways and we'll meet up at 8:30 by the
bar, okay?"

Will and Cherri nodded, each going off to search for the elusive
little brown book -whether they chose to look *in* or *behind* some of
the pieces was their own decision to make.  Candice, however, made it
her mission that night to check other important people at the exhibit.
People were always carrying the strangest things with them to events.

But first thing's first -the exhibit.  Candice walked from pedestal to
wall hanging to pedestal admiring the craftsmanship of everything.
The Bosch was flawless -hardly a visible brushstroke was in evidence. 
Nick's body was a *little* hard to believe, but artists are wont to
exagerate.....

Someone pushed past her in some kind of hurry.  Candice turned to see
who it was, missing his face by by half a second, then she checked her
pockets.

" Odd, why would someone wear a duster indoors? Well, nothing missing,
good." she thought aloud.

*+=*+=*

(Continuous to part 2...)


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


Days Gone By: ROM Madness part 2
by: Cousin Candice
date: Monday July 29th
time: Monday evening at the ROM
        right after: part 1

[ed. note: -Still in the flashback]

After making the first round of the place, Candice headed for the bar.
She ordered a scotch, neat, and started sipping.  Within earshot were
two people having a discussion.  She could see the man, but her view
of the woman was blocked.  Candice edged over to eaves-drop.

The man gulped half his drink. "No, and he didn't have a next of kin.
I don't know who to give the book to."

Candice's attention was caught fully -they were talking about Nick's
book! So that meant this guy could either be a cop, or...

"Book?" the woman sounded casual.  Candice noticed here was a woman
trying to listen to the conversation as well.  She hid herself behind
a large man was was drinking a beer and looking very uncomfortable in
a tux.  She may have not been apparent to the man and woman, but
Candice could see her very well.

"Yeah," said the man, finishing his glass. "Bartender, I'll have a
refill. It was in with the stuff in Tracy's desk drawers." He produced
a small, brown leather notebook with the intials N.K. On the cover in
gold from his breast pocket.

That clinched it.  He was Commisioner Vetter!  And the book ...well,
it was definitely a keepsake -it didn't look anything like a bank
book.

"May I see it? I used to be a rare book librarian."

Candice nearly choked on her drink.  That voice sounded *so* familiar.
She leaned forward, nonchalantly and saw Lisa McDavid.

"Perfect," she muttered into her drink, "..day late and a dollar
short. I wonder if she ever got back into LaCroix's good graces..."

Lisa spoke again.  "The binding's 17th century Spanish and these look
like Mayan glyphs to me. It could be very important."

LaCroix arrived at the bar, standing next to Lisa.

"Speak of the devil..." Candice was still muttering into her glass,
depressed that she hadn't gotten to the bar before Lisa had.  And she
*still* had yet to talk with LaCroix.  She'd been in Toronto for days
and now that she was in the same room with him, she couldn't talk to
him.  Ugh.

Lisa excused herself to go to the Ladies room.  The other eaves-
dropper grabbed a leather bound wine list from the bar, and staggered
toward the unsupecting Commissioner.

Candice watched in mute fascination as the klutz bumped into him. She
manageded to pour most of her drind down his front.

"Oh, my God!  I am so sorry,"  She blurted.  Nervousness made her
hands shake.  She wiped at his tux with a large cloth napkin that she
also carried, keeping up a stream of appologies and ignoring his
protests.  Just when he began to push her away, she managed to swicth
the wine list for the book in his coat.

"Amazing..." Candice saw the whole transaction go on like some bad
1940's espionage film.  Well, something had to be done.

The slight crowd that gathered began to disapate and the thief dashed
for the corner to put the book in her purse.

Candice folled the woman to the corner and grabbed the woman's elbow,
leading her off to a quieter, less peopled part of the exhibit.

Menacingly, Candice growled "I think I'll be taking that lovely 17th
century, hand bound book off of your person now, hmm?

"Over my dead body you will," the woman tried to pry her arm away, but
Candice had a steel grip.  They walked to the ladies room, which
thankfully was empty.

Candice grabbed the woman's purse and took to book out of it.  She
smiled ferally.

"Now get into that stall," Candice pointed to the one closest to them.

"But you, you can't I..I..."

"Oh right, well just who are you anyway?"

"I'm Partly."

"*You're* Her Perkiness?  Oiy.  Well I'm Candice, Cousin Candice. It
was a pleasure attacking you.  Bye!"

Candice slammed the door to the stall shut and propped a full garbage
can infront of the door.  Outside the bathroom, she put an out-of-
order sign on the door.  Hopefully no one would hear Partly screaming.

She looked at her watch.  Damn -it was 8:45, she was late.  She rushed
back to the bar, but there was no one there.  Candice headed back to
her hotel.  She had to change for the night's activities.  Will and
Cherri would understand.  She hoped.

*+=*+=

(Continuous to 3/3 of Days Gone By)


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


Furry Purse
By: Torrey Harris

Date: Tuesday the 30th
Time: 6:00 am
**************

The Vaqueros stood looking around at the pile of purses and the little
pieces of hair that was attached to them. It was obvious to them all
that the hair belonged to Vachon.

"O.K. get them inside where we can get a better look at them." Torrey
directed. Everyone grabbed as many purses as they could and headed
back to the church. This in it's self was a feat to behold. Twenty
plus Vaqueros loaded down with fuzzy purses trying to make it back in
the church through the geese...this was not a pretty sight.

Back in the church they started looking through the purses.

"Hmmm, I got a lot of medication in mine." Crystal muttered

"Me too." Chimed in most of the other Vaqueros

"OK, we have purses full of medication, Vachons hair, and what is
that?" Torrey asked looking at something Apache was holding.

"It looks like some kind of membership card for some medical society."
Apache answered handing the card over to Torrey.

Looking down at all of the purses it suddenly hit Torrey who the
purses belonged to. " There is only one faction that would have such
practical purses, so much medication, and well nothing very exciting
in their purses."

Nodding her head Sherri half whispered a single word " NatPack."

At that the scene went from bad to worse. Apache grabbed her bow and
arrows and headed for the door in search of the Pack to take revenge
for the hair cut. Bonnie was trying to get past Apache to get to the
door first saying something about tar and feathers. Storm was tucking
something Torrey was sure was not legal to use in this war into her
waist band. Five or six other Vaqueros were looking around for any
thing that could be considered a weapon with look of blind revenge in
their eyes.

Thinking fast Torrey ran to her bag and pulled something out,
sprinting to the door she blocked the way wielding her weapon.

"BACK!" she screamed " Get back, don't make me use this!"

Apache took a step back looked at Torrey...looked at the weapon...then
very calmly stated the obvious. " Torrey...that's a Nerf bat."

"Ummm ya...well I guess I didn't come as prepared as the rest of you."
Looking sheepish Torrey lowered the Nerf bat from the samurai stance
she had been in. " Listen you guys we need to think this through
first. You know it could be a set up.....we don't know who sent this
stuff over."

"So you want us to just do nothing!" Storm cried

"Yes...I mean No...what I want is this Apache, Storm, Bonnie...I want
you guys to work on a plan to deal with the NatPack. Sherri, Cindy,
Crystal...I want you guys to get the hair out of the bags then put all
of the bags in one of the vans."

"You are going to give the purses back!" Sherri stammered.

"Yep...well look at it this way...the purses are filled with
medication...we have to give them back." Torrey answered.

"Great, you pick now for your nurse side to come out." Sherri said as
she set to work gathering up bags. " What do you want me to do with
them all?"

"Nothing I will take care of it." With that Torrey headed out to the
van fighting off geese and headed in the direction of the NatPackers
headquarters.

A van pulled up to the boundary of the Natpackers place, purses were
pushed out of the van, then the van headed off into the dawn...passing
a billboard with a very familiar cow on it.


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


A Date With Screed
By:             Lisa Prince, The Mercenary Cousin
Time:           July 30, 7:00 a.m.
Location:       Merc Central & the sewers
*******************

Lisa was tossing and turning fitfully in her sleep. Vague, dark images
flitted across her consciousness. Flashes of light illuminated strange
faces before plunging her into darkness once again. Then, suddenly,
directly in front of her appeared a face that she recognized.

Awaking with a start, Lisa's eyes did an automatic sweep of her
sleeping quarters. 'No Screed,' she thought to herself, vividly
remembering the face in her dream. It was strange: ever since having
her chart done and being told it revealed she should be psychic on
some levels, these dreams started cropping up more and more.  Of
course, she had been freaking out her friends for years. Picking up
the phone when they called, she would address them by name before they
had a chance to say anything.

She knew the dream could mean only one thing. She would be seeing
Screed soon.  Now, if she could only figure out if it was going to be
a surprise on her part or his. Walking over to her stereo system, she
popped in a CD called _Country Rainstorm_, then went and sat down in a
nice comfy chair.  Closing her eyes, she allowed the sounds of nature
to wash over her, calming her mind and allowing the images of her
dream to surface again.

The images came quickly. She was somewhere high up looking down on
chaos. People were running around everywhere, dressed in their pajamas
as if they had suddenly been waken from a deep sleep. She didn't
recognize any of the people, although some of them appeared remotely
familiar. Then, suddenly, as before, Screed popped into view.  That's
when it hit.  This dream was the enactment of the plans she had draw
up for her next job. 'But what was Screed doing there,' she asked
herself.

Getting up, she flipped off the stereo and began pacing back and forth
from one side of the room to the other. Her brow was furrowed and she
kept mumbling to herself, 'Screed. Why Screed?'

She suddenly stopped pacing, a slow, wicked grin beginning to form on
her face.

                                **********

Packing up the gear she would need, Lisa got ready for her journey
into the sewers.  She grabbed a couple of bottles of rat's blood from
her stash, a flashlight, and some big empty jugs. Before leaving, she
put her security system through its daily check-up, making sure that
everything was still in working order. She double-checked the back-up
generators and extra power supplies. Satisfied, she grabbed her
backpack, gave one last glance at the screen for the cameras that
watched the basement, and left her room.

John and the Ratpack were no where to be seen, which was fine for now,
but she would have to talk to him about her upcoming job very soon.
She was surprised that the GHP and MMG still had no idea that John and
his pack were living in the basement of Merc Central. Her current
employer had told her to get all the help she needed. John and his
furry, little friends would provide all the help she needed.

She made her way across the basement into an empty utility room. After
twisting and turning to get through the little access door with her
backpack on, she walked through the tunnel, ignoring the various
offshooting branches, until she reached the one that would let her
into the sewers beneath the city.

Going much further out of her way than she actually needed to in order
to keep from going outside and allowing anyone to see that she was
going to visit Screed, Lisa made her way back to the spot in the sewer
where she had left Screed two nights ago. The empty bottle of blood
lay intact where he must have dropped it.  She glanced around and
listened intently.  There was no sign of the vampire, but she knew he
was down here somewhere.  It was dawn, afterall.  Pulling one of the
bottles of blood out of her backpack, she uncorked it and held it out
in front of her.

"Screed!" she called.  "Hey, Screed?  It's your friend Lisa. I thought
you might be hungry so I brought you a little snack."

She smelled him coming several seconds before he actually appeared in
front of her. Watching the tunnel in front of her, she saw him running
toward her at human speed.

Grabbing the bottle from her hand, he smiled and winked at her before
taking a swig.

"Ain't I da pop'lar one. Tree visits 'n one day. Youse a malincky
swee' thin' fer ringin' me dis. A scrappy lil'l apple," he said making
conversation while he drank.

"Apple?" she asked looking down at herself, "I always thought of
myself more as a pear."

Screed laughed and drop an arm around her while saying, "Ya' funny ta.
What say ya' ta a lil'l rumbley-tumbley wit' ol' Screedy boy."

It would be putting it mildly to say that Lisa was a little distressed
at having Screed's arm around her.  The scent coming from him was so
strong that it made her eyes water, and she wondered whether or not
she would ever get that smell out of her nose. Of course, the smell
paled in comparison to what he was suggesting.  As a matter of fact,
the more she thought about it, the greener she got.  Quickly trying to
shake it off and regain control of the situation, Lisa replied while
trying not to breath through her nose, "Aw' Screed," she squeezed his
hand, "I'm really flattered, but I hardly know you and it just
wouldn't be proper. Plus, technically, I'm partly one of LaCroix's and
you know how uptight he gets about this sort of thing.  I wouldn't
want to put you in any danger."

"Aw well, a figer'd as much, ya a malincky fin' lady, 'ut can't blame
a fella' fer tryin'," Screed replied with a wink and a swig from the
bottle. "So," he asked, "what brin' ya ta visit ol' Screedy?"

"I was wondering about something," she said, "you seem to have this
very distinct and interesting ... scent around here."

"Ah, me colog," Screed answered nodding his head. "Ya wan' some?"

"Actually, yes," she said with a sweet smile.

He helped her up and she followed him off into the direction of his
home.

                                **********

An hour or so later, Lisa returned to her rooms with a loaded down
backpack, minus a few bottles of rat blood.  Everything went neatly
back into the storage room. Then she went and sat at her computer
console, grabbed a pencil and a notebook and began making more notes
for her upcoming job.


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


The Blind Leading the Blind (1/2)
by Leslie Remencus and the Natpack

Tuesday, July 30, 8:00 am, after (Don't Worry,) Be Happy" 1/5 -- "The
Raider of the Pack"
Natpack Hostel

The first rays of sunshine were seeping in through the shades over the
windows. "Damn, why can't we have some of Nick's nifty sun-shutters?"
Leslie looked around the Natpack Hostel. "Hey, I remember there being
more bags, more luggage, more everything all *over* this place."

Alora, who'd been sleeping on the floor a few inches from Leslie, sat
up. "What did you say?" she asked groggily. "Jeez, what time is it,
anyway?"

"Too early," replied Leslie, "but that's not the problem. Look."

Alora surveyed the room. "Who cleaned up the place?"

"You mean 'who cleaned *out* the place!'"

"We'd better wake everyone and find out what's missing," said Alora.

Leslie and Alora woke as many of the Pack as they could, as gently as
they could. Betsy, Jill, and Lynne were up first. Sharon woke when she
smelled the coffee in the kitchen, and Kelly soon followed Sharon's
lead, nearly colliding with Valerie on her way to the kitchen. Linda
Rose woke to JD's nudging.

"Has anyone seen my glasses?" asked Amy. "I thought I put them here."
Amy reached for the table next to her and nearly knocked over the lamp
before Lynne caught it. "Oops. Sorry about that," said Amy, then
groaned, putting a hand to her head.  "Ibuprofin," she said with a
decisive slur.  "Where's my purse?"

"Hey, did I leave my glasses in the bathroom?" Pod, on her hands and
knees, searched for her glasses. "Pardon me, will the blue body
closest to the bathroom check to see if my glasses are in there?"

Jennie, who happened to be the blue body, stumbled into the bathroom
and began looking for any shape resembling glasses. "I don't see
them," she called back. "Well, I don't see much of anything,
actually."

"This is ridiculous," said Sharon angrily.  "That weaselly little dead
man! I'd like to chain him to his floor and open the blinds. I bet
he's also the one responsible for Maureen. That blood-bloated wretch."

"OK, folks. We need to calm down," said Leslie. "Sharon, we don't know
that Nick had anything to do with this."

"Of course he did!" Sharon nearly spilled the remainder of her coffee
as she slammed the mug onto the dining room table.  "Everything is his
fault!"

"Regardless, we have a problem to solve," said Linda. "It looks like
most of our bags are gone. More importantly, our glasses and contacts
are missing. We need to replace them."

"I can't go. I have to get to work," Jennie said as she made her way
out of the bathroom, only tripping slightly on the carpet.

"How can you possibly go to work?" asked Mei. "We only have the one
car, well, limo."

"I'll catch a bus," replied Jennie. "I just need to find some spare
change."

"I've got some money under my pillow," offered Leslie. "I counted it
last night. There's about 67 dollars. Take 15. That's about half. You
should have enough."

"Leslie, do you know what you just said? Fifteen is not half of sixty-
seven."

"OK, you can take all of it," replied Leslie, exasperated.

"Now, back to the matter at hand," said Linda Rose. "We need to go get
new glasses, and I can drive us. I might have some trouble with the
signs, but I can drive."

"Actually, I think I should drive," said Leslie. "I still have my
extended -wear contacts in, although I should have changed them this
morning." Leslie rubbed her eyes. "I think...Shoot...I just rubbed one
of my contacts out of my eye."

"I guess that means I'm driving," said Linda Rose.

"We should take orders," said Jill.

"Good idea. Does everyone have their prescriptions?" asked Betsy.

"I don't have mine," replied Valerie.

"Unfortunately, it will take longer for me to get my prescription
filled. I've got weird extras in my lenses, and I'm practially blind."
Amy paused, then added, "So is Jill."

"OK, who's making the trip?" asked Kelly.

(continued to part 2)


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


Happiness is Black Leather and Spandex
Robin, Partly - Perkulators (with Jamie)
July 30th Tues.  AM - before Follow the Beep, Beep, Beep


Jamie breathed in deeply.  The smell of black leather had always made
her feel so giddy, so alive, so . . . She couldn't quite think of the
words, but happy came closest.  She smiled at her reflection in the
mirrors and hugged herself, nearly swooning as the leather creaked and
rustled against the spandex.   The events of the past days where
jumbled confusion in her mind.  To many people had tried to "adjust"
her thinking, too many times. Somewhere, in the very back reaches of
her consciousness, a rational, sane voice had been screaming to be
heard.  It didn't stand a chance against the sight of Vachon in black
spandex.

Vachon would just *love* this outfit.  If she'd known just how much
Vachon liked leather and spandex, she'd have bought an outfit or four
long ago. This should make him a happy man indeed.

And Jamie wanted to make him happy.  She wanted him to be as happy as
the mere thought of him made her happy.  As happy as she was when she
was flying, safe in his arms, her head resting against his chest,
encircled by black leather.  She would make him happy, she knew she
could--she had to. The thought of Vachon unhappy . . .   She started
to weep, then stopped, suppressing a sniffle.  SHE would make him
happy.   She would.   She'd make him so happy that he'd forget all
about poor Tracy.

Jamie frowned.  But how could he?  He'd loved her.  He must miss her
terribly.  He must be so unhappy.  No, no, he couldn't be unhappy.
Jamie couldn't stand that.  Tracy would made him happy, once they
found her.  But what if she were dead . . .

A soft knock on the door of the dressing room made her jump.  Jamie
saw a pair of impossibly high-heeled boots and forest green leather
leggings.  It must be that nice woma pick the outfit she was wearing. 
Her name was Scarlet Letier or something like that.  She was very
nice, even if the chains and spikes were a little intimidating.

But then, everyone had been SO nice.  The Vaqueros were nice.  But she
couldn't stay with them.  She had to make Vachon happy, she couldn't
do that there, and so she'd left.   She'd waited until dawn, crept up
to the roof, and then had flown across to nearby tree.  A mere twenty
feet--easy enough for one who could fly.  But flying was something she
had only just learned to do, so she had given herself a running start.
After that, she'd wandered aimlessly until she'd seen this store.  It
was perfect.  She'd walked into the store, not knowing what to expect
and everyone had burst into applause.  It was, they informed her, the
shop's fiftieth anniversary and the fiftieth customer was titled to
anything in the store.   Anything. And Jamie was that customer.

Jamie admired herself in the mirror again, and scratched her arm
absently. She felt something peel off under her nails and she frowned
at the temporary tattoo that was coming off her arm.  Where did she
get that?  She didn't *do* fake ones.  She pulled it completely off
and stuck it to the mirror.  There, much better.  It had itched
terribly.

Scarlet popped her head into the dressing room.  "Miss, is everything
alright?  Would you like something else to try on?"

"No thank you.  This is perfect.  I'll take this, along with the
spandex mini mini, the leather halter, the boots, the fishnet blouse.
. ."   She surveyed her choices.  They were all wonderful and he'd
love them so, especially the high heels with the spurs.  But there was
really only one way to make him happy.   "Oh, I'll take everything.
Just give me a few minutes to get dressed."

"Honey, if you like them so much, don't get dressed.  Leave the old
you behind.  I just need to know your name.  Miss - ?"

Leave the old you behind?  The idea suited Jamie just fine.  "Vetter.
Tracy Vetter."  Jamie/Tracy gathered up her new clothes and left the
dressing room, humming the tune to "Calling Dr. Love"


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


Orange You Glad You Weren't Here For This?
By Jennie Hayes and Amy Hull, Natpack
Day/time:  Wednesday July 31, about 8:00 a.m. (Sleep is for war-wimps!)
Location:  Natpack Hostel

Jennie stretched luxuriously, enjoying the sensation of being lazy for
just a few more minutes.  She allowed herself a few more moments with
her eyes shut while she reflected on how her current job was almost
more a fantasy one than anything she expected in the real world.
Having decided that there was no need to go in today, she'd left a
message with a secretary to that effect and that was that.  No forms
to fill out weeks in advance, and her vacation days were only limited
by the number of days she needed to complete the series of studies she
was working on.  All in all, a perfect situation.  Especially now,
with a all the confusion of a War going on about her.

Reaching out carefully, she retrieved her glasses from the table,
frowning fuzzily at the odd shape, until she realized they were her
safety glasses and remembered.

A slow tear trickled from the corner of her eye as she remembered the
friendly, reassuring bulk of the Natmare.  She patted the place near
her head where he had faithfully kept watch over her every night for
the past two months, hoping against hope that he'd somehow been
returned as she slept. The spot remained depressingly empty.  She
recalled the ransom demand she'd gotten through her e-mail the day
before and allowed herself a small sigh. She still hadn't decided how
to answer the previous e-mail from the Knighties, and now here was
this.  It was too early, nobody was prepared to deal with this many
people.  She really didn't see how she could honestly let the
Knighties in on the Natpack's little project yet.  The Natmare would
simply have to remain missing for the time being.

She tried once more to pull the side-shields off her safety glasses
without damaging anything, but to no avail.  They were obviously meant
to stay on. Not that she planned to go another day without replacing
her stolen glasses, since the heavy blue frames were hardly the color
or shape she wanted to wear everyday.  Sighing, she went to get ready
for a long day of replacing her belongings.

****

Jennie disembarked from the trolley, thinking how wonderfully
accessible and easy to use Toronto's public transportation system was.
She was directly in front of an hour service eyeglasses store, which
fortuitously happened to be offering a lenses-free-with-frame-purchase
special sale.

The exam took about the usual time, and produced the usual
exclamations and head shakings over the magnitude of her prescription.
The selection of frames, unlike usual, was a surprisingly quick
process.  Jennie had only to walk past the racks once to choose the
exact pair of frames she wanted. Leaving her choice with the clerk,
she embarked on a shopping trip; the Merc-induced absence of clean
clothing dictated that she would have to replace her wardrobe with at
least enough to last a few days.

As Jennie began to walk through the nearby Eaton Center, her eyes lit
up in ecstacy.  She thought about how nice it was that the stores had
their autumn stocks in--almost everything for sale, both casual and
dressy, could be found in orange.  Most items came in a pattern that
included the color and many were even manufactured in unrelieved
orange.  There were pale, yellowish oranges, deep melony hues,
brownish autumn oranges, bright construction-cone orange clothes, and
even (on the summer clearance racks) electric fluorescent oranges.
The hunting clothes were especially nice, she thought.

Soon Jennie had accumulated far more than she would need for a mere
few days. There was a fluorescent orange windbreaker with matching
canvas tennis shoes and baseball cap, all of which she was wearing.
There was  a matching t-shirt and leggings with a lovely mottled
pattern of various oranges and some brown, which she was also wearing.
Her bulging shopping bags contained t-shirts, nightshirts, dresses,
pants, sweats, hair accessories, jewelry, dress shoes, tights, skirts,
makeup, purses, and other items in various shades of orange.

Jennie suddenly spotted an ad in a hair salon for a discount on hair
color. That was what she still needed!  She started into the shop,
then paused. The Pack had said such nice things about that shop from
yesterday.  She should go there.   They had done such a lovely job on
Maureen's hair, after all.

Jennie headed for the hairdresser, stopping on the way to pick up her
new glasses.  She was momentarily puzzled at the odd looks the clerks
gave her, but dismissed it as she looked at the always amazing scene
of the world through new lenses.  Deciding that her next stop was
urgent, Jennie hailed a cab and was delivered in short order to the
hair salon.

She made an appointment to have her hair colored, then spent the ten
minute wait flipping through the books for the perfect shade.

"Jennie?"  A man came out to the waiting area and queried, looking
directly at her.

"Uh-huh," she mumbled as she levered herself out of the chair and
brought the book she'd found the *perfect* shade in over to him.
Once he had her settled in a chair, she held the book open to the page
she'd selected.

"Can you," she squeaked, and cleared her throat.  "Can you get my hair
that color?  I think it's *exactly* what I need!"  she grinned, almost
mesmerized by the picture of the hair in the book.

"I can, but it's likely to fade quickly and need frequent touchups.
It will need careful maintaining, and if it's not properly maintained
the repairs will be pretty expensive.  It's also expensive if you
decide you don't like it after all," he cautioned, after giving her a
strange look.

"Are you saying you think it would be a bad idea?"  Jennie's hands
were trembling, and she buried them under the cape-thingy around her
neck (which, she noted with disapproval, was *not* orange...)  /He'd
*better* not disapprove of *my* color!/ she thought with a flare of
temper.

But all he said was, "I just thought you should know of certain
potentialities."

/OK, he's probably all right./ she thought.

"We can actually do a wide range of colors with very little damage to
the hair, nowadays," he continued, "welcome to the wonderful world of
high technology."  He began to run his fingers through the hair to
check the texture.  "You have a lot more hair than it appears at first
glance, but it's very fine, so we'll have to be extra-careful."

*****

Some time later, Jennie had said a slightly dazed farewell to the man,
paid the receptionist and bounced happily out into the bright
afternoon sunlight.


The receptionist rolled her eyes at the departing figure and turned to
the stylist, "I bet you had to work to get that, huh?"

"And what I did, I did because it's my job," he replied, deadpan.  "Is
there a full moon or something?  After that...uh...group we had,
yesterday, I'm thinking there must be!"

*****

Jennie paused to admire her new image in a storefront she was passing.
Her hair was just a shade lighter than the frames of her glasses,
which were a translucent version of the brilliant orange of the
missing Natmares.  When the light shone through the frames it was like
having one of the Natmares hovering just out of sight, watching over
her like some sort of guardian angel.  The occasional glimpse of her
hair when she turned her head was very reassuring and exciting as
well.  And on top of it all, she had gotten to spend over an hour with
*sigh* his Yumminess' spitting image.  All in all, a fabulous day.  It
was about time to head home, now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something down a side street
that merited further investigation.  Following that lead, she found a
workman setting up to do some sort of surveying work.  But it was his
attire that had her complete attention.

"Excuse me, sir?"  She tapped him on the shoulder.

Startled, he turned around.  "Yes, miss?"

"*Where* do you get those coveralls?  They're *wonderful*!  I just
HAVE to have a pair, right away!  I don't suppose I could buy yours?" 
She held up a few bills from her purse.

The man's eyes were suspicious, but they got very big when he saw the
money she was holding out.  "Well, if you're that anxious to get a
pair, I think I have some clean ones in the truck that ought to fit
you just fine..." he began.

*****

"Hallo!  I'm back!  Miss me?"  Came Jennie's voice from the vicinity
of the front door.  Natpack voices could be heard in one of the other
rooms, so she headed in that general direction.

"Miss who?"  came the expected response.

"Thank you!"  she answered in a dry tone, bouncing into the living
room where several people lounged in quiet conversation.  "Look at
this!  Isn't this a *great* outfit?  Don't I look *just* like Luke
Skywalker in this?"  she asked them, modelling the neon orange
coveralls.

They just stared.

***fin***


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


Follow the Beep, Beep, Beep
by Christina Kamnikar, Merc Mommy General
Tuesday, July 30th, 8:33 AM (follows "Chaos Returns...")
Various places around Toronto

"Left!"

"Give me some warning, will you?" Lane yanked the wheel of the
Mercmobile(TM) left, screeching around a corner just as the light went
from yellow to red.

Christina ignored him, concentrating on the flashing lights and
beeping coming from the tracker in her lap in the back seat. Dianne
was riding shotgun next to Lane, her eyes scanning the surrounding
thoroughfare. They'd been doing this for the last hour and a half,
after it had become obvious that Jamie was _not_ going to be returned.
THe tracker that Christina had hidden from Dianne in the underground
passages below Merc Central had been unearthed, focused on Jamie's
frequency... and then it had been a matter of triangulation and
wandering around. Lane had been shanghaied into driving when he
returned from making delivieries, since it was his car and he was the
best driver.

"Are we getting _any_ closer?" Dianne demanded, looking back at Chris
and Abby, squished as they were into the ceremonial space between the
trunk and the front seat.

"Yes," Chris said shortly. She was still semi-mad at Dianne for making
all this necessary---but she was now very, very glad she'd thought
ahead enough to put a tracker on Jamie on Saturday, as soon as she'd
hit Toronto.

Dianne was fuming again. "Hold a Merc for ransom. What is the War
coming to? Used to be, no one would even THINK of this. THIS is what
comes of letting Natpackers steal our members, and not taking steps to
prevent it..." Abby rolled her eyes as the GHP ranted on, and wondered
if letting Dianne run unopposed for Grand High Poohbah had been such a
good idea. Maybe she'd calm down after they got Jamie back.

Or, well, not. Abby shook her head. It wasn't like calm was Dianne's
*natural* state. Her natural state was inspired lunacy. Calm didn't
enter into the equation.

"Right! Keep going!"

Dianne frowned as they whizzed by the Raven, shooting the bar a
suspicious look as they passed it. "I still say we should've searched
the place. She *could* be there."

"She _isn't_. Chill. You can hit someone with the big stick after
we've found Jamie." Chris's face started to light up. "Here! Here here
here here..."

Lane romped on the brakes, sending the Mercmobile careening into a
parking spot in front of an unfamiliar lingerie shop which sported the
sign "Favorite Fantasies", just down the street from "Darkangel's
Dangerous Liasions" boutique on Yonge.  "Here? Are you sure?" He shut
off the engine, then said calmly, "I am not going in there."

Dianne already had the door open and the seat forward, and Chris and
Abby were scrambling out. "It's just a leather & lace lingerie
boutique. Lane, for profit's sake---"

"Repeat, I am _not_ going in there." Lane folded his arms across his
chest. "I know what happens to guys in Toronto who even think about
going in those places. Nick. Lacroix. They ended up wearing the
merchandise. Thanks, but I'll wait out here so we'll have a quick
getaway."

Abby muttered "you wuss" under her breath as she went to the front
door. She tried to open it, then was pushed aside as Chris and Dianne
rushed inside to rescue their protege.  Various stunned customers
stared at the two women who charged in, backing away from the tall
glaring redhead with the stick and the smaller curly-haired brunette
frowning over an electronic beeping device. The Spymaster smiled
weakly at the customers, and followed the two other Mercs to the back
of the shop.

The tracker's "beep beep beep" led to the dressing rooms, and Abby's
brow furrowed. "Guys, doesn't this seem a little weird to you?"

Dianne grimaced. "Abby, this is War. We passed the normal definition
of weird five days ago. Jamie, are you in there?"

Chris pulled aside the curtain of one of the dressing rooms and
groaned. Dianne and Abby jostled their way to her side. "Damn."

The clothes Jamie had been wearing on her job with Dianne lay in a
heap on the floor; and the tracker necklace with them. Stuck to the
mirror was the stick-on tattoo and micro-tracker that Christina had
planted on her Merc Child on Saturday.

There was no sign of the Web Goddess.


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


Delightful Deliveries (Immortal Beloveds) (2/10)

9am, Tuesday, July 30

by Lane Lombardia, Felicia Bollin, Kira Chistiakoff, and Abby Albrecht

The Raven was the easiest location, of all of his deliveries. It was a
place he had been to in both War 4 and War 5, so he wasn't likely to
get lost enroute, and since he had made every effort to be as non-
threatening as possible, and, therefore was completely bereft of
anything that he would regard as a serviceable weapon, the Raven was
also a place where not too many bad things tended to happen to him or
other Guild members.

The mission payload was a half dozen soft-pink roses, a card with
exquisite calligraphy, the all-important bright Yellow flyer detailing
the prices and stressing the extreem speed of delivery which RDM
offered, and 2 packages of rare Dutch chocolate (he was told that it
was Dutch; but, as he couldn't actually read whatever language the
label was written in, he had to take it on faith). Besides, the less
handling of the chocolate that he had to do, the happier he was about
the whole matter. Lane had been chosen for working in RDM, despite no
previous experience in retail, for one simple attribute, there was
_no_ danger of him eating the inventory.

The roses and chocolate were intended as advertising to respective
factions that RDM was open for business. Lane wanted to make as
positive an impression as possible, since he really wanted this new
Guild business to do well.

It was a bit odd, making a delivery to anyone at the Raven at this
hour. It reminded him a bit of a description he had read somewhere
about the Anton Furst designed Batmobile. Given the right lighting, it
tookon a power and character which hit you square in the face; but, in
the more mundane light of day, it seemed, somehow, different and less
dramatic.

Driving up in the most plain vanilla car that the Guild had at it's
disposal (actually, so plain that even Lane, the car fanatic, didn't
notice what kind it was) and parking next to the famous (or is that
infamous) brick building,  he found a legal parking space (he wasn't
Nick, after all) and proceeded to unload the roses and (shudder)
chocolate.

In his telephone conversation with Felicia, he had been told to just
come on in, as the door would be open, and some of the regulars, who
might be settling down for a day's sleep, might not appreciate my
knocking on the black, steel door.

Opening the door, he was shocked to discover that the Raven did, in
fact, have "normal" lighting capability. He had never seen it this
way, and it was disorienting to say the least. Looking around at the
mortals inside (they were awake, so he was guessing that they were
mortals), he spotted her. Of course, the friendly, fashionable, MacOS
startup screen on the monitor in front of her helped to point her out.

Walking over to Felicia, ignoring the stares, ("Who is this fashion
disaster?" I heard one of them murmor.) I presented her with the roses
first, then the chocolates.
"These are courtesy RDM, the latest Mercenary Guild enterprise."
Sensing chocolate, I could tell that a number of the people were
staring at me, like leopards hiding in the grass.

He handed them over, with the Flyer and the delivery acknowledgement
sheet on top.

"I need you to sign here," he said pointing.

Taking one of the Raven's pens, complete with custom, fiber optic lit
logo, she signed at the indicated spot and gave the form over to him.

"Thank you," he said, and left.


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


Days Gone By 3/3: The Midnight Hour part 1
Cousin Candice

Something was missing, Candice knew it instinctively even though
everything looked fine.  And it was important, too.  WHY could she not
remember???  Her coffee forgotten, going cold, Candice massaged her
temples, trying to remember the rest of the night.

She *thought* she remembered hearing sirens and kangaroos and passing
Screed driving a public bus as she headed down town to the Raven last
night.  But that was too surreal -it had to have been something she
dreamt.

*+=*+= Monday night at the Raven

The Enforcer sat waiting at the bar.  He was groggy from all the
activity at the ROM; hence the reason he was still dressed in the same
clothing from the exhibit; he'd forgotten to change back at DH
HeadQuarters.

It was 5 to midnight when she walked in.  A man sitting next to Ron
saw her, too.  He leaned over and grinned, the stranger's eyes focused
on the top portion of her anatomy.

They watched the woman -a vision, a demon, dressed to sin.

"She's like jell-o on stilts." ***  The man next to Ron finished his
drink.

Kneehigh black boots, fishnets, a mid-thigh skirt, and a high collared
pirate shirt cinched at the sleeves, tucked at the waist.   Ron,
locked in a stare, almost dropped his drink.

She stepped into the shadows of the stairs, mixing with the crowd at
the base.  Ron lost sight of her for the few seconds when she made her
way through the crowd.  Candice, for Ron was *sure* it was her, turned
this way and that before making her way to the bar.  There was
something hanging arouns her neck, but he couldn't make it out.  She
spotted the Enforcer, trademark duster and all, but didn't rush over
right away as he had thought she would.

Instead, Candice moved into the crowd of dancing people and vampires
making sure Ron could see her joining the bodies in swaying turning,
pulsing movement.  It felt so good to be surrounded by warm people
that Ron decided waiting a few minutes more would be a good thing.

*+=*+=

Candice was smiling absently at that memory, so lost in thought that
she was terribly startled when Embris weaved himself between her
ankles.

"GEEeezus, Embris -you can speak, *please* do so when you want
something."

He just purred.

Candice snarled, but melted when he rubbed himself on her leg, as cats
are wont to do when they're perfectly content.

"Oh alright fine.  But if you feel like telling me anything useful,
don't hesitate."  Candice picked up Embris, cradling him, and sat in
the Big Comfy Chair (tm) where they both settled themselves quite
nicely to think.

***This line was taken shamefully, but without remorse, from one of
  Marilyn Monroe's better films -Virtual Cookies and perhaps a Needful
  Colaboration to whoever can Name That Film (tm)

(Continuous to part 2 which happens to be the last part in this little saga)


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


Days Gone By 3/3: The Midnight Hour part 2
by: Cousin Candice
date: Tuesday August 30th           note: *+=*+= designated Flashback
time: mid-morning to late afternoon

*+=*+=Monday night -just about midnight

The music changed to something faster and Candice walked over to who
she thought was the Enforcer.  She brushed her hip close to the
vampire, effectively gaining her access to the bar, teasing Ron's
senses with her prescence.

Candice would never have been so bold around a less reserved vampire,
but she had heard about Ron and how impervious he was to mortals, so
why not have a little fun?  She only hoped this was the right one -the
glasses and duster should have been all she needed to know (as he'd
said over the phone), but you never could tell...

She ordered a Blow-job and laughed a little when the bartender balked.
Candice decided then and there that she _had_ to talk to Janette about
her choice in bartenders.

"Just make sure you get the cream right, hmm?"  She pulled out a small
wad of cash (from where, Ron couldn't exactly tell) and left an
American fifty on the bar "Just keep a tab, alright.."  She took the
double-shot drink and turned to the vampire next to her.

"Glad to see you could make it, Candice" Ron smiled at her, trying to
hide his surprise.  The last time he'd seen her was at a play and from
a distance.  What he'd seen then was a long-haired brunette in
conservative but fashionable attire.

Guess first impressions were never meant to last.

"Ron, presumably?  So what is it I can do for you?" Emphasis on the
_do_.

*+=*+=
Startting to fall asleep in the chair, Embris nudged Candice's elbow.
When she didn't respond, even to his mewing, he resorted to his last
card.

<<Candice, come on lazy bones, get up.>>

Candice jumped at the voice ringing in her ears.

"Thanks Embris, remind me to make you my alarm clock later.."  She got
up out of the chair and dressed in pajamas, headed down to the lobby.

Candice went straight to the reception area.

"Excuse me, were you on-call last night?"

"Yes, I'm on-call from 3am to 9 this morning."

"Oh good, could you tell me if ...if anyone came home with me last
night?"

"Pardon?" the receptionist seemed a little confused.

"Well I don't exactly remember whe..."

"Madame, I assure you I did not see you come home last night through
that door." he pointed to the revolving doors at the front of the
hotel.

"Great, thanks!" she said a little too cheery for the present hour. At
least Candice knew now that she had come home via priate
transportation...she probably flew....

*+=*+= ....Back to the Raven She flashed him a dazzling I'd-like-to-
get-to-know-you-better smile (tm), and went to work on her drink.  And
man did she work it!  It was no wonder she was a Cousin.  She had this
way about her that made you stop what you were doing and -making- you
pay attention to her.

First, Candice tossed the cherry back over the bar with a scowl.  Then
she licked her way around the rim and looked up at Ron, a devious
smile crossing her lips.  After she finished with the rim, she ran her
tongue to the tip of the whipped cream on top then without warning,
her mouth covered the entire "head" of the drink and knocked it back
with the ease of someone who'd done that many, many times.

Ron was having trouble making his mouth work and his throat was
terribly dry.  He itched for...for...oh he could *feel* the blood
sliding so easily down his..he push, nay SHOVED that thought out of
his imagination -for the time being.

"Wel..er...Let me start that again.  I wanted to meet you.  Ever since
the 2nd war.  I'd heard stories about you and I figured you wouldn't
be too bus..er..well I was hoping you'd be able to make time for me to
ta..hey wait!  Where are you going?"

Candice had started walking off.  Let him think she was leaving.  It
was an easier way to get him away from the bar following her instead
of pulling him by the arm.  He was interested.  That was good.  And he
was such a *stunning* specimen of maleness.

Better to dance with him and talk with him on the floor.  With his
hearing and her ability to read lips, they should do just fine..

"I don't recall ever seeing you around during wartime Ron, where do
you hide yourself?"

"I mostly try to keep a low profile -sometimes it doesn't work out and
I get into a bit of trouble, but it's all in good fun, don't you
think?"

"Fun, right."

"So just where were you staying during the last war anyway?"

"You mean you never got LaCroix to tell you?" Candice spun away from
Ron, bumping into someone else who started to dance with her.  Ron
could only watch in amusement.  The girl Candice was dancing with had
tried to cop a feel and Candice cleverly bobbed out of the way, headed
back towards Ron.  He finally saw what was hanging from her neck -it
was an imitation of a rosary -it was really quite nice at that.

"I stayed with him last war in his studio flat.  He made me sleep on
the couch part of the time when the cat showed up."

"Cat?"

"S'nothing important.  So where are you this time around?"  Candice
was seriously getting tired of the small-talk.

"Oh, I'm at Die-Hard HQ --they're...they're giving me a couch -the
lease on my apartment ran out and I forgot about renewing it."  It
sounded like a good enough excuse and Candice didn't seem to want to
go through the ruse.

"After I got your call, I didn't know where anyone would be so I asked
my boss to book me a room -he got me into the Raddison.  It's a nice
little suite if I do say so myself."

"Bored already, Ron?"

"No, but.."

Candice looked around the crowd absently, pretending not to hear him,
trying to find Will or Cherri among the mass.  They headed off the
floor back to the bar and both looked at their watches.  Ron took off
his shades, revealing those eerie wolfish eyes and looked straight at
Candice.

"I don't have anything planned for the rest of the evening, do you?"

Now it was Candice's mouth that went dry.
*+=*+=

[ed note: permanently back in Tuesday now]

So it had been Ron that had taken her home, she guessed.  But that's
where the rest of her memories went fuzzy.  Candice *did* have
memories of intense pleasure***, but from who or where she had no
clue.  Instinctively she raised a hand to the side of her neck...no
scars, no pain...hmm..

Candice grabbed her bookbag to get the number of CERK out of it when
it hit her.

The book was missing!

"Son of a bitch..." Candice was fuming, "..he TOOK my BOOK!!!  That
Rat BASTARD!!"

Love,
Cousin Candice

***If you wanna see THAT War post, you're gonna have to subscribe
yourself to JADFE.
    If I get enough requests, I'll post it.  If not, I'll just keep it
in my files as a war keepsake of my own <g>


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


THE LITTLE BROWN BOOK
Ron the Enforcer
Date: 7/30/96
Time: 9AM
Place: Die-Hard HQ

Ron the Enforcer, realist that he is, knew that it was only a matter
of time before the Cousins found out he swiped Nick's Little Brown
Book from Cousin Candice.  If the book was really that important, she
should not have had that much to drink, he thought to himself.  Well,
alcohol does give the blood a nice tang.....

<I'd get into details about exactly *how* I got the book but I was
told this was a PG rated WAR!>

He set up the scanner and began scanning the information in the book,
page by page, into the computer at Die-Hard HQ.  The machine had a 2.2
Gig Hardd rive - absorbing the data contained in Nick's book wouldn't
choak it at all.

The only downside was that the scanner wasn't all that fast and Ron
had a feeling he was going to be there all morning flipping pages and
waiting for the machine to soak it up....

Oh well, he mused, even if some other Faction comes in and takes the
book, at least we'll have all the information (which is what it's all
about anyway, right??)


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


I'M TIRED JOEY BOY (2/3)

The Old Church
Around 9:30 am, Tuesday July 30th

by Bonnie Pardoe (with special thanks to Cynthia Hoffman)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonnie awoke slightly to two brown eyes staring intently at her.
"Brandon! You don't have to go out!  Go back to sleep!"  She shut her
eyes again and tried to go back to sleep.  The eyes did not stop
staring.  "Brandon, go to bed," she repeated firmly.  But Bonnie's
brain was slowly beginning to function again and she realized that
those lovely, big, brown eyes did not belong to her German Shepherd.
They belonged to... "Vachon!"

Bonnie sighed, sure that she would never get enough sleep, that her
voice would sound like crap at the club, and Janette would turn her
into fang-fodder.

"Vachon, would you quit staring at me.  I'm trying to sleep."  She
tried not to sound too grumpy.

"This is my room," he stated.

Bonnie sighed again.  "Just let me get a few hours of sleep and then
I'll get out of your hair -- sorry -- um, I'll get out of your way.
Okay?"

"Torrey promised last night that no one would bother me down here."

"I'm not bothering you, I'm sleeping.  Besides, I wasn't here last
night --some of us have jobs, you know."  Bonnie rolled over and
forced herself to think thoughts of deep, blissful sleep.

"They wouldn't let me leave here last night, ya know.  'Cause of what
the Merc did to my hair."

"So?"  Bonnie replied without turning over or opening her eyes.

"So..., I'm hungry."

This was not a phrase that any mortal wanted to hear uttered by a
vampire. Bonnie was suddenly very awake.  She turned over and met his
gaze.  \\Whew -- *brown* eyes, still!\\  She sighed, then took a deep
breath.  "Why don't you go upstairs, grab a bottle, and let me get
some sleep?"

"There's nothing but pig's blood left."

Bonnie sighed yet again.  \\I'm really too tired for this.\\  "Look --
Nick has lived on cow's blood for who knows how many years.  How bad
can it be?"

Vachon raised his eyebrows and stared at her from under his short, but
now even, bangs.  A devious grin spread across his lips.  "Do you want
me to turn you into a vampire so you can find out?"

"Um... NO!"  It was obvious that this guy was not going to let her get
any sleep -- and for no good reason.  "All right, come on."  Bonnie
got up off the old couch and trudged up the stairs, Vachon in tow.

Once in the main hall, Bonnie called out to anyone listening.  "I need
a phone."

Suddenly five cellulars were thrust into her face.   She was markedly
impressed.  \\Damn prepared, this lot of irresponsible slackers!\\

She grabbed Terry Madden's phone and dialed the number for the Raven.

"... May I speak to Cynthia, please."  It was not a question.  "...
Cyn? Hi, it's Bonnie....  No, no.  Everything's fine....  Yeah, don't
worry. I'll be there... 10pm tonight... No, you're right... I don't
want to get on the boss's bad side....  I'll be there!  But, Cyn....
I can you do me a favor?  ... I need a couple of cases of blood.  The
good stuff.... I know the Raven is a bar and not a blood bank....  I
know all about that Merc, too....  Please?  How about one case?  ...
No, we'll pay for it.... VISA!  ... What?  The Raven *doesn't* take
plastic?!  Well, can you take it out of my pay?  ... Thanks, Cynthia! 
You're the best!  What time can we pick it up?   ... 3 this afternoon?
Great!  See ya later!"

Bonnie turned off the cellular and then turned to Vachon, who had been
staring over her shoulder the entire time.  She poked him in the chest
with the phone, "You owe me big, Mister!"  Bonnie padded off back
toward the basement.  \\Just let him try and get me off of that couch
now!\\


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


Delightful Deliveries - WoofPack (7/10)
by: Abby Albrecht

time 10am on the 30th

Tigon met Abby at the door to the WoofPack's lair. She noted her
uniform, which was the exact shade of Godiva (tm) milk chocolate, even
down to her sneakers. Tigon couldn't help but smile, *these Mercs go
all out. Don't they?*

"RDM deliveries!" Abby said cheerfully. Amazing since she really
should be in bed instead.

"Ummm," Tigon started. Unsure of whether this was a ruse or for real.

"Don't ask, just accept," Abby cautioned. "Oh, and sign here."

Tigon signed the clip board that appeared out of nowhere (it's made
from the same stuff the Highlander's sword is from). As soon as Abby
verified the signature, turned around and picked up a large box. "And
this is for you," she said as she handed off the box. "I hope you
enjoy!"

"Thanks," Tigon said to Abby's retreating back.

The box wasn't as heavy as Tigon had thought it would be. Instead of
waiting until she got inside, she sat down in the doorway and tore it
open. Inside she found a boquet of dogwood flowers, two boxes of
Godiva (tm) truffles, a card, and a flyer for the RDM store Abby works
for.

She set aside the truffles. *These will come in handy later,* she
thought to herself.

The inside of the card read, "May these truffles and flowers make your
War a little easier. Love, RDM and the Mercenary Guild."


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


The Blind Leading the Blind (2/2)
by Leslie Remencus and the Natpack

Tuesday, July 30, 9:30 am
Limousine (a.k.a. Natmobile), Toronto streets (Heaven help us.....and
them!)


All the sightless and near-sightless Natpackers, with a few
exceptions, dressed in whatever decent clothing remained in the hostel
(some of it dirty) and headed for the limo.

Tackling the stairs took longer than expected. Valerie managed to find
the way down with no bruises or scrapes; however, Pod and Jill nearly
fell on Betsy when they each missed the step three stairs from the
bottom. Leslie, Mei, and Karen palmed the walls all the way down the
stairs, scrapes were minimal.

"I'm glad Linda Rose can drive. What's-his-name passed out early this
morning," commented Mei, as the Pack made its way to the limo. "We'll
have to tell the rental company where he is."

"Well, it wasn't really his fault," corrected Jill as she opened the
limo door. "Anyone who's going get in now."

After some fits and starts, Linda Rose pulled the limo out of the
parking lot. "We're on our way. Every man, woman, and child should
stay indoors."

"According to the phone book, we need the 2400 block on Younge," said
Leslie. "It shouldn't be too hard to find."

"I can't believe the Mercs took all our luggage. Everything!" Kelly
sat pouting, her arms crossed. "It's a good thing my clothes got
kicked behind the bathroom door last night."

"Tell me about it," said Valerie. "All I have is this T-shirt. I had
to borrow leggings."

As Linda Rose maneuvered the limo through Toronto, Leslie consulted
the map in the glove compartment. "Linda, we should turn on Bloor
Street."

"Leslie, I don't think that's right," offered Betsy.

"Sure it is. This is how we get to the 4200 block," replied Leslie.

"You said the 2400 block," added Karen.

"Leslie, why don't I take the map," offered Jill. "I don't understand
the problem. You're usually a really good map reader."

"I guess I'm just tired," said Leslie solemnly. "Not to mention, I'm
distracted by this one contact thing...and the fact that we have no
luggage...that I have to wear the T-shirt I wore to bed last night
with dirty jeans...that I..."

"Hey, guys, why don't we look for someplace we can stop," interrupted
Linda. "Maybe we can get directions."

"Wait! That's a sidewalk!"   Leslie screamed.

"Hold on! I can't get this tank to turn." Linda Rose worked
frantically to get the limousine off the sidewalk, but she could not
avoid the inevitable.

"Hasn't anyone thought to use the brakes!" cried Jill.


onto the sidewalk, and right into someone's house.

Jill, Pod, and Mei fell to floor in the backseat as the limo came to a
screeching halt amidst the remains of the wood and glass of a garage
door. Then there was that utterly still calm that only happens when
there has been a great deal of sudden noise seconds before, followed
closely by what seemed to be even more noise.

"Is everyone all right?" Karen surveyed the backseats shakily.

"Let me out," cried Mei.

"Someone's on my leg," cried Pod.

"OK, everybody OUT!" Betsy opened the door, and the sightless
Natpackers crawled, spilled, and jumped out of the limo.

Confused people emerged from the door into the house.  Their eyebrows
arched at the broken glass and splintered wood littering the floor.

Suddenly several NatPackers recognized the shape and stance of at
least one of the figures looking down at them, and everyone began to
speak at once.

"Those are Mercs!"

"This is Merc headquarters!"

"Omigosh; we just destroyed the garage door...."

"But it's the *Merc*'s garage door!"

"Hah! We want our stuff!" cried Kelly, who'd managed to catch her foot
in the door and fall to ground.

"And we want Maureen now!" added Jill as the entire group began to
rush the door.


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


The Blond Leading the Blind (01/02)
by Maureen Wynn, the Mad One
Tuesday morning, after "The Blind Leading the Blind"

Kelly continued tripping her way through the rubble, followed by Jill
and Betsy. The rest of the Natpack commenced arguing with the Mercs
who had come running at the sound of the crash. "Look what you've
done! You're going to *pay* for this!"

"But it was an accident!" Linda Rose wailed. "I didn't *mean* to drive
into your garage!"

"It's a traffic hazard, it is, sticking out into the road like that!"
Leslie added, trying to help.

"It *doesn't* stick out into the road!" roared the indignant Merc,
echoed forcfully by the rest of the Mercenaries. "Yeah, she just can't
drive!" The shouting rose to a roar, with each side trying to out-
shout the other.

"To H-E-double toothpicks with them, I'm going to find Maureen!"
muttered Jill, as she determinedly (yet blindly) strode into the
house. "Ouch! Darned wall..." she continued as she tried to make her
way past solid vertical obstacles.

"Pssstt!"

Betsy stopped, and looked around, confused by the sound. "Is one of
the car's tires leaking?" she said, looking for anything that might be
a car.

"I said, psssttt!!"

Betsy and the other two Natpackers followed the noise to a dim corner
where someone seemed to be gesturing to them. "Why are you saying
'psssttt'?"

"Because I'm trying to get your attention!" the mysterious Merc said,
annoyed. "What are you, blind?!"

"Well, yeah."

"Oh." the Merc paused, not quite sure what to say to that. "Anyway,
I'm Erin, and I'm supposed to help you get Maureen out. It would have
been nice if you hadn't shown up *early*, but I guess it's now or
never."

"Well, since we didn't know when we were supposed to get Maureen out,
we didn't know we were early," Kelly said, reasonably, under the
circumstances. "So, where is she?"

"This way... and try to be quiet! I don't want the rest of the Mercs
to hear us," she whispered, taking off at a high speed down the
hallway.

Trying to follow the mysterious Merc, Kelly called, "Hey, wait up! I
can't see... where are you heading?" <thud>

She rebounded from a doorjamb, clutching at the edge of the door to
steady herself. Jill ran into her, sending her through the doorway,
then Betsy ran into Jill, sending the both of them reeling down the
hallway, where they bounced off two Mercs who had noticed them
entering the house. The Mercs rebounded off the Natpackers, banging
their heads together, and knocking each other out.

"Oh, for sweet pete's sake!" muttered Erin, grabbing Kelly. "Stay
there!" she said, then went back for the other two, dragging them
along with her. "Now, hang on to each other, or we're *never* going to
get to the dungeon!" She then set off down the stairway to the
dungeons where the captive Natpacker was being tortured.

She found the right door, and, looking both ways down the hall, pulled
a glove out of her pocket. She pulling it on then placed her hand on
the scanner. She sighed with relief when it worked and the door locks
disengaged. She pushed open the door and went in, dragging the
Natpackers with her. She stopped dead when she saw the set-up in the
room, then staggered when all three Natpackers piled into her from
behind.

"What happened?" asked Jill, peering around Erin. "Hey, isn't that the
FK episode with the strippers"?

"How can you tell?" Betsy asked. "I can't see anything!"

"Well, I can still *hear*!" Jill said, as LaCroix's voice blasted from
the tv's speakers with the words, "Let's get naked!"

Erin headed toward the chair that was facing the television, and the
three blind Natpackers, like mice, trailed after her.

"Mmmpphhhh!" said the figure restrained in the chair. "*Gmmph mfpp
uummpp!*"

The Merc started with the helmet.  When she pulled it off, she was
struck dumb with amazement. She had never seen hair so... *blond* in
her life. It shone with a pale light; it practically _glowed_ with
blondness. She stood motionless, and stared, mesmerized.

The figure in the chair glared at her with blood-shot eyes, and said,
"MMMMPPPPTTHHHHHPPPP!!!"

"What was that?" said Kelly, peering toward the chair.

Erin shook herself, and started working on the restraints that held
the figure tightly to the chair. "It's Maureen! Who else would it be?"
she said impatiently. "Help me with this, will you?"

chair. "Even blind, I can tell *that*. Maureen has *red* hair. This
person is *blond*" she added, touching the pale hair that topped the
head.

"Mmmpphhhhh!!" the figure said urgently. "Mpphh mmm mmmrrrrrnnn!!"

Jill found the mouth of the person, and pulled out the sock that was
serving as a gag. "Aaahhhh!" Maureen (for it was indeed she) expelled
her breath in a whoosh. "Guys, it *is* me! Get me out of this, will
you?"

Exclaiming, they set to undoing the straps and ties, and quickly
released the restraints. When she still didn't move, Betsy poked her
in the arm, and said, "Why don't you get up?"

"They've got this acupuncture needle in my neck - I can't move
anything!" she whimpered. "Pull it out!"

"Eewwww!" they all said in unison. "I'm not pulling it out, you do
it!" "Not me!" "Uh-uh!" "I *hate* needles!"

"Oh, don't be such *sissies*! Please? Pretty please?" Maureen pleaded.
"Think of Natalie - *she'd* be able to do it!"

They couldn't resist that appeal, so they decided to do it together.
"Okay, one, two, three, pull!" Maureen sort of shook herself as
sensation flooded back into her deadened body. Then everyone watched
in amazement as she got out of the chair and promptly started jumping
and bouncing around the room.

"Um, Maureen? Are you okay?" Betsy asked, afraid that the Merc's
torture had totally deranged her mad friend's mind.

"Tell me I can't *bounce*, will they! Well, I'm still a Natpacker, and
I'm gonna *bounce* all I want to!" Maureen said, bouncing over to her
friends. "Besides which, I needed to restore the circulation," she
said, ever the practical one. "But now I guess we better get out of
here."

The other three started bouncing along with their friend, then they
all started for the door. The Merc, bemused by the experience that is
the Natpack, followed them as they bounced out the door.

(to be continued...)


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


The Blond Leading the Blind (02/02)
by Maureen Wynn, the Mad One
Tuesday morning, after "The Blind Leading the Blind"

The four Natpackers made their way up the stairs out of the Merc
dungeon, followed by Erin, their mysterious Merc benefactor.  Maureen
was leading, since she was the only one who still had eyeglasses. When
they got to the top of the stairs, Maureen stopped suddenly and tried
to back up. Betsy said "Ow!" as Maureen stepped on her toes, Jill said
"Damn!" as Betsy's elbow caught her under the chin, and Kelly said
"Eep!" as Jill almost knocked her off the step. Erin just stepped down
a step and waited for the Packlet to come to a stop.

"The halls are crawling with Mercs!" Maureen hissed under her breath.
"How are we supposed to get out of here?"

"I don't know," Betsy said. "We've got a limo outside. If it's still
working, we can get away from the Mercs."

"Great! Now all we have to do is get *past* the Mercs."

"Hey! Let's get Erin to get rid of them!" Jill suggested.

Three sets of semi-blind and one set of corrected-vision eyes turned
to the Merc standing behind them on the stairs.

"Oh, no! I've done what I was paid to - I'm done!" Erin whispered,
afraid that her fellow Mercs would hear them. "The rest is up to you."

"Well, the only problem is, if the Mercs catch us, they might wonder
*how* three half-blind Natpackers managed to get me out all by
themselves," Maureen mused.

"That's right," Kelly added. "It's in your own self interest to get us
out of here before they start asking questions."

Erin fumed, as she considered that they were probably right. "All
right, but I expect a *bonus* payment for services above and beyond
the call of duty!" She considered the best way to clear the way for
this seeing-impaired bunch. She suddenly remembered the security alarm
- if she could trigger the alarm somewhere in the house away from
where the rest of the Pack was, all the Mercs would run toward it, and
the Natpackers could get away.

"Okay, here's the plan," she said. "I'm going to trigger an alarm.
When you hear it go off, run that way for the limo," Erin said,
pointing to the left.

"Which way?" Jill asked.

"*That* way," Erin growled, pointing to the left again.

"Okay, I know which way to go - you guys just follow me," Maureen
said. "All right - loud noise, run like hell. It's a simple plan, but
it should work."

******

The ear-piercing shriek of the Merc's alarm diminished in the distance
as the dented and bruised limo raced in reverse down the alley. It
stopped suddenly, throwing Natpackers hither and yon over the seats,
as Linda Rose reached the end of the alley. She put the car into
drive, and turned the vehicle around to drive almost sedately down the
street.

"What a piece of luck!" Leslie said. "What else could have knocked
down a wall of a garage and still be drivable?"

"Yeah," piped up Kelly. "It's a good thing we weren't in my little
car!"

"Man, you guys really know how to mount a rescue," Maureen said
admiringly. "A limo, yet. This is the life!"

"Yeah, once we dragged you *into* it when you stopped to clear away
the bits of that garage door," Betsy commented accusingly.

Jill looked at Maureen, surprised at how sedate she was. "Maureen, how
can you be so *calm*?" Jill asked. "After what they did to you, I'm
surprised you're not a pile of quivering jelly!" She shook her head,
and said admiringly, "You must be the strongest person in the world!"

"No, not really," Maureen said modestly. "I had a secret weapon, you
see."

"What's that?" several people asked eagerly. After all, you never know
when you might need a way to survive torture.

"I just kept two images fixed firmly in my mind," Maureen said.
"Kermit... <sigh>, and chocolate." She smiled beatifically. "What else
could you need?"

A moment of silence met this pronouncement, until the driver asked,
"So, where are we going now?"

Maureen didn't even pause. "To a beauty parlor! I will *not* go blond
into that good night!!"


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


The NatPack Meets Lady Clairol
Time:  Tuesday, immediately following "The Blond Leading the Blind"

by Jill Kirby and the NatPack


The NatPackers walked warily into the beauty shop-- er, styling salon.
Linda Rose had driven the mangled limo until she found a salon.
Actually, the still-blind NatPackers had first gone into two
McDonald's (one to get Sharon food), a bookstore (not a quick stop;
just getting Leslie out of the magazine section took half an hour) and
some kind of clothing store that sold a lot of black leather and lace
before they were <able> to find an actual salon.

"May I help you?" asked the receptionist, remarkably calm given that a
mass of squinting, disheveled women who felt the need to continually
bounce up and down had just entered her elegant little salon.  She did
back up a few steps, but who doesn't when the NatPack is around?

Maureen stepped forward.  "I need help."

"Obviously," said the receptionist brightly.  "But we don't treat
group personality disorders here."

"I need help with my <hair,>" hissed Maureen, and there was no
mistaking the menace in her voice and in her eyes.  "It is blonde.  It
should be red.  It must be fixed, and fixed <now.>"

"Let me see if we have any openings..."

Maureen's hand shot out and grabbed the receptionist's throat in a
remarkably good imitation of a certain balding, egotistical vampire.
"You... will... have... an... opening.  And you will have it <now.>"

The receptionist started to cry, yet another common reaction when
dealing with large quantities of the Pack.

Jill stepped up to intercede.  "Mo, sweetie, let me handle this."  She
smiled ingratiatingly at the terrified receptionist.  "Dear...  What's
your name?"  She offered the woman a lace-trimmed handkerchief
(shaking off the brick dust first).

"Agnes," said the woman shakily, taking the cloth and dabbing at her
eyes.

"Agnes.  What a lovely name," Jill cooed.  "Cherie, if you value your
existence, I believe that you will find an opening for my diplomatic
friend here.  She needs hair dye.  And I..."  Jill examined her nails
critically. "I need a manicure.  War is just so <difficult> on the
cuticles."

Agnes gulped.  "MITCH!" she screeched, in a voice worthy of a true
NatPack victim.  "Get your tuchus up here!"

A man emerged from the back of the beauty salon, and the NatPackers
were immediately struck dumb, except for a chorus of astonished gasps.
Near-blind or no, there was no mistaking the man that stood in front
of them.

"You're...  You're..." gasped Kelly, unable to finish the sentence.
Leslie collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.  Jill started to moan,
and Sharon began to sway back and forth slightly.  Someone in the back
of the crowd started mumbling something about "thin mints."

"What?  What?" asked Linda Rose, puzzled.

The man smiled, though he looked a bit confused at the dramatic
reaction to his appearance (confusion:  yet another common reaction to
the Pack).  "I'm Mitch Wetmore.  Who needs help?"

Given that the man was a dead ringer for FBI Assistant Director Walter
S. (for "sexy") Skinner, nearly every single NatPack hand shot up
(except Linda Rose's; she doesn't watch "The X-Files."  Can you
believe it?), and several starting hopping up and down in an attempt
to attract attention.

Maureen shoved them back, smiling glassily at Mitch, who was oh-so-
wonderfully attired in perfectly fitting jeans and a crisp white shirt
(hey-- my story, my fantasy, my fantasy outfit).  "I do.  I don't want
to be a blonde any more."  //I want to be your love slave,// she
thought longingly, //but right now I'll settle for a dye job.
Uninhibited nakedness and almond massage oil can come later.//

Mitch led Maureen away, he talking happily of all the different shades
they could choose from, and she gazing at him like she was beholding
the Eighth Wonder of the World.  Jill headed for the manicure table
(which had a good view of the Mitchly one), and several other
NatPackers decided they might as well take care of some beauty issues.
After all, War was hell, and a good haircut should never be passed up.
Especially when it meant you could gaze at Mitch Wetmore at the same
time.  A chance to combine Raven tendencies and Cult of Skinner
worship should always be taken advantage of.

Sharon was bored.  After all, Mitch Wetmore was not The Guy.  Only The
Guy wholly commanded her somewhat limited attention span.  She
wandered the shop, checking out the framed pictures on the wall.
Apparently the shop had a number of well-known clients, including
political figures, actors, and Ribena vendors.  Sharon thought she
recognized a few of the faces.

Moments later, the quiet of the shop was broken by a howl of anger.
"It's HIM!  That rat bastard!  I'm gonna kill him!  Mutilate him!
Teach him how to live as a quadriplegic!"

Leslie, who had her head in the shampoo bowl, was so startled by
Sharon's sudden yelling that she sat up, smacked her head into the
faucet, and was out cold.  Again.  Amparo, equally startled, kicked
her pedicurist in the chin and sent her flying off the stool.  Maureen
leaped out of the chair and wrapped her arms around Mitch, begging for
his protection or anything else he wanted to give her.  Maureen, after
all, had not yet experienced this newfound Rage of Sharon's (sorta
like Rose of Sharon, except it wasn't a plant).

"Get <off> him, you slut," Jill hissed at Maureen.  After all, Sharon
would eventually calm down.  They could worry about her later.  Mitch
was still unknown territory.  Open season.  Potential nookie.  The
loving (some might say Borg-like) togetherness of the NatPack only
went so far.

"Not on your life," shot Maureen back, now halfway back to her natural
state of redness.  Well, semi-natural state.  She ran one grateful
hand (yeah, that's it, grateful) down his perfect arm.

Mitch just looked confused.  Again.

Maureen and Jill stopped glaring at one another long enough to realize
that Mitch Wetmore was probably one paper umbrella short of a
cocktail.  They resumed glaring when they realized that they didn't
really give a damn. With shoulders like his, who needed brains?

"Lye!  Carbolic acid!  We'll find out how the hell to actually <kill>
a vampire in FK canon!  We'll make our <own> canon!"  Sharon scanned
the salon, breathing hard, daring anyone to disagree with her.
"Suffocation--let's answer the question of if vampires need to breathe
or not!  Wrap his nasty bulbous male-pattern-baldness head in Saran
Wrap (tm) and MICROWAVE the sorry son of a bitch!"

Sharon was really worked up, and Amy realized in horror what had set
her off.  There was a framed picture of Nick on the wall.  A head
shot, actually, signed "Thanks!  Nick Knight."

"Epilady!  Let's Epilady his undead hide!"  Sharon was continuing her
tirade.  "He hasn't <seen> pain until that machine sucks off all his
body hair!  I'm going to rip his chest hairs out one by one and then
his nose hairs and see how much pain a vampire <really> feels!"

Amy approached Agnes, who was hiding under her desk, and was careful
not to breathe directly on her (gin fumes are lethal).  "Agnes?  You
have a picture up there of Nick Knight. He's a cop.  How do you..."

Agnes was pretty much a basket case at this point-- she had a salon
full of screaming, fainting, hissing women, most of whom were not
well-dressed.  She managed to muster up enough courage to whisper,
"He's one of our best customers, though he keeps strange hours.  He's
been decorated for bravery, you know.  He's a <good> cop."  She
grinned vacantly.  "Lady Clairol is his friend.  He's such a nice
man."

Agnes was obviously a Knightie.

Amy stumbled back over to Alora and Kelly.  "Why would Nick hang out
<here?>" she reflected.  "Nick?  A customer at a beauty salon?  And
who is Lady Clairol?"

An evil smile spread over Alora's face.  "Nick's a blonde, right?  Or
so we think?"

The NatPackers stared blankly at one another, then started to laugh.
"He's <dyed!>" shrieked Amy, her face turning red from laughter (and
possibly from the gin, although capillary breakage usually takes
longer to develop even in incipient alcoholics).  "Nick <dyes> his
hair!"

"Oho, this is <rich,>" chortled Kelly.  "Nick is a bleached blonde!"

Sharon, meanwhile, was not getting the humour out of the situation.
She had moved on to discussing ways of damaging Nick that involved dry
cleaning equipment and solvents, and was being so graphic that one of
the manicurists had to run to the bathroom, holding her stomach.

"Thank you, Sharon," Jill said calmly.  "Now my nails will not have a
top coat."

Sharon, understanding the dire consequences of Lack of a Top Coat, was
distracted from her ranting about Nick (which was a <good> thing,
since discussions of bubbling vampire skin are guaranteed to make most
mortals feel pretty damn nauseous) and sat down next to Jill,
deflated.  "Sorry."

" 'S OK."  Jill waved one non-top-coated-but-perfectly-manicured hand.
"I'll manage-- somehow."

A bit later, most of the NatPackers were done with their various
beauty treatments.  Leslie had a headache from the combination of
passing out and spending time in the same room as Mitch Wetmore, so
she was lying down on the couch in the waiting area.  Mei was going
through some books and magazines she'd found on the floor, hoping to
find something in large type to read.

"Hmm."  Mei turned a brown object over in her hands.

"What's that?" asked Amparo.

"Oh, it's some book," said Mei, uninterested.  Amparo took it from her
hands, opening it.

"Ooooh," she gurgled, "This belongs to Nick!  This is <his>
signature!"  She gazed at the book raptly, apparently transported at
the very presence of something Nick had owned.

Mei looked at Sharon nervously.  Luckily, Sharon hadn't heard That
Name. "Shhh," Mei admonished.  "Hide it.  We'll give it to Jennie
later on."

"Ta da!" cried Mitch, ushering out the once-again-red-haired Maureen.
Maureen did a slight curtsey to the waiting throng of NatPackers, who
applauded in appreciation.  Well, all except for Leslie, who started
hyperventilating at the appearance of the Mitchly one.

As if by an unspoken signal, Kelly adroitly grabbed Jill before she
could shamelessly plaster herself to Mitch, Sharon grabbed Maureen,
and they headed for the door followed by most of the Pack.

"How much do we owe you?" asked Alora.  Someone had to be fiscally
responsible, after all.

Agnes stuck her head out from under the desk.  "Nothing!  You don't
owe us anything!  Get out!  Out!  Shoo!"  She dissolved into tears
again.

Alora sighed, pulling cash out from her purse.  "Here."  She peeled
off several large bills, setting them on the counter.  "Worth every
penny."  She snuck one more glance at the retreating tuchus of Mitch. 
"Hell, I'd have paid for that view alone."

Running out to the limo, Alora rejoined the Pack and they headed back
to the NatPack hostel.  As usual, destruction was left in their wake.

Sherman going through Atlanta had nothing on the NatPack.


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


Delightful Deliveries (Natpackers) (3/10)

10am, Tuesday, July 30

by Lane Lombardia, with input from Jennie Hayes, Kira Chistiakoff, and
Abby Albrecht

The last time that Lane had been to the University of Toronto, had
been during the shooting of the special fan appreciation episode in
War 4. His scenes had been brief, and frankly, he didn't have much
idea of how the place was laid out. The scene had been filmed at 5am,
a time when remembering his own name and how to breath at the same
time taxed him to his limits (so he didn't bother remembering his own
name until much later in the day).

This time he was much better prepared. In addition to full knowledge
of his own identity, he carried a set of maps of the campus and city,
and a Lensatic compass, in addition to the  half dozen soft-pink
roses, the card with the exquisite calligraphy, the bright Yellow
flyer detailing the prices and stressing the extreem speed of delivery
which RDM offered, and 2 packages of rare Dutch chocolate (he was told
that it was Dutch; but, as he couldn't actually read whatever language
the label was written in, he had to take it on faith).

The roses and chocolate were intended as advertising to respective
factions that RDM was open for business. As a consequence, Lane was
sans anything that even he would regard as a weapon (not even a pen or
a belt), since he wanted to make as positive an impression as
possible. Still, he had to find the lab that scuttlebutt said was
where he could find Jennie Hayes during the day.

Suddenly, the slightly nauseating odor of aromatic hydrocarbons wafted
past his nostrils as someone opened a building door near the chemistry
labs. Fighting off flashbacks of his college chemistry classes, Lane
turned toward the source of the malodorous essence.

Grimacing (many of the lighter hydrocarbons made him sick to his
stomach) Lane opened the door, and, as politely as he could stand,
began to enquire with the people inside, trying to narrow his search.

Blood draining out of his face, looking just a little green (dark
olive skin will do that to you), he found her, the leader of the
Natpack, clad in lots of protective gear (lab coat, safety glasses,
*respirator*, and smurf-blue gloves).

While Lane did his best to center himself, he knew that it's pretty
bloody hard to breath deep and center yourself when each breath taunts
you to lose your lunch. Still, he was a Merc, and a professional, and
there was *no way* that he was going to blow this for his beloved
Guild (besides, Dianne would beat the tar out of him with that big
pointy stick she had taken to carrying).


"Excuse me...ummm... excuse me?" Lane enquired, not really sure that
he even had a person of the right gender under all that protective
gear, let alone the right person.

"Excuse me..." he tried again.

The aromatics were really taking their toll, and he was running out of
time.

"EXCUSE ME!" smiling his sweetest, 'who me?' smile, Lane continued in
a normal speaking voice, "are you Ms. Jennifer Hayes?"

The protective equipment-clad figure looked up, the eyes looked like
she might have been smiling, possibly.... "What?" she asked through
the respirator that Lane was coveting desperately now.

Smiling his warmest, friendliest smile, Lane contined, "Are you Ms.
Jennifer Hayes? I'm from RDM Chocolates, and these are for you,"
holding up the roses and chocolate.

With the huge, smurf-blue protective gloves, she reached up and
removed the respirator, nose wrinkling under the unpleasant scent of
her own lab. "Yes, that's me," she responded, "you're not the usual
kind of vendor I get in here!  It's a refreshing change of pace!"

"Where can I put these? I don't want them to get in the way of your
work." He was on his best, smiling with a smile that could bring peace
to the middle east.

"Yes, it would be a shame to waste all those lovely chocolates with
lab contamination," she indicated a vacant side table and lead him
over, "Here."

As he put the gift items on the table, Lane smoothly presented the
Yellow flyers detailing the prices and stressing the extreem speed of
delivery which RDM offered, and the delivery acknowledgement sheet,
which Jennie signed, with her own pen.

Smiling even more warmly (if that was possible) Lane bid her a grand
day and departed.


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


Fast Moving Chocolate on the Loose! (2/2)
Place:  The Rich, Dark and Mysterious Chocolate Shop
Time:   Tuesday, the 30th approx 10 am
Author: Dawn Steele (h36a@unb.ca)


Dawn proped herself up against the counter and tried to stay awake.
The last couple of days had been busy and she was just at the <start>
of the War!

The chocolate shop looked bare and forlorn without the mounds of
chocolate that usually decorated it. Dawn didn't know why she had been
elected to watch the shop this morning of all mornings.

Abby, Lane and Kira (the other shop personnel) had confronted her as
soon as she had stepped into Merc HQ from her jaunt to CERK
headquarters with the fake bust.

They had given her a quick run-down of the situation and then left her
holding the bag... or the shop in this case.

Trying to just put it down as "earning her Merc stripes", Dawn had
resigned herself to the situation. She was always getting herself in
too deep. Offering to do too many things at once, write too many posts
than she had time for, write up a bible on Serena for the virtual loop
that she <still> hadn't gotten around to doing, ...

Dawn shook the non-War musings from her mind. They had no place here.

The tiny musical bells over the door chimed as a person entered the
shop. Bracing herself to deal with another irate customer, Dawn
stepped forward.

"You need chocolate?" The mysterious person handed Dawn a card. It had
what looked like hand drawn calligraphy with:

                The Chocolate Supplier
                For Those in Desperate Need
                (Quick Deliveries our Specialty)

There was no name or phone number on the card. Dawn looked the woman
up and down. She looked perfectly poised and professional in what
looked to be a tailored suit.

"I was here yesterday."

Dawn fingered the card. "Yesterday, we didn't need chocolate... and
now we do. Coincidence?"

The chocolate supplier shrugged. "You want the chocolate?"

They dickered for a few minutes over the amount of money it would take
to fill up a chocolate shop full of chocolate. After an inordianate
amount of haggling, (it's in me genes!) they reached an agreement.

Dawn walked behind the counter, and picked up the phone. She made a
quick phone call over to Merc HQ.

"Hello?  ... I'm glad you were having a good sleep, and I'm sure you
will be again just as soon as you get something for me. ... The
jeweled dagger that Dianne left on her desk. ... How? I saw it
yesterday when I went into her office (accidentally of course). ... I
don't really care at this point if she's annoyed. Dianne wanted the
chocolate, and now she can pay for it."

So it being War time, (and the first part of this little story also
used the cartoon laws), the mystery merc on the other end of the phone
(You try getting confirmation to use a character after 11pm at night!)
was able to sell the jewelled dagger to a jewelry shop, get a good
price, deduct some shipping and handing fees for her fellow Mercs, and
hand over the rest of the (still considerable amount) to the chocolate
seller in just a half hour.

How's that for efficiency?

Before noon, a delivery service starting loading thousands of pounds
of (suspiciously familiar looking) chocolate back into the chocolate
shop.

Which should make all the chocoholics reading this very happy. :)

---------------
ps. Dawn never <did> get much sleep, which made her crabby enough to
make sure that the full price for a new gray truck was added to
Dianne's account. Let <her> deal with it!


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


Curiouser and Curiouser - The Perks Adventures in Coroner-Land
By:  Partly & Robin  -- Perkulators
Wed. 7/31/96  10 am.


Wednesday morning, Partly sat at the desk in the suite pondering the
latest message from GoodCopT.  She had received it yesterday, just
another mystery in a very confusing -- and -- frustrating Tuesday.

        TO: Partly K
        FROM: GoodCopT
        MESSAGE: You could have told me.  I thought we were friends. I
trusted you, why couldn't you have trusted me?

Partly almost hit the reply button, then just sent it to the small
printer sitting next to her.  It was a sick enough joke without her
falling for it. The small printer hummed for a moment then Partly add
the message to the growing pile of them.

"I thought you said Tracy had her appendix taken out," Robin asked.
She was seated next to Partly, going over Tracy's autopsy report.

Partly nodded.  "She was on a camping trip in the Northwest
Territories. She almost died before they could get her to a hospital."
Partly stood and stretched.  "I think she was 10 at the time.   Why?"

"I was just wondering why, if it was removed years ago, the coroner
would notate that: 'appendix, normal size and healthy.  No signs of
disease.'" Robin placed the report of the desk, pointing to the line
she quoted. "Interesting.  Spontaneous regeneration of an appendix is
quite unusual among the living, yes?"  She smiled wickedly.  "Even
more so amongst the dead, I'd imagine.  It also said that her
gallbladder was removed. Perhaps the surgeon was confused?"

"Yeah, right."  Partly scanned the report.  "This is weird."  She had
missed that when she read the report Monday.  "I think we should talk
to," she look at the coroner's signature, "Dr.  Jonathan Conner.
Perhaps he can help us."

"I don't know," Robin said.  "He's not likely to talk to strangers.
They have rules against that, don't they?"

"They have rules against making mistakes to..." Partly paused. "Maybe
we should go in a more official capacity."  She quickly looked up a
number in the phone book and reached for the phone.  She jumped when
it rang.

"Hello."  Partly listened for a moment, then hung up with a  quick
hank you.   "Stations, everyone.  We have a visitor on the way up."

Frederic, who had been watching the Olympics, looked up and grinned at
her. "You think they've come back to get your *new* socks?"

"Oh, be quiet."  Yesterday a merc had delivered chocolates, flowers,
and had stolen all the socks from the bedrooms.  It was a small, but
bizarre, attack that Frederic had enjoyed immensely since all of his
socks ad been stashed safely in his duffle bag behind the sofa.

Partly reach the door just as their guest knocked.  "Remember,
everyone, be PERKY."  It was, she had decided, the best defense they
had.  Most of the other affiliations seemed to use 'perky' in their
definitions for both 'annoying' and 'nauseating'.   Partly figured it
made the Perkulators almost as confusing to deal with as the Natpack. 
Partly wasn't sure if that was a Good Thing.

She opened the door in a quick movement.  "Hi-diddly-ho, neigh-bor-e-
no. Wonderful day isn't it?"

The young strawberry blonde standing outside didn't even blink. "Hi.
I'm Larissa."  She smiled at Partly.   "You Partly?"

"Partly sane," Robin muttered from behind them.

Partly gave her a nasty look, then turned back to the newest
Perkulator. "Come on in."  She nodded to the left bedroom.  "Put your
stuff in there. Do you know anything about autopsy reports?"

Larissa stopped halfway across the room.  "No," she answered slowly.
"Should I?"

Partly shook her head.  "No.  Just wondering."  She returned to the
phone, dialing the number she had looked up.  The receptionist at the
coroner's office answered, and after several transfers and two minutes
on hold, Dr. Conner came on the line.  "Dr.  Conner here."

"Yes, this is Jackie Cooper, executive assistant to Commissioner
Vetter," Partly said in best executive assistant voice.  "The
Commissioner is very upset several errors in his daughters autopsy
report and..."

"I don't know your talking about."  The doctor's voice went up an
octave.

Smelling fear, Partly moved in.  "Errors, Doctor.  Like the fact that
although Tracy had had her appendix out, you state that she had one in
your report.  The Commissioner wants to know what happened?"

"He didn't tell me she had her appendix out."  Conner was definitely
flustered.  "I would have," he stopped in mid-sentence.  "Perhaps I
should talk with the Commissioner himself."

Partly wasn't sure what was going on, but she knew that she had to
keep him from talking to anyone else.   "The Commissioner is
distraught enough without having to fix *your* sloppy work.  He
authorized me to deal with this."

"Then you know about..."  He trailed off.

"I know about everything, Dr.  Conner.  It would be a shame to have
this error adversely affect your future here."  The rest of the Perks
had gathered around the desk, listening in on Partly's side of the
conversation.  "Just tell me what happened."

The threat obviously worked.  "What happened was your boss told me she
had her gallbladder removed, *not* her appendix.  If he was so worried
about errors he should have been more careful in what he told me.  Or
he should have let me do a real autopsy."  His voice, while lowered,
was still very loud.  "You know, if this gets out it'll ruin his
career as well."

Partly backed off slightly, she had definitely stumbled upon something
big. "You're right Doctor.  That's why we need to see how we can fix
the situation."

"I can fix it here."  Conner swore under his breath.  "And tell him
that I still don't know who broke in here that night, but there's no
reason to suspect that it had anything to do with his daughter."

"He'll be pleased to hear that, Doctor."  This was quickly getting
more and more interesting.  "Is there anything else I should tell
him?"

"Yes.  Tell that SOB that I don't care how much money he pays  me, I
not faking another autopsy."  He slammed the phone down.

Partly hung up and related the conversation to the Perks.  "They never
did an autopsy on Tracy.  He won't let them."

Larissa spoke up.  "You know, I was here for Tracy's funeral.  It was
a closed casket.  The rumor was that the Commissioner didn't let
anyone look at her.  He refused to look at her himself.  They said
that the only people who saw her after she was zipped up in the body
bag was the coroner and the funeral director."

"Now we know the coroner never saw her," Robin said.

Partly nodded.  "I think we should talk to the funeral director." She
shut down the computer, and headed for the door.  "Who's with me?"

The rest of the Perks followed her out.


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


Larry Merlin checks his mail
Cousin Lisa "That will be Trouble"
Lisa McDavid

Date: 30 Jul 96 10:09:o3 EDT <Yes, Timekeeper, this is the time>
From: Lisa Merlin McDavid <BigSis@COL.COM
Subject: Sisterly advice
To: Larry Merlin <LarryM13@COL.COM

Hi, little brother, it's me. I have some advice for you. You don't
really want anyone to know what "Larry" is short for, now, do you? Or
that adorable baby picture of you on the bearskin rug scanned onto the
web? I could always give Alexandra your real phone number next time
she asks. She's still pretty steamed about your abandoning her all
those wars ago.

So, brother mine, if you get any inquiries from Feliks or Nick about
helping hack their way into Nick's banks' records for those numbers
he's lost, you just tell Lisa what you found like a good boy, at least
24 hours before you tell them.

And everything will be just fine.


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


Larry Merlin Checks his Mail, part 2
Date: 30 Jul 96 11:00:00 EDT
Place:  The Email Box
By: Lana G. Soward

 -----

Date: 30 Jul 96 11:00:00 EDT
From:  Larry Merlin <LarryM13@COL.COM>
Subject:  Re: Sisterly advice
To:  Lisa Merlin McDavid <BigSis@COL.COM>

On 30 Jul 96 10:09:o3 EDT you wrote:
>Hi, little brother, it's me. I have some advice for you. You don't
>really want anyone to know what "Larry" is short for, now, do you?

Well, you don't want everyone to know what your *real* name is?
Especially since you've managed to bamboozle everyone into thinking
it's Lisa.

>Or that adorable baby picture of you on the bearskin rug scanned onto
>the web?

Well, I've got that picture of you from yesterday.  The one in that
bar with 6 empty Zombie Beachcombers glasses in front you?  Would you
like LaCroix to get a hold of that picture?

>I could always give Alexandra your real phone number
>next time she asks. She's still pretty steamed about your
>abandoning her all those wars ago.

And what do you think LaCroix is going to do when he finds out you've
been stopping at every bar in Toronto for a quick ZBC refill?  And
even tipped them extra to fill your soda bottle full?  Hmmm??

>So, brother mine, if you get any inquiries from Feliks or Nick about
>helping hack their way into Nick's banks' records for those numbers
>he's lost, you just tell Lisa what you found like a good boy, at least
>24 hours before you tell them.

I might.  If you ask nicely, next time.  Then again I might not.

>And everything will be just fine.

Just be careful how you access your computer for the rest of the war. 
You never know what might happen to your mailbox.   Or where your mail
might get forwarded to.

Larry Merlin
LarryM13@COL.COM
"You hide it and I'll hack it"

P.S.  Since they haven't called me, I can't help you.  Sorry.


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


Oh, brother!
by Lisa McDavid

Date: Tue, 30 Jul 96 EDT  <Timekeeper, this is the real time.
From: Lucien Lacroix <Lucius79@COL.COM
Subject: Re: Fwd: Sisterly Advice
To: Larry Merlin <LarryM13@COL.COM

Lisa is on the floor in a dead faint at the moment, owing to the
discovery that you are actually awake and evidently sober enough to
read your mail at this hour. I fear it will take more than the brandy
I've given her to calm her down, probably because she's still hung
over from the soon to be posted Out of Commission.

>>Well, you don't want everyone to know what your *real* name is?
>>Especially since you've managed to bamboozle everyone into thinking
>>it's Lisa.

You mean "Lee Horton Merlin McDavid"? I've seen her passport and
written her checks. It's true she dislikes having an ambiguous real
name, but I've told her better ambiguous than the one with which your
parents tagged you.

>>Well, I've got that picture of you from yesterday.  The one in that
>>bar with 6 empty Zombie Beachcombers glasses in front you?  Would
>>you like LaCroix to get a hold of that picture?

My dear Larry, if you mean the one I think you do, I was there and
throughly enjoying the spectacle.

>>And what do you think LaCroix is going to do when he finds out
>>you've been stopping at every bar in Toronto for a quick ZBC refill?
>>And even tipped them extra to fill your soda bottle full?  Hmmm??

If I had been so ill-advised as to let Lisa out unaccompanied without
a tracker device, I should probably do to her what I'm going to do to
you. Did you think I didn't know about the bartending software you
put on her laptop, the one that allows her to keep that canteen full of
virtual Zombie Beachcombers, which seem to be more than sufficient for
a virtual war.

As for Feliks and Nick, I must second Lisa. Just let us have the first
copy of the information and everything will be fine, <insert real name>.

Sincerely yours,

Lucien Lacroix


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


Re: War: Oh, brother!
by Lana G. Soward

Date: Tue, 30 Jul 96 EDT  <Timekeeper, this is the real time.
From: Larry Merlin <LarryM13@COL.COM
Subject: Re: Fwd: Sisterly Advice
To: Lucien Lacroix <Lucius79@COL.COM

>Lisa is on the floor in a dead faint at the moment, owing to the

Infinite number of Zombie Beachcombers she's consumed.

>discovery that you are actually awake and evidently sober enough to
>read your mail at this hour.

Lucien, I'm surprised.  I may not be sober enough to respond
coherently, but I'm always sober enough to *read* my mail.

>I fear it will take more than the brandy
>I've given her to calm her down, probably because she's still hung
>over from the soon to posted Out of Commission.

Try a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.  That should do the trick just
fine.  The wonderful thing about that drink is that it can be
administered intravenously.

>>Well, you don't want everyone to know what your *real* name is?
 Especially
>>since you've managed to bamboozle everyone into thinking it's Lisa.

>You mean "Lee Horton Merlin McDavid"? I've seen her passport and
>written her checks. It's true she dislikes having an ambiguous real
>name, but I've told her better ambiguous than the one with which your
>parents tagged you.

Lee??  She's got Lee on there?  Hmm... She must have been showing you
one of her alternative identifications, she's got at least four.
Unfortunately, only the four of us (Lisa, our parents, and I) know her
true name, since I thoughtfully changed all evidence of it when she
was old enough to make a stink.  But I still remember it.  Be sure and
tell her that when she wakes up.

>My dear Larry, if you mean the one I think you do, I was there and
>throughly enjoying the spectacle.

I don't that you were, Lucien.  I can't see you letting Lisa get away
with all those pronouncements about your motivations for some of your
actions. I really don't.  Unless you are softening up as the centuries
go by.

>If I had been so ill-advised as to let Lisa out unaccompanied without
>a tracker device, I should probably do to her what I'm going to do to
>you. Did you think I didn't know about the bartending software you
>put on her laptop, the one that allows her to keep that canteen full
>of virtual Zombie Beachcombers, which seem to be more than sufficient
>for a virtual war.

Tracking device?  You mean the one she left in the library while she
slipped out for a quickie?  Oh, okay.

>As for Feliks and Nick, I must second Lisa. Just let us have the
>first copy of the information and everything will be fine, <insert
>real name>.

Only for you, Lucien.  I'll make sure you have the first copy of the
information.   IF they contact me.  There's no guarentee that they
will, though.  Considering how many Knighties are crawling all over
Toronto looking for that information (you can't stir a step without
tripping over one), I'm sure they'll eventually find it.  Nick's not
that creative in hiding spots.

Larry Merlin
LarryM13@COL.COM
"You hide it and I'll hack it"


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


Geeze, Don't Ravenettes Wear Socks?
Tuesday, July 30th, about noon
The Raven
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis

"Hello?"  Lizbet pounded on the door to the Raven.  "Anyone in there?"

Silence greeted her.  Either there were no Raven/ettes inside, or the
did not want to answer her summons.

Lizbet shifted her feet painfully.  For the second time in two days,
she had subjected herself to killer heels.  This time, instead of
sensible courtroom pumps, she was wearing black spike heels that could
register as lethal weapons.  (Since she was a Merc, they did.)  A
crushed velvet dress in burgundy and black thigh-high stockings
completed her ensemble.  Her folder of sheet music was supposed to be
her excuse to get into the Raven; she was going to bluster her way
into an audition.  Her voice training was more suited to light opera
than Gothic, but it hardly mattered, since no one was answering the
door.

Plan B.  She dug her trusty lockpicks out of her deceptively small
mesh bag, and was inside in a moment.  For a second, she simply didn't
move.  It was The Raven!  Then she shook herself.  As much as she
loved Janette and the Raven, she was a Merc.  Standing around in awe
of what the Lady of the (K)night had created wasn't going to get the
job done.

She kicked off her heels gratefully and padded around on silk-clad
feet. The pickings were slim.  She found tights, 'nets, thigh-highs,
silk stockings, but of socks she found few.  Then she remembered that
there was a lot of overlap between Immortal Beloveds and Ravenettes.
Liz must have gotten them already.

Lizbet bundled up what she had found and snuck out of the Raven,
snitching a coaster on the way out.


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


Click!  Click!
By:  AJ Schaafsma, Lana Soward, Sarah Chodrow, Spifff,
     and Diane Eshelbarger - all unaffiliated


***

July 29th, noonish
Spifff's apartment

"I'm going insane, I gotta go for a walk.  See you all in a flash."
AJ grabbed her camera and back pack and headed out the door.

***

July 29th, 5pm
Spifff's Apartment

AJ dragged herself into the apartment.

"Can you believe it?  I get there three hours before they close, and
they can't do One Hour service," she announced, sighing with
amusement.  "I think the poor girl behind the counter was expecting me
to jump down her throat.  Well it's not her fault the technician mixed
the bleach and fix. So it's drain the whole setup, rinse, rinse,
rinse, and pump outputs until forever.  She was pretty nice about it,
and moved my film to the front. She said I can pick them up as soon as
they open in the morning.  The advantages of being understanding and
polite."

"What were you taking pictures of?"  Spiff asked

"I found myself near the place Lana and Sarah said they found Diane.
I thought since I was there I'd shoot some pictures to finish the roll
off."  AJ dropped her bag near the couch, and sat down.

"Well, don't sit down," said Sarah.  "Otherwise, we'll be late to the
exhibition.

"I haven't forgotten.  I'd like to, (i hate crowds), but I haven't.
Gimme a mo, I have mud on my jeans."  AJ rummaged through her travel
bags and jumped into the bedroom for a quick change.  "And then
something quick to eat!  Don't let me forget that too!"  She added.

****

July 30, noonish.

"Got them!"  AJ announced as she closed the door behind her.

"Got what?" asked Lana, as she looked up from her laptop.

"The pictures that I took at the scene of Diane's attack.  You should
have seen the looks I got when I picked these up.  I guess the clerk
though that they were going to be earthshattering pictures.  Not
pictures of trees, grass, and dirt.  Oh, and one real hunk. Look.  6',
long dark hair. Whoosh.  Too cute for words...  ANYWAYS!"  AJ pulled
out the pictures, and started laying them out on the kichen table.

"I also have a picture of Diane's doctor, so we can get a better look
at him, without staring. The resemblence to LaCroix is creepy.  Even
being in the room with him is nerve-wracking!"

"It's not that bad," said Sarah.  "He's more tan than LaCroix ever
could dream of.  Even with bronzing gel."

"Yeah," concurred Lana.  "And his eyebrows are several shades
lighter."

"Well, I don't like being in the room with him," said AJ.  "I feel
like he's always watching me while he's there."

"Probably because we're always watching him."

They admired the hunk, but agreed that he needed to brush his hair.
Too Vachon-like was the pronouncement.  One by one the pictures were
pushed aside.

"Look at this one," said AJ.  "Someone's been letting their dog dig
for bones."

She pushed forward a picture of two piles of disturbed earth.  It was
obvious that someone had tried to put the sod back in place, but they
didn't quite get it right.

"Wait a minute," said Lana.  She tapped her forehead.  "Where were
Screed and Vachon buried?"

"In the park, down by the water," said Spifff.  "Where'd you take this
picture, AJ?"

"Down by the water..."

The three Unaffliates stared at each other.

Vachon and apparently Screed had risen (or been dug up) from the
grave.


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


A Garden of Delights, Indeed!
by Sandra Gray
(with input by the Knighties)


July 30, 1996
12:30 PM
Royal Ontario Museum


Sandra, Carrie Krumtum, Katrinka, Karen Tobin, Nina Smith, and some
other Knighties walked into the ROM.  "Which way is the exhibit?"
asked Sandra.  Her sense of direction was never good.

Karen, expert finder, looked around.  "That way," she said. The
Knighties fell into step behind some other people heading for the
exhibit.  Sandra glanced around them as they were walking.  Since it
was daylight, they didn't need to be concerned about vampires, but,
having had a bad experience with being kidnapped by some mortals the
last time she'd been here, she couldn't help being wary.

"Let's try to stick together," said Sandra.  "Or at least don't anyone
go off without at least one other person."

Karen touched Sandra's arm.  "Nothing happened to Robbi and Nancy last
night.  I don't think we need to be that concerned," she whispered.

They were interrupted by more chatter as the group reached the start
of the exhibit.  Sandra pulled out the email from Amy Rambow that
contained some more information about the works in the exhibit.

Bosch's "Garden of Delights" attracted everyone's eyes first due to
its size.  The group marvelled over the pastel tones in the left
panel, which depicted Eden. "Adam doesn't look like Nick," said Karen.

"I looked up this picture in a book on Bosch once," said Sandra. "I
bet he's in the center panel, the couple inside the apple." The group
looked at the large, almost square center panel, which depicted
apparently life on Earth after the fall.  The tones were slightly
darker, but still pastel, and it was full of fantasy structures and
animals and *lots* of people.  "He's reaching out over a red curtain
in the Canadian version of Dead Issue," Sandra continued.

"Ooh, the Canadian version.  I don't have that," someone moaned behind
her.

"Kind of disappointing, if so.  Since you only see the upper part of
their bodies," said Sandra.  "But it's an interesting work anyway."

"Looks like a fair."

"Or an orgy in the making," someone else added.  There was some
snickering.

"Hey, this is art!" said Katrinka.  Her waist length dark hair shifted
gracefully as she turned her head.  Then she looked back at the
picture. "Maybe he used Nick as a model for more than one character,"
she continued, examining the figures.

"Maybe.  There's a lot of figures here," said Sandra.

"The enormous strawberries that crop up," started Nina, but she was
interrupted by groans.  "Sorry," she said with a smile.  "The
strawberries are a symbol of the ephemerality of earthly pleasure --
strawberries are delicious, but leave no aftertaste."

"Ones that size might."

"The mermen in armor up there near the top symbolize lust and lack of
self-control, and might be derived from the heraldic version of the
lobster," continued Nina.

"See, I told you it was an orgy."

Sandra smiled, then shifted her gaze to the much darker right panel,
which depicted Hell.  She eyed the monster and murmured, "Inspiration
for Lovecraft."

"What was that?" asked Karen.

"That creature looks like something out of Lovecraft's stories."

The Knighties studied the panels for a few minutes.  Someone
occasionally pointed at something and giggled.

"Come on, folks, we've got more to look at," said Sandra.

"Think this looks like it could be Nick's dad?" asked Katrinka, as the
group stood in front of the portrait of the ducal envoy of Brabant by
Jan Van Eck.

Karen consulted the brochure.  "It was painted in the fifteenth
century," she said.

"Oh," said Katrinka.

"Has to be a relative though," said Carrie, who had been fairly quiet.

"Oh, look, it's Janette," said a Knightie as they reached the next
picture, the "Portrait of a Lady" by Rogier VanDer Weyden.

"Wonder why it's part of this exhibit."

"Brabant property?" said Sandra, and there were assorted groans. She
had started to relax a bit.  Having an interest in drawing and
watercolor painting, she was enjoying looking at the works by famous
artists.

The next exhibit was the painting of "LaCroix", "Portrait of a Man" by
Jan Van Eyck.  It was a small painting, head and shoulders, with the
man looking directly at the viewer.  It was real enough looking to be
slightly unnerving to Sandra. She hung back a bit from it and watched
the others look at it and comment.  Karen stepped back to join her and
said in a low voice, "You know, Nick could have left the book here.  I
can check out the books."

"Good idea.  But take someone with you.  Yes, I know, but I don't feel
comfortable with anyone going off alone."

The group moved to look next at "The Entombment", also by Bosch. It
depicted a naked blonde Christ figure on a bier being prepared for
burial after apparently having been crucified (judging by the nail
marks on his hands and feet). "Now this could be him!" said Katrinka.

"Amy writes that she wonders what Nick would have thought about being
a model for Christ--then or now," said Sandra.

"Maybe it appealed to his self-punishment side," said Carrie. "Or he
visualized himself as the thief."

"Or maybe he didn't know what Bosch was planning to paint?"

"Whatever...but it isn't obscene.  At least I don't think so," said
Katrinka.

"It is revealing though."

There were murmurs of agreement on that one and the group *did* linger
and gaze at that piece longer than the others.

After the group had seen all the exhibit, Sandra said, "Karen
suggested that we should make a search for the book.  So let's split
up into pairs and do that and everyone meet back at the entrance at
closing time?" said Sandra.  There were nods from the group.  Karen
and Carrie walked off together.  The others split up, leaving Sandra
and Katrinka.

"Hey, which way is the scene where Nick and Alyce were talking in
front of the armor?"

"I *think* that's this way," said Sandra and they walked off.

Karen and Carrie were the last two to rejoin the group at closing
time.  "Any luck?" asked Sandra hopefully.  They shook their heads.
Sandra sighed.  "Okay, let's get back to the loft."


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


YOUR GOOSE IS COOKED
by Susan B.
Nick&Nat Pack
Date: Tues.July 30  Time: 1:00 PM
Place: N&N HQ
-------------------------------------
Gayle, a civic-minded N&NPacker, sat in front of her computer plotting
revenge for having to wait so long to play with Vachon. And what
better revenge could there be than - paperwork! Yes! Time to do some
e-mail!

       To:      city@toronto.bldg.cda
       From:    civicminded@toronto.can
       Subject: illegal fence

       Dear Sir/Madam: It has recently come to my attention that an
       unsightly chain link fence has been erected around that old
       Church (the one I complained to you about verbally). As the
       occupants only moved in *four* days ago I find it
       inconceivable that a permit could have been obtained so
       quickly.

A reply came back almost immediately:

       To:      vaqueras@oldchurch.cda
       From:    city@toronto.bldg.cda
       Subject: ORDER TO COMPLY
       Xcc:     civicminded@toronto.can

       It has come to our attention that you have recently erected
       fencing around the perimeter of your property. We have *no*
       Permit on file. This action is contrary to City of Toronto By-
       Law #973-4587-6333. Subject fence must be removed
       *immediately*. Failure to do so will result in the fence being
       removed by *our* forces at *your* expense. You may apply for
       a Permit to erect a fence, however, please be aware that the
       approval process will take anywhere from 3-6 months.

Gayle smiled. "Hmmm.... time for another" -

       To:      city@toronto.health.cda
       From:    civicminded@toronto.can
       Subject: goose droppings

       Dear Sir/Madam: It has come to my attention that a serious
       health hazard exists in this City. Apparently a fence has been
       erected around that old desecrated Church. (The City Building
       Department can give you the exact location <g>) The occupants
       are keeping geese within its confines, and feeding them!
       Needless to say the droppings are not only unsanitary, but
       extremely unsightly.

A few moments later two responses came through:

       To:      vaqueras@oldchurch.cda
       From:    city@toronto.health.cda
       Subject: Order to Comply
       Xcc:     civicminded@toronto.cda

       Dear Occupant: It has recently come to our attention that you
       are in breach of several City of Toronto By-Laws, namely:

       1.     A potential health hazard exists on your property with
              respect to goose droppings (By-Law #173-4687-6353).

       2.     You have been feeding these geese. The City of Toronto
              has a serious problem with geese and it is *illegal* to
              feed them. (By-Law #453-1287-5338).

       3.     Please also be aware that the City of Toronto has a by-
              law against the possession of wildlife (By-Law #933-4287-
              6950).

       We demand you rectify the situation *immediately*.

       To:      civicminded@toronto.cda
       From:    city@toronto.health.cda
       Subject: Geese

       Dear Civic-Minded. You have received a copy of our e-mail to
       the Vaqueras about the geese. You may want to contact the
       Federal Government in this regard. Canada Geese are a
       protected species in this country, and interfering with them
       is punishable by *imprisonment*. The means are out there -
       just not in our jurisdiction.

Gayle was ecstatic. This was turning out to be quite a day!
She shouted, "Federal Government! "Arghh! Why didn't I think
of that!" and immediately fired off another e-mail:

       To:      wildlife@canada.govt
       From:    civicminded@toronto.cda
       Subject: Our Beloved Canada Goose *IMPORTANT*

       Dear Sir/Madam: It has come to my attention that the Canada
       Goose is a protected species in this country and may not be
       "kept". There is an old Church in Toronto (the City Building
       Department can give you the exact location <g>) where our
       beloved Canada Geese are imprisoned!!! These geese have also
       had their wings clipped (which I am certain must be an
       additional offence)!!

A quick response again:

       To:      vaqueras@oldchurch.cda
       From:    wildlife@canada.govt
       Subject: Our National Symbol
       Xcc:     civicminded@toronto.cda

       It has come to our attention that you may be in possession of
       some Canada Geese. The Canada Goose is a protected species and
       interfering with a protected species is punishable by
       imprisonment. We will be investigating this matter further.

Gayle sighed. "Ahhh, last one"

       To:      customs@canada.govt
       From:    civicminded@toronto.cda
       Subject: Conspiracy *IMPORTANT*

       Dear Sir: It has recently come to my attention that there are
       a group of rather unsavoury characters (long haired types)
       living in a run-down Church in the City of Toronto (the
       Federal Wildlife Department will be pleased to give you the
       exact address <g>) who are conspiring to import geese from the
       United States!

       PS: I also understand someone at the Radio Station CERK in
       Toronto is in possession of an eagle that may have been
       brought into the country illegally.

       To:      vaqueras@oldchurch.cda
       From:    customs@canada.govt
       Subject: Importing of Wildlife
       Xcc:     civicminded@toronto.cda

       Dear Occupant: It has recently come to our attention that you
       have been considering importing wildlife into this Country.
       Please be advised that this is a serious offence punishable by
       imprisonment. On checking our records we find no permit was
       issued to you to import geese. You may apply for a permit if
       you wish, however, you should be prepared to wait at least 12
       months for processing. Of course, due to the over-population
       of geese in your area, it is *extremely* unlikely a permit
       will be issued.

       To:      civicminded@toronto.cda
       From:    customs@canada.govt
       Subject: <classified>

       With regard to the matter of the eagle mentioned in your
       letter. We would appreciate your keeping this confidential
       while we investigate.

Gayle leaned back in her chair and sighed contentedly.


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


Indefinite Article
by Amy Hull
Tuesday, August 30, around 1:30 pm (or so--early afternoon, before the
socks attack)
(backdated with the kind permission of the warmistresses)

"Thish ish getting reeeeallly annoying," Amy grumped, dropping her
book to the floor in disgust and rubbing her eyes.

"Tell me about it," Sharon said, also rubbing her eyes.  "The Guy's
screen is getting all smeared from my nose."

"We're going to have to kill them," Elaine said emphatically.  "That's
all there is to it."

"I'm getting a shtiff neck from moving my head to see the entire line
in my book," Amy complained loudly.

"And you think I'm not?" Sharon demanded.  "I have to lean forward to
get my face close enough to The Guy to even do email."

Amy, Meredith, and Elaine all began to giggle.  "Ah, but the
*advantages* of simply *having* to be so close to The Guy," Meredith
teased.

The smear of color that was Sharon got very quiet and seemed to be
lost in thought.  Amy could imagine the blissfully blank, distant grin
that must be gracing Sharon's face, and the glaze that would have been
added to her already unfocused eyes.

"Hey, Amy, you could read that paper Jill got a few days ago," Elaine
suggested.  "Newspapers at least have narrower columns."

"Or we could put a movie or show on that we've seen before and at
least *listen* to it," Sharon added helpfully, apparently jolted out
of her reverie by the comment.

"It just really sucks that our glasshes are taking extra time," Amy
continued to complain.  "I mean, I know we're really blind and all,
but this is an *emergency*."  She took another drink from her ever-
present bottle.  "They probably won't even get them right, and then
we'll have to wait for them to try again.  I hate this."

"Well, what movies do we have," Meredith asked, hoping to divert Amy's
attention like you would a three-year-old's.

Everyone looked blankly at each other, suddenly realizing that they
didn't know.  They didn't even know if there were movies *around*.

Elaine began to giggle again.  "Anyone know if Blockbuster delivers up
here?"

"Do they even *have* Blockbuster here?" Amy asked in forlorn
frustration.  No one knew, and checking the phone book seemed like
just too much work.  "Well, does anyone know where the paper is?  It
may well have been thrown out already."

"Not unless you did it," Meredith answered.  "You're the only one who
tends to get that compulsive cleaning thing going."

"That's not really true," Sharon said.  "And have you noticed
*Maureen*?  I'd suggest you check that box she set up for the 'paper
trash'.  I'll bet it's there."

"And if it is, it'll be clean, too," Elaine added.  "She practically
bit Pod's head off the other night when poor Pod headed toward it with
something Maureen considered part of the 'organic trash', and then
almost tackled Jennie's Coke can the moment it was empty so she could
rinse it and put it in the recycle box."

Amy grimaced.  "Where did she *get* all the boxesh?"  Everyone
shrugged. "Well, where did she *put* them?"

"Kitchen."  The others chorused.

Amy returned shortly with a neatly-folded paper and a refilled bottle.
"This is shcary."  She gestured to the paper.  "Even I wouldn't do
this.  It looksh like she ironed it or shomething."

Sharon looked up as Amy walked past and caught sight of the bottle as
it was carried past her face.  She reached out and grabbed it.  "Amy,
what is this? I thought the gin was gone."

Amy grinned lopsidedly.  "I dunno.  It was in a big bottle.  I grabbed
it yesterday while we were out.  Maybe vodka?"

Sharon sniffed the bottle, grimaced slightly, then nodded.  "Yep.
It's vodka."

"You know, said Amy thoughtfully after retrieving her bottle and
taking a long drink, "it's amazing that this shtuff is so good
considering that it's made from potatoes."

The others decided to leave that alone, and silence (if not peace)
descended again.

Moments later, however, Amy squealed and gasped, "Oh, my" through soft
giggles.

"What?" Meredith asked, coming to look at the paper Amy was holding to
her face.

"Um, you know the KISSH impershonators Jamie sent Sunday morning?"

"Yeah."  The others shuddered.

"Well, we weren't the only ones she sent them to."

"Of course not," Sharon responded.  "I got them too.  Paid them off." 
She smiled in a mysteriously self-satisfied way.

"No," Amy said, "I mean the *NatPack* weren't the only ones."

"How do you know?" Elaine asked.

She and Sharon also came over to look at the paper.  One by one, they
passed it around and read:

Toronto Globe and Mail, Monday, July 29, 1996, Section B, Page 1:

KISS impersonators fill Toronto ERs

The city's emergency rooms were flooded early Sunday morning with
injured KISS impersonators.  The unfortunate musicians awakened
several groups of unidentified individuals at 5:00 am.  In many cases,
these encounters turned ugly, resulting in injury to one or more of
the musicians.  The hospital staff had difficulty determining the
extent of the injuries due to smeared jelly, custard, and makeup.
Most impersonators were treated and released. One was kept for
observation due to burns caused by scalding coffee.  One musician
commented, "I can see why people might have been startled by us, but
we were only doing our job.  I don't know why they had to get nasty."


The NatPackers looked at each other and cringed.

"I really hope *we* didn't hurt them," Meredith said softly.

"Well, I know Jill threw the doughnutsh at them," Amy said
thoughtfully, "but I don't think they were in anything hard that would
have caushed problems."

"What a waste of good coffee," Sharon said.  "Not that that was
particularly good coffee, but just on principle."

Elaine began to giggle.

"What?" Amy and Sharon chorused.

"I just figured out what looks funny about you.  It's your noses."

Meredith began to giggle as well.

"What about our noses?" Sharon demanded while Amy tried to glare but
kept smiling.

"They're black from the newsprint," Elaine gasped.

Amy leaned into Elaine's face, causing Elaine to cough at the alcohol
fumes. "Ha!" Amy declared triumphantly.  "Your nose is black too!"
She paused, and began to try and rub the ink off her nose.  "I want my
glasses back!!!" she wailed, and curled up in the corner of the couch
to read and sulk more.


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


Sock of Ages
by Liz the Lucky
Tuesday, July 30, starting at 2:00 pm.
Headquarters of the N&NPackers, the Vaquera/os, the Natpackers
and the IBs.  Toronto.


At the headquarters of the Nick&NatPackers, the doorbell rang.

"Pizza!" cried Rebecca.  She ran to the door and opened it.

It wasn't pizza.  It wasn't even a cute pizza-delivery man.  It was a
red-head in a purple wheelchair.

"Hi.  I'm Liz the Lucky.  Mind if I come in?"  She didn't wait for an
answer.  She just wheeled herself in, barely missing a few toes.

"Sorry, the Purple Death's heavier than I'm used to.  I'm still having
trouble handling it."

Soulseek entered the room.  "I know you.  You're a Merc.  What are you
doing here?"

"A Merc?"  Said Kevin.  "We're getting attacked this early?"

"No, you're not.  I'm not even working for anyone right now."  Liz
lied. I just thought, since I was in the area, and since I don't post
very much, that I'd go and introduce myself and see what I could
scrounge up."

She rolled around the place, looking.  "So this is you headquarters,
huh?  Nice.  Anyway, so here's my card.  Let me know if I can be of
any help.  Bye."

Liz wheeled herself over to the door and left.

For a minute, the 'Packers stared at the open door.

"What was that?"  Soulseek wondered.

"What was what?"  Judy asked.

"We just got visited by a Merc and she didn't try anything.  What's
up?"

Rebecca  shrugged.  "Maybe she was telling the truth.  When's that
pizza getting here.  I'm hungry."

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

>From around the corner, Liz the Lucky took a remote control out of
her backpack, pressed a button and smiled.  Nobody had noticed her
sticking little cans of knock-out gas around the place.  Totally
odorless and colorless and best of all, totally harmless.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

They looked around the place, but didn't find anything.  Finally, they
decided to put it out of their minds and forget about it.  Until, that
is, one by one they started dropping unconscious to the floor....

The door opened again and Liz the Lucky rolled back inside, this time
wearing a gas mask.  She looked around and checked the 'Packers,
making sure they were still breathing.  Killing your perspective
employers was not a good way to start a business relationship.  She
gathered up what she had come for and left.

Back on the street, Liz took out her list and crossed off the first
name.  One down, three to go.  Next up, the Vaquera/os.

Liz sat outside Vachon's church and pondered.  Rumor had it the
Vaquera/os were a little skiddish around Mercs these days.  Like it
was our fault.  We're just in it for the chocolate. Still, the little
miss innocent routine probably wouldn't work this time. And she hadn't
had an opportunity to try out the rocket launchers yet.  It was a
simple matter to trade the garlic capsuls for sleeping gas bombs.  She
stuck her helmet back on, aimed at the windows and fired.

A trip around the church, spreading sleeping-pill stuffed raisins
(hey, I read it in a book somewhere) took care of the geese.  And gave
her time for the gas to work.

She put on the gas mask and headed for the door.  The retinal scan
proved difficult, but not impossible.  The only possible complication
left was Vachon.  Well, she hadn't had an opportunity to try her
crossbow, either.

Apparently, Vachon was still sleeping in the basement.  He never even
heard her.

It was over too soon.

Two down, two to go.  After the church, the Natpackers (good thing she
remembered to pack those gloves) and the Immortal Beloveds were a
piece of cake.

Soon screams were heard in the vicinity of the four places as they all
realized that nobody had any socks.


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


Daylight Robbery
by Friday (N&NPack)
2:00pm Tuesday
Note: Any Questions regarding timing and/or other problems should be
directed to our Faction Leader, Laura MacMillan, at
<soulseek@sprynet.com>2:00pm Tuesday


Outside the DieHard stronghold at the old Paragon studios, three
figures lurked just beyond range of the building's security network.

"We have to catch one outside the perimeter," John whispered. "The
guards know the DieHards by sight, and if we damage them, the DieHards
will know we've been here."

Friday nodded agreement. "We need to make this quick to keep the
timing right. Otherwise you won't be able to get in. But the guards
aren't a problem... I'll distract them while you two go on in, and
join you there."

"I'd feel better if this was a night raid," Tia muttered. "It just
doesn't seem right, going in by daylight."

"Tell me about it," Friday groaned. "I don't even like being *awake*
this early. Blame it on Jamie and her KISS impersonators. I haven't
been able to keep a regular schedule since Sunday. Okay, wait around
the corner and go in as soon as the gate is clear."

Friday rummages around in her sports bag, finally coming up with a
spare dog leash. She wrapped it around her hand, flicked her hair over
her shoulders and put on her best distraught expression. "Wolf!" she
called, walking out into the open. "Here, girl! Wolf!"

The guards at the gate of the DieHard stronghold glanced at her and
away again. Friday worked her way across the street, calling her dog's
name every now and then for effect. By the time she reached the
Paragon studio gates, the guards were watching her with some concern.

"Are you okay, miss?" one called out.

"Well, I'm fine," Friday said, looking upset. "But my dog's gone
missing. I don't suppose you guys have seen her around, have you?
Small, sandy-coloured, short fur?"

"No," one said after a moment. "Can't say as we have."

"I think she might have come through here," Friday said. "A lady up
the street told me she saw Wolf going through the fence at the base of
the compound. Do you suppose I could go inside for a little while and
just take a look around?"

"We can't let anyone except the DieHards through without clearing it
with Ron first," the first guard explained.

"Oh, come on! I'm only fifteen... what do you think I'm going to do
exactly? She's my dog!" Friday bit her lip sadly. "I'd... I'd
think..." Her voice wavered. The guard sighed.

"Okay, but I'll go with you. Terry here will stay and guard the gate,
but this better not take too long, okay?"

Friday nodded. She followed the first guard through the double gates,
pretending to stumble near the second one. The two guard moved towards
her. While the gate was momentarily free, Tia and John slipped through
and settled into the shaows behind the guard box. When Terry returned
to his post, he missed their presence entirely.

Friday followed the guard through the compound, calling for her dog
now and then, the two other Nick&Natpackers following at a distance.
Near the main building housing the DieHard living quarters, they broke
away, heading for the fire escape around back.

"There's no way to open it from this side," Tia murmured. "No lock. Or
handle."

"What did you expect? It's a fire escape." He checked his watch. "Wait
a moment." They melted back against the wall. After a few minutes, the
door opened and a guard came out, fumbling with a packet of
cigarettes. The man propped the door open with a pole apparently
brought for the purpose and wandered off a little way to stand in the
sun. The two Nick&Natpackers slipped inside and headed down the
corridor towards the DieHards' rooms.

Fortunately, John and Tia encountered neither guards nor DieHards in
the corridors.

"What now?" Tia asked as they stood unobtrusively beside an elevator,
apparently waiting for it to reach the ground floor.

"Quick," John muttered, heading quickly back the way they'd come to
where a door was just swinging closed. The DieHard who had left the
room had vanished up the hallway in the other direction, and, luckily,
did not look back as the Nick&Natpackers entered her room.

There were a couple of mattresses on the floor, and clothes and bags
scattered around the room. John and Tia riffled through the absent
DieHards' possessions.

"Got one!" Tia said triumphantly, holding up a plain-looking keycard
stamped with the faction name. "DieHard ID. I knew they'd have to have
a spare somewhere! How about you?"

"Nothing here," John replied. "Unless you count this personal stock of
chocolate..." he grinned. "Let's get out of here."

It was easy to convince the compound guards that they were new DieHard
faction members, flashing Tia's keycard for identification, and within
ten minutes they were back on the street, where Friday was waiting for
them, eating chocolate and looking miserable for the benefit of the
guards.

As soon as they were back at the car, Friday grinned broadly. "How'd
it go?" she asked. Tia held up the keycard, and John the chocolate.
"Not bad," Tia replied. "You look okay."

"The guard was sorry for me. I was so upset over losing my dog, you
know... since I didn't find her, he gave me some chocolate to make me
feel better." She shrugged. "Nice man. He'd probably let me back in if
I came back with Wolf and smiled nicely. Let's go let Mel and Laura
and the others know we got the keycard - *and* some chocolate."


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


AFTERMATH OF THE SOCK RAID
Vachon's Church
Not long after 2pm, Tuesday July 30th

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

Several rockets burst through the already-chipped stained glass
windows around the front door of the church.  The silent alarms went
off, but the few Vaqueros who weren't out running errands were knocked
out by the sleeping gas before they could react.

Lucky Liz, the Merc in the extraordinary stair-climbing purple
wheelchair, approached the front door of the church.  She spotted the
retinal scanning equipment.  \\How to get past *that*?  Hmm.\\

After a few minutes thought, Liz pulled a small penlight laser out of
her pocket.  She shined the red beam directly into the scanner's lens.
Just when Liz thought that her best attempt wouldn't work, the scanner
shorted out.  Liz picked the lock on the front door and then rolled
inside.  The church looked much bigger on the inside than she had
imagined.  It would take her days to search every nook and cranny for
the Vaqueros's socks.

She saw a couple of tote bags and a suitcase piled on one of the pews
and decided that would have to do.  She rummaged through the luggage
and found only five pairs of dirty socks.  \\Guess the Vaqueros aren't
big on extra pairs of socks.  Oh, well.\\  Satisfied and eager to
leave before she found out if a certain vampire was actually at home,
Liz back tracked and left the way she had come in.

About ten minutes later, the Vaqueros began to come to.  "What the
hell happened?"  "Hey!  Someone's been going through my dirty
laundry!"  "Damage report?"  "The computer's have *not*, I repeat
*not*, been tampered with." "We weren't out long enough for them to do
anything -- they're still talking about Men's tennis at the Olympics
on the radio."  "So who got in -- and why?"  "Hey!  My favorite pair
of blue socks are gone! -- you know the ones with the holes in the
heels."  "The geese look like they're drunk.  And there are raisins
all over the grounds."  "Looks like the retinal scanner was shorted
out -- damn.  We'll have to get Charlyne to have a look at it when she
gets back."  "Why would anyone want my dirty socks?"  "The perimeter
is secured.  No hidden mics or surveillance devises have been
planted."  "Looks like we need to electrify that fence out there."
"We'll need to board up those windows -- heck, we'll board them all
up."  "Well, at least we found out our weak points."  "Yeah, we need
to step up the feeding schedule of those geese."  "Let's get this mess
all fixed up and prepare a retro-fit plan before Torrey gets back."
"Yeah, Torrey's under enough pressure as it is."  "Hey, the security
cameras kept working!  We have photos of the intruder!"


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


The Last GASp (1/2)
Time:  After 2:00pm Tuesday afternoon, July 30th; Right after SOCK OF
AGES
Place:  NatPack Hostel
By: Alora Chistiakoff and the NatPack


Sharon Himmanen sat at the table plugging away on The Guy (her laptop,
you dirty-minded people, her *laptop*). "Come look at this!" She
called out to the other Natpackers.

"What?" Alora looked up from the candles she was toying with at the
other end of the table.

Amy put her book down and carefully standing, she reached for her
glass and groped her way to Sharon's chair, "Wow!" She squinted,
leaning in with her nose pressing against the screen, "That's really
<hiccup> great!"

Sharon Bhandari walked slowly toward the computer, squinting and
holding onto furniture. Like most Natpackers, without her glasses she
was in bad shape.

Sharon H. moved the mouse to the center of the picture of Nick she had
put on her web page, the arrow turned into a boxing glove and she
double-clicked. The nice, clean (some *might* even say attractive)
picture of Nick disappeared and was replaced by a picture of Nick with
a black eye.

"Oh <hiccup> I want to try!" Amy bounced unsteadily. Leaning in front
of Sharon she double-clicked on Nick's face and his picture reloaded,
this time with a bloody nose as well.

Sharon H. smiled, "Took me all afternoon to get it. Keep clicking and
it beats that lying, blood-sucking, impotent rodent into a bloody
pulp!"

"Very cool." Alora giggled, "Just don't let Pod see that."

"Yeah," Sharon B. added, "She might not think it's very funny. Can I
try?"

"Knock yourself out!" Sharon H. stood up and let her fellow NatPackers
take turns pounding on Nick, while Amy blindly felt her way back to
the couch.

"What time are we eating?" Alora asked, returning to her candles.

Sharon H. poured herself another cup of coffee and said, "There's food
in the fridge. But we're all gonna eat when the 'Shoppers' return."

Sharon B. squinted at the computer screen, "I hope they hurry up. I've
been in these clothes for far too long." She clicked again and giggled
as Sharon's new toy gave Nick a fat lip, "And some new glasses and
contacts would be helpful, too."

"No kidding," Amy agreed, "My shins <hiccup>  are all banged up from
running into the furniture."

Alora rested her chin on the table as she watched the flame melt away
the wax on the candle, "I can't believe those parasites *stole* our
luggage! I had everything out of my dorm room in there. Everything
that I took to school with me! Gone! It was all supposed to go back to
California with me after we leave Toronto." She blew out the candle
and pulled out a new lighter to re-light it, "And if I see *anybody*
walking around in my Forever Knight jacket, I'm gonna rip it off their
body! I don't care who it is!"

Her head burried in the fridge, Sharon H. said, "Well, Alora, it
shouldn't be too hard to spot somebody walking around in an oversized
jean jacket with a bright sunset and the show's logo painted on the
back."

"And it has 'Cult of Skinner' painted on it, too." Sharon B. added
absently as she continued virtually beating up Nick.

"Don't forget the 'Natpacker' embroidered on the front pocket!" Alora
whined, then panicked, "Ack! You don't think someone would rip the
embroidery out and put their own affiliation on there, do you?!"

Sharon B. looked up from the computer and tried to sound convincing,
"No, I'm sure nobody would do that."

Alora dropped her forehead to the table top, "Yes they would!!! Damn
Mercs! If my little sister had anything to do with this she is gonna
be in *so* much trouble! I don't care if she was only following orders
or not!"

Sharon H. said, "You can always make another jacket, Alora."

Amy wobbled as she tried to stand, "I'm hungry." <hiccup>

"I thought you were drinking you lunch," Sharon H. grumbled from the
coffee pot.

"Sit down, Amy," Alora said, "I'll get you something. You'll only hurt
yourself." Alora stood to raid the refrigerator, "Not bad 'nuff they
steal my precious jacket they have to take all of our glasses and
contacts, too." She bitched, squinting as she walked into the kitchen.

Stopping at the sound of a <clank> from the back, Alora asked, "Did
you hear that?"

"Yeah," Sharon H. answered as she peered around the corner and down
the hall.

Amy leaned over the back of the couch, and managed to ask: "Do you
smell that?" Before promptly proceeded to pass out.

Sharon H. turned to see Alora lying in a heap on the kitchen floor and
Sharon B. collapsed in the chair. She managed to quickly (and
thankfully!) blow out the candles before she too slumped over the end
of the table, right next to The Guy.


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


The Last GASp (2/2)
Time:  Tuesday afternoon, Right after SOCK OF AGES
Place:  NatPack Hostel

By: Alora Chistiakoff and the NatPack



Upon returning to the NatPack Hostel after an afternoon of trying to
replace the articles stolen by the merciless Mercs, the Shoppers
discover their fellow NatPackers have had a rough day:

"Sharon," Linda nudged her gently, to no avail.

Lynn walked over to Alora, who was on the kitchen floor and seemed to
be mumbling (or is that singing?) in her sleep. "Alora!"

Alora's eyes struggled open, but she didn't move.

Lynn stood over her, "Alora? Are you alright? What happened?" She
offered a hand, which Alora took and slowly regained her footing.

"I dunno."

Betsy shook Sharon B. by the shoulder, trying to wake her without
knocking her out of her chair. "Sharon! Wake up!" She moaned as her
eyes fluttered open.

Sharon H. groaned and the other Natpackers looked over at her. She sat
up slowly and looked around, noticing Amy still suspended over the
back of the sofa. "Gas," she said at the looks of confusion on the
faces of her fellow Natpackers. "And I bet it was that damn vampire!"

"Gas?" Lynn looked at Alora (who looked like she'd just been hit by a
truck).

Alora just shrugged, "Why? Unless they were looking for Nat?"

"Amy!" Kelly rolled her over onto the seat, "Wake up!" She shook her
shoulder for several seconds before giving up. "That gin," Kelly
grumbled before turning back to the others, "Forget it, she's down for
the count. Let's check and see if there's any damage."

The women split up, taking with them whatever blunt objects they could
find (never know when someone *else* decides to stop by and gas a
house full of Natpackers). Several minutes later Lynn yelled from the
back of the house, "Come here!"

"What?"

"Look! Our dirty laundry is missing!" Lynn didn't know whether to be
disgusted or grateful.

"Laundry?" Mei looked around, "Why couldn't they take the dirty dishes
instead?"

Betsy groaned, "Great. It wasn't bad enough they took all of our
*clean* clothes? They had to steal the dirty ones too?"

Jaime looked around the laundry room quickly and noticed the pile of
towels on the floor, "But not even all of the laundry. It looks like
they just took the *socks*!"

"Blackmarket, dirty socks: Next on Geraldo!" Kelly deadpanned as she
turned and headed back down the hall.

"I think I need an aspirin." Valerie groaned.

"I bet Nick did this!" Sharon H. seethed on her way back to the
kitchen.

"It's broad daylight, Sharon." Leslie tried to reason.

"Then he hired a Merc! Either way, I know he's responsible for this!"
Sharon returned to The Guy, "Let's see how much more damage I can do,"
she booted up Nick's picture again...


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


How the Eagle Landed
by Lisa McDavid
Time  2:30 pm Tues. July 30, at CERK

"The Eagle?" said Lacroix to the investigator? "Of course I have the
paper work."

He handed the man his license to keep a captive member of an
endangered species, Anne Kohler's certificate as an eagle handler, and
the paper work which registered Fred with the City of Toronto.  The
file included the complete affidavit explaining the circumstances in
which Fred had been found with an injured wing, caught in the CERK
tower in the country.

The investigator went away entirely satisfied.

Note: Nice try, guys, but Anne Kohler really is qualified to handle
eagles at the zoo where she does volunteer work, and we had discussed
the documentation necessary for Lacroix to keep an eagle.
Incidentally, bald eagles are native to Canada, so there is no reason
to assume that it had to be brought in from the U.S.


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


I'M TIRED JOEY BOY (3/3)

The Old Church
Around 3pm, Tuesday July 30th

by Bonnie Pardoe (with thanks to Debra Eve, Lisa Marie Nullar, Pat
Casey, Gay Eckes, Heather, Shannon, and Terry Madden)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


One of the Vaqueros's rented-vans pulled up in front of the church.
Out stepped Lisa Marie Nullar and Gay Eckes, returning from their
blood run to the Raven.  They pulled the wooden case of premium wine-
preserved blood out of the van, and then rang the bell on the gate
which Charlyne had finally installed.  Heather and Shannon came
blissfully out of the church, shoeing away the geese with their
brooms.  With Gay in the lead, Lisa Marie behind, and the case of
blood held between them, the group of four marched smartly down the
walkway and up the stairs.  Heather ran ahead, grabbed the door, and
held it open.  Vachon was standing inside, in the shadows, with an
eager, hungry look on his face.

Suddenly Gay's foot encountered a previously unnoticed and
particularly slick patch of goose glop on the landing.  She slipped
backwards, shoving the wooden case into Lisa Marie, who began to
teeter backward down the stairs.  Heather and Shannon lunged and made
two very expert grabs, saving their fellow Vaqueros from a very nasty
incident involving brick, concrete, and bone.

The case of blood, however, was not so lucky.  It tumble down the
short flight of brick stairs.  Halfway down, it broke open and the
warm summer air was filled with flying green-glass bottles.  The
bottles began to hit the concrete -- most shattered on impact, some
bounced only to shatter when they hit the ground a second time.
Amazingly, three bottles, unharmed, rolled a short way down the path
before coming to a stop.

Vachon gave a heavy sigh, turned, and walked into the recesses of the
church.


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


A Rat's a Rat for That!
Tuesday, July 30th
Mid-afternoon, after Geeze, Don't Ravenettes Wear Socks?
Fang Gang House, Toronto
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis

Elizabeth finished dumping her load of socks into the bin she had
reserved for the purpose.  She was happy to see the level of socks was
quite high. She had done well hiring Liz and Kira to help her.  Her
employer would be pleased.

She locked the door to the basement and went into the kitchen.  Tigon
stood there, looking into the refrigerator with an expression mixed of
horror and revulsion.  "You have *cheese* in here!  And some weird
kind of meat!"

"Lebanon bolona," Lizbet said calmly.  She grabbed a can of sparkling
lemonade and boosted herself onto the counter.  "Hand me a slice, will
you?"

Tigon's expression went from horror and revulsion to just straight
revulsion.  "You want me to touch *that*?"

"It won't kill you.  It's good stuff.  Besides, no one who eats
spaghetti with a can of straight tomato paste dumped on it has any
cause to complain about what I eat!"

Tigon gingerly reached into the refrigerator, snagged the package of
heavily spiced sliced sausage with the very tips of two fingers and
tossed it to Lizbet, who fielded it easily.  "Ugh.  Take it."

Lizbet rolled up a slice and devoured it.  "Thanks for cleaning up the
house, by the way.  It looks good."

Tigon opened a can of tuna fish, disdained a bowl or plate and ate it
straight from the can.  "No problem.  I couldn't stand leaving it
messy. Steve fixed the door, too.  Oh, you'll never guess who appeared
last night. Angelique!"

Lizbet choked on her lemonade.  "You mean Lisa, Cousin Suk, right?  Or
does she still think she is Angelique Sukhmet, three thousand year old
vampiress?"

"Actually, I think she claims to be closer to four thousand," Tigon
said thoughtfully.  "She's asleep in a dark room upstairs by now."

"Maybe I should wake her up--with a stake.  After all, she *did*
promise that the credit card she gave me had no limit.  Now I'm broke
and up to my neck in trouble if I can't pay Guild dues and rent!"
Lizbet hopped off the counter.  "I have to get going.  I have a heist
to pull off."

Tigon laughed her evil laugh.  "Busy little Merc, hmm?"

"Yeah, well, I've gotten less sleep in this War then any time I can
remember.  Which reminds me.  I'm going to host a Highlander party
here Friday night.  Watch a few videos, unwind a bit."

"Cool.  Friday, then?"

"Yup.  See you later.  Wait, where's my bag?"  A few minutes of
frantic searching revealed that the bag had been left in the basement
with the socks, and with a few of the vamp puppies who were sleeping
the day away in darkness.  Lizbet treaded very carefully around the
vampire animals, grabbed her bag and departed, not noticing that there
was a small lump in it.

Inside the shadows of the bag, Timon the Vampire Rat slept on,
undisturbed by the trip back to Merc Central...


*********************************************************************
                           End War 7 File 4
*********************************************************************