*********************************************************************
                            War 7 File 5
*********************************************************************

Delightful Deliveries - Vaqueros(6/10)
by: Abby Albrecht
time 3pm on the 30th

[Yes, I'm working backwards... deal with it]

Abby had never been to the church before, but it looked a lot like she
thought it would. What that was, she wouldn't say. At least it was
groovy in an American Gothic sort of way.

Prewarned about the security system, Abby had no trouble being buzzed
in. It did take her a while to find Torrey and Sherri, but that was
ok. It gave her an opportunity to check out the area in case she
needed it later.

Two minutes later (every RDM deliveryperson wears a watch to ensure
prompt service) the two Vaqueras came down. "You said you had
something special for us, Torrey said warily.

"Yes ma'am," Abby said smartly as she pulled out her handy dandy clip
board. "Sign here... And here... And down here."

This time it was Sherri's turn to be wary. "What's she signing?"

"I don't know," Abby shugged. "M'boss told me to have these signed...
It says it's a petition to have Bigg Fun play at our head quarters."

"Suicide, Don't Do It?" Torrey asked.

"That's them," Abby nodded. "Anyway, enjoy!" With that, Abby left the
building and went back to the store for more chocolates.

The Vaqueras looked at each other. "Should we open it?" Sherri asked.

"Why not," Torrey replied. "It can't be deadly, this is a War after
all."

They both agreed and tore open the box. Inside was a beautiful boquet
of white roses, two boxes of chocolates, a card, and a flyer for RDM
advertising the rest of their stock.

Torrey read the card while Sherri tried the chocolates. "This gift is
brought to you by RDM Chocolateers and the Mercenary Guild. Please
enjoy. And contact us if you'd like to purchase more..."

"MMmmm, good milk chocolate!" Sherri exclaimed.

"Milk chocolate? Cute!" Torrey smiled.

"Huh?" was all she could mumble through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Milk... From cows... We're Vaqueras..." Torrey grinned. At least it
was good chocolate...


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


At the Church
After the gift from Abby
A Little Gift For Us
By: Torrey Harris
*******************

Abby had just left and the two Vaquero leaders sat down to enjoy the
chocolate.

"Hey, Torrey." Sherri mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate "How
did she manage to get in here with out running into a bunch of crazy
Vaqueros trying to fix all of the stuff that happened today?"

"It's simple." Torrey answered "I kind of forgot she was coming so
when I saw her I put everyone over there."

"What the heck is that?" Sherri asked looking at a shimmering line
running across the room.

"That, my friend is the timeline. Now all we need to do is poke a
hole in it, jump back through."

"You sure you want to go back?" Sherri asked.

"Ya, I guess we better." With that Torrey got up grabbed Sherri and
pushed her through the timeline and back to the wonderful world of
war.

Thanks for the gift Abby!


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


Delightful Deliveries - Knighties(5/10)
by: Abby Albrecht

Time ... um 5pm. on the 30th

Even during the day the area around Nick's loft smelled funky. But at
least the rats were asleep!

Abby went straight for the security camera this time and hit the
intercom, hoping someone was there.

"Yeah?" Perri's voice drawled out. "What'cha want Abby?"

"Special delivery," she responded, far too perkily for her own good.
"Can I come up?"

Instead of responding, Abby heard the door in front of her unlock. It
had been a while since she had been in this elevator. Memories of
angsting over Nick flooded back. *Now they pay me to angst!* Abby
thought wickedly.

Moments later the elevator came to a stop. Before Abby could move,
Perri slid the door open with a flourish. "You rang?"

Abby straightened the cap on her head and strode perposfully into the
loft. She placed the large cardboard box she'd been carrying [I had
too been carrying it all this time!;] on the floor in front of the
kitchen table. She whipped a clipboard out of that magical place that
only delivery people know about. "Sign here please," Abby said as she
handed Perri a stylish brown pen with the initials RDM in a nice gold
scroll work.

"You chould check the package first, Perri," Catherine warned.

"Hi Cath!" Abby said, turning to try to find she who laughs a lot.
"What's up? Oh... I've got something you'll like when I get back to
school!"

"Tell me that again after the War and I _may_ believe you," Catherine
said as she came down the stair case. "So, Perri. You wanna open it,
or should I?"

Perri went for a knife in Knight's kitchen while she responded, "I'll
do it. If Abby hurts me, I still know people who can change her
grades."

"Sheesh! First Torrey doesn't trust me, now you?!? Is it so hard to
believe this is a good gift?"

"Yes!" her friends replied in unison, giggling uncontrollably. Abby
sulked off into the corner mumbling about friends and trust.

"Awww," Catherine whispered to Perri. "I think we hurt her feelings."

Perri looked over her shoulder at Abby. "Hey! Get your arse over here,
Abby. We trust you!... Most of the time."

"It's ok, I have to get going anyway," Abby smiled back. "So much time
and so little to do." She walked back and hugged her friends good bye.
"Remember, if you need help finding Nick's little brown book, I'm
available."

With that Abby sashayed [It's my story, I can sashay... I just can't
spell] out of the loft and on to her next delivery.

Perri shrugged her shoulders and examined the box more carefully. On
each side was the RDM Chocolateer logo, and the top was sealed with
clear tape. Perri smiled wickedly and attacked the tape. Then they
both tore open the flaps.

On the top was a boquet of yellow roses. "Yellow?" Catherine asked.

Perri smiled slightly, "the yellow rose of Texas... Bad Abby! Real
bad!"

"Ugggghhh," Catherine groaned. Lifting up the roses, they came upon a
card and two boxes of Godiva (tm) feather chocolates.

Catherine opened the card while Perri at... Tested the chocolate. She
read the card aloud, "Please enjoy these chocolates and the roses. We
at the RDM and the Mercenary Guild hope you enjoy them." Catherine
looked up, *Mercs giving something away?* She continued reading. "If
you would like more, feel free to come to our shop at any time..."

"It's a sales pitch, cute!" Catherine said sarcastically.

Perri smiled a chocolate smile, and looked back in the box. There was
a sheet of paper in it. Looking more closely, she decided it deserved
a place on the fridge. It was a flyer with all of RDM's chocolates and
flowers listed with prices.


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


Hide n' Seek
(not long after Lizbet's 'A Rat's a Rat for That!')
by Tigon Diana Hooker

Evening-30 JUL 1996
Toronto, FG Mansion


Tigon had given up trying to wash the smell of Lebanon Baloney from
her two fingertips and had began plotting how to get Lizbet back for
exposing her to the stuff in the firstplace. She had decided on
ordering pizza...lots of it...and other carbohydrate loaded things for
dinner tomorrow. Poor carbohydrate-forbidden Lizbet... an evil laugh
emerged from Tigon.

Evil mischief sparkling her eyes, she bounced down the basement stairs
to begin the process of feeding her pack. It didn't take but a moment
to realize that Timon was missing. Sighing as she quickly fed the dogs
(it just was NOT a good idea to put off a vampires meal!), she began
formulating her search plan.

He couldn't have gone outside...it was still light. He had to be
somewhere in the house. Finding a rat in a house this size could prove
interesting though. Dogs fed, she had them begin sniffing about while
she started looking in the more obvious places. He wasn't in the
cracker box, his lego house, her backpack, or any of the dogs'
saddlebags. The dogs were just as flumuxed...but then, it was
difficult to track one little flying rat that had already criss-
crossed the house with his scent.

Sighing, Tigon began a more thorough search.

The problem with Timon was that he *could* be playing an elaborate
game of hide n' seek. In other words, he wasn't cooperating in his
search and rescue. It was amazing how many nooks and crannies a house
could have. At one point, Tigon scooped up what looked like an old
Shillelagh left conveniently leaning against the fire place, using it
to gently sweep under couches and into out-of-reach places.

She had searched the basement, first floor, and most of the second
with no luck. Faced with Lizbet's padlocked room, her heart once again
quailed within her chest at the prospect of entering that beyond-
disaster-area. She decided Timon was far too neat and tidy a creature
to be in there, and eliminated the possibility. Finally there was only
Lisa's (or Suk's, or Angelique's) room to search.

Very quietly, Tigon eased open the door and crept in. On her bed, the
woman slept undisturbed. Tigon paused and marvelled how peaceful and
innocent vampires (or wanna-be vampires) look when they sleep.

After going through the closet and drawers and checking all the
corners of the room, Tigon approached the giant antique bed. Gingerly
she raised the dust ruffle and peered underneath...there! Back against
the wall was a small white, pudgy something. Who else could it be but
her errant VampRat.

Carefully she extended the Shillelagh, but it didn't reach.

Muttering very bad words to herself, Tigon began to carefully squirm
under the bed and towards the rat. She got stuck, of course, and
muttered even *badder* words. Extending the Shillelagh again, she was
able to reach the rat. She swept it unresisting form toward her,
dropping the shillelagh to grab it.

Then she began *inventing* words to mutter...what was a pair of SOCKS
doing under here???

Suddenly, the Shillelagh was yanked out from beside her...

An enraged bellow emerged from someone and Tigon began to try to
squirm back out, given unexpected aid when two strong hand grabbed her
firmly by the ankles and YANKED. With a yelp, Tigon flew nearly all
the way from under the bed, only to see a wrathful figure, bearing a
shillelagh, out of the corner of her eye. Trying to flip over into a
more defensable position, Tigon's head firmly introduced itself to the
bed's solid wood frame. Very solid wood.

A foot nudged the dazed Tigon the rest of the way over. Peering
through a starry haze, Tigon managed to say, "Lisa?"

"No."

Tigon shook her head, and found that it was *not* the way to clear it.
"Suk?" she asked hopefully.

"No."

Great, thought Tigon, "Angelique...I can explain...have you seen my
rat?"

In the dark room, and through her blurry vision, the figure standing
above Tigon even *seemed* to grow more like the statuesque and ancient
vampire. Once again Tigon's own sense of reality was warped and
twisted as she struggled to remember the ruled of the universe.

"I trusted you," hissed Angelique, "And you creep into my room to slay
me with this." She shook the Shillelagh and raised it above her head
with both arms. "I shall slay your treacherous soul as you intended to
slay me!"

Tigon struggled to get her arms up in a protective position.

"Damn you, Tigon!" The Shillelagh swung downward.


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


Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned!
by: Cousin Candice
date: Tuesday, July 30th
time: All of Tuesday afternoon till midnight
Place: "Eastside, westside, all around the town..."

Candice crashed into the suite like a woman on the lunatic fringe.
She was ready to kill the Enforcer, even if it meant getting all
bloody -this was -war-.

She HATED the feeling of being used like so much baggage to carry an
article just to have it ripped from her the minute she let her guard
down!

"DAMN it!"  Candice put on the first thing that was handy (in this
case, a white tee-shirt and ripped jeans-), grabbed the ever-present
backpack and as soon as she found her keys she bounded down the
stairwell to the parking garage and sped out onto the highway.

She would find that damn vampire if it took her all day and night.


***Midnight: Several hundred miles later on the spedometer***

Candice slumped her shoulders at the red light.  She had been all over
the city, *everywhere*, and there was no sign of Ron.  Candice didn't
know where the DHHQ was and she felt, ...well....impotent.

A few more turns and she was back at the Raven.  She was sure she
wouldn't find any answers there, but parked down the block anyway.

Candice had to wait in line (for the first time!) because she wasn't
dressed properly.

"Doesn't matter anyway....didn't find him..." she muttered to the wind
as it picked up and swirled about her.

She sulked at the bar all night until someone nudged her out of her
stupor when the bar closed.


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


Delightful Deliveries: Die Hards (8/10)...or Sneaking Socks (1/4)
by Kira Chistiakoff <kira@ap.net>
Tuesday July 30, 1996; Late Afternoon

As the "champagne" colored wagon (champagne? why on earth would they
choose to call it champagne??) pulled up to the gate, a guard stepped
out.

"Can I help you?"

"Where can I park? I've got a delivery for...Ron or for Laura
Ruggerio."

"Laura Ruggerio isn't here, she went back to IL."

"How about Ron, is he here?"

He pointed me to an open parking space, but wouldn't let me through
the gate. Oh, well, I'd anticipated that.

I walked around to the rear of the wagon, and made sure I had
everything before I grabbed my backpack, and slung it across one
shoulder. Then I picked up the box of red Roses, and the box of Swiss
chocolate truffles, making sure the card was still attached, and
started to close the trunk when I remembered th flyer...Geez! I kept
reminding the other two not to forget the flyers, so *I* almost do it!
So, I grabbed a flyer, slapped it on the box, and closed the trunk of
the car.

I walked up to the gaurd, who's nametag said,"George" and I greeted
him by name.

"I've got a delivery here for Laura Ruggerio, (DOH! I already told him
that!) one half dozen roses, and one box of chocolates, there's a card
there, and here's the flyer that goes with it.  I just need you to
sign here."

The entire time, I can't stand still, I just kind of prance in place,
and George keeps giving me weird looks.

"Look, I *really* need to use the facilities, would you mind?"

Since he believed he had ascertained I was (fairly) harmless, (an
erroneous assumption) he let me through the gate, and pointed me in
the right direction.  Which was, of course, exactly what I wanted him
to do.

I went off in the direction he had shown me, and once I had entered
the building, went directly to the bathroom (I really did have to go,
you know) as quickly as I could.  I had to make this fast before he
suspected anything.  Luckily, women have a reputation for taking
inordinately long in the bathroom.

Once I concluded my business there, I quickly snuck into the living
quarters, and stuffed every sock I could find into my backpack.
Chances of the guard noticing were slim. I got out of the building as
quickly as possible, one never knows who's around!

As I walked back by the guard, I stopped, thanked him, and made sure
he'd signed on the dotted line. I hopped back into the car, and
gleefully went on to the next delivery.


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


Delightful Deliveries: Perks (9/10)...or Sneaking Socks (2/4)
By Kira Chistiakoff <kira@ap.net>
Tuesday July 30, 1996; Late Afternoon

I walked up to the reception desk of The Four Seasons Hotel, two boxes
in my arms, and asked, "What would the number of your best suite be?"

The person behind the counter just gave me a blank stare.

"Ummmm, excuse me? I'm to deliver these to Partly K and Kristina, I
was told they're in the best suite."

He registered some sort of life, at least he was breathing (I think).

"Would it be on the top floor?"

All I got was a blink.

"OK, I'll take that as a yes, thank you, you've been most helpful," I
said sarcastically.

I climbed onto the elevator, and made sure I had everything before
punching the button for the top floor. /This place is really nice!
Even if the help are imbeciles!/

I stepped off the elevator on the top floor, and it didn't take me
long to figure out which direction I should be going, I could smell
the Perkiness coming from one side of the building (not to mention the
aroma of coffee). I followed my overly-sensitive nose, and came to a
door which I regarded for a moment, surprised, because there was
nothing there to indicate what was behind the door.

I knocked on the door, knowing that whoever opened that door was going
to have too much energy to spare, wondering if it were scientifically
possible to transfer that sort of energy, and deciding that it was
something to look into.

"HI! I'M ROBIN" said the person who opened the door.

"Hi," I said rather more sedately than necessary, "I have a delivery
here for Partly K and Kristina."

"Come on in<bounce>. They're in the other room," she said, pointing
through the door.

I walked into the next room, and was pleasantly surprised to find two
seemingly normal people, even if they were too happy (IMHO).

"Hi, K and Kristina? I have a delivery here for you. A half-dozen
Yellow Roses and a box of Mocha Truffles, courtesy of the Merc Guild's
latest venture, The RDM. Please sign here."

"Neat-o!"

"Could I possibly intrude long enough to use the ladies' room? I've
got a bunch more deliveries to make."

"Of course! It's right through that door, and on the left!"

"That door" leading of course to the bedroom. Giving me ample
opportunity to both use the facilities, and swipe all their socks with
them being none the wiser.

[Author's Note: I'm known across 8 states (at least) and 4 countries
(that I can think of) for having to go to the bathroom every 10
minutes]

As I left, I retrieved my clipboard, double checked to see they had
indeed signed, and left them in the happy land of truffles.


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


Delightful Deliveries: Cousins (10/10)...or Sneaking Socks (3/4)
By Kira Chistiakoff
July 30, 1996; Late Afternoon

I had volunteered to deal with the Cousins, because I have several
Cousin friends, but they weren't supposed to be here today. So I was
feeling a bit bummed.

I resigned myself to a typical work filled, unexciting day, grabbed
the box of white roses, the Lemon Truffles, and the Raspberry
Truffles, almost forgot my backpack, and headed inside.

Once inside, I greeted the receptionist, told her I had a delivery for
Lisa or Tok, but that one of the Cousins had to sign for it.
(Otherwise, I would never get upstairs) She called upstairs for one of
the cousins, and lo and behold, in walked Cousin Shirl!

"Shirl!!"

"Kira!!"

"Hey! I'm so glad you're here, I was hoping one of you would be!!
Cherri's not, and there's no clue as to where TEDT, or April are."

"They're all around somewhere...you wanna take a quick look around?"

"Could I? I've always wanted to see this place."

"Well, I can't show you much, just what's not restricted."

"That's OK, I know rules, and all."

***

A short time later

"Well, that's the nickel tour of CERK."

"Thanks Shirl. One thing you forgot to show me though."

"What's that?"

"The Ladies' Room."

"You and your bladder! Sheesh!  It's through that door, up those
stairs, and on the right."

"You're the best, Shirl!"

"You remember that! I'll wait here."

So of course, I follow her directions, avail myself of the facilities
(yet again!), and make a quick check of all the rooms for any socks I
might have missed the first time, as I head back down the stairs.

When I get back downstairs, we talk a little while longer, while we
head back out to the front desk where I left the roses and chocolate.
Shirl signs for them, I make her promise that Lisa and Tok will get
the chocolate (at least *some* of it), and I leave, because I still
have two more stops to make.

By this time, the back of the wagon is full of socks, I've got
invoices that need to be entered into the computer, and I've still got
a poker game waiting for me.

I stop by the RDM on the way back to Merc Central, spend a half an
hour entering in the invoices Abby and Lane had left for me, lock up
the store on my way out, and head back to MC with a good days work not
quite finished yet.


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


The Poker Game...or Sneaking Socks (4/4)
by Kira Chistiakoff
July 30, 1996; Late Afternoon/Early Evening
This comes after Delightful Deliveries (10/10)

As I walked through the door to Merc Central with a bag of socks in my
arms (being a CA girl, I don't wear socks, and the only ones I own, I
left at home with the rest of my uniform), I saw the whole group was
starting to get impatient.

"Sorry, guys, I had to close up the shop, and it took longer than I
expected.  Just let me change and go to the bathroom, and I'll be
ready to start." (yes, I've got to go AGAIN!)

**
5 minutes later:

"OK, much better, ya'll ready?"  I had changed into a pair of leggings
and an FK t-shirt, no shoes, and felt much better. "Here's the cards,
someone want to shuffle them first?" (so we all know it's an honest
deal.)

"Give 'em to me," replied Berg, who promptly spent 2 minutes being
sure the cards were properly randomized.

The seven of us slowly converged on the table, bringing with us
glasses of soda, potato chips, pretzels, and whatever that stuff in
the bowl was. Chex Mix?

When he handed me back the cards, I made sure everybody was clear on
what we were doing.

"OK, the game's 5-card draw, nothing wild, and the opening bet's one
sock."

Everybody tossed a sock on the table while I dealt the cards. When
Dianne pulled hers out, I made sure to ask, "That is a *clean* sock,
right?"

Naturally, she just glared at me.

Looking at my hand, I was stuck with a dilemma, I could go for the
outside straight, but I knew all 4 fives were already on the table
(the cards, naturally, being marked) so I had to go for the flush.

Dianne drew 3, Berg, Sonja, and Erin each took 2, Dawn and John 3, Mel
2.

I folded with bubkus, Dianne had 3 6's,  Sonja 3 Ace's, Dawn a pair of
9's, John 3 3's,Berg, Erin  and Mel all folded.

Of course, noone else knew what they had, so I watched the betting go
around the table a bit, before Sonja took the pot.

The next hand was Erin's with a straight to the King, I went down with
a pair. (I had to make it look good)

The third hand I took with 2 pair (K over Q), and so we progressed.


***
Half an hour later:

Dianne was down to one pair of socks, her red sleeping socks, she had
2 pair, I had a heart flush, (which, of course she didn't know). I let
her bet her 2 socks as 4 (because they're just so special!), we played
out the hand, and she was done.  She sulked off to her office,
mumbling about how she knows better than to gamble with Mercs.

With a seat open, Leigh (my roomate) asked if she could join us, and
since she had the prerequisite bag of socks, naturally we let her.

***
During the next half an hour, Dawn was the next to go, followed slowly
by the others, ending only when I had all the socks at the table
(noone ever said this was a fair game) and everybody was wondering how
I managed to wipe them all out in just 15 hands...I shuffled the deck
one more time, did a Vegas fan on the table, after cutting the cards
with one hand, and they knew they'd been had.

Berg tried to haggle with me to get his socks back, but noone else
bothered, they all knew it was pointless...Mercs always play for
keeps!

***

The other 9 Mercs were pretty simple to take care of, some I did with
dice, a few more with cards, and one a straight trade for one of my FK
jackets.


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


Studying Hard?
Author: Gaylin "Jasmine" Walli, gjwalli@mtu.edu
Time: Wednesday afternoon


I'm sure I grunted my thanks at whoever it was who kept refilling my
coffee mug. But for the most part I tried to ignore the goings on
around me. I'm pretty good at it really, having been around seven
brothers and sisters for most of my high school career. Of course,
that was a long time ago. Now I have two cats. It's about the same.

The lingering shadow across my books was what first alerted me to
something more than a kind Sister or Brother refilling my mug again,
so I lifted my head and squinted at the person in front of me. I'd
been focusing too long up close and it took me a minute or two to
figure out who it was.

"Tami?" I questioned. I still wasn't seeing straight.

"And on the first try even. Good for you." I could start to see her
grin now that my eyes were beginning to work. Then she frowned and I
could hear her toe start to tap as I watched her cross her arms over
her chest.

"What was the last thing you remember eating?" she said with eyebrows
raised.

Amazing how protective these Ravens and Ravenettes were. Let's
see...food. I remembered having something. But how long ago had it
been?

"DingDingDing. Time's up. If you can't remember by now, it's been too
long. You know better." If I wasn't careful she was going to start
waggling a finger at me.

"Alright. I'll get something." I sighed. Group communication theory.
Psychology. Creativity and innovation. Boring to most people, but I
tended to get caught up in it while I was working. Most of the people
here knew me well enough to know that I would forget to eat.

"A mere promise to get something is not good enough," Tami admonished
and pointed at me.

Damn. There went the finger. Waggled right in my face.

"It's Janette's orders this time. Eat something. She suggested
protein, but I'm sure she was being sarcastic." She pointed the
offending finger at the telephone. "Go order something now and have it
delivered."

I sighed again, this time for dramatic effect, and pushed my books
aside to stand.

"Yes, Mom." I said sticking my tongue out at her. But then I smiled.
"You guys are too good to me. Thanks for letting me stick around while
I'm finishing this up. And let me know if you need anything. I'm sure
I'm going to need a break sometime in here somewhere.  There's only so
much thesis you can read at one time."

Contrary to local opinion, it *is* possible to work on your thesis and
be in a war at the same time.

As I trooped off to the phone I heard her yell, "And order something
for Catherine too!"


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


Delightful Deliveries (Nick&NatPackers) (1/10)

7pm, Tuesday, July 30

by Lane Lombardia, Soulseeker, Kira Chistiakoff, and Abby Albrecht

He had thought it was to have been the first delivery of the day; but,
the written message saying when and where, hadn't actually said 7AM,
as he had thought; but, 7PM. As a consequence, this was his second
attempt to deliver the half dozen pale, pink roses,a card with
exquisite calligraphy, all-important bright Yellow flyer (which he was
told to deliver at all costs) detailing the prices and stressing the
extreem speed of delivery which RDM offered, and 2 packages of rare
German chocolate (he was told that it was German; but, as he couldn't
actually read whatever language the label was written in, he had to
take it on faith).

As a result of the scheduling SNAFU, he had been tolerating the
pungent scent of chocolate all day, and he was quite a bit less than
thrilled about it. The less handling of chocolate that he had to do,
the happier he was about the whole matter.

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; but, the smell of chocolate had impregnated
itself upon his clothing (which he was considering burning if washing
didn't get rid of it.

Ever the consumate Mercenary, there was no way to read his distaste
for chocolate upon his face or body language. Nothing would be allowed
to spoil the quality of his work.

The address he had been given was for an innocuous-looking house; but,
instincts honed experience told him that this place was a fortress. He
had been told *exactly* where to park, and *specifically* what route
to walk from the car to the door. As he carried out the instructions,
he noticed the slight, and almost imperceptible depression of the
walkway flagstone, while walking over it. "Pressure pad," he mused to
himself. Of course that meant that they had temporarily set up the
pathway he now took, disabling some portion of their security network
for the duration.

Arriving at the door, curiously looking like a would-be suitor, he
knocked on the door (the admonishment not to use the doorbell had been
very emphatic).

When the door opened, he was greeted by the unfriendly muzzle of a,
presumably fully loaded, super-soaker, pressed into his nose, and the
piercing glare of a bank of tiny Phillips halogen projector lamps.

Icy cool under fire, Lane smiled. An unfriendly audience was no big
deal, so long as the mission was a success.

Squinting to see around the blazing illumination, "Soulseeker?" he
enquired.

A voice responded, "Yes?"

"I'm from RDM, Rich, Dark, and Mysterious, purveyor of fine
chocolates, and exquisite roses." "As part of a promotional effort,
these items are for you," he said, indicating the bundle in his arms.

Very smoothly and slowly, he handed the chocolates, the roses, the
flyer, and the acknowledgement to her, or at least, whomever was
standing there identifying herself as the leader of the N&NPackers.

"I'll need you to sign for those, on that acknowledgement," he
continued, his nose being squashed into his face even harder by the
Soaker wielding N&NPacker. For just a second, he debated grabbing the
Super Soaker, and using it to short the lamps, which were really
starting to hurt his glare-sensitive eyes; but, he just stood there
smiling calmly.

The signed acknowledgent was thrust back into his hands, and the lamps
extinguished.

By the time the flash-blindness had subsided, the door was closed and
locked. Checking the acknowledgement to ensure that it was signed, he
turned and left for the car.

A long day was nearly over.


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


The Birthday Package
by Laura MacMillan and the N&NPack
Tuesday 30/96   around 8:00pm
N&NPack Headquarters

Laura looked at her watch, shortly before 8:00pm and the package still
hadn't arrived yet. She started to pace. Several of the N&NPackers
looked at her nervously. They knew it wasn't a good sign when Laura
started pacing. Mel and Idalia approached her.

"Laura, what's wrong?" Idalia questioned.

"The package hasn't gotten here yet, it was supposed to be here by 6pm
and it's almost 8pm," Laura stated.

"Package? What package?" asked Mel.

"The one for Chana's birthday. The party is tonight and I was wanted
to give it to her then," responded Laura

"Oh...I'm sure it will be here," Mel reassured her.

Just then the alarms went off. Someone was outside.


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


The Birthday Package 2/2
by Laura MacMillan and the N&NPack
Tuesday 30/96   around 8:00pm
N&NPack Headquarters

Scott and Lisa came rushing past us, holy water supersoakers in hand.
When he reached the front door he signaled  to Lisa to move to the
side where she had a perfect view of the opening door. Laura watched
amazed at how cautious Scott had become every since his meeting with
the mystery man. Laura was lucky that he let her leave the house at
all every since the warning of impending danger.

Scott turned to Laura. "All clear. It's the package you were
expecting." Laura stepped past Lisa and Scott and came face to face
with a very startled delivery boy. He handed her the package and
rushed down the walk way not even waiting for her sign for the
package.

Laura carried the package to the living room with all the curious
N&NPackers folllowing her. Finally Mel spoke, "What's in it?" Laura
opened the package deliberately slowly. When she had finally opened it
and revealed the contents. The room was filled with ahhs and oohs.

"Can I see it, please?" questioned Idalia. Laura nodded. Idalia
reached into the box and pulled out its contents. In her hands she led
the specially designed N&NPack t-shirt, N&NPack mug and N&NPack
backpack.


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


Delightful Deliveries (Ravenettes) (4/10)

9pm, Tuesday, July 30

by Lane Lombardia, Susan M. Garrett, Kira Chistiakoff, and Abby Albrecht

This was the last delivery of his day, and it had been a long one at
that. Four in the morning had been a looooooooong time ago, and he was
on his last leg. Fortunately, since one of his deliveries had taken
him by the Raven earlier today, there was, at least, a welcome
familiarity about the place. On the other hand, it was stunning, just
how differnet the place looked and felt in the evening, rather than
the morning.

He was still making every effort to be as non-threatening as possible,
and, therefore was completely bereft of anything that he would regard
as a serviceable weapon. Seeing the Raven in the evening really
brought home that fact, as the notion that it was, ultimately, a
Vampires' bar ran across his consciousness.

The mission payload, this last time, was a half dozen deep burgundy
roses, which in the evening gloom almost looked the color of blood, 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 Parisian chocolate truffles (he
had to take this on faith too, as he couldn't read French any more
than he could fathom Dutch or German).

He wanted to get in, make the delivery, and get out, preferably under
his own power, and the less handling of the chocolate that he had to
do in the bargain, the happier he was about the whole matter.

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. He _always_ wanted the Guild to do well.

Approaching the bouncer, who seemed to be still waking up, Lane
explained that he had a delivery of roses and chocolates for Susan
Garrett. Presumably, the presence of the aforementioned items, in
plain view persuaded the, undoubtedly powerful, bouncer to grant him
access, in full protest of the line of wannabees hoping to get luck
and get into Raven.

In stark contrast to his earlier delivery to the Raven, it was now lit
as one expected. It was at its height, and exuded a power unto itself
that mere bricks and mortar lack. Lane was not about to stick around
long and attract the attention of any of what Janette referred to as
"strays".

Standing at the bar, he enquired, as quietly as one could in a
fashionable club, where he could find Susan Garrett, explaining, as he
had to the bouncer, that the roses and chocolate were for her. The
bartender told him to wait, and disappeared into the gloom.

Lane felt the Sa-Ki* (not to be confused with sa-ke) exuding from
several individuals who, evidently, were considering having him over
for breakfast (or was that _as_ breakfast?)

Appearing as if from nowhere, Susan Garrett, leader of the Raven/ettes
stood in front of him, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Hello Susan. These roses and chocolates are for you, as leader of the
Raven/ettes. I'm from RDM, a Mercenary Guild enterprise, and we're
trying to increase awareness of our business."

Showing the dark burgundy blooms of the roses to her, he presented the
delivery to her, and asked her to sign for them, snatching up a pen
from the bar, and handing it to her to sign the delivery
acknowledgement.

Her face said that she suspected some devious trick from at any
second; but, he just smiled, accepting the ackowledgement form,
turned, and left, while he still had a pulse.

Epilog:
Weary from the stress of handling chocolate, although the lovely
fragrance of the roses did help somewhat, Lane dropped off his
acknowledgement forms, running them through the OCR scanners, and
entering the needed data. While he didn't have nay retail experience,
this portion wasn't that different from dozens of data entry jobs he
had worked in.

Locking the door behind him, he returned the car to the Guild motor
pool and headed in.



*Sa-Ki: Japanese, meaning "force of the killer" or "killing
intention".


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


Udder Revenge (01/02)
By Brutal Cousin Karies, (Cerk Jerk@aol.com)
<< Timeline: Tuesday July 30th  10:00 pm
with Cousin Cherri, and Cousin Leslie, the LaCroixian Beta Reader.
++++++++++++++++++
The DJ kept pace with Karies as she wove through the CERK hallways,
hurrying, as if she were on an important mission.  He was Nattering on
about all the comedians he had interviewed on his off-beat lunch time
comedy show.  All alternative radio stations had comedy slots at lunch
time, probably to relieve the listeners' morning stress, she figured.
When she came to an abrupt stop, the little DJ slammed into her.
"Really?" she asked, "just last week you interviewed him?  Which
booth?"

The DJ looked at her quizzically.  "Um ... three, yeah, three."

"Cool."

She started towards the sound stages, he picked up after her.  She
turned rather brutally.  "Don't you have something to do, Loony
Larry?"

"That's Lunar Larry."

"Oh, of course it is.  I'll catch you later."  She scurried off,
muttering under her breath.

Karies rooted through the small fridge in the wall bar in interview
room three, which she was convinced would contain what she sought. She
heard someone enter, heard them sneeze, but carried on.  She heard the
person sneeze again, an odd sneeze, but she still rustled through the
cans and bottles and juice boxes.

"Gehirn!"

She whirled at the sound of LaCroix's stern voice.  "Uh ... yeah?"

"I called you three times."

"I thought you were sneezing, Gen'ral."

"We don't sneeze."

"I s'pose not."

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a de-caffeinated Diet Coke in the beer fridge."

"Why are you looking for a de-caffeinated Diet Coke in the beer
fridge?"

Karies melted.  Looking all innocence, she asked, "What?"

But he didn't give her the pleasure of repeating himself.  "Why?  When
you were supposed to be getting me the super glue solvent?"

"Oh, yeah," she muttered, blushing.  "It's in my car, I'll go right
now."  She brushed passed him as she hurried out the door.

"Gehirn."

"Yo?"

"And bring me ... The Cow."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Karies peered into the CERK conference room.  There sat Cousins Shirl,
April, Tammy, Lu, Anne, Lashoka, Erik, Julie and Starr.  Starr was
frantically waving, describing a plan of action that was obviously
coming straight from her Cousinly heart.  She grinned, they must be
planning Udder Revenge.  Cherri sat regally at the head of the table,
commanding respect from the Cow Crowd even as she sat in the absurd
cow costume.

Karies tapped lightly on the glass door, Cherri waved her in.  "The
Gen'ral wants to see you, Cherri."

The room came alive with worried mutterings.  He could still be peeved
at Cherri, even after nearly seven months.  The General was not one to
forget a transgression.

Cherri bravely rose to her feet, mustering what seemed to be the last
shreds of her dignity.  They silently strode up the hallway to where
LaCroix stood, leaning almost aimlessly on the door to the interview
booth.  He grinned sweetly at the sight of Cherri, still finding
himself sadistically entertained by her predicament.

He had enjoyed dark fantasies of cutting the hideous costume off the
attractive Cousin bit by bit, exposing her tingling body to the open
air for the first time in over six months.  Once he even woke to dream
images of tearing the costume off with his fangs.  But the Cousin had
given her word she would return the costume unharmed, and a Cousin's
word was as good as his own.

The way LaCroix looked at Cherri made Karies uneasy, and she stepped
protectively in front of her, getting right down to business.  "This
super glue solvent is highly toxic.  Cherri knows all about the health
hazards of solvents, but let me explain anyway.  The costume, being a
costume, won't have a placard behind the zipper, so if any of the
solvent seeps through, it could burn right through the fabric of her
clothing.  I brought some damp cloths, just in case, we have to wipe
it off as soon as possible, and some rubber strips."  She held up some
strips of rubber, about two inches wide and various lengths and a box
of disposable gloves.  "I suggest we slide the rubber in between the
suit and Cherri, before applying the solvent."

"And we should open the windows, turn on the ceiling fan."  Cherri
switched on the fan, moved over to open the window.  Karies opened the
solvent.  It reeked of the harsh chemical mix.

"Leave us.  I'll do this."  The General spoke softly, but with
command.  "The chemicals won't bother my lungs."

"Um ... okay." Karies replied, glancing sympathetically at Cherri.
They still didn't know what LaCroix had on his mind.

"My dear," he spoke, circling Cherri, "you look udderly ridiculous."
He chuckled softly at his own joke, as he was wont to do.  She
deserved her internment in the costume, for having been foolish enough
to get into such a bind, but she had suffered enough degradation.  He
pulled on a pair of the rubber gloves, grimacing at first that they
were only size medium, but as he snapped them on, they felt like
another layer of skin against his own.

The solvent couldn't do any permanent damage to him, but he loathed
the smell of his own flesh burning.  Holding out the costume fabric
where the zipper began at her neck, wrapping around to fasten the
helmet mask on, he slid a piece of rubber between Cherri and the
zipper.  As he formed the rubber over her jugular, the sensation was
the same as if he was running his fingers across her flesh.

He marveled at the coolness of her flesh, she was one of those rare
cold blooded humans.  Goosebumps rose on Cherri's flesh as she felt
his hands moving over her.  Once the first strip of rubber was in
place LaCroix applied a thin layer of solvent, careful to watch for
any signs of discomfort from Cherri.  By the time he coated the entire
neck piece of the zipper, just to where it turned to go down her
collarbone, the solvent had made the glue break down, and he pulled
the zipper around, almost effortlessly.

He tugged at the Helmet, waiting in anticipation to see her kind face
once more, but it was stuck.  Cherri grunted.  "Oh dear," he sighed.
"This won't do, we need a lubricant."

LaCroix opened the door, saw Karies sitting in the next soundbooth
mapping something out on a planning board with Cousin Leslie.  They
were arguing like sailors, and he raised his eyebrows at their
butchery of the English language.  He caught Karies' eye and jerked
his head for her to come to him.  "Yeah?"  she asked, surprised to see
him surface so quickly.  "Everything okay?"

"No, the blasted helmet is stuck.  I need some lubricant."

"Ah ... LaC-- Gen'ral, Dude, you don't really think I carry lubricant
in my car, do you?"

He knitted his brows, hissed, "Find something!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Continued in part two (02/02)


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


Down Into Chinatown  (01/02)
by Gehirn Karies (Cerk Jerk@aol.com)
and Leslie GrantSmith (LoosCanN@aol.com)
Tuesday, July 30th -- 10:30 pm
After COWS:  Udder Revenge

Leslie walked up slowly, shaking her head, her long, dark blond hair
swinging over her shoulders.  "I thought you were going to get the
taillights fixed before coming up, Brutal One."

"I was.  And I thought you were gonna dye your hair red and hope for
some clarity.  What was it you told me about the word was once?  `It's
non-existent, it's something, something, something.'"

"This is serious, you'll get pulled over."

"Are you trying to turn me on?"  Leslie rolled her eyes.  Karies
nodded at the boy coming up to the car in a mask and cape.  "Who's the
kid?"

"Erik.  He's ... ah, up to something," Julie piped up, grinning.

"Mmmmh.  He'd probably clean up well, kinda wiry ... can I keep him?"

"No!" Leslie shouted in her LaCroixian Mommy mode, punching Karies
hard in the arm.

"Ouch.  Where's Tammy and Shirl?  Oh, here they come.  Erik, ge-"
Karies started

"He wants to be called the Phantom," Jules whispered.

"FANDOM?  Shheeesh.  Fandom, get all the way in the back, will ya?"

"Sure."  The caped crusader hopped over the seat, plopping onto a box
in the back of the 1984 Plymouth Voyager.  Jules shook her head.

Karies got into the car, lit a clove cigarette as she waited for the
other women to get themselves sorted out.  Leslie ended up in the
front seat, inhaling the cig smoke greedily as she buckled up. Karies
checked to make sure the three in the back had untangled their belts
and were secure, and started the car.  Shoving the tape of "Tank
Girl's" soundtrack into the tape player, she pulled out onto the
street.

She glanced over at Leslie, who was staring with a glazed look at the
speaker in her door.  Huh, still not over the honey incident with
LaCroix.  The poor woman had been alternatively going pasty white and
bright red since then.  She thumped her lightly on the shoulder with
her clenched fist.

"Get a grip, Dude," she urged her friend.  Leslie turned to her, eyes
dazed behind her glasses, then grinned.

"Major spazola, that's me," she admitted.  Her grin muted itself to
that little half smile that characteristically bent her lips when
contemplating the unspeakable.  Karies smirked.  The woman's brain was
back in working order.

"D'you think he still has those leather pants he wore when he first
got to Toronto?" Leslie murmured.

Then again, maybe the brain was still in shock.  Karies glanced over
at her, inhaling a long, calming drag on her cig.  "Leslie," she
reminded her gently, "those were incinerated, remember?"  Leslie
frowned, then nodded.

"Oh, yeah.  It's just ... I brought my camera.  I was hoping ... you
know, that calendar idea."

Karies shook her head.  Leslie worked hard to overcome her basic
blondness, but there were times....

A portable phone rang.  All six Cousins scrounged for their phones.

"Yeah?" Karies was the last to open her phone, it rang again just as
she flipped it open.  "Mmmh, it's okay, really, I don't mind."  She
tossed a disgusted look at Leslie, whispering, "Your phone's off." She
spoke again into the receiver.  "Right, yeah, I know what you mean,
AG. Oh, no, we were just discussing her idea for a full color calendar
of Nick and -- OW!" she shrieked as Leslie simultaneously tore the
phone away from her and smacked the back of her head, knocking her
baseball cap over her eyes.  Karies wove all over the road, oblivious
to other traffic, as usual, and the three women in the back seat
looked at each other warily.  The Phantom swayed gracefully on his
box.

Leslie reassured her husband he was in total control of his life and
cooed at her children.  She passed the phone back to Tammy who quickly
told the girls a story in her best Librarian lilt.  "Legend has it
that when the world was young and unfinished the Great Spirit Father
made the mistake of leaving his paints where his children could get
them...."

"Blackwing!" all the Cousins moaned in unison.  Tammy gave them all
the deadly silencing Librarian Look and calmly continued her tale.

"Where are we going?" Leslie asked.  "This isn't the route I mapped
out."

"I have a new theory," Karies chortled.

"Now, why does that unnerve me?" Leslie asked.  Karies smirked.  "I
know I'm going to hate myself for this ... what is your theory?"

"Okay, the Dude lost his book on the way out of town, eh?"

"Yeah," the other Cousins all agreed.

"So, he packs a bag, puts the book in his back pocket, and he's almost
ready to fly."

"Almost?" Shirl asked.

"Yeah, he would need to eat, his hunger gnawing at him after being
stirred up by his first good meal in years.  No way would he risk the
Raven and another confrontation, so what're his options?"

"A butcher?"  Julie scrunched up her face.

"Julie! He just had Nat ala mode, the toad.  Animal blood would not
do," Leslie chided.

"The morgue!" Erik offered.

"Too risky," Tammy denounced.

"But he wouldn't *murder*!" Shirl wailed.

"Right!" Erik agreed.

"Right, he wouldn't, he couldn't justify it," Julie added.

"Ah ... I'm driving a pack of Knighties around, am I?"  They all
silenced.  Leslie grimaced.   "Okay, lets use an example."

"Oh, my Dark Goddess," Leslie whined, "I hate it when you do that, the
ants, the--"

"Oooh, incentive...."  Karies interrupted, as was her habit.  "Now,
you're shi-- ah, drunk on despair, despondent, a little hung over,
what do you want to eat?"

"Nothing," said Shirl, with a delicate lift of her lip.

"Chinese!" said the rest of the Cousins.

"Right!  Nick would head for Chinatown."

"You've lost it," Leslie said, shaking her head.

"Lost what?" Karies asked, a serious set to her expression.

"This theory wouldn't have anything to do with why you downed eight
Advil and a TAB half an hour ago, would it?" Leslie jibed.

"Everything."

**************************
Continued in part two  (02/02)


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


Down Into Chinatown  (02/02)
by Gehirn Karies (Cerk Jerk@aol.com)
and Leslie GrantSmith (LoosCanN@aol.com)
Tuesday, July 30th -- 10:30 pm
After COWS:  Udder Revenge

"So, we're heading to Chinatown.  Well, you're going the wrong way,"
Leslie mentioned, looking at the hookers on the corner admiringly.
"Oooh Baby," she hooted as a hustler moved towards the car.

"We're not shopping, Leslie, we've got work to do."

"Oh, you're so conscientious."

"Shut up."

The three Cousins in the back seat exchanged worried glances.

"We'll break into pairs, search block by block, mostly the alleys and
dark stairwells."

"But ... but Nick would not kill." Julie spoke up.

"No, he wouldn't," Karies sighed.  "But he would hunt by instinct,
only stopping himself as the horror in his victim's eyes tore into his
sold out soul."

"Dude, pull over!" Leslie shouted.  Karies quickly angled for the
nearest parking spot, as her passengers gripped their seats as they
were whipped around.

"What?  What is it?" Julie asked, as Karies, swearing, busily brushed
cigarette ash off the front of her CERK shirt.

"Look, it's the tattoo parlor where that gal got murdered, you know,
from when those transplant people were stealing body parts."

The assorted shaken Cousins glared at the woman, who, oblivious, had
her nose pressed against the car window, gawking at the shabby little
tattoo parlor.

"Leslie," Karies snarled, "we're not sight-seeing.  We're book-
hunting."

"Cool," she replied popping open her door and stepping out, "let's go
hunt.  But let's eat first.  You may be sailing on Advil and TAB, but
I'm hungry and a hungry Leslie is a mean Leslie."

The other Cousins looked at each other and shrugged.  They wanted to
search Chinatown, and they were in Chinatown.  It didn't really matter
where they started.  They all piled out of the car.

The Phantom pulled his cape around him with a flick of his wrist and
started down an alleyway.  Karies, irritated, called after him, "What
are you doing, Fandom?"

"Checking things out, Gehirn.  I'll find my own way back."

"Holy hallucination, Batman!" she sighed under her breath as the boy
disappeared down the alley in a blur of movement. "Okay, you three
stick together, we'll meet back in three hours, yeah?"

"Yeah," Julie, Shirl and Tammy agreed, looking relieved they were
splitting off.  Karies' thought patterns seemed a bit more ... unusual
than usual and Leslie's eye had taken on a particularly spiteful
glint.

Karies eased the hypoglycemic LaCroixian Mommy up to a noodle shop,
unwilling to see her at her worst.  Scooping up noodles, veggies and
chicken out of paper bowls, Leslie with deft chopsticks, Karies,
refusing assimilation, with a spoon, they wandered into a fascinating
assortment of dark alleys and doorways.  They only had to use their
well-practiced basilisk glares twice and their knives never left their
secure nests.  They collected a few possibilities, one with the cover
torn off, but it could have been brown at one point.  After about two
and a half hours, they wound up back where they started.

Leaning against the side of her car, Karies peered into the window of
the tattoo parlor and spotted the artist moving around inside. "Look,
it's The Old Tattoo guy."

"Oh yeah, The Old Guy.  I'm a good cop, and a bit of an expert on the
subject," Leslie hooted in her best Canadian accent.

"He does nice work.  Look, a fallen Raven!  At long last."

"And a black rose." Leslie smiled from ear to ear.  "But now?"

"I think better when I'm in pain."

"Me too."

"We need to plan against the Vachonettes, and the Nat and Nick
Pickers."

The two substantial Cousins swung the door open, both trying to get in
at once, lodging themselves in the door 'til they split apart, Leslie
in -- Karies out. The old tattoo guy looked worried.  He looked even
more worried when three other women wandered in, complaining of
wasting three hours in fruitless search, to watch. Tattooing was not
usually a spectator sport.  But if his client was unconcerned as to
her modesty, who was he to object?

Seeing the beat up Voyager with the CERK and various other
curmudgeonly bumper stickers, two more Cousins, Starr and Becky,
pulled over and parked in front of it.  They spotted their assorted
clan members and squeezed into the Tattoo parlor.  "Hey guys!"  was
repeated by the seven Cousins.  The Old Tattoo Guy pursed his lips and
applied himself conscientiously to his work.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch."

"You're such a wuss, Karies," sniped Leslie, sitting only a little
tentatively.

"I hate the feathering needle, I hate the feathering needle, ouch,
distract me, millions of the freshest, ripest, ouch, precious--"

"Ignore her." Leslie said, offhandedly.  "We've just this minute come
up with a new theory."

Karies gritted her teeth as The Old Tattoo Guy increased the
feathering action.  She started singing, "I like Nick, I like Nat, I
just don't like them doing---"

"Don't you dare!" Leslie threatened, whirling around.

Reaching in her pocket Starr brought out a .357 magnum brass encased
bullet, shoved it between Karies' teeth.  "Thwank u," the grateful
Cousin said.

"I thought we were in Chinatown because of a new theory from this
morning," Starr commented.

"Becky!" Karies hissed, holding the bullet like a pointer, "if you
don't stop bouncing I'm gonna spew.  And that theory didn't quite pan
out."

"That *theory* was whacked," Leslie corrected.  "This one is mine. It
is logical, based on the best Pagan philosophy of lost souls." She
explained her devious plot.

"I'm finished with you," the Old Tattoo Guy said, relief showing in
his eyes.

Starr jumped up on the table, taking Karies' place as she oozed limply
off, sighing deeply and letting her sleeve slide over her huge gauze
bandage.  The new customer eagerly described to the befuddled man the
rose she wanted placed on her left ankle.

"Okay, we'll grab some coffees and track down some equipment for Julie
and our latest diabolical scheme.  We'll meet in the morning. Be
ready, got it?" Karies commanded.

"Who made you the boss of us?" Leslie griped.

"Yeah!" Becky bounced.

"Hmmph."  Shirl attempted a loom, crossing her arms.

"I did," Karies said, full of mirth.  "Cool, huh?"  And she loped out
the door.

***********************
To be continued.....


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


One Wetmore is not enough
Time:   Tuesday, July 30th at about 9pm (after sunset)
Place:  The hospital where Diane E. is... :)
Author: Lana G. Soward with excerpts cribbed from Dawn Steel

Starts before "Peekaboo I see you" by Dawn Steel, but runs
concurrently along with it.  (From another POV)

One Wetmore Is Not Enough

Nigel Wetmore leaned back in his chair and contemplated the file on
his desk.  He wasn't so much worried about his patient than he was her
friends. They were definitely a strange bunch.  If he didn't know
otherwise, from the nurses, he'd have sworn that they never left the
hospital.  There was always one of them in the room.  Plus, they'd
hired around the clock armed guards.

He'd complained about it to the hospital administrator and the HA and
Ms. Soward had gone off to have a 'little chat'.   Unfortunately, when
they'd come back, Ms. Soward handed the HA a card and said, "Just call
him.  I'll make sure that won't be any trouble with the transfer."

The HA told him then not to worry about it. It was a private room with
an attached waiting area, so they wouldn't be disturbing anyone.

Then there was the mezuzah that one of them ... Sarah.. had insisted
needed to be put on his patient.  He wouldn't open the chamber to
allow her to put it on, despite the fact that she protested that Diane
needed the reassurance that it was there.  Finally, they'd resorted to
taping it to the top in the rationalization that when Diane regained
her senses, it'd be the first thing she saw.

They were definitely a strange bunch.

So Nigel leaned forward and did the same thing he did every time he
met a "strange" bunch.

He called his brother.

"Yo.  Adrian."

***

When Adrian arrived at the hospital, Nigel started to fill him in on
the strange quartet that had become part of his rounds but was stopped
by the audible rumblings of Adrian's stomach.  So he suggested they go
downstairs to the cafeteria and grab a bite to eat.

"I can't imagine who'd own a dog like that.  They must be a strange
case." Adrian grabbed one of the cafeteria trays and plunked it down
on the metal guides.

"Indeed. Imagine a dog savaging someone like that." Nigel murmured.
"Her friends have been at the hospital around the clock ever since the
incident occurred. I overheard them talking one night, and apparently
they believe a vampire attacked her. What do you think of that?"

"I don't want to think about it. You know how I feel about the subject
of vampires."

"Then why are you so fascinated with this case?" Nigel's voice dropped
even lowered.  "Come on.  I can see it in your eyes."

"It reminds me of a particular client I had.  She believed in
vampires, too. It was actually part of a role-playing game, but she
got so caught up in it that she actually thought that there were real
vampires in Toronto."  He selected a Waldorf Salad from the cooler.
"Then we had to treat all her friends that the police brought over, I
would have been happy to never ..."

The unexpected crash, cut Adrian off.  They turned and watched as a
tall stack of washed trays continued to fall the floor, not helped by
young woman who continued to knock them over as she struggled to
maintain her balance.

Adrian realized that the young woman, was in fact Dawn Steel, his
former patient.  He smiled and his face lit up.  Now he could
introduce his brother to his former patient.

"Hey! There she is...." he started and watched as Dawn fled from scene
faster than an Olympic sprinter.  "Well, there she was."

"Who?" asked Nigel, as he watched the Merc sprint out the door.

"Dawn.  My former patient.  I didn't know she was back in town."
Adrian trailed off and stared at the swinging doors thoughtfully.

"Oh well," shrugged Nigel.  "Come on.  Let's eat and then I'll show
you my *patients*"


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


Comatosetime Dreams
Time:   Tuesday, July 30th at about 10pm (after sunset)
Place:  The hospital where Diane E. is... :)
Author: Lana G. Soward

NOTE:  This runs concurrently with "Peek-a-boo! I See You!" by Dawn
Steel


"..."*SUE*?!?" Maureen snarled in bewilderment."

"Well, yes and no." As Maureen watched in an astonishment that was
quickly sliding into fury, Sue tore off her blond wig and her glasses,
drew herself up to her full height, and peeled off the elaborate
Mission Impossible-style latex mask to reveal..."

"Dianne the Merc."...."

***

Lana took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.   She was taking her
turn guarding Diane for the moment.  The regular bodyguard was fine
against the more mundane human menace, but three unaffiliates decided
to take turns during the key hours (namely at night), just for a
little added protection. Since she'd grown bored, Lana had taken to
booting her computer up and reading the War posts to Diane through the
little intercom built into the hyberbaric chamber.  She didn't know if
Diane could even hear her, but it relieved the monotony anyway.

Glancing up she saw that the new guard had arrived.  She got up and
met the bodyguard to the waiting room.  This one looked like he could
heft the hyberbaric chamber with one hand.

After a few quick words, they re-entered the room and Lana sat back
down and picked up her computer.

A taking a swig of Diet Coke, she resumed her reading.

"...Just then the other Mercs - Dawn in the lead, with ..."

Meanwhile, in the hyberbaric chamber Diane was dreaming of something
slightly different.

***

<Thump>

Suddenly, Will Steeves landed right at her feet.

"Hello." she said pleasantly, not surprised that a man would throw
himself at her feet.

"Cut!  Okay, let's do it again."

She saw Nick help Will up from the floor.  Diane stared closer.  Nick
was an bad hair day.  Extremely bad.

***

"I am."

"No I am."

"I told you, I am"

"All you just have to do is look in the mirror."

"I am.  Where are you looking?"

Diane turned and watched as Maureen the Happily Challenged (now the
Terminally Blonde) and LaCroix stood in front of a mirror and argued
over who was blonder.  She thought that LaCroix had the edge, but that
probably was because he must have used boot black on his eyebrows.
They looked like fuzzy caterpillars that had crawled there and died.
She closed one eye and cocked her head.

If you cut those out, she thought.  Maureen really is blonder.

***

"I don't think this is going to work," protested Vachon.  "You've
been at it for 10 hours."

Diane watched as Torrey patted him reassuringly on the head and then
frowned as her hand stuck to the glue that was glommed on.

"Don't worry," she said soothingly, as she tried to discreetly pull
her hand loose.  "We'll get it glued back on.  You won't even know
it's been gone."

Cries of disappointment and outrage rang through the church, as Torrey
managed to free her hand AND most of the hair that the Vaqueras had
glued back on.

"Apache! We need more glue."

***

"Nightcrawler lives forever!"

"Yeah!!!"

Diane pushed her way through the crowds to the front.  There she saw
Erica and Bianca, the late great signal stealers hog-tied to a spit,
where they were being slowly roasted over a pile of burning vinyl.
All the while they were protesting that they didn't mean any harm.
They were crying a lot too, but that could have been because of the
burning vinyl.

The crowd, however, wasn't buying their remorse.

"...Nightcrawler is a sick pervert?  Well pervert this..."

"... and his audience is even sicker?  You just wait.  You'll see how
sick we can get...."

"...Hopefully his audience will go with him?  We're not going anywhere
until we're finished with you..."

As a couple of the more irate members of the Nightcrawler Fan Club
stalked toward the roast duo with large carving knives, Diane turned
at pushed her way back out of the crowd. And into ...

***

... the Raven.  It was closed but still stylishly lit.  However, it
was raining inside.   Raining a most un-Ravenette assortment of
clothes.

Diane looked closer.  There had to have been about 20 to  30 pieces of
luggage there.  Just about the right number for Janette, although,
Diane didn't think that Janette ever owned, let alone wore, a set of
surgical scrubs.

Suddenly, Diane realized that the place was alive with Ravenettes, who
were burrowing into the suitcases, tossing clothes from them with
abandon.

Finally, Tami emerged from a suitcase.  "I didn't find anything.
Anyone else?"

A chorus of 'no's followed.

Janette slid off the bar where she'd been gracefully lounging.

"Then it's decided,"  she said.  "This is definitely not the luggage
of a Raven(ette).  Toss it out."

***

"Do it again."

"You go girl."

Diane hunched over Amy's shoulder and watched the video game that she
was frantically playing.  She squinted and then blinked as she
realized that Natalie was performing what could only be described (on-
list) as a "John Wayne Bobbitt" on Nick.  Each time the Natpack roared
in laughter.

"Again.  Do it again."

***

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

Lana stopped reading and looked up, as Nigel and Adrian came into the
room.


***

Quotes come from :
Strikeforce Maureen Strikes! (3/3) Mission Accomplished, Ms. Mercenaire
     by Christina Kamnikar with the Mercenary Guild and Maureen the Mad

"(Don't Worry,) Be Happy" 5/5 -- "I Heard Somebody Moo"
   by Dianne la Mercenaire

Dream sequences based on:
    Ed.  - Figure it out


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


Peek-a-boo! I See You!
Time:   Tuesday, July 30th at about 10pm (after sunset)
Place:  The hospital where Diane E. is... :)
Author: Dawn Steele (h36a@unb.ca)

Dawn wandered the halls of the hospital. She kept pulling a small
piece of paper with information on it out of her back pocket and then
sticking it back in.

Pulling it out yet again, she read what was written. "Lana Soward
hired me to find out who attacked Diane." For some reason she kept
forgetting who her employer was -- not a good situation for a Merc
expecting to be paid.

Although she probably would have done the job for free seeing how
Diane E. was involved, but it was never good to advertise things like
that.

"Hmm..." Dawn kept an eye out for security and travelling nurses. Ever
since the last war, she had found herself acting differently while in
hospitals. "But first we have to ask the question, <is> it a secret?"

"Or is it just a war-time excuse to go around and make trouble?"

She mentally slapped herself for thinking out loud on paper. The laws
of Physics, grammar and any sense of mental coherency could <always>
be thrown out in the war. Just take a look at the KISS gift that Jamie
sent. Did anyone on the list have the faintest concept as to how much
that would have <cost> in real life? Let alone all the logistics of
being able to find that many KISS impersonators willing to play at 5am
to hostile crowds.

"I better get on with writing this post and try better at pretending
to follow an actual plotline instead of just babbling on."

Following her inner instincts (and the directions from the downstairs
receptionist), Dawn located Diane E.'s room.

She didn't look too good.

Actually, what she looked like was a wrapped body in a metal tube with
little plastic windows -- sort of like a ship in a bottle except with
electrical wiring instead of steel wires. There were blue smudges
underneath her eyes as if she'd been awake for days instead of being
unconscious... and a big bandage around her neck.. Definitely a
vampire attack!

Going around the corner, she looked through the window to the waiting
room. Lana Soward was there! Her employer!

Dawn knocked on the window and waved but Lana didn't hear her. Lana
was having an intense discussion with a large man who looked to have
big enough biceps to crush the metal tube Diane was in. A bodyguard
perhaps?

She decided not to bother them. After writing a quick note ("Saw you
but decided not to bother you. I'm on the case. I'll contact you if I
find anything out. -- D) she slipped it underneath the door and left.


                        *     *     *

Dawn headed downstairs towards the cafeteria. Not because she actually
expected to find anything palatable to eat, but because she had this
weird fascination with cafeterias and liked to check them out.

She was wavering on the subject of actually buying one of the waxed
apples in a basket when...

The Merc stepped behind the counter hurridly, shoving aside one of the
cafeteria workers as she did so. Crouched behind the soup section, and
the pop machines she had a clear view of most of the cafeteria.

Duncan MacLeod was talking to LaCroix!

After her pulse slowed down, Dawn started thinking a bit more
rationately. That couldn't be Duncan MacLeod since this was the
Forever Knight universe, and crossovers weren't permitted on the
fkfic-l wars. Therefore it had to be ... Adrian Wetmore, her old
psychiatrist. (Her pulse sped up again slightly.)

But what was he doing talking to LaCroix, and why on Earth was LaCroix
dressed in <surgical> greens? Could Nick have been hit in the head
with another bullet?

(Dawn shoved that thought right out of her mind. She hadn't done her
customary 'attack Nick' post yet and the thought was too tempting.)

With nothing except the top part of her head in view, Dawn
apprehensively watched them approach.

"... strange case."  Adrian Wetmore grabbed one of the cafeteria trays
and plunked it down on the metal guides.

"Indeed. Imagine a dog savaging someone like that." LaCroix murmured.
"Her friends have been at the hospital around the clock ever since the
incident occured. I overheard them talking one night, and apparently
they believe a vampire attacked her. What do you think of that?"

"I don't want to think about it. You know how I feel about the subject
of vampires."

LaCroix's smooth voice continued on. "Then why are you so fascinated
with this case?"

"It reminds me of a particular client I had ... "

They passed out of range. Dawn crab-walked to the other side of the
cafeteria barrier, trying to ignore the stares of the workers. She had
to get out of the hospital right away!

Just outside the barrier, Dawn stood up with the intention of
nonchalantly leaving the cafeteria in the hopes of not being spotted.
Unfortunately, her genetically inherited low blood pressure failed her
again.

All the blood seemed to rush to her feet, and her vision (what wasn't
obscured by little sparkly things) was reduced to a narrow tunnel.
Throwing her arms out frantically she managed to catch the edge of the
counter... and knock over all the trays at the same time.

Dawn looked over to where Dr. Wetmore and LaCroix were standing
further down the line. Adrian Wetmore had seen her... recognition
dawned (heh heh heh -- I love puns) on him and she saw his face light
up.

"Hey! There she is...."

Mere moments later, she was out of the hospital and going straight to
Merc headquarters.

She didn't know if LaCroix had recognized her, and for the moment she
didn't <want> to know. Thoughts of past-war transgressions floated
through her (currently frazzled) mind and she cringed.

LaCroix had been checking up on Diane's case... covering up his
tracks! How was she going to tell Lana that it had been LaCroix who
had attacked Diane!

---------
:)


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


Hampering Hampers
by: Abby Albrecht

time... oh 11pm ish on the 30th... unless it fits better later ;)

The streets shined like silver from the night time rain, which was
amazing since it hadn't rained in two weeks. Cynthia, the Ravenette
with a confusing e-mail account, smiled down at her wavery reflection.
*This is going to be a good night,* she thought to herself as she
walked down the street with her friend Jane, also a Ravenette with
style.

"I like the Raven," Jane started. "But it's really nice to get out for
a while..."

"Agreed," Cynthia nodded. "I should probably be asleep right now, but
the air feels good!"

They continued on in silence for a while. The brisk Toronto air
cleaning out their dusty lungs. "Maybe we could air out the Raven when
we get back? Get out all of the paint fumes?" Jane suggested.

Before Cynthia could respond, a body came out of the shadows next to
them. "Hi there," Abby said suddenly.

"#$@!, don't do that!" Jane shouted, nearly jumping out of her skin.
After a couple deep breaths she continued, "Abby? What are you doing
here?"

Abby stepped before them and made a sweeping bow, her trench coat
draped down behind. "The two of you have been formally invited to a
private party."

"A party," Cynthia repeated incredulously.

"A party," Abby responded. "A friend of yours wanted to thank you for
something you did for them at a convention. You made one night a
living memory for my client, and that person wants to repay you in a
like fashion." Abby waited until it all soaked in. "Shall we go?"

Before they could say anything, Abby grabbed them each by an arm and
lead them to a nearby alley. There was only one unblocked door, and
that's the one they went through.

The inside of the building was pitch dark, except for a spotlight
shining on a large salad bar. "Help yourself," the beautiful Merc
said. "Eat now, or forever hold your peace."

The two Ravenettes looked at each other. Abby could nearly hear their
confused thoughts buzz back and forth to each other.

Minutes later they had plates piled high with food neither were
allergic to [ed note - ;)] and they munched on their dinners while
they waited for Abby. She apparently was busy getting her caffine fix
from the soda dispenser.

"Oh," Abby looked up and burped lightly. "You're ready then?"

Cynthia and Jane nodded in unison. "Um, what kind of party is this if
we're the only ones here?" Cynthia asked, not trusting Abby too much.

"My employer wanted you to relive the night she enjoyed so much," Abby
said calmly. "Anyway, isn't the silence nice after the bustle of the
Raven?"

"Well, yeah," Cynthia agreed.

Abby nodded and took each woman by an arm. She led them into the
darkness. The spotlight followed their progress deeper into the room.
Eventually they got to two strange looking chairs.

"What's it made from?" Jane asked.

Cynthia grinned, "hampers." She looked at Abby. "Your doing?"

"Yup!" Abby responded cheerfully. "Now sit down."

When they sat down the spotlight turned off and a projection screen
lit up before them. The Forever Knight music came on. "We get to watch
Forever Knight?" Jane asked Abby.

The only response she recieved was a closing door. Abby had left them
to enjoy alone, Jane guessed.

The credits ended and the show came on. Natalie was celebrating her
birthday.

"The show doesn't start this--" Jane started.

"It's the NatPack video. Two hours of only Natalie," Cynthia rightly
concluded.

"Two hours?" Jane sighed. "No Janette?"

"Only when she talks to Nat," Cynthia echoed the sigh. "Shall we
leave?" She rose, but then noticed her feet were clamped to the floor.
It would take a while to get loose from these...

-------------
had to do it.


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


Getting "Board"
by Cousin Erik LeBeau
Time: Tuesday 30th, 11:00pm
(Directly after "Down into Chinatown Pt. 2")
Place: The sewers

Erik muttered to himself as he wound through the underground maze.
"Kid? Boy?  FANDOM?!  Note to self: steer clear of Cousin Karies.
She's wierd." Erik admitted he *was* somewhat of a junior member of
the affiliation, being a scant seventeen years old, but at least most
of the others looked past that.  "Cherri never called me 'kid'," he
told a passing sewer rat.  The rat looked at him indifferently and
continued on its way.

Another left and a quick right later, Erik poked his head up through
the grate above him.  With a little bit of effort, he managed to hoist
himself up into the deserted warehouse.  There was no way of knowing,
unfortunately, where to look for what he came for, or even if it was
there in the first place.  He had always thought that the Canadian
Military was a contradiction in terms, but here he was in a military
surplus warehouse in the middle of a Toronto Air Force Base.

But Fortune smiled on the masked one (and why not?  I'm the one
writing it!), and after only a few minutes of searching, he found
several boxes marked "Chaff."  Now, the next step was to determine if
any of the boxes happened to have their timers still attached.  None
did.  Erik stood up, forgetting that he had wandered under a shelf,
and cracked his head rather painfully on the metal shelf.  Biting back
a curse, he eased his way out from under the offending metal and stood
up again.

And found himself staring at a collection of timers.  All sizes, all
shapes. He picked out about a dozen of the smallest ones he could find
and shoved them into the duffel bag he'd been hiding under his cape.
He'd need them later.  He started walking back toward the grate he'd
come up through, but happened to see something interesting peeking out
from an open box in the corner, and decided that there was something
else that needed to be done.  He dragged the box to the grate as well.

Hoisting himself down first, then pulling the box down to him, Erik
dashed through the sewers once again, giggling maniacally.

11:30 pm

Up from the sewers (One good thing... it *will* help me develop more
upper body strength), Erik found himself standing at the base of
something *big*. Really, Really Big.  "They don't look this big from
the interstate," he said to himself, completely ignoring the obvious
reasons for that.  He shrugged and started to climb, his duffel bag
slung over his shoulder.

At the top of the ladder was the biggest Cow he had ever seen.  CERK's
former mascot smiled its bovine smile for all the interstate to see.
Erik just kept whispering "Don't look down" to himself.  It wasn't
that he was afraid of heights.  He wasn't even really afraid of
falling.  It was just that sudden stop at the bottom that worried him.
But, he had a job to do, and darn if he wasn't going to do it.

He unzipped the duffel bag and grabbed several of the small black
boxes, having traded places with the timers along the way.  He started
by affixing them along the bottom of the billboard, spacing them
several feet apart. Erik noted, thankfully, that there was indeed a
ladder on a rolling track by which billboard workers could access the
tops of billboards.  He started up the ladder, stopping every few feet
to attach another row of boxes.

Twenty minutes later, Erik was safely on the ground again.  The grid
of boxes on the billboard were virtually invisible from this far away.
That is, they were until Erik pulled a small remote device from his
pocket and flipped a red switch.  Immediately, a little red light
began to blink on all the boxes, making the billboard look a bit like
a Christmas tree.  The young Cousin grinned at that thought and began
to hum "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" as he pressed the green
button on his remote.

The small incendiary devices across the billboard flared into life,
rendering the distinctly *un*flattering image of his fellow Cousin to
nothing more than ash and smoke.  Satisfied, Erik replaced the timers
in his duffel bag and dropped down into the sewers, whistling "Taps"
as he did so.

"The Cow is dead.  Long live the Cherri," he mused.


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


The All Nat Channel (1/1)
by Jane Credland and Cynthia Hoffman
Date: July 30, 1996 (sometime after 11 pm)
Place: a room in an unidentified hotel somewhere in downtown Toronto


Cynthia and Jane struggled briefly with the manacles clamping their
feet, but it rapidly became obvious that they weren't going to get
free any time soon.  At least they had their hands free, though what
they were going to be able to do with them was debatable.

"What's that?"  Jane pointed at a black box with an LED readout
connected by wires to the manacles and the VCR.

"A timer?"  Cynthia squinted to get a better look.  "Wanna bet that
Abby set this up so we can't get free until the tape is finished?"

"Great.  We're stuck here for the next two hours."

"It could be worse."

"How?"  Jane looked at her partner in disbelief.

"Well, this tape may be all Natalie, but at least it's Forever Knight.
Can you imagine being trapped in a room and forced to watch an inane
sitcom over and over again?  Ugh!"  Cynthia settled into a slightly
more comfortable position.  "Besides, last time we were subjected to
something like this it was that bald guy from the X-Files ... Skinny,
Skimmer?  Made me queasy watching those scene changes when I didn't
know the episodes they were coming from."

Jane twitched her legs and sighed.  Two hours of being forced to sit
in a "normal" position -- her legs would never be the same again.  To
distract herself from the threatening discomfort, she studied the
scene on the television.  "You know, I never understood why Nat would
work on her birthday.  Even if I had no place to go and no-one to go
with, I'd rather stay home, watch a video and eat ice cream or popcorn
than work all night. Just because you don't have a significant other
doesn't mean you don't have a life."

"Try telling TPTB that.  In the FK world, you have no life if you're
female without an S/O.  A male S/O at that"  Cynthia crossed her arms
and glared at the screen.  "They did a reasonably good job with
Natalie in first season, but by the third season she was getting on my
nerves.  I ask you: what is so difficult about writing a strong, self-
confident working woman?"

"Eyew! I hate it when she looks at him like that.  I mean as far as
she knows he's a corpse for God's.  Yuck." Jane continued to mutter
about men writing women and having no idea what to do with them while
the scene shifted to garden hoses doing miraculously stupid things so
the damsel in distress could be rescued by the hero.

"Did I ever tell you that a friend of mine hated this episode so much
he wouldn't be in my apartment when it was airing?" asked Cynthia.
"Of course, he did happen to walk in at about the time Natalie was
screaming and Nick was crashing through the skylight of the warehouse
that was supposed to be a nursery wearing a trench coat he somehow
lost by the time he hit the ground. Good old Paul.  Too bad there
wasn't anything else about him to like."

"Yeah.  Good old Paul."  Jane snorted.  "Hey, there's Janette."

"Ooh.  I wonder if this is the scene where we get the old Natpack
adage about having no sense of self-preservation?  I mean if Janette
told me it was my neck, I'd light on out of there."

"This from the woman who took on Janette single-handedly the other
night." Jane kneaded the muscles at the top of her left leg, miserably
wishing she could move into a half-lotus or some other position that
would stop her leg from spasming -- not possible when she was trapped
like this.  "Maybe you have more in common with the Natpack than you'd
care to admit?"

Cynthia thought of and discarded several cutting retorts, but was
distracted by the television screen.  "Poodles!  The best line in the
episode and the only reason to watch it a second time, right?"

"I suppose."  Jane stared dubiously at the flashing picture.
"Watching this one once was pretty much enough for me.  I just didn't
buy Nick in a sun worshipping cult.  I mean he's a vampire for god's
sake."

"Go Nat.  See, sometimes she can take care of herself.  I wonder why
they didn't write her like that more often?  She solves the crime, and
she rescues herself and then does the right thing to boot." Cynthia
was suddenly reminded of a promise she made in May to finally show
Jane the one second season episode she'd never seen. "Did you ever see
this one?"

"Yep.  The day of the earthquake I didn't notice ... while you were at
work."  Closing her eyes momentarily, Jane groaned as the scene
shifted again.  "Not this one.  I hate this episode."

"Do we have to watch it?  Did you know I've never watched it a second
time?"

"Yes.  You've told me that..." Jane added silently //again and again
and again.//

"Now that scene, look at the two of them.  I swear to God she has more
going on with Lacroix in that scene than she ever did in three years
of dealing with Nick."

"Yes, dear."

"Yep.  She was whammied.  People can make all the excuses they want
about drugs and getting her drunk, but it's plain and simple.  She's
not a resister.  Nick just didn't do it right the first time."

"Yes dear."

Cynthia rolled her head, sighing with satisfaction as her neck cracked
and popped.  "I hate this episode.  Makes mincemeat out of every
character on the show ... except Janette, of course."

They sat silently for a few moments, contemplating the sea of Natalie
images.

"You've got to admit that she does have her moments.  Especially when
she was Nick's best friend and ally, before TPTB decided to turn her
into Nick's love interest."  Jane stretched out as far as possible,
trying to ease the cramps in her legs.  Whoever designed these chairs
knew exactly how to torture her.

"Spoke too soon.  Here comes third season.  Oh gods, they left in all
of the first nine episodes."  Cynthia curled her lip in disgust.
"Even this one. I still think the lurkers had the best idea of what
was written in the damned card.  She came so close.  She had a
backbone ... for almost a whole hour. Then it was like ... jelly-
fish."

"Well, that show does have one redeeming moment.  Too bad Natalie
wasn't in it."  Jane smiled at the memory of the refrigerator scene.
"Although they did use her old apartment set."

"Who wrote this drivel anyway?  Nah.  Can't be the same guys who wrote
Curiouser and Curiouser, can it?"

Jane didn't answer.  She was too busy trying to figure out a way to
contort her body into a position that would allow her to be
comfortable.  How could anyone sit this way hour after hour?
Suddenly, there was a loud crash.  Her chair slid out from underneath
her, leaving her in a heap on the floor, legs twisted beneath her,
feet still strapped to the floor.  With a beatific smile, she leaned
her back against the chair.

"Are you happy now?  Do you think you can sit still for more than
thirty seconds?"  Privately amused at the way her partner always
pretzelled herself when sitting, Cynthia returned her attention to the
tape.  "Stupid move, Natalie."

"No kidding.  Don't tell him he's a vampire and he'll magically become
mortal.  I thought she didn't believe in anything but scientific
cures."

"Ooooh... fried Nick.  How sweet."

"I hope she feels suitably guilty.  She almost killed him."  Jane
shifted her body around, and managed to move over enough to lean her
head on Cynthia's knee.

Cynthia placed her hand on Jane's shoulder.  "Another brilliant
scientific moment.  Vampire blood as a cure-all for mortal ailments.
Didn't she learn anything from seeing the side-effects of the
Baroness' experiment?"

"Guess not.  They really screwed up with this one.  I just don't see
Nat doing something like that.  Not without testing it first."

The pair relaxed and watched the last few minutes of the tape spool
past, breathing a silent prayer in the hopes that whoever had made the
All-Nat Channel had left out the last two episodes of third season.
No such luck.

"NO!  I don't want to go there again.  I just don't," moaned Cynthia. 
She considered covering her eyes, but her morbid sense of "I can't
believe they thought it was somehow going to end differently" took
over and she watched in spite of herself.

"You know.  I don't care how many times they try to claim otherwise,
there's only one climax to mortal/vampire sex -- dinner.  The only
place that doesn't happen is in fanfic or in third season episodes
that we don't discuss ... and even there it's a snack."  Jane jumped
as the VCR clicked loudly and the tape began to rewind as soon as it
reached the end.

"No.  Not again.  I can't do this all night.  Once was enough."  Jane
complained loudly.

"It's okay.  We can survive anything, right?"  Cynthia said
soothingly.

Still, they both stared apprehensively at the numbers on the VCR as
the tape neared the beginning, counting down with the last few
numbers.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 .... 0

With a final click, the VCR ejected the tape and the manacles clamping
their feet simultaneously snapped open.  They were both standing in an
instant. They shook their legs and jumped up and down,  and then
called the front desk to find out how long they had the room.

Check out wasn't until 11:00 a.m. on Wednesday.  Jane called room
service and ordered a litre of diet coke and contact lens solutions
(thank goodness for hotels with all night drugstores on the premises),
while Cynthia checked to make sure the shower wasn't of the exploding
variety.

Once room service arrived, they hung the do not disturb sign out
front, locked the door and turned out the lights.

No one disturbed them until 7:00 the following morning.


***

So, who can identify every episode?


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


A Visit to the Raven
By: Laura Ruggiero (Die-Hard)
Time: During the Night, July 30 (Hey -- it's a blue moon today! )

Laura and two of her new found friends approached the Raven.  They had
tried very hard to dress approapriately.   Laura realized there was no
way they could ever really fit in, but she hoped Janette would
appreciate the attempt.  She was not comfortable wearing these
clothes, a t-shirt and culottes was more her style.  And these awful
high-heels (which to Laura meant anything more than flats) were
getting removed as soon as she got inside. "Are you sure it's safe to
go in there?" she asked.

"Of course, it's all been arranged, as long as we behave, so will
they," said one of the women as they entered the bar, ingoring her
friend's discomfort.

Laura just stood in the entry way, she had been here before, during
war 5, but it felt different now.  This wasn't a party with all the
FKFIC-L warriors, this was a normal night, with the normal customers. 
Her two friends, however, had no doubts about entering and they
quickly struck up conversations with some of the very good-looking men
in the estabishment.

Eventually she found an out of the way table where she could just sit
and watch everyone.  Laura, as she had taken a large dose of
antihistamines to keep her allergy to tobacco smoke in check, had
decided not to drink anything alcoholic, but when her friends joined
her they decided she wasn't having enough fun and ordered her
something.  Laura was quickly convinced to accept the drink, and in
following hours, as she talked with her friends and their male
companions she had several more.

Between the alcohol and the antihistamines Laura was feeling very
sleepy and very silly.  Normally Laura was in very tight control of
herself, even on those  occasions when her friends made valiant
attempts to get her drunk (it never worked--her Italian, Ukrainian,
and Scandinavian hertiage gave her a fairly high tolerance level).
Tonight, however; Laura's normally repressed "chaotic" side came out. 
She was actually flirting with the men in the bar, at one point she
even pulled out her brush and attempted to show one long-haired guy
how much better he would look with neatly styled hair.

When one man asked her to dance she readily agreed.  He was quite
handsome with his deep green eyes and his long dark hair was pulled
back like Duncan's in Highlander.  She did not notice how cold his
skin was, or how slow his heartbeat was.    Between effects of the
alcohol and the antihistamines, her defences were down.  When he
kissed her, the world began to spin,  so she did not even think to
resist as he lead her to a back room.

The kissing was getting more and more intense, she was feeling things
she never had before.  She did not notice when his eyes changed from
green to gold, or when his canines extended. Then he bit her.  The
sudden pain made her remember herself and she tried to fight him off,
but it was far to late.  She felt herself sink to the floor as the
world turned black...

------
Laura woke up, her heart racing.  She was in her own apartment.  It
was dark out. Her "short nap" had apparently lasted several hours.
"That was one incredible dream, I never have dreams that vivid.
Missing the war must be getting to me.  Well, that or the extreme
stress and sleep depervation of trying to finish the thesis.  Though,
it was a thoroughly pleasant dream up until the end...  I have got
finish writing the draft of my stupid thesis soon.  Though even when I
do get a complete draft finished, it'll take me awhile to catch up on
all that's happened before I can take an active part in the war again.
At least Ron is able to lead the Die-hards while I can't.  Oh well, it
would be pointless to try to get back to sleep, might as well get back
to the writing."


==========********************============
How did I come up with this?  It is based (fairly closely) on an
actual dream I had.  I've had some far more, ah...  "intense" dreams
lately, for which I have to thank all of you who write Adult and Jadfe
stories. Poor inexperienced little me never could have come up with
such  stuff before, and never did even in my dreams... :-) (Don't even
ask what my score on the sexual purity test was -- it's much to high
for a 29 year old.)


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


Getting Down to Business

The Raven.  Tuesday Evening.

By Susan M. Garrett


The laptop was open and Susan was staring at the screen, frowning.
Hidden at a back booth of the Raven, she was oblivious to the crowd
and the dancers.  And oblivious to the vampire who slipped into the
booth beside her.

"You've been useless."

"Gah!"  Susan jumped when Janette spoke, would have bounced against
the wall if she'd been a NatPacker but she didn't because she wasn't,
and grabbed the laptop for dear life knowing that the computer she
might save wasn't necessarily her own but would cost a bundle to
repair.  "Oh, God!  You scared ten years off me."

"Ten years?  Pfah."  Janette waved her hand, brushing away the
importance of a concept.  "Ten years is nothing."

"It is when you're mortal.  And I fully intend to stay that way."
Susan glanced back at the laptop.  "Now what was--hey, new clothes!"

Janette delicately placed her fingertips against the black and red
lace that formed the upper part of the black dress, but which left her
shoulders bare. "Catherine and Felicia were right--I needed to do some
proper shopping.  And I think we've done wonders for Chanda."

Susan peered past Janette, to see Chanda fixing three strands of
chains that has gotten tangled to one side of the dance floor.  "Very
Goth," she agreed, but the Nikes have gotta go."

"I believe they're working on it.  Old habits die hard."

"Then you've got a couple that are gonna make Cyrano's death scene
look like a Bicentennial Minute," breathed Susan, turning back to her
laptop.

"I heard that."

When Susan didn't respond, Janette reached out to close the laptop,
but Susan deftly moved it out of the way--she was just above the
survival instincts of the NatPack, but data she'd preserve to her last
drop of blood. "I know," commented Susan, "I should talk.  But I
couldn't fit the laptop <and> my Ravenette dress into my carry-on.
Right now, the laptop has priority."

"Over all this?" asked Janette sharply, waving at the reconstructed
bar. "<You> have been negligent.  First you make the declaration that
you won't be participating in this war--"

"I thought I wasn't going to be--"

"<Then> you have the audacity to warn everyone you might have to
leave, show up and do <nothing>?"  Janette raise her chin haughtily.
"Well?"

Susan wilted somewhat under that commanding stare, then gestured half-
heartedly at the laptop.  "I've been working . . . ."

"On <what>?  What could take precedence over redecorating the club,
finding Miklos, fending off all of these uncalled-for attacks, and . .
. shopping?"

Susan winced at the last, knowing that she was on shaky ground--for a
Ravenette, she wasn't much of a shopper, except in a bookstore.  She
only shopped when Nick and Nat got angry with one another in fiction. 
"Well . .. ."  She looked back at the laptop.  "I've been trying to
find some reason for why we've become the center of attention."

"You mean, these attacks?"

Nodding, Susan swallowed and looked back at the laptop.  She had
Janette's full attention and a vampire's full attention was not
something meant to insure a long and happy mortal life.  Or a mortal
life, period.  "It's like someone didn't want us tearing up the old
stuff in the Raven and redecorating."

"The Cousins and LaCroix," suggested Janette.  "Sour grapes?"

"No--I don't think so.  He abandoned the place.  I think somebody left
something here.  It would have had to have been sometime between the
last war and now.  God knows, LaCroix would have dismantled this place
and gotten rid of all the bugs and booby traps from the last war
before he'd opened it again. Or somebody <thinks> somebody left
something here.  And somebody's looking for it."  She shrugged.  "Or,
being that attack is the highest form of affection, we've the most
beloved affiliation on the planet."

Janette merely shot her an annoyed glance, then looked away
thoughtfully.

"<And> I've been trying to keep up the mail, open the old 'raven.com'
address."

"Really?"  Janette leaned forward to peer at the laptop, suddenly
interesting.  "Anything . . . unique?"

"Other than the fact that Alma's got two years of 'Soap Opera Digest
On-Line' digests hanging out here, no."  Susan tapped two keys and
gestured toward the screen.  "But there's something here I wanted to
ask you about. It's important."

Janette gave her a curious look, then read the screen.  "<My> blood?"
she asked aloud and with a certain amount of outraged indignation.
"My <blood>?"

Unnerved, Susan peered around Janette and read the screen.  "B-l-o-o-
d," she spelled.  "Yep, that's blood, all right."  Then added, as
Janette started to get that haughty look.  "It <is> for a good cause. 
There aren't that many interesting female characters around any more. 
Like you, I mean.  Having somebody pulling a silver to your gold would
give you some time off.  Take a weekend and go to NYC for a show and a
bite, catch up on your lambada lessons . . . ."

Janette nodded thoughtfully.  "Yes.  Yes, I agree.  It isn't much
after all. And it <is> for a good cause, as you say."  Then she fixed
Susan with a no-nonsense gaze.  "You will send an affirmative reply,
but say that there is a price."

"Which is?"

"To be named later."

"Gotcha.  Ain't it always."  Susan turned back to the keyboard and hit
the reply button.  "Told you--the laptop comes in handy."

"I suppose it has some cute referential name," said Janette archly.

Susan would have blinked, but didn't, knowing that there's always some
smart-ass around just waiting to accuse you of being a Vaquera.
"Actually, it doesn't.  I don't name mechanical things.  I can never
remember what I've named them, so I don't bother.  Except for my
Media-west defying luggage wheelie.  It's Bebe Ribozo II."

Janette blinked--not having been around enough during third season to
know what was going on--and asked, "Why?"

"Because my first luggage wheelie was Bebe Ribozo."  Finishing the
message while Janette digested that bit of information and backed away
slowly, Susan cleared her throat.  "Oh, yeah--speaking of naming
mechanical things, did Nick ever tell you whether he'd given his car a
name?"

"A . . . name?" echoed Janette slowly . . . and backed away just a
little bit further.

"Yeah.  Guys always seem to name their cars.  Some women do, too, but
with guys it's a 'thing.'  And God knows Nick's spent more time having
a relationship with that car than he ever did with Nat or you."  She
glanced up quickly, as if sensing the change occurring in Janette's
eyes.  "Last seven hundred and ninety-odd years, excepted, of course."

"Of course."  Janette sat up straight on the seat.  "No, I don't
remember him saying anything."

"No problem.  I was just curious."  Susan nodded back at the keyboard.
"I'll let you know what answer we get.  As for anything else going on,
you'd better ask Cynthia.  I think they're still looking for Miklos.
And ask someone to make sure Catherine and Jasmine are eating, please?
I tried to get over the pile of books they're hiding behind, but it
was worse than the latest Everest assault.  In another couple of days,
I'm going to build a little book fortress around them and pass food
and water in between Martin Chuzzlewit and whatever the heck Jasmine's
working on--I dunno, but I touched one of her books and it gave me
hives."

By this time, Janette has slipped entirely out of the booth.  "You'll
let me know about the blood?"

"Count on it," said Susan, then smiled to herself as Janette slipped
away in search of someone in possession of some shreds of sanity--
probably Cynthia or Tami or Jane.  When push came to shove and Janette
needed someone to take care of things, she'd be happy to step in.  But
with so many competent Raven\ettes on hand, Susan could afford to
attend to the thing that most concerned her about this war.

Hitting her alt escape, she brought up her Excel spreadsheet.  Under
the category 'name,' she checked off an 'x' next to Janette.  She had
no idea exactly who else would know if Nick had named his car--Tracy
and Schanke were dead, although Schanke's presence made itself known
at the Happy Souvlaki Deli.  Maybe a low-level necromancy or seance
was in order?

Hell, she wasn't even sure that <Nick> was alive.  But she'd promised
to wash the Caddie if the third season was finished and since it <was>
finished, she had to wash that . . . car.

The list was still there.  Susan ran an eye over what she had so far,
added 'hose?' to her spreadsheet, and sighed.

A call to the Knighties was in order.  It was time to get down to
business.


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


RatCam (1/1)
Tigon Diana Hooker/AlphaWoof of the WoofPack
Wednesday/31 JUL 1996/Just after midnight

Toronto, Merc Headquarters


Timon the VampRat woke from a dream where he was being dangled over a
snake. Little heart pounding...for a vampire...he called to mind the
two things he loved the most; his rescuer from that fate, Tigon, and a
box of saltine crackers. Once calm, he wriggled out of the bag tossed
haphazardly on the unmade bed of Lizbet's Merc quarters.

He stretched...little hand-like paws clenching the sheet fabric, rump
in the air, eyes squeezed half shut, and a small peep emerging from
his yawning mouth. Kinks out, he began the painstaking process of
post-sleeping grooming. His little pink tongue cleaned every bit of
his sparkling white fur from the base of his tail to his chest. Then
he shift to cleaning his face and ears much as a cat would, before
finishing with a careful cleaning of his long pink tail.

Abulutions finished, he finally took notice of the surrounding chaos
that could only occur in a room of Lizbet's. His little vampiric heart
thumped once in terror...wherever he was, it definitely was far from
his human, Tigon.

The last thing he recalled was crawling into the snug confines of a
bag in the basement...as much as he enjoyed honking the noses of all
the dogs, a rat had to have his rest. From the scent in the room, he
knew was near Tigon's friend Lizbet. Perhaps he could find her and she
would feed him a nice blood-soaked saltine. Timon flew to the floor
and poked his wiggly whiskers out of the ajar door.

The outside of Lizbet's room was even more chaotic than the inside.
People scurried about, carting boxes of chocolate and other strange
things while muttering in conspiracy-ridden tones. The swirl of
strange scents confused Timon, and he was unable to place Lizbet's.

Nonetheless, the hunger in his belly drove him out. He scurried along
the baseboard, avoiding all the giant feet. He wondered briefly at the
lack of fabric that normally seemed to cover those feet. Rounding a
corner, he found himself suddenly face to face with a cat.

"Meeerrrrrroooowwww pffffttttt," said the cat, arching its back and
puffing its tail. Timon wiggled his whiskers happily at it, always
glad to see a cat (even if it wasn't one of his own). The cat took a
couple of feints at Timon, which the rat easily dodged before darting
forward to deliver his own trademark greeting...his little hand
whipping forward to deliver a quick-but-firm squeeze to the cat's
nose. Upon receiving the nose honk, the cat's eyes bugged out. Then
the cat leapt six to seven feet straight up in the air before tearing
off into a catfit. Startled mercs watched the cat whisk by in
bafflement.

A few hours later and Timon had developed a definite dislike for the
place. It wasn't that it was noisy and apparently lacking in the basic
necessity of crackers...it was what he had smelled and found.

In the tunnels underneath the headquarters was the smell of death...
rat deaths. In the stock of bottled blood where he was finally able to
slake his hunger (with cow...his usual), he found bottled rat blood.
Whatever this place was, it wasn't rat friendly. If he hadn't sensed
the impending dawn, he would attempt to leave the place and find Tigon
and the dogs.

But dawn was unavoidable. Yawning and stretching, his pink eyes
searched for a place unfettered by hustle and bustle. Finally they
stopped on a small door cut in the bottom of a normal door. Quickly he
flew across the room and through it, causing it to swing and rattle in
his wake. Behind the door was a neatly maintained office, much like
the one he used to accompany Tigon to, when he could still go into the
sunlight. Looking around, he eyed the in/out box on the desk.

Flying into the lower half, he shredded up and arranged a sheet of
paper into a comfy bed, curled into a little sock-like ball, and fell
into deep slumber.


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


Supplies (1/4)
N&NPackers
by Mel Moser
Wednesday, July 31, 12:01am.

It seemed like they had been driving down side streets and over and
under bridges and underpasses for hours, Chana thought to herself as
Susan drove her car through late night streets of Toronto. I sure hope
Susan knows where she's going, she tried to calm herself as they
turned down yet another alley and sped through several quiet
intersections.

Laura had asked them to go on a very special mission.  Something about
picking up supplies.  Look for the door that says 'Supplies', she had
told them.  Well, first they had to find their destination.  Chana
glanced occasionally over at Susan, who she was almost sure was
hopelessly lost.  Just as they made another turn down yet another
strange looking street, she noticed that Susan was biting her lip and
glancing around as if more than a litte bit lost.

Chana was getting very worried.  Today had not been the the best
birthday she had ever had.  After a nice long phone call with her
husband and the quiet little birthday lunch the N&Npackers had thrown
for her, this birthday had been a little depressing.  She had never
spent her birthday so far away from home before and she wondered if
the others realized that.  She hoped that this War task Laura had
assigned them to do would be minor, without any of them getting into
trouble. She hoped no Cousins or Mercs or IBs had set a trap for them.
She just was not in the mood for it tonight.  Perhaps after their
mission was accomplished, she'd go back to the headquarters, take a
long hot bath and sleep it all away.   Yeah, that sounded like a good
idea.  She could already feel the relaxing warmth of the bath water
against her skin. Her attention wandered.

In the backseat of the car, tired of being tossed around as the car
turned, stopped and started, Idalia was a little grumpy, probably from
her lack of sleep over the past couple of days.  She had been rather
busy on the N&Npackers computer systems for the past several nights
organizing the surveillance team reports on the other factions.  While
the work was well worth it, it took alot of  energy and concentration,
and her eyes were well worn out from the strain.

Thus, both Chana and Idalia were surprised when Susan at last drew to
a halt in the end of a darkened alleyway and parked the car.  The
street lights barely lit the dark alley and the N&Npackers felt more
than a little nervous.  Through the light from the nearby street
light, Chana noticed the slight look of apprehension on Susan's face,
and then the expression was gone.  Hmmmm...  Chana wondered, naturally
suspicious. Did Susan know something they didn't?  No, Susan was a
dedicated N&NPacker, her loyalty was secure.  She was just imagining
things.  They were probably allon a bit of an edge. The N&Npack had
been quite successful in their attacks on the other factions over the
past couple of days.

Chana looked over the trio and their attire with a frown.  None of
them were really dressed for any major action.  Laura and Mel had
rushed them out the door so quickly, none of them had had to time
change.  Chana was still dressed up a bit from the party and wore
slacks and a nice shirt. She hoped they weren't going to be getting
dirty on this job.

The N&NPackers crept quietly through the alley and up the back steps
of what appeared to be restaurant.  At least it smelled that way
according to Chana who was wishing she had grabbed a snack before she
left the N&NPack HQ.  The back door opened into to a small, dimly lit
hallway.  To the left, they passed by a set of metal swinging door.
Through the door window, they could see a kitchen full of cooks and
waiters at work cleaning up and doing dishes.  Nope, better not draw
attention to themselves.  On their right were another set of double
doors, but these were made of wood.  The entrance to the restaurant no
doubt.  They continued on down the hall. Rounding a corner, they came
to a darker portion of the hallway that ended at a single door.   On
it was a sign that read "Supplies". They stopped.

"This must be it,"  suggested Idalia, looking around them to make sure
they were not being watched.  Everything looked quiet.

"Chana, be the lookout while we check things out." Susan asked.

Chana nodded and kept watch while the other two N&NPackers cracked
opened the door.

"Yep!"  Susan exclaimed.  "This is it!"  She walked through the door
closely followed by Idalia, who shut the door behind her leaving Chana
standing guard in the hallway.

Several long minutes passed.   It was awfully quiet in the hallway
except for the occasional noises from the kitchen.  Several more long
minutes went by without any signs that Susan and Idalia were coming
out.  Chana sighed. She was going to have to go in after them.

The door opened into another hallway. This one was well lit and
carpeted. To her left, Chana could see the entrance to the restrooms. 
On the wall was taped a sign, handwritten with a black magic marker.

                ---  "This way to your big 'Supplies'".

The arrow pointed to the right towards the door opposite the door she
just entered.

"Hmmm... I hope Susan and Idalia aren't in trouble!" Chana wondered
aloud. Visions of Susan and Idalia being kidnapped by Mercs or Cousins
flashed through her mind.

The door opened outwards.  Chana slowly opened it.  The door led to
the outside.  She couldn't see where the door led to so she opened it
wider.... "Surprise!!!!!!!!!!"   Many voices shouted together loudly
in unison. Cheers rang out all across the well-lit outdoor patio of
the cafe where a large group of people stood scattered about.
Familiar people and faces, including several new ones, some of her
friends from IRC and the FK Wallflowers no doubt.

Chana stood there in shock looking out at her fellow N&NPackers and FK
online friends as they continued by singing "Happy Birthday to You!"
Some of her best new friends were all here.  She smiled and was soon
quickly enveloped in many warm hugs and well wishes.


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


Supplies (3/4)
N&NPackers
by TJ Goldstein, Unaffiliated
Wednesday, July 31, 12:15am

TJ grumbled, as he was wont to do, as he picked his way down the dark
alley, having found his way blocked by another car that had been
parked there.  What he was doing there in the middle of the night?
"Asking to be mugged," he said aloud, shifting the heavy package to
his other arm.

But the message Sorcha had left with the hotel desk clerk had been
very specific about what to buy, how to wrap it, and where to bring
it. Which meant that something was definitely up, because she'd never
_tell_ him what she herself wanted, firm in the belief that "If I have
to tell you, it doesn't mean as much."

He sighed and picked his way past a trash can.  This was supposed to
be a fun, easy week.  A quick trip to Toronto to cover a movie shoot
for his cousin.  Easy.  Quick.  Fun.

SHORT.

But no, then she'd run into someone, she'd said in the message he'd
read as he realized there was no way they were going to make their
plane back to Florida.  Someone he'd be interested in seeing.

Add to that the Forever Knight documentary he'd found out about, and
he knew it was a good thing he'd paid up his credit cards.

Then there were the weird things that were beginning to happen, from
the broadcasts from the Nightcrawler that seemed to come through on
his Walkman no matter what station he set it to to the fact that he
couldn't find so much as an M&M of chocolate anywhere.

And then there was that cryptic note about the monkeys.  He still
wasn't sure what THAT was all about, or even that it was meant for
him.  In fact, he was pretty sure it wasn't.

So there he was looking for a door that said "Supplies" and hoping
that everything would become clear.  Eventually.

"There it is."  He entered past the restaurant kitchen and followed
the noise that indicated that there was life somewhere in the
building, and a familiar voice drifted towards him.

Finally he came to a room full of people who seemed happier than a
project manager at a wrap-up party.  Everyone -- and that is everyone
--was happy, laughing, joking, eating cake and drinking more varieties
of soda than he had ever known were made.  *Must be Canada,* he
thought.  But as he approached, a woman left her post at the door and
approached him, and a hush fell over the room as everyone turned to
look at him and he wondered if he hadn't wandered into a private party
as he tried to find Sorcha among the group.

Finally he found her standing, smiling, behind another redhead, who
called out to the woman approaching him.  "Idalia!  It's OK.  This is
TJ, Sorcha's vouched for him."

"And don't you forget it, TJ," he heard Sorcha say as the party
started up again as though nothing had happened.  Quickly she was on
his arm.  "Oh good, you got my message," she said as she took the
package from him and put it on a table.  "TJ, this," she said,
pointing to the other redhead, "is Mel."

After a moment it dawned on him.  "Not Red," he finally said.  "Red?
As in my fellow committee member who I talk to all the time but have
never met, Red?"  He spun around to the woman who had begun to
intercept him. "And you're Idalia?  As in Id!"  He looked around
quickly.  "Who else do I know here?"

"A few people," Mel nodded, smiling mischeivously.  "Welcome to the
War."

That one statement triggered a flood of understanding.  All of a
sudden, he realized what was going on.  All of the weird happenings,
the strange messages, they all made a bizzarre kind of sense.

Sorcha introduced him around, to people he had spoken to, either on
the IRC or on one list or another -- Ithildin, Idalia, Chana, even
Soul. He found it especially nice to meet John so he could rib him in
person instead of by e-mail.

Finally, Sorcha saw fit to explain to him that this was a surprise
party for Chana, and that's what the present was for, as she dragged
him over and together the two of them wished her a rousing "Happy
Birthday," giving her the box of scented candles, assorted packages of
herbal tea, bath salts, body lotion, and soft Irish music CD's, and a
card.

TJ shook his head.  Why was he not surprised?  Knowing what a died-in-
the-wool Nick & NatPacker Sorcha was, he should have expected this.

TJ enjoyed himself, but finally he had to leave.  He liked the
Nick&NatPackers despite his preference for remaining Unaffiliated, but
his journalistic senses were getting the better of him.  He knew that
tomorrow he would be all over town investigating this war.

But before he left, he found Mel and asked her, "What do you know
about monkeys?"


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


Supplies (2/4)
by Mel Moser and N&NPack, with Cousins April and Denise and TJ
Wednesday, July 31, 12:30am


Chana looked around at the crowd of people spread out over the patio.
Even at this late hour, the party was in full swing.  People were were
drinking and laughing, having a good time.  She could hear the sounds
of the Forever Knight soundtrack echoing from the outside stereo
system.  A whole table was filled with gifts and cards, including her
own N&Npackers T-shirt and backpack.

"So, are you having a happy birthday now?"  Asked a voice beside her.

Turning, she smiled at Mel, who pressed another Diet Pepsi into her
her hand.  She began to answer, but was interrupted by the murmur that
went through the crowd.

Out to the side entrance of the patio, a disagreement was growing
louder  by the minute, bringing the conversation on the patio to a
standstill. The sound of voices being raised in a growing argument
echoed across the terrace.

A female voice was heard saying, "I don't care what your orders were,
buster. We're her friends and WE ARE going to her party!"

On the steps leading up to the patio, the maitre'd could be seen
blocking the entrance to the terrace. "I'm sorry, miss, but-"

"Listen, buddy, " the female voice rang out, slightly louder than
before. "We have some dangerous friends.  Friends you DON'T want to
mess with, if you get my drift. Either move or...."

"I will not be moved by threats."  But the man's French-accented voice
sounded a little less sure of himself.

Another female voice spoke up, this one a bit deeper than the first as
well as more sinister sounding.  "I strongly suggest you let us pass.
You don't want to get into trouble with your manager, right?

There was a long silent pause.

The maitre'd sighed.  "No, I guess you're right.  I wouldn't want to
get in-"

"Kewl! Coming through!"

The maitre'd was pushed out of the way and two women hastily climbed
the remaining stairs and entered the cafe patio.

"April!!!!!!! Denise!!!!!!!!!"  a number of voices shouted,
recognizing the two young ladies making their way through the crowd.
Some of the N&Npackers recoiled, fearful that the party was being
invaded by Cousins.  There were murmurs of concern and worry as the
Cousins walked towards them.  One of the newcomers was checking out
the presents table while the other was taking a good look at the food
table.

Mel and Laura stepped forward to stop them before they came much
further. They stood there staring at each other for a second.  Mel
gave April her best cold, steady stare while Laura crossed her arms
and eyed Denise carefully.

Mel sighed and tried to keep from smiling.  "Temporary truce?"  She
asked Cousin April and Denise.  "Just for Chana while we're here at
the party?"

Denise looked over Laura's shoulder at Chana, who was standing back in
the crowd, trying to hide a smile.  Cousin April pulled Denise aside
and whispered something in her ear.  Denise whispered something back
and Cousin April grinned.

Chana watched the antics of her friends with amusement.  This war was
so entertaining.  She was amused by the glee and enthusiasam with
which her friends acted out their roles.  One would never know that
they were actually friends who chatted almost nightly. She moved up
closer behind Laura and Mel so she could get a better look at these
two mischievious Cousins.  She noticed Heather moved over to keep
herself between Chana and the Cousins.

Heather whispered to Chana, "Stay behind me.  You never know what
these two are up to."

Cousin April looked back at Laura and Mel, and attempted to make the
evil grin disappear from her face by trying to match the neutral
expression and attitude of the Cousin standing next to her.  She
cleared her throat and held out her hand to the N&Npackers second-in-
command. "Agreed."

Mel shook April's hand and then pulled her into a hug.  The Cousins
quickly found themselves being introduced to their N&Npackers friends.

They were even more surprised when several N&NPackers moved forward
and enveloped the newcomers in hugs.

"Hey, look over there!"  Mel pointed at a tall fellow that just walked
out onto the patio. "It's TJ!"


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


Supplies (4/4)
N&NPackers & Friends (Cousins April, Denise, & Cherri, Vaquera
Charlyne, and TJ, the Unaffiliated)
by Mel Moser
Wednesday, July 31, 12:45am

There was a cool night breeze across the patio, the partial moon was
still shining high in the sky, and the noise of the party echoed
across the terrace where Chana's birthday party was still in full
swing.  Chana smiled as she saw all her friends laughing and still
telling stories. And  she had received some great birthday presents.
In addition to the N&NPackers t-shirt and backpack, Chana had received
a set of videotapes of the Canadian version of 1st Season Forever
Knight. And Denise had given her a portable Sony CD player, and Mel
had gotten her mini-speakers and a cigarette lighter power adapter to
go with the CD player.  The whole setup would be perfect for listening
to the FK CD during her long two-hour drive to  and from college each
day.

Chana saw all the N&NPackers, as well as her other friends from IRC.
Over talking amiably to Mel, she saw that their good friend Charlyne,
a Vaquera, had even made it to her party.

Another hush fell across the groups of people as another person
entered the patio.  The woman was dressed in a beautiful black silk
dress, and look exhausted, but happy.  People looked around seeing if
anyone recognized her.

"Oh my God!"  cried a voice from the group near the bar.

"Ooooooo!!!  Cherri!!!" Shouted Cousin April.  "No more cow suit!!!!"
April tore across the room and gave Cherri a big hug, nearly crumbling
the large envelope Cherri was carrying.

"Take it easy."  Cherri responded, still looking a little dazed.

"You're Cherri?"  Mel asked, walking up to the two Cousins. "Sorry,
didn't recognize you without the cow suit."  She grinned and gave the
newcomer a hug.  "Welcome to the party!  I'm glad you could make it."

"Thanks."  Cherri replied as she started looking over the crowd for
Chana, "I'm glad I could make it, too!"  She felt the cool summer
breeze against her bare shoulders and smiled.  It was so wonderful to
be out of the *darn* suit.

Charlyne appeared out of nowhere and pressed a tall, cool drink into
Cherri's hand.  "Here, I think you probably could use this."

Denise walked and hugged her fellow Cousin.  "I see you are looking
*much* better."

Cherri smiled weakly, glad to see another familiar face. It was a
little strange seeing all these new faces, especially because she felt
somewhat naked not having the heavy costume on.  "Thanks, " She
replied to Denise, "Where's Chana?"  She looked around, wondering who
the birthday girl was. They had never met in person, so Cherri was
eager to meet her new online friend for the first time.

Charlyne overheard their conversation and took Cherri by the hand over
to Chana.

"Happy Birthday, Chana!"  Cherri gave Chana a big hug and then held
out the big envelope.

Chana looked at Cherri awkwardly.  "Umm... nice dress."

"Yeah," agreed TJ, giving Cherri more than a long glance.  He then
turned his gaze to Sorcha, wiggled his eyebrows, and whispered
something in her ear.  Sorcha thwapped him hard and TJ grimaced
momentarily, but the smile was still on his face when he put his arms
around her.

Sorcha said hello and pulled TJ away, cursing at him in Gaelic.

"Is this for me?"  Chana asked, noticing the white envelope that
Cherri was holding.

"Oh, yeah."  Cherri replied, watching TJ & Sorcha walk away for a
second then turned and handed the envelope to Chana. "Happy Birthday."

Chana opened the envelope revealing an autographed copy of the
official Cherri-in-the-Cowsuit picture.  "Kewl!"  shouted Chana and
gave her another hug.

Cherri quickly found herself with familiar friends, friends from IRC,
SKL, and the FK Wallflowers, and FORKN-L.  There was Idalia, Heather,
Pat, Tina (aka Bast), Gayle, and many more.  'Ah, yes,' Cherri thought
to herself, 'A perfect way to celebrate.... among wonderful friends." 
She wandered to the bar for another drink.

*****
Sometime later....

The party began to wind down and the N&Npackers and their special
guests began cleaning up and heading back to their headquarters for a
good night's rest.  The war had just begun and they had much more
planning and plotting to do.  Denise and April escorted a slightly
tipsy Cousin Cherri back to CERK headquarters, and just a handful of
people remained to finish cleaning up.

"We did good, didn't we?"  Mel asked Charlyne, her Wonder Twin.

"Yes, most definitely."  Charlyne replied.  "It's wonderful to
remember that all of us can get along, even in the middle of the war."

"Agreed," replied Mel, smiling at her Vaquera friend.

# The End #


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


What *Is* That Skylight For, Anyway?
July 31st, Wendesday Morning, approx 2 AM
Nick's Loft
by Elizabeth Ann Lewis

For someone who was scared of heights, Lizbet seemed to spend a lot of
time on top of buildings. This time, she was perched above Nick's
loft, staring through the skylight at the masses of sleeping Knighties
below.

As quietly as she could, she broke into the loft. On her back was a
large backpack, currently empty. If Lizbet had been smart, she would
have gathered up her loot, and gotten out.

But this was Nick's *loft*! The same giddiness that had overwhelmed
her in The Raven took over here. The reason why she was a Merc--aside
from the fact that she was terminally broke--was that she could never
make up her mind which was her favorite character. Diehards refused to
chose. She chose all of them, but Nick was certianly near the top of
the list.

There was the refrigerator that held cow blood. There was the couch
where first season N&N had often spent time together--only watching
movies, of course, darn Nat's luck, due to the Brick. There was the
beautiful Gothic carved fireplace.  And there was...

Finally shaking herself free of her rapt facination with *being* in
the loft, she did her duty, tip-toeing among the sleeping bags,
gathering up socks from people's belongings. A voice made her freeze.

"Right, Nick." Cautiously, Lizbet looked around. It was Cath Boone.
Lizbet recognized her from Cousin Cherri's party. And she apparently
was talking in her sleep.  "Brown book. Must find. Very important.
Account numbers. Yes, we'll..."  The rest trailed off into a delicate
snore.

Hmmm. *Very* interesting indeed. But she was here to fulfill one job
before she got involved in another.

Her original plan called for leaving socks adorning feet alone, as
well as socks that smelled of feet. But the challenge of trying to
take socks from owners currently using them appealed to her Merc
instincts. She had a rough moment when she accidentally trailed some
of her hard-won bootie across Perri's face.  But she merely batted it
away and muttered, "Darn cat," before turning over and falling back
asleep.

By the time Lizbet was through, she had enough socks that the backpack
was bulging. She smiled. Her employer would be pleased.

Then she headed upstairs. She knew that Nick wouldn't be in the loft,
but at least his socks were. Gleefully, she cleared out his sock
drawer. She packed up and got ready to leave, then remembered at the
last minute that Kira had asked her to get the black and white striped
shirt from For I Have Sinned.

Opening Nick's closet door was like entering a playhouse. Lizbet loved
clothes and playing dress up. "Bloody hell, doesn't the man throw
*anything* away?!?!?" She was seriously tempted to make off with the
Spanish outfit from "Sons of Beliel," but contented herself with
fliching one of the second season vests. "The marshmellow pants should
be burned, though," she muttered as she grabbed the shirt Kira wanted
and exited the loft.

Mission accomplished. At least, part one...


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


Cat Games
by Cousin Tok
2 AM Wednesday, 7/31
Place:  CERK

Cousin Tok sat in the kitchen, indulging in more of her private stock
of Bailey-flavored Haagen-Dazs.  Merlin was content to lay on Tok's
feet, although the last thing one needed at mid-summer in Toronto was
a furry foot-warmer.  Willow sat on Tok's lap, trying to help herself
to the ice cream.

Willow was back to her normal gray self after her close encounter with
the KISS impersonators' extra greasepaint.  Tok smiled to herself,
then got that vacant if not quite brickish look on her face as she
went into a flashback...

                     * * *

(Sunday morning, 7/28, immediately after "Cousin Willow gets KISSed")
Bathing a kitten is somewhat easier than de-fanging a vampire, but not
by much. Merlin sat nearby watching the proceedings; if a cat could
grin (not to mention outright laughing), Tok swore he did.  She
splashed some water at him and he moved back.

Suddenly, something moved in the darkness.  Merlin ran back upstairs,
while Willow leapt to Tok's shoulder and dripped copiously.  Out of
the shadows emerged an adult male cat, gray.  His only truly unusual
feature were his eyes, which glowed brightly golden.

"Gandalf!" Tok cried out happily.  He'd been in Toronto ever since
becoming a vamp-kitty.  Apparently, the General had put him to work at
CERK.  It was certainly one way to keep the rat and mouse population
in check while Screed was out of commission.  Even a vamp-kitty
appreciates a good scratch behind the ears, and soon Gandalf was
purring as loudly as he ever had, even when Willow dripped on him.

<Mom, I found something you might be interested in.>  Gandalf turned
and disappeared back into the shadows.  He returned a moment later
pushing a brown leather book that looked like Tok's journal but
wasn't.  Tok picked it up and held it away from Willow, who was still
dripping.  This would bear closer examination later, after she'd
showered.  She turned back to where Gandalf had been, but he was gone.
Damn, it was hard enough to get used to people doing that!

                     * * *

Tok snapped out of her flashback to discover that her ice cream was
now Bailey's-flavored soup, which didn't really matter to Willow,
who'd polished off most of it.  Hey, at least she hadn't been driving.

"Damn, now how am I going to get to sleep?"  Ever since that KISS
wake-up call Sunday morning, her sleep cycle had been totally
disrupted.  Not that dealing with vampires at odd hours made it any
easier.  She really did owe Jamie something for that.  Tok believed in
paying her debts.

After thinking a few more moments, an idea occurred to her.  Her smile
grew wide.  And she knew just who could deliver it for her.  At the
top of the basement stairs, she called out quietly, "Gandalf, want to
come play in the War?"


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


Sock Hop
by Karen Tobin/based on an idea by Perri/with the cooperation of
               Katrinka/and input from everone else!
Place: Nick's Loft
Time: Wednesday morning, between What *Is* That Skylight For, Anyway?
and When The Going Gets Tough......Knighties Go Shopping!!!


The Knighties were beginning to move about the loft, preparing for
another day of who-knew-what, when a strange coincidence was
noticed...every Knightie who reached into into a suitcase, dufflebag,
or laundry basket for a pair of socks came up empty. Even those who
were SURE they had gone to sleep wearing socks found themselves
hosiery-deprived.

Dotti and Karen went upstairs to see if Nick's socks had survived the
raid. After several minutes (both women were very thorough--one might
even say TOO thorough--in their inventory of Nick's drawers) they come
slowly down the stairs, empty handed.

"Socks!" Karen said, shaking her head. "Why would anyone want to steal
our socks?"

Although many of the Knighties were not personally affected, being
non-sock wearers, the mood was still uncertain. Not quite angry, but
certainly annoyed.

"I don't wear socks unless I have to," Perri commented, " but the idea
that someone got in here while we were sleeping and managed to locate
every sock in the place gives me the creeps."

For others the concern was even more practical:

"Uh-oh," began Allie, " I've got to bike 100 miles in two days with no
socks?"

Nancy agreed. "Heck, without my anklets I'm going to get blisters
galore and be unable to walk anywhere without a severe limp.  Guess
I'll have to go with the pantyhose I wore to the ROM on Monday night."

That caused several Knighties to search their clothing again, looking
for pantyhose, but those were gone, too!

"Thorough, weren't they," commented Carrie, one of the lucky ones,
looking down at her Birkenstocks.

"Sounds like time for a shopping trip... The Raven/ettes apparently
think they had a monopoly on the sport..."

"Well, I suppose we could all swear off socks forever, especially
since Ger didn't wear any the whole Weekend With... "

"Scottie!"

It seemed like a shopping trip might be in order. Katrinka, annoyed
because she didn't even usually wear socks in the summer, but needed
them with the boots which were the only footwear she had with her,
started to organize. "Anyone else?"  she called out.

"Not me," Cath responded "I wear socks about ten days out of the year,
and never in summer!"

Some of the other Knighties gathered around Katrinka to plot their
shopping expedition, while Perri and Cath pulled together a group to
try to locate some clues--any clues--that might tell them who did this
and why.  Karen and Dotti volunteered to make another exhaustive
investigation of Nick's bedroom.

And in a corner, Marg quietly pulled out her knitting bag and began
the first of many pairs of beautiful, handknit socks which the
Knighties would treasure for many years to come.


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


A Signal Achievement
By Lisa McDavid with input from erica & binaca
Wednesday morning, July 31st, 3 a.m. to about  10 a.m.


Lacroix sat on the leather couch in his CERK penthouse, grinning and
tossing pieces of raw beef to Fred. "Oh, there you are. I suppose
you've come about the hijacking?"

Lisa and Tok stopped dead and looked at each other.

"Has he flipped?" Tok mouthed.

"I don't know," returned Lisa. "With him you can't tell."

"None of the above," Lacroix answered. "The CERK audience must be
simmering nicely by now. Lisa, get over to this address." He handed
her a sheet of paper with an attached key and a reel of audio tape.
"Put this on the air as soon as you receive my signal."

The vampire and the eagle flew out of the nearest window. Tok and Lisa
departed more conventionally, via the elevator.

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

"Tower ahoy!" Lacroix told Fred, hovering over the CERK antenna. "No,
don't perch on it. It may be booby-trapped." He motioned the eagle
onto his shoulder instead. "I, however, am not a booby."

Reaching into the pocket of his bomber jacket, the vampire withdrew a
small bottle with a digital timer attached. He sighted carefully down
the steel cage of girders, pressed something on the back of the timer,
and dropped the thing into the tower.

"All right, old boy, off you go." Lacroix gently pushed Fred. "Find
Anne and get your breakfast."

The eagle flapped off as Lacroix retreated several hundred yards to
the top of the tallest tree.

Five minutes later the CERK tower, transmitter and maintenance shed
exploded.
****************************************************************

At approximately the same time, Lisa McDavid was staring up at the CN
Tower. She checked the sheet of paper again. Yes, she had the right
address. "Ok, mine not to reason why ...".

The inconspicious door indicated on the map opened easily to the key.
So did the service elevator to the top floors. Lisa emerged at the
floor Lacroix had specified, turned left, and found herself in front
of a door marked CERK.

She placed her hand against the scanner in the computer lock and went
inside when it opened.

The equipment was state of the art, the next generation from the kind
she had seen in operation at South Carolina Radio For the Blind.

Lisa had just readied the tape when her cell phone rang. "McDavid,"
she answered.  "Houston, we *don't* have a problem."

"Time to be trouble," said Lacroix. "Start now." He hung up.

"Geronimo," Lisa muttered, reaching for a switch. She felt very much
like a rookie parachutist on a first jump.

"This is CERK radio, now under new ownership." The voice belonged to
the station's news anchor. He proceeded to list erica and bianca as
co-owners, complete with the current location of the Iron Whim on Lake
Ontario and a promise of regular updates.

Lisa grinned to herself. So that was why they had been permitted to
stay on the air! A little triangulation easily locates the source of
transmissions if you have enough time.

A statement that the Nightcrawler had been fired from the station
followed, along with the information that CERK's new format would be
easy-listening. Two hours of Lawrence Welk came after that.

Lisa seized the opportunity to nap until she was jolted awake by
"CERK, Flagship of Morigna Sisters Broadcasting, coming to you live
from the good ship Iron Whim." There was a suggestion of waves in the
background.

"Former CERK radio personality the Nightcrawler was arrested tonight
by Citizenship and Immigration Canada. On taking over CERK and
examining the files, the Morigna sisters were appalled to discover
that the Nightcrawler was an illegal immigrant. They immediately
discharged him and contacted the CIC in person. The sisters commented,
"the Nightcrawler is a sick pervert, and his audience is even sicker.
We welcomed the opportunity to remove him from the airwaves. Hopefully
his audience will go with him."

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

Aboard the Iron Whim erica & bianca truly *tried* to stay awake. Two
hours of Lawrence Welk works nearly as well as a mickey, however,
especially if you happen to be starting your third day without sleep.
By the second song, both sisters were sound asleep on the cabin floor.

The massed throb of an armada of small craft and the drone of a small
small plane awakened them. The sounds got louder as the fleet and its
air support surrounded the Whim, playing Nightcrawler tapes at top
volume. Nasty placards displayed on each boat and the side of the
plane identified the flotilla as the Nightcrawler Fan Club.

Masked figures crowded the decks, shouting threats and taunts. The
plane showed up on the radio scanner, communicating with a couple of
divers who were attaching a remote-controlled mine to the Whim's
underside.  At the same time, voices from the boats called out firing
ranges.

Screaming "mayday, help, murder, we didn't mean it!!!" the sisters
frantically called for the Coast Guard.

The response was not quite what they had expected. A Coast Guard
cutter arrived and ran off the blockaders, all right, but the officers
who boarded the Iron Whim had drawn guns. "You are Erica and Bianca
Hall, aka the Morigna sisters?" asked the one from whose belt dangled
a couple of pairs of handcuffs.

"Yes," they quavered.

"You're under arrest for inciting to riot."

"Huh?"

"The rest of the Nightcrawler Fan Club's rampaging through downtown
Toronto. The last report we had, they were fighting the riot squad,
the RCMP, and the fire department."

There was more, but neither erica nor bianca heard it. They were both
whimpering on the deck in the fetal position.


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


At CERK alone
by Toni Holm (posted by Lisa McDavid)
Wednesday July 31st am - during " WAR: A Signal Achievement"
<tch@well.com>

"CERK Radio, just a moment please hold, someone will be with you
shortly", Cousin Toni put the fifth line on hold with disgust.  "Back
home I pay somebody to do this", she thought. "What am I doing here?"
"Again", she amended

The rest of the Cousins had either fled with Lisa and Tok to see
Lacroix's new hi-tech playland or were off on their own errands.  Toni
had decided to stay behind and take it easy being entirely too
indolent to run all over Toronto looking for some grubby "Knightie"
book.  Plus she wanted a closer look at some of the equipment in
Lacroix's old  broadcast booth.  Everything Lacroix had ordered for
the new CERK studios was totally state of the art, but here there were
still some neat old antiques and her fingers itched to take a look
inside the studio console.

She put another line on hold and took out some cutters, a pair of wire
strippers, a large Maglight, a penknife, some duct tape and a
extensive multi piece screwdriver set that lurked in her innocent
looking "executive" purse (and men wonder what we carry in them).
What she found was highly revealing.  Somehow the last engineer had
rigged it so when the signal was interrupted locally the auxiliary at
the new CERK studios took over and a small transmitter cleverly hidden
under the studio desk broadcast whatever was being sent to the board
over a 2 block range. "That's why the N & N chacracters heard the
Barney song they were expecting while the rest of the city didn't even
notice", she laughed.

"Brzzt"  the phone went off again.  "Damn, " I thought I'd tied up all
the lines on hold."  "Brzzt", Oh, her cell phone. Dragging it out of
her bag she answered, "Joe's". It was Lisa.

"Toni, we've taken back control -- here are the coordinates for the
'pirate'.  You should be getting some outraged calls about now."

Toni laughed to herself looking over her shoulder to see all 10 of
CERK's incoming lines blinking madly.  "You don't know the half of
it," she thought.  "OK, I'll handle it". "So that's what they all
wanted," she chuckled.  Over the years she had developed the ability
to make all the proper noises on the phone without even listening to
what the caller was saying and had obviously missed the whole brouhaha
about which the callers were complaining. Oh well, time to got to
work.

She began taking the blinking lines off hold one by one and in her
best "Oh gee I'm just the receptionist" voice she spent the next hour
apologizing for the delay and giving directions to the pirate ship to
outraged Nightcrawler fans.

"Yes, yes, the new management said he had to go..."  "Oh I know
*exactly* how you feel"  "Well I'm just an employee but if it were
*me* I'd go down there and give them a piece of my mind ..."  "Here?
Oh no, but the new managers did tell me they were going be out on the
lake at ..." She inserted the coordinates.

"Yes I think they're aboard right now, -- it's called the Iron Whim.
"Yes, I did hear someone mention some fans were hija.. um .. _renting_
boatS to go talk to them"  "Yes if you hurry I'm *sure* you won't miss
them", she smiled sweetly knowing that made your voice friendlier...
"Oh no, it wouldn't be a bother, I *know* management of CERK * always
* wants your input..."


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


Educating Alma
by Tara O'Shea

date: Wednesday, July 31
time: 3:47 am
locale: the Raven

Tara was tired.  Really, really tired.  "I never want to do this again
without a proper bartender."

"You did great," Susan half-heartedly reassured her while searching
for a likely table to crash under.

"I have never mixed a drink in my life before tonight.  You're out of
your mind."

The grand re-opening had been a crashing success, and the last of the
patrons had stumbled out into pre-dawn Toronto only half an hour
earlier, leaving behind mountains of dirty empties, cocktail napkins,
and full ashtrays, and a clutch of  chic but exhausted Ravens and
Ravenettes.

There was a knock at the door, and Tara took the stairs two at a time,
fumbling with the lock.  On the other side of the portal stood a pale
young woman, elegantly clad in a beige linen suit, her blond hair
swept up in a French twist.  "I'm sorry, we're closed-- hey, aren't
you . . ." Tara had been about to say *that chick from North of 60*,
but stopped herself in time. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

The woman simply stared at her, and Tara began to wonder if she'd lost
her mind.

"I heard the club was re-opening--" she began, and suddenly Tara
realised that, no, it wasn't *that actress* at all.  Her jaw dropped,
and she almost fell backwards down the stairs.

"Alma?" she squeaked, and the vampire inspected her manicure,
nonplused.

"Yes?"

Tara tugged her the rest of the way inside, and then shut the door,
throwing the bolt home.  "My God, what have you done to yourself?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You-- your clothes, and your hair-- and your voice, I mean, not your
voice, but you're using words with more than two syllables!"

"Is there something wrong with a girl wanting a little change?"

"Alma, you went from Julie Brown to Kim Novak.  That's not a little
change, that's a metamorphosis worthy of Ovid."

"So you like it, huh?" she lapsed back into the old Alma for a second,
and then snapped out just as quickly.  "There was no market for
vampire waitresses, so I decided it was time to revamp my image--"

Tara groaned. "Ah jeez, please, no bad puns this early in the
morning."

"A little shopping, some night courses, did you know you can learn
French by audiotape?"

"I think I'm having a brain hemorrhage."

"And voila, the new improved me."

"So, um, are you here for the waitstaff position?"

"And ruin my manicure?  Not quite, darling.  I'm here to apply for the
position of business manager."

"I think-- no, I *know* I need to lie down."


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


That's How You Break Up a Dog Fight
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis, with input from Tigon Diana Hooker
Wednesday, July 31, 1996, about 6:00 AM
The Fang Gang Mansion, Toronto

Oh, just as a hint, Lisa Clevenger=Cousin Suk=Angelique.  All three
personalities used with Lisa's permission.  (We didn't wait around to
get permission from the other two. <g>)
-----------------------------------------------

Lizbet was muttering to herself as she hauled the last load of socks
down to the basement.  "It's bloody bloomin' six AM in the blasted
morning," she groused as she dumped her last load of socks into the
bin, swearing in British English.  Morning person she was not, unless
she was awake in the morning because she had not yet gone to sleep!

Climbing out of the basement, she dropped the shirt that Kira had
wanted her to filch from Nick's closet with a note on the kitchen
table.  She thought about going up to her room for a few winks before
heading back to Merc Central, when she stepped into the living room
and froze in complete astonishment.

Tigon was awake and sitting on the couch.  That in itself was not such
a strange occurrence, since both Lizbet and Tigon kept similarly
strange hours.  But the fact that she was cringing away from the woman
standing over her was a bit surprising.  Tigon had a brown belt in Tae
Kwan Do and could take care of herself.

Lizbet recognized the dark-skinned woman clucking in a motherly way
over Tigon.  She could even tell what personality she was.  Angelique
wouldn't be out in the sun-lit room, and Cousin Suk wouldn't be
clucking.  So therefore, it must be...

"Hi Lisa!"  Lizbet walked up to her personality-challenged fellow Fang
Gang member and gave her a big hug.  She glanced at Tigon.  From this
angle, she noticed for the first time Tigon was wearing a cast
decorated with cartoon teradactyles.  "Cute dinosaurs," was her only
comment.

"Lizbet!  Tigon didn't tell me that you were in Toronto!" Lisa said
brightly.

"Well, I did, but--" Tigon started to explain, but Lisa cut her off.

"I woke up and Tigon was lying on the floor next to my bed.  I don't
know what happened, but somehow her arm was broken!  I guess she
tripped over that," Lisa indicated the Shillelagh that once more
leaned next to the fireplace, just in case any suicidal vampires
dropped in for a visit.

"Well, I didn't, but--"

Lizbet cut her off.  "Well, I'm through with my first two jobs.  I
have all the socks I need for my employer's wants, and, oh, Lisa, you
didn't hear about this one!"  Lizbet snickered to herself,
remembering.  "I swapped LaCroix's bust with a chia pet replacement.
Any time now, little sprouts are going to cover it.  Which reminds
me," she mused thoughtfully, "I need to send them an e-mail so they
know how to contact me for a ransom..."

Lisa, however, was no longer listening.  Her eyes narrowed
dangerously. "Just *what* did you do to Uncle?" she demanded in a
voice that had changed considerably.

"Now, Lisa--" Tigon started, but was interrupted.

"Lisa isn't here right now," the woman said in imitation of every bad
multiple personality movie ever made.  "My name is Cousin Suk."

Lizbet and Tigon glanced at each other.  "Well, at least she isn't
Angelique," Lizbet muttered.  "Look, Suk, I did what I was hired to
do. Blame the Nick-and-NatPack, they are the ones who hired me!"

Suk grabbed the Shillelagh-of-Slight-Torment and waved it
threateningly at the Merc.  "No one humiliates Uncle and gets away
with it."

Not willing to stand around and get thwaped by the Shillelagh, Lizbet
grabbed the other end and started playing a game of tug-of-war.  Tigon
propped her feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch and
enjoyed watching the short, pale Merc and the tall, dark Cousin
struggle for control of the evil stick.

Lizbet finally gained control of the Shillelagh, accidentally rapping
it against Cousin Suk's head as she wrenched it away.  Suk immediately
let out a screech of pain and dashed into the shadows underneath the
stairs.  From that movement, Tigon deduced that Suk had disappeared
and that Angelique, 3000-year-old vampire, had emerged.

"You... you... *Merc*!  You were trying to kill me with that foul
thing!" Angelique pointed at the stick Lizbet hefted in her hand.

"Um, no, she wasn't--" Tigon started.

"But I'm tempted to, Angelique," Lizbet snarled.  "That credit card
you gave me!  You *swore* that it didn't have a limit.  Remember?  Now
I'm broke and I have the Merc Guild hounding me for dues!  And it is
all your fault!"  Brandishing the Shillelagh threateningly, she
advanced to where the delusional vampire was standing.

"Don't blame me for you petty concerns," Angelique hissed.  "I'm not
interested.  How dare you attack me!  Do you know who I am?"

The dogs in the basement sent up a plaintive howling as the screeching
in the living room hurt their delicate senses.

"No, and neither do you!  You are a crazy, tri-personalital, lunatic
MORTAL!"

"Lunatic?!?!?  Mortal?!?!?!  How *dare* you--"

"Easily!  And I'll--"

The two women shrieked in unison as they were flooded with cold water,
Tigon stood to one side, empty bucket in hand and another one behind
her. She regarded both of them with a self-satisfied smile.  "That's
how you break up a dog fight," was all she said.


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


N&NPackers Day Off (1/?)
by N&NPackers Mel Moser & Co.
Wednesday, 6:00am, morning, and various
N&NPackers Headquarters

From: Melanie Moser <moser@clark.net>
6:30am and later, 8:30am

Noise awoke her shortly after 6:30am.  Was someone attacking? What?
Where?  Mel sat up and saw that everything was quiet. Using her
portable radio, she radioed over to the security room and checked in. 
Nope. everything was ok, the person on duty reported.  Sighing deeply,
Mel went back to sleep.

Later, Mel finally rolled out of her sleeping bag at about 8:00am that
morning and groaned.  Someone was watching FK tapes again, for the N-
teenth time in the past couple of days.  In the other room, she could
hear the sounds of laughter.  Some of the N&Npackers were already up
and recapping stories of yesterdays War events.  The War.  Oh yeah,
she remembered.  They had gotten in trouble yesterday and weren't
allowed to post any war messages today.  Since they already had a
bunch of stuff planned and ready to execute, they had decided to
declare this day off for the N&NPackers.  Take a mini-holiday. Enjoy
the good weather, etc.  She got up, showered, and pulled on a
comfortable pair of shorts and a cotton shirt.

After doing a couple quick stretches, she smiled to herself. Today was
going to be a great day. Meandering through the rooms of Susan's now-
quite crowded house, Mel stepped over sleeping bodies, around piles of
papers and maps and the remains of late night snacks and drinks.
Perhaps they should spend the day cleaning instead?  Forget that, she
told herself, noticing that several of the N&NPackers were already
doing that.  Passing through the living room, she noticed the room had
already been picked up and several of the latecomers to the N&NPackers
HQ, Sorcha and Leslie, were watching "Only the Lonely".

She paused when she noticed some video tapes she hadn't noticed before
tapes sitting on the coffee table.  "Hey, what's this?" noticing the
strange labels.

"Hey, down in front!"  yelled one voice.

Turning around, Mel noticed that indeed she was blocking the view of
the TV.  But, she was distracted by one of her favorite Nick & Nat
scenes and forgot to move.

"Out of the way, you make a better door than window!"  cried someone
else.  Pillows started flying her way.

"Okay, okay!"  she replied, ducking as she moved out of the way and
continued her trek through the house.

Passing through computer room, she heard the familiar hum of the
computers and security equipment.  Here she found Lisa keeping a close
eye on all the security systems.

Next stop, finally, the kitchen.  Fortunately, someone had found a
great pastry place down the street and the N&N HQ kitchen was loaded
with all kinds of breakfast goodies.  Opening the fridge she found her
one and only breakfast necessity, a cold can of Diet Coke.  Yep, today
was going to be a great day.  She spent the rest of the morning
hanging with the N&Npackers watching TV, playing Nintendo, and of
course, plotting.

******

From:  Kelley Bleye (papaya@ix.netcom.com)
7:00am

    Kelley woke up at 7:00 to her alarm clock. It was a small cat that
meowed loud enough to wake the dead...umm...I mean living impared (IRC
thing). I got up and with-out even really being awake I hit the cat
off my dresser and it went flying into the side of the wall, probably
waking up most of the N&NPackers (If they weren't awake already by the
meowing) Then one of them (I'm to tired to notice who) comes in
opening the blinds. and like a vampire would I ducked under the
covers. But she pulled them off and eventualy I was up in the shower.
And with a quick rinse of ZEST I was alive agian. Walking out in my
jean shorts and brown baggy butterfly shirt (that I wore the first day
of the war) I asked what was for breakfest.
    I was a little distressed to hear about being NoPosted, But, after
I heard what everyone had had planned I got up off of it. I had my
whole morning planned out by the time I finished my oatmeal and
rebina.

    First I went to the toronto mall and bought a one time only camera
(I plan on having a great time in the afternoon and take a ton of
pictures, and Two Red porcelain roses for Laura and Melanie. And I
bought a small novelity water gun. Hey, you never know when you might
need some holy water and a water gun. (there's something I'll neversay
agian...at least no around relatives) :) And after that I barely had
time to call home and check up on my rommies.
    I loaded up the camera and set out for the afternoon!

******

From: Bast <cooling@students.uiuc.edu>
7:00 a.m., later 9:00 a.m.

Tina, staggering home after a night of vicious plotting and wicked
manuvering (jeez, those Cousinly tendencies show through, don't
they?), flopped onto her bed.  She closed her eyes, and what seemed
like only a minute later opened them again.  The clock stared at her,
the glowing numbers reading an unyielding 9:00.  "Oh, shoot!" she
yelled.  "I was supposed to meet Alora for breakfast!"  She got up,
changed rather quickly into a red dress and black lace-up boots, and,
after petting her cat goodbye, ran out to her car.  Hopping in, she
raced off to the NatPack's headquarters, making very certain that no
other factions followed her. She knocked on the door, and was quickly
let in.


(to be continued in Chapter 2)


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


Finders Keepers  (1/1)
Tigon Diana Hooker/AlphaWoof of the WoofPack
Wednesday/31 JUL 1996/6:15am

Toronto, FG Mansion
(right after 'That's How You Break Up a Dog Fight')


Tigon left the dripping Lizbet and Lisa (for upon being doused, the
Fangskeeter had reverted from her vampire persona back into sweet
'normalacy'...for lack of a better descriptive) in the living room and
carried the one full bucket back into the kitchen. The empty one she
scooted along with her foot, which is how she got it out there when it
was full. The water trail proved that fact.

Sighing, Tigon wrested a mop from the broom closet and went to clean
it up. The two combatents had apparently taken advantage of Tigon's
brief disappearance by disappearing themselves. Mopping one-handed
proved to be no easy task, and Tigon was grateful when it was over.
Going back into the kitchen she attempted to wring out the mop in the
sink with little luck. Tigon finally gave it up and shoved the
dripping mop back into the closet.

Turning, she almost tripped on the full bucket of water. Hooking her
good right arm through the handle, she heaved it up toward the sink
and started emptying in.

Murphy's Law...Rule#4972345a..."If a person is wearing any form of
cast or other medical apparatus that must NOT get wet, it WILL get
wet." Cursing in Latin, Welsh, Korean, and two forms of Gaelic, Tigon
grabbed the nearest thing to try to dry off her dinosaur-covered cast.
It was halfway through the process that she noticed it was someone's
shirt.

She couldn't imagine who's though...it was too little for Steve's, and
too big for everyone else. It was definitely a man's shirt, and in
fact reminded Tigon of something. She stared at the water-spotted
fabric for a moment before it came to her...it looked like the shirt
that Nick wore in 'For I Have Sinned.'

Shrugging, Tigon threw the shirt on over her black t-shirt...it was
big enough to fit over her cast, that's all she cared about. Muttering
under her breath, "Finders keepers, losers weepers," Tigon headed for
some much needed sleep, not noticing the slip of paper that had falled
underneath the kitchen table and into a puddle of water...ink smearing
into an indistinguishable blur.


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


Revenge (1/5)
Author: Cherri L. Munoz  aka  Cousin Cherri <cdmunoz@earthlink.net>
Date: Wednesday, July 31
Time: 7 am
Place: CERK HQ and the Cleanrite Dry Cleaners
----------------------------------------------------------------

Cherri woke up to the alarm, stretched then realized that for the
first time in months, she had slept on her stomach instead of being
propped up on her side by the cow costume's vinyl udder.
//Wonderful!!// As she lay on the bed with her eyes closed, she
replayed the moment that LaCroix had slipped the black silk dress over
her head. <sigh> //Enough. I have things to do.//

//And thinking about silk.// Cherri walked to the closet and pulled
out the black-silk pants outfit she had bought months ago. She had
promised herself that when she finally got out of the dratted costume,
she would always wear silk.

After showering, dressing, and two cups of caffe latte, Cherri walked
out the door with her two bags of laundry and her purse. It was a
glorious day. Bright...sunny...hot and humid. Perfect weather for
wearing black cloths, however, the native Canadians did not seem to
agree so as they walked by her, she greeted each of their delusional
stares with a smirk. After all, she was only warm whereas they
appeared to be suffering a great deal from the heat since they were
mainly used to the freezing weather.

Shifting the bags from one hand to the other, she smiled in
anticipation of tonight's activities. LaCroix.... she dropped dead her
tracks. //THAT'S RIGHT!!! I can call him LaCroix to his face. OH my
GOSH!!! I can't believe it!// She smiled and continued on her way as
she remembered that LaCroix had agreed to participate in her little
foray. This was gonna be so good.

Cherri entered the Cleanrite Dry Cleaners and waited for the employee
to walk across the room to the counter where she was standing.

"What can I do for you?" the nice lady asked.

Cherri opened the first bag. "I have a black silk dress for dry
cleaning and a towel for the laundry. I would like the towel preserved
in a bag so that the CERK symbol is displayed."

The lady nodded, "We can do that but it will cost extra."

"That's fine."

"And the other bag?" she asked.

Placing the bag on the counter, Cherri made a face. "You'd better hold
your nose. This isn't gonna be pleasant." She pulled out the costume.

"YOU!!! You were the COW!! I love the Nightcrawler show. About a month
ago, I missed getting the prize because I was the second caller to
call in the correct location. Geez. I missed it by 15 seconds, I was
told. But wait!!! Does this mean the contest is over?"

Cherri growled, "Yes, it is over."

"Oh." The lady's expression suddenly turned to a professional
neutrality. She pulled the costume completely out of the bag and
looked at it. "It's kinda worn but it should come out all right. Is
Friday afternoon OK for you?"

Cherri's patience had run out. "No, it is not. Last night, Mr. LaCroix
made special arrangements to have this costume cleaned and ready by
1:00 pm."

"I don't think we can do it," the lady whined.

Just then, the manager appeared. "What seems to be the problem?"

"This person wants her order out by 1 pm, I don't think we can do it."

"I'm sorry, miss. We cann..."

"This order is for Mr. LaCroix. He called last night." Cherri smiled
when she saw the manager visibly pale at the mention of LaCroix' name.

"Clarinda, she's right. This is a special order. I talked to the
gentlemen in question." Without saying another word, the manager
turned and fled.

The lady shrugged as she faced Cherri. "Okay. You got it."

Thrilled with the power that just the name LaCroix invoked, Cherri
pitched her voice to sound the most menacing. "I am the only person
who is to be allowed to pick up the cow costume and the other
clothes." She pulled an envelope from her purse. "Mr. LaCroix took
this picture of me so that there would be no mistake. Keep it. Since
you've been following the cow, I will bring a picture of me in the cow
costume. If the order is ready AND on time, I will give you that
picture and I will personally autograph it with a saying such as 'this
is the last autographed picture of The CERK Cow there will ever be'.
If, however, you fail, Mr. LaCroix, himself, may visit you and that I
assure you...it will NOT be pleasant."

"I...I won'...." Suddenly, her face brightened. "A picture...of you as
The CERK Cow. I don't believe it. All my friends will be so jealous. I
won't fail you. It will be on time."

Cherri walked out of the Dry Cleaner's with a smile. "I just killed
two birds with one stone. If I sign the picture that way, I'll never
have to sign another one again AND I'll have the cow costume on time."


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


An invitation for fame
Place: Cousin HQ
Time: Tuesday, July 31th
Author: Dawn Steele, h36a@unb.ca

At seven-thirty in the morning, a messenger rang the doorbell at
Cousin headquarters. He absently noted the flat box for a moment
before realizing that it was a palm scanner. "I wonder what they have
in here?" He looked closer at the door; there was a camera system
studying him, and ... surely those things were illegal?

"Do you realize what time it is?" The voice coming out of the speaker
was so tinny that the messenger couldn't even tell if it was male or
female.

"I've got a message for Will Steeves... He's supposed to be in here."

"Just a minute."

Precisely 67 seconds later (the messenger always counted -- it was a
small, but enjoyable hobby), the front door/barricade opened up to
show a young caucasian man in pyjamas. "I'm Will Steeves."

"Great!" The messenger handed him a small envelope, and a clipboard.
"Could you just sign right there that you've received it?" He left
with the satisfaction of a job well done (So he <likes> being a
messenger, surely they can't <all> with dissatisfied!).

Cousin Will slipped a finger beneath the edge of the envelope and
ripped it open. Pulling out the paper, he held it up to the morning's
light to make sure that nothing was hidden within, and then opened it.

"From the makers of 'Forever Knight'? . . . Contest? . . .  Guest
star?" He read the letter over again. If this was legit, then he <had>
to go. He checked the date of the letter - A day before the war
started.  But then why the messenger?"

"Tomorrow?" Will hurried back inside, determined to phone the given
number as soon as the offices opened. If this invitation to the set of
Kung Fu was legit, then he was going -- War or no War!

-----------------------
Okay -- on Wednesday, the closed studios will be reopened for a
documentary on the making of Forever Knight and the fans of the show.

I don't believe that any of the stars themselves have been invited (no
legal permission slips!), but the 'characters' are welcome to drop by.


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


N&NPackers Day Off (3/?):  C Is for Cookie ... and Cousins
by N&NPacker Idalia Kakesako  (posted by Mel on behalf of Idalia)
Wednesday, July 31 7:43am, 10:57am
N&NPackers Headquarters

From: Idalia Kakesako <idaliak@ix.netcom.com>

----------

"C Is for Cookie ... and Cousins"
Wednesday, July 31, 7:43 a.m.


"HAHAHAHA!"

Idalia's dark brown eyes popped open and she immediately sat up.
*What the--* she wondered, then remembered where she was ... in
N&NPack Headquarters in Toronto for the list war.  Some early-bird
N&NPackers were up already, laughing. *Probably planning war escapades
... or watching more N&N episodes ...* she thought as she plopped back
on her air mattress.  She threw her pillow over her head to block out
the raucous laughter.  Idalia's main goal this morning was to sleep
in, and she wasn't going to let anyone -- Cousins, Immortal Beloveds,
OR her fellow N&NPackers -- stand in her way.

10:57 a.m.

Three hours later, Idalia woke for the second time.  She did feel more
refreshed, but she also felt a bit uneasy.  She'd dreamt that she had
been in a crowd of Cousins, counting like The Count on "Sesame
Street".  She remembered saying, "One Cousin ... bwahahaha ... two
Cousins ... bwahahaha... three Cousins ... bwahahaha ..."  Under
Snufflupagus stood one of the newer, younger, female Cousins, who was
getting showered via that Muppet's trunk.  That dripping wet Cousin
inexplicably wore only a wrinkled trenchcoat and a hat, but no socks
or shoes.

Idalia had no idea what that dream could've possibly meant, and she
wondered if she should mention it to Mel or Laura or any of the
others.  As she started getting dressed, Idalia thought, *Maybe I
shouldn't have eaten so many cookies at Chana's birthday party?*  But
then she smiled evilly. *No, that's not what it was.  Sometimes my
dreams are prescient.*  A plan forming in her mind, she began to sing
softly, "C is for cookie ..."


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


LOUISIANA RAIN

Vachon's church
~ 8 am, Wednesday July 31st

by Bonnie "you are getting sleepy... very sleepy" Pardoe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who the hell are you?"  The Vaqueros were suspicious of everyone
these days, but Torrey was the most suspicious of all and for good
reason after the atrocities which had been heaped upon her small
group.  She hated to think how the Vaqueros would be treated if *they*
ever attacked another affiliation without provocation.

"Well?  Who the hell are you?"  Torrey repeated her question with even
less patience this time.

"Phil.  From McGrath Construction.  I have a work order here to
install one shower."

The Vaqueros's leader narrowed her eyes at the man -- the fact that he
was rather handsome and well-built made her even more suspicious.
"Who sent you?"

"My boss.  Mr. McGrath."  Dona Torrey could almost hear the unspoken
'duh' in his tone.

Construction-worker Phil handed Torrey the pink copy of his work-
order.  At the top was the name 'Bonnie Pardoe.'  "Hold on a minute...
um, Phil?" Torrey turned to Ann Scura, one of that morning's broom
wheelers, "Go get Bonnie, would you?"

"But she's sleeping," Ann reminded her stalwart leader.

"I don't care if she's dead, go get her."

Ann remembered their resurrection of Vachon and truly believed that
even death did not deter Torrey Harris.  Ann nodded her curly blonde
head and dashed off.

Too many minutes later, Ann finally returned, pulling a very sleepy
and very reluctant Bonnie behind her.

"I am never going to get a decent night's, um, day's, um,
whatever...," Bonnie mumbled to herself as they neared the front door
of the church.

"Bonnie, did you authorize this?"  Torrey thrust the pink work-order
under the sleepy girl's nose.

Bonnie rubbed her eyes and tried to focus.  She shook her brown curls,
"What is it?"

"A work order for a shower?"

"Oh, yeah.  I arranged this."

Torrey simply stared at the young woman.

"I told--" yawn "--you about it.... Didn't I, Torrey?"

Torrey shook her head and ground her teeth.

"Sorry--" Bonnie yawned widely "--I've just been so tired--" yawn "--I
must have for--" yawn "--gotten."

Torrey yanked her fellow Vaquero aside and pushed her up against the
wall. "And how do you think we are going to pay for this?  Hmmm?  They
aren't paying you that much over at the Raven, and we can't keep
piling up charges on Apache's Gold Card."

Bonnie nodded, slightly more coherent than she had been before being
pinned between her irate Capitan and the cold wall.  "I know.  My
landlords, really nice people, own a construction company--" Bonnie
yawned mid-sentence again.

"You live in California, Bonnie.  You can't possible think I'll
believe this guy came thousands of mile, across an entire continent,
just because he's nice."

"No--" yawn "--I did my landlords this really huge favor last summer
so they--" yawn "--owe me.  McGrath is a friend of theirs.  The job
won't cost us a single--" yawn "--bloody--" yawn "--looney.  Honest.
It's all square."

The strawberry blonde simply stared at Bonnie.  These Vaqueros never
ceased to amaze her.  Torrey turned back to the construction worker.
"Well, don't just stand there, Phil.  Get that shower installed!"

Bonnie crawled back to her temporary bed on the couch in the basement
-- the only place in the church where the sounds of the geese and the
other Vaqueros weren't too loud for her to sleep through the day.

Vachon was getting used to sharing the room with the singer.  She
didn't snore and she kept bribing him with bottles of hard-core human
blood from the Raven.  Besides, he liked to just sit and watch her
sleep.

By that evening, despite the wild events of the day, the Vaqueros had
a functioning, if not a pretty, shower just off the kitchen in the
back of the church.  Never again would Bonnie have to hear Janette or
the Raven/ettes complain about her borrowing the shower at the Raven.


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


N&NPackers Day Off (2/?)
by N&NPackers Mel Moser & Co.
Wednesday, 8:00am, morning, and various
N&NPackers Headquarters

*****

From: John T Folden (jtfolden@erinet.com)


..." You've got to keep your hopes up, Kermie..." Dr. Natalie Hambert
said as she continued to autopsy the dead hen laying before her.
"We'll find a cure one day. In the meantime...I've got another one of
my superduper special shakes for you to drink sitting over there in
the cooler".

Detective Kermit Knight groan as he opened the cooler door. "What's in
it this time?" he asked hesitantly.

"The usual..."

"Oh, no! Not more of the..."

"Yep, detergent and bleach. Drink up!", Dr. Hambert replied
cheerfully.

"I'm not sure I can drink this. Isn't there an easier way?" Knight
groaned again.

"Well, we could tear off those cloth arms, pluck out your button eyes,
and rip out that fake little red tongue of yours", Natalie Hambert
retorted, "and I could even shake out all your stuffing but you'd
still be green and I doubt very much you'd look like the sock you used
to be...or can be again. We need to take it slow."

"Sometimes, it just seems so hopeless", Kermit sighed. "I still crave
those paper mache flies as much as I ever did."

"You've got to have faith, Kermie". Natalie said, trying to comfort
him, "You've got to love me as much as I love you..."

"I do love you, Nat" Kermit said lovingly, "but if this doesn't work
I'm gonna have beacon for breakfast." --

-- John jerked awake in his sleeping bag and sat upright against the
wall trying to gather his thoughts. "That was one heck a dream", he
said to himself. The war must be getting to me, he thought. Either
that or maybe he ate one too many breaded frog legs at that strange
restaurant last night.

Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was almost 9:00am and decided
to head for the shower. On the way there he ran into Mel.

"Don't take too long." She said. "A few of us were thinking about
breakfast and I thought you might like to join us".

"Great!" John replied. "My stomach's already growling and I've got a
bad craving for beacon."


******

From: Pat Witham <catspaw@bbs.cruzio.com>
9:00am

Pat decided to doze in bed and about 9:00 started reading N&N Cold
Shower stories. By 10:00 she needed the cold shower really bad. After
some cooling off time she joined the ones watching FK tapes and
suggested we watch Janette eps so we can pretend to throw sock ammo at
the Ravenettes. The motion was seconded and a couple of hours of
booing and hissing followed.

***

From: Robert Edward Buchta <rbuchta@ix.netcom.com>
Gayle McCreedy
9:30 a.m.

I stretch luxuriously and snuggle back into my sleeping bag for
another 15 minutes of dozing.  Sleeping in, not having the pressure of
work or the restlessness of hungry dogs waking me up, is such a gift! 
As much as I love my family and my work, sneaking away to play in
Toronto is a guilty pleasure.   Eventually, I start moving, and with a
cup of steaming hot chocolate, contemplate a visit to the Science
Center or Younge street, or... Nah.  I find a sunny windowseat and
curl up with a copy of "Requiem for Moses," a Father Koesler novel.  I
love the way Kienzle works in scenes from Detroit into his novels.
And, with the war out of the way for a day, letting someone else's
fiction lead my mind into new territory sounds just fine.

******

From: Judy (DanaKnight@aol.com)

Judy slept in a little late that morning, not getting up until nearly
10am. No matter.  She still had plenty of time to sneak out the door
and downtown to the Star Trek exhibit that was on display.  Over
12,000 items from the show!  Cool, she could use the distraction after
the hectic past couple of days....


******

From: Jenn Dukarski (DUKARSJA@udmercy.edu)

Jenn D. awoke to see a brilliantly shining sun.  Grumbling after
having spent the war in silence, playing Doom and watching N&N videos
at HQ, she decided it was time to get out, to see some sights.  What a
perfect chance to see the Hockey Hall of Fame, she thought.  Of all
the times I've been to Toronto, I've never seen the hall of fame.
Stopping only to get an early morning snack from a street vender, she
was en-route to the holy of hockey holies... and nothing, not even
Lucien LaCroix and all of his chums would be able to stop her.

******

From: Arletta Asbury (g4akl@erols.com)

Arletta woke up slowly.  She blinked her eyes and rolled over in her
sleeping bag.  Her back hurt a lot from the unaccustomed sleeping
arrangements.  'Yeah, war is hell,' she thought, 'but a bad back is
worse'!  Glancing at her wristwatch, Arletta saw that it was nearly
9:30. She quickly performed her usual exercises, to stretch her back
muscles, before crawling out of her sleeping bag and finally standing.

In the living room she heard the sounds of one of her favorite FK
episodes and she quietly joined other N&NPackers watching it.  That
episode was followed by another one of her favorites which she also
watched.

By the end of the second episode she was quite hungry and left the all
too tempting marathon TV viewing and went into the kitchen where she
fixed herself some oatmeal for a late breakfast.

She wondered if Lacroix would approve of the oatmeal and smiled at the
thought that the actor playing him probably would.  Then again he
wouldn't because it was REAL oatmeal and the wrong brand.  Arletta
giggled at that thought and went back to watch more of her favorite FK
episodes.

******

From: Erin Friedman <efriedm1@mailhost.tcs.tulane.edu>

        Erin finally woke up at 10:30 AM after having watched Nick and
Nat episodes until about 3:00 that morning.  Groaning as she
remembered that they were not allowed to post anything until that
evening, she resisted the temptation to roll back over and get some
more sleep and got up to get some breakfast.  While eating, she
remembered that, because they couldn't post, Laura had declared today
a Nick and Nat pack day off.  Because the group was planning
activities and plotting war stuff for that afternoon, she decided to
spend what was left of the morning catching up on her reading.  She
had just received "Lizards in the Grass" as a birthday present, and
she wanted to see how far she could get before all of the fun stuff
planned for later in the day.  Curling up in a corner of the TV room
for the company, she quickly became engrossed in the book.  Melissa G.
had to remind her to get up and eat some lunch just before 1:00.

(to be continued in Chapter 3)


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


Get Me to the Church
by Perri Smith

July 31, 9 a.m.
Nick's Loft
After The Pick-up (?)


The phone rang only once before someone picked it up. Faint squeals
and curses came floating through from the other side; Perri rolled her
eyes, chalked up a mental bet won and asked whoever it was on the
other end, "Can I talk to Torrey or Sherri?"

"Sure, hang on."

A long minute, then, "Hello?"

"Torrey, explain something -- how the hell did every faction on earth
know when to coem to Toronto?"

Torrey half-laughed. "Mental telepathy. Hi, Perri. What do you want?"

Perri attempted to sound injured. "Torrey, what makes you think I want
something."

Torrey didn't even bother. "What do you want?"

Perri sighed with disgust. "Nick lost something before he left Toronto
--we know he was in the church at about that time. Can we declare
truce and come look?"

"What'd he lose?" Torrey asked curiously.

Perri shuffled her feet. "I'd rather not say. Can we come?"

Torrey thought about it. Vachon wasn't in the best mood....and did
they want everyone to know he was alive? "Yeah," she finally
concluded, "but only a couple of people."

"Deal," Perri said with relief.

*******

The group of five Knighties shuffled up to the not-really-abandoned
church, looking suspiciously at the flock of geese on the other side
of the new fencing. The geese looked back noisily.

Fortunately, a human being appeared quickly ont he other side -- she
looked ready to do battle, but relaxed as Perri displayed the back of
her list T-shirt, with Knightie clearly marked. "Perri and company,
right?" Vaquera called. "Let me round up the geese and you can come on
in."

"Geese?" Suzanne mouthed at Perri. Perri shrugged and looked back
towards the church -- she looked uncomfortable and unhappy and Suzanne
didn't have a clue why.

"What's with Perri?" she asked Amy D quietly.

Amy was studying Perri. "She had a monster crush on Vachon -- finding
out about Divia killing him really threw her for a loop. She was
crying."

"Perri? Crying over Vachon? But she's a Knightie."

"I know."

"Wow." Suzanne sat back to contemplate her leader in silence.

The lone vaquera reappeared at the same time. "Okay, come on in."

The Knighties picked their way through the Vaquero security set-up and
finally found themselves within the church -- which was currently
bearing a striking resemblence to the loft, right down to the thirty
or so sleeping bags strewing the floor and the women sprawled all over
the place.

Torrey Harris was one of them. "Hi, Perri," she greeted the new
arrivals.

"Hi, Torrey, good to see you," Perri answered. "Where is it okay for
us to start looking?"

Torrey flipped a quick look at Sherri, who gave her the all-clear.
"Vachon's room -- you know where it is?'

Suzanne almost didn't see Perri flinch. "Yeah, I remember. Come on,
Knighties, let's get busy."

The search of Vachon's room, the quarters below the church that Screed
had used, the 'living room' and the various nooks and crannies that
all old churches have took the better part of an hour, even after a
few Vaqueros pitched in to help -- Perri actually broke down and told
them what they were hunting for, although not what its significance
was. For some reason, none of the Vaqueros looked surprised.

"Any luck?" Torrey asked as the Knighties reappeared, covered with
dust, cobwebs and other things that no one wanted to put a name to.

"Nothing," Amy said with disgust. "Total zero."

Perri looked resigned. "Come on, Amy, we didn't really expect to find
it here anyway -- we were just hoping. Thanks for the assist, Torrey."

"No problem." Torrey was about to offer some suggestions on where else
to search when an irritated voice came from behind her.

"More people? Are these going to sleep here, too?"

Torrey closed her eyes, swore mentally, then opened them again,
resigned. She offered and apologetic smile, instead, and answered,
"No, Vachon, they're just passing through."

"Good," the vampire said, running his hands through his long, dark
hair --which seemed a bit shorter than it had been the last times
they'd seen him...

Amy realized her mouth was hanging open, as were the jaws of the other
three Knighties. Perri's eyes were wide, her face limp with shock. "V-
-Vachon?" she stuttered.

Vachon actually looked at them. "Yeah, I do still live here. Perri,
right? One of Nick's?"

"Uh-huh," Perri answered, the blank shock on her face starting to give
way to a huge grin. "Yeah, we're all Nick's. You're alive."

Vachon smiled in return. "I noticed - it was a surprise to me, too."

"A good surprise," Perri assured him, her grin now shining from ear to
ear. "A wonderful surprise. Too cool for words."

Vachon blinked at her -- Perri's grin got even wider. "How's Nick?" he
asked, apparently deciding Perri had gone around the bend and needed
to be treated gently.

"Fine," Perri answered.

"He's alive, but we don't know where he is," Amy filled in, rolling
her eyes as Perri seemed content to stand and stare at Vachon. "We
hear from him every couple of days."

"Good," Vachon nodded.

Torrey stepped in. "Do you need to look anywhere else here?"

Suzanne elbowed Perri; Perri blinked and regained control of her
brain. "Uh, no, I don't think there *is* anywhere else. Thanks for
your help. Good to see you all -- and you, Vachon."

"Same here," he nodded and retreated. Torrey rolled her eyes at Amy
and escorted the Knighties out of the church and part the killer
geese.


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


N&NPackers Day Off (4/?)
by N&NPackers Mel Moser & Co.
Wednesday, July 31 9:00am, morning, and various
N&NPackers Headquarters

******
From: Laura MacMillan <soulseek@sprynet.com>

The Dayoff
9:00am

Laura sat alone at the kitchen, listening to her walkman and singing
low enough not to disturb anyone.
"Love life and laughter is all I believe. My saviour is pure now
because my lonely heart would bleed."
Within seconds she was doing a chair dance to the rhythm of the music
and using two pencils as drum sticks and her papers as a drum pad.
About half through the song Chana walked into the kitchen and stood
watching Laura with amusement. She was always amazed at how easily a
good piece of music could relax Laura. It was then that she knew today
would be a fun day. It would be a day of relaxation and joy.

"You can tell me you love me, you can tell me you need me,  but I see
right through you. Tell me that you are really sorry and tell that
your heart is true. Tell..." Laura stopped when she realized Chana was
standing in there grinning at her.

"Hi. I hope I didn't wake you, " said a slightly red faced Laura

"Not at all. I was enjoying the show," commented a grinning Chana

"I'm glad I could provide some entertainment," replied Laura

"You seem to be in a good spirits considering the horrible day we had
yesterday," said Chana

"We got a much needed the day off and I plan to make sure we all have
a very good, fun filled day. Afterwards we can get back to the task on
hand. I think it's time I take everyone who is willing on a tour of
Toronto," responded Laura

******

From: Susan Bennett <cd397@freenet.toronto.on.ca>

Oh day of days. Finally, a whole day off - well almost a whole day. I
spent the morning basically doing the same thing I'd been doing every
morning since last Sunday - tripping over people. I carried out a
quick little job at noon, but after that - the rest of the day was
mine. While most of the others made plans to do things together I
decided to go home - to a near empty house. It was bliss. Of course I
loved the war and having everyone over, but 32 people in one house, no
matter how big it was, was a daunting experience. (Thinking about
daunting experiences I wondered what my next hydro bill was going to
be like). But enough of that.

The first thing I did when I arrived home was change into my bathing
suit and hop into the pool - without having to wait for a space. After
a long, leisurely swim I went inside and took a long, hot bath -
without having to wait in line, or listen to people banging on the
door to get in. (Until this week I never thought I'd need more than
two bathrooms). The war no longer existed. Finally, there was just one
thing left to do - head for the couch and lie in the solitude of my
own peaceful living room. The war was but a distant memory. It all
came back to me in a rush, when I looked up at the ceiling and noticed
Kevin *never* did get that red paint off.

******

From: DebbiLynnS@aol.com

Nick and Natalie riding a cow and a goose into the sunset.  That's the
kind of dream you get when you fall asleep watching FK episodes and
talking about the war.  Still, there ARE worse things.  Debbi finally
gave up trying to get some more sleep.  Between the tv (FK episodes
still showing) and the sounds of those N&NPackers already awake there
wasn't much chance of getting any more sleep anyway.  Debbi checked
her watch (being the must-know-exactly-what-time-it-is-at-all-times-
aholic that she is) - 11:00 am.

Can't exactly accuse her of being a morning person.  Still plenty of
time to get ready (hopefully) before the group outing after noon.
Can't wait!

******

From: Scott H. (picard1@execpc.com)

"Scott's Day Off..."
date/time: 7/31/96, 4:48 p.m.



I felt my eyes go buggy again as I stared at my monitor.  Another hour
of this, and I would have permanent brain-fry.  One can only do so
much web-surfing.

"Scott, knock it off," I thought aloud as I logged off and shut down
my computer.  I sat in my computer chair in silence.  What was I doing
here?  Here I was, turning into a vegetable in front of my computer
when I could've been spending time with Soulseeker, Idalia, Chana, and
the others on the N&NPacker's day off.  I had the opportunity to go
out with them but I said I had previous obligations; realistically, I
was searching web sites and e-mail for any info from my contact, who,
by anonymous messenger, told me to expect another message soon.
However, after nearly four hours of sifting through several hundred
pieces of E-mail and scouring the WWW,  I was coming up empty.

Well, no more.  I couldn't rely on this mystery man to guid my every
move.  It wasn't fair to me or the others.  I decided to get out of my
little corner of the world and meet the others.  If I remembered
correctly, there was the possibility of a cruise tonight.  Perhaps
Soulseeker would be there.  Her presence alone would make it all worth
it.  I smiled at the possibilities as I got up and went to my bathroom
to shower and then, to my bedroom to get ready for the evening's
activities.

About forty minutes later, I emerged from my bedroom feeling like a
new man. I was feeling so relieved to get out of my place and have
some fun with my friends.  I locked up, headed to my apartment
elevator, waiting for it to arrive.

When the elevator door opened, a darkly dressed man whisked past me,
bumping into my shoulder.  "Hey!!" I said, giving an annoyed look at
the man.

He turned and said quietly, "Excuse me, sir."  The man continued to
rush down the hall (until he disappeared around the corner) after he
spoke.

I brushed off the incident as I got into the elevator, smiling once
again as I anticipated the evening's events.  One can dream, can't
they?


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


Just a Little Documentary (1/3)
Place:  Paragon Studios (the FK warehouse)
Time:   Wednesday, Aug. 1 (10 am)
Author: Dawn Steele (h36a@unb.ca)


<10 a.m.>

Will presented his invitational letter to the secretary (uh... we
gotta be PC), the official-greeter-of-persons-and-general-organizer.
She looked a bit puzzled for a minute, but then her face brightened
with recognition.

"The Forever Knight retrospective!" She shook her curly red hair, and
lowered her voice to impart the next confidant. "I used to watch it
off the Buffalo station . . . pity about how it ended." Then she waved
him on through.

The place was bustling. Some of the old sets had been found and
reconstructed.  There was a group of five people going through the old
master tapes for clips, and cutting room floor bits. The mysteriously
lost first year blooper tape had even been found (I wish!), and
another group was sitting in front of a large TV giggling.

Will Steeves looked around with fascination. He really didn't know why
he was there. It was true that he was one of the major members of the
so-called 'Toronto contingent', but surely the Paragon PTB hadn't
known about his efforts to popularize the show in the area.

After a minute, a woman came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Are you Mr. Steeves?"

He looked her over. Average height (5'4" is average!) with brown hair
pulled through the back of a FK baseball cap. She looked official;
comfortable jeans, with a plain white button-down shirt. There was
even a name tag on the front with Kacy written below the large blue
"GOPHER".

"Eh?" (Will's from Ontario, Canada. It's inevitable that some 'eh'
will be in the conversation.) "That's me!" He sounded perky.

Kacy's eyes narrowed. There was such a thing as being <too> perky --
espescially when the coffee machine was broken. "Let me just take you
over to wardrobe."  She turned around smartly, and moved off with a
brisk pace, stepping over the cables and props with the ease of long
practice.

"Wardrobe?" Will could have smacked himself. Surely he could come up
with something more intelligent.

The gopher stopped in front of one of the hundreds of plain anonymous
doors.  "Sure -- wardrobe." She hesitated, and then looked him up and
down. "You <do> know what you're doing here, right?"

Will stepped through the door. "Actually, the letter wasn't very
informa..."

Kacy was gone.

He turned around to look for someone else. Surely someone knew what he
was supposed to be doing there. He questioned first one, and then
another of the workers in wardrobe. They were working hurridly on
piecing together bits of clothing to make imitation - medieval style
clothing and didn't have time for his questions. "Check out the
wardrobe head."

With nothing but a vague gesture to go on, Will headed off further
into wardrobe. He passed rack after rack of clothing. It appeared as
if every single piece of apparel that had ever been used on Forever
Knight was here.

"Excuse me." Will tapped the man's shoulder. "Do you know what I'm
going here?"

The wardrobe man looked back with a puzzled expression. It made his
goatee twitch. "If <you> don't know, then why should I?"

Will pulled out his (somewhat bedraggled) letter desperately. "My
name's Will Steeves! I got invited to this..."

"Oh! You're <that> one." The wardrobe man (there was a small nametag
hidden in the midst of his t-shirt but as it was placed over the
glittering mailplate of a knight riding a dragon -- it was effectively
invisible except that the name seemed to start with a 'J' and thus
ending this very long run-on sentence that seems to be going ... )
turned and headed off quickly through the racks of clothes.

"Where are we going!?"

"We have to get you dressed!" The wardrobe man stopped suddenly at a
certain rack, forcing Will to grab desperately at some clothes in
other to stop before running into him.

Clothing ripped, and the wardrobe man sighed in exaperation. He
started to mutter underneath his breath "... guests! ... end from
Timbuktoo ... pay raise."

"Here!" The Wardrobe man shoved a vibrantly pink shirt at Will.
"You've got to wear this!"

Will grabbed at the shirt, but the slippery material slipped (whoops!)
through his fingers and then fell to the floor. "Sorry." His normally
perkyness factor was wavering, but was still strong.

"You're the one who has to wear it."

While Will was contemplating the pink (mauve/purple/... PINK!) shirt
and having a mini flashback to a certain FK episode featuring a
virtual reality game that resulted in a certain thread on SKL that
Tippi changed into a short story. But surely this couldn't be... Not
"the" EVIL PINK shirt?

The wardrobe man disappeared, and he was alone again. Alone, except
for the shirt -- and it seemed to almost glow. From somewhere, Will
thought he heard an evil chuckle start and then... stop.

Heh heh heh heh...

End of Part 1/3


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


You Always Hurt the Ones You Love  (1/1)
Inspired by Julie Stafford (KnightGal@aol.com)
With Leslie GrantSmith (LoosCanN@aol.com)
And Gehirn Karies (Cerk Jerk@aol.com) providing moral (?) support.
Timing: Wednesday, July 31st -- late morning
Right after leaving the Loft in "Some Cousins Come Calling"

Karies sat astride Nick's bike letting it run at a low rumbling idle
to warm up, while the other Cousins got themselves sorted out in the
other two vehicles.  She slouched on the seat, glowering at the
morning light.

Tammy leaned out of the driver's window of the Voyager and asked, "Why
are you hunkering so Evil?  Everything went okay.  So far."

"I hadn't intended on sharing my motel with the LaCroixian Mommy,
whose husband woke me up at six a.m."

"You should be staying at CERK," Starr commented from the passenger
seat.

"I think not.  My cats would have Eagle breath."

"If I can leave my kids at home, you could leave those psychotic
orange cats home," Leslie bit off, making the bike sway as she got on
too.

"The last time I did, The Roomie fed only Spot and two of the
neighbors' cats.  Pugsley didn't eat all week and he was scared. Where
is Julie?"

At that moment, the Jag purred around the corner, Julie at the wheel,
smiling beatifically.  Shirl sat beside her, puzzling over a map of
Toronto.  Becky, being bouncy, had been relegated to the back seat
with the killer canines, Watson and Devo.  Julie rolled the Jag to an
easy stop next to Karies.

"Ready when you are, GK," she declared.

An evil glint rose in Karies' eyes, and her mood changed as she saw
the dogs hovering in the back of the Jag.   "Cousin J," she drawled,
squinting into the backseat, "messin' up the Jag with the furry ones. 
Heavens to Mergatroid!"

"I'll vacuum," Julie protested.

"I'm sure," Shirl laughed.

"Okay, we'll see you guys later," Karies said, revving up the bike.

"You aren't coming?" Julie asked.

"Nah.  This is your sport, Cousin J.  We got something else to do."

"Besides, I wouldn't go near that place.  Those guys give me the
willies," Leslie added.  Karies pulled away, her startled passenger
clutching the seat, wailing, "Wait!  What are you up to noooowwww?"

The remaining Cousins looked at each other and shrugged.  Things
tended to go a little more smoothly without the two CERK Jerks along
anyway.  They took off, the Voyager following the Jag, a whole new day
with boundless opportunities for mischief before them.

Cousin J decided to take a tiny detour on the way to their next
destination, much to Tammy's annoyance as, swearing, she wrestled the
Chrysler through traffic.  She slowed the Jag down to a slow ooze as
they passed CERK and Shirl kept an eye out for any Cousins that might
be sitting around with nothing to do.  Idle hands, etc.

Sure enough, they spotted Cherri, still looking delicious in Julie's
black dress.  Pulling over to the curb, Shirl asked, "Cherri, you
busy?"

"Not at the moment.  What's up?"

"Oh, we're just out stretching the Jag's legs.  Oh, then we thought
we'd drive by the Nick and Nat Packers, see how they're doing this
morning."

Smiling wickedly, Cherri remarked, "You *know* I'm in."

A similar conversation had taken place a dozen yards behind them
between the folks in the van and Cousins Marg and Lax.  Snickering
gleefully they bundled into the Voyager.

Cherri slid into the Jag's backseat, among the tangle of dogs, Booda
bones, rawhide chewies and a blatantly bouncing Becky.  They slipped
back into traffic, Julie finding the Jag a true delight to drive. She
had to be careful not to lose the tank-like Voyager behind her.
Glancing back to make sure that Tammy was still there, she was
startled by the strangled shrieks of her companions.  She looked
forward quickly enough to be able to dance the nimble car around a
flatbed truck which had lumbered into her lane.  The truck, ladened
with musical instruments and men in delightfully retro 80's Spandex,
lurched away, swerving dangerously down an alley.

"Oh, man," Shirl gasped from behind the hand pressed over her mouth,
"do you suppose they're all right?  Should we go back and check?"

The other Cousins contemplated the idea a moment, then Cherri said,
"Nah.  Consider it instant karma."  Sometimes it takes folks awhile to
recover their basic human kindness after being KISSed awake.
Especially if they're Cousins.

Julie parked the Jag across the street from the N&NPacker's HQ and the
four Cousins and two Canines contemplated their victims' abode. So
still, so deceptively peaceful, that facade that hid the fevered,
florid imaginations of those within.  Shaking off these loathsome
thoughts, they peered behind them, trying to spot the Voyager.

Becky bounced, sending up a cloud of dog hair.  "Where are those guys?
Should we go ahead and do it now?"

"Personally, I'd wait.  If Tammy misses out on the fun, she might do
something ... Librarian to us," said Julie.  They all shuddered at the
thought.  Fortunately, their impulse control wasn't stressed any
further.  The Voyager rolled around the corner and parked behind them.
Catching a glimpse of Tammy's face and the rather stunned look in
Starr's eyes, they were rather relieved they'd waited.

They decanted themselves onto the sidewalk, surrounded by a fog of dog
fur.

"Becky, your bouncing is getting hair all over the place," Julie
grumbled, brushing herself off and eyeing *her* fuzzed black dress
that Cherri was wearing.  "Why don't you ride back in the mini-van
from hell?  The Jag has too many people in it anyway and the dogs are
getting squashed."

"Oh, sure, I wouldn't want to cram the *dogs*," Becky grumbled, but
she bounced sedately over to stand next to the Cousins loitering by
the Voyager.  They grinned and proceeded to brush her off in way of
greeting.

"Very well," Cousin J asked in her best English English, "who would
care to do the honours?"

"Oh, let's let Cherri do it," Starr suggested, still sorry for her
friend for the months spent in a cow suit.

The vote carried unanimously in favor of Cherri, and she stepped
regally forward, remote cradled in her hand as though she were about
to perform a solemn duty.  After a pause, head bent in private
rumination, she looked up, extended her arm and pushed the button.

There followed a moment of silence, one that possessed an almost
stunned quality to it.  Then anguished screams shattered the peace of
the neighborhood.  Barely discernible under the agonized cries floated
the saccharine strains of:

"I love yoooouuuuu, You love meeeeee, We're a happy famileeeeee...."

The NightCrawler tapes had finally revealed their hideous secret.

Dogs moaning mournfully, the eight comrades, hands over their ears,
shared very evil Cousinly grins, and recited in unison, "And there was
*much* rejoicing!!"  They all hopped back in their vehicles and they
left the scene, unwilling to inflict any further torment on the poor
dogs.  Chortling, Julie tossed a brush for removing pet hair into the
back seat.  Cherri nabbed it deftly, then looked down at herself with
a decided pout.

"I need to go buy some clothes," she declared.

"Shopping!" Cousin J and Shirl screeched toward the open windows of
the Voyager.  No one heard what they said over the blast coming from
the only working speaker, but Marg, deftly reading their lips, quickly
filled the others in on the next plan.

Fin.


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


Pretty (Not!) in Pink
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis
Wednesday, July 31, late morning, after The Power of Windex
Merc Central, later, outside CERK

Lizbet walked into the computer room at Merc Central to check her
mail. Snickering evilly to herself, she wondered if LaCroix had seen
her message about the bust yet.

A minute later she was on her feet yelling, "Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiz!
Don't touch it!!!!!!!"

Behind her on the computer screen, a message gleamed faintly.
------------------------------
To:  mercs@forsale.com
From:  LaCroix@cerk.com
CC:  cousins@cerk.com

One of you has taken something of mine. I want it back. That pink
color on your skin is from the poison on the bust, that's stage one.
Stage two involves blistering and itching.  Stage Three, well I hope
you won't get to that stage.

I have the cure, and I'll give it to you for the bust and an apology.

With care,
     LC

BTW: Stage 2 starts in 24 hours
______________________________________________________

Lizbet dashed into Liz's room.  Since the bust was too heavy to carry
far, and Liz-the-Lucky had one of the few ground-floor bedrooms,
Lizbet had left the bust with her.  Now, she dashed panting into the
room, and immediately groaned, "Oh, NO!"

Liz looked up and grinned.  "It's horrible isn't it?" she said
cheerfully. "I don't think it will come off either."

Lizbet slid down the doorjamb and collapsed into a heap on the ground.
Liz had been playing with oil paints, and had altered LaCroix's bust
considerably.  Pink hair, green lips, orange eyes, and a huge purple
spot on the bald area at the back of the head.

"We're dead.  He'll kill us," Lizbet moaned.

Liz looked at her calmly.  "He can't.  No one is allowed to die in
Wars. Besides, he can't even retaliate against you.  He has to go
after whoever hired you."

"Laura hired me to swap busts, but Dawn and I came up with the ransom
idea ourselves.  We're on our own with it, so we're liable."

Liz cocked her head slightly and looked at her fellow Merc with
concern. "Are you all right, Lizbet?  You're looking kind of flushed."

Lizbet scrambled off the floor and went to the mirror that hung in
Liz's room.  "I'm not flushed," she said miserably.  "I'm *pink*!"
She glanced at Liz at her side and added, "You are too."

Liz redirected her gaze to the mirror.  "Ugh!" she said involuntarily.
Bright pink was *not* an attractive color with her red hair.  "What's
happening?"

"The bust was poisoned," Lizbet said, grabbing a cloth at random and
trying to scrub the paint off LaCroix's aristocratic nose.  "First we
turn pink. Then we start scratching.  Then... well, he is the master
of manipulation. He wouldn't tell me what Stage Three was.  He's
letting me suffer the torments of my imagination."  The paint, as Liz
had predicted, was indelibly sunk into the porous marble.  Lizbet
scrubbed harder.  "He will give us the antidote, as long as I give him
the bust and apologize."  She gulped, thinking of facing LaCroix.  He
didn't know it was her yet, but she and LaCroix had a memorable run-in
during the last War, where she mocked him recklessly.

She had been lucky to survive that encounter.  She didn't know if she
would survive this one.

Thinking fast, Lizbet said, "I have some flat white paint.  I'll paint
the bust with that, and deliver it to him.  If you see Dawn--grab her,
tell her what's going on, and tell her I'll be back with the antidote
ASAP."

Liz nodded, eyes wide with fear.
********
A few hours later, outside CERK...

Lizbet shifted the heavy load she carried on her back, pounding on
CERK's entryway.  She was now a *very* bright pink, and was beginning
to have furtive itches chasing their way over her skin.

"At least I hid the computer tape," she muttered.  She *would* get
something out of this, if it killed her!

Unfortunately, it just might...


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


Paper Trails....1/2
 by: Cousin Candice and Cousin Erik
 date: Wednesday July 31
 time: late morning to afternoon
 Place: CERK and Kinko's Copies on Bloor

Candice was still half-insane with rage the next morning.  She drove
out of the parking garage heading down to CERK looking for something
to do rather than kick the living $hit out of the next DieHard that
happened to cross her path.

She was feeling particularly violent -she needed a project to focus
her energies on.  Hopefully SOME Cousin at CERK would have something
for her to do.  She pulled to a screeching halt at CERK and hopped out
of the car.

"Well, let it never be said I was afraid of heights."

Candice shouldered her bag and got in the elevator.  She exited on her
floor of choice and walked down a flight, just in case someone was
watching.  On that floor, Candice found the door marked CERK and burst
in on a bustling coven of Cousins.

"Busy is always good,.."  Candice started to look for a familiar face
when something totally out of the ordinary caught her attention.

There was a guy in a cape and mask just like Le Phantome de l'Opera.
It was one of her favorite stories and to see someone in costume (off
Broadway!) was quite irregular.  She thought perhaps the white gloves
were a bit much, but it was always handy to be non-descript when
someone needed to identify you.

Cousins these days.....

Candice made her way over to the figure in black (what a lovely
color), deciding it was high time she made some new aquaintances.  She
tapped him (or at least she thought it was a him) on the shoulder and
announced herself.

"Hi there, I'm Candice.  Cousin Candice.  And just who might you be?"

He had turned away to contemplate his latest scheme when she
approached. Erik turned himself to face her.  He had been watching the
room since her ungracious appearance -watching how the other Cousins
watched her. They knew she and Lisa McD. weren't on the best of terms,
they knew she had been made a victim of peroxide during the last war,
and they knew she had won the confidence of LaCroix in the meeting out
of retribution.

What he didn't know was why she was talking to him.

It made him nervous.

Even the few inches he had on the striking brunette didn't ease his
conscience.

She wanted something.  And he knew she would stop at nothing to get
it.

She looked at him again, questioning.  Oh, that's right -he was
supposed to give her his name, too.

"Erik," he replied, a bit more trite than Candice would have liked.

Candice balked.  'Naturally,' she thought to herself.  After all, the
*real* Phantom's name was Erik, too.   She tried briefly to decide if
he was obsessional, delusional, or just plain wierd, but couldn't come
to any conclusions.

"So, what brings you to the Cousins?" she asked, trying to sound
casual.

"The General and I are kindred spirits."

'Now *that* was a bit presumptous sounding,' Candice didn't say.  The
words that came out sounded more like, "In what way?"

"In the ways that outweigh all others.  We are of the same mind, the
same collective soul.  We are outcasts, both of us, forced to walk in
the shadows; all those who come near are either repulsed or destroyed.
And yet, we have accepted our fate, and have learned to revel in it."

"Eloquent.  Strange, but eloquent.  So, what's under the mask?"

"The scars of my existance."

Candice opened her mouth to respond, but thought better of it.  'Best
not to get him started,' she thought.  "So," she included the rest of
the Cousins in her next statement, "What are you all plotting?"

Candice didn't recognize the Cousin who responded, but that wasn't
abnormal considering the thong (that's THRONG) of newbies the various
affiliations had attracted.  "Erik was just explaining his plan to
raid the NatPack."

Candice turned back to Erik.  "You mean, you *know* where the NatPack
are?"

Erik nodded.

"How?"

"Followed a Merc."

Candice was impressed.  "So, why haven't I seen you around much?"

"Been busy."  Erik cocked his head out the window, where the charred
remains of the bovine billboard stared back.

"*You* did that?  Now I *am* impressed.  And I MUST thank you.  That
thing was hideous!"

Erik nodded his gratitude.  "Now, as I was saying..."

Candice sat down.  "I'm in.  I don't know what you're doing, but I'm
in."

The remainder of the conversation consisted of finding, in roughly
equal portions, photographs of the 'Pack, photos of Nick, and of
Natalie with Nick.

The next half-hour was spent downloading online photos, capturing
video stills, and morphing the two together with CorelDraw, Photoshop,
Illustrator, and a handy little Avid that LaCroix kept for his own
personal use.

(Continuous to part 2)


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


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!!"


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


Chi-chi-chi CHIA
Wednesday morning
LaCroix's penthouse
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis

The moisture in the bathroom made the seeds germinate more quickly
than normal.  Within twenty-four hours, the paint covering the false
bust began bubbling and falling off, revealing the growth underneath. 
Soon, LaCroix's bust resembled a miniature jungle more than a
dignified emblem of Imperial might.  It was completely covered with
little green plants.

Except, of course, for a large round bald spot in the back...
----------------
To:  lacroix@CERK.radio.ca
From:  anonymous@secret.com
Subject:  Chi-chi-chi CHIA
CC:  cousins@CERK.radio.ca

If you want the real bust back, we're taking suggestions for ransom
now...

Merc
----------------
Lizbet sent the message and smiled evilly.  And she hadn't even
mentioned the computer back up tape that had been hidden in the
bust...


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


The Powers of Windex
     by Heather Parks

This takes place about 30 minutes after "Chi chi chia"
Using LaCroix and  Elizabeth Ann Lewis

LaCroix was amused.

This scared the merc who was hired to guard the penthouse. LaCroix was
also amused at the merc's fear.

He was getting a great deal of pleasure killing the Chia plant. Slowly
spraying Windex on it. He could get into this War after all.  He
started to Smile.

"Th This mu mu must of happened before You hired me." the merc barely
got out.

"It happened yesterday." LaCroix had taken the merc by her shirt and
lifted her up my her feet, still keeping the Windex in one hand. Then
dropping her to the ground. "I don't want excuses," he continued
snarling.

The merc felt her neck not surprised not to find any holes. What do
you want me to you. "Do your job NO BODY is to get in here. When I'm
not here, can you understand that."

He couldn't stand save-asses.

He then put down the Windex and  and went to the computer.

_______________________________________________________
To: mercs@forsale.com
from:LaCroix@cerk.com
CC: cousins@cerk.com

One of you has taken something of mine. I want it back.
That pink color on your skin is from the poison on the
bust, that's stage one. Stage two involves blistering and
itching.
Stage Three, well I hope you won't get to that stage.

I have the cure, and I'll give it to you for the bust and an
apology.

With care,
     LC

BTW stage 2 starts in 24 hours
______________________________________________________


Elizabeth eyes went wide open when she saw this letter. Not only
because her hands were already bright pink, but because she let
several of the other mercs fondle the bust.


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


WHAT'S THAT - UP IN THE SKY!!
by Susan B.
Nick&Nat Pack
Date: Wed.July 31/96  Time: 12:00 Noon
Place: N&N HQ and other places
--------------------------------------
Melissa G. and Erin were sitting at the kitchen table trying to come
up with more ideas to add even more interest to the war. "Do you know
what I'd *really* like to do?" Melissa G. asked.

"What?" Erin replied.

"Well, you know that desecrated Church Vachon lives in..."

"Yeah"

Melissa G. grinned, "I'd like to get it re-consecrated!"

"Hmmm...that could be interesting." Erin paused for a few seconds.
"But how? We'll never get close enough for long enough to do any kind
of blessing, assuming we even knew someone who could do it."

Melissa G. sighed. "Well, this is war you know. I suppose we could
snatch someone."

Erin and Melissa G. suddenly heard a voice in the hallway moan, "God
this is heavy!". They quickly ran out to investigate. Susan was
lugging the completed and totally vandalproof banner towards the front
door.

"Is it finally finished!" Erin shouted with excitement.

"All done!" Susan replied. "Maybe one of you girls can give me a hand
getting it into the van. I'll need some help getting it out again too,
so someone's going to have to come with me."

Melissa G.'s eyes brightened as an idea formed in her mind. "Maybe we
can both accomplish something on this trip. When are you leaving?"

"In an hour."

Melissa G. and Erin helped Susan carry the banner outside and into the
van. They abruptly left her there and ran back into the house
shouting, "Ray! Kevin!".

Ray and Kevin quickly rushed downstairs when they heard their names
being called and let out a simultaneous, "Here!!"

"Hi guys!" Melissa G. beamed. "We need you to do a little job for us!"

"What little job?" Ray asked.

Erin chuckled. "We have to get a holy man - you know, a priest or
reverend or something. Someone who can re-bless Vachon's church."

Ray and Kevin looked at each other a little strangely before turning
back to the girls. "Where are we supposed to get one of those?"

"Well, I guess at a Church or something, that's for you to figure out.
But you only have one hour!"

Ray and Kevin, always up to a challenge, nodded. It sounded like this
could be an interesting adventure. Ray ran back upstairs and
reappeared a few moments later with a pillowcase in his hand.

"What the heck is that for?" Erin asked.

"It's to put over his head if he doesn't co-operate and we have to
take him by force," Kevin replied.

Everyone agreed that would probably be a good idea. Ray and Kevin
slipped out the door and hopped into the van, ready for some action.
Driving around, they stopped by every Church in the neighbourhood, but
couldn't find anyone in any of them. Time was running short - they had
to get someone *fast*. Ray saw a lone figure wandering up the street
and cried out, "quick, pull over!"

Kevin spotted the target and pulled the van over to the curb. It was
pretty obvious his considerable Karate skills wouldn't be required in
this instance.

Back at HQ, Susan, Melissa G. and Erin were anxiously awaiting Ray and
Kevin's return. The clock was ticking and Susan had to meet her friend
at the Island Airport and finalize arrangements. She was checking her
watch for the last time when Ray and Kevin finally appeared at the
door. Kevin shouted, "okay, let's go! We got what you need in the
van!"

Everyone raced out to the van and piled in. Melissa G. and Erin smiled
appreciatively as they gazed at their captive. He didn't look much
like a captive at all, as he had no pillowcase over his head and was
smiling and singing. He was dressed in flowing orange robes and had a
bald head.

"That's a Hare Krishna," Erin blurted out.

"What's the difference?" Ray said. "He's a holy man, isn't he?"

"Well, yeah, I suppose. How did you get him to come so willingly?"

Kevin raised his sunglasses and grinned slyly, "we offered him a ride
to the airport."

The team travelled along the QEW and exited at Lakeshore. They turned
south on Bathurst to Queen's Quay and made their way to the parking
lot across from the ferry. Ray carried the heavy banner, and they all
crossed the street and waited for the boat that would take them over
to the airport.

On arriving at the airport, Susan went off to find her friend and make
arrangements with him to tow the banner behind his plane.
Nick&Natpackers everywhere were looking forward to seeing the message
high over the City, where it belonged. It would be even more rewarding
this coming weekend, during Caribana, when millions more than usual
would see it.

With Susan gone, Erin and Melissa G. filled Ray and Kevin in on their
plans for the Holy man. They started their search for a chopper pilot
they could hire, and quickly found one who was interested in the job.

Everyone piled into the helicoptor and a short time later they were
hovering over the Church. The Hare Krishna quickly set to work
chanting holy chants over Vachon's home.

Ray muttered, "do you really think this will work?"

"I really don't know," Erin replied. "Perhaps Vachon will clear out
and all his long-haired Vaqueras will follow. We'll just have to wait
and see."

Kevin mumbled cynically, "or perhaps they'll all get an irresistible
urge to shave their heads."

After the blessing was finished, the chopper headed back to the
airport. The group arrived just in time to see a plane soaring into
the sky towing a huge banner. All eyes looked up to see the words,
"Nick & Nat - In Love And Faith There Is Forever," flying over
Toronto, where *everyone* in the city would see them.


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


When The Going Gets Tough......
Knighties Go Shopping!!!

By Katrinka
Knightie


Time: Wens., noonish

In Nick's loft, Katrinka is desperately looking for a pair of socks.
Having no socks was quite an adjustment for this Knightie. She could
cope with just about anything, there was no problem about that, at
home she usually wore sandals this time of year, but in her haste, she
had only brought boots.

"I'm going to have to go get some socks, does anyone know any good
stores in this area?"

Nancy Taylor looked up from sending in her war correspondent's report
from Katrinka's lap top. "Jeffrick's has good clothes, and their only
a couple of miles away."

"How expensive are they?" Katrinka asked, thinking of her dwindling
funds.

"Money doesn't matter," Debra Ann Fiorini piped up. "I have a gold
card! I'll buy socks for everyone!"

Nancy looked Debra Ann up and down. "Are you sure about this?"

"Positive, let's go!"

"Does anyone else want to go along?" Katrinka asked,  "This is a big
job,"

"I'll come," Nina said.

"I don't want to come, but can you get me some turquoise blue socks?"
Maryann asked.

"Sure thing!" Debra Ann said.


*                                                                   *
                                 *

Jeffrick's Intimate Apparel was a cosy, posh upper class store, the
kind that had soft music playing in the background.

Nina, Debra Ann, Nancy and Katrinka came into the store laughing at a
joke that Debra Ann had just told.  The staff all looked up to the
Knighties startled.

Debra Ann spotted something across the store and took off running.

"What's up with her?" Nina asked.

"I'm not too sure," Katrinka shrugged.

"Look everyone, Calvin and Hobbs socks!" Debra Ann said, waving at
them.

They walked over to the sock department. There was a table with socks
piled on it. Debra Ann was shoving socks into a basket. Socks with
cartoon characters, also socks that where bright kelly green.

"Look, there's enough  for everyone  on our list!"

"Don't forget the turquoise for Maryann," Katrinka reminded.

Nancy walked over to another table that had more mute color socks. "I
think I'll take some black and white socks, thank you."

"Me too," Katrinka followed Nancy.

"Any white anklets?" Nina said joining them.

"I wonder what color socks Nick wears?" Debra Ann mused.


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


N&NPack's Dayoff (The Picnic) Part 5/?
by Laura MacMillan & N&NPack
Wednesday, 31/96        12:30pm
Susan's House
Followed by

Most of the N&NPack were gathered and ready to go at by 12:30pm. They
had considered packing sandwiches for the picnic but decided against
it since no one could agree on what kind and how many. Therefore, they
decided to pick up Kentucky Fried Chicken on the way and stop by a
bakery and pick up a nice chocolate cake. Idalia and Gayle, being a
little more organized, had packed several coolers with Diet Pepsi,
Diet Coke, Pepsi and various types of fruit. They had managed to fit
everyone into 3 vans and a car. Sun waved goodbye to them as they
left, wishing she hadn't volunteered for guard duty.

They arrived at the harbourfront by 1:00pm and took the ferry out to
the centre of the the islands. By 1:30pm they had found the perfect
picnic area right along the sandy beach. Within minutes everyone was
munching down on all the goodies.

Laura's beeper went off at 1:45pm signaling them that their latest
mission was accomplished and it was time to watch the skies over
Toronto. Within minutes they could see a plane circling the skies of
Toronto. As the plane got closer, they could read the banner it
pulled. It read in "Nick & Nat - In Love And Faith There Is Forever".
The N&NPack cheered. Laura could have sworn everyone on the small
island could hear them.

After everyone had calmed down and finished eating, several N&NPackers
grabbed their bathing suits and headed to the change rooms. Before too
long they were all in the water splashing around and laughing
joyously.


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


Church of the Subgeniuses

By:     Apache and Stormsinger
Place:  the Old Church
Time:   Tues, July 30, 1:30-3pm



It was extremely quiet in the church, which suited Apache extremely
well.  Even the geese were settling in nicely, and it had proven
possible to slide Bonnie past them with a minimum of mayhem.

Naturally, calamity struck.

"You have mail," said the computer bank.  As part of the security
group, Apache had been authorized by Torrey to open Vaquera mail, so
she had a look.  Ten seconds later, she was snarling.  Ten seconds
after that, she said loudly, "Yo, Charlyne, are you still here?"

"Sure."  Charlyne was stretched out on a pew, contemplating her bare
feet and considering, as she and Apache had been doing all day, what
wrinkle in the space/time continuum could possibly have permitted a
Merc to slide past the motion detectors and swipe their socks.  It
should have taken a hologram of one of the authorized Vaqueras, at a
minimum, to beat the retinal scanner, and yet...
//MacGyver,//Charlyne thought wistfully, and finished her answer.
"Whaddaya need?"

"A computer genius, which is to say, you.  Come have a look at these
little messages we've gotten from Toronto the Good."

What Charlyne saw was:


> >    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.

                        ****

> >    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.

                        ****


> >    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:      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.



"Hunh," said Charlyne a moment later.  "Amazing they got onto it so
fast."

"Oh, it's waaaay beyond amazing," said Apache with a comfortable
smile. "I'm a government lawyer, remember?  This may not be my country
but there are certain things that are true about governments
everywhere.  And maybe the very first of those things is that
Everything Happens As Slowly As Possible.  I smell a rat."

"Personally, I smell a lot of geese," Charlyne muttered.

Apache glared.  Her security cohort was versed in all manner of high
tech, and like many such people, disdained some of the more down-and-
dirty aspects of the natural world.  In fairness, however, Apache had
to concede that the air around the church was becoming fairly pungent.
And the Merc had beaten her geese as handily as she had Charlyne's
high tech.  //Goose plop removal -- Another expense,// she thought
wearily. //But on the other hand, we can sell it as fertilizer.  God
knows we need the money.//

"I want you to check these your way, while I check them my way," said
Apache.  "Specifically, can you tunnel into the Toronto muni mainframe
and find out who lodged this complaint, when the recipients read their
mail, when they responded, if at all, when they copied the Clerk of
the Court, if at all; when they copied the Crown Counsel, if at all;
when they consulted the Municipal Solicitor, if at all; and what, if
anything, the Clerk of the Court, the Crown, and Solicitor told them
in response."

"You want anchovies with that?" said Charlyne.  When Apache looked at
her quizzically, she shrugged.  "Child's play."

"Fabulous," said Apache with a smile.  "Go forth and play.  I'm going
to commune with Lexis for a little bit."

"Hmmmmmmm," said Charlyne mere minutes later.  "You know what? They
all came from a single source -- and the answers may have originated
from that source also, although rather cleverly routed through the
Toronto.gov account.  Hunh.  I'll need to check it a little more, but
there's a real chance you're looking at forgeries here."

"Hah!" said Apache.  "Thought so.  These Toronto muni code cites look
as phony as a copper loonie.  And there's no question the supposed
Federal post is a phony. I see an opportunity for fun... can you
source some mail OUT of the gov for us?"

Charlyne's face took on a will-you-ever-learn expression.

"Cool," said Apache.  "Let's initiate a little prosecution for, oh,
gee, impersonating a government official.  What else would be fun?"

"Computer time," Charlyne reminded her.

"Oh, absolutely," said Apache.  "Unlawful conversion of government
property to personal use.  Mmm, maybe grand theft.  And then we'll do
a personal action for slander, libel, tortious interference with a
business relationship--"

"What business relationship?" demanded Charlyne.

"I'll think of one," said Apache.  "And, oh why not, intentional
infliction of emotional distress -- my old prof called that cause of
action 'the garbage can of tort law.' We'll ask for a million quid in
damages, eh?  That sounds like a nice round number."

"Need I remind you that when I file these things we will have
committed all the same crimes?" Charlyne's cool was showing a mild
crack.

Apache smiled.  "Not if you're good enough."

"Yeah, well in the meantime, what're going to do about all this
stuff?"

"Some of it I anticipated," Apache shrugged.  "The importation thing
is covered: there's a legal doctrine called droit de seigneur... oops,
no, wait, droit de *renvoi* regarding animali ferae naturae -- wild
animals --that allowed us to bring the condemned birds to their
country of origin in the exact same legal status as they were in in
the country where I found them.  Origin country was presumptively
Canada since they're Canadian geese. For the rest... we file for a TRO
-- temporary restraining order -- and then a permanent injunction
against the execution of any of these orders.  TRO is 72 hours, same
in Canada as in America. Permanent injunction... that takes even
longer to litigate, and we'll be outta here by then.  We'll have to
hire a local barrister to file the papers... oh God, another expense. 
The same person can file our civil suits... for more fees.  Oh Ga-a-
awd, another--"

The geese went off like a bomb right then.  In seconds the Vaqueras
were on general alert.

"Good Lord, what it is?" shouted Torrey.

The security detail began checking in from the walls 'North is clear!"
"South is clear!"  "East... West..."

"Then what the bejesus IS IT???" shouted Torrey, striving to be heard
over the geese.

But then the windows began to rattle, and the sound of a big engine
could be heard even over the concerted shrieking of the geese.
Everyone ran to the windows and looked... up.

"It's a Sikorsky," said Apache, spotting the hovering helicopter.

"Tell us something useful," said Torrey.

"There's a guy wearing an orange sheet in it... oh holy cow, he's bald
-- it's either Screed or a Hare Krishna!"

"Why would Screed need a helicopter to fly?" someone said.

"Duh... it's daylight, folks," Torrey said.  "That's not Screed."

"What is going ON up there?"

The Vaqueros craned their necks -  "We're not being bombed..."

"Oh Jeez, Charlyne," said Apache.  "We need surface-to-air..."

"I'll work on it," Charlyne nodded, struck by the same thought. But
Apache had run away from the window toward the pew where she was
camped out.  A minute later, she returned with a small bow and a few
of the arrows she'd been fletching during her offline hours to keep
her hands busy.

"Move," she ordered, and someone made way.  Apache strung the bow,
notched the arrow, raised the bow...  "Wow," someone muttered.
"Arrows.  The whole Native American deal."  Apache drew the bowstring
straight to her nose, squinted, aimed carefully, and corrected a
little, raising her arc.  Finally her fingers opened, the string sang,
the arrow flew.... and missed by a mile. A high-pitched squawk was
heard below.

Other Vaqueros, who had watched the whole intense process raptly now
looked at her askance.  She cringed. "I always was a lousy shot.  In
high school...  well, you don't need to hear it.  But I'm a *terrific*
fletcher.  And with all these feathers lying around, I thought...." No
one was listening.  "I know how to make a goose quill pen, too," she
said plaintively. "Left wing feathers are best."   Someone yawned.

A few Vaqueros had brought binoculars and were watching the orange-
robed figure carefully.  "I think we're being blessed..."

"I think we're being CONSECRATED," said Sherri, who had higher-powered
binos.

Stormsinger grinned.  "Well, I *am* an ordained minister.  And this
*is* a church."

"You ARE?" said everyone.  But Torrey was nodding.

"BINGO," said Apache, her shame of a moment before forgotten.

"You have bingo?" Nancy said with amusement.

"Absoluta-mente," said Apache.  "Storm, you're serious about this?"
The look she got back was eloquent.  "Sorry.  Wow.  This is perfect."

The helicopter seemed to have completed its mission and was wheeling
away.  "What about Vachon?"

"Games vampires play," said Apache.

"What?"

"'Games Vampires Play,'" she repeated patiently.  "And, now that I
think of it, 'For I Have Sinned.'  Nick is fine in active churches, he
just can't touch anything.  And this church is about to be really,
really active...."

Stormsinger shared a grin with her, then looked around the nave,
altar, choirloft, stained glass windows.... gee, even a narthex.
"Wow, a church of my own," she said.

A few minutes later, she had pulled her thoughts together, and
outlined to Apache and Charlyne what would need to be done:  "I think
the quickest way is simply to get all the paperwork in there and
backdate it by, say, six months -- just long enough to have gotten
lost in the system. Print out hard copy for us, appropriately dated
and all.  When the various officials come calling, we have all our
paperwork in order -- we haven't the slightest idea what the problem
is!"

"I do good blankness," Apache grinned.  "A lot of us do."

"Count on it," said Charlyne.

"Right," said Storm.  "As for the geese, well, we're sorry things are
a bit disorganized right now.  We are not a *wealthy* Church, and we
are working on proper grounds and accomodations -- that's why we have
all these people here all of a sudden.  The geese are *temporary*,
until they can be moved to a permanent park site in the process of
development -- see these permits here...

"The Missassauga Mall," Apache broke in.  "They said they were going
to set part of it aside as a park, and they've barely even broken
ground on it... and that oughta give Vachon a laugh, too."

"Uh-huh," said Charlyne.  "Yeah, I just *wonder* how much those geese
are gonna make him feel like laughing."

"And don't forget the fence," Stormsinger said.  "They should find all
appropriate building permits properly posted.  We can't imagine why
they thought otherwise."

"Actually, believe it or not," said Apache, "there's a guy in Windsor,
Ontario, who already uses geese as religious messengers.  He ties
little bits of scripture to their legs and asks people to write him to
say where they found them.  Honest, it was in Nexis yesterday when I
was looking for geese..."

"This is a strange, strange world," said Charlyne.

Stormsinger continued, "then we will hand them Universal Life Church
flyers and booklets and mail-in cards, and send them on their way.
Hey, maybe we even get a convert.  Or a donation."

"Perfect," Apache laughed.  "Awesome.  And you know what else? It'll
make Bonnie's earnings tax-exempt.  Plus any other money we make."

All three of them fell silent.  Money was becoming a serious problem. 
And then Apache crowed--

"And you know what? Oh God, this is GREAT -- any assault on the church
automatically becomes a hate crime -- we can get the media in on it
and everything.  Help me write our charter, okay?  And Charlyne... we
need a bunch of permits six months ago.  Universal Life Church.  You
have to hack back to the archives and make sure all of that stuff is
*in place* six months ago.  I can write the permits themselves, no
worry, but the dating has to be perfect.  That means even the computer
*logs* for that period have to check out okay.  Okay?"

"Of ye of little faith," said Charlyne.  "You haven't *begun* to test
me yet."

"Then let's rock.  Hare Krishna, Kyrie Eleison, praise the Lord and
pass the ammunition."

"There is no One True Way," said Stormsinger with a kind of calm
happiness.  At the others' raised eyebrows, she explained, "That's one
way to state the basic tenet of ULC.  *All* paths which focus on the
positive are equally valid."

"Cool," said Charlyne.

"I don't think I could sell it to Monsignor Murphy at St. Joseph's
parish back home," Apache said, "but it definitely works for me here.
All we gotta do now is clear it with Fearless Leader... I mean,
Torrey."

Torrey was bemused by the thought of embracing this latest attack, but
then again... basic judo, right?  Use your enemy's strength against
him.  She wondered aloud how Vachon would take to all this -- assuming
he ever found out.

But on this point, the threesome was in accord.  Storm said it:
"Somehow, I don't think that Vachon's gonna have *any* problems with
his crash pad being legally dedicated to "'All forms of love and
pleasure.'"


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


Just a Little Documentary (2/3)
Place:  Paragon Studios (the FK warehouse)
Time:   Wednesday, July. 31 (1:30 pm)
Author: Dawn Steele (h36a@unb.ca)

After getting lost (two times) in the long racks of the wardrobe room,
Will had finally managed to get back into the main section just before
the food arrived.

The lunch had been ... spotty.

The pink shirt now sported pink (from the watermelon slices) stains.
Normally not such a messy eater, Will had been startled when his hands
had seemed to almost fly up of their own violition and chunks of
watermelon had flown everywhere.

Unfortunately for those with non-pink shirts in the vicinity -- the
watermelon had flown <everywhere>. The executive producer (a
strawberry blonde who everybody just called "Reeves") had <not> been
pleased. Especially when a chunk had flown straight onto her glasses.

After making a few <very> sarcastic comments to the effect of "Guests
are of <course> always appreciated when they eat with the rest of the
crew", and that "the watermelon was very good this time of year --
lots of juice", she had left to go clean up.

The incident (along with the steel bucket that his foot had
mysteriously gotten stuck into for twenty minutes) had dampened his
normal cheeriness... but it had been revived by dessert.

Lunch had ended with everyone scattering in all direction and Will
left alone with the dirty plates and leftover food. All this meeting
people and being deserted without finding out what was going on was
becoming unnerving.

When a hand from behind tapped him on the shoulders his arms, (encased
in the EVIL pink silk) overreacted. Before Will knew what was going
on, his hands grabbed the mysterious ones, twisted his torso and the
person behind him went flying halfway across the room.

"Ack!" Will hurried over to the stranger on the floor who was rapidly
(and gracefully) getting up.

"I'm glad to see that I won't have to teach you anything before the
shooting takes place." The stranger put forth a tanned hand, and shook
Will's enthusiastically. "What kind of martial arts are you involved
in?"

"I ... I never taken any martial arts." Will shrugged with
embarrassment. "You just startled me, and I guess my adrenelin kicked
in."

"Nevertheless, this afternoon will probably go smoothly enough." He
grinned;  his teeth a flash of white again tanned skin, dark hair and
eyes. "I'm Lombardi, the stunt coordinator."

"Stunt coordinator? I thought this was supposed to be a documentary!"

"It is, but... " Lombardi waved his hands to indicate the incompetence
of TPTB. "They really wanted to replay some of the footage from the
show 'The Games Vampires Play', and it seems to have been misplaced.
We thought giving a fan the opportunity to replace Nick Knight when we
reshoot it will be good publicity."

"But!" Will protested. "I don't look anything <like> Nick Knight!"

"Don't worry." Lombardi took off to another part of the building and
waved for Will to follow. "It's all fuzzed out electronically anyway."

The next hour passed in a daze, as Will and Lombardi praticed the
stunts over and over again. It had all seemed so <smooth> and easy
during the show, but Will soon realized that it wasn't easy... at
least not for him.

He didn't even get to 'practice' the scenes where Nick had bitten the
two women because those hadn't been lost. Instead, he was forced to
practice in the old warehouse and rehearse the fights seemingly
endlessly. Lombardi seemed to be an expert in fighting, but whenever
Will tried it, something <always> happened.

First there was the stuntman who had to be rushed to the hospital when
Will twisted his neck just a <little> too hard.

Then there was the incident with the glowing green axes. How was he to
know that they were filled with flourescent green liquid that would
spray over <everything>? (It had taken over a half hour, with Lombardi
looking at his watch the entire time, for it to be cleaned up.)

Finally -- No. In retrospect, Will didn't think the accident with the
springboard <hadn't> been his fault. Besides ... that was what the
safety net was for anyway even if he had tore it up just a little.

And then! It was time to begin! The cameras were ready, his shirt had
been fixed up (and sewn back together where it had ripped at the
elbows), the lights were dimmed...

LIGHTS! CAMERAS! ACTION!

End of part 2/3


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


We're in the Money
by Sarah Houghton, Vaquera
Time: Wednesday 7/31 1:30 pm, concurrent with VAQ: Church of the
Subgeniuses
Place:  Vachon's church


Sarah sat, curled up on the floor, with a cup of coffee and a stack of
letters.  //Well, we have nine thousand dollars--a good tidy round sum
from the Mercs.  Selling the chocolate back to them was a great
idea.//

Sip.

//Hmmm, mocha....  Live and learn.  This is, after all, my first War--
got to learn how to play the game somewhere. Now then--how to best use
the cash.//

Sip.

Bills were shoved around, read and re-read, trying to figure out which
were most serious and which creditors could be pushed around a bit
longer.  She created piles on the floor.  //No, move those.  *All* I
need is for papers to go flying.  Or worse, money to go flying.  That
would be bad.//

Sip.

Sarah scooped up a few of the piles and set them behind her to permit
through-traffic.  The money pile lessened slowly.  //Okay, Apache
should get some of this money to relieve strain on the Gold Card.
Geeze, air charter costs *that* much.  And they're bills--geese,
security, hot water, and food.  So what else is new?  And we oughta
have emergency money, just in case.  Be prepared.  Expect the
unexpected.  Especially in a War. Okay, that leaves us with about
three thousand dollars to use.  Cool.//

Sip.

A realization struck hard, almost knocking her flat and nearly
spilling her coffee.  //We got this money from the Mercs, right?
Right. Would the Mercs be so paranoid as to have noted all the serial
numbers on these bills?  Yes.  And they could have reported the money
stolen--after all, they're a legitimate company.  If this money turns
up in our hands or in our accounts, we could get arrested.  Yikes!//

Stunned, she took a large gulp of the coffee, and hoped for a
solution.  //What about laundering the money?  I mean, it's done on tv
all the time.  We just have to find a way.//

Sarah scooped up the money and the bills, and began to hunt for Torrey
to present a possible threat.


FIN.


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


Morituri Te Salutam
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis
Wednesday, July 31st, early afternoon, after Pretty (Not!) In Pink
Outside CERK

The door opened--apparently by remote--and hitching her bust-burden
higher on her back, Lizbet entered, shuddering.  Her memories of CERK
from the last War were less than pleasant.  For a horrified moment she
recalled fainting dead away at LaCroix's feet (only reasonable thing
to do in front of an enraged vampire, of course), and then she firmly
pushed the memory away.  Crossing to the elevator, she pressed the
call button, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.  (Hey, I have to make this post long enough so Dawn will
get back from filming her documentary!!!)

Finally, she realized LaCroix had killed the elevator.  By this point,
she was bent into a nice arch by the weight of the bust, pink had
morphed into fushia, and she decided that she was going to buy stock
in a calamine lotion company.  Itching and muttering British curses,
she searched for and found the stairs up to LaCroix's penthouse.

And climbed all three hundred and ninety-six of them.

Outside of the door Lizbet paused, hand raised to knock.  OK, so maybe
it *really* hadn't been a good idea to double-dip on this one.  Making
a vampire angry was dumb.  Making *LaCroix* angry was about on-par
with amoeba-like life forms.  Making LaCroix angry *twice* in *two*
wars...

"I know you are out there.  Come in."  Damn, she forgot about the
heartbeat thing.

Sighing, she gave up stalling and opened the door.  "Vale, dux.
Morituri te salutam."

LaCroix looked at her, more than a little surprised.  Obviously, even
through bright pink skin and the fact she had dropped a little over
thirty pounds since their last encounter, he recognized her.

"Well, well.  I should have known it was you, little Merc.  You seem
to have a perfect genius for getting into trouble.  Did you bring me
what I asked for?"

With a certain amount of difficulty, Lizbet shifted the backpack
holding the bust off her back and handed it to LaCroix, who hefted it
with disgusting ease.  He opened it long enough to check that it was
indeed the bust within before he set it aside.  "And where is the
tape?"

Lizbet shaped her mouth into a pretty O and opened her eyes wide,
looking perfectly innocent (the pink cheeks helped).  "Tape?  What
tape?"  Three seconds later she dropped the act.  (OK, so I have a low
courage index when it comes to LaCroix, so what?)  "It's in the bust,"
she muttered.  "I didn't have time to find a better hiding place.

LaCroix didn't bother to check.  "And how can I be assured that it is
the only copy?"

"Because I didn't even know what the blasted thing was, let alone how
to copy it.  It is the one-and-only copy, and I never even got a
chance to see what was on it."

LaCroix regarded her with his piercing ice-blue eyes for a moment.
"Very well," he said finally.

"Then, I can have the antidote?" Lizbet said hopefully.

LaCroix smiled.  Lizbet shivered.  "Apologize."

Lizbet clasped her hands in front of her earnestly and stared up at
LaCroix's face way, way, *way* above.  "I am very dreadfully sorry
that I broke in and stole the bust.  I am even more dreadfully sorry
that I decided to try to extort money from you for it's return.  It
was foolish and ill-advised, and I realize now I should never have
done it.  For that, I most sincerely apologize."

LaCroix considered her for several long moments.  Then he smiled
again. "Translate it into Latin."
~~~~~~~~
Three hours later, Lizbet's brain was mush and her knees were
knocking. She devoutly wished she had either paid more attention in
class on the day superlatives were taught, or that she hadn't used so
many "verys" in her original apology.  But finally, LaCroix accepted
her tortured mangling of his native tongue.  He pulled a small vial
out of his pocket and tossed it to her.  "Three drops of that, taken
internally, will remove the symptoms."

"Gracia plena," Lizbet said, stuck in Latin mode.  "Uh, diolch y fawr?
Merci?"  She struck herself smartly on the forehead.  "THANK YOU!"

"De rien."  He waited while she carefully drizzled a small amount on
her tongue and quickly turned her normal pink-and-white rather than
bright pink.

She sealed the vial and dropped it in her pocket.  She shook her head
slightly then, and swayed on her feet.  Looking at him from under a
curtain of her long light brown hair, she giggled.  "You know, I never
quite understood the attraction before.  But you are pretty cute.
'Specially when you are being nice.  Not as cute as Nick, mind you,
but cute."  The giggle turned into a wide grin.  "And I know a certain
~Strega~ friend who would never forgive me if I didn't try..."  She
dove for him, and startled him badly enough that she managed to catch
him and plant a resounding smack on his jaw... as high as she could
reach.  "Thanks, Luc.  'Bye!"

Steps wavering, Lizbet made her way back to Merc Central, humming her
favorite Italian aria under her breath.  Her fuzzy mind knew that at
least two Mercs needed this antidote too.  But what *their* reactions
to the strange drug would be...


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


Getting There is Half the Fun
Time:  Wednesday, mid-afternoon
Place: NatPack HQ

written by:  Tina (Bast) and Sharon B. and the NatPack

Kelly shuffled into the room, interrupting Alora and Tina, and Sharon
Bhandari in their dissection of 'Be My Valentine' and LaCroix's
resemblance to Barney.

"See, he's the embodiment of evil," said Tina.

"More evil than LaCroix?"

"Has LaCroix been in the business of corrupting small children over
public television?" countered Tina.

"Hey!" exclaimed Kelly.  "Want a shake?" she said, a tall glass in her
hand.

"What is that?" Tina asked, backing away uncertainly.

"It's a banana-strawberry-peanut butter shake!" Kelly said.  "I just
made it!  Doesn't it look great?"

"I don't know, Kelly," said Tina.  "Banana-strawberry I could see, but
if you add peanut butter to it, I don't think it'd be that great..."

"Yeah," said Alora hesitantly.  "It looks decent, but I just ate, so
why don't I have it later?"

"I'll take it!" said Sharon.  "I'm a vegetarian, and I'm always
looking for good sources of protein."  She took the drink from Kelly
and sipped at it.  "I like it!" she said, taking a bigger swallow from
the glass.

"That's great!" said Kelly.  "Oh, Tina, while you're here can we go to
Nat's apartment?" she asked.  "I need to get her copy of _1001 Ways to
Make Protein Shakes_. There was one in there she told me about--
spinach, yogurt, and egg--that I wanted to try making."

"Sure, sounds good to me," said Tina.  She watched Alora pull out a
small box of matches and light the candle on the table in front of
them.  "Want to come along, Alora and Sharon?" she asked.

"Huh?" asked Alora, looking up from the candle.

"Sure," said Sharon B.  "Let's go."

"Go where?" asked Alora.

"Out to Nat's apartment," said Tina.  "Kelly needs Nat's copy of _1001
Ways to Make Protein Shakes_ for some weird recipe she wants to try."

"Sounds good," said Alora, hopping up from the sofa.  The four of them
went into the main room of the NatPack hostel and saw Sharon Himmanen
playing "Bash the Brick" on The Guy.

"Where are you going?" asked Sharon.

"Nat's apartment.  Kelly has decided that she has to have Nat's copy
of _1001 Ways to Make Protein Shakes_," answered Alora.

"I'm going along," she said, leaving her computer.  NatPackers all
over the room dived for it, just waiting for a chance to bash Nick.
"I think I need to keep you four out of trouble!  Besides, we may see
that lying, undependable bloodsucker near there looking for Nat!"

"LaCroix?" asked Tina.  "Why would he be looking for Nat?"

"I mean Nick," corrected Sharon.

"I see," said Tina.  'I am hooked up with a weird bunch!' she thought.

The NatPackers piled into Jinx (Tina's beloved mini van), Sharon
Bhandari in the passenger seat, Alora, Sharon Himmanen, and Kelly
tumbling unceremoniously into the back, sharing the spare tire which
doubled as a backseat.

"I need gas," said Tina as she pulled out of the parking lot.

"I think there's something about a mile to the east," said Sharon H.
Tina turned the car towards the gas station.  She pulled up to a gas
pump and got out to began refilling the tank.  The rest of the
NatPackers piled out to keep Tina company.

"Let's try and hurry this up," Kelly said a little impatiently,
interrupting the jumble of  voices.  Everyone turned to her in
concern, only to be faced with Kelly's look of dreamy hunger.  "I'm
really in the mood for an almond-banana-yogurt shake."

"Don't worry, " Tina reassured her, "we're almost done. "  Kelly gave
a vague nod, apparently still anticipating getting her hands on Nat's
book, and ignored the laughter of the rest of the 'Pack.

Unaware that they were drawing attention to themselves, the low murmer
of their discussion had steadily gotten louder and louder.   An
orange-haired lady at the next pump began to whisper in earnest to her
companion,  all the while shooting periodic looks in their direction.

After unsuccessfully trying to draw both Sharons into a debate about
the delights of flaming plum pudding, Alora leaned against the car and
withdrew a matchbook from her pocket.  She gleefully held her prize
aloft and began to light matches, blowing them out as they began to
burn her fingers.

Taking one look at Alora's game, the orange-haired lady caught hold of
her friend and ran into the gas station store.  Tina and the Sharons
were so busy trying to shake Kelly out of her dream-state, that they
never even noticed what was going on.

"Ok people, get back in the car," Tina said as the resounding click of
the pump announced  that the tank was full.   She removed the gas
pump, swinging it away from the car in order to put it back, and came
face to face with Alora.  Or actually, the dripping gas pump came face
to face with the matches, and everyone began to shout at once:

"Watch it!" shouted Tina.

"What are you doing?!" this from Sharon H.

"Put that away!" ordered Sharon B.

"Eeeekkkkkk!" from Kelly, finally shocked out of her fantasies.

Unfortunatly, this was the moment the the frightened women, the store
owner, and the store owner's rather large shotgun chose to exit the
store and head in their direction.

"All right ladies, move away from the gas," the owner shouted slowly
as he waved his gun back and forth.  Later, much later, they would
talk about how it was actually kind of funny to see the portly man
inching towards them as the women flanked him like guards.  But not
now.

Now, stunned into silence by the unforseen threat, Sharon H. quickly
moved into action.  Hooking one hand into the back waistband of
Alora's pants and placing the other on her shoulder, Sharon brandished
Alora and her matches like a weapon.  The owner only lifted his gun
higher until he spotted the dawning joy on Alora's face as she
realized that she was in a position to actually show everyone her
skills with fire.

"Don't you move," Sharon shouted as she thrust Alora closer to the now
still trio, "I'm not afraid to use her." She turned back to the rest
of them and rasped, "Get in the car!"

The Natpack jammed into Jinx, Tina dropping the pump where she stood
in order to get to the driver's seat as quickly as possible.  As
Sharon B. took the passenger seat and Kelly jumped into the back,
Sharon H. and Alora moved backwards towards the car. When they finally
stuffed themselves in the back in a tangle of arms and legs, Tina sped
out of the station with an earsplitting squeal of tires.

"Give me that," Sharon H. said, and she snatched the matches out of
Alora's hands.


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


A KISS from the Homefront (1/1)

Date:  Wednesday, July 31, 1996
Time:  3 p.m. (well after lunch, but too early for dinner),
       immediately after "Getting There is Half the Fun."
Sets:  Natalie's apartment, TO streets, the Natpack Hostel

by Knightie Amy Rambow,
with the authorization of her Field Marshals, the permission of the
Natpack in general, and Alora C. and Sharon H. in particular


"Useless *^%$#* Brick <grumble, grumble> MBIAV <grumble, grumble>
Nick's influence <grumble, grumble> show *him* 'forever' <grumble,
grumble> *&%#@* Nick...."

The sound of riled Natpackers was unmistakable, as Sharon Himmanen
fumbled with the keys to Nat's apartment.  She had been making a not
inconsiderable portion of that sound herself, but stopped to
concentrate on the keys.  Unbeknownst to her, the Knighties had been
in Natalie's home.  If it had been known to her, she would have been
even more riled; though the Knighties had been careful and considerate
with Nat's possessions, and residences were accepted war targets, the
Natpacker's tolerance for anything related to Nick Knight was at an
all-time low.

Alora and Kelly rushed past her as the lock finally gave, heading
straight for the bookshelf in the corner.  They knew there were other
bookshelves in the apartment, but this seemed like a logical place to
start.  Alora took the side nearest the fireplace, until Kelly
thoughtfully pushed her toward the curtains.  No need to take chances
with Alora and fire.

Sharon watched them for a moment, and then headed for the kitchen.
_1001 Ways to Make Protein Shakes_ was more likely to be in the
kitchen, if it wasn't simply in the morgue in the first place.  "Now,
who has that inventory sheet?" she wondered aloud.  The book wasn't on
the shelf over the microwave, so she opened the junk drawer.

The forms were no longer on the bottom. A copy of _1001 Ways to Make
Protein Shakes_ was. The blank, medical forms, which were supposed to
be *under* the rest of the junk, were on top of the pile.  And there
didn't seem to be as many of them as there were before.

"Alora!  Kelly!" she yelled, running back into the living room.  "It's
a good thing we left Tina and Sharon B. on guard below.  That
bloodsucking brick's been here -- him or his pathetic little pawns.
Forms.  Are. Missing!"

Kelly and Alora looked at each other before looking at Sharon.

"No, I am not having an 'episode.' Papers are missing from Nat's junk
drawer."  Sharon picked up Alora's backpack, slipped in the cookbook,
and withdrew the clipboard with the comprehensive inventory the
Natpack had compiled when they first attended to the apartment after
Nat's disappearance.  "See?" she asked, pointing to the list on page
37.

Kelly nodded grimly, but Alora was less than convinced.  "Okay, either
someone has been here, or we made a mistake.  But if someone's been
here, it could have been the Cousins, or the N&Ners, or even the
Ravens.  And there are always the Mercs.  It wasn't *necessarily...."

Alora trailed off as Sharon gave her a look LaCroix would have envied.
The veteran Natpacker *knew* it had been the Knighties.  Or their
imbecilic leader.  She just *knew.*

Sharon headed straight for Nat's desk.  "Kelly, will you take the
bedroom, maybe?  And the kitchen needs to be checked.  We have to make
sure not a *single* thing is missing.  Refer to the inventory from our
initial 'inspection,' if you have to.  "Knighties <grumble, grumble>
inconsiderate <grumble, grumble> just like their leader <grumble,
grumble> *%$&#* Nick <grumble, grumble>...."

"Check!" Alora winked at Kelly and picked up the backpack.  Kelly
smiled, and dispatched herself to the bedroom.  Neither suspected that
Sharon's suggestions were deliberately made to protect Kelly from any
possible drink-mixing opportunities.

Alora stepped into the kitchen, and crashed into Nat's table,
dislodging a box left a little too near the edge.  "It's lucky Nat's
into frozen dinners," she called over her shoulder.  "She'd never get
any *real* cooking done in this closet!"  Rubbing her bruised thigh,
Alora bent over and retrieved the box.  It was about six inches high,
and four inches hexagonal: wrapped in brown paper, and addressed to
"Jamie Melody Randall, c/o Natalie Lambert."  It was accompanied by a
few bills and bulk-mail advertisements, so Alora supposed whoever had
removed the spare forms had conscientiously brought in Nat's mail
while they'd been otherwise inexcusably snooping.  She sighed.
Knighties were like that.  As a matter of fact, so was Nick, though
you'd never get Sharon to admit it.

"Everything's fine here," Kelly announced.  "The hangers may be a bit
closer together than when we made our sanitizing sweep, but that's
it."

"Nothing *seems* to be missing here, either," said Sharon, consulting
her itemized list of the desk's contents.

Alora tucked the box into her backpack and joined her comrades near
the door.  "The kitchen's intact, too."

"Inept attack?" asked Sharon suspiciously.  "What were they looking
for? Could they have needed the forms that badly?  Isn't that Lover of
Loft, Kat, the medical doctor, like a pseudo-Knightie?  If *nothing*
else on *our* list is missing ...."

"Not a klew," Alora supplied, with a wry expression.  "Let's get back,
huh? I've got the cookbook, and it's sort of ... tomb-like here,
without Nat."

The three Natpackers looked around at the empty apartment, and turned
as one toward the door.

Kelly and the two Sharons piled into the back of the car, letting
Alora ride shotgun on the way back to the Natpacker Hostel, and she
dozed through most of the drive.  War is not conducive to sleep, she
was discovering.  "Oh -- hey!"  she said, as Tina turned the car
around the final corner.  "I almost forgot!  The Knighties, or
whoever, must have brought in Nat's mail.  I found a package for Jamie
on the kitchen counter."

Tina turned to look at Alora.  "You. Found. A. Package?"

"Hey!" shouted Sharon B., pointing at a stray pedestrian.

"Oh.  Thanks, Sharon," Tina noted.

Sharon Himmanen took over the questioning as Tina put her eyes back on
the road.  "Alora -- a *package*  For *Jamie*?"

"It was just sitting on the table.  Someone must have assumed we'd be
staying in Nat's apartment."

"Addressed to *Jamie*, who is *missing*?  Does the word 'ransom' mean
anything to you?"

"Uh...."

"A *package*?  You live with a *Merc*, Alora -- does the word 'bomb'
ring any bells?"

"Oh.  That didn't occur to me."

"No doubt Nick is behind all of this ...."

"Careful!" Sharon B. winced.  The car narrowly missed one of the
innumerable pet felines inhabiting this reality's Toronto as Tina
swung it into its parking space.

The five dashed inside, where other Natpackers watched in stunned
amazement as Alora dumped the innocuous-looking package into the sink,
and Sharon H. turned on the faucet.  When it was sufficiently soaked,
Sharon lifted the dripping mess and started to peel off the brown
paper like a wrapper on a melted ice-cream bar.

It revealed an eight-sided, cylindrical box, wrapped in clear
cellophane. Dark, Vaquera-like green, it said, "Frangos."  There was
an envelope attached to the box.  It, unfortunately, was not wrapped
in cellophane.

While Sharon held up the box and stared at it, Alora carefully opened
the envelope.  The flower-covered card inside had held its ink as only
a Hallmark (TM) knockoff could.  Alora had seen this elegantly
distinctive handwriting before.  "Kelly," Alora asked quietly. "Can
you read the return address on that?"

Kelly picked through the soggy paper, and read, "WA, 98052, USA.
That's all I can make out.  It was under a piece of tape."

"Washington," Alora murmured, and handed over the card.

Kelly read aloud:

"Sunday, July 27
Dear Jamie,
        Thank you so much for remembering us on the War's homefront
when you distributed your <ink blur> this morning.  Even the most
devoted Knightie is sometimes unable to go to Toronto, and it was
considerate of you to send a piece of the War to all of us, wherever
we might be.  As I was still up reading email -- and thus dressed in
more than my nightgown -- I thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle.
        Long accustomed to my various brothers' various cars, the
neighborhood easily managed to sleep through <smear>.  My father's
wife did not, but the small box of Italian pastries from Ferrara and
large cup of cappuccino did much to placate her.
        As did the fact that it was KISS.  Having never before heard a
KISS song, I would never have recognized <water damage> without the
makeup.  She knew immediately, however.  Of course, she also thinks
William Shatner is 'cute,' so her taste is on the suspect side.
        In appreciation, I am sending you a box of the world's best
chocolates: Seattle's own Frangos.  Enjoy.
                Sincerely,
                        Amy Rambow"

"Chocolates?"  Sharon Himmanen repeated.

"Oh, give me that," Alora said, tearing the cellophane off the box.
"'Bomb,' indeed.  You've probably ruined them."

"Actually, that cellophane looks pretty tight," Sharon replied,
pulling the tab on the top of the box and revealing the little,
cellophane-wrapped chocolate rectangles inside.  "Maybe we should have
them examined?  You know, just to make sure they're okay for Jamie?"
She pulled one out and sniffed at it, unwilling to trust anything that
came from a person who not only voluntarily associated with Nick, but
had a habit of extending it to the ludicrous length of calling herself
a "Bright and Shiny Knightie." She offered the Frango to Kelly.

Less suspicious and more chocolate-loving, Kelly unwrapped it.  The
smell was heavenly.  Whatever one could desire in chocolate, it was
carried in the scent of that bite-sized candy.

The expression on her face as she bit into the first Frango quickly
convinced most of the others to each try one for themselves.  As Alora
looked on in amazement -- she doesn't eat chocolate, unless it has
caramel in it -- the entire box was emptied in under a minute.

"You'd think we were Mercs," she remarked in wonder, staring at the
empty box.  "Guys?  Do you realize that, once we've found and
retrieved Jamie, we're also going to have to explain why we ate all of
her chocolates?  And Merc instincts die hard ...."


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


Udderly Revenge (2/5)
Author:  Cherri L. Munoz  aka  Cousin Cherri <cdmunoz@earthlink.net>
Date:    Wednesday, July 31
Time:    3:15 pm
Place:   At CERK and on the phone
---------------------------------

Cherri was pleased. The cow costume was clean, Cousin Leslie's
beautiful black-silk dress had been returned to her in perfect
condition, and THE towel was preserved in a bag. They had even put it
in a box so that the CERK logo could be seen through the plastic
window on the lid. To top it all off, the lady was delighted with her
CERK cow picture.

//Oh yes....things were good, but now things will be better.// Cherri
thought as she grabbed her cell phone and began to dial the number to
Vachon's church.

"Yes." The person on the other end sounded bored.

"This is Cousin Cherri. Dona Torrey wants to speak with me."

"She does?" Cherri could hear the Vaquera's chair scrape on the floor
as she straightened up.

Cherri tried to suppress the glee in her voice when Torrey answered
the phone. "You want the cow costume back and in good shape? I have
decided on my terms."

"I'm listening," was all the Vaquera leader said.

"Have Vachon come to CERK HQ at 11 pm tonight. I will make him into a
cow. Then the deal is...  Are you listening?" Cherri paused to hear
Torrey's intake of breath. "He will walk at a slow, human's pace...not
fly...not walk using his vampiric powers...simply walk from CERK HQ
back to the church. No tricks. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand but I don't think that he'll do it," Torrey said.

"I thought that is what you'd say. Put him on. I have a message for
him from the General."

Cherri could hear Torrey's brief explanation to the vampire muffled
through the covered-up phone receiver.

"Yes?" Vachon answered.

Taking a couple of breaths to calm herself from the excitement of
actually talking to the cute vampire with the gorgeous long hair
(groan I didn't say that, did I?), Cousin Cherri began to explain.
"Vachon, this is the message from LaCroix which I will read to you
verbatim. Ready?"

There was another pause before he indicated that he was waiting.

"If you do not comply with Cousin Cherri's wishes, I will make Torrey
and Sherri into either lunch or into vampires, depending on the mood
that I am in at the time, then I will find you, stake you, and allow
you to greet the morning sun. If this is not clear, Cherri will
explain it to you. LaCroix.

"Do you understand?" Cherri asked.

"I understand." Vachon said in resignation. "I'll be there." And with
that he hung up.

Cherri smiled knowingly. //I wonder how long it will take them to
figure it out.//

====================
Torrey called the Vaqueras together for a meeting. Her voice rose over
the din. "Listen up."

"Most of you know that I asked Cousin Cherri for the cow costume back.
I just received her reply." She looked at Vachon and Sherri before
continuing.

After a brief explanation of the conditions, Torrey opened the floor
for the discussion of what could be done.

Bonnie said, "Do we really want the cow costume that bad, Torrey?
After all, what is more important, the costume or Vachon's dignity?"

Sherri pointed out, "Vachon's dignity, of course. That's why we called
you here. Torrey and I think that if we put our heads together, we'll
find a way to get the cow costume and to preserve Vachon's dignity.
Now how about it? Any one have any ideas?"

There was total silence in the room.

Torrey and Sherri looked at each other in despair. They had been
trying to come up with something themselves but the war was escalating
and they both had gigantic headaches. At Torrey's nod, Sherri sighed,
"Then I guess we will have to follow Cousin Cherri's instructions."

A tiny squeak in the back of the room made Sherri look up. "What? Who
did that? What is it?" <tap> <tap> <tap> "It was you, wasn't it,
Charlyne?"

Sherri couldn't see her but a tentative voice said, "Yes."

Vachon waded through the Vaqueras until he found the right one. He
took her hand and stared his deep brown eyes into hers. "Tell me." His
voice had a gentle touch to it. "It doesn't matter whether it'll work
or not, what matters is that you care enough to have thought of
something." <blink> <blink>

"Well...I was thinking. It's just that...well."

He squeezed her hand gently. "Go on. You can tell me."

"Well...you can't use your vampire powers to get back to the church
which means you have to walk across town, right?"

Vachon nodded while Charlyne gulped.

"Well...no one said that you had to visible...I mean...well...what if
all the Vaqueras simply surrounded you so that no one could see you
but us?"

The whole room started talking at once.

Suddenly, Vachon's voice boom over the noise. "STOP!"

He turned to Charlyne, cupped his hand over the side of her face, and
kissed her cheek, "Thank you, cara mia. That is the perfect solution."

-----
Note: cara mia is Spanish for "my love"


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


A Form of Affection
By Catherine Boone, Knightie
Diane Echelbarger, Unaffiliated
Lisa McDavid, Cousin
Wed. sometime July 31st 1996 Eaton Centre  <It doesn't matter where
this goes in the timeline.)


Dianne looked impatiently at her watch. Trust Lisa McDavid to get lost
on the way to Eaton Centre. The woman had a supernatural ability to
head in the wrong direction.

"Hissst!" said a voice from behind her.

Dianne came down from an aborted standing broad jump and turned slowly
around. "That will cost you an extra half pound on completion of the
commission," she said, glaring at the ventilation shaft which had been
behind her.

"'S'okay," rejoined Lisa. She pushed the grillwork enough to one side
to hand the Merc a rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper,
and a manila enveloped which bulged.

Sudden suspicion made Dianne sniff. "I thought you were on the wagon."

Lisa snickered and quaffed from an old Girl Scout canteen which hung
over her shoulder. "So does Uncle. Larry gave me bartending software.
I'm virtually drunk. S'better than real because you can get the effect
without the hangover."

"Virtal - no, I don't want to know. What's this envelope for?"

"Your fee and instructions. It's all there and then some. The cute
kind didn't come in less than a pound anyway, so it's the half we
agreed on plus half for the fright. I wish I'd had a camcorder."

Dianne glared at her again but Lisa, unfazed by anything less than
Lacroix with red eyes, replaced the grating and disapppeared.

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


LaCroix waited quietly while his follower completed her transaction.
She would finish soon, and depart, and then he would have his revenge.
It would not be his usual style of vengeance, but it would be quite
satisfying, none-the-less.

He smiled slightly-- a sight which caused a passing mortal to pale and
scurry hastily away-- and remembered the inspiration for this little
interlude.....

<Flashback, War 5, at the Wrap Party>

Diane Echelbarger sat at a table in the corner, sipping her Han Solo
and wondered how she would ever explain to Dianne that she'd lost that
gorgeous fountain pen.  She'd checked the ROM, DieHard Headquarters,
the B&B-- *everywhere*-- and still hadn't found it.

She sighed and took another sip of her drink.

"Hey, Diane.  Mind if I join you?"

"Help yourself."  Diane smiled at the Knightie leader.  "I guess this
means you've forgiven me for getting Sandra kidnapped, huh?" she added
hopefully.

"It's okay."  Catherine Boone smiled reassuringly.  "We know you
didn't do it on purpose."  She set her Zoo Juice on the table and took
the other chair.  "Thoug I'd make sure to steer clear of Sandra for
the next month or two."  Catherine whistled softly.  "She is *not* a
happy camper."

Diane snorted.  "I can hardly blame her for that.  I still can't
figure out how they knew we were gonna be there, though."

"Did you tell anybody where you were going?"

"Only the Merc I hired to get me home safe.  And it couldn't have been
her, because I specified that she wasn't to take any other jobs until
that one was done."  She scowled and took another sip of rum-and-
Bailey's. "Cost me another half-pound of Chocolate Caper, on top of a
*really* expensive dinner, but it was worth it."

Catherine frowned slightly and turned her drink in her hand.  "But I'd
heard you had dinner with Dianne and Abby that night."

"That's right," the unaffiliated woman affirmed.  "I wanted to make
sure I got home in one piece."

The Knightie didn't look at her.  "Then one of them was your bodyguard
that night, right?"

Diane froze a moment, then asked, cautiously, "Why?"

"Because..." Catherine hesitated... "We have reason to believe that
one of them was also in on Sandra's kidnapping."

Diane's glass hit the table with a thud.  "Which one?" she demanded.


The Knightie co-leader was a little surprised by the vehemence of the
request, but she replied, very quietly, "Dianne."

The usually quiet and unassuming listmember transformed before the
startled Knightie's eyes.  Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed, and
she *growled*, "That... That...  *I'm* *gonna* *kill* *her*!" as she
rose from her chair.

"Hey, hey!"  Catherine quickly placed herself between the enraged
woman and the rest of the club. "Sit down!  Have another drink," she
soothed as she forced Diane's glass into her hand.  "There's nothing
you can do here and now.  Besides,"  she added, knowing Dianne when it
came to money, "it was probably just a job for her.  Nothing
personal."

"A job?  A *job*!?!"  Diane seemed, if possible, even more angry than
before.  "She *used* me, dammit!  I'm supposed to be her *friend*, and
she *used* me!"

"Huh?"  Catherine realized she'd missed something.  "What do you
mean?"

"At dinner, that night," Diane explained, still trying to get around
the Knightie, "She gave me a pen.  Nice, big fountain pen. *Told* me
she was giving all her beta-readers one."  She growled again, giving a
very good impersonation of an enraged cat.  "I thought Abby gave her
an odd look when she said that, but I didn't really think about it,
then."  She glared at the Knightie, who was suddenly *very* glad it
wasn't her Diane was mad at.  "It disappeared, that night.  When
Sandra was kidnapped."

"What, you mean it was like a tracking device?"  Catherine gasped.

"That's right.  That.... *Merc*--" it was undoubtable a curse--
"planted it on me, *used* me to get to Sandra...."

Catherine's nose wrinkled in disgust.  "That *is* pretty low, even for
Dianne" the Knightie agreed.

"Indeed."  The quiet, cool voice got both their attentions instantly. 
The two women looked quickly in that direction.

LaCroix looked back, cool and calm, and raised a single eyebrow.

"Uhh....." the two mortals said, simultaneously.  Catherine was the
first to recover.  Smiling overbrightly, she snatched up her coat and
tried to sneak past him for the door without *looking* like she was
running for her life.  "Hello, LaCroix, I was just leaving.  Diane,
call me, we'll talk..." her voice faded (along with her smile and all
the color in her face, incidentally) at the gentle hand on her arm.

"Why don't we sit?" the master vampire suggested, very quietly.  "I
believe we three have a-- common interest-- in this matter."

The women exchanged suddenly-nervous glances, then nodded and took
their seats.  LaCroix removed a chair from a nearby table-- dumping
the mortal using it on the floor without a second thought-- and joined
them.

<end flashback>

LaCroix smiled as the memory ended.  Once the two women had been
convinced that he wasn't going to kill the Mercenary, they'd been
surprisingly cooperative.

He glanced around the corner again and saw his minion hand a box to
the Merc and depart.  Dianne La Mercenaire, Grand High Poobah of the
Mercenary Guild, turned and strode down the street, straight toward
the corner where the 2000-year-old vampire was waiting to pounce.

He stepped out, directly in front of her, and caught her eyes with his
own before she could dodge.  "Listen to me...."

Five minutes later, Dianne blinked and looked around.  She was
standing on a streetcorner in Toronto, holding the down payment for a
War job. Frowning slightly, she realized she hadn't double-checked
that the payment was intact, and opened the box.

It was full of Godiva, just as she'd asked.

The Merc licked her lips.  "Chocolate..." she murmured.

Then, without warning...

Dee blinked and looked around.  She was, like, on this Totally Grody
street, blocks from, like, *anything* that mattered.  She frowned and
glanced around--- and caught sight of herself in a shop window.

"Aah!" the Valley Girl cried. "Like, *what* am I *wearing!*?"  She
was-- no, she couldn't be-- but she *was*-- in this totally uncool t-
shirt and a positively grody pair of stretch pants.  Stretch pants, as
Dee was well aware, had been out for *ages*.  And her *hair*! No
mousse, no gel, just pulled back in a *braid*!  She *couldn't* wait
tables at the Raven dressed like *this*!  She started to raise her
hands to her head, totally disgusted, then realized she was holding a
box in one of them.  A box filled with foil-wrapped candy in the shape
of--

"Goldfish?" Dee asked.

And then, without warning...

Dianne blinked down at the down-payment.  Then, with a shrug, she
unwrapped one, bit off the tail, and hailed a taxi to take her back to
Merc Central.

She had a lot to do.  It was going to be a *very* interesting War....


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


Just a Little Documentary (3/3)
Place:  Paragon Studios (the FK warehouse)
Time:   Wednesday, July. 31 (4 pm)
Author: Dawn Steele (h36a@unb.ca)

Take 1:

Will steps from the hiding place, pushes the factory worker/attacker
aside... and then trips on some misplaced bolts on the floor.

Take 6:

Will steps from the hiding place, pushes the factory worker/attacker
aside... and then gets splattered by the contents of the bucket (spare
green glop) that one of the camera people overturned 'accidentally'.

Take 23:

Will steps from the hiding place, pushes the factory worker/attacker
aside... and is so confused by the fact that the first stunt worker
has quit for the day and that his replacement is almost a foot taller
that he forgets what he's supposed to be doing.

Take 48:

Will steps from the hiding place, pushes the factory worker/attacker
aside... and in his exhaustion steps <into> another steel beam.

Take 71:

Lombardi (in a light brown wig) steps from the hiding place, pushes
the factory worker/attacker aside ... and then expertly 'snaps' his
neck and throws him away.

"Cut!" The director walked forward to where Lombardi, and the other
stuntmen were waiting. "That was good. Print it!" Hands on her jeaned
hips, she surveyed the scene.

The director then pulled Will off of the ground. He was now dressed as
the "factory worker/attacker", and was testing his neck gingerly to
make sure it was still all in one piece.

"I'm <so> glad you were able to help out today." Her hair was pulled
back into a long brown ponytail, and it swung from side to side as she
then shook his hand enthusiastically.

"I was..." Will stretched his body out, and there were a few audible
'pops!'. "glad to help out."

She patted him on the back and walked him towards the entrance. "It's
always nice to be able to show the fans how much we appreciate their
efforts in reviving the show for the third season and then ... "

THUMP! THUCK! BANG! BUMPITY-BUMP-BUMP-BUMP! (I'd write a few more
sound effects, but I'm sure you get the idea.)

Will was lying mostly on the floor, with one leg sticking straight up
into the air as it rested against the side of a half overturned
wheelchair. The red-headed occupant righted her chair with an annoyed
CRUNCH! There were papers scattered everwhere.

"Sorry." Will weakly uttered as he slowly picked himself up from the
floor.

"Fine -- you're sorry and <I've> got a mess." She leaned forward, and
started picking up papers from the floor. "And I'm going to bruise
too! I just know it!" She shot him another glace just to know that he
<wasn't> appreciated.

The director and Will helped her. Soon there was a large jumbled pile
of papers in her arms. She flipped through them rapidly, her tongue
clicking her anger. She found the paper she wanted.

"Here! Sign this!" She thrust an official-looking document into Will's
hands and tossed him a pen.

"What is it?"

"It's a release form for the scene we shot today." She rolled her
eyes, and banged her feet against the footrests of the chair.

Will hurridly signed the form and handed it back. "There! Everything's
fine now... right?"

The director reached up and patted him on the back. "Everything's
<just> fine!"


                                *     *     *

In the following hours, the camera crews and editors would quickly and
efficiently put together two videos.

The first was an hour long documentary of "Forever Knight: A Fan
Phenomena". The documentary was filled with clips from the show and
old star interviews, and a look at the teams that had worked behind
the scenes. That video was sold to USA and Paragon studios, with the
director and crew making a tidy profit.

And the second video? Well... it featured clips of a certain perky
cousin having a <very> bad day. Copies of the video were delivered
that very night to two separate addresses. At the first address, two
eager pairs of hands picked it up from the doorstep and headed
straight for the video room.

The second copy was delivered with a note to a Mr L. LaCroix. The note
was fairly gushing in it's enthusiasm of how <helpful> a certain Will
Steeves in portraying "Nick Knight".

There was no return address.

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

Credits:

Will Steeves ........ Nick Knight
             ........ the dead factory worker
Dawn Steele  ........ the director/writer

(and then the guest stars -- in order of appearance)

Liz the Lucky ....... the overturned secretary
Kira C.      ........ Kacy
Ratpacker John ...... the wardrobe man
Lisa Reeves  ........ the executive producer
Lane L.      ........ Lombardi

ps. I thank all of the Mercs who volunteered their services for this
(my first <real> job). Let it be known to all (and espescially to sock
thieves) that since no fees were discussed -- all the Mercs present
were paid with a very valuable commodity: a dozen pairs of socks
(each!).

<EG>


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


Putting the FUN back in FUNeral (1/1)
Partly and Robin - Perkulators
Weds.  7/31  Late afternoon

Partly and the Perks had been sitting outside the Quill Funeral Home
for most of the day.  It would have been a more tolerable experience,
Partly thought, if she could have left one particular Perk behind.

"And then,"  Robin laughed, nearly choking on her soda.  "And then I
walk in and find Partly," the redhead jerked a thumb toward her
appalled friend, "cornered in a bathroom stall by the largest,
hairiest cross-dresser I have ever had the misfortune of seeing."  She
paused again, laughing too hard to continue.

Partly tried to ignore the conversation with little success.  Robin
regained some of her composure and continued.  "It took me five
minutes and fifty dollars to convince that...  that...  person not to
call ROM security."  All the Perks were in hysterics.  "By the time we
got out of the bathroom, Cousin Candice was long gone with the book." 
Robin dabbed tears out of her eyes.  "Our fearless leader at work."
She broke down again.

Partly sighed.  Life just wasn't fair.  "You don't have to keep
telling that story, you know."  It was bad enough she had lost the
book.

"Of course I do."  Robin grinned evilly.  "I only wish I'd had a
camera."

"Video would have been nice," Frederic said.

"What are you?  Cousins?"  Partly asked.

The Perks just laughed harder.   Partly nodded.  "Partly Cousins."
Then she groaned as she realized what she'd said.

A white Buick pulled into the funeral home driveway in front of them.
"This may be our man," Partly said.   The Perks slowly regained their
breath, all watching as a large, middle-aged man emerged from the car,
now parked in the "Director" spot.

Partly opened the door, and headed toward the funeral home.  The rest
of the Perks followed.  "Now remember," she admonished.  "We are a
grieving family.  Act like one.'

The sniggering died down.  Then Robin spoke up.  "We're not brothers
and sisters, are we?  Perhaps we'll have to be," she paused,
"Cousins?"

They almost managed to  stop laughing by the time they walked in the
door.

Partly approached the receptionist/secretary.  "I would like to see
Mr. Quill?  I have an appointment."

"Our Uncle died," Robin spoke up quickly.  Stifled laughter, barely
covered by fits of coughing, filled the room.  Partly was sure this
was a Bad Thing.

The woman ignored the Perks.  "Mr.  Quill is in the Viewing Room."
She pointed through a doorway draped in red velvet.  Partly and her
barely in check Perkulators walked through the doorway.  The Viewing
Room was a decorator's nightmare of more red velvet, this time
accented with black chintz and large numbers of plastic flowers.

"Oh my God."  Robin spoke for them all.  "Even Elvis wouldn't be
caught dead here."

"Mr.  Quill?"  Partly asked.  The man turned and Partly found herself
face to face with the cross-dresser from the ROM opening, this time
wearing a very tacky polyester suit.  She had to admit that the pearls
he had been wearing on Tuesday looked better than the gold chains he
was wearing now.

He stared at her a moment, the slipped into funeral director mode.
"How can I help you?"

Partly tried to make her brain work, but all she could see was him in
the horrible red chiffon dress, looming over her, smelling of Chanel
and cheap wine.  "Yes, ah, we..."

Robin was no help either, and Partly knew she was thinking the same
thing. Finally Larissa spoke up.  "Yes, our Uncle died and we were
thinking about using your services."

Quill's pretense was fading under the pressure of Robin and Partly's
stares.  "I don't think I can help you."  He started toward an exit.

His movement broke the spell over the Perks leader and Partly leapt in
front of him; Robin circled around in a classic pincer movement.

"Hold on," Partly said.  "We just have a few questions and we will be
out of your life forever."

He hesitated for a moment, and Robin spoke.  "Does your wife know
about your fondness for red chiffon?  How do you think your clientele
would feel about your predilection for Chanel and pearls?"

The rest of the Perks stared at them, confused.  This was *not* the
plan.

Quill, visibly sweating, stammered.  "Wha..  what do you want?"

"Did you, or did you not, handle the Tracy Vetter funeral?"  Partly
used her best parental interrogation voice.

"The Vetter funeral?"  He was obviously confused.

"Just answer the question," Robin snarled.  This was FUN.

Quill edged away from the dangerous-looking redhead who was smiling a
bit too eagerly at him.  "Yes.  Yes, I did."

"Did you handle it all yourself?"

He nodded.  "The commissioner wanted it that way.  He paid extra."

"Extra?  For what?"  Robin had taken a step closer to the distraught
man.

Neatly boxed between his two interrogators and the other Perks, Quill
began to shake.  "For me to be extra careful.  To make her look extra
pretty.  To cover all the wounds."

"But it was a closed casket?"  Larissa spoke up.  "Why go through all
that trouble for a closed casket?"

"I don't know.  He never came.  I just talked to him on the phone, and
then at the funeral."  He paused.  "He never even saw her, or the
wonderful job I did.  He insisted that I keep the casket closed at all
times after I fixed her up."

"He never even looked at her?"  Partly questioned.

"No."  Quill shook his head.  "Funny thing is, he told me to dress her
in a blue dress to match her eyes.  But she had brown eyes, almost the
same color as her hair."

The Perks almost stopped breathing.  "Brown hair?  Are you sure?"
Frederic was the first to find his voice.

Quill nodded.  "Long and thick.  Quite pretty, once I styled it."

Partly tried to process the information.   The coroner hadn't done an
autopsy, Commission Vetter had never identified Tracy, and the funeral
director had buried a brunette.  So, what had happened to Tracy?
Ignoring Quill completely, she headed for the door.

Robin, still in Bad Cop <tm> mode, patted him on the arm and smiled
wickedly.  "You've been a great help.  Don't leave town."  She
followed after Partly, leaving Quill standing confused behind them and
quickly filling in the Perks on all the missing details.

Once more in the car, they sat in silence for a moment.  Then Larissa
voiced what they had all been thinking:

"Do you think Tracy is still alive?"


*********************************************************************
                           End War 7 File 5
*********************************************************************