*********************************************************************
                            War 7 File 8
*********************************************************************

The Fix Is In
By: Patrick McLaughlin
When: 2 am to 4 am Monday morning.
Where: Current Twin foxhole.

(P.S. I hear that AOL crashed this morning, and is down...)




Pat closed the door and leaned against it for a moment before locking
it and removing his latest disguise.  Stepping back from the door he
switched the crude, but effective security system on, and sniffed for
the faint scent of ozone by the hidden transformer before moving on.

"Thomas?" he queried, wondering if the prankster was out and up to
trouble already.

The silence was a good presumptive answer.  Someone was going to be
furious in a while....

Settling down in the overstuffed Victorian chair, Pat took the
opportunity for a nap.  Multiple time zone changes and jet lag
demanded _some_ acknowledgement, even if he appeared to be the entire
cadre of Thomas' supporters present.

...

A gentle cough woke him.  Thomas was standing in the doorway, grinning
diabolically.

Pat peeled one eye open, and then the other, before asking "Should I
ask?"

As he struggled out of the chair and turned on the espresso machine,
fumbling with things while the sleep fog cleared, Thomas settled into
the chair and sighed.

"Well, Patrick, the brown books will arrive shortly.  The donations to
several universities with ancient and medieval scholars a month ago
was a clever stroke--they've got all sorts of strange combinations of
languages, dialects and coded materials in those books, and anyone who
finds them will have a devil of a time unravelling them.  And the temp
agencies appear to hear so many bizarre requests they didn't blink
once I assured them that no one would be asked to do anything
illegal."

Pat glanced back at him suspiciously.

Thomas smiled.

Rolling his eyes, Pat flicked on the milk steamer, obliterating
conversation for a moment.  A few seconds later, he settled down to
extract the rest of Thomas' caper, knowing that the update on the
brown books was a distraction.

The litany of minor harassments was indeed impressive.  Among other
things, the Natpackers were scheduled for a random-appearing sequence
of deliveries ranging from COD pizzas to roses for each of them--from
Nick--and the Knighties were being given a series of leads on sure-
fire cures.

"Offending everyone, Thomas?" Pat asked.

"Not _everyone_, Patrick." Thomas' eyes lidded for an instant, perhaps
in regret.  "I made an agreement with Lucien when we left that bar.
He agreed to keep the Cousins leashed; even that one... Karies... that
thinks I pulled the wings off of Nicholas." He cocked his head
slightly before continuing, "So don't do anything that would be
construed as a violation of our armistice."

Pat nodded.  "So, how long do we stay here?  What's next on your
schedule of musical HQs?"

"We pull out of here tonight," said Thomas.  "We've been laying low,
preparing things, but after tonight, and then the appearance of scores
of books, it seems wisest to move on."  He paused.  "Did you get ahold
of your friend?"

Pat looked blank for an instant, trying to figure out _which_ friend
Thomas was referring to. "Ah, yes," he said, as the last of the fog
cleared.  "He says that it's not hard at all, it's keeping a system up
and running that's hard, so making one crash is a snap.  Your offer
was sufficient, even for his cupidity."

Thomas smiled. "I do so love such people..."

"Kindred spirits," Pat sneered, and then smiled.

Thomas attempted to look offended, then laughed. "Everyone has a
price, Patrick.  It's just a question of what they want to buy, and
what coin they care for."

He stood and stretched as a knock came at the door.

"Ah, how timely," he smirked. "Come, if Toronto's net connections are
all going to collapse shortly," we should be gone.  And unless I miss
my guess, that's the books, and even with the hired help, we're going
to be busy installing them in places around the various affiliation
HQs, bookstores...."

They headed for the door.

As Thomas switched off the security system, Pat commented, "You know,
Thomas, if someone were to call various people at the different HQs,
saying that they'd found a small book..."

Thomas glanced back. "That's inspired.  Someone could call, asking for
Nicholas, having 'found' the book and wanting to return it.  Someone
else could be called because their name was in it and it wasn't clear
who it belonged to, could they help in returning it....  I like it.
I'll put someone on it."

He opened the door and greeted the courier.  "Ah, we've been waiting
for you."  He looked past the man at the small van on the street.
"That's our shipment?"  The man nodded; "Just sign here," he
requested.

"You wouldn't mind driving a couple more blocks, would you?" Thomas
asked.  I have the people who they're being distributed to waiting at
another address."  The faint hint of hesitation at this request
vanished as the fellow pocketed Thomas' 'offering', and a moment
later, Thomas was on his way.

He stuck his head out the window as the van pulled away. "Meet me at
four, Patrick.  You know where," he called.


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


Ghost of a Chance (1/4)
by Amparo Bertram (NatPack) and Betsy Vera (NatPack/Cohen-head)

Time: 2am
Place: NatPack Hostel
Day: Monday, 8/5/96

Betsy yawned as the tag faded to black and the credits began to roll.
Watching videos with the NatPack was fun, but she was beat. By the
time she would be able to hunt down her pillow and sleeping bag, she
would be more than ready to fall instantly aslee--what was that?

She whipped her head around to find the source of the motion that had
caught her eye. Nothing. Just one of the flickering candles that
seemed to crop up everywhere around the house. It must have been a
shadow.

She had been seeing far too many shadows lately. The others thought
she was simply jumpy, or paranoid because of the War, but she would
swear that someone had been following her and trying to attract her
attention, then vanishing at the last moment.

She sighed and gathered up her things, carrying them into another room
where she could escape the noise from the VCR. Out of habit she
checked all the corners to be sure nothing lurked in hiding. The only
other occupant was Amparo, who sat against the wall, polishing her
whip by the light spilling through the doorway and quietly humming
"Nobody's Side."

Betsy sank down gratefully, ready to close her eyes and let the world
fade around her.

"Betsy..."

She jerked awake at the unexpected whisper. "Mmm?" she mumbled,
unwilling to stir herself right as she had gotten comfortable.

"Betsy, wake up!" The voice didn't rise in volume, but the note of
command in it rang clear.

"What time is it?" she groaned irritably.

"Two o'clock. Time to move."

Betsy finally gave in and sat up. She could see little in the darkness
save Pod's dim form. "What are you talking about?"

The other NatPacker replied, "Oops, sorry if the song bothered you. I
can stop if you like."

Betsy shook her head, deciding she hadn't been as lucid as she had
thought, misinterpreting the sound as words. She began to lie back
down.

"Vera. Outside. Now."

Betsy snapped to her feet before the order even registered in her
conscious mind, then became tangled in her sleeping bag and teetered
precariously, waving her arms wildly for balance. The voice had barked
directly in her ear, yet she could neither see nor feel anyone in the
vicinity. "Who are you?" she demanded. "*Where* are you? What do you
want?"

Over against the wall, Amparo jumped up. "Betsy, are you all right?"

Betsy kicked off the mess of the sleeping bag and staggered over to
the whip wielding girl. "There's someone here," she announced.

Amparo reached out and flipped on the light, revealing a room empty
except for the two of them. "No one here. You must have been
dreaming."

Betsy froze. She pointed. She tried to speak, but it took several
attempts to get her mouth working. Standing between the two
NatPackers, so translucent as to be barely visible, Captain Amanda
Cohen stared accusingly at her.

"Y--you--you're--" Betsy sputtered.

"Running out of time," Cohen finished for her.

"This is not happening. This is *not* happening." Betsy ignored
Amparo's bewildered expression and quickly burrowed back into her
sleeping bag.

"Oh, no you don't," Cohen declared. "I've been trying to get ahold of
you for weeks; you're not ducking out on me now."

"It's just a bad dream," Betsy repeated to herself several times. "I
did not see a dead police captain. She is not talking to me. I stayed
up too late watching videos, that's all."

"Dammit, Vera, I don't have much longer," the voice went on,
regardless. "You have to help me see my daughter."

Betsy poked her head out of the sleeping bag. Rather than vanishing,
the apparition had gotten stronger. Pod had disappeared, though
whether she was going for help or looking for peace and quiet was
unknown. "Your daughter?" she managed, her brain functioning enough to
pick out that tidbit.

Cohen nodded. "Evelyn. I haven't seen her since...the plane. I have to
know that she's all right. If not, I'm doomed to this pale existence
forever."

Betsy couldn't help but be moved by the captain's plight, but there
remained one matter of utmost importance. "Why me?"

"You're the only one who can see me." Cohen shrugged. "I get this
feeling when I'm around you, like I belong with you. I can't explain
it."

It took a few long moments--she had sided with the NatPack for a
considerable amount of time--but Betsy finally remembered she was
*also* the Cohen-head faction leader. "But you're a ghost," she
protested weakly. "How can I..." She trailed off, another dim memory
floating to the surface. Large, beautiful eyes stared into her own.
"...Ghosts..." she chanted blankly.

Cohen snapped her fingers, bringing the NatPacker out of it. "You have
to take me to see my daughter," she said, more a request than an order
this time.

Betsy rubbed her eyes. "It's two in the morning! I'm too tired to
drive, even if Kelly would lend me her car. Can't it wait until I've
gotten some sleep?"

"I don't know how long even you will be able to interact with me. It
has to be now, before I fade away again. Besides, you can call a cab."

Betsy looked at the ghost of the proud captain, realizing that Cohen
would wind up in a state of neglect even worse than the one she had
suffered while still alive. What was a little lost sleep, compared to
eternal obscurity? Resigned, she crawled back out of the sleeping bag.
"Let me throw on some clothes. Toronto, beware!"


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


Ghost of a Chance (2/4)
by Amparo Bertram (NatPack) and Betsy Vera (NatPack/Cohen-head)

Time: 3am
Place: Toronto
Day: Monday, 8/5/96

Betsy slumped on the stairs of the apartment building. "Well, I
tried," she told her personal specter. "They must have moved sometime
since...you know."

Cohen didn't appear discouraged that her first idea hadn't panned out.
"Then we'll track them down at their new location."

"This is hopeless," Betsy moaned, wanting nothing more than to be back
at the Hostel where she belonged. Asleep. "For all we know, your ex-
husband may have taken Evelyn to L.A. or somewhere equally distant. I
am *not* leaving this city, not with all that's going on. He's not in
the phone book--we double checked, remember?--and I don't have much
else in the way of resources."

"We can't give up," Cohen maintained. "I'm sure my people at the
precinct could--"

"You're a ghost!" Betsy exclaimed in exasperation. "What am I supposed
to do, tell them the truth? They'd send me to a funny farm...though
that's probably where I belong for agreeing to this."

"Could you hire help?"

"Private detective? Mercenary?" She shook her head. "That would take
too long to arrange, and besides, I didn't bring much money with me on
this little excursion, not to mention other forms of payment."

"There must be another source of information."

"Oh, sure, I could trot over to the Raven and ask Janette. That's what
Nick always did," she grumbled.

"It's worth a try."

Betsy stared at the captain. "First of all, I can't believe you took
me seriously. Second, I'm not dressed for the Raven. Third, I really
don't need to hold a conversation with thin air in front of that many
people *who know me*."

"People who know us..." Cohen repeated thoughtfully. "You know, my
husband liked to eat out. He had a favorite place, a little deli with
the most amazing selection of food. If we were to go there, someone
might be able to tell us where he is now."

"Deli?" Betsy blinked. She couldn't mean... But, of course, this was
Wartime. The Happy Souvlaki, where else? "I think I know the place
you're talking about. They're used to serving the night shift, so
they're probably still open."

"Shall we locate a phone to call another cab?"

Betsy thought of the look the first cab driver had given her. He had
taken off as soon as possible, barely waiting for the fare to leave
her hands before screeching away at full speed. "I'll walk, thanks."

The two of them made their way through the streets of Toronto, Cohen
telling the NatPacker all about her daughter. It wasn't until they had
been walking for nearly half an hour that Betsy realized, in her
distracted state, she had gotten completely lost. She stopped, the
ghost stopping with her. "Where are we?"

The captain examined her surroundings. "I'm...not sure. Things tend to
get fuzzy the farther away from you they are, so I haven't been paying
much attention. I thought you knew where you were going."

"I do! I mean," Betsy clarified, "I know our *destination*. I don't
exactly know how to get there."

Cohen crossed her arms and focused one of her patented Disapproving
Frowns on her faction leader. "Then ask someone."

"Who?" Betsy wasn't sure she wanted to walk up to a total stranger on
a dark street in the middle of the night, even in Toronto. Not with a
NatPacker's luck, not without heavy backup.

"What about him?" Cohen indicated a man leaning casually against a
nearby streetlight.

There was something hauntingly familiar about him, but Betsy couldn't
put her finger on it. She also couldn't figure out why there seemed to
be something odd about the light around him, but she blamed that on
her exhaustion. "All right," she acceeded. She approached the man and
addressed him carefully, "Excuse me?"

He turned to face her, and her heart fairly doubled its pace. "Yes?"

"Richard?" she gasped. Natalie's brother, brought across by Nick
during first season and promptly destroyed when he couldn't control
his hunger. It sank in that the light appeared strange because it
passed right through him, leaving no shadow. Another ghost.

The vampire/ghost smiled at her, no fangs in sight. "You're one of
Nat's friends, aren't you? I've seen you with her. I want to thank you
for taking such good care of her."

"I--I--" Betsy stammered. Two ghosts in as many hours. "Don't eat me!"
she squealed, overwhelmed.

Richard shook his head. "I couldn't, even if I wanted to. I'm dead,
remember? *Really* dead, this time. I'm here to help." He paused. "To
repay, as it were. So, what can I do for you?"

Betsy swallowed her fright. "I have to find the Happy Souvlaki Deli.
Can you show me the way?"

"Just follow me." He bowed to the two women. "I'll get you there safe
and sound. I promise."


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


Ghost of a Chance (3/4)
by Amparo Bertram (NatPack) and Betsy Vera (NatPack/Cohen-head)

Time: 4am
Place: Happy Souvlaki Deli
Day: Monday, 8/5/96

Betsy thanked Richard profusely when they arrived at last at the
entrance of the deli. With a nod of his head, he rose into the air and
flew off, fading from sight--literally. The NatPacker breathed a sigh
of relief and pushed through the doors.

Cheery lights and delicious aromas greeted her entrance. The place
didn't host many this early in the morning, but a few people occupied
scattered seats. Betsy staggered to the counter and ordered some
caffeine, in whatever form seemed most handy. She didn't recognize the
person serving her, but when her Coke arrived she asked about Cohen's
ex-husband anyway. Unfortunately, the young man hadn't seen him.

"Now what?" she asked when he had moved out of earshot. She gulped her
soft drink gratefully. "We could wait around here, see if maybe
someone on a more reasonable shift will know him."

"I might not have that long," Cohen reminded her.

"Captain?" came an unexpected voice. "Captain, is that you?"

Betsy spun around, nearly knocking over her cup. Standing there, large
as life--though not as substantial--was Detective Donald Schanke.

Cohen welcomed him with one of her rare smiles. "Nice to see you
again, Detective. What brings you here?"

"Just looking for some friends," the ghost replied. "I felt the tug of
a lot of people thinking about me in one place, and I remember the
last time that happened. I thought I'd stop by and say hello, but no
one can see or hear me." He sat on the stool next to Betsy, though the
seat showed no sign of his weight. "What's worse, I can't eat the
food. How about yourself?"

"I'm searching for my daughter, Evelyn. She's living with her father,
but I don't know where. I was hoping someone here could tell me."

"Wish I could help you, Captain." He appeared a bit sad. "I miss my
family, too. At least I know where they are, and I can check in on
them, watch over them."

It took a while, but Betsy finally squeezed some words out past her
shock. "Schanke! You, too?"

The shade brightened. "Hiya. Gee, someone from the Land of the
Living."

"Barely." Betsy finished off her drink. "It's great to see you, even
if this is all a hallucination. By the way, I've got a message for
you."

"Oh?"

"Everyone says 'hi'--Perri, Cath... Pam Rush sends warmest regards to
her Dear Donny."

He grinned. "She always made me the best souvlaki. Maybe I'll drop by
when she's sleeping for a dream brunch."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that. Well, Captain," she turned to the
other ghost, "shall we hit the streets once more?"

"What's our plan?"

Betsy shrugged. "The sun'll be up soon. Things should look better in
the morning. It might help us think of another set of options."

"Lead the way. So long, Detective."

"Bye, Captain."

With that, the two women exited the deli and resumed their quest.

***

Time: 9am
Place: Streets of Toronto

Betsy's footsteps dragged. The caffeine had worn off and she could
hardly keep her eyes open. They had been roaming for hours, waiting
for either an idea, a clue, or divine intervention. Preferably all
three.

Betsy gave up the battle, closing her eyes and sleepwalking along,
following the sound of Cohen talking. It worked fine for a few
minutes, until suddenly a gruff male voice shouted, "Watch where
you're going!"

She froze instinctively, her eyes snapping open to see that she was
standing half-overlapping an older man. She hastily backed away,
staring as the man--or, rather, ghost--patted his chest to be sure it
was intact. "Harry?" She had little difficulty recognizing him. "But
you're not an FK ghost!"

"Darn tootin'," said MacGyver's grandfather.

"That does it!" Betsy plopped down on the sidewalk. "I refuse to budge
another inch. I'm obviously a raving lunatic, so there really isn't
any point." The passersby seemed inclined to agree as they scooted
past, casting curious glances in her direction.

"Nonsense, young lady," Harry contradicted vehemently. "You most
certainly are *not* raving."

Betsy let the words sink in, then began to giggle. By this time,
anything anybody said would have seemed hilarious. "I don't suppose--
you've seen--a girl named Evelyn Cohen?" she gasped out between bursts
of laughter.

"Nope, can't say as I have. But I'm sure someone has. Those of us on
the spirit plane tend to get about quite a bit. Lack of physical
barriers and all that."

Betsy wiped her eyes as the giggles subsided. "So all I have to do is
ask around?"

"Can't hurt to try."

"Thanks, Harry." She scrambled to her feet. "I've spent half the
morning on this project already, I may as well see it through." She
suppressed another chuckle at the "see-through" pun. "C'mon, Captain,
we've got work to do."


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


"Hello, My Name is Inigo Montoya..."  Stealing Vamps, Part One of Four
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis
Monday August 4th, 1996, about 4:45 in the morning
University of Toronto

"How'd you get him in here?" Kristina asked, observing the first of
four subjects locked in the recording booth.

Lizbet smiled with satisfaction.  "I cornered him with a cross and a
vial of holy water about 3 minutes before the sun came up and invited
him into the nice, dark van.  He accepted the invitation.  You know, I
wonder why crosses affect vampires and other religious items don't.
Take idols, for example.  At times in the Byzantine Empire they were
held to be holy in and of themselves, not just symbols.  Whole
*dynasties* rose and fell on the argument of whether or not they were
incarnate good...."

Kristina picked up her notebook and popped her historian friend over
the head.  "Thanks," Lizbet said.  She eyed Vachon and asked, "Is it
safe?  I mean, can he break out of there?"

"Shatter-proof, sound-proof glass," Kristina said with satisfaction.

Lizbet looked at the enraged vampire pounding his fists on the
interior of the recording booth and shuddered.  "I'm glad.  Look, I'm
just curious.  Do you have a thing for kidnapping people?"

"Why do you ask?" Kristina asked innocently.

"Oh, no reason.  Just that I remember waking up tied to a chair
watching you the third--or was it fourth?--time I was kidnapped in the
Highlander War."

Kristina ignored her and reached over to flip a switch on the master
control board, opening a speaker to the booth and turning on the
recorder. A flood of words poured out of Vachon's booth.  Kristina
made interesting "hmmm," noises and took notes.  "What's he saying?"
Lizbet asked.

Kristina looked up, considered, and shook her head.  "You don't want
to know.  Here," she handed Lizbet a list.  "Ask him to translate
these words into as many languages as he knows."

Lizbet looked over the list.  It consisted of simple words like,
"meat", "skin", "hot", "blood".  The idea was to see what the words
had been like in older forms of languages... something that vampires
were an excellent resource for.  Kristina leaned over to Lizbet and
whispered, "Don't bother asking him if he knows the words for 'comb.'"

Lizbet pulled the mic towards her and cleared her throat.  "Um,
Vachon?"

"What?" the vampire snarled.

"Hi.  We're not going to hurt you, I promise.  You'll be back at your
church by seven o'clock.  8 AM tops.  My employer just wants to get
some information from you.  It's for the furthering of scholarship."

Vachon gave an opinion on scholarship that was short, succinct, and
thankfully in Spanish.  "Or was that Basque?" Lizbet asked Kristina,
who grunted and kept scribbling notes.

"Look, I'll make it easy on you.  You answer our questions, we'll let
you out."

Unsurprisingly, Vachon was not pleased with the situation.  But he
eventually realized he'd stay a lot longer if he argued than if he
just gave in.  "We need to fill out a subject information sheet,"
Kristina said.

Lizbet took the sheet began to read it to Vachon.  "Full name."

"J. D. Valdez."

"Oooo," Lizbet said.  "Is that *really* your name?  That means that
you Spanish, probably from southern Spain, probably of Moorish
ancestory..."

Kristina whapped Lizbet on the head again to knock her out of his
historian's trance while Vachon answered, "No, it's not my real name,
but it's the best one you're going to get."

"Darn.  Place of birth?"

"The Iberian peninsula."

Lizbet decided not to argue that one.  "Date of birth?"

"All Soul's Day, 1504."

"Places you have spent a significant amount of time?"

Vachon sighed.  "This could take a while."

For an hour, he translated Kristina's list of words as Lizbet read
them out to him, while Kristina made notes.  Then they moved on to
phrases.

"'Your mother is a cabbage,'" Lizbet read

Vachon blinked. "'My mother is a cabbage?'"

"No, 'Your mother is a cabbage'. Just translate it."

Vachon did.

"'Your father is a cabbage'."

Blink.
   Blink.

Dutifully, he parroted it in as many languages and dialects he could.

"'Your father was a hamster and your mother stank of elderberries.'"

BLINKBLINKBLINKBLINK.

"'My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'"

Vachon's eyelid speed approached Mach 2.  "Is that actually on the
list?"

"Umm... no," Lizbet admitted.  "I just wanted to hear that said with a
real Spanish accent."

Vachon finally just closed his eyes and muttered.  "What's he saying
now?" Lizbet wanted to know.

Kristina looked up and shook her head again.  "Never mind."


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


Being a Perkulator
Partly - Perkulators
Monday, 8/5  6 am

Monday mornings meant more when you worked, Partly decided.  Since she
had become a full time Mom, the days of the week didn't really matter,
and since she couldn't sleep in on the weekends anyhow, Monday was
just another day.  Still, it was a pleasant thought, being able to
stay in bed if you wanted to.  A grey kitten leapt up on the bed and
pounced on the pillow next to Partly.  So much for staying in bed.
Willow stared at Partly, and Partly knew what that look meant:  *Feed
me*.

Partly climbed out of bed and Willow leapt onto her shoulders.  Partly
walked into the main room of the hotel and crossed to the door.  Room
service breakfast was a standing order, and Partly wasn't disappointed
when she opened the door.  A cart of food and two pots of steaming
coffee waited outside.  Pulling it in, she placed the bowl of tuna on
the table for the hungry cat, then poured herself a cup of coffee.
The rest of the Perks could have the food once they get up.

The war, like the last one, was mostly being fought without her.  She
had good intentions and even the opportunity to work with other
factions, she just didn't have the time.  Of course, if she were back
in real life, she'd be tearing the siding off her garage.  No, they'd
probably be done with that and would have moved on to the roof.  The
way she had it figured, if they worked dawn 'til dusk they could have
the old shingles ripped off, new boards put on where needed, and the
new shingles on in three days, four days tops.

So, enjoying the opportunity to do nothing, Partly walked slowly over
to the large windows and drew open the draperies.  She blinked at the
words that somehow mysteriously appeared on the window:   "Hi.  Your
security sucks.  However, I am available as a consultant for a nominal
fee.  Contact me if interested.  berg@eskimo.com."

Berg.  She smiled as she remembered her attack on the Raven in the
last war.  Berg had done excellent work for her then, and he was
right, their security *did* suck.  It might just be worth the money,
er, chocolate, to hire the merc to secure the place.  In the same way,
Partly thought that maybe she should visit the Raven again this war.
She took another drink of coffee and sighed.  Real life and a roofless
garage loomed in the background.  No, there just wouldn't be time.
Next war, she swore to herself.  Next war she would do it for sure.
Besides, no one seemed interesting in attacking them.  Partly didn't
know whether that was bad or good, but is seemed to come with being a
Perkulator.  And from what she heard, she was sure the Ravenette's
were getting tired of redecorating.

Willow rubbed against her feet and purred.  Partly had tried,
discretely, to find the owned of the kitten, but she'd hadn't had any
luck yet.  She was sure the owner would show up sooner or later.
Picking up the kitten, she sat down at her computer and flipped on
AOL.  She had another e-mail form Tracy.  Since their meeting on
Thursday night, the cryptic messages had changed into the more normal
letters and Partly had even answered.  The exchange of letters had
gone a long way to convincing Partly that Tracy *was* Tracy.  The
phrasing and thought patterns were distinctly hers, even if the
content was slightly more dark and bitter.  Partly explained the
affiliations and the war, as much as she could, and Tracy seemed to
accept it without too many question.  Partly had also told Tracy about
Nick's book.  The one her father had, and Partly took, and that was in
turn stolen by Cousin Candice.  She told her about Jamie thinking she
was Tracy, and about the Perks hunt for the truth.  The current
message in front of her made Partly think that Tracy was actually
sounding more and more like her oldself.

However, several questions still remained.  How did Tracy survive?
Was she a vampire?  What was she going to do now?  Tracy wouldn't
answer any of those questions, except to say that she didn't want
Partly to tell anyone she was around.  It wasn't exactly a secret that
Partly wanted to keep. But, she'd follow Tracy's wishes.  At least
until there were signs she wasn't who she claimed to be.

Still, there was no reason she couldn't look for answers on her own.
Perri had told her Nick wanted to talk to her.  It didn't surprise
Partly.  The questions she had Perri ask him were highly suspicious,
especially in war time.  Jennie hadn't gotten back to her, but that
hadn't surprised Partly much either.  With the leader of the NatPack
covered from head-to-toe in orange, there was a good chance she wasn't
coherent enough to remember to ask Nat.  If Nat was around.

Partly groaned.  She had thought the last war was hard to follow.  In
this one, the people who were dead were the only ones around.  Partly
stretched, refilled her cup, and once again pushed real life out of
her thoughts.  She quickly wrote a response to Tracy, letting her know
that she'd stand with her no matter what she decided.  She may think
that Tracy wasn't doing the right thing, but it wasn't her place to
judge.  It was her place support the decisions Tracy made.  After all,
she was The Perkulator.


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


Was that a bird...?
by Robbi Egersdorf <Knightie> with help from Carrie Krumtum and
Katrinka Kendall
 Time: Monday, Aug 5, 1996 directly after "Bodyguards Again!!" and
simultaneous with "Is that what I think it is?" midmorning to noon.
 Place: Start at the Loft




Katrinka and Carrie argued about who would drive the caddy.  They
decided that Katrinka would drive there and Carrie would drive back.

Katrinka sat in the driver's seat with her hands on the wheel,
excited that she was about to drive the caddy.  "I've only had my
drivers license since October," She admitted to Carrie,  "so my
driving's--how can I put it?--Like Schanke's."

A look of concern came over Carrie's face.  "Oh no, I don't want to go
on one of those out-of-control rides.  Maybe you shouldn't drive."

"Don't be silly.  No one has cut the brake line.  I'll do fine."  She
turned the key and the engine protested into life.  "Feel that power. 
No plain city car can give you that kind of power."

"Let's cut the crap and get going or it'll be midnight before we get
back."

Katrinka looked a little hurt, but it passed quickly.  She put the
beast into gear and they were off.

Toronto Trek had been held at the Regal Constellation Hotel on Dixon
Road in Etobicoke, VERY near the airport.  They had gotten detailed
directions so it would be easy.

When they arrived, they found the con was over.  "What are we going to
do now?"  Katrinka consulted with Carrie.

"We question the employees and those here cleaning up the place."

They split up and started working through the clean up crew. Each had
a photo of Nick to show.

Carrie had found a tall, skinny guy with stingy brown hair working
hard to wash some spill off the floor.  She approached him and showed
him the photo. "Did you see this man last night."

The man looked at the photo and blinked.  He looked rather worried.
"I don't think so."  He turned back to his work as if she weren't
there.

"You know something.  I need to find this man."  Carrie persisted.

The worker turned back to Carrie and looked her straight in the eye.
"Look lady, I didn't see anything.  People just don't get up and fly
away."

"Ah."  She knew she had found her witness, she just had to convince
him to talk to her.  "I see, you were drinking too much, weren't you."

"Don't tell my boss, I was supposed to be sober."

Katrinka walked up behind Carrie.  "I didn't find anything, how about
you?"

"I think this is our ticket," she whispered to her partner, then
turned back to the man, "I won't tell if you help me.  I know you saw
something of this man, I just need to know what happened to him."

"Okay.  I was just taking some supplies up to the roof, you know, for
that convention thing they had yesterday.  Well, this man was just
leaving and something fell on his head and knocked him down.  I was
just getting ready to call an ambulance when he just got up and flew
away.  I know I drank too much."  He shook his head,  visibly worried
he had lost his sanity.

Katrinka rationalized for him,  "It was a publicity stunt, calm down. 
He had wires."

"Yeah?  I saw the wires."  The man was definitely relieved.  "Oh,
thanks.  I thought I was losing my mind there."

"Okay, so you're not insane.  What happened after he left?"  Carrie
continued the questioning

"Well, this woman got down out of the air duct and picked up what
looked like a brick and left."

"Describe the woman.  I need to know if it's someone we know,"
Katrinka asked.

"Well,"  The man ran his hand through his hair as he thought, "I think
she had red hair.  Yes, she had red hair.  At first I thought she was
a man because she was so tall.  That's about all I noticed, a tall
redhead."

"Thanks.  You really have helped us a lot."  Carrie turned to leave
with Katrinka following.  "I think we can tell who that is from that
description. There's not a whole lot of tall redheads in this blasted
war."

"Yes, I believe you're right.  Mission accomplished.  Yesss."  She did
the Nick victory dance as they came out into the morning air.

Carrie turned to her and held out her hand,  "It's my turn to drive."

Before Katrinka got in the car, she looked over her shoulder, a
faraway look in her eyes.

"What's up."  Carrie questioned.

"Oh, I guess it's nothing.  It just felt like someone was watching us.
It's gone now."


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


Is that what I think it is?
by Robbi Egersdorf <Knightie> with help from Lauren Rhodes and Nancy
Taylor
Time: Monday, Aug 5, 1996 directly after "Bodyguards Again!!" and
simultaneous with "Was that a bird... ?" midmorning to noon.
 Place: Start at the Loft




They set Lauren and the box of empty bottles in the back seat and
Nancy and Robbi got in the front, Robbi on the driver's side.

"You have the address and directions that Marg gave us?"  Robbi
inquired of Nancy.

She held up the slip of paper.  "Let's get going."

It wasn't too difficult to find.  They went around the back way to
avoid anyone at CERK seeing them, since the butcher's and the radio
station were a mere two blocks apart.

Nancy surveyed the building, a large red brick affair.  "It looks
closed."

"Marg did say that most everything would be closed because of the
Carribana festivities.  How did Nick and Lacroix get in that one
time?"  Robbi said as she starting circling the building.

Lauren, with her headphones and walkman she always kept close was the
first one up to the window on the side.  "Hey look, it's open."  She
slipped in before either of the other ladies could say anything.
<It's a good thing I decided to wear shorts instead of a skirt for
this.> Lauren thought to herself as she walked to the front door to
unlock it.

"This is a really spooky place.  Dark and all.  It sure smells bad,"
Lauren commented as Nancy and Robbi passed her.

"Let's find that vat of blood and get out of here.  I agree with
Lauren, this place gives me the creeps,"  Robbi commented.

Nancy went back out to the car and brought in the box of bottles.  In
that time, Robbi and Lauren had located the blood and called to Nancy
to join them.

Lauren handed the others the bottles and packed the full ones back in
the crate.  She sang to the walkman, her brown hair bobbing in time
with the music:

"On My Own
Pretending He's beside Me
All Alone I Walk with him till morning
Without him, I feel his arms around me
And when I lose my way, I close my eyes,
And he has found me."

"Can you stop that singing?"  Nancy asked.

"What?"  was all that she could get from Lauren.

Nancy reached over and pulled one side of the headphones away from her
ear. "I said can you stop singing."

She took off the headphones and turned off the soundtrack.

They almost had all the bottles filled and corked when there came an
eerie sound through the air.  "Ooooo.  OOooooo."

Robbi, who had just filled the ladle, jumped and spilled the blood on
herself and Lauren.

"Ewww, that's gross.  I think I'm gonna to be sick."  Lauren attempted
to brush the crimson liquid from her clothes.  "I suppose this will
stain."

"Shhh.  What was that?"  Nancy whispered, her heart pounding a hundred
miles a minute.

That very instant, the noise decided to repeat itself.  "Mooo.  Mooo."

Robbi relaxed and laughed a nervous laugh of relief.  "Of course.
Those are cows.  They're probably here to be butchered tomorrow."

Lauren looked at her with horror in her eyes.  "They're going to... ,"
she swallowed hard, "kill them tomorrow?"  The task of filling the
bottles forgotten, she ran off to follow the sound.

"Nancy, you finish and get these loaded in the car.  I'll go follow
her and make sure she doesn't get into trouble."

Nancy nodded and took the ladle from Robbi.  She continued filling the
last of the bottles as Robbi ran off in the direction she had seen
Lauren disappear.

"Lauren, wait up,"  She called.

"I'm in here,"  came the answering voice.

She followed Lauren's voice and the mooing down a long dark corridor
to find the girl staring at about ten head of black and white
holsteins.  "I can't let them be killed tomorrow.  Look at their sad
cow eyes."  In an instant, Lauren was gone again.

Robbi followed her out a door where the loading shoots were.  By the
time she arrived, Lauren was busy unwiring a gate and flung it open as
Robbi watched with horror in her eyes.   The cows saw their
opportunity at freedom and ran through the gate.  "How could you?  Now
we have to round them up and put them back."

"But why?"  Lauren stared at the backsides of the disappearing cattle.

Robbi grabbed her arm.  "Come on.  We'll be in so much trouble if we
don't get them back."

"Aw, you're no fun."  The pair of Knighties ran around and by Nancy
just as she was loading the case of blood in Karen's white Hyundai.

"What happened?  I leave you alone for ten seconds and all mayhem
breaks loose,"  Nancy called after the stampede.

"Break loose is right.  Help us.  We'll never get them back on our
own," Robbi shouted just as she slipped on a pile of cow plop.

Nancy decided to follow with the car.  When she had caught up after a
block and a half, she parked the car and ran after Robbi.  "They're
heading right for CERK!  What are we going to do?"

Robbi stopped running and called for Lauren to come back.  They were
now in sight of the radio station.  Someone had opened the back door
of the station just as the first cow was passing.  The leader of the
herd took a quick turn and ran right through the open door.  You know
how cows are, the other nine quickly followed the first in.

The Knighties looked on with such a look of horror, well you have
never seen such a horrified group of Knighties in your life.  "Let's
get out of here, quick."  Nancy pulled on Robbi's sleeve.

"Yeah, I don't want anyone to see us."  They quickly got in the car
and sped off.

After what had happened Robbi was a little shaky and took a few wrong
turns before she found the loft.  They were buzzed in and brought the
blood up in the elevator.

Perri and Cath greeted them as they entered the room.  Dotti took the
blood from Nancy and started putting it in the fridge.

"Is that what I think it is?"  Cath asked as she pointed at the trio's
feet. The three looked down at the green glob that clung to their
shoes.

Karen just looked horrified.  "My car!"

"Don't worry, we'll clean it for you."  Robbi elbowed Nancy and Lauren
who all agreed.

"What did you do?"  Perri wrinkled her nose in distaste at the aroma
of barnyard that filled the air.

Robbi grimaced,  "We, ah...  sort of... found some... cows... and
we... um... sort of... let them out."

Lauren, with the excitement of their adventure flushing in her cheeks,
"Yeah, it was a cow revolt.  They ran right down the alley and into
CERK."

"They what?  They ran *into* CERK!"  By that time she and all the
other Knighties had lost it and several were rolling on the floor in
laughter.

Robbi and Nancy looked around the room, puzzled at the reaction they
received.  Nancy broke a smile first.  "It is kind of funny, after
all." And they joined in on the laughter.


end

Lyrics from the Les Miserables Soundtrack, London Cast, written by
Alain Boublil and Claude Michel Schoenberg, Lyrics by Herbert
Kretzmer, First Night Records.


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


The Prodigal Merc
Partly - Perkulators
Friday, 8/2  9 am

Jamie bounced in the corner of the coffee shop, listening to a tape on
her walkman.  Partly was happy the other woman had given up her
stronger tendencies toward s&m outfits, even though she was one of the
few people who could pull it off.  Unfortunately, she hadn't given up
on her belief that she was Tracy.  It was beginning to wear thin.
Willow, who had been sitting, purring, on her shoulders, suddenly got
down and curled up into a ball in the carryall that had been rigged
for her.  She was currently sharing it with a wine bottle wrapped in a
plastic bag.

Partly poured herself some more coffee and sighed.  She had talked to
Jennie, Queen of the NatPack, yesterday and had arranged to give the
problem over to them.  Last she heard, Jamie had joined the 'Pack,
much to the dismay of the Mercs.  Thinking of the NatPack, Partly
frowned.  They had sounded so...  strange over the phone.  Not that
strange was an unusual thing for the NatPack, it was just that they
had sounded stranger than usual.  Then again, Partly doubted if that
were possible.

Jamie bounced over to Partly.  "I don't understand why I should go
with the NatPack.  You're my faction.  If I should go anywhere, it
should be to the Vachon."  Partly was startled to see that Jamie was
almost pouting.  She obviously wasn't over her infatuation with Vachon
yet, either.

"I told you, Jam--Tracy."  Partly explained for the tenth time.
"You'll be safer with them.  People will look for you by your faction,
not by Nat's." Partly tried for an convincing lie.  "Vachon thought it
was a good idea."

"Vachon?"  Jamie brightened at the name.  "Why didn't you say so."
She bounced off again.  Partly considered that.  With all the bouncing
that Jamie was doing, she definitely belonged to the NatPack.  The
Perks may be perky, but they only bounced when duty called.

Partly was finishing her third cup of coffee when Jennie entered.  At
least Partly thought it could be Jennie, except that her hair, glasses
(including lenses), and clothes were all varying shades of blaze
orange.  The room got noticeably brighter when she walked in.   She
crossed to Partly's table.

"Hello."  She sat down and poured herself a cup of water, then pulled
out a small package of food coloring and dyed it orange.  Partly
watched her in disbelief.

Partly finally managed to nod a hello, still staring at the *ORANGE*
person in front of her.  "Are you feeling alright, Jennie?"

"I'm fine."  Jennie finished drinking her water and now had a orange
mustache to go along with the rest of her ensemble.  She glanced over
at the counter and exclaimed:  "Orange scones, my favorite."  She
leapt up and crossed to buy a scone.

In the midst of this very bizarre behavior (even for Jennie), Jamie
wondered back over to Partly's table.  "Partly, who is that?"  Her
voice was soft and puzzled, and she was staring at Jennie.

"That's who I told you about Jam --- Tracy.  Jennie's from the
NatPack."

Jamie suddenly pulled back.  "No.  No.  Not the NatBorg.  They'll
assimilate me.  I want my MercMommy!"  She backed all the way up into
the corner and stood looking at Partly, terrified.

Jennie chose that moment to come back.  She looked at the frightened
Jamie, than back at Partly.  "What's up?"

Partly shrugged.  "I don't know."  She walked slowly over to Jamie.
"Tracy?  Tracy?"  Jamie didn't respond.  Partly tried something new.
"Jamie."  Jamie finally looked at her.  Ah-ha.  We're back to Jamie,
Partly thought.  But that wasn't necessarily good, since when Jamie
thought she was Jamie, she also said she was a Merc.  "Just relax,
Jamie.  I won't let them take you if you don't want to go."  Jamie
relaxed slightly.  "Just listen to your KISS tape."  Jamie nodded and
put the headphones back on.

"She thinks she's a Merc."  Partly explained when she got back to
Jennie.

Jennie nodded.  "The Mercs 'napped her earlier.  Then they must have
lost her.  Doesn't she want to come back?"

Partly shook her head, smiling.  "She seems to think you'll brainwash
her. Eeeeevil NatPack."  Partly grinned again, then turned serious.
"I don't think we should push the subject.  She's still not quite up
to par."

Jennie nodded.  "You'd better take her to Merc headquarters, then."
She quickly jotted down the address.   "Just let us know that she got
there safely."

Partly took the paper and looked at her *very* orange friend.  "Is
everything OK, Jennie?"

"Sure."

"Why are you wearing orange?"

Jennie stopped eating and gave Partly a intense stare.  "Is there
something wrong with orange?  Are you saying I don't look *good* in
orange?  Or do you have something against the color orange and people
who wear it?"

Partly raised her hands.  "Hey, it was just a question.  I honestly
think that no one could wear orange as well as you can."  That wasn't
a lie, she just didn't say that she thought Jennie looked like a large
day-glow orange ad for hunter's safety.  Partly idly wondered if she
should try to have the NatPack's water tested.

Jennie finished her scone.  "Well, I suppose.  I do have a war to
contend with."

"Before you go, I was hoping you could do me a favor.  Ask Natalie if
she's sure Tracy was dead.  Ask her if she thought she could have been
revived or brought across."

Jennie stared at her again.  "What's going on?"

Partly shrugged.  "It might not be anything, depending upon Nat's
answer. Just ask her, OK?"

Jennie nodded and left.  Jamie crossed back to Partly.  "What are we
going to do now?"  Her voice was still soft and pleading.

Partly took her gently by the arm, picked up the sleeping kitten in
the carryall and led her out of the shop.  "We're going to take you to
the Mercs, Jamie."

"Oh, Goody!"

******

Minutes later, Partly pulled the rental into the Mercs driveway.
Jamie in tow, she walked up to the door and rang the bell.  Christina
herself opened the door.

"I'm hooome," Jamie announced, pushing past the startled Merc and
going up the stairs.

"She thought she was Tracy," Partly began, quickly explaining what the
errant Jamie had been up to the past two days.  "I was under the
impression she was a NatPacker, but suddenly she said she was Jamie,
that she was a Merc, and she wanted her mommy.  You, I presume?"

Christina nodded.  Quietly wondering if the Perk leader always talked
this fast.  The most amazing part was that she could still be
understood. "Thank you for returning her.  I'd say we owe you one, but
you know the rules about working for free."

Partly nodded, then suddenly remembered something.  "I was wondering
if I could hire you to do me a small favor."  She reached into
Willow's carryall and pulled out the bottle the kitten had been
sleeping next to.  She handed it to the Merc.  I'd like to know  what
was in it and whose fingerprints are on it.  You can just e-mail me
the results and your bill."

Christina took the bottle gently from the Perk's hand, being careful
not to smear the prints on it.  "I'll see what I can do."

*****

Partly got back to the hotel and downloaded her mail.  A message from
Christina was already there.  "Those Mercs do good work,"  she said to
Willow, who was assuming her now customary perch on Partly's
shoulders.

The message read:

Contents of Bottle:  Fairly inexpensive red wine, consistent with labeling.
                      Chemical analysis available upon request.
Finger Prints:  Several unidentified partial prints
                      Three prints belonging to Rebecca Kludy aka Partly
                      Two prints belonging to Tracy Vetter
Payment Due:  One large bag of milk chocolate-covered pretzels from RDM

Partly stared at the screen, then reached up and scratched Willow's
ears. "Well, Willow.  The mystery deepens."  Willow just purred.


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


COWS: The Cowleaders Cry of Surprise (01/03)
By: Denise Underwood, Cousin. With input from Mel Moser, Laura
McMillan & Cherri Munoz
Monday,  August 5, 1996  10am
CERK


Laura and Mel entered the office, wondering why on earth Denise had
asked them to come to CERK HQ.  Hopefully they would find out soon,
being in the enemy camp was not pleasant even though they had Denise's
assurances that all she wanted to do was talk.

"Good Morning Ladies" Denise greeted them. "Do sit down, may I get you
something? Espresso or tea?"

"No thank you, we're fine." Laura replied.

"Down to business then." Denise sat down opposite them. "You probably
are wondering why you are here."

Mel and Laura nodded. "Uh huh., we are curious." Said Mel.

"I think it's time we called a truce over the AMEX incident." Denise
declared.

"You do?" Mel asked, totally taken by surprise. It was the last thing
Mel had expected of her fellow wallflower. N&N sources had indicated
that  LaCroix had been very unhappy with her over the incident, and
had taken measures to attest to his displeasure.  In fact, Mel had
been more than a  little concerned about her friend lately.

"Surprised?" Denise smiled. "Yes I suppose you would be. I'll admit I
was not to pleased with the idea myself, the repercussions of that
little incident were," she paused, shivering slightly, "unpleasant.
That's neither here nor there though. LaCroix wants this, and I of
course follow orders."

"LaCroix!" Laura exclaimed.

"Yes, LaCroix."

"But why? It makes no sense." Laura said, confusion on her face.

The General, if the mood strikes him, quite admires 'nerve'.  He was
impressed with yours, using his money to fortify your HQ. And then
throwing in the Miklos red herring to put the fraud people off your
trail." Denise explained. "However," she warned, "I wouldn't try it
again. LaCroix would be much less.. forgiving the next time."

"What's the catch, really " Mel asked suspiciously.

"The catch?" Denise looked at the two women with an amused expression
on her face. "Merely to assist me and my evil twins in a one time only
mission. And once you hear the details I'm sure you will agree" she
finished confidently.

Mel and Laura looked at each other doubtfully. "You think so?" Laura
asked Denise.

"I know so. How could you say no to helping avenge the honor of a
fellow wallflower?" Denise watched the reactions flitting across the
faces of Laura and Mel. "Besides, you probably wouldn't like the
consequences of saying 'no', believe me." Denise finished, a wicked
gleam in her eyes.

"We won't give in to threats Denise, just tell us what the objective
is and then we'll decide." Laura stated firmly.

Denise laughed. "Very well." She proceeded to explain the objective,
Mel and Laura listening carefully. Denise finished , asking "Shall I
leave you two alone to discuss it?"

"Yes, please. Give us a moment." Laura answered.

Ten minutes later Denise reentered the office. "Well?"

"Agreed, a truce for this one mission." Laura replied.

"Good!" Denise said, satisfaction evident on her face. "Let's make
plans shall we?"


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


Caffeine Cures Cadavers and Conundrums pt. 1/2
By: Spifff, Lana Soward, AJ, Sarah Chodrow and Diane E.
(unaffiliated), and with permission from Sara Orel (merc).
Time: 11:OO am
Day: 5 August 96
Place: Spifff's flat, Downtown TO

Rrrrring, Rrrrringggg. The sounds reverberated in Spifff's head.
Groggily, she raised it from the pillow and groped the bedside table
for the phone. "Hello?" "Hello?" she moaned weakly. Realizing that she
was addressing her hairbrush, she reached for the receiver and picked
it up bumping her head on the bedside lamp in the process. "Ouch,
Hello?"

"Hi Spifff, it's such a beautiful day, let's do lunch" chirped Sara,
on the other end of the phone. It was enough to make a Perkulator
heave. "You mean food? Please, no, not on an empty stomach. What time
is it, anyway?" mumbled Spifff. Her stomach engaged in performing
various gymnastic feats of olympic level prowess.

"Ah, let me guess, you were out partying last night. You either work
like a maniac or party like one. Tell you what I'll meet you for
coffee in half an hour at the Rocket Fuel instead. I don't get to see
you or TO very often you know," admonished Sara.  "Well, you do get to
see me at my very best today" Spifff responded somewhat sarcastically
as she hung up. Somewhere the judges had just awarded her stomach a
9.87 and the gold metal.

Man, this is definitely a double espresso morning, Spifff thought
somewhat incoherently, as she attempted and failed in the fine art of
dressing one's self. Upon sober reflection, bobbing for the worm in
the mezcal bottle definitely had been a bad idea.

She staggered into the living room where AJ and Sarah were busy
noshing on a brunch of bagels, cream cheese and lox. "Ah, the dead
finally rise" Sarah commented. AJ waved a bagel at Spifff, "Have a
bagel, oh embalmed one. You're just in time, we're getting ready to
bring a some over to Lana at the hospital. Anything's got to be better
than hospital food!" Spifff's bloodshot eyes scanned the food being
proffered and she decided she'd be wise to give it a miss.

"Where are the duplicates of your photos and the note, AJ?" Spifff
asked. "In the envelope on the coffee table, under Tuppence" said
Sarah, waving a knife in their general direction. Both cats were
intent on poaching some of the smoked salmon from brunch. Scooping the
furry onto the floor, Spifff picked up the envelope. The loud "YOW!"
Tuppence issued in protest could be heard three floors away.

"Okay, I'm off to ensure their delivery. Say hi to Lana and Diane for
me. Catch you guys later, bye."
Dressed like a retro-baglady, Spifff headed out the door to the Rocket
Fuel Cafe (tm).

"Aaah. Nirvana, I am becoming one with the bean." Satisfaction crept
over Spifff as she licked the foam off the edge of the cafe au lait
bowl. She was edging back towards civilization. The caffeine and
aspirin were working. "Spifff, Get your face out of the bowl, you're
embarrassing me. You look and act like you just crawled off a heating
grate" Sara said reprovingly.

"It's really nice to see you again too, Sara. Toronto's just not the
same without you around. Have a pez? They're cherry and if you
recognize any of the ingredients, I'll give you a prize." Spifff
thrust the dispenser towards her friend. "Uh, blech, how can you eat
that stuff?" Sara made a face, but as she looked closer at the
dispenser began to giggle. "That looks a bit like a q-tip. It's not...
oh my, I don't think he'd be very happy with that."

Spifff slipped into her TV announcer voice, "Well Kids, for today's
art project you'll need a little bit of crazy glue, some cotton
batton, a little hair spray and *Presto* you too can have fun at home.
Now, you've been a wonderful studio audience, thank you for playing.
We have lovely parting gifts." Sara looked at her friend and shook her
head. "You are definitely magnoon owwie <very crazy>"
"Oh, you know how I love it when you talk Arabic to me." Spifff
fluttered her eyes and they both laughed.

"Oh, by the way, would you mind delivering this envelope to Torrey at
Vachon's Church?" asked Spifff in a rather offhand sort of way.
"Perhaps, for a price of course," answered Sara. She was suddenly on
her guard, her Merc instincts creeping to the forefront.

"Well, I think we can arrange something appropriate. See those movie
vans lining Lowther? Guess who's filming in one of the frat houses,
it's that gentleman who's autographed doodle you worked so hard to get
last year, Mr. Derek J." smirked Spifff.
"No way, you lie like a rug Spifffmeister and besides the film people
wouldn't let me anywhere near him," Sara objected.

"Wrong-O mon amie, guess where they get their coffee from. If you
wished you could be the next coffee delivery person, if the price is
right. I have friends in low places. So do we have a deal Sara?" Sara
began to grin and flush. "Really, okay sure, she stammered."  "I'll
make the arrangements. Enjoy, I've got to frappe la rue." Spifff
bounced out of the Rocket Fuel hummming to herself, her hangover
cured.


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


Ghost of a Chance (4/4)
by Amparo Bertram (NatPack) and Betsy Vera (NatPack/Cohen-head)

Time: 11am
Place: Toronto
Day: Monday, 8/5/96

Betsy posed the question to the ghost Mountie as he helped her cross
the street--assistance she sorely needed after becoming mesmerized by
the bright, shiny traffic light. He hadn't seen Evelyn, however.
"Thank you kindly, Sergeant Fraser," she called after him as he faded.
"Give my regards to your son."

She meandered down the sidewalk, eyes peeled for wandering spirits.
She had encountered a fair number so far, some tagging along to chat
for a few minutes before returning to the oblivion whence they came.
She had really enjoyed speaking with Melissa Scully, and though the
conversation with Tasha Yar wasn't exactly relaxing, she had to admit
it kept her awake. She had even been pleasantly surprised to meet
Lorenzo and Ironhorse.

Now she was beginning to get very hungry. She had completely lost
track of time. If it weren't for Cohen constantly encouraging her, she
likely would have ducked into the nearest fast food place and fallen
asleep over a pile of greasy wrappers.

Abruptly she ground to a halt, jaw dropping. "What is *he* doing
here?" She would recognize that shower curtain...er, encounter
suit...anywhere. She took a few steps forward.

The intimidating specter cocked its head--or whatever--at her, its
"eye" irising open at her timid approach. It made no sound, not that
she expected it to.

"Kosh?" she asked, her voice a whisper. She cleared her throat and
tried again. "Kosh, is it you in there?"

An eerie melody emerged from the mysterious figure, over which its
breathy translator superimposed one simple word. "Yes."

A surge of elation filled her. If anyone knew where to find Cohen's
daughter, it would be the Vorlon. All she had to do was get a straight
answer out of him.

Yeah, right.

She gave it her best shot. She spilled her whole story, ending with,
"So, can you tell me anything? I want to get this over and go home. I
feel like I've been walking these streets for a month."

After a brief pause, the alien replied, "You have always been here."

Betsy blinked. She might not be firing all thrusters, but she still
knew a quote when she heard one. "Don't tell me," she said, "Vorlon
humor?"

The dead ambassador continued to regard her silently.

"Why do I bother?" she sighed. "Look, if you won't give me an address,
could you at least give me a *hint*? Where should I search next?"

She almost thought he was going to ignore her when he turned to float
away, but he offered her one last comment. "In fire..."

She shook her head as he vanished. "I've had enough. I'm starving. I'm
taking a break *right now*, and the next place I see that has so much
as a--" She broke off, gaping up at the Burger King sign Cohen pointed
out in front of her. The words "flame broiled" scrolled through her
not-entirely-conscious mind. "...fire..."

She dashed into the restaurant with all the speed she could muster and
ordered a Whopper. It was her only clue, and she was going to cling to
it as fiercely as possible. She took her burger to a table by the
window for prompt consumption. She was on the fourth bite when Cohen
spoke.

"Betsy," the ghost announced, "someone's at the door."

The NatPacker's eyes locked with those of the phantom on the other
side of the glass door and she nearly choked. "Merlyn!" The remainder
of her lunch dropped, forgotten, to her tray as she hopped up and went
to meet the unfortunate girl. "Merlyn," she exclaimed, too tired for
pleasantries, "please tell me you know how to find Evelyn Cohen."

The ghost smiled softly. "Why, yes," she said with her Southern
accent. "I like to watch her play."

"Great! Can you take us to see her? This is her mother."

Merlyn nodded and led them through the city, depositing them in front
of another cozy apartment building. Betsy was ready to fall at the
girl's feet in gratitude, but she settled for just falling. Cohen
chuckled. "I'll take it from here. Thank you, Betsy, you've been a
true friend."

"Don't mention it," Betsy mumbled in a daze, wondering what she should
do now that she had accomplished her goal. She watched as the captain
ascended to the apartment and disappeared inside. Betsy drowsily made
herself comfortable on the steps until she could think of a better
place to catch a few winks.

A man brushed past and stood waiting on the landing, his back to her.
Betsy's ghost-trained eyes caught something unusual about him. He
wasn't translucent, as the others had been, but the morning sunlight
struck him oddly, making it appear as though it shone only on him.

She didn't remain puzzled for long. A few minutes after he arrived,
Cohen exited the building, smiling happily despite the tears in her
eyes. The man took her hand to escort her and they both waved farewell
to the NatPacker before stepping into a light so bright she had to
cover her face. "Andrew..." she murmured, knowing how jealous Jennie
and several of the other Pack members would be when they found out she
had seen their favorite Angel of Death.

"But when do *I* get to be the one to rest in peace?"


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


Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Vamp?
by Maureen Wynn, Kelly Gritten, and Mei Kwong, with a little
help from their NatPack friends
Time:  Monday, August 5, immediately after the end of "Ghost of
a Chance"
Place:  CERK


"I just want to *meet* him; don't worry so much," Kelly the Natpacker
said breezily, getting out of the car and walking jauntily toward the
door of the  radio station. In her hand she held a wad of computer
printouts, slightly crumpled.

Maureen stopped eyeing the wrinkled papers--which, with a warm iron,
would smooth out just fine, she was sure--and contemplated her fellow
Natpacker suspiciously. "Just...meet him? Why do you want to meet him?
Don't you feel this is perhaps...a little unwise during a War?" she
asked, after pausing to pick up an empty fast-food container and
dropping it in a sidewalk trash can.

"Yeah, don't you think this is a little *dangerous*?" Betsy
interjected, thinking about previous Wars and goldfish. She had been
dragged along unwillingly, but the three Natpackers had picked her up
from outside Cohen's ex-husband's apartment after a phone call asking
for a ride, and she had been even more unwilling to sit in the car by
herself--she was afraid of meeting *scary* ghosts.

"Well, *I* want to talk to him," Mei insisted, "War or no War." At
Maureen's worried glance, she continued reassuringly, "Just for a
little while...you know, just to talk." Somehow, this sentence caused
in Maureen the dread feeling of "Famous Last Words"--not a pleasant
sensation. She shuddered and slowed down, but Mei grabbed her by the
arm, and Kelly did likewise to Betsy, and the determined NatPackers
dragged their comrades forward into the building.

***

The Packlet paused inside the front doors, unsure of how to proceed.
"Where do you think LaCroix's office is?" Kelly asked.

"Somewhere where there's no windows!" wisecracked Mei.

"I guess we could try this way..." Kelly started to say, when she was
interrupted by Betsy's yelp.

"Dr. Johnny!" Betsy cried, staring across the lobby at...nothing?

Kelly, Mei and Maureen stared at Betsy, wondering perhaps if Belial
was stalking them. "Betsy, what are you looking at?" Maureen said,
gently (no sense upsetting the poor girl any further!).

"Can't you *see*...?  Oh, yeah, I guess you can't. It's the Doctor!"

"Doctor? What Doctor? You mean from Doctor Who?" Maureen said,
remembering Betsy's affection for the old series.

"Don't be silly!" Betsy said scornfully. "That Doctor's not *dead*.
No, it's...I think it's...Dr. Johnny Fever...? Where are you going?
No, don't go away! Hey!" and, in an exhaustion-induced frenzy, she ran
down the hallway, leaving the other three Natpackers standing in the
lobby, staring after her with their mouths hanging open in shock.

Maureen recovered first. "Man, she's really lost it!" she said. "We'd
better go after her--come on!"

"It can't be him," Kelly murmured as they set off after her.  "Johnny
is alive and well and living on 'E'!"

***

They had long since lost Betsy, and were now simply wandering around
the halls trying to find the way out of the building, when Mei stopped
suddenly at a door. "This is it!" she breathed.

"What?" Kelly asked, "the way out?" She came back to stand next to
Mei, and looked at the sign that had Mei so mesmerized. "Oh!" The sign
simply read 'Managing Director', but this was no simple brass
nameplate - it looked like 24-carat gold, and the deeply-etched
letters were filled in with dark red cloisonne. "That would be *it*,
all right!"

***

"LaCroix, don't you feel that you're perhaps a little too controlling
when it comes to Nick? Don't you think your relationship would improve
if you loosened the reins a little?" Mei smiled, sure that the master
vampire would agree with her oh-so-reasonable argument.

LaCroix regarded the mortal calmly. He was determined not to let these
Warring creatures get the better of him. "Perhaps you're too enamoured
of the concept of...freedom. It is vastly over-rated, in my
estimation." He clasped his hands before him on the desk, and leaned
forward slightly. "Surely you can see the appeal of belonging to
someone, a master who would...take care of you, see to your needs,
cherish you for who...and what you are...?" he riposted, raising one
eyebrow slightly, waiting for her reply.

"Freedom is never over-rated by the falcon--only by the falconer!"
Maureen, who had been checking the corners of the room for
dustbunnies, startled everyone by joining the discussion.

"Is she the cleaning woman?" LaCroix asked, puzzled. "She doesn't look
like the usual person..." Not too surprisingly, considering that the
usual cleaning service was staffed by down-on-their-luck vampires.
Maureen, for all her pale skin, was definitely not one of the un-dead.

"No, she's with me," Kelly said. "Maureen, *stop* that!" she hissed,
pulling Ms. Clean away from the mop and bucket she had somehow found.
"You're embarrassing me!"

"Stop trying to change the subject," Mei snapped at LaCroix. Kelly
frowned at her, but Maureen raised her mop in a kind of cheer.
"'Belonging' to someone is hardly what I want. Nor does Nick."

"Indeed. And you would be privy to dear Nicholas' innermost thoughts,
hmmm? You sound very sure of yourself, yet how can any of us...truly
know what another thinks or feels?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure of how Nick feels! After all, hasn't he spent the
last 500 years trying to get away from you? That seems pretty clear!"

LaCroix looked banefully at this woman who had dared to contest his
ownership of Nicholas. "But he does come back to me in the end, does
he not?" he said, pulling his pocket watch out and glancing down at
it. He then closed it, but did not put it back in his pocket, instead
holding it in his hand, absently caressing it with his thumb.

"No, you *force* him back. That's a different story, buster!" Mei
retorted.

"Do *not* call me 'buster'!" LaCroix could feel his control slipping,
despite his resolve. "This... *travesty* has gone on long enough! You
will leave now." he said, rising from his chair.

"We're not leaving until you agree to discuss this!" Mei exclaimed.

"Leave. Now. Before you can no longer do so." He punctuated the
statement with a flash of golden eyes.

"Don't you even think about it, buster!" Mei shouted, as Maureen
cried, "You stay away from her!" Both NatPackers backed slowly away
from the vampire, edging towards the corner of the room. Maureen waved
her mop around dangerously (to herself and Mei, that is), trying to
ward him off. Meanwhile, Mei grabbed the phone from the desk and tried
to swing it at the vampire. She not only didn't get anywhere near
LaCroix, but she quickly found herself hoplessly entangled in the
cord.

"You aren't going to get your hands on her!" Maureen continued,
placing herself between the advancing vampire and her immobilized
friend. Holding her mop in one hand, she tried to free Mei from the
telephone cord with the other. She soon discovered that her efforts
were only getting herself wound up in the cord as well. Soon, the only
part of her that was still free was the hand holding the mop, still
proudly held upright like a battle staff.

"Back up, buster!" Maureen said as LaCroix continued to pace toward
them. "You're not going to get us that easily!"

LaCroix arched an eyebrow. "Indeed," he sighed. "You are hardly worth
the effort." And with that he lunged at them.

They backed up hastily. Into a conveniently open closet, in fact. With
a satisfied smile, LaCroix slammed the door shut and locked it. "And I
*told* you not to call me 'buster'!" he muttered, before turning to
the third NatPacker, still on the other side of the room, and asked--
quite calmly under the circumstances--"And what about you? Would you
like to join your friends in the closet?"

Kelly shook her head, smiling shyly. "No, I want to share something
with you...."

***

"And in this bit you and Nat fly to Rio, leaving Nicholas to spend
eternity locked in the toy factory with Tracy--"

"Enough!" he cried, fiercely enough even to slow--but not stop--
Kelly's endless exposition about stories where Nat and LaCroix lived
happily or unhappily ever after. <How dare she trivialize it!> Not
only was her prattle wearing on his dangerously thin nerves, but she
seemed oblivious to the annoying racket which her companions were
making as they pounded on the closet door. To vampire ears, it was
most distressing.

LaCroix finally lost his temper with the impertinent little snip, and
let loose *The Whammy*. "You will go away, and forget you know
anything at all about vampires!" he said, his voice echoing strangely,
"You will go *very* far away."

Kelly stopped talking, looking puzzled, and shook her head slightly as
if she were dizzy. LaCroix looked very pleased with himself--a look
that abruptly disappeared as Kelly continued, "Don't be silly, I'm not
going anywhere." She shoved the paper at him again. "And in this part,
you run into Nick years later..."

<Can she be a resister?> he asked himself incredulously, as the mortal
babbled on. <*I* should be able to get through to *anyone*...> His
eyes narrowed as he regarded the slight figure across the table from
him. "You will listen to me," he growled in full whammy-mode. "You
will do as I say..." he continued, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on
the blue eyes behind the glasses, his full will brought to bear on the
poor unfortunate creature.

***

It took some probing, but LaCroix finally seemed to have stumbled on
the reason for the odd...er, odder-than-normal behaviour of the
NatPackers.

"Natalie told me to talk to you," Kelly said, her gaze fixed glassily
on the eyes above her, shining like pale blue stars. "Natalie said..."

"Yes?"

"I was telling her about somebody writing 'Natalie loves LaCroix' on
your car--"

LaCroix made a choking sound, but Kelly continued unabated, "and then
I showed her some of my Valentine fiction--"

Another strangled roar from the Old Guy punctuated her tale, but she
was lost deep in the throes of a flashback...

***

"I'm glad that you've stopped trying to foist odd drinks on everyone,"
Nat smiled at Kelly, who shrugged in reply.

"Well, after you said that you didn't want any more, I..." she paused,
puzzled for a moment, then shrugged again, "I just didn't feel like
making them anymore."

"So she's just foisting her fiction on everybody instead," Mei
snickered.

Indeed, Nat could not help chuckling gently at the latest story which
her friend was working on. About her and LaCroix, no less! There was
something very...odd about the notion. "You should try showing that
stuff to LaCroix," she laughed. Her eyes sparkled, and, with Kelly
seemingly lost in thought--or a daze--she turned to Mei and said
conversationally, "You know, as much as he sometimes intimidates me,
there's still something very... *exciting* about playing cat-and-mouse
with him. You're never quite so alive as when death is imminent."
Kelly and Mei both shivered, feeling the thrill of Nat's fear and
passion at that memory.

Lost in her thoughts, Nat did not notice Kelly muttering, "I should
try showing that stuff to LaCroix" while Mei chanted tonelessly, "Cat-
and-mouse..."

***

LaCroix could feel the pressure these words had imprinted on the
impressionable young mind. He hissed, startled. <Natalie! *She* has
the power?!> He frowned ominously as he considered this fact.

His initial reaction was fury that a mere mortal (and Natalie Lambert
at that!) should have the Power. He was going to unzap them
immediately, especially that impetuous one who constantly argued with
him and this one writing all those stories involving him and the good
Doctor. (He must remember to make copies of some of those stories
before he sent the ladies on their way.) The other could keep her
cleaning fetish. Especially if she finished up here first. Good
cleaning help is so hard to find.

As he was about to start, LaCroix hesitated. Really, if Natalie
Lambert had this gift, the situation could be quite interesting. One
merely needed to look at the three examples before him.  He smiled
slightly, contemplating the scene if Natalie ever got near dear
Nicholas.

The results would be most entertaining.

***

"Hey, guys!" Betsy called from down the hall as the three NatPackers,
more than a little dazed by their encounter, wandered out of LaCroix's
office. "Did you see LaCroix?"

"Um...did we see LaCroix?" Mei asked fuzzily.

"Yeah, we saw LaCroix," Kelly said, looking about her distractedly.
She was *sure* that she had brought something in with her. Now what
was it?

Maureen, busy scrubbing the hall outside LaCroix's door, said "We
ought to get going. I'm sure that everybody is making a huge mess back
at the hostel."

Betsy, exhausted from her long night and lack of sleep, just shrugged.
"Okay, let's get out of here."


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


Peace Offering
by Rebecca Tanner and the N&NPack
Monday Aug.5/96         12pm
N&NPack Headquarters
Directly following The Cowleaders Cry of Surprise (01/03)

"Okay everybody, listen up."  Laura said.  "We've been contacted by
the Cousins and they're willing to call a truce on that whole AMEX
card thing if we give them a hand with a project they're working on.
Mel and I talked it over and agreed."

"We don't know exactly what they have planned, but we wanted to let
you know so you would be prepared when the time comes,"  Mel said.

"Laura, do you think it might be a good idea to give the Cousins a
truce gift?"  Rebecca asked.  "That way they might be nicer to us when
we help them."

"Did you have anything in mind?"  Laura asked.

"Well, do we still have that tape of Nightcrawler monologs?"

"Yes."

"I thought maybe we could transcribe them and present a bound copy to
the Cousins, they actually seem to enjoy that stuff."

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

"I know it won't be pleasant, but in the interest of the N&NPack, I'm
willing to make the sacrifice."

Armed with a walkman, her ergonomic keyboard, a glass of water, and a
bottle of asprin, Rebecca marched into the computer room.  It was a
dirty job, but for the sake of the cause it had to be done.

She set her things down next to the computer, disconnected the old
keyboard and plugged in her own.  As she waited for the computer to
power up she opened the bottle and took out an asprin.  <Better safe
than sorry> she thought as she swallowed it.  Taking a deep breathe,
she inserted the tape in the walkman, adjusted the headphones, and
pressed play.

The Nightcrawler's voice whispered in her ear and she tried to repress
a shudder, but it was no use.  <Why do people listen to this?
Voluntarily even!>  Her face settled into a grimace of distaste as she
started typing.

<Three down, how many to go?  Too many that's for sure.  I should have
taken two asprin.>  Rebecca thought as she rubbed her temples, trying
to relieve the pain.

Sometime later:
Rebecca jumped when the tape reached the end and automatically turned
off. She sighed and stretched.  Her eyes were itching and burning.
<I'm blinking so much I must look like Vachon.  Halfway there.  You're
halfway there. Remember, in love and faith there is forever, in love
and faith there is forever.  Nick and Nat, Nick and Nat, Nick, Nat,
NickNatNickNat.  Gotta keep the faith.  Gotta take some more asprin.
NickNatNickNatNickNatNickNat.>

Even later:
Rebecca stared at the screen in a daze looking at the message:  Spell
check complete, no errors found.  <I've done it.  I have actually
listened to a whole tape of Nightcrawler monologs and survived.  He
really isn't that bad. Depressing, yes.  Horribly wrong in many of his
assertions, yes.  But that voice.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.  Now
let's get this sucker printed before I collapse.>

A short time later:
Rebecca staggered out of the computer room carrying a stack of paper
which she promptly heaved onto the counter.

"Done.  All done.  Need FK.  Need to watch Nick and Nat.  Help!"  She
stood with a glassy eyed look waiting for something, anything.  She
wasn't sure exactly what but she could no longer even care.

Kevin looked at her with concern,  "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" She said as she stood and blinked at him.

The N&NPackers exchanged concerned looks.  Something was wrong.  They
had to find out how what.

"Do Nick and Nat belong together?"  Laura asked.

"I, I ... don't know,"  Rebecca replied in a flat tone.

Her fellow N&NPackers recognized her stunned and disoriented state was
due to listening too much to Lacroix.  A dangerous thing.  Quick
action must be taken to restore order and hope to her life.

Rebecca was gently led to the living room and given the remote control
so that she could watch the "good parts" version of her favorite
episodes and fast forward through the boring bits, like Lacroix.
Soon, she would be back to normal.

Erin checked on her fifteen minutes later  a only to find Rebecca with
a glassy eyed stare and blank face. Half an hour later Erin came back
during N&N kissing scene only to find her wearing a look that can only
be described as disgust. Two hours later Erin came back again and was
surprised to see a look of determination on Rebecca's face.

Laura walked into the room a short time later and watched Rebecca
react to the end of Let No Man Tear Assurender. Rebecca was saying
"Come on kissing her. Do it." Laura smiled and aked rebecca the one
question that would decide if she was alright, "What is the N&NPack
slogan?" Rebecca jumped up and down as she responded "In Love and
Faith There is Forever!". Laura laughed, "Welcome back!".


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


Stores and Pooches and Thongs - Oh MY!!!
by Cousin Julie and Cousin LuDia
Date: Monday August 5, 1996
Time: 1:00 PM EST
Place: CERK HQ


Cousin Julie and Cousin LuDia had been hanging around at CERK, doing
very little since the 'bringing across' of the Knightie now known as
Cousin Angie.  Jules and Lu were sitting in the lobby when they
suddenly looked at each other and exclaimed at the same moment, "Dog
Walk!".

Lu leashed up her Tazmanian Pomeranian, affectionately called 'Taz'
and prepared him for a nice long walk.  Jules grabbed her two leashes,
one for Watson, her killer Jack Russell, and another for Devo, a very
stylish and handsome Whippet.  With the three dogs now properly
'dressed' for an outing, Jules and Lu headed out.

"Lu," Jules said after they had walked a block or so, "what do you
think about us getting a present for Uncle, just for his hospitality?"

"It may take awhile - you know how hard he is to buy for," Lu
answered.  "Of course, it's not as though we have to be back in a
hurry."

"That's a great idea, Jules.  We can window shop while we exercise our
pooches!," Lu replied.

The two Cousins, dressed in their black, silk Chanel dresses, and
patent leather heels walked their pooches down the street window
shopping and chit-chatting between themselves.  They passed by
Victoria's Secret where Lu elbowed Jules in the side and pointed up at
the purple thong in the window. (Hmmmm...Would Victoria's Secret have
that?  I keep thinking some well-known store would, but which one?!)

"Don't even take me in there," said Jules as she gave Lu a tiny push
away from her.

"Awwwwww, c'mon.....," whined Lu, "Uncle would look sooooo..."

"Knock it off, Lu.  I said  I don't want to go in there.  I like Uncle
in his everyday black.  It makes him look so..... distinguished,"
Jules replied as she cut off Lu in mid-sentence.

"Ohhhh, all right," Lu sighed hanging her head.

"Ohhh c'mon, Lu - buck up.  Just because I don't see Uncle that way,
doesn't mean *you* can't see him any way you want."

Lu thought for a moment, then perked up as she exclaimed, "Oooooo!
Whipped cream... <mmmmpppfff>"

Jules quickly covered Lu's mouth with her hand not wanting to hear
anymore of Lu's deviated sex dreams regarding Uncle.  "Enough Lu -
think all you want - but don't verbalize it!... OK????"

"Yeah, okay..."

The two continued walking down the street companionably, looking into
this window, then that window, and occasionally looking at the other
side of the street.  And of course, like the good Cousins that they
were, they kept their eyes peeled for any sign of the other factions.
They didn't want to be surprised.

Soon they happened upon a small convenience store.

"Hey, Jules!   You thirsty??"

"Yes, Lu, but why don't we walk over to  the King Eddie?  I'd like to
take a rest, and you know things are up to more of a Cousinly standard
there."

"Sounds good to me.  It *is* harder to walk the children in high
heels, isn't it?" Lu said, grinning.  "Just let me run in here for a
sec.   Hold Taz for me, will ya?"

"Sure Lu - no problem."

Lu went into the convenience store and looked for her intended
purchase.  A small box near the cash register caught her eye.  She
looked at the box, thought for a moment, then smiled.  It was a very
wicked Cousinly smile.  Lu picked up the small box and checked out,
then headed out of the store and back to where she had left Jules and
the pooches.

"Look what I found!!" Lu said in a very excited voice and held up the
box for Jules to see.

"What are you going do with *that*?"

"Bake some brownies, of course."

"Oh, Lu!!  *That's* funny!!!  You are *so* wicked.  That's why I like
you so much!  Who are they for?"

"I'll tell you later.  C'mon!  Let's go for tea, then get the pooches
back to CERK!"

The two Cousins walked very quickly, half-dragging their pooches in
their hurry.


<to be continued>......


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


Deep Dip... and Lots of Beer
by Catherine Boone, Dianne deSha, and Perri Smith
takes place 1pm, 8/5.


Dianne walked purposefully into the restaurant.  Not as high-class a
place as she usually met people in, this was just a burger place,
where the beer was on tap... she tried not to wrinkle her nose as she
scanned the room, looking for Catherine and Perri.

Finding them, she walked over to their table and stood over them for a
moment, using her height to her advantage.  "You wanted to meet with
me?" she asked smoothly.

"Yes," Perri replied, moving to give her room at their booth.
"Please, have a seat."

A waitress appeared out of nowhere at just the right time (don't you
*wish* they would do that?), and Dianne gave her her order, waiting
till she was safely out of earshot before she turned back to the
Knightie co-leaders.  "So, who is it, and what do you want done with
them?"  She wasn't usually quite so abrupt with paying customers, but
she really didn't want to hang around with these two, when she'd just
earned some good hard cash attacking Nick.

The two exchanged glances, and Catherine spoke.  "We didn't bring you
here to hire you."

Dianne looked sharply down at her, really *not* wanting to deal with
this right now... "Really."

"Yes, really," Perri piped in, her voice sharp.  "We know what you
did, Dianne."

"And we want to know who paid you to do it."  Their act of finishing
each other's sentences was really disconcerting when they did it too
quickly, it was like watching a mental tennis match.

Dianne sighed.  This was not worth her time, even if they *were*
paying for her lunch, and she said so.

Catherine grinned.  "Yeah, we figured you'd feel that way..."  She
absently swirled her drink, apparently lost in thought.  Dianne wasn't
even beginning to be fooled, and she mentally checked the knife in her
boot, just in case.  "So we got the idea to offer you some
*chocolate*..."

Dee blinked, and stared blankly at the two dressed totally *nasty* in
front of her.  Gawd, and were they wearing, like, *no* makeup at
*all*? But one smiled at her, and said "Hey, Dee, are you like okay?
You're still up to the *total* calorie-fest with Per an' me, right?"
Well, she might dress totally gnarly, but at least she *sounded*
right...

Perri stared open-mouthed at Catherine and Dianne.  Blink.  <Dee?
*Per*? Who the heck is Dee, and *what* is with the sudden accent?>

Catherine grinned at her from ear to ear.  "And no calorie-fest is
complete without beer, right, Per?"  Impossibly, her face stretched
wider.

And then it struck her... a conversation she'd had with Cath a few
days ago, a revenge that had them both *howling*... she smiled back.
"Oh, you, like, *know* it, Cat.  Yo, *dude*!" she flagged down a
waiter, and giggled up at him.  "Could we have, like, three beers?"
She giggled again at the look he gave her.

"How many have you had?" he cautiously asked.

Dee rolled her eyes at him.  "Tch!  I am like, *so sure*!  We haven't
had, like, *any*!"  She got the distinctive lip curl.  "Gawd, like,
get a *life*, dude.  I *swear*..."  That got them all giggling... the
waiter checked his watch.  Three more hours till shift change.

****

(three hours later)

No, the three weren't surrounded by empty beer glasses.  I mean, what
kind of a place do you think this is?  They took away the empty ones,
of course.  As fast as they could, anyway.  Okay, so maybe they *were*
surrounded by empty beer glasses.  Who notices these things?

Dee was deep in her life history, only hiccuping slightly.  "So, like,
my friend Buffy, well she used to, like, go out with this *awesome*
guy who worked, like, at a, like, restaurant, you know?  I mean, like,
he washed other people's *dishes*! I mean like *barf me out*! That is
so totally *grody*, you know?"  'Per' and 'Cat' nodded
sympathetically.

"But, so, like, _anyway_, he tells her like, what people, like, leave
on their plates. Like I'm *so* sure! And then she's like freaking out
*totally* and going 'Ewwwwwwww! Like gag me with a _spoon_!' And so,
like, I don't know, but he's going, like, on and _on_ about, like,
this totally *grody* stuff and she's going, like 'Grody to the max!
Barf *out*!' "

"Gawd, that is, like, so *gross*!  How do you *live*?" Catherine
replied, covering for Perri, who was still having problems getting
into Valley Girl.  It'd been a year since she'd lived in SoCal, so she
needed to find the right mental gear before she could really get into
it, compared to Catherine, who'd lived there the past three years.
Catherine gloated over finally finding a language she actually knew
better than Perri, silently of course.

Besides, Perri was covering beer duty, keeping Dee's glass full at all
times.  Which was proving to be a full-time job, as it turned out.
She almost felt bad making Dee do all the talking, when she should be
busy drinking... but somehow she managed to be doing both quite fine,
and Catherine wasn't *that* good at Valley Girl...

Perri ventured a simple sentence, "So, have you, like, tried the
shopping here yet?"

And that got her going again.  "Well, like, I mean, I checked out
your, like, Galleria here, but, like, there's no, like, *Contempo*! So
I'm just, like, *totally* freaking out, going completely mental, you
know? Like when, I don't know, I see this, like, place where you can,
like, get you nails done and everything? And so, like, I go, like,
"Awesome! This is just, like, so *totally* bitchin'!" OK fine, so I,
like, go in? And there's this, like, totally, like, *space cadet*
woman there!  So, like, she asks me if I, like, have an *appointment*!
And I go, oh *right*! I'm just like, I'm sure! No way! And her hair,
'cuz, you know, they, like, did hair and stuff there too, you know?
Like it was totally _short_? And I go to her, like, 'Bag *that* head!'
Then she, like, asks why I'm, like, talking funny. And I'm, like, *so
sure*! Like, that is so, you know, totally, like, *bogus*! Like,
what's wrong with the way I, like, talk, you know? Like, she was just,
like, freaking me out, like, *totally*!" I mean, I go, like, well,
people up here, like, talk *really*, like, funny! You know, I tried to
get, like, a, like, Diet Coke, and like, the guy, at the counter,
like, he, like says I'm, like, a *loony*!  I'm, like, totally
*ohmigawd*! I'm, like, *so* sure! He was, like, you know, *totally*,
like, bummin' me out, you know?"

Catherine and Perri sat, entranced.  Not really by her story, but by
the fact that she could suck down three full glasses of beer while she
was talking.  The girl had a *gift*.

But it was Perri's turn to take a bathroom break and laugh herself
silly in the stall, so Catherine ordered more as she left.  They
needed these breaks from time to time, or they'd seriously lose it and
the game would be off... so they paced themselves.  Catherine was also
thankful of the fact that the more Dee drank, the less she realized
they *didn't*. Because even sharing their drinks, the two were getting
slightly hazy.

"You know, it's, like, I've always, like, you know, _wanted_ to live
in Encino?  But my folks are, like, going totally, like, 'No way are
we moving to the valley!'  So, okay *fine*, so I'm, like, *so* totally
bummed!  I mean, like, you're, like, *nobody*, if you don't, like,
live in The Valley! I mean, like, so like, how am I supposed to, like,
get to the Galleria? Like, on a *bus*?!?!?! Like, I am *so* sure!!!"

Catherine looked sorrowful and pouted on command.  She was beginning
to seriously consider banning the word "like" permanently from her
hearing in the loft.  Perri'd back it, yeah...

"And, like, you know, like, my *name*?  It's, like, 'Dee'? But it's,
like, not *really* 'Dee'.  It's really, like, you know, 'Dianne', and
like some totally *gross* guy at the, like, mall?  He like comes to me
and he, like, goes, like, 'That's like a goddess.' And I go, like,
'Like, I'm the Goddess of, like, the Galleria!'"  She giggled.  "And,
like, he, like just laughs? But he's, like not buff at all, he's like
this, like total, *nerd*!"  The giggles turn to real laughter.  "Like,
I go, oh *right*! Barf *out*! And he's, like, it's this, like, total
*bummer*? But, I mean, he's, like, this, total *nerd*! I am *so* sure!
No way!" Dee was laughing hysterically, so out of control she could
barely keep talking.

Perri made her way back from the bathroom, and saw Dee about to fall
out of the booth, so she scooted in and blocked her from diving to the
floor.

"Are we done?" Catherine looked at Perri, then at the still hysterical
Dee.

"I think so."

"Hey, Dee?"  She looked up at Cat, still shaking uncontrollably with
laughter.  "Goldfish."

Have you ever started laughing, and not really known what made you
start, or not remembered what the joke was?  Dianne was having one of
those moments.  Well, whatever it was, it was pretty hysterically
funny... she snickered softly as she straightened, and rubbed her
eyes.

"Dianne?"

"Mmmm?" she sighed, her eyes still closed.

"You remember that brick you tossed at Nick the other night, don't
you?"

She fell into a fit of giggles.  Catherine and Perri were concerned a
moment, but it wasn't Dee resurfacing.  Their plan had worked: Dianne
the Lofty Merc was totally and completely schnockered.  The two smiled
at each other.  Perfect.

Meanwhile, Dianne was mumbling something about the look on Nick's face
when he got bonked... not to mention the one when he figured out he
was Duncan MacLeod... she fell back into uncontrollable snickering.

Perri leaned close.  "Who was it, Dianne?  Who gave you the idea?"

Dianne frowned vaguely.  "Swear... Lisa's got the worst handwriting on
earth..."

Perri and Catherine glanced at each other.  Lisa.  Great.  That
narrows it down to only half the list.  Thanks, Dianne.

"... if she'd cut down on those Beachcombers, I might've been able to
decipher it better..."

Ahh.  *That* Lisa.  The two exchanged a triumphant smile... when they
heard a strange sound coming from beneath them.  They looked back
down.

Dianne was snoring.  On the floor.

"Truly, a Kodak moment."

"Funny you should mention that..."

Well, they managed to lean/carry/drag Dianne to the sidewalk and
shovel her into a taxi without *too* much trouble.

They did a high five as the cab drove away.  "Success!"

"Like, for sure, dude!"

"Don't go there, Perri."

"Right."


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


Sorting Socks (1/1)
by Tigon Diana Hooker/AlphaWoof o' WoofPack
Monday/5 AUG 1996/3pm
Toronto, FG Mansion

"Thanks for helping me sort the socks, Becky."

The long-haired woman shoved her glasses back off the tip of her nose
and smiled at Tigon. "Glad to help...good thing you labelled each pair
so that you knew which socks to return where."

Tigon nodded as she examined each bin. "Well, I really didn't want to
keep the socks...just borrow them for a bit."

"I can't believe you arranged all that just to play a practical joke."

Smiling fondly at the memory of Cherri buried under the pile of socks,
Tigon nodded, "Yup, been planning it for months now...almost as soon
as I left Cherri's party. I owe Lizbet a lifetime of fencing lessons
for setting up the theft...er...borrowings."

Steve walked in and Tigon nearly jumped out of her skin. "Hey," he
said, "It's just me."

"Sorry, I'm just know Cherri's gonna try to get me back."

"Yeah, well...she just might wait until you both get back to L.A.,"
grinned Steve.

Tigon gave him a baleful look, "Thanks for the comforting thought."
She then straightened up and looked at them both, "Oh, by the way,
Lizbet's asked us for some help on a merc job of hers."

Becky smiled, "What is she paying us?"

"I figure it never hurts to have something on account," answered
Tigon. "So we'll need to be ready by 3am tomorrow...we're bringing all
the dogs, so I think I'll need you to go rent another van, Steve."

"Why don't I take back the one we have and rent a truck instead?"

Tigon considered, "No, let's keep the vans. That way we can split up
if necessary. Afterwards I'm going to be staying with Lizbet. I
probably won't be back til' evening."

"Is Maryann coming?" asked Becky.

"Yeah...I want to take all the mortal pups, too. They could come in
handy since we'll be cutting it close to dawn." Bundling up the rest
of the socks, Tigon sighed, "I guess returning these will have to wait
until Wednesday."


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


Stores and Pooches and Thongs - Oh MY!!! (2/3)
by Cousin Julie and Cousin LuDia
Date: Monday August 5, 1996
Time: 3:00 PM EST
Place: King Edward Hotel


As Cousin Lu and Cousin Julie drank their tea in the splendor of the
King Edward Hotel, Lu said, "Look!  Isn't that Cousin June coming
through the doors?"

"You're right, Lu!" Jules said, stopping her hand midway to the cake
tray. "I guess great minds think alike."

The two Cousins waved in an enthusiastic but dignified manner and
caught June's attention.

"Well, what are you two up to?" June asked as she took a seat across
from Lu and Julie and gave each of the dogs a pat on the head.

"Plotting, of course," the two Cousins replied simultaneously, then
grinned a wicked Cousinly grin at her.

"Oooo!  I want to join in!" Cousin June said.  "Exactly *what* are we
going to do and to whom???"

"Well, June," began Lu, "an awful lot of people have been having fun
at the Cousins *and* Uncle's expense lately.  We just thought it was
time for a subtle counterattack of sorts."

"And????" June asked, now grinning as evilly as her companions.

"Come closer and we'll tell you," Jules said, motioning so that the
three drew their heads closer together.


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


Lisa Takes The Pledge
by Lisa McDavid

Monday, Aug. 5th, 3:30 p.m.

NOTE: this is intended to be permanent. Please, from now on, don't
write my persona as drunk or drinking. Thanks.

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

Lisa McDavid hunched up against the pillows in her room at CERK.
Lacroix had hypnotized away the hangover, but he hadn't taken the
memory of the d.t.'s. Pink elephants she wouldn't have minded. A
miniature marching band such as an alcoholic cousin of hers used to
see (yes, really) might at least have been pleasant. But a nightmare
about being arrested by Stonetree, who wasn't even the Captain for
CERK's precinct, for breaking into a US military computer ....

No. Never again. Lisa slipped into a kneeling position by the bed,
folded her hands, and took a solemn oath never to drink anything
stronger than soda pop again. Then she made the sign of the cross over
herself, climbed back into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.


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


Caffeine Cures Cadavers and Conundrums  pt 2/2
by Spifff, Lana Soward, AJ, Sarah Chodrow and Diane E. (unaffiliated),
with permission from 'Dona' Torrey, (VAQ) and Sara Orel (merc).
Place: Vachon's Church
Day: 5 August 1996
Time: 5:00 pm

With a contented smile on her face and stars in her eyes, Sara
approached the front door of the church. She simply floated through
the flock of geese oblivious to the cacophony they were raising, the
nips they were taking at her legs and the goose poo covering the
ground and her shoes. She smartly beat a little tattoo on the door.

Torrey peered through the spyhole, then opened the door. "Hi. Special
delivery for one 'Dona' Torrey," Sara sang, waving the envelope in
Torrey's face. Torrey accepted it with a grimace and closed the door
in Sara's face. Yet another problem seemed to be manifesting itself.
Some days you just don't get a break, Torrey sighed reflectively.
Owing to her present state of bliss, Sara didn't even notice that
Torrey had neglected to tip her.

Torrey opened the envelope warily and dumped the contents on a pew
jumping back as they hit its surface. Several photographs and a note
slide out and stuck to some silly string still adhering to the pew
seat. The photographs showed two very familiar piles of disturbed
earth and some poorly laid sod. On the crumpled sheet of foolscape,
scrawled in blue crayon, she read:

"Dear 'Dona' Torrey,
When we visited the site of Diane's attack we discovered the remains
you see in the enclosed photographs. We really need to talk about
this. Please meet us in the Brabant exhibit tomorrow at noon.
Sincerely, Friends of Diane E.


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


"Wait, What Did He Say?"  Stealing Vamps, Part Two of Four
By Elizabeth Ann Lewis
Monday, August 4, later in the afternoon
University of Toronto

"Ugh," Kristina said, looking at the vampire currently raging in the
recording booth.  "HIM?"

Lizbet grinned.  "You wanted to study the languages vampires use
throughout the ages.  Screed is a perfect test case."

"But... but...," Kristina protested, then sighed.  "OK, let's get
cracking."  She flipped the switch on the sound board that started the
recording and let them hear Screed.  "You know the drill," she told
Lizbet.

"Name?" Lizbet read off the questionaire.

"Screed."  They worked their way through the questionaire and went on
to the list of words.

Lizbet put down the sheet.  "Something is wrong here.  This is too
easy. He sounds like he is speaking perfect English!"

Kristina chewed her lip for a second, thinking.  "Wait, I know!"  She
took the mic.  "Screed, if you could speak extemporaneously for
awhile."

"Ex-temper-WAT?"

"Just talk about anything you like.  We'll listen."

Five minutes later Kristina was happily taking notes and Lizbet's eyes
were glazed over.  "See?" Kristina asked.  "It isn't the individual
words, it's how they're put together!"

Lizbet nodded blankly.  "Wait, what did he say?  What's he talking
about?"

"Hmmm, he seems to be ranting about a vampire rat..."


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


An Unexpected Encounter
by Raven Jane Credland
Date:  August 5, 1996 at 7:00 p.m.
Place:  The Raven


Grabbing a diet coke from behind the bar, Jane wandered aimlessly
through the Raven.  She nodded at the few Raven/ettes and other
patrons that she knew, but didn't stop to converse.  The war had made
it impossible for her to relax; restlessness had set in.  Retrieving
her book from the back room, she searched for privacy.

Unfortunately, privacy was a rare commodity at the Raven.  Every room
she tried contained at least one person.  Finally, all other avenues
exhausted, she opened the door to Janette's office.  It was blessedly
empty.  Promising herself that she would leave long before sunset,
when Janette would need the room, Jane snuck in and curled up in a
wing chair that stood with its back to the desk, near the shuttered
window.

The silence was incredible.  Flipping open her book, Jane finally
relaxed and lost herself in the story.  It was so soothing that she
fell asleep. She was still sleeping an hour or so later when the door
to the office opened and Janette DuCharme came in.

The vampire should have heard the mortal's heartbeat, and probably
would have if she hadn't been so obsessed with avoiding her other
mortal followers who seemed to have taken up residence in every corner
of the club.  There was one in particular who apparently had no fear
... Janette forcefully stopped herself from following that thought to
its conclusion.  She shut the door quietly, locking it behind her, and
moved to the desk.

Janette removed a small leather-covered notebook from her purse and
looked at it thoughtfully.  She'd been carrying it around with her for
a while, but hadn't decided what to do with it.  It wasn't hers.  It
belonged to Nicolas.

She had run into her errant Master unexpectedly in a club in Montreal
a couple of months ago.  They hadn't exchanged more than a few terse
words. He'd seemed strangely diffident and morose.  She'd shoved him
away when he started to speak and, for once, Nicolas had simply left
without explanations or recriminations.  The book had fallen out of
his jacket pocket.  She'd meant to return it to him but, then again,
first she'd have to make an attempt to find out where he'd gone when
he disappeared.  Truth be told, Janette admitted to herself, she
hadn't given much more than a passing thought to it  -- having an
absent Master had been a pleasurable change.  It was far better than
being expected to drop everything and cater to Nicolas' every whim.

//Men!// Janette snorted and slapped the book down on the desk,
breaking the lock.  It fell open, and she soon became engrossed in
translating the coded contents.

The noise startled Jane awake.  She peeked around the chair back and
saw Janette at the desk. //Now what?// She thought helplessly.  //I
can't sit here and wait for her to leave.  She's bound to hear the
beating of my heart eventually.  Besides, what's the worst she can do
to me ... other than drain me dry.//

Swallowing hard, Jane marshalled her shredded courage, cleared her
throat noisily and stood up.  "Uh... hello.  I ... I thought ... I
didn't mean to fall asleep ... at least ..."  Her voice trailed away
as the vampire raised her head and stared.

Janette cursed herself for not checking the room before getting out
the book.  However, one did not apologize to mere humans.  So, she
waited for the explanation that was bound to ensue.

Jane edged towards the door.  "Look, I didn't mean to invade your
privacy. I just wanted some peace and quiet.  I'll leave you alone.
Okay?"

"Arrete.  Stop."  Janette beckoned the mortal closer.  "I don't
believe we've been introduced.  You are new, n'est-ce pas?"

"Yes, I'm new.  My name's Jane.  I was a Die Hard until Cynthia,
Felicia and Catherine decided that I made a much better Raven."  Jane
found herself standing in front of the desk.  Unwilling to meet
Janette's gaze for more than a few moments, she looked down -- at a
notebook filled with numbers and unreadable characters (made even more
unreadable by the simple fact that she was looking at them upside
down).

"Ah, yes.  Now I remember you."  Noticing where Jane's eyes were
directed, Janette closed the notebook decisively.  "You are the one
with the obsession over the chains."

Jane blushed -- not the ordinary kind of blush, but the kind that only
a few blondes are unlucky enough to be cursed with.  It started at her
scalp and slowly spread down towards her toes, turning every visible
(and most invisible) parts of her body bright red.  To make matters
worse, as soon as she realized what was happening, she got even more
embarrassed and blushed harder.  She groaned audibly and covered her
face with her hands.

The vampire watched the phenomenon curiously.  She was rarely
privileged to see such a reaction.  It was interesting and rather
enticing.  So much blood ...

"Get out!"  Janette snapped, feeding on one's followers was not a good
idea.

Jane fumbled briefly with the lock on the door, and then was outside
the office.  She leaned her back against the wall and breathed deeply,
wanting to regain her composure before rejoining the others.

Inside, Janette filled a crystal goblet from a bottle in the small
fridge hidden behind a carved wooden panel.  She drained the glass
greedily and filled it again, then took the glass and bottle back to
the desk and returned to her translation.


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


Shopping Maneuvers
by Christina Kamnikar w/the Urchins (the Morrigna, Dawn the Merc,
Felicia, Spifff! and Bonnie la Vaquera)
Monday, August 5, 7:15 PM
The Raven, and other parts of Toronto
Follows <<insert last Urs post here>>  :>


Being an Aunt wasn't actually so bad. For instance, if Chris weren't
Auntie Christina to the Morrigna, she wouldn't have gotten the really
good black leather skirt as a commission for being Urs's shopping
consultant.


erica and Bianca had stopped by Merc Central via Rich, Dark and
Mysterious to take Chris to Mickey D's in gratitude for bailing them
out, and getting them good legal counsel. None of the charges against
them had stuck, mostly because while they undoubtedly *had* hijacked
the transmitter, the physical proof had gone BOOM.  The political
treason and riot incitement charges were dropped in the subsequent
confusion over the source of the transmission.  The Morrigna had been
sound asleep when the weird calls for government overthrow were made,
so they were released into Chris's custody, despite Captain Reese's
opinion of her mental stability.


Over salads and chocolate shakes her ersatz relatives had been unable
to keep the news of Urs's resurrection to themselves. And faced with
Chris's blatant skepticism, they'd dragged her back to the Raven with
them, just to prove their story.


"I'll be... damned." Chris stared at Urs, conscious, healed, and
sporting one of Janette's cast-off black velvet dresses as she served
drinks at the Raven. "She *is* alive. That's great! I always thought
she got a raw deal."


Felicia nodded in agreement, but still appeared worried. "She doesn't
remember who she is, though. And she's completely directionless---if
we don't do something about her soon, Urs will end up more mindless
than Alma."

"That's not possible," Dawn stated, sipping her drink. "Nature abhors
an absolute vacuum."

"She needs a life."

"She needs a purpose."

"She needs a haircut," Felicia muttered, studying the reanimated
blonde's tight, corkscrew curls. "Let's face it, giving her a life and
a purpose might be beyond us. But the least we can do is give her some
options. And a new wardrobe. Bimbo Chic is out, guys."

"So, let's do the easy stuff first," Spifff suggested. "Work from the
outside in. A makeover will help her attitude, and we can clue her in
to some of her options while we shop."

"And where is this money supposed to come from?" Chris asked warily.
She was doing well this War, but not *that* well.

erica smiled evilly. Chris shuddered. "I was asking her about that...
and she doesn't remember much, but we did manage to find where she
used to crash when she wasn't here. And guess what we found hidden in
the fridge?" She waved a black bankbook under the noses of the other
Urchins, and Dawn's and Chris's eyes lit up, smelling money. "She can
afford to buy a new wardrobe. Actually, Urs can afford to buy several
new wardrobes for all of us, but we'll start with her---"

"If we help her shop, Dawn and I should get a commission. One article
of clothing for every ten she buys," Chris interrupted.

Felicia sniffed. "You Mercs dress to blend into the woodwork, you're
not exactly fashion *experts*---"

"So we'll all go," erica said. "Between the six of us, we should give
her enough ideas and clothes so that she's not trapped in Madonna
Wanna-be Limbo."


Urs frowned in confusion at the clothes in the small boutique that
Chris and Dawn had dragged her into. "These aren't like... most of my
clothes," she said doubtfully, blue eyes clouded.

"Exactly."

"Why buy what you already have?" Dawn said, ignoring Felicia's eye-
rolling. "This stuff is for professional women. Business women.
Serious women."

"Seriously _boring_," Felicia muttered.

"No, no, no. Not boring. Red is not boring. Bright blue is not boring.
Silk is never, ever boring," Chris said, glaring at the Ravenette.
"Just because you're not showing six inches of thigh or cleavage down
to the navel doesn't mean it isn't sexy. But these clothes are for
someone who's into subtlety.  Yes, you're cute. But you do have a
mind."

"Uh-hunh," Urs said, twirling one curl around her finger. "But, umm...
What am I doing that's so serious?"

"Nothing yet," Dawn said, ushering her into a dressing room, and
passing clothes in to her. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," floated back over the door. "Just, you know... be
happy, somehow. I don't know what I'm good at."

"You're a good singer," Bianca pointed out, throwing a dark green
pantsuit over the divider to the vampire. "And you have good instincts
about people." At the blatant stares of the other Urchins, she said
defensively, "Well, she *does*. She just doesn't react very well.
Self-destructive habits. But Urs can learn."

"Psychologist," Dawn suggested.

"Singer," erica commented.

"Stock manager," Felicia said. "You guys didn't look at that bankbook
carefully enough... she's been picking winners for years."

"Really?" Chris cocked her head. "Maybe I should ask her about my
retirement fund. Urs, have you found anything you want?"

"Uh-hunh," came the uncertain reply. "I can get anything I like,
right? Even if you don't like it?"

"Well... yeah," Dawn said, wincing in anticipation of something awful.
"But we really want you to get some practical things too, Urs."

"I like this stuff best so far," Urs said softly, opening up the
dressing room door.

The Urchins stared in shock and relief. Black Levi's, a loose silver
silk tank, a red-and-black patterned short jacket, with grey leather
boots and silver jewelry, made Urs look almost like a normal person.
She looked like an undercover cop, one pretending to be a TV director;
or a laid-back record producer; or a grad student who'd just gotten
her income tax return. An MTV producer, not a faceless back-up singer.
Granted, she was still vampire-sexy and undead-beautiful, but no one
would automatically assume she was a boy toy at first glance.

"You've got terrific taste," Spifff said, grinning. "Maybe you should
be a fashion designer."


The rest of the evening progressed easily, with Urs taking suggestions
from her keepers on her clothes, and continual bolstering of her
fragile self-image alternating with brain-storming on what direction
her unlife could take from this point. "Face it, Urs. You've got a
real opportunity here. You can completely start over," Bianca pointed
out, trying on a green velvet top with a blue-and-green long skirt as
Urs tried to choose between black slingbacks and grey flats. "No more
loser boyfriends, no more user twerps, no more non-committal guys. And
no more abusive father figures! You can have your own life without
those creeps."

"I dated creeps?" Urs said plaintively, looking up from her shoe
selections.

"Uh... well, let's just say some of your former guys were kind of on
the pointless side," Christina said diplomatically, admiring how the
black leather skirt she'd picked out make her waist look nonexistent.
"But you don't need them now."

"I don't." The blonde vampire nodded soberly, but her expression was
still confused. "So what kind of guys should I date?"

"Urs, you're missing the point," Felicia sighed, sitting down next to
the woebegone woman. "You don't *have* to date anyone. But if you want
to get involved, it should be with someone who likes _you_. Who wants
to be with you, and thinks you're fine as you are, and won't want to
hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Urs's eyes widened. "Why would I want to be with someone
who'd hurt me?"

"Breakthrough!" Dawn cheered. "I think we have contact, Houston."

"Let's just hope it lasts," erica muttered.


They were on their way out of the mall when Chris spotted the salon.
She grinned at Felicia. "Pinky, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yes, but won't the hamsters get cold?" Felicia riposted, grabbing one
of Urs's arms. "C'mon, sweetheart. This isn't going to hurt a bit."

"What are you going to do to me?" Urs asked, but it wasn't in her
usual scared, helpless voice, but in one almost looking forward to
what these insane friends of hers had planned. Urs wasn't sure, but it
kind of, sort of, felt like she was happy. Having all these people
care about her and want things for her was nice. It didn't feel
familiar, but it was nice.

"Oh, my dears," breathed out the stylist, staring at Urs's Shirley
Temple 'do in horror. "Someone got stuck in the eighties, didn't
they?"

"Yes, and now we need a crowbar to unstick her," erica said
authoritatively.

"We need a relaxer on the curls to begin with," Felicia put in.

"And the color has got to go. It doesn't even match her eyebrows,"
Chris pointed out with a grimace.

"Something cool, but feminine," Spifff said.

"Something really different," Bianca added.

"Something that *doesn't* make her look like a bimbo," Dawn concluded.

"Well, let's just see if I have miracle in my bottles here, shall we?"
the stylist responded, sitting a hesitant Urs down next to the sink.
"How about this?" The man held up a bottle, and was met by a unanimous
thumbs-down from the Urchins. "Mmmmm. Well, there's this---" Head-
shaking and gagging noises. "I know. I have it. This!"

"Perfect," erica said, and the others nodded agreement. "The Maureen
Special."


An hour later a strawberry-blonde Urs, curls relaxed into becoming
waves curving around her face, studied herself in the mirror in
fascination. "That's me?" she whispered, looking at her friends in the
mirror. "It's... really different." She giggled softly. "I think I
like it. It's sort of like the hair color of that female FBI agent ...
you know, Scully?"

"You watch X-FILES?" Chris asked in shock, then at the others' glares,
she said, "You watch X-FILES. Of course."

"I really like that show. Mulder's always so nice to Scully, and he
*listens* to her, you know?" Urs sighed in tandem with half of her
audience, none of whom were completely immune to David Duchovny's
charm. "That's the kind of guy I want."

"Don't we all," Felicia commented. "But hey, it's something to shoot
for. Just keep that in mind, the next time some guy with a cell phone
and a good line asks you out. You're holding out for the FBI."

They were outside the mall when Urs suddenly said, "I want to thank
you all for being so concerned about me, and so helpful and
everything. I don't understand why you took the time to *do* all this,
but I really appreciate it." She smiled shyly at the Urchins, who
grinned back as they shouldered their own purchases.

"Think nothing of it. We're just suckers for underdogs, lost causes,
and suicidal survivors." erica shrugged. "If we weren't, we never
would have heard of you in the first place. Let's get back to the
Raven, I want to find out if they've heard anything about a certain
Spanish slacker."


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


COWS: The Cowleaders Cry of Surprise  (02/03)
By: Denise Underwood, Cousin with input by Cherri Munoz, Mel Moser &
Laura MacMillan
Monday August 5, 1996  10pm
Near Vachon's church


The Cousins and the N&N Packers arrived at the rendezvous point where
Cousin Jules was on lookout duty, She had called Denise at CERK when
she saw the two targets leave the church.

"Report Cousin Jules." Denise said brusquely.

"No activity yet, I think they should be returning at any time. What's
the plan?"

"The plan is to grab them as they return to the church." Mel replied

"Right, about a block away. That should be far enough away so as to
not be interrupted by anyone else from Vaq HQ." Denise completed
explaining the plan. "Heather,  do you have your team assembled?" She
asked the N&N packer.

"Aye, aye Ma'am, ready to go!" Heather answered smartly. "Awaiting
your orders!"

The others giggled at the expression on Denise's face. One glare shut
them up. "She always like this Mel?"

"Uh huh." Mel smiled.

"Great, we're in the navy." Denise muttered. "Good, carry on sailor!"
Denise decided if you can't beat em, join em. "And you Cousins might
take note of Heather's attitude, " Denise leveled a piercing stare on
the still smirking Cousins, "there's nothing wrong with showing a
little respect to your mission leaders."

Muttered 'Yah, rights.' could be heard from the Cousins.

Denise sighed, good help was so hard to find these days. "Everyone
know what you are supposed to do?" She watched as the group of Cousins
and N&N packers nodded. "Good, because if any of you screw up you'll
answer to me. And if you think that doesn't sound too bad, just
remember, I will have answered to the General." She glowered at them.
"And I will be so very unhappy!" She warned. Denise was pleased to
note that all smirking had stopped with that particular warning.

Cousin April asked. "Where's Cherri? This is her baby isn't it?"

"Oh yes," said Cousin Dee gleefully, "this is most definitely Cherri's
baby! She has something special planned for them."

"Cherri and Laura will be waiting for us back at the secret sewer
room. Cherri will supervise our guests personally." Denise grinned
wickedly. "She'll make sure our Vaq friends never want to see another
cow ever again!"

"All right, everyone to their positions."  Mel ordered. "It's time."

Denise and Mel watched as their people spread out down the block to
their assigned positions. They were well briefed and well prepared ,
they would make both their affiliations proud.

Mel hugged Denise in excitement, this was going to be fun she thought.
Working with Denise was a nice change of pace. Helping out Cherri, a
fellow wallflower was an added bonus, Cousin or no. Maybe this
experience would convince Denise she belonged with the N&N pack. It
would be nice to get her away from LaCroix's unhealthy influence.  Mel
sighed, it would be difficult but she was determined to try.

Denise and Mel waited in the van listening to their headsets, after
ten minutes they heard Cousin Jules give the code that announced the
targets were in view.

Mel spoke into her mouthpiece. "Heather, targets in sight. Prepare to
engage."

"Aye, aye."

Heather watched as her targets came into view, she whistled the signal
to her team. Silently they came out from behind the trees where they
had been concealed. Heather, April and Tammy took the woman on the
left, while Dee, Shirl and Idalia took the woman  on the right. Moving
in unison they threw sacks over their heads and tied their hands.

"Targets neutralized." Heather radioed in.

Within seconds the group of Cousins and N&N packers had scooped up the
targets and moved them into the van.

"How are they?" asked Mel.

Denise checked them over. "They're fine, madder than wet hens, but
fine." Ignoring the muffled sounds of outrage coming from under the
sacks, she began to issue orders. "Heather, Dee, check them over and
make sure they have no transmission devices or weapons on them."
Denise looked over to April who was in the drivers seat. "April, get
us back to the sewers using the pre-planned route. Shirl, tell the
others to disperse to their own HQ's. Tell them 'well done'."

"I'll contact Cherri and Laura to let them know we are on our way."
said Mel

Denise nodded. "I love it when a plan comes together." she said
contentedly. "LaCroix will be pleased."


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


COW: The Cowleaders Cry of Surprise (03/03)
Author:  Cherri L. Munoz aka Cousin Cherri <cdmunoz@earthlink.net>
         With acknowledgments to: Denise Underwood, Mel Moser, & Laura
McMillian
Date:    Monday, August 5
Time:    10:30 pm
Place:   A Toronto Sewer
----------------------------------
A special thank you goes to Ruthless Cousin Denise aka Denise
Underwood for being the kind of person who really wanted to write a
post which acknowledges that Cousins and N&NPackers could get along.
She did a great job on the first two parts of this series.
=====================

Laura and Cousin Cherri could hear the loud struggles from a mile
away. "It's a good thing we set up shop here, Cuz, because if we
hadn't, we'd have the entire Toronto police after us."

Cherri smirked. "Wouldn't really matter if they did, the General would
handle it. Mind you, he would be annoyed that he'd have to but he
would; nonetheless, handle it."

Laura laughed nervously, "Yeah...that's what I was afraid of."

"LaCroix looks out for his own and since you agreed to come along on
this little adventure, he'll look out for you as well, but a word to
the wise--don't even think about bringing Ruthless Cousin Denise
across to the N&NPack."

Laura's face changed to mock surprise and the word, 'Me' formed on her
lips.

"Don't look so surprised. I saw you talking to her this afternoon.
I..."

The team members carrying the burlap-sacked victims rounded the
corner.

"If you don't release me this instance, I know someone who's tired of
pig's blood and is ready for a good meal," came an enraged cry from
one of the sacks.

Patting what looked like a head inside that sack, Cherri laughed,
"Torrey...Torrey...Torrey...Vachon wouldn't dare make one of us his
lunch. He knows better than to mess with one of LaCroix' Cousins."

"Cherri?!!! Is that you!!!! Let me out of here!!!"

"In a minute dear Torrey...but first... <Heh! Heh! Heh!> Let's do it!"
Cherri shouted in glee.

Mel, April, Heather, and Tammy struggled with Torrey as Idalia, Shirl,
Dee, and Jules handled Sherri. It took some time but in the end both
Torrey and Sherri were tied down to a high-backed chair.

Cousin Jules held up a shirt for all to see. "I love this shirt you
designed, Heather. Black with stark white lettering. It's perfect. And
it was a stroke of brilliance to put, 'I LOVE LaCroix!!!' on the back
and 'Vachon is dead' on the front. He! He! What do YOU think, Torrey
and Sherri?"

"Vachon is not dead!!!" Torrey shouted.

"No, he's not!" screamed Sherri.

Cousin Cherri giggled, "Sure he is...after all, he's a vampire."

Again the teams joined forces; and this time, when the dust settled,
the shirts were on the Vaqueras.

As Laura and Cherri tied hairdresser's capes on Torrey and Sherri, the
semicircle of chairs which were facing the Vaquera leaders was quickly
filled. Uncovering the nearby trays, Cherri said, "We're just going to
have a little fun."

"Let us go!!!" Torrey shouted.

"Not yet, we haven't finished with you," Laura laughed.

As Cherri and Laura began to decorate the Vaquera's faces, ohs, ahs,
and evil laughter echoed in the sewers as each design was completed.

The right cheek was adorned with a white rose bud while the left cheek
got a black one.

Turning to the team, Laura asked, "What else shall we put on their
faces?"

Cousin Denise cried out, "I know!!!! Print, 'I'm a Cousin.' on their
foreheads!!"

"Or better yet!" Mel enthused. "We can put 'In love and faith!' Our
motto! on their foreheads!"

"All right!" Cherri giggled. "We'll put Mel's suggestion on their
foreheads then under the black rose, we'll write, **I'm a** and under
the white rose, we'll write, **Cousin**.

Everyone laughed evilly as Cousin Cherri started to write the words on
Torrey. Laura hesitated a moment to look at her fellow N&NPackers, but
instead of seeing misgiving expressions, all of them were giving her a
**We Scored!** gesture. She shrugged and turned to her victim.

"Please, Laura." Sherri pleaded. "Don't do this."

"Sorry, Sherri...this one's for Cherri."

Cousin Cherri inspected their work for a minute then turned to the
group. "And now...for the finishing touch." She turned Sherri's neck
to one side and painted two white targets, then added a white arrow
which was directed towards the targets and wrote above it...

               Blood from the Source.
                    Bite Here.

Laura stepped in front of Sherri to cover up what Cherri had done
until the Cousin had written the same thing on Torrey. Finally, the
N&NPack leader and Cherri stepped back to show the team.

"Oh my!" April bounced. "That is soo good."

"Mel," Cherri called to the quieter N&NPack leader. "who's supposed to
do Torrey's hair?"

Mel grabbed Idalia's arm to present her to Cherri. "She has a little
experience."

Idalia gulped at the attention.

Cherri handed her the brush. "You'll do fine, Idalia. Really! I have
faith in you. It doesn't have to be perfect."

Idalia nodded and started to work on Torrey's long blond hair. As the
strands were brushed, Mel sprayed them with white hair spray so that
the hair was sticking straight up. Indeed an impressive sight since
Torrey's hair reaches half way down her back. In the meantime, Dee and
Heather teamed up to work on Sherri's hair. Dee wasn't as accomplished
with the brush as Idalia but it didn't matter because Sherri's hair
was a lot shorter and easier to handle.

Once Torrey and Sherri's hair was sticking straight up and was
completely white, a cheer went up which echoed down the halls of the
sewer. Amongst the peals of laughter, the only word which could be
clearly heard was from Ruthless Cousin Denise who repeated the word --
"Perfect!" -- over and over again.

Quickly, they untied the Vaquera leaders and led them back to the
waiting van outside the sewers. Ruthless Cousin Denise was driving so
everyone including Torrey and Sherri had to hold on so they wouldn't
get thrown around.

When the van stopped, Torrey and Sherri were pushed out the van and
before they knew it, the van sped away.

The Vaquera leaders took a deep breath in hopes of clearing their
heads of the noxious fumes of the sewer.

Suddenly, Torrey realized where they were. "Oh NO!!!! They put us in
front of the Raven!!!"

"We gotta get out of here!" Sherri exclaimed just as someone opened
the door to leave the club.

They looked at each other and ran.


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


St. Joan's Cross
Nick's Loft
Mon 8/5 after sunset
By Kira Chistiakoff, Merc
with input from the NatPack, the War-Mistresses,
Lisa Prince, Lane Lombardia, John Ewan, Liz the Lucky, (Mercs)
Lauren and Dotti Rhodes, Suze Campagna, Karen Tobin, (Knighties)
and Bonnie Pardoe (Vaq)


As the group of mercs walked up to the building, Lisa whispered, "Are
you sure you want to do this? It's still not to late to steal it."

Naturally, the leader wasn't looking forward to facing a room-full of
suspicious Knighties, (especially with her twin-like resemblance to
one of the most vehement NatPackers) but why share that with the team?
"We can't steal it! Don't worry, it'll be fine. Now, you all remember
your assignments? Good."

In the elevator, she had to make a conscious effort to relax, and stop
her hands from shaking, so she made a show of petting her puppy.
(received as payment in The Cotton Candy Caper) //If he doesn't agree,
he doesn't agree, and there's nothing you can do about it. You'll just
have to come up with something else! But he *has* to agree, there *is*
nothing else!// the voices just wouldn't stop arguing about this.

Liz was starting to worry about Kira, they'd spent so much time
together, that she could tell Kira was really nervous about this.
Luckily she didn't say anything out loud, knowing it would just make
her mad.

As the group stepped (or rolled in Liz's case) off the elevator,