********************************************************************* War 7 File 10 ********************************************************************* Little Bloodsuckers (1/1) by Tigon Diana Hooker/AlphaWoof~WoofPack Thursday/8 AUG 1996/12:30am Toronto, FG Mansion Tigon yawned and glanced at a clock. "It's my mother's birthday," she observed. "I should be home celebrating with her." Glancing up from where he was sprawled on a couch, Steve asked, "How much longer before they notice?" Becky said logically, "Well, fleas happen. They may not realize how *special* those fleas are." "Aw, c'mon," objected Steve, "Vampflea bites itch ten times worse than normal bites. Not to mention that the bites actually bother vampires." "Still," reiterated Becky, seemingly content to lie with her head pillowed on Scruffy forever, "It could be a while before they figure it out." "Which is why," Tigon annouced, "We're going to tell them." "What???" came the duel response. "Seriously," replied the AlphaWoof, "They know about vampires, it won't take them too long to figure it out. We have a responsibility to make sure they don't do the *wrong* things to get rid of them." Becky and Steve nodded thoughtfully, but Steve asked, "Won't that be like tacking a note to the front door saying 'Please attack us now?'" Tigon rose from her cross-legged position and went to get a paper and pen. Handing them to Becky, she commented, "Oh, yes...it'll definitely be open season on us. Which is why we're retreating to our Headquarters." Becky stared at Steve, who nodded his head as if to say...*you* ask. "Um, I thought we *were* at our headquarters." "Nope, this is the FangGang safe house. I'm talking about the WoofPack's Secret Headquarters." This time Steve asked, "Um, we have a secret headquarters?" Tigon blinked at the question she had already answered. "Ah, we didn't know we had a secret headquarters." Tigon grinned, "Of course not...then it wouldn't have been a secret." Then she dictated a letter to Becky. An hour later they were gone without a trace...and five affiliations received a copy of the following by special delivery. "Noswaith dda, Your headquarters and members have been infested with vampire fleas. While we're sure you want to solve this situation on your own, we feel that we should point out certain possible hazards. 1. Anything that can kill a vampire flea will probably seriously harm any vampires that the flea might be infesting. 2. While it's obvious that the fleas will combust in the sun...a warning. Enough of the fleas combusting at once *can* combust the person or object the fleas are infesting. The same holds true for most other vampiric remedies. 3. Fleas sprays and whatnot will have no effect, so don't destroy the ozone any more than it already is. A bright not, vampfleas don't breed. Have fun...we did! The WoofPack" ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Welsh translation: Noswaith dda-"Good evening" ********************************************************************* One Good Ring Wednesday, 8/8, 8:30 AM by Susan M. Garrett The Raven was relatively quiet. With vampires and mortals on overlapping schedules, if the club wasn't filled with patrons, someone always seemed to be scrubbing, or sweeping, or tuning, or drinking (gotta test the merchandise, after all). Susan hadn't had a chance to get back to the Knighties about when the Caddie would be available for a wash. Of course, then they'd come to the Raven. And she really have said something then . . . . She hated that damned car. But getting last minute details over the phone--absolutely details--seemed the thing to do at the time. Which is why she'd waited until it was almost quiet, Janette was in a day-coma, and she guessed there be some Knighties present at the loft. The phone rang twice before it was picked up. "Does Nick have a hose, or what?" Susan asked, laptop open on the bar counter beside her. "Huummina, huh?" asked a muffled and sleepy yawn. Squinting at the spreadsheet of 'stuff to buy to wash that darn-puke- green-thing'--yep, right list--Susan didn't bother trying to identify the voice at the other end. Although she really need to talk to Perri or Boo. The Knighties weren't like the NatPack, who were somehow part of some spooky gestalt. If you told one NatPacker something, all the other NatPackers knew instantly. It should have saved them a fortune on phone bills. But, being NatPackers they talked anyway, so it wasn't much good except for weirding out other affiliations. With a sigh, Susan asked, "Can I speak to Perri or Boo, please?" "Grmuph. Mumble. Grumble. Shit!" There was a bang as the phone hit the floor--the last comment ringing faintly in the receiver and accompanied by several outraged cries, the loudest of which might have been the person the phone had been dropped onto. "Yeah--what--hello?" said Perri. Bingo. "Does Nick have a hose, or what?" repeated Susan. There was a pause. One of those longish pauses, where the person on the other end either is trying to figure out what language you're speaking, suspects you have a wrong number, or is frantically trying to hush a conversation going on about the caller. Susan guessed it was either number one or number two. Which was only natural. "Is this an obscene phone call?" asked Perri, somewhat harshly. "Because I am amused by dirty talk about Nick--" Susan paused before answering, hearing a distant "That's not what you said last--ow!" and "Oooh, me! Pick me! I wanna talk!" somewhere behind Perri. Sighing, Susan waited until the roar had died down. "Look," she said slowly. "It's an easy question. Garden hose. Tap hose. Support hose . .. hell, kind of hose. Does Nick have one? I need it to wash the car. No hose. No washing the car. Simple as that." "Oh, it's Susan," said Perri. There was a muffled response as Perri obviously tried to place her hand over the receiver and said to those around her. "It's Susan. At the Raven." "Why does Susan want to talk dirty about Nick?" asked a voice in the background. There was the sound of a 'thump,' followed by Perri explaining, "Susan needs to know if Nick has a hose." "Well, we've seen him in tights in a couple of flashbacks--" "Not kind of hose. She needs a hose to wash the Caddie," explained Perri. "Is she going to wash it here, then?" asked someone. Another pause. Susan had been playing asteroid on her laptop. But instead of mines, there were little tiny Caddies hidden behind the dots. She was losing. Badly. "You're planning on washing it here?" asked Perri, returning to the call. "Um . . . I was. I figured if the car was there, why move it? I'll haul my stuff over, give it a wash, and then everything's even on a karmic scale. At least where that damn car is concerned. Just need to know when and where it is and if Nick had a hose." Susan took a hopeful breath as another small Caddie exploded in her asteroid game. "Unless it's a real inconvenience. We leave it until next war . . . ." "No, no, that's okay," said Perri quickly. "But we'll get back to you with a place and time. Okay?" "I guess. You have custody, after all." "Okay, then. We'll be in touch." Susan hung up the phone, stuck her tongue out at the Caddie that had just exploded on her laptop screen, then switched to her Excel spreadsheet. It was only at that point that she realized that she'd never really gotten a straight answer as to whether or not Nick had a hose. Which, when she thought about it, didn't really surprise her at all. Just like any affiliation, there was a reason why people tended to group toward one character or another. And Nick was-- Well, they Knighties . . . . ********************************************************************* Time In A Bottle by Diane Echelbarger, unaffiliated Thursday, August 8, 9:48am Toronto General Hospital ICU Dr. Nigel Wetmore was making his morning rounds. When he reached the hyperbaric chamber, he checked the latest readings against the ones recorded on his patient's chart, and smiled. The woman-- a tourist by the name of Diane Echelbarger-- was recovering well. He'd been concerned at first, when tests showed that she'd lost nearly half her blood-volume after being attacked by a dog. But her time in the pressurized cylinder had boosted her production of red blood cells and that, combined with infusion of serum and white cells, had restored her fluid level so that now she was only two pints below normal levels. It was time to take her out of the hyperbaric chamber and let her wake up. He gave the appropriate orders, and an hour later she was safely transferred to a bed in ICU. All the monitors except the blood pressure sensor were removed and her slightly strange friends had, he was grateful to note, withdrawn their muscle-bound "bodyguard" some time since. By his estimate, she was due to awake at approximately six that evening. He intended to be there when that event occurred, but in the meantime, he had other tasks to complete. ********************************************************************* The Aliens in My Head by Carrie Krumtum, Knightie Place: Nick's Loft Time: After "A Writer gets an Unexpected Audience", Thursday, August 8--just before noon "Lots of people write stories about you guys," Dotti was trying to explain to him. Nick just didn't get it. "Carrie's stories are about you and Nat because she LIKES you and Nat. She wants to see you two together, to overcome the odds. It's her way of saying that, ya know?" Nick sat looking at the pile of paper he had created on the floor around the chair where he had sat and read the stories Carrie had written. Those awful scenarios played out in his head. What would possess her to write that stuff? He closed his eyes and remembered how reading about Nat had made him feel. Of all the portions of the stories, those parts had struck home with him. The feelings those parts raised in him... He too, wanted it to be like that. He nodded slightly. Dotti sighed a silent sigh of relief. It was important for Nick to calm down enough to hear another side of this thing. Carrie was obviously far too upset to tell him why she had written the stories. "It's the old story, Nick. Boy meets girl, boy has conflict, girl has conflict, but love conquers all. At least in HER stories it does. A lot of us feel that way," she paused. This was hard for Nick. He wasn't at all sure about how this current conflict would turn out. How was Nat? Would she or could she forgive him? The stories had just been too much at the wrong time. "I know," he said softly. "She didn't mean to hurt me personally. It's fiction." "Yes," Nancy spoke up. "It is. It was never meant to be the real you. Not the injuries or attacks or anger or pain. None of that was happening to YOU, just your virtual self. Carrie wouldn't do anything like that to you. She never would want you hurt. Ever." Nick looked up to see several Knighties nod at the assertion. "I was kind of hard on her, wasn't I?" More nods. He looked up at his bedroom door, at the portal to the sanctuary where Carrie had retreated in horror and embarrassment. Placing his hands on the arms of the chair, he prepared to rise to go to her. "Don't," Dotti said quietly, holding up her hands. "Let me. She feels bad enough. Perri already said she wouldn't come down until you had gone. She needs to know that you aren't mad anymore. Maybe I can help convince her before you go up." Nick looked at Dotti and nodded. She did know the author much better than he did. "Just make sure she knows that I want to talk to her, okay?" "Fair enough." With that, Dotti headed upstairs. Her initial embarrassment had deteriorated into a deep sorry. The tears had help ease the humiliation of the very public display, but not the guilt. What was she thinking? Writing stories about him and Nat like that. She knew what she was thinking...she was thinking that if she had control of the universe, the bad things that happened to a noble knight would be soothed. That the cruelty of his existence would be offset by the sweetness and tenderness of a love that could transcend and overcome. It was her way of wishing for those things for him. Yes, her stories had been graphic in their cruelty, but then, life was cruel. Oh, girl, she thought, why would he ever believe another thing you had to say? The tears began fresh journeys down her face when she heard the knock at the door. "Carrie, hon," Dotti's voice called to her. "Can I come in?" She really didn't want to see anyone. "No, please. I don't..." Her objection was interrupted by the opening of the door. Dotti quickly hopped into the room and closed the door behind her. "Now, come on. You need to talk to someone. You haven't said a word to anyone since Perri was up here." "How can I?" Carrie asked, sniffing. "Everyone knows that Nick thinks I betrayed him. He thinks I hate him or something." "No, he doesn't." Dotti said as she moved to the bed to place her arms around her friend. "He's down there right now blaming himself for coming down on you so hard. He just needed time to calm down and think. It's an emotional time for him right now. You know that." Carrie sniffed again and pulled away from Dotti's embrace. "He has every right to be angry. It never even occurred to me that he would ever read my stories. I never once considered how they would make him feel." "He knows that, NOW." Dotti smiled at her. "It just caught him off guard. You should really talk to him, you know." "NO!" That was the last thing she wanted. She never wanted to see that look on Nick's face again. That look that said 'How could you do this to me?'. The look that had nearly tore her heart out. "No." Dotti sighed and put her arms around Carrie again when they both heard someone clear their throat from the doorway. Looking up, they both saw Nick standing just outside the door. "May I come in?" Dotti nodded. Carrie stiffened and sat upright. She clung to Dotti's arms as Dotti stood up to leave. The look Carrie gave to her said 'please don't leave me here alone'. "It'll be all right. It's okay, girl. I promise," Dotti told her quietly. She pulled away and waited for Nick to step into the room before closing the door behind her and going downstairs. Carrie rose and backed up to the wall. She stood rigid before the vampire, the knight, the noble soul she had wounded. She waited. "I'm sorry," Nick said. "You're sorry? I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I ever wrote those stupid stories," Carrie began. "I hope that isn't true," he replied. "I was upset. It's just that there's a lot going on right now. I wasn't expecting to read that sort of thing." Carrie swallowed. "I would have never wanted you to read them." The look of surprise that washed across his face was mingled with what she thought might be hurt. "Why?" he asked gently. "Because I didn't write them for you." He looked at the Knightie and thought about that for a second. He nodded. Of course she didn't. "Who did you write them for, aliens?" He grinned. For a moment, Carrie didn't know how to react. He was smiling, a little anyway. He didn't appear to be angry anymore, at least, not overtly. She was incredulous, though. It was important to her that he understand. "I wrote them for myself and the others like me who want you to be happy. Finely, happy." Carrie took a small step away from the wall. She was gaining courage as she spoke. "It's been hard to just watch as life has dished its helpings out to you. Life is like that for all of us. Life is hard and then you die, they say. I say, it's a lot harder on you if you don't die." She paused to study his face briefly. He was listening. "There are a lot of us who just want you to have what you want. I can't even imagine what it must be like for you. That's why I write the stories that I write. The alternate scenarios place you in situations that I CAN imagine. In those kind of scenarios, I can at least control the damage, make the emotion real, plan the outcome and let life happen but with an ending that makes me feel better. Uncertainty is hard to deal with on infinitum. I needed resolution, so I created it." She looked away from his face as she continued. "I'm sorry, Nick. I never even thought about how my stories might make you feel. It was insensitive. I know it was. I can't take them back, but if I could, I would." Before her heart could convulse one more time to complete a beat he was standing right in front of her with his hands on her shoulders. The movement startled her a little, but she didn't move. He reached his hand under her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. "It's okay. I understand, now." He had listened to his follower in silence and respect for her feelings. He wasn't sure he liked the notion of anyone writing stories about him, but he understood how it could be cathartic and beneficial to her to write them and for others of his followers to read them. In a strange way, it did make sense. He smiled at her again and waited for her to feel the sincerity in his expression. When at last her face softened and she began to smile back, he repeated, "Aliens?" Carrie blushed, "Well, it was the first thing that popped into my head." "I think you had better stick to the stories you write now, this spur of the moment stuff needs work," Nick said as he hugged her. Carrie laughed and nodded. She pulled away nervously. It was weird being this close to him. She was new to the cause, after all. Maybe now, they could build some trust between them. He needed to trust that all of them were there to help him. She was proud to be a part of the team. "Come on," Nick said. "Let's go down and get something to eat. You must be hungry." Carrie smiled, "If you don't mind, I'll use a different menu." Nick laughed as he let Carrie go and headed out of the room with her in tow. "No problem. I think someone even saved your cheese danish for you..." ********************************************************************* I Just Can't Believe It by Carrie Krumtum, Knightie doing penance Place: Nick's Loft Time: Thursday afternoon 3 pm Nick shook his head. He had been reading this fanfic stuff on and off all day since the special delivery had arrived. First Carrie's fiction, then Marcia's, now The Cracked Belles of Philly, whoever the heck they were. He did smile though. This whole idea would take a lot of getting used to. This last story was ridiculous, silly and insane. Urs, starting an April Fool's war? Silly indeed. Unless you took into account that he was right in the middle of a so called war himself. He looked around the room and took in the sights of a group of women, from all over North America, camped out in his loft trying to find a little brown book and help him reconstruct his life. Whew, he thought. This stuff can be powerful. War that is. His thoughts returned to the story he had just read, Shift of Fools. He couldn't believe it, he just couldn't believe it. He smiled, despite himself. It made him laugh to think about the kind of mind, or minds, that could not only think this stuff up but write it down and then disseminate it to others. It was silly and funny and embarrassing and wonderful. It was human. His face lost its smile. Human. That was the crux of it. Art, creativity, humor. These were the things that defined the human soul, the collective consciousness. They were what separated the human mind from the animals. He had been human once. He remembered the feelings of finite time and the need for self expression. The need to share the experience of mortality. Wasn't that what his struggle now was all about? Wasn't that why what was going on now so important? Wasn't that why finding Nat, healing that relationship, stepping into tomorrow and finding a reason to go on so all consuming to him? He nodded. Yes, he understood why. It even made the silliest of the stories seem worth while to him. He could share a lot with these people, these friends, these supporters who followed and cared for him so much. He wanted to partake of their spirit and vitality. He wanted to be a part of their world again, someday. He hoped that he would. Shift of Fools was reassembled in chronological page order and placed on top of the stack of other stories he had read. He placed all of them in the drawer of the table where he kept his gun. Now the drawer would hold some of his dreams as well. Dreams for him that had been dreamed by others but that still held promise for him. Yep, he was one lucky vampire. He couldn't have been surrounded by a better group of people. He couldn't have been supported with any more heart or soul than these gave to him. He hoped that one day he would be worthy of all the love and support he was shown. He truly hoped so. ********************************************************************* It's Probably Me... by Dianne la Mercenaire (acting on behalf of her own dignity and good name , nominally in the employ of Jennie Hayes... for the princely sum of a good backrub :-) [Timeline: 'round about 4pm, Thurs. 8/8/96] [Place: Toronto General Hospital ICU] (and, as usual, watch those "n"s, or it may get mighty confusing... ) WARNING: The following contains unexpurgated examples of ValSpeak. Minors, the infirm, and those with easily affected minds or speech patterns should NOT continue. All others, proceed at your own risk... yadda, yadda, yadda.... -+*+-+*+-+*+- -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+- -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+- Diane's friends had had her well-protected, you had to give them that. The little bit of computer hacking required had been easy. Absconding with a sheet of non-essential info from the patient file had taken mere seconds. But the actual 'hands-on' switch was another matter. It had taken several hours of careful observation, an extremely itchy wig, and resorting to the candystriper uniform she'd vowed when she was thirteen never to wear again, but she'd found their weakness. As usual, it was very simple... the best plans always were. But the best part was that spiking the waiting room coffee machine wouldn't affect the staff or endanger the patients. It just meant that the few friends and relatives keeping lonely vigil that night got a long, deep, and restful sleep instead. What it was aimed at was the hulking bodyguard that had been posted over Diane's comatose form since she was first attacked. Since he had been 'downsized', it hit the nurse's assistant assigned to sit with the newly emerged patient. Oh well, whatever works. As she tiptoed past the aide, sprawled unconscious on an uncomfortable-looking chair, she grabbed an extra pillow and tucked it gently under her head. After all, Dianne didn't have anything personal against her... ...This was entirely between the Merc and Diane. -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+ "So they finally took her out of the hyperbaric chamber?" asked the nurse just coming on duty as she frowned at a file and sat down at the computer. "You mean Diane?" "No," the second nurse shook her head, peering closely at the screen before her. "I mean Ms. Ech...el...barger." She allowed herself a little smile of triumph at having managed it on the first try. "Right," the exiting nurse nodded, shrugging into her coat. "Diane Echelbarger-- the blood-loss coma in 7G." "Says here her name's 'Bunny'." The first nurse stopped in surprise. "You're kidding!" She peered over her co-worker's shoulder. "'Bunny'?" "Yup! Right here on the official records." "Weird... her friends keep calling her Diane...." "Well, would *you* want to admit to a name like 'Bunny'?" They looked at each other and started laughing. -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+ Fastening the new ID bracelet firmly around Diane's unresisting wrist, the Merc raised her camera, adjusted the exposure, and snapped several photos from a variety of angles. "A red fur *bikini*, 'Bunny'?" she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief and adjusting the 'liberator gun' so that it showed better. "Not the thing to do-- even at a con-- when you have friends with long memories and loose lips...." She took one more photo, lowered the camera and smiled. "But then again, what are friends for, dearest?" -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+ After a moment, the nurses recovered their composure... somewhat. "We'll have to correct it." "Well, if she doesn't use it...." "Nope, it's right here on the computer... I checked because someone forgot to print out the personal info sheet for her file. I don't know *how* they missed that." She shook her head in genuine sympathy for the comatose woman. "We'll _have_ to change the charts... and the sign on her room...." "Her friends aren't going to like it." "Not our problem. Getting fired for not following procedure and bringing the legal department down on our heads-- *that's* our problem. First thing you do, change the charts, o.k.?" The second nurse nodded. "Will do." -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+ Dianne emerged from the room in time to hear that her plan was firmly in place. Folding the torn patient info sheet around Diane's passport and driver's license, she slipped the whole mess into her bag and moved to leave. "Hey, Jane!" Dianne jumped slightly to hear the new nurse call down the hall after her retreating co-worker. "_Tell_ me you didn't eat all of the chocolate chip cookies!" -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+ -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+ Dee started to look around, but was stopped cold by an even more urgent question: She looked down at herself, her face screwed up in horrified disgust. Dee's brain paused noticably as she realized that that was, indeed, exactly where she was. She grabbed her bag to her and stared at the point at which her feet actually _touched_ part of this place. With as much speed as possible-- considering her disgusted efforts to avoid actually touching anything... including the air-- Dee was out the door. She paused, blinking uncertainly in the bright sunlight of the parking lot. Looking around in vain for aid... assistance... the vaguest hint of a clue..., her vacant eyes alighted on a nearby structure and a tiny spark of light glittered in them. She was saved! Before her lay salvation, sanctuary, purpose and meaning in a complicated and confusing world. Not to mention *killer* prices on minis. "Oooooh! Totally bitchin'! A *mall*!" Dee's tones were those of utter worship. ----------------- [note to Diane E, who's probably keeping count : Bunny, dearest... that's 250 Dee-words... 1/2 down, 3&1/2 to go...] ********************************************************************* Here I Stand Before Me by Dianne la Mercenaire (acting under the whammy of a certain, unnamed, 2000-year-old vampire with just *no* sense of humor :-p) [Timeline: directly follows "It's Probably Me..."; c. 4:30pm, Thurs. 8/8/96] [Place: Eaton Center (you know... the big mall thing :-)] WARNING: Yup, more ValSpeak. You know the drill.... -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+- After verifying that all her vital parts were intact--Visa, MasterCard, AmEx, cash for munchies and stuff...-- Dee lost herself in the essence of The Mall. It was almost, like, a Zen thing for her.... And who ever said Valley Girls weren't deep? -+*+-+*+-+*+- Checking the first mirror she found to see if her brief slip into anxiety had left, like, you know, *wrinkles* or something equally grody like that, Dee was reassured to see no signs of any permanent damage. she rolled her eyes. Pulling off the like totally, *totally!*, little frilly pink overtunic and stuffing it into her bag, she wondered, briefly, how this had happened to her. Then, slowly, a lone thought entered her brain and started rattling around, lost in the void.... I mean she couldn't have, like, actually _picked it out_, or something. <*As IF*!!!> But, like, maybe it, like, *meant* something, I mean, like, if like, there was a, like *reason*, or like, somethi--*Sale on minis!* *Bitchin!* Dee hurried into the store, her mind once again at (total) rest. -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+- Abby was just leaving Discount Disguises ("If your own mother recognizes you, your purchase is free!") when she ran into Dianne. Literally. "Oh *bogus*! It's like, why do you all run into _me_? I'm, like, *so* sure! I'm just totally bummin'!" Having heard of Chris' earlier adventure with 'Dee'-- and Dianne's flat refusal to acknowledge it had ever happened-- Abby knew one of two things were going on-- Either the Grand High Poohbah of the Merc Guild was involved in something so important, so secret, so vital to the security, nay *existence*!, of her affiliation and of the War as a whole that she was sacrificing her own dignity, pride, reputation, and fashion sense in a noble, lonely gesture of intense self-sacrifice... ...or Dianne had just completely lost her mind. Knowing her Poohbah as she did, Abby was willing to bet rather highly on the latter. "Am I speaking to 'Dee' now," she asked in her best movie-of-the-week, stall-'em-until-back-up-arrives-or- until-they-confess-to-some- terrible-crime-and-jump-off-the-handy-nearby-ledge-'cuz-there's-only- five-more-minutes-of-show-left-and-we've-got-to-wrap-this-up-*fast* voice. "Like, no *duh*!" Dee rolled her eyes, a gesture that took intense concentration and nearly qualified as an Olympic sport in itself for her. "Can I speak to 'Dianne'," Abby coaxed hopefully. "Like, I'm so *sure*! What *is* your, like, problem anyway?" Dee stood there vacantly for a few moments, apparently awaiting an answer. Abby decided to try communicating in the Valley Girl's native tongue, "Um... I'm... uh... 'like' Abby? 'like' 'you know' and... um... I 'like' want 'like' to 'like' know 'like' what 'like' happened 'like' to 'like' Dianne... uh... 'like'." Dee stared at her for another long moment, until Abby started to wonder if sound actually traveled slower in her world or something. Then she flipped her hair, which Abby chose to take as a sign that communication had been established... on some level. "Like, I don't *know* this, like, 'Dianne' you want, like, okay? And this conversation is, like, *totally* bumming me out, so, like, let's shop!" Her face broke into an ecstatically mindless grin at this suggestion. "Um, no." Abby answered, giving up completely. "I'll... uh... 'like' talk to 'like' Dianne 'like'... uh... later-- 'like' 'okay'?" Dee flipped her hair and rolled her eyes at the same time [9.8 level of difficulty there, judges!]. "Like, what-*ev*-er!" , Dee decided. By the time she reached this conclusion, Abby had already left. Dee shook her head-- that Abby was such a total *space-cad... "Oooooooooh! Look at the kittens!" Dee cooed at a really annoyingly high pitch, running the few steps to the petshop window. "Aren't they just... like... the *cutest*?!?!" The customer at the counter just stared openly at her for a minute, before turning back to the clerk. "No, no. Not the fancy ones, this is for my barracuda. I just need a bag of the ten-for-a-loony feeder goldfish...." -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+- -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+- Dianne blinked, wavered slightly on her feet, then blinked again. Then her eyes focused. "Oooooooh! Kitties!" she cooed. "Oh _Goddess_! Aren't they adorable?" After a few seconds she looked up as she realized that the clerk and the customer at the counter were looking at her really strangely. she muttered to herself as she hefted her bags and headed back out into the mall. She was in the middle of a _War_ for heaven's sake-- she was *on assignment*!-- what was she doing _shopping_? She found a bench and dropped her bags on it. Digging through them she found Diane E.'s identification and clothes, _no_ red fur bikini, and enough exposed film to reassure her that the job had been completed. Digging further, she found the candystriper outfit-- and her usual sneak outfit. Which meant she was wearing.... _what?_ Looking down at herself, she found her brain telling her the most bizarre and impossible things. Turning until she found a shop window with the right reflective angle, she discovered the truth... ...her eyes were lying to her too. Either that, or she was wearing solid yellow tights with a matching turtleneck and huge hairclip, a black *mini*, with matching pumps and vest. She looked like across between a Perkulator and a Ravenette's worst nightmare... a disaster right out of Contempo... which was really odd, since they'd never carried anything *near* her size, even in jr. high.... She'd been attacked! Somehow someone had caught her after her last assignment, knocked her out, and dressed her like some kind of sick throwback to the early eighties San Fernando Valley. She shuddered. She'd grown up far too close to the source of the menace to ever forget. She'd actually seen real, live Valley Girls as a mere child. The trauma stayed with you always. She decided. <*Lots* of it.> She stared in the glass one last time. -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+- [Hi, Diane! Per the New-More-Merciful-(on us all!)-Counting- Method, that makes three out of four Dee-stories complete. #4 will becoming from Cath & Perri, with the ValSpeak I already wrote included. Hence, this is it! ... and I can actually *feel* my IQ dropping already, thank you _very_ much... :-p However, I have a sneaking suspicion that Dee will eventually meet the NatPack after all... so consider that a bonus installation-- The Dreaded, The Feared, The Return of Dee! ] ********************************************************************* What Time Is It, What Day Is It, What Fandom Is It? (1/2) by Diane Echelbarger, unaffiliated Thursday, August 8, 4:37pm Toronto General Hospital ICU "Just watch the readouts while I get some dinner, Annie," the nurse explained patiently. "None of these patients are critical, and you can call Maxine if anything changes." Annie, who was on her first day of rotation as a student nurse, nodded nervously and sat in front of the bank of monitors, hoping nothing would go wrong before Janet returned. Diane regained consciousness slowly. she thought. She lay there a few minutes, eyes closed, trying to place herself. She was lying down, head raised, and felt vaguely weak. Also chilly. She remembered having some *very* strange dreams, but couldn't recall any details. Slowly, her mind grew clearer. She'd come to Toronto for the Museum Opening, and she was staying with Spifff. That was right. Had she fallen asleep on the sofa? This didn't feel like a sofa. She opened her eyes. She was in a hospital bed, with some sort of monitor hooked to one arm. A blurry white blob snoring in a chair was probably a woman, but she couldn't be sure without her glasses. Then she looked down at herself. At the red fur micro-mini (slit on both sides to the hips), the black fishnet panty hose, spike heeled pumps, skimpy red-fur top and retro-70s "weapon" attached to the wide, patent-leather belt. It was a near-copy of the outfit she'd made for the last Scorpio convention, years ago..... (At the bank of monitors, Annie noticed with surprise that the patient in 417's blood pressure had jumped from a low-but-normal-for-her 90/58 to an astounding 142/91.) Diane thought, suddenly furious. Dianne must have carried out her assignment, attacked the NatPack, and Jennie had responded in kind. She'd figure out why the Head NatPacker had smuggled her into a hospital later. Right now, she had more important things to do. Kicking free of the ridiculous spiked heels-- which were pinching her e-width feet-- and detaching the black "power pack" of the absurdly phallus-like _Blake's 7_ weapon from her belt, she sat up and reached for the phone next to her bed. Unfortunately, the combination of being two pints low and bedridden for twelve days had left her weak, stiff, and dizzy. She fumbled, lost her balance, and fell out of the high hospital bed, ending half- suspended by the blood-pressure cuff on her right arm. Without really thinking about the consequences, she reached up with her left hand and ripped the cuff open-- --and landed flat on her face on the linoleum floor. At the nurse's station, Annie was just about to call Maxine for advice on the patient in 417 when, without warning, the monitor flatlined. Annie panicked. Snatching at the intercom, she flipped it on and shouted into the microphone. "Code Blue! *Code Blue in room 417*! CODE BLUE!!!!" Thus, when the head nurse led the crash team through the door thirty seconds later, she was greeted by the sight of her supposedly comatose and cardiac-arrested patient-- who had definitely been unconscious and dressed in a hospital-issue gown when she'd done her 3pm walk-around-- sprawled on the floor, dressed like something out of a Classic Star Trek episode, and talking into the telephone that lay next to her on the linoleum. In the stunned silence that followed, Diane's slightly raspy voice was clearly audible. "...package you're holding for me?" Pause. "Deliver it." The slam of the receiver jarred the head nurse out of her shock. A quick glance into the corner showed the Nurse's Aide, who was *supposed* to have been watching the patient, sound asleep. The situation had "negligence lawsuit" written all over it. Thinking quickly, the head nurse attempted damage control. "Annie, Maxine," she directed crisply, "help the patient up, please. You two," she indicated two male nurses, then jerked her head at the Nurse's Aide, who had begun snoring again, "get *her* out of here. The rest of you put that equipment back where it belongs and get back to work." The Crash Team dissipated with all due speed, the soon-to-be- unemployed snorer was dragged off, and the two nurses approached the now-glaring woman on the floor. ********************************************************************* Like Gag Me by: Abby Albrecht Soon after "Here I Stand Before Me." (Allow for transportation time ;) *Warning: Excessive use of Val Speak and Music. Danger Will Robinson! Danger!* Special thanks to Chris for the soap. Dianne slowly unlocked the front door to Merc Central. It had been a long, and confusing, day and she just wanted to go to bed. She was hoping if she went slowly, people wouldn't notice her, her outfit, or the glazed look in her eyes. She wasn't slow enough. "Hi Dianne!" Liz shouted over the noise blaring out of the tv. "You look beat!" "No? Really?" Dianne replied sarcastically. She looked at the tv, but she couldn't figure it out. Liz noticed her confusion. "It's 'Another Beautiful Day With Dynasty.'" She smiled up at the Poobah. Dianne was too tired to comment, so she just watched. ++++++++++on the tv+++++++++++++ "Yes, that's right. I'm not really your twin brother Marco. I'm your evil ex-lover Andre! BWAHAHAHA!!" "Curse you, Andre! You leave me no choice but to push you off this convenient cliff!" "aiiiiiiiiii........." ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Dianne was too entranced in the story to notice Abby coming in the front door. Abby noticed Dianne, though. She nearly dropped the package that she was supposed to deliver when she noticed what Dianne was watching. "Umm, Dee? Is that you?" She asked. "Huh?" Dianne mumbled. "Am I speaking to Dee?" "No..." Dianne answered cautiously. "Why? Do you see a Dee in this room?" She was really beginning to worry about Abby. Abby, on the other hand, was just flat out confused. *Dianne is Dianne. Maybe everything is ok,* she tried to reassure herself. "Umm, Dianne?" "Hmmm?" Yup, that was Dianne. *I'd know that "hmmm" anywhere,* Abby thought. "This package is for you..." She hannded over the box, and watched as Dianne examined it like a child before a birthday. "Hold on. You can't open it yet." That got Liz interested. "Why can't she?" "Yeah, why can't I?" Dianne asked suspiciously. "It's a present. My employers want others to see how generous they are." Abby said quickly. "Employers?" Dianne was not pleased. "You didn't check with me..." "If I had it wouldn't have been much of a surprise now. Would it?" Abby smiled wickedly as she headed over to an intercom on the far wall. "OOOOOweeeeeeeeooooooooo! Captain Kirk to the bridge. Capta..." Oops, wrong fandom. Abby blushed lightly. "Will all Mercenaries please come up or down to the living room. Will all Mercenaries please come to the livingroom. This is not a drill!" Dianne smiled to herself. *Darn. I did good!* The house sounded like a herd of buffalo were stampeding through. Suddenly a swarm of Mercs were standing around. "Yeah?" Kira asked. "What's up, not quite boss lady?" Berg smiled. "Huh?" Erin raced down the stairs. "Hey Abs!" Christina nearly squealed. "Yo!" Lane tried to be macho... "Aye aye, cap'n," Leigh grinned. "Abby, you're back," Dawn noticed. "Yup, she is," Lisa agreed. "Abby! Nice to see ya again," Sonja said, finishing off the group. Dianne looked around. "Ok, there are people here. Can I open it now?" "Go right ahead," Abby said as she stepped back. As the tape was broken, everyone caught the faintest wiff of chocolate. Before Dianne could fully open the lid Berg said, "Mmmmm, Chocolate..." +-+-+-+-+- OOOOoooooowwwweeeehhhhoooooo +-+-+-+-+-+ Dee looked up from the box. "Chocolate?!? Like *who* would give ME tsch chocolate! It like causes zits, and you know, make my face all like OILY! I like tottally don't think this is cool, you know!" Dianne tossed the box at Kira. Kira, Sonja, and Erin looked in the box. "It's a chocolate goldfish!" Sonja exclaimed! +-+-+-+-+- OOOOoooooowwwweeeehhhhoooooo +-+-+-+-+-+ Dianne looked confused. She grabbed the box from the women. Then Samantha walked down the stairs... "Do I smell chocolate? +-+-+-+-+- OOOOoooooowwwweeeehhhhoooooo +-+-+-+-+-+ Dee was back. *These people are totally uncool,* she thought. "I'm outtie!" She shouted and ran out of the house The Mercs were, for once, at a loss for words. -------- Tag Susan and Cyn! You're it! ********************************************************************* One Fine Day (1/2) Cousin Karies and Cousin Julie Thursday, 5 p.m., August 8, 1996 CERK HQ Cousin Julie stood before the Jag with a bucket of water, a bottle of Turtle Wax(tm) car cleaner and a look of disgust. 'NATALIE LOVES LC' it said on the windscreen in bright red lipstick. Even though her Valentine side didn't mind the sentiments, this kind of desecration of Uncle's car could *not* be allowed. Another Cousin had suggested she take it to the nearby hand wash for cars, but Jules wasn't going to advertise the fact that, once again, the security of CERK had been breached. There had been the "petalling" and that nauseating poetry, this lipstick thing, and then that herd of cows had walked straight throught the front door. These transgressions could not be tolerated any longer. It was a perfect time to clean up the Jag (which included getting the dog fur out of the back seat) and plot, and, besides, the General had said something about using the car this very evening. It wouldn't pay to let him be greeted by such a sight. She had hoped someone would have wanted to join in, but it seemed that nearly all of them were either War weary or off on other assignments. "Hey, Dudette!" Karies shouted at her from a second story window. "Hi, Karies! Why aren't you off wreaking havoc? "There's only so much havoc a human being can wreak before they're wreakless! Anyway, Leslie's still unconscious. What are you up to?" "Oh, nothing special," Jules said with a shrug of her shoulders. "A little car washing, a little plotting." She grinned a wicked grin. Karies returned it. "I'm on my way down!" Karies shouted back, excited at the prospect of getting back to the War. An hour later, the Jag shone like new. Uncle *would* be pleased. In a short while, however, the Vaqueros would not be pleased, nor would a lot of *other people* in this War. Karies and Julie shoved the semi- conscious Leslie into the back seat and drove off into the approaching sunset. Time to get to work... ********************************************************************* What Time Is It, What Day Is It, What Fandom Is It? pt 2 by Diane Echelbarger & Spifff, unaffiliated Nigel Wetmore used with Lana Soward's permission. Thursday, 8/8 5:11pm (continuous w/pt 1) "Ms. Etchelburger?" the older woman ventured in her best professional- soothing-a-wacko-patient voice. "Eck-ul-bar-grr," Diane enunciated carefully. She had long since become resigned to the fact that people would always mangle her name. "And you people had *better* have my real clothes around here somewhere, or you are in *big* trouble." She knew the nurses weren't really at fault, of course. The NatPack, taken together, probably owned enough scrubs and lab coats to outfit the entire ward, so sneaking themselves, and her, into the hospital would have been easy. But she wasn't about to let them go another second thinking that this was *her* idea of proper clothing. "I'm sure they're right here," the head nurse assured her quickly and opened the closet. It was empty. The head nurse smiled a sickly smile and turned to the older nurse. "Maxine, our patient's things don't seem to have been transferred yet. Why don't you run down to the gift shop and pick her up one of those nice t-shirt style nightgowns they have there-- on us, of course." Maxine, who knew a delaying tactic when she heard one, nodded and hurried out the door, closing it behind her. Before Diane could do more than mentally vow retribution on the 'Pack, the nurses started to help her to her feet, and her head spun again. (She didn't know it, but this convinced the head nurse that Diane couldn't possibly have gotten into that ridiculous outfit by herself.) As they eased her onto the bed and pulled the sheet up over that absurd costume, several facts she had overlooked in her first rage occurred to her. The nursing staff knew her name. They expected her to be there. And the small calendar on the bedside table said AUGUST on the uppermost page. "How long have I been here?" she asked. "You were transferred in this morning," Annie, the nervous one, replied. "You've been in the HBTC until now." "HBTC?" "HyperBaric Treatment Chamber," the older explained. "Ah, here's Maxine." The nightshirt-- a pale grey oversized T with "Property of Toronto General Hospital" stenciled on it in royal blue-- fit fairly well, and was *much* more comfortable than the scratchy red fake fur. As Diane settled once more onto the pillows, the door opened again. "I understand you awoke a bit earlier than anticipated," an oddly familiar voice said from the doorway. Diane thought as the man in the white lab coat smiled at her and strolled toward the windows. The man reached the windows and turned to look at her-- standing in the full glare of the late-afternoon sun. "I hope you're feeling well? Not too dizzy?" the rational part of her mind insisted. Her mind babbled helplessly on, arguing with itself, as the eerily familiar figure approached the bed and took her pulse. The doctor's hand was tanned. Very tanned. This fact reassured her enough that she was able to answer him semi-coherently. "Who are you?" "My name is Dr. Nigel Wetmore," he told her smoothly. "I've been treating you since you were admitted." He smiled. It was a professional smile, intended to reassure the patient. "You gave us quite a scare, you know." "I did?" Diane tried to remember anything she could have done or been planning to do that could give her the bends-- because why else would they have put her in a hyperbaric chamber?-- and gave up. "What happened?" "You were attacked by a dog," he explained. "Lost quite a lot of blood. You've been unconscious for some time." "I have?" She frowned, and a vague memory resurfaced, of herself standing in the shadow of a tree, and people digging... and glowing yellow eyes. She put her hand up to her neck. There was a small bandage on the right-hand side. She spent a moment trying to figure out why she was still alive, then gave up. "What day is it?" "Thursday." "Oh." She thought about that. "I've been unconscious for five days?" He smiled. "Twelve, actually." "*Twelve* days?!" More mental math followed. "You mean it's August 8th?" "That's right." "Great," Diane snarled. "That means I missed the Brabant opening at the ROM. And the convention I was here for. *And*," she added, "my birthday." Dr. Wetmore and the nurses made professionallly-sympathetic noises. He took a her blood pressure (still rather high, for her, at 122/86), dictating the readings to the nurse, told her she would be released Saturday morning if she didn't over-exert herself, and left. Maxine (the head nurse had long since vanished, taking Annie with her) offered to fetch her something to drink and mentioned that dinner would be served at six. Diane requested cranberry juice, and as soon as the nurse was out of sight, she reached, carefully this time, for the phone. It was picked up on the first ring. "Hello, Bizza Pizza, may I take your order? Today we'er offering a two-for-one special and a free 6-pack of diet softdrink." Spiff was unusually jovial on the other end of the line." "Spifff? Is AJ there?" Doing her finest answering machine imitation, Spifff answered, "I'm sorry, AJ's not currently available. After the tone you may leave a message. Beeep!!" "That's OK, you'll do fine," Diane said eagerly. "Listen, this is Diane, can you--" "Diane, you're awake! You're OK, that's terrific! How are you feeling? Wait a minute, it's really you, isn't it? This isn't some sort of post-mezcal hallucination or weird aspirin and coffee trip? Man, I gotta cut down," Spifff began, somewhat incoherently. Diane waited for her excitable friend to stop babbling, then answered. "Yes, I'm awake. I'm fine, just a little weak on my feet. Listen, you guys know there's a War on, right?" "Yah." Spifff started into a detailed explanation of their activities at full speed. "We sent some photographs to the Vaqs then-- oh, wait, you don't know about that. Like we had some pictures taken down at the river, right where you..." "Cut!" Diane interrupted. "Look, you can fill me in when you get here. Right now I need your help with a counter-attack." "But of course, I serve to obey. Your every wish is my command," Spifff responded. "Great. Now listen carefully. Somewhere in the apartment there should be a blue box, about a foot square and three inches deep. It's got a white plastic carry-handle and says "Hershey's Candy Shoppe" all over it." Spifff looked around and noticed a large black feline sitting posessively on Diane's box. "It's right underneath Comet-cat." "Good. Bring it to the hospital. I'm in room 417. Oh, and bring my teal bag, will you? I need something to wear. And Spiff? Hurry." "Like, on my way, faster than a speeding bullet." Spiff hung up the phone. Diane replaced the receiver in its cradle, took a long sip from her cranberry juice, and smiled. she thought. (To be continued in "Pictures of Times Past") ********************************************************************* Pictures of Times Past By Diane Echelbarger & Spifff, unaffiliated Thursday, August 8, 6:23pm Toronto General Hospital, room 417, ICU Dinner had been served before Spifff arrived with Diane's things. Which wouldn't have bothered Diane quite so much if dinner hadn't consisted of a bowl of lukewarm chicken noodle soup, a dozen saltless saltines, a glass of skim milk, and a bowl of vanilla yoghurt for dessert. ("Gotta start you off easy, after almost two weeks off solid food", the smarmy guy from foodservice had explained. Diane had almost thrown the bowl of yoghurt at him.) When her friend finally arrived, Diane gratefully put the rest of her meal aside and filled them in as she took the pale-blue box onto her lap. "A red fur bikini?" Spifff gasped. "They *die*, now." "*That* would be much too good for them. I have something much more appropriate in mind," Diane promised with a wicked grin, and patted the box. "What's in there?" Spifff perched on the edge of the bed next to her injured friend and began helping herself to the leftovers from Diane's dinner. "It's my photo collection." Diane smirked. "I keep saying I'm gonna get albums and organize 'em, but I never get around to it." She opened the box, revealing more than a dozen envelopes stuffed with pictures. "I brought it up 'cause I figured you guys might want to see the photos from NATPE and MediaWest. I've got copies of Jennie's photos from last year's Giggly and T-Trek10 in here somewhere, too." "Total coolness!" Spifff bounced a little on the bed. "Can I see?" Diane grinned and flipped open the first envelope. "Media," she commented, and gave it to Spifff, and opened the next. "NATPE, and an FK party at my place." She handed that one to her friend, too. As Spifff looked at the pictures, asking for occasional ID's on the people, Diane sorted through the rest of the envelopes. When she found the one of herself in a Victorian nursemaid's uniform (with her then-six-month-old godson in the pram) she knew she was close. A minute later, she pulled out a 4x6 print with a cry of triumph. "Got it!" She waved the color snapshot in front of her hostess. "This'll show her!" "Huh?" Spifff looked at the picture while choking on a saltine. "Like, who's that?" "Jennie Hayes. I made her the costume in '92." Diane grimaced. "She's Head NatPacker, and one of only two FK folk who know about that old Blake's 7 costume of mine." "That picture looks kinda tame," Spifff ventured. "To someone from our time, maybe," Diane agreed. "But to a Victorian, *this* is a Playboy cover." She grinned. "How fast can you get an enlargement of this? I don't have the negative." "Why?" Spifff asked. Diane told her. By the time she was finished, they both wore the same maniacal smile. ********************************************************************* One Fine Day (2/2) Cousin Karies and Cousin Julie Thursday, 6:30 p.m., August 8, 1996 CERK HQ "What *am* I doing?" Cousin Julie said to herself after she had shut the driver's side door. "What's wrong, Gal?" asked Karies. "Just forgot my purse," Jules replied. "I'll be back in a tick, ok?" "I'm not going anywhere," answered Karies, then indicated to the seat behind her, "and I *know* Leslie's not going anywhere either!" Jules ran through the door and back down the station's main hallway, when a brightly coloured piece of paper posted to the notice board caught her attention: WANTED: Secretary Must type 80-100 wpm and have superior writing and verbal skills. Apply to the General Manager, CERK A million thoughts sped through the Cousin's brain. 'Hey,' she thought, '*I* can do *that*!' Cousin J sped back down the corridor to the waiting Karies and semi- conscious Leslie. "Uh, Karies," she began, "do you mind *awfully* if we do this the next War round?" "Why ever would we want to do that?" Karies asked, somewhat taken aback by her cohort's question. "Well, you know, this War *is* almost over, and we have to get ready for the party, *and* we have to start packing, *AND* Cousin Lu and I still have to wrap Uncle's present, **AND**..." "Alright already!!" Karies said holding up her hands. "Sheesh! We'll do it another time, Gal!" She got out of the car and looked at the sleeping figure in the back seat. "Actually, you might have a good idea there. There's no telling what we'd get into, and I don't think Leslie would appreciate it if we got her into trouble without letting her have any of the fun it took to get there." "Thanks, Karies," said Jules. "I just knew you'd understand." The two Cousins hoisted Leslie up between them and returned her to her bed. Karies turned around a moment later to ask Jules a question, but she had disappeared. Very quickly. Oh, well... Back at her suitcase, Jules pulled out a diskette containing her resume. As with her Amex(tm?) card, she never went anywhere without it. "Ha! I'll just tell all my friends I'm moving to Toronto to work in a law firm!" she said out loud to no one in particular. She sighed a contented sigh, tossing the job advertisement she had ripped from the notice board and torn into a million eensy teensy pieces into the rubbish bin. Life *was* good! To be continued in a future War... ********************************************************************* DeeDeeDianne Meets her Match By Raven Cynthia Hoffman Valley Girl Talk Coaching by Diane E., Unaffiliated Date: August 8, 1996 Time: Approximately 9:30 p.m. Place: Eventually, The Raven Shortly after Like Gag Me Dee was back. *These people are totally uncool,* she thought. "I'm outtie!" She shouted and ran out of the house. The Mercs were, for once, at a loss for words. -------- Dee bounced along the street outside Merc HQ, empty headed, humming a song and playing lines and squares. thought the six foot tall skipping woman. She hummed louder and the song turned in to words and the words became "no one who's anybody walks in LA." she thought. <"Like, I'm so totally cool, I should be, like, *driving* a Maserati or, like, something. Like, why am I, like, *walking*?> Ever susceptible to suggestion, Dee hopped into a cab and when the cabbie asked where she was headed, she said, "Well, like, *the* club, y'know? Like, the *cool* one? Where just *everybody* who, like, matters goes, y'know? Like, I, like, work there, y'know. Like, *duh*!"" And with that, Dee handed the cabbie a book of matches with the familiar Raven logo on it. (I don't know how she got them ... honest, maybe a merc left them at merc HQ after stealing some socks ...) Dee settled back in the cab and stared at the window, admiring her reflection and making faces at herself in order to find the perfect cool smile she knew was lurking inside her. --------------------- 10:00 p.m. the very same night The Raven Dee wandered inside. There were people there setting up for rehearsals and there were others standing by the bar. <*This is, like, *not* cool> she thought, glancing around. and then she said it out loud. "Are you people, like, totally out of it?" she demanded. "I mean, like, Goth is, like, *out* now, y'know? I mean, fer sure!" She raked a nearby Ravenette with a scornful gaze and added, "Black velvet? Please! Major geekoid, I'm sure!" "Dianne? That you? You know you still haven't paid our bill ..." Cynthia's voice trailed off at the blank look that faced her. Dee stared at the short dark haired woman who had approached her. "Why do people keep calling me that bogus name? I'm like Dee, man, for sure, not Dianne." Cynthia looked puzzled for a moment and then thought if she could deal with turning someone into Glinda the Good Witch, she could handle this. But she was wrong. Dee spun around and headed for the dance floor, making comments as she went. Cynthia trailed after her and heard snippets of commentary: "Like, *where* did you find that? Like, your mother's closet? I'm sure! That is *so* five minutes ago! You'd, like, *never* get by, like, the bouncers at, like, Lingere in, like, *that*." "You know, Lingere? It's like this killer club in LA; and they wouldn't let *you* in, would they? I mean because you're not cool like me." "This singing is bogus man. What happened to Van Halen? I mean like *real* Van Halen, with David Lee Roth, you know, like all that cool hair. Not Sammy Hagar, man. He was bogus." "Those are killer shoes. Platforms! Like I deserve to have those shoes. Which mall did you go to to get them?" "What? *I'm* talking, like, funny? Like, you are just, like, totally bogus, like, y'know. I mean, like, you think I'm, like, *stupid* or something?" "Don't talk like that. I mean do you think I'm mental or something? Geez." In a relatively short period of time, DeeDianne had wreaked havoc. Bonnie and Urs were unable to rehearse, the club was in a shambles and Cynthia was no longer able to keep up with, much less listen to the endless idiocy coming from Dee's mouth. "Trouble?" Cynthia stopped in her tracks. "You could say that, yes. Think you can do anything about it?" Janette stared after DeeDianne thoughtfully. "Perhaps. I would need to catch her first, yes?" "That would be a good place to start," Cynthia nodded. "I can't keep up any more. Besides, her endless drivel is starting to make me nauseous." Janette disappeared quickly into the crowd. The next thing Cynthia knew, DeeDianne was sitting on a chair by the bar and Janette was holding her down, staring into her eyes. Startled by what she saw there, Janette looked up at the ceiling. "Who did this?" Janette wondered. "Very well. I suppose I must undo it and worry about that later." ------------- Dianne looked at the vampire standing in front of her. "I sent your bill to the appropriate party," she stated slowly, as if she were relearning how to use her tongue. "There's no need to hold me here, is there?" //She's back// thought Cynthia, shaking her head and nodding to Janette. And it's always a nice thing to have a merc owe you one. ********************************************************************* More Than Words by Diane Echelbarger, unaffiliated, and Dianne DeSha, Merc GHP Thursday, 8/8, 9:49pm Dianne climbed out of the cab at Merc Central and let herself in. Frowning, she made her way to her office, trying to remember how she'd gotten to The Raven. The last thing she remembered was Abby handing her a box.... Palming the electronic lock, she entered her sanctum sanctorum and found the very box she'd been thinking of sitting on her desk. She sank into her comfortable chair, kicked off her shoes, and opened it. It contained five items. Dianne picked them up, one at a time. A 2 lb, solid-dark-chocolate goldfish, wrapped in brightly patterned foil. Dianne unwrapped the tail and bit off a piece. Definitely Godiva. A Weeble. Dianne frowned. That reminded her of something. Now, what was it? A recipe for Zombie Beachcombers. A small envelope. Dianne pulled the card inside out. It had a picture of koi (ed note: oriental pool goldfish) on the front. The inside was blank. And an old 45 rpm single. "The Leader of the Pack", by ShaNaNa. Dianne had the feeling all of this *should* mean something to her. If only she wasn't so tired, she was sure she could figure it out. She rested her head on her desk, while she thought about it. Five minutes later, she was sound asleep. ********************************************************************* I Choose Bachelor #3 (01/01) by Bonnie Pardoe (Urchin) and the Urchin Sympathizers Thursday, August 8th, ~ 10:30 pm inside the Raven ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Urchin Sympathizers were hanging out at the Raven again, and before opening time, too -- Janette was almost sorry that she had agreed to help them revive Urs, but she was growing fond of the young vampire. Bonnie, Urs, and Felly were all up on stage; supposedly they were rehearsing, but in actuality they were just goofing-off. The others were sitting at a table just off to the side of the stage exchanging the latest war gossip. Dawn was speculating on Urs's strange ability to attract Urchin Sympathizers from almost every affiliation; after all, there were representatives from the Mercs, Immortal Beloveds, Ravens, Vaqueras, N&Npackers, and Cousins. There was a murmur of agreement before the conversation degenerated into a speculation of how they could all be meeting in a group face to face without attacking each other. When Urs and Bonnie started having a contest to see who could hit and sustain the highest note for the longest, Bianca nearly cracked and erica did crack. Chris decided to help out her "nieces," so she started flinging Raven coasters at the trio on stage -- the others quickly joined in. Felly, Urs, and Bonnie dove for cover behind the drums, the speakers, and the amps. Urs, using her special abilities, snuck off the stage and crept up behind the six coaster-flingers. Tara was the first to notice Urs's disappearance. She turned and looked behind her just in time to see Urs drop a table cloth over them. Bonnie and Felly leapt off the stage to assist Urs with her capture. Soon all nine friends were in tears from laughing so hard. The appearance of an extremely well-dressed, extremely good-looking man at the door of the Raven finally silenced the group. He walked directly up to Urs and, seemingly from no where, produced an elegant, single pink rose for her. She beamed, knowing that her friends would be happy for her -- happy that she was widening her circle of 'admirers.' Once Spifff reminded her by clearing her throat several times, Urs introduced all of her friends to her date. "... And this is my date, Larry Merlin. He's taking me dancing." Larry smiled at the group of women and tilted his head in the sexiest way anyone possibly could. Then he offered his arm to Urs and they strolled out of the Raven. The remaining friends, amidst a chorus of "woo-whos," "wows," and "yowzahs," burst into uncontrollable giggles again. They all knew that they had done well by Urs. ********************************************************************* An Excuse To Drive The Caddy by Catherine Boone and Perri Smith Takes place whenever the hell we want it to. Now piss off. (Diane... Diane! Put down the chainsaw! :) It's... uhh... Thursday sunset to sunrise.) Catherine surveyed the loft carefully. She looked left. She looked right. No one was watching. She strolled nonchalantly from her perch on the balcony down to where Perri was on the couch reading. She leaned down and whispered in Perri's ear. "Perri. I have the keys. I have my wallet. And I know how to drive a stick." Perri smiled widely, apparently immensely amused by her book. "You go first. I'll meet you in the garage in ten minutes." Catherine straightened without a word, and walked into the elevator. She was sitting in the Caddy waiting for her when Perri came flying down exactly ten minutes later. The two of them quickly and quietly pushed the Caddy out of the garage to the street. The top of the convertible was already down from other Knighties' use, so the two just jumped in feet-first as soon as they were far enough away and started the engine. In mere moments, they were tearing down the street, Perri standing on her knees in the passenger seat, her hands in the air as she whooped at the top of her lungs. Catherine had her hands in the air as well, having temporarily picked up Dianne's trick of driving with her knees, and was doing her best to out-shriek Perri. She wasn't succeeding very well, but neither really minded. They were out on the town, in search of one perfect night of fun, and darned if they were coming back till they found it! *** "Awright, where to first?" "Why do I have to decide?" "Because I'm *driving*. I'm already contributing brainpower. Now it's your turn." Perri rapped her nails restlessly on the door, watching the traffic go by. "Hey, watch those nails. If Susan finds any nicks while she's washing this thing, she's liable to scrub the paint job right off." "Okay, okay, calm down." Perri put her head in her hand, thinking... they turned another corner, and there it was, like a grail before them. "Cath, look!" Okay, so it didn't come out of the clouds and glow or anything. Do blinking airplane lights count? "It's magic." "Fate." "Phallic." "Very." "We're there, baby." Catherine accelerated, and the two sped off as the CN Tower rose like (don't go there, Cath) in the distance. *** "Come on, come *on*!" Perri grabbed Catherine's wrist as soon as the elevator opened and half-dragged her over to the railing outside the restaurant. "Jeez, it's *freezing* out here! Come on, let's get out of the wind." "Um, I don't think we *can* get out of the wind. This is kind of an up-high place. Wind comes along with the view." "What view? It's ten o'clock, Perri. If I wanted to watch little lights flicker, I'd have stayed home and played with the refrigerator bulb." She shivered in her sweatshirt. "It'd probably be warmer, too." "Oh, use your imagination. Admit it, it's cool." The city spread out like a carpet of stars surging toward the horizon. But at this height, one could see the dark outlying country beyond, the edges sharper than she would have thought. It was like the stars had dripped some of their substance into a neat puddle of starstuff on the ground. "Yeah. It's cool." They sat for quite a while, and just soaked up the atmosphere. But after a while Perri was starting to feel the cold, too, and she *had* brought her coat. "Cath, what do you say..." But Catherine was already peering down at the pavement below, seemingly fascinated. "What?" "Hmm?" Catherine snapped back to herself, and smiled. "Oh. Ahhh... I've just always wondered if a spitball really *could* dent a car, if you started at a high enough altitude..." Perri stared at her. "Cath, that's sick!" "In other words, appropriate." "No, I meant sick, even for *you*." "Really? Ya think so?" Catherine pondered skeptically. Perri made a disgusted sound and dragged her away from the railing. "Come on, Beavis, before you start acting out your fantasies." "Hey, purely scientific curiosity! If a sheet of steel of a known thickness inside a well-mapped support frame were to come into contact with an object of a specific mass, acceleration, and radius..." "Oh, shut up, Cath." The elevator doors closed behind them. Perri grabbed Cath's arm before she could plop into the driver's seat. "Hey now. My turn to drive." "Say what?" "Move it, sister. Gimme the keys." "Not on your life, honeybunny. Do you even know how to drive a stick?" Perri paused for a tense moment. "Yes." Catherine's jaw dropped. "Oh, you *lie*!" she accused. "I do not! If you can drive with your knees, I'd *better* darn well be able to drive a stick if I want to!" Catherine frowned and pondered a major sulk, but eventually caved. She sighed dramatically as she fished the keys out of her pocket. "You're *such* a child, Perri." "Ohhh yeah. You go from spitballs to condescending older sister in less than two minutes, and I'm the child." She snorted. "You could win the Indy with mood swings that fast." "No, I couldn't, because halfway through *you'd* insist on driving!" "Oh, sit still and think of somewhere to go." "Hey, yeah, it's my turn now, isn't it?" Perri managed to start the car and get it out of the parking lot without leaving tire marks, which was better than she could say, so she didn't say anything. "Well, just drive around for a while and I'll think of something." Catherine stared out and watched the shops flicker by. She was *not* sulking. She was thinking. Intensely. She found herself rapping her nails on the door of the Caddy, and sat on her hands, literally. That is, until she saw it. She leaped to her feet. (well, as well as she could while sitting in a car with her seat belt on, anyway...) "Perri, STOP!" The car screeched to a halt, and Catherine was well glad she'd constricted her movement, or she'd be Nick's new hood ornament by now. Through some vast stroke of luck, no one hit them in all their antics. That, or everyone in Toronto was just coming to expect that sort of thing from one green classic Caddy. Catherine suspected the latter herself. "What, Cath, what?" Perri was looking for hostile vampires, hostile flashbacks, whatever it was that had caught Cath's attention. "Turn around, quick!" Catherine was near-frantic by now. "WHAT, Cath?" "I just saw a Ben and Jerry's back there, and it still looked open!" Perri gasped, and dared not hope. "At eleven at night? Can it be?" Catherine bit back a snarl, "Well, we're not gonna find out just sitting here! Come *on*, it could close any second." Perri stared a moment longer, and Catherine was tempted to shake her. "We don't have much time! *Drive*, girl, DRIVE!!" She started pounding on the dashboard in her irritation. "Okay, okay!" Perri put the car back into gear, and they did a careful and highly illegal u-turn at the next light. **** "Cath, this is the life." Perri sighed, staring down at her Peanut Butter Cup in pure and utter contentment. "You said it. I've waited all war for this." Catherine took another monster spoonful of her Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Sundae, and smiled. By the time they were done, both were stuffed to the gills and almost purring. Perri went to open the driver's side, but Catherine snatched the keys away from her. "What on earth could we possibly do to top this?" she smiled silkily, and pointed to the passenger seat. Perri chewed her lip thoughtfully, glaring at the keys in Catherine's hand. Suddenly she brightened, and Catherine watched her suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. "Let's go to Sanctuary." Catherine gave her a blank look, panic creeping in at the edges. "You *do* know how to get to Sanctuary, don't you?" Oh, and she was *soo* smug. Catherine shot her a furious glare. "Of *course* I..." she paused, realizing there was no way she could get away with this, and cursed. Perri smiled triumphantly. "Ha! Get outta my seat, sister." She gave an inarticulate snarl of rage. "You *suck*, Perri." She was still chuckling as she settled into the driver's side. "Yeah, yeah, we can drown your sorrows when we get there." **** The two collapsed into a booth in the back, where their drinks were waiting. Catherine checked her watch, and stared. "Good lord. Perri, we've been dancing two hours straight!" "Really? Wow, didn't seem quite that long." "Man, my back is gonna kill me tomorrow, this I can see." "Yeah, but if you didn't dance with me out there, *I* would have killed you *tonight*." Catherine raised her eyebrows. "I know. Which is what made the decision so easy." Perri looked sorrowful for a moment. "Too bad you can't drown your sorrows, like you wanted..." "Don't even try, Perri. *I'm* driving." She gripped her Coke possessively, and looked down at Perri's identical drink. "Don't let me stop you, though." Perri grimaced. "Nothing more depressing than drinking alone." "Mmm. Good point." The two sat with their backs to the wall, giving them great views of the dance floor and the entrance beyond it. Perfect for people-watching. Which, of course, inevitably degenerated to male-watching. Unfortunately, not one of the guys eyeing them could make the cut, for some reason... 6'2". "Too tall." 5'9". "Too short." Hair like a teddy bear. "Too Screed." Hair to his shoulders. "Too Vachon... *oww*! Hey Perri, watch where you're kicking!" "Too dark..." "Ohh, that is the *worst* bleach job..." Both realized with a start what they were doing, and cringed in unison. Perri took a long swig of her drink, and sighed. "Even when we *want* to get away, we can't..." "Gotta love wars. Everyone seems to get a one-track mind." "Yeah, well what if I want a different track?" Perri pouted and played with her straw thoughtfully. "Let me know when you find it, and I'll derail with you." Catherine grinned, and busily went to playing worm with her straw wrapper. Perri watched her for a moment, then grabbed her arm as she slid out of the booth. "C'mon Cath, time to dance." "Oh, my back is *really* going to kill me tomorrow." Perri glared once, reminding her of the obvious. That was all it took. "Coming!" **** The two tiptoed back into the loft, just before dawn. They collapsed at opposite ends of the sofa. "We really need to sleep." "I'm too caffeinated to sleep." "Then why aren't you bouncing up and down?" "Because I've been dancing for nearly four hours straight, twit." "Hey now... admit it. You had fun." "Of course I had fun. It was my idea." "Was not! I thought of it first, you just picked it out of my brain." "Oh, *right*." "Are you going back to Condescending Older Sister?" "I won't if you won't." "'Kay." "I can't believe it. I think I'm actually starting to poop out. Must be your scintillating conversation." "I can't believe you can even say 'scintillating' this late at night." "You mean this early in the morning." "Besides, I think it's working both ways. I can't open my eyes anymore." "'Night, Perri." "'Night, Cath." They hadn't moved a muscle when they were found a few hours later, fast asleep. ********************************************************************* Return of the Red Knightie (1/1) by Allison Percy, with input from fellow Knighties (a follow-up to the attack in "Roses are red, and so is..." Nick's Loft, 11:00pm Thursday August 8. The door to the loft elevator slid open to reveal Allie, red from head to toe, and Carrie, who was gesturing wildly for everyone to keep quiet. As if everyone could somehow fail to mention that their fellow Knightie was painted a bright crimson and covered with an assortment of bicycle designs. Julie Fundenberger, sporting a spiffy new Olympics t-shirt, simply looked agape at the body-painted, tattooed woman who glared at everyone in the room as if daring them to laugh. Lynn Messing put down her copy of a fan fiction story she was reading (was it "Physical Therapy"? Could be...) and gasped at seeing her friend dyed a dozen brilliant shades of red. "Allie, what happened, did a tanker of red Kool Aid explode when you were walking by?" Julie recovered her voice and whistled in amazement. "More like Ribena, perhaps?" Marg had up until this time had been looking rather innocent knitting socks while sitting in the famous chair that Nick had apparently dragged through several centuries of flashbacks, a number of dream sequences, and a virtual reality game. But when she looked up and saw the infuriated, extremely red Knightie at the door of the loft, she forever ruined any semblance of innocence she might have feigned by asking, "Allie, is that blood you're coated with? Want me to go ask Nick if he wants to lick it off?" This sent Dotti and most of the other Knighties in the room into uncontrollable laughter and squealing, breaking the tension and allowing Allie to dash over to the bathroom. The room quickly filled with steam as Allie started rinsing off the annoying body paint and scrubbing at the temporary tattoos plastered all over her arms, legs, and face. The Knighties in the loft went back to their work, perusing the contents of various brown leather books, knitting socks, and finding excuses to fondle Nick's possessions. Several grumbled about how frequently these clean-ups were becoming here at Knightie Central. Eventually a voice called out from the shower area. "#@%&*! Can someone out there pop in and hand me a luffa? These supposedly temporary tattoos are more stubborn than I thought." Dotti grabbed one of her numerous, interestingly-shaped luffas and crept into the bathroom, handing it over the shower door. Sounds of scrubbing ensued for several minutes, until the luffa was handed back over the shower door, completely red. By the time Allie was finished, every luffa, sponge, and towel in the bathroom was a vivid red, but Allie herself had faded to a pale pink dotted with the occasional remnant of a bicycle tattoo. Finally, Allie emerged from the bathroom after throwing on a robe. She looked at the pile of red towels, red bike clothes, and other assorted red items and looked pleadingly at Dotti. "Do you think we can just dump the whole pile? I think Nick can afford a few new towels and sponges, and I never want to see those red clothes again." Several Knighties assisted in gathering up the ruined mess and dumping it into several large garbage bags. On the other side of the room, Maryann Jorgensen dialed "1-800-NUTOWEL" to order Nick a fresh batch of bath linens. She wasn't at all surprised to find that he had a regular account with them -- it really was hard to imagine that Nick did his own laundry, anyway. ... to be continued in "A Messenger a Day Chases the Red Blues Away" Roses are red, I love them the most. Whoever did this, If I catch you you're toast! ********************************************************************* A Messenger a Day Chases the Red Blues Away (1/1) by: Carrie Krumtum, Knightie with input from Allie, the Red Knightie, Sandra Gray and the Knighties. Place: Nick's Loft Time: Thurs 8/8 11:20pm (a follow-on to "Return of the Red Knightie") Allie had managed to remove almost all of the red from the body paint. There was a slight embarrassed shade of pink remaining, a few faded bicycle helmet designs, but that was about it. Still, she pined for her bike. The memory of the kidnapping was still a bit hazy, but she did remember the note on her bike. It would be returned, or so the note alleged. The lost vehicle had still to turn up. "Allie," Carrie said to her friend, "you do look better." "Ha, ha. Very funny. Keep that up and you're toast!" Allie replied from her place on the sofa. "And the person who did this is toast, too!" Carrie could sense that Allie was really upset. Not that she didn't have good reason. Being painted completely red, in ten different shades, with multiple tattoos and then left in the center of Toronto with no way of getting back and nothing to show for it but a box of chocolates to boot. Well, she giggle under her breath, it would be frustrating to say the least. Dotti sat down next to Allie and picked up her hand to pat it. "Don't worry about the bike, hon. We have some good news for ya!" Allie looked up a Dotti and stared. "My bike?" Carrie and Dotti looked at each other and just grinned. Dotti couldn't help but be pleased with the whole situation. They had been contacted by the delivery company while Allie was in the shower. Dotti had talked to the company rep on the phone. It had been her idea to specify the kind of delivery man to bring the bike to the loft. The last touch was very nice, even if she did say so herself... Just about then the buzzer to the loft door sounded. Allie jumped up and headed for the monitor followed by several Knighties. As the monitor faded up she could see a very cute messenger standing in front of the camera. "Delivery for Allison Perky," the messenger said to the camera. Carrie snickered and was promptly slapped in the shoulder by Dotti, who grinned but managed to remain silent. The other Knighties giggled a little at the name. Allie could be VERY perky, but she most decidedly was NOT, right at the moment. "Toast," Allie said under her breath, "he's toast." She reached up and hit the release button and then the mic button. "Come on up, second floor. Use the elevator." Everyone stepped back, not only to give the messenger room to enter the loft but to give Allie, the truly Red Knightie, room to fume. The sound of the elevator motor engaging was met by silence, except for the continuing soft clatter of Marg's knitting needles and the quiet strains of the "Suite from the Queen of Harps" coming from Nick's stereo. The elevator slid open and Gary Davies stepped into the loft. Well, not Gary Davies, but an identical twin anyway. This guy was cute, and he was smiling. Wouldn't you smile if you were being oogled by a large group of women who all looked as if they'd undress you given the opportunity? "Which one of you is Allison?" he asked. They all pointed to the Red one standing in their midst. "I'm Allison PERCY," she made sure to emphasize the last name. The young blond cutie smiled at her. "Sorry, note says Perky. Didn't mean to offend." "Oh, that's alright, sweetie," Dotti chimed in. "It's nothin'." Carrie giggled, the other Knighties murmur in tones that indicated their enjoyment of the situation and Allie, well Allie was getting redder... as if that shade wasn't working for her already. Allie put on her best, 'You're all toast if you don't pipe down instantly' look and glared at the room. She then turned to the messenger. "You have something for me?" "Yeah, it's downstairs. Will you sign here, please?" He produced a little clipboard. "Isn't that cute," Nancy said, "a baby clipboard. It wants to grow up and be a real clipboard someday." The room broke into laughter and not even Allie's glare could quiet the merriment. The messenger paled, slightly. The blush on his face very nearly matched Allie's shade and looking over at Dotti, Carrie could tell she had had the same thought. "Don't go there," Dotti whispered. They both giggled again as Allie handed the clipboard back to the messenger, who looked an awful lot like Gary Davies, especially when he smiled. "Where is it?" Allie asked, matter-of-factly. "I left it just inside the door, downstairs," he told her. "Come on. Let's go get it," Allie said to him. The two stepped into the elevator and disappeared from view as the door slid shut. Carrie and Dotti grinned at each other as the other Knighties talked amongst themselves. Most had seen Allie's beloved bike, but were curious to see how it fared in the kidnapping. Carrie had turned to Dotti to remark on just how cute the messenger was when she heard the exclamations from the other Knighties. Turning, she couldn't quite believe her eyes... Allie stepped into the loft wheeling in her bike. Well, it was obvious that at one time it HAD been her bike. It still did have a rack, to this was attached a box of Godiva (tm) chocolates, wrapped in red and gold paper. The wheels had red heart shaped reflectors snapped approximately two inches apart. There were fourteen reflectors in all, Nancy had counted them. The handle bars had been rewrapped in red tape and tassles had been added to the ends. Each tassle ended in a little red heart and pompom. The seat had been painted red and a bright red fringe had been applied around the circumference. The whole bike had been painted in multishade red stripes, zebra patterned. The clipless pedals had been replaced by bright red pedals with red buckle straps, pre-buckled. The crowning glory of the ensemble was the training wheels! Red, of course. The room disintergrated into hysterics. Even Sandra was snickering. Knighties were rolling on the floor, dropping out of chairs, onto chairs, into each other.... Well, you get the picture. Nancy finally caught her breath. "Well, look at it this way, Allie. You could have a wonderful career in the delivery business yourself, especially on Valentine's day." "She won't have to worry about skinned knees either," Carrie managed to get out. "TOAST! YOU GUYS ARE ALL TOAST!" was all Allie had to say on the matter. ... plotline to be continued in "Someone is Toast" ********************************************************************* Someone is Toast (1/1) by Allison Percy, with input from Carrie "The Giggler" Krumtum, Marg "We Don't Litter in Canada" Yamanaka, and misc. other Knighties Nick's loft, 11:30pm, Thursday, August 8 Now showered and dressed in the most un-red clothing she had, Allie began methodically pulling each tassle and pom-pom off her much-abused bike. She removed the heart-shaped reflectors and then, standing up and moving across the room, opened the window and threw them out into the loft's parking lot one by one. Katherine moved over the the window to watch, and saw an unsuspecting Knightie heading toward the door and into the path of the heart- shaped, reflective missiles. She leaned out the window to issue a warning. "Incoming!" The Knightie below looked up, saw the bits of plastic heading out the window and shattering on the pavement below, and beat a hasty retreat. Marg rushed over to the window to complain about the littering (a serious crime in Canada, eh?), but she noticed that the Knightie in the parking lot had already found a broom and had begun sweeping up the broken plastic and depositing it in the appropriate recycling bin. Marg smile to herself -- the Knightie below, while too far away to identify from this height, was *undoubtedly* a Canadian. After getting most of the decorations off her bike, Allie realized that a new paint job would have to wait for another day. More pressing matters demanded all their attention. She gathered a few Knighties who seemed eager to help her wreak some vengeance and began to work out a retaliation plan. Carrie got right to the point. "OK, Allie, who did this to you? We were worried sick when you didn't come back to the loft last night." Allie shook her head. "It was a Merc, I'm sure of that, because I vaguely remember waking up and hearing a couple of Mercs talk about payment for the job." "Payment?" Maryann asked. "What type of payment?" "A Toronto Trek flyer," the now pale pink Knightie replied. Lynn pondered this for a moment. She knew that Allie had headed over to the convention a couple of times, once just after finishing the charity bike tour on Friday night (coming home plastered and telling tales of Trekkies dressed as Klingons dancing the Macarena). The second time she had gone over was Sunday morning, returning with a mysterious, large, oddly-shaped package strapped to the back of her bike. The package sat in a corner of the loft right now and Allie refused to discuss it or tell anyone what was in it, saying simply that it would be brought out for the end-of-War party and not before then. "So the person who hired the Merc was probably at Toronto Trek. Any more clues?" Lynn asked. "The flyer was signed by Nigel Bennett and Kathryn Long." Lynn furrowed her eyebrows. "Aren't those the two actors who look just like Lacroix and Divia?" "Precisely." Allie looked over the group. "And this can mean just one thing." Carrie nodded. "Cousins. It was one of the Cousins." Maryann chipped in, "But which one?" Allie pulled out a crumpled red note. "This is my only other clue." She read the note aloud. I recently read that (Gents Mag. pt 2 700 [Ireland]), "A red haired woman, if met first in the morning, betokens something unlucky falling out during the day". For your sake, I hope that it's just a superstition. Carrie looked confused. "But that doesn't tell you much about who could have hired the Merc." "No," Allie admitted, "but this does." She held up the note for all to see, pointing at the small drawing at the bottom of the note. It was a smiley face. Lynn gasped. "Will. It's gotta be Will Steeves. He's the only Cousin who would even consider using a happy face on a note. And you mentioned that you saw him at Toronto Trek, dressed in a cape and a pair of shorts." The others nodded in agreement. Allie set the note aside and pulled out a notebook to take notes. "We've got some planning to do, then, if we're going to get back at Will before this War is over." The other Knighties nodded and began throwing out ideas and suggestions. Before long, the plan was hatched and the Knighties had scattered to acquire the items they would need to exact revenge on the Perky Cousin. Roses are red, But vengeance is sweet. Whether guilty or not, Poor Will should watch out! ... plotline to be continued in "Perkier Than Thou," to be posted sometime Sunday 8/11. P.S. The true perpetrator will have to drop less subtle hints if he/she wants to join in on all the fun. ********************************************************************* A nice friendly game of cards, anyone? (2/2) by Robbi Egersdorf with collaboration from Carrie Krumtum and the Knighties Time: Friday, August 8th -- starting sometime around midnight after Three Ring Circus (3/3) Place: Nick's loft Everyone was still soaking wet, but no one cared anymore. The rough edges and harsh feelings that had been a hallmark of the war were muted, if not gone all together. Two Natpackers cautiously approached Carrie and Dotti, who were standing in the corner discussing some deep subject. "Hi, I'm Linda Pierce and this is Mei Wa Kwong." Linda smiled a nervous smile. "I've always wanted to meet you, Carrie. No hard feeling for yesterday, huh?" There was no answer or even change of expression from Carrie. "Anyway," she continued, "we were wondering if you two and whoever else wanted to, would join us in an nice friendly game of hearts or spades." A wicked gleam shown in Carrie's eyes and it almost scared Linda, but she had been looking forward to this too long. "Yes, I think I would like that. I _really_ would like that. Let me talk to a few of our fellow Knighties and we can get started. I don't really like either of those games. Can we make it poker? I _really_ like poker. I'll see if we can borrow some of Janette's pennies to bet with. She won't mind." Mei and Linda cleared a table and got the chairs set up while Dotti and Carrie talked to several Knighties and to Janette. After a few minutes they returned with a cloth bag heavy with pennies and couple other Knighties. "Mei and Linda, this is Robbi Egersdorf and Nancy Taylor," Dotti introduced the newcomers. "Oh, yes. I've read a few of your stories and we talked some in e- mail," Robbi reached out and shook Mei's hand, "but I don't know Linda, here." Everyone made similar acknowledgment and they took their places at the table. "We were going to play hearts or spades, but Carrie wants to play poker. Are there any objections?" Mei asked. "I know a little about poker, but I'm not really sure what beats what in a hand," Robbi admitted a little sheepishly. "Well, wouldn't you know, I don't know much about poker myself? I think I know most of the hands and their rankings, but I've never actually played before," Nancy admitted. "Don't worry, you'll both be okay. We'll help you as we go along." Carrie took the deck that Linda offered her. "I think you should be the first to deal," Linda stated. Carrie shuffled the cards in a very professional manner, as if she had had training and practice in card dealing. Everyone's eyes got wide when they realized this. Dotti was next to be offered the cards "I'm not very good at dealing. Carrie, you deal for me." Carrie took the cards from Dotti, shuffled and dealt again. When it came Robbi's turn to deal, she asked, "Can Carrie deal for me too? I always bend the cards when I shuffle. I'd just rather not mess with it." Everyone was agreeable to this and Carrie dealt another hand. "Why don't we do this like they do in Las Vegas and just let Carrie deal every hand. I don't want to bother with dealing, either," Nancy added, so Carrie finished out the night as the dealer. Karen Tobin walked by, bumping Linda as she was about to take a swallow of her drink, spilling a quite a bit of it on her front. Karen attempted to brush the liquid from her clothes as it was quickly absorbed. "I'm so sorry, I guess I should look where I'm going." After many hours and hands, Linda having won them all there arose a cry of "Cheat, you have to be cheating to win every single time." Carrie was the first to call it, giving Karen the signal to make the phone call. When the officers arrived, Karen showed them to the table where a heated argument had broken out. Carrie looked up and saw them approach. Reaching into Linda's sleeve she pulled out several cards from the deck. "Officers, we caught this woman cheating at cards. I want her arrested for breaking the law." Linda looked at them in total innocence. "I wasn't cheating." "You mean this is what we were called here for? Cheating at cards? We can't arrest her for that. It's not against the law." The officer with dark curly hair shook his head. "Yes, it is and I can prove it. It may be an old law, but it's still a law. You have to do your duty and book her." Carrie insisted. "Just a minute." The other officer withdrew and had a conversation on the radio. When he returned, "Captain says to bring her in and book her. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you." Mei just stood there with her mouth hanging open at the turn of events. After they cuffed Linda and were taking her out the door, Carrie stopped them for one second, "No hard feelings." They cackled as they took her out the door. Carrie hadn't felt this good since she had walked in the loft the day before and found that Nick was upset after reading her stories. Now she had one more call to make to finish this little bit of revenge. --------------------------------------- After they fingerprinted Linda and took mug shots, she had been released. Captain Reese had felt that it would be ridiculous to hold her or even charge her. He said, "The judge'll laugh us out of court with this one." The next morning Linda was awakened early by a messenger and a nice little envelope. It had her name and address carefully written in a hand she didn't recognized. She remembered the envelope she had sent to Nick, with Carrie's stories and she paled. Slowly she opened the envelope, pulling out a copy of Saturday's Toronto Tribune and there in headlines above the not-so -flattering mug shots of herself, she read, "Woman arrested for cheating at cards." A note slipped out of the envelope. She picked it up and read: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Linda: The best revenge is revenge. Now we're even. Have a nice day. With Love Carrie Krumtum ********************************************************************* The Set-Up by Perri Smith with Maryann Jorgenson and SciFi Marcia Takes place after Roses Are Red and So Is.... and before Three Ring Circus. Friday, 2 a.m. Nick's Loft No one was particularly surprised when the phone rang in the loft at 2 a.m. - it had been that kind of day. At least Allie wasn't red anymore... Perri (as usual) answered the phone. "What?" Okay, so she wasn't really a in a mood to be polite. She had cousins to kill. "Guess who." Perri sat down rather suddenly, drawing a few interested looks, including Nick's. "Jennie?" That got *everyone's* attention. "Yes, it's me. I, ah..." "So, you finally got my message," Perri said calmly (hanging onto 'cool' by the skin of her teeth; not easy, especially since twenty Knighties and a vampire were attempting to eavesdrop over her shoulder). "Yeah, something like that." Jennie cuddled her newly-restored NatMare to her chest, admiring the bright color. "We -- the Pack and Natalie - - think it's probably about time to, um..." "Come out of hiding?" Perri suggested helpfully. "Exactly. We thought we should meet somewhere, you know, neutral." "Define we." "All of us. Nick and the Knighties, Nat and us -- let everyone get it ovr with." Perri considered. "Hang on, Jennie." She put the phone on hold and stared at Nick, who'd been staring fixedly at her. "Nick, Natalie's ready to meet with you. With us." He nodded, his jaw clenching. "When and where?" Perri went back to the phone. "When and where?" "The Raven? Tomorrow... um, tonight?" Perri relayed the information to Nick and the strangely quiet Knighties. Nick thought, swallowed hard, then agreed. "You're on," Perri told Jennie. "We'll see you there." She hung up and turned to the others. "Looks like things are going to be interesting tomorrow night." "You know how word gets out about these things," Amy D pointed out. "Who knows who else will pop up?" "There are a few people we do *not* want to deal with at that time," Dotti reminded them. Maryann looked over to Cath for support. "I'm a Knightie first. So I have to admit that while I think that Jennie and the NatPack are on the up-and-up, there are certain members that won't want Nick anywhere near Nat." "It sounds like a trap," Sandra opined. A few more people agreed. "We're getting paranoid," Perri observed. "Just because you're paranoid...." Christine started. "Doesn't mean they're not out to get you, I know." Perri sighed. "We'll be careful going in. Just in case." ******* Jennie hung up the phone and stared at it, then picked it back up and dialed, again from memory. "The Raven." "Hi, Susan, it's Jennie." "So, you all are alive." Jennie blinked. "Why wouldn't we be?" "One does hear stories..." "Stories?" Jennie admired her bright orange hair. "What stories?" "Never mind. What's up?" "We need neutral ground to meet the Knighties. Canw e use the Raven tomorrow night? Um, tonight?" Susan sighed heavily. "Let me guess, you want us to shut the place down and let you all have free run of it, and drinks should be on the house." "Cool," Jennie bounced. "We're going to meet at nine. Thanks, Susan." She hung up before Susan could get another word out. ********************************************************************* WHEN THE MOOD STRIKES... by Valerie Meachum Time: 6:00 am Friday Place: The NatPack Hostel "Mommy. Mommy." Linda Rose wasn't certain which woke her first--J.D.'s deceptively quiet announcement that his whirlwind day had officially begun; or the soft whirr of a small machine somewhere in the hostel, mixed with the muted strains of Valerie's "Jekyll & Hyde" CD. "Is that a mixer?" she asked the bright-eyed toddler beside her, pulling herself out of bed and grabbing her robe. "You think someone's making pancakes?" But no one was in the kitchen. Quickly and efficiently she pulled together J.D.'s breakfast and started the coffee. It was a trifle too early to start cooking grownup breakfast--most of the 'Pack wouldn't be ambulatory for a while--and that sound continued intermittently, always accompanied by the CD and occasionally by Valerie quietly singing along. Keeping on eye on J.D., who looked to be contemplating what artistic creation he might be able to wreak with his cereal, Linda Rose located the source of the sound in a small corner room. "Valerie?" she asked, tapping lightly on the door. "Yeah?" "What are you doing?" "Sewing." "Sewing what?" "Suitable Raven attire." "Why?" "Because I wind up there underdressed every bloody single War, and I'm going to plan ahead this time. No Ravenettes snickering behind their hands at me!" Linda Rose chuckled at this. "Then you better not tell them you made it yourself. I don't think that quite fits their standards." "No kidding." The grin in her voice was evident. "Besides, with my luck they'll probably start putting in orders if they find out. And after dressing 22 Puritans for Crucible, I don't *wanna* sew for anybody else for a while." Considering this a moment, Linda Rose noted, "Well, sewing for Ravenettes *would* be a distinct change from sewing for Puritans." "Uh, yeah. Now where did I put that other bit of fishnet mesh...?" At that point Linda Rose decided it was best to leave her alone. At least it would keep her off the streets and out of trouble... ********************************************************************* Perkier Than Thou (1/2) by Allison Percy, with input from some Knighties and Cousin Will Location: near the 96th Precinct Time: 8am, Friday, August 9 Note: Despite the title of this story, it has nothing to do with Perkulators or Tracy. It's purely a personality thing. The carload of determined knighties staked out the area near the 96th Precinct. Carrie, behind the wheel of the Caddy, was starting to look somewhat less determined about the whole endeavor. "Allie, are you *sure* it's Will who hired that Merc?" Carrie looked very incredulous, but the formerly red, and now still somewhat pink Knightie in the passenger seat had clearly made up her mind. Allie started to list the clues again. "Cousin Will was at Toronto Trek, and the payment was in the form of a Toronto Trek flyer signed by Lacroix and Divia look-alikes. The note quoted a Gents magazine, and we're rather short on gents in FK fandom." Unhappy grumbles of agreement came from Dotti, Lynn M., and Katherine in the back seat. "Moreover, the note was signed with a *happy face,* and was accompanied by a box of Godiva (tm) chocolates." Carrie looked confused about that last bit, so Allie explained. "Will is a chocolate connoisseur. The first time I met him, he was enjoying a basket of gourmet chocolates given to him as a gift." Carrie furrowed her eyebrows as if disturbed by the rather long list of seemingly convincing clues. Just then the small plastic walkie-talkie Dotti was holding hissed. "Boom-Boom, Boom-Boom, come in Boom-Boom, this is Knightie Central." Maryann Jorgenson's voice sounded static-y despite the closeness of the loft to the precinct. Dotti grumbled to herself. Katherine rolled her eyes. "You know, you could have come up with a less obvious code name for yourself, Dotti!" Dotti pulled out an orange Nerf Bat and bopped Katherine into silence, then depressed the button on her walkie-talkie to respond. "Boom-Boom here, go ahead Knightie Central." "The vehicle in question has just made a pass through the loft parking lot. Your location is next on the itinerary." "OK, Knightie Central, Boom-Boom signing off." Now even Lynn was rolling her eyes at the code name. In the front seat, however, Allie was all business. "OK, gals, we've got just one chance at this. Carrie, pull the Caddy over into this little alley where he always turns around the car." Carrie complied grudgingly just before a dark sedan came around the corner. From within the car a voice called out commentaries. "Here it is! This is the Precinct! We were so excited when we found it! You see this building in every episode!" The car had come close enough to see that the figure driving it was wearing a black cape with a hood pulled up. A man with a buzz-cut sat in the passenger seat, craning his head out the window to look at the precinct. The man looked amazingly like Lacroix, but obviously couldn't be the nearly 2,000 year-old-vampire because the sun had risen in Toronto some time ago and the man showed no sign of smoking or bursting into flames. In the back seat was a young woman with glasses who was poking the driver in the back. "Will, turn here! Will, you missed the turn again! You always miss the turn and we always end up having to turn around in the alley!" She poked the driver in the back one more time just for good measure. Another figure lurked in the back seat -- a mysterious tall woman who sat quietly and smiled at the hooded figure in the driver's seat. The dark sedan had pulled close enough to the alley for the occupants of the Caddy, which sat in the shadows of the alley, to read the sign painted on the side of the car. "FK Filming Locations Tour," it read, "Just For Fun, Bring Only Your Camera and a Sense of Humour." The driver pulled back his hood to reveal a smiling, exuberant face. It was Perky Cousin Will, and despite his wrong turn he was just tickled pink to be leading another tour, this time with an *actor* in the passenger seat! Will's voice raised another octave as he apologized for the need to turn around in the alley. "Oh, I'm sorry everyone, this happens all the time. I'll just pull in here to turn around and we'll get back on track and over to the Coroner's Office next! :-) :-)" The smiley faces were clearly evident in his tone of voice. As the dark sedan pulled into the alley, the five Knighties in the Caddy leapt out and yanked open the door of the sedan. Lynn, Katherine, and Carrie pinned Cousin Will's arms behind his back and gagged him with duct tape as Dotti and Allie, wearing green plastic combat helmets, wielded their Nerf Bats menacingly at the occupants of the sedan. "I'd advise you all not to get involved," Allie told the three in the dark sedan. "You're not in this War, and if you say anything more it just might violate list rules." Allie looked very serious. "Violating list rules can get you in biiiiiiig trouble." The three in the sedan looked wide-eyed at the pinkish Knightie and remained still and silent as their driver was hustled into the Caddy and driven away. ... to be continued in "Perkier Than Thou (2/2)" ********************************************************************* Perkier Than Thou (2/2) by Allison Percy, with input from some Knighties and Cousin Will Location: outside CERK Time: 8:30am, Friday, August 9 Note: Despite the title of this story, it has nothing to do with Perkulators or Tracy. It's purely a personality thing. Carrie pulled the Caddy up to the curb outside CERK, the Cousinly HQ, and turned off the engine. She was obviously stewing over something, but Allie had other things on her mind. Allie took the keys from Carrie, hopped out of the car and opened the trunk. Inside the trunk, a wriggling, trussed-up Perky Cousin tried to say something. "Mmph! Mmmmmmmmph!" was all that could be heard through the duct tape covering Will's mouth. "Do you have something to say for yourself, Will?" The Cousin nodded his head frantically, his eyes pleading. Allie reached down and ripped the duct tape off of Will's mouth. "Ooooooooowwwwwwwwww!" Will shouted. The echoes of the cry of pain bounced off the brick of the CERK radio building. "That hurt!" Will quoted one of his favorite vampire's lines from 'Dark Knight.' "Whaddja do *that* for?" "You indicated that you had something to say." Allie crossed her arms and looked down at Will, staring daggers at the Cousin in the trunk. She beckoned to the Knighties in the Caddy, indicating that they should get to work completing their assigned tasks. Katherine, Dotti, and Lynn hopped out of the back seat, bringing some duffle bags with them. Dotti and Katherine got to work strapping a cassette player to Will's chest. Lynn pulled out a huge pile of smiley face stickers and began plastering them all over Will's clothing, on his cape, even on his legs (he was wearing shorts under the cape, stangely enough). "Wait, stop! Why are you doing all this to me! What did I ever do to you?" Will's voice was going up an octave or two again. "Red body paint. Training wheels. Temporary tattoos. 'Nuff said." Allie helped Lynn plaster a smiley face sticker to Will's hair. "I didn't do that! I don't even know who did that! And anyway, you haven't even explained to me yet why you hired that Merc to have me work on a documentary and wear the Evil Pink Shirt (tm)!" Will squirmed as Katherine inserted a tape labeled 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' in the cassette player which was now securely strapped to his chest. Dotti pushed the 'play' button briefly and very loud strains of an extremely happy song filled the air. Dotti turned it off and nodded her head at Allie, indicating that the tape player was ready to go. On the second floor of the CERK building, a window opened and a head popped out. Allie looked up, seeing a very grumpy-looking Lisa McDavid staring down at the street, then looked back down at Will disdainfully. "I didn't hire anyone to make you wear a pink shirt, evil or not. Fess up, Will. You know you did it. The chocolates, the Gents Magazine, the smiley face... you left all the clues. The Toronto Trek Flyer sealed your fate. Very soon, you're going to be dumped here on the street, covered with happy faces and strapped to a radio playing 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' at top volume. And the Cousins have a reputation for being rather grumpy at 8:30am -- even when one of their own is involved." "Nearly everyone likes chocolates! And you don't have to be a gent to read a Gents Magazine! And I still *have* my Toronto Trek flyer signed by Nigel Bennett and Kathryn Long!" Allie started to look unsure of herself. "You still have your flyer?" Will nodded and pointed downward with his nose (which had a small, fanged smiley face stuck on it), indicating the right front pocket of his shorts. Allie nodded to Dotti, who reached into the pocket and pulled out a folded booklet. She unfolded it, looked at it with raised eyebrows, and showed it to Allie. Allie narrowed her eyes and read the inscription on the Toronto Trek flyer. "For Will, Lots 'o Luv! -- Kathryn Long." The second autograph read, "To Will, When do I get my tour, Nigel Bennett." Allie gaped at Will. "You really didn't do it, did you?" Will gaped at Allie, "And you really didn't make me wear the Evil Pink Shirt, did you?" Both the perky Knightie and the perky Cousin shook their heads, indicating their respective innocence of the attacks. Allie gave Will a quick hug and began freeing him from his bonds, shouting to the others to peel off all the smiley faces. In the front seat of the car, Carrie's shoulders dropped and she sighed in relief. Just then, a small crowd of very grumpy-looking Cousins wandered out of the front door of CERK, led by a bleary-eyed Lisa McDavid. Allie looked over at the group, then quickly slammed the Caddy's trunk closed and jumped into the car, followed by the other Knighties. "Drive, Carrie, Drive!" The Caddy screeched down the street. Allie looked intensely guilty as she covered her ears to drown out the sound of Will pounding against the inside of the trunk. "C'mon guys, let me out!" came Will's muffled cries. Carrie continued to drive, knowing that they had to put some distance between themselves and the CERK headquarters before they could let Will out -- he was, after all, still half-covered with smiley faces. Grumpy Cousins hated smiley faces. Katherine spoke up from the back seat. "You don't think Will is claustrophobic, do you?" Allie started banging her head against the dashboard. She accidentally turned on the Caddy's radio. A re-run of an old Nightcrawler monologue was playing on CERK this morning. The Nightcrawler was, of course, talking about guilt. Lynn shook her head. "Just what we needed right now -- CERK, all radio self-flagellation, all the time." Allie buried her face in her hands and vowed to send Will a present to make up for her mistake. -fin- P.S. If you're really confused (and who isn't in a War?), the real culprit was revealed in "Hiring Mercs, 101" by Carrie Krumtum. And she's toast, by the way. ********************************************************************* White Chocolate and Victorian Cheesecake by Diane Echelbarger, unaffiliated Jennie Hayes and Karen Weston used with permission (Author's note: this a sequel to "Pictures of Times Past", which is a sequel to "What Time Is It, What Day Is It, What Fandom Is It? pt 2", neither of which have been posted yet. I'm waiting for permission to use people, but wanted to give the person I'm counter-attacking time to respond, so I'm posting this now. The other two will go out as soon as the other people in them get back to me.) Friday, August 9, 9:30am NatPack Headquarters Karen Weston answered the knock on the door. A delivery man with "Speedy Courier" printed on his cap smiled at her. "Natalie's Bed and Breakfast?" he inquired politely. Karen frowned slightly, then nodded. He handed her a large flat envelope and a clipboard. "Sign here, please." She signed, and he departed. As she closed the door, she glanced down at the envelope in her hand. It was for Jennie Hayes, and there was no return address. University of Toronto Chemistry Dept, 15 minutes later A delivery man (who would have been instantly recognized by Natalie, to whom he had delivered a package in War4) approached Jennie where she was bent over a Liquid Gas Chromatograph. "Jennie Hayes?" "Yes?" She put down the sample-loaded syringe. "Sign here, please." She signed, and he handed her a small box, about six by eight inches square and one inch deep, and departed. Curious, she unwrapped the parcel and found a box from Chocolate Caper, the truly decadent confectionary only minutes from Diane E's home town. Cautiously, using forceps and protective gear, she opened the box. Inside was a piece of paper, folded in half. Printed on the front in large, clear letters were the words "You could have trusted me...." Still using the forceps, she unfolded the paper. The interior said, still in the same able-to-be-read-even-without-your-glasses type, "Now you know how I felt last War! Diane E." With unabated caution, she removed the paper from the box. It was full of white chocolate truffles, the only kind of chocolate Jennie could eat. Before Jennie could decide if her friend would be angry enough to commit the near-sacrilege of adulterating Chocolate Caper chocolates, another messenger entered the room. When the sign-and-handover procedure was completed yet again, Jennie was left with a plain manilla envelope. She opened it cautiously, and slid the contents out. It was another envelope, white this time, with the following inscription: "The orginal has already been delivered. D.E." Suddenly uneasy, Jenny upended the thing over the lab bench. A color xeroxed copy of a photograph fluttered out. A photograph of herself, in the Victorian bathing dress Diane had made her for the Rose Festival several years ago. The navy-blue cotton bodice hugged her generous curves and minimized her waist, the short pantaloons stopped just below the knee, and her calves were encased in and accentuated by demure white stockings. She was posed in the grotto at the Boerner Botanical Gardens, smiling flirtatiously at the camera while pretending to dip one stocking-clad foot in the stream in front of her. And over this decidedly racy (by Victorian standards) image was inscribed, in vivid white ink, "To Screed-- Hugs and kisses, Jennie". ********************************************************************* You Never Heard Of Ubangiba? By Diane Echelbarger & Sarah Chodrow, unaffiliated Toronto Memorial Hospital, Room 417, ICU Friday, 8/9, 9:48am "So it should be delivered by now," Sarah finished. Diane smiled at her. "Good. Oh, and I wanted to return this to you." She handed Sarah the silver mezuzah. "Thanks for the loan." She was about to add something else when the door to her room opened and Annie, the student nurse, entered. "Here's Dr. Wetmore to see you, Bunny," she said. "*What* did you call me?" Diane demanded. She checked her wristband. Sure enough, it said 'Bunny Echelbarger.' Sarah just stared. "Her name," Dr. Wetmore stated as he entered the room, "is Diane." "But-- her records say Bunny, Doctor." The student offered him the chart. He glanced at it, strode to the other, empty bed in the room and pressed the call button. Maxine appeared a moment later. "Can I-- Dr. Wetmore?" "Get your shift supervisor in here," he told her. "Now." Maxine took one look at his face and disappeared with all due speed. A moment later, the head nurse appeared. "Is something wrong, Dr. Wetmore?" "Mrs. Davis," he replied crisply. "I personally assisted Ms. Chodrow to complete the forms for Ms. Echelbarger's admission thirteen days ago. She was identified by her driver's license and medical power of attorney as *Diane*. Why is she listed as 'Bunny'?" Mrs. Davis was obviously wondering what *else* could go wrong with this patient. "The-- the computer lists her that way, Doctor." "Then those idiots in admissions have made yet *another* mistake," he snarled back. Diane thought. Bad enough the innocent Nurse's Aide from last night would lose her job; she didn't want the admitting people on her conscience, too. "They misspelled it," she said quickly. "What?" All four people turned to stare at her. She smiled nervously and glanced at the wristband again. Suddenly, a line from the latest Mrs. Pollifax novel flashed into her mind, and she ad-libbed frantically. "It's pronounced Boon-hee, and it's-- Ubangiban! My parents were missionaries there." "But it's spelled B-U-H-N-I and I stopped using it because everybody mispronounced it, and now I use my middle name, Diane, on *everything*--" she paused for breath-- "And your admitting department must be really, really good if they could dig that out of my files, because I haven't used it in at *least* twenty years...." She had to stop to breath, and just stared at the astonished hospital personnel with her best wide-eyed innocent expression. She didn't look at Sarah, who she suspected was fighting back laughter. "I-- see," the doctor replied after a moment's awkward silence. "Well, Mrs. Davis, perhaps you could update our files with this information?" "Certainly, doctor," the head nurse agreed with obvious relief. "I'd really appreciate it if you could list me as B. Diane," the patient added, pushing her luck, "because none of my friends know me as Buhni, so they'd ask for Diane..." "I think we can arrange that," the nurse agreed, grateful to avoid another calamity. "See to it." Dr. Wetmore dismissed her with a nod, and turned back to his patient. "And how are you feeling this morning, Ms. Echelbarger? I see your honor guard is here." He smiled charmingly at Sarah. "Ms. Chodrow spent almost as much time at your side during your coma as Ms. Soward." "She did?" Diane glanced at Sarah, who pointedly avoided meeting her eyes. By the time Dr. Wetmore finished his exam and left, fifteen minutes later, Diane was a nervous wreck. "Wow!" Sarah said as soon as the door closed, "You lie *good*." Then she added, "It *was* a lie, wasn't it?" "Of course it was!" Diane protested. "And I usually can't lie for beans; I don't know where all that came from!" "Well, you sounded very convincing," Sarah assured her, and started to giggle. Diane resisted for a second, then joined in, and the two friends laughed themselves breathless at the thought of Diane as "Buhni Echelbarger, daughter of fearless Ubangiban missionaries." ********************************************************************* Lurking no more... By Immortal Beloveds/Ravenettes Melanie and Felicia (KnightCat5 & AriCon @aol.com) Time: sometime in the afternoon on Friday She had been busy watching the war go by and busily trying to learn the rules of a WAR (with a great deal of help from the fearless leader of the Immortal Beloveds, Felicia). All the while she had been furiously taking notes on the activities of the different factions, and helping to redecorate The Raven one too many times. Finally she had had enough, and Felicia could see it in her eyes. Melanie had gotten up early this particular morning, and had set her mind to actively participating in the war. Felicia, trying to keep an eye on her fledgling IB Warrior, had been watching Melanie and answering her often random questions. But this morning was different. Melanie was long gone before Felicia and most of the IB Warriors and Raven/ettes had even thought about getting up. When she returned much later that afternoon, she came bounding into The Raven looking for Felicia. She found her leaning against the bar and reviewing the wine list. "Felicia!" She looked up, startled at first, but glad to see her fledging had returned, and in one piece. You got used to _not_ taking these things for granted in Wartime, Felicia reflected ruefully. "Melanie, where have you been? We've needed some help around here you know. Cynthia and Susan can't do everything all the time," she said a trifle snippily--- regardless of the fact that 'memorizing the wine list' didn't look like any helpful activity that she could name, Melanie noted, somewhat distracted. She didn't mind the snippiness all _that_ much; it seemed to be a sort of game the Immortal Beloveds played with each other, almost an initiation. Melanie grinned widely at Felicia w/ an almost intoxicated look in her eyes. Felicia eyed her suspiciously and grinned a little herself. Slowly she said, quirking a brow in suspicion, "Oh lord, *what* have you done now?" Even more suspicious now as the full force of Melanie's sudden change in attitude sunk in--- and all the things that it _might_ mean--- went rushing through Felicia's head at once. "And is it something that is going to require me shelling out a lot of money to bail you out of jail?" the fraction leader demanded of her somewhat errant, willful protege; who, up until then had been a docile, reasonably obedient (for an Immortal Beloved) observer of Wartime Toronto social customs. The anthropologist of the group, in a way. Grinning even wider (if that was possible), Melanie replied, "I did it Felicia, I took part in the war and it feels great!" Slowly, Felicia started to grin from ear to ear herself. "I kinda had a feeling it would," was all she said. With that Melanie grabbed Felicia's hand and pulled her out to her car. Together they drove out to N&NPack headquarters. "Mel, you're starting to scare me a little now," Felicia said, running a finger nervously under the edge of her choker. "Oh, just wait and see," Melanie carolled happily. "I _promise_ you a surprise that you'll like." Melanie stopped her Civic abruptly right in front of the headquarters careful not to get close enough to trip the sensors, and started laughing. Felicia looked curiously at her and asked, "What are we doing here of all places and why are you laughing?" Melanie then got out of her car and pointed across the street. Felicia got out and looked in the direction Melanie was pointing and began to laugh herself. Stretched between two telephone poles across the street from N&NPack HQ, there was a re-creation of the banner they flew over Toronto. However, there was a slightly new twist--- now the bold black type read "Janette & Nick - In Strength And Passion There is Forever." Then Melanie pointed to the sky...the new motto was being written in the sky by several planes so *everyone* in Toronto would see it.... ********************************************************************* Preparing For The Circus by Laura MacMillan, Rebecca and the N&NPack Aug 9/96 9:00 p.m. Laura paced impatiently. It was getting late and not everyone was ready yet, having thirty-two people share two bathrooms took it's toll on a night like tonight. She definitely did not want to be late for the meeting at the Raven between Nick and Nat. She was relieved that she still had a few friends that were willing to share vital info, like tonight's meeting, with her. Finally Kris, the last of the N&NPack left the house and piled into the back seat of the last van, between Kelly and Melissa. Laura sat in the passenger's seat on the first of five vans trying to figure out exactly how to keep the peace between the Natpack and the Knighties. Suddenly the sound sof silliness rang through the van as Rebecca led the N&NPack in song. Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of an angst-filled vamp. He was brought across in '28, in medieval France. Brabant, a might crusader, he met the belle Janette She took him to her master who wanted a new pet, a thing he'd soon regret. The killing really got him down, his conscience, it was tossed. If not for the courage of the coroner, Nicholas would be lost, Nicholas would be lost. The cast set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle, with Nicholas, Natalie too, his partner and J. Vachon, Lucien Lacroix, and the rest Here on Nicholas' Isle. So this is the tale of our castaways, they're here for a long, long time. They'll have to make the best of things, it's an uphill climb. Natalie and Nicholas too, will do their very best, to make the others comfortable in the tropic island nest. No bar, no loft, no slaughterhouse, not a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe, it's primitive as can be. So join us here each week my friend, you're sure to get a smile, >From seven stranded castaways, Here on Nicholas' Isle! Within half an hour they had reached the Raven. Laura was eager to see both Nick and Nat. She looked over at the N&NPack. Everyone was dressed very nicely, although she expected no less considering how long it took them to get ready. Idalia heard Laura mumble something about not having enough time. Before they could enter the Raven, Chana stopped them. She signalled to John and Mel who approached the front of the group each carrying a large box. Chana opened the box and pulled out a designer N&NPack leather jacket, complete with the N&NPack logo and slogan. Oohs and aahs filled the air as Chana, John and Mel preceded to hand the jackets out to everyone. Mel handed a jacket to Laura, who was shocked to find 'Soulseeker, Fearless N&NPack Leader' embroidered across the left arm. Mel could have sworn she saw a tear in the corner of Laura's eye. Laura smiled at her close friends. Before everyone knew what was happening they were in the midst of a group hug. As the hug ended the N&NPackers put on their jackets and steeled themselves for whatever was to come. Laura, Mel and Chana led the N&NPack into the Raven. ********************************************************************* How to wake a vampire by: Laura Ruggiero, Kristine Ward, Chuck Harding, Nancy, and Ronni Katz (Die-Hards) When: Fri, August 9, 1996, about 1 hour before sunset Where: Die-Hard HQ Laura, backed by several Die-Hards entered Ron's room. Each carried a botle of blood, Laura's was open. He had been asleep since he had collapsed on Sunday. She knew he wouldn't want to miss the confronta...."meeting" between Nick and Nat, so he had to be woken up. As co-leader this task fell to her, though the other Die-Hards were more than willing to help. "Ron, time to wake up...ah Ron?" she said cautiously. She got a wicked smile on her face and said in a sing-song voice, "Good Morning to you, good morning to you, you look kind of drowsy, in fact you look lousy. What a nice way to start a new day." It was probably for the best he didn't wake up during that, or the Die-Hards might have been minus one leader. She stepped up to him and shook his shoulder. Nothing. She waved the open bottle of blood under his nose. Still nothing. "This isn't working, on 3 everybody yell 'wake up Ron,' 1, 2, 3." "WAKE UP RON," yelled all the Die-Hards. Nothing. "Any suggestions?" asked Laura. "Oh, I know, maybe this will work." Kristine ran back to where her pillow was stashed in the other room and pulled out a feather. She went back to Ron's room and leaned over him. "I had a roommate who did this to me in college. Maybe it will work on him." With an evil grin, (and ready to run for it when he woke up) she then tickled him under the nose with the feather. Nothing, not even a twitch. Kristine tried again, this time the only results were a snort and an irritable batting at the air. "Ok, this is my last try." She then pulled up the lower end of the covers to reveal Ron's bare feet. (Hey, even Enforcers aren't immune to having their socks stolen) Kristine ran the feather ever so lightly over his bare feet, paying special attention to the ticklish spots on the arches. Again, nothing. Kristine shrugged in defeat. "Anyone else have *anything* that could wake him up? I'm plumb out of ideas." Chuck pulled a small, shiny metallic box out of his fanny pack; it had two heavily insulated wires, ending in sharp points. "This puts out about 45,000 volts at a couple of amps -- should do the trick." Several of those present backed out of the room and several said that maybe it was too dangerous. "Nonsense, I do this kind of thing all the time. You just gotta be ready to duck.", Chuck replied. So the others got on the other side of the door, ready to slam it shut if Ron became too violent. Kzzzzzaaaapppppp sparks flew from the vicinity of Ron's feet as Chuck applied the tips of the probe wires. Ron just twitched a few times. "Hmmmm... guess it needs more juice", Chuck muttered. Adjusting a small control, he tried again. Kzzzzaaaaappppp again, more sparks, more twitching. Everyone could smell the slight oder of burning vamp- flesh, but Ron still wouldn't wake. "Darn it! That was the max - it'll stun a full sized bull elephant, then restart it's heart....but nothing here. Fooey, I give up!" "Alright," Nancy thought. "Lemme think. How was *I* awakened that time I was dead asleep? Hmmm... Oh, yeah!" Nancy went over to Laura and whispered into her ear. Laura nodded with approval. All the Die-Hards looked on curiously. With a evil grin, Nancy slowly walked over to the CD player. She took a dance CD out of the case and slid it into place. As she turned around to face everyone, she explained. "If we are gonna try this hard to wake up the ancient one, we can at least have fun doing it! Come one everyone! Let's do the macarena! Don, let's show everyone how it's done." Just as Nancy motioned for Don to join her, she pushed the "play" button and the loud booming catchy-beat of "The Macarena" filled the room. All the Die-Hards were on their feet and swinging those hips! How can anyone resist this song? Not to mention that the music was loud enough to wake up "the dead." But, after some time, it was obvious that Ron didn't even bulge. But, hey! At least the Die-Hards had a chance to let loose during this entire war. Donna apprached Laura and whispered in her ear. "He did WHAT while I was gone??" Laura shouted. "Well it is worth a try. You want the honors?" "No," Donna, perhaps wisely, declined. Guess it's up to me. Laura shouted, "Hey, Ron! Cousin Candice is here to see you! She *wants* you..." A smile (a rather satisifed one at that) crept over the enforcer's face, but he did not wake. "How about we dump a bucket of ice water over his head," Don suggested. A bucket of ice water was quickly fetched. "I don't want to be in there when he wakes up," Nancy said. No one did. They put the bottles of blood in the room, and one of the Die- hards (no one would tell Ron who actually did it) threw the water at Ron's face. The door was very quickly slammed at the first twitch. This worked. A very hungry and wet ancient vampire is not a pretty sight. Luckily the door was solid enough to contain the enforcer until he noticed the bottles of blood. A short time later a still wet, but now stated and fully awake Ron emerged from the room. "Hi Ron," Laura said, "there's a big meeting between Nick and Nat at the Raven tonight, and we thought you might want to attend." "How did you find out about this meeting?" Ron asked. "Well, I had called the Raven ealier today to arrange for some blood for you and for the Grand Opening of the museum tomorrow. We sort of figured you might be hungry after "fasting" since you collapsed Sunday; we looked all over the HQ, but couldn't find any blood, just empty bottles; apparently you drank everything you had stored here before Sunday, some sort of blood binge; anyway, the person who answered let slip that there was a going to be a meeting there between Nick and Nat tonight; we decided the Die-Hards had to be there to do whatever we could to help, or at least watch." Laura finally wound her explanation down. [I really do tend to run on a bit when trying to explain things.] Before long the Die-Hards, now dressed for the occasion, piled into their cars and headed over to the Raven. ********************************************************************* More Blood -Good As New! by: Cousin Candice date: Friday August 9th time: 9:30 Place: CERK HQ -The Recovery Room and later to the Raven before and during "Three Ring Circus 3/3" AND before "A Little Water Never Hurt Anyone -etc etc etc..." Candice opened her eyes. She wasn't in her room and there were no windows where ever she was. She sat up immediately and regretted it instantly. Her head was spinning. A man was standing in the doorway looking at her as if she was some kind of ghost. Then he smiled. "You've got great timing, up on a Friday night. 72 hours on the nose, young miss." "Who are you?" "I'm a friend of your Uncle's...we go back a long way..." "Oh, well in that case, where am I?" "You're in the rooms above CERK." "Peachy, can you get me home, I have to change out of this clothing. Where is everyone?" "You know you really shouldn't be going .." "Please, save me the "But you've been out cold for a few days and you need your rest" shtick. I'll be alright, just tell me where everyone has gone." "They're at the Raven. Some sort of meeting." Candice closed her eyes and rubber her temples. Well, better to show up late than never. *****Twenty Minutes Later***** Candice had left her hotel room in jeans and a tee-shirt with a change of clothes. She didn't know why, but she thought she'd need them, and she hadn't gotten the chance to wear her ivory dress yet, so why not bring it? She still fealt light-headed, but it would pass. Everything always did. She arrived at the Raven just as the water fight broke out. It was time to play. ********************************************************************* Three-Ring Circus (1/2) by Perri Smith and Catherine Boone, with (lots of) input from the NatPack Takes place after The Set-Up. Aug 9, 9:45 p.m. The Raven The NatPack was out in full-force, sitting quietly and grimly on the few chairs and tables the Ravenettes had left out. Most of the Raven had been cleared to allow room for the confrontation -- and the legions of Ravenettes who wanted to watch from the cover of the bar. As Susan studied the NatPack, Natalie sitting, well-shielded, in their midst (except for Amy, who sat at the bar, humming to herself and downing a mixed drink that Susan had concocted for her as a substitute for the <*shudder*> straight gin or vodka which she had apparently been imbibing thus far), she couldn't help but think of countless old Westerns, where someone said, "Send for the sheriff -- there's gonna be trouble." [Ed. *God* what a sentence!] The NatPack was *not* in a happy-bouncy mood --Susan wished for something more sustantial between herself and the rest of the Raven. Like a concrete wall. There was a brief disturbance at the front door and the rattle of chains; Susan looked up, expecting Knighties, but instead saw a herd of Vaqueros, surrounding none other than... Vachon. So, he really was still alive, or alive again, or undead again, or something like that. The question was, what was he doing at the Raven at this particular time? ****** Vachon walked into the Raven, looking around him curiously. It seemed a lot bigger with overhead lights and only a few people -- if fifty people could be counted as a few. Emptier, too, since he knew so few of those people. The cluster of very fashionably dressed women behind the bar were staring at him curiously; another, very small group, eyed him nervously from the shadows over to the side. With a pang, he recognized the Perkulators, but tried not to think about them. The group in the middle of the room, who he assumed was the NatPack, watched him with wariness and a touch of surprise, given the reports about his absence "Vachon?" Torrey whispered beside him. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, isn't this between the Knighties and the NatPack?" "I owe Dr. Lambert," Vachon replied, not bothering to lower his voice. "I have no idea was going to happen tonight, but I have the feeling she might need some muscle. Or a referee." With that, he walked directly over to Natalie's table. He waded through the sea of NatPackers, and Natalie indicated to them with a wave of the hand to make room for him. "Vachon," she said calmly, with a trace of a smile. "Dr. Lambert," he replied just as calmly, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to see you again." "And you. Especially considering the things that I'd heard." Vachon winced. "Reports of my death... well, you know the drill." "Yes, I do." She smiled with genuine warmth. "I'm glad you're all right, Vachon. But what are you doing here?" He shrugged. "Whatever I need to. I'm in your debt, remember?" She blinked, then smiled again. "Oookay. Pull up a chair." As he turned away from Natalie, however, he paused and looked at her quizzically for a moment, then smiled as though he knew a secret. He continued to his chosen place beside the NatPack, but near the door. The Vaqueros, after a brief discussion, followed him, trying to stay as close to the center of the room as possible. They were, after all, friends with the Knighties. Almost all of the time. ******* Susan watched Vachon and the Vaqueros get settled and mentally changed her estimate of the number of drinks they were going to be pouring tonight. Better get Urs awake and moving.... The chains rattled again and she braced herself for Knighties -- and got Nick&NatPackers instead, the entire group of them. They stood in the entrance for a long moment, exclaiming happily over Natalie's presence, then made a bee-line for the NatPack, Soulseek in the lead. "Thank God you're okay, we've been *so* worried!" was the first thing out of her mouth, followed closely by, "You could have trusted us," to the NatPack. Several of the Natpackers looked rather sheepish at this and Jennie chewed on a bright orange lock of hair for a moment before answering, "Sorry. Panicked." She added a helpless shrug. "Word spread fast," Susan muttered to Tara. Tara shook her head. "I get the feeling this evening is going to be damn interesting." After they finished greeting Nat, most of the N&NPackers settled themselves around the center of the room, almost blocking the view from the bar, but leaving the middle of the floor clear. ****** When Susan noticed the Mercs and the Die-Hards clustering in various corners for no discernable reason, she just sighed and upped the number of drinks again. ******* One more rattle of the chains -- Susan looked up expecting Cousins, at the very least. But a very familiar tall, *naturally* blond vampire led the way, instead, followed by an entire crusade of Knighties. Perri and Cath flanked him on either side, their faces supernaturally calm. Dottie, Sandra, Marcia, Allie and a few others Susan recognized tagged as close as they could get to Nick without tripping him. Nick's eyes were searching the room even before he cleared the doorway--he froze when his gaze locked on Natalie. She had come to her feet, the entire 'Pack looking ready to join her if Nick made one false move. When Nick looked as if he was going to rush forward to Nat, there ws a kind of joint growl from the 'Pack. Cath and Perri grabbed Nick's arms as the Knighties tensed, moving between the 'Pack and their friend. "Stay cool, Nick," Cath said forcefully. "Stay cool or this going to turn into a mess." Nick was caught between joy and anger; he tightened his jaw, but nodded, letting the Knighties lead him to the table across from NatPack. He stopped only long enough to trade nods with Vachon. ********************************************************************* Three Ring Circus (2/3) by Perri Smith, Catherine Boone and Kelly Gritten, w/ input from Amy Ranbow and Jennie Hayes Continuous to part 1 The two factions faced each other, and Susan was tempted to start singing the theme from 'West Side Story'. Janette appeared out of nowhere, on the far side of Natalie from Nick, the point where the NatPack guard was weakest. None of them were even looking her way. She put a hand on the nearest one's shoulder. The NatPacker turned and stared, moving aside as she stepped forward, as much out of pure surprise as anything else. The next had a similar reaction, and the next, until Janette was standing directly behind Natalie. Then she put a hand on *her* shoulder. Natalie turned, and Janette softly broke the silence, "May I sit with you?" Natalie, much like her followers, merely stared for a moment. Then something in her gaze softened. She gestured to the chair nearest her. "Please." Janette slid smoothly into the seat, not even glancing in Nick's direction. But her act, and the clear statement behind it, by no means went unnoticed. Nick winced visibly. The Knighties closed ranks even further. And the silence reigned supreme once again. Something had to break. Something did. "*Dammit*!" Tara frowned furiously at the broken glass behind the bar, then noticed the entire room's eyes on her. She colored. "Sorry." While everyone's attention was diverted, Natalie caught Nick's eye through the crowd of people between them. She raised her eyebrows. Nick paused, then reluctantly nodded. The two rose, their mutual buffer zones rising with them. Janette, however, remained precisely where she was. They got as close as they could... Nick could only see the top of Natalie's head in all those people. Finally her voice could be heard, "Guys, do you mind?" A few NatPackers looked reluctant, but Jennie was already moving away slowly, her eyes firmly planted on Nick, just waiting for a sudden move. They started to trickle after her. Nick, in turn, pleaded with his own, "Yeah, we could use a little privacy, here." Perri immediately put up her hands to forestall the inevitable protests, and she and Cath started herding them in the direction of the NatPack. If they couldn't protect him directly, they were sure as hell going to protect him indirectly. Nick sized up Natalie, using both natural and supernatural senses. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his hands behind his back, staring intensely at her chin. She was very calm in her reply, gazing directly into his eyes, her arms crossed in front of her. "I'm fine." His eyes rose to meet hers, but his face remained blank, and his arms crossed his chest as well, as if of their own will. "That's nice to know," he replied, a little pointedly. "Really?" An unpleasant smile began to creep into her expression. "I didn't know you cared." Robbi couldn't remain silent any longer. "Oh, that was low," she stage-whispered. Amy Hull glared at her. "I think trying to murder your best friend kind of redefines low, don't you?" Remarkably, Nick was keeping his cool. For the most part. "I did what you asked me to." "Remember that part?" Dotti pointed out to Kelly, the closest NatPacker. "Would you like me to get a dictionary and define 'forever' for you?" Natalie was starting to enunciate *very* clearly. "Yeah, you'll find it right under 'foreplay'." That was said just a touch louder than was intended, and prompted sharp glares from both of them in the general vicinity of the NatPack, which caused *both* sides to inspect the ceiling, the floor, the walls, their nails, anything at all, as long as it wasn't those two. Nick was really fraying at this point. "Natalie, I believe I *told* you what would happen. Several times, if memory serves." Natalie was simply incredulous at this point, and didn't bother to keep her volume low anymore. "Exactly! And you agreed to bring me across if it came to that!" "Well, what was I supposed to do? I told you no, you came back. I told you no again, and you came back again. What did you expect?" Nick shouted back. "You should have said no again, dammit! As many times as it took! I can't believe you'd just accidentally 'slip' and KILL ME! 'Oops, sorry Nat, didn't mean to drain you to the point of death, it just kind of happened...' That is *not* going to fly with me, Nick. I know you better than that." "Oh, please. Whatever happened to 'I knew the risks when I signed on'?" Perri wasn't even hiding her annoyance anymore. "And that excuses Nick's total irresponsibility?" Jennie shot back to her, incredulous. Perri's jaw just dropped, and she turned to face her directly. "And what about *Natalie's* irresponsibility? The woman had a death wish, no two ways about it!" "Well, obviously you don't know me as well as you thought! I've warned you from the beginning how this might turn out! What, did you just not *believe* me?" Nick responded hotly to Natalie. But the NatPackers and Knighties were starting to lose interest, jumping instead into a battle they themselves could fight. "You have got to be *kidding* me! Nick knew he was about to kill his best friend, *would* have, if we hadn't gotten there, and this is *Natalie's* fault? I'm sorry, we're talking premeditated *murder*, here!" Jill was just livid. "No, we're talking *suicide*, and manipulating Nick into doing her dirty work for her!" was Sandra's hot reply. Instant pandemonium. Knighties were shouting at NatPackers, who were starting to get red-faced in the effort to simply out-volume them. (Amy had, actually, been pretty redfaced for days, and on Jennie the red of her face clashed strangely with all of the orange.) The topics ranged from Nick's and Natalie's personal habits, to work relationship, to physical appearance... no touchy subject was left unhammered, no sore spot left unprodded. They let it all hang out. At about fifty decibels. ****** Nick and Nat had fallen silent somewhere between Jill's diatribe and Sandra's equally forceful response. Now they watched their factions going at it like a couple of tennis spectators, their heads moving back and forth as one side, then the other, escalated. Vachon watched the entire proceedings with the air of a sociologist confronting a bizarre, but entertaining, native ritual. When Nick and Nat started trying (unsuccessfully) to get the attention of their respective factions, he finally gave up and let loose with a New York taxi cab whistle. Most of the eardrums in the room shattered, the shouting died down quickly, leaving only Cath talking, nodding understandingly and making agreeing noises as a NatPacker ranted. Even that stopped as the silence sank in --Cath met an assortment of furious Knightie eyes, winced, and slunk over to hide behind Perri, who looked disgusted at the world in general and her co-leader in particular. "Thank you," Nick told Vachon. "Anytime," Vachon answered cheerfully, leaning back against a table. "While both of us appreciate the... support... we're being offered," Nick started, "this really is between the two of us. So, let us work it out, please?" The NatPack looked ready to object; Natalie gave them a pleading look. Perri turned a dull red and Jennie studiously examined the ceiling. Everyone else found somewhere else to look besides Nick and Natalie. Susan had slipped from behind the bar and opened the door to the Raven's office. "Here you go." Nick and Natalie thanked her, walked in, and let the door close behind them. Jennie and Perri watched them go, then, without saying another word, they turned and walked back to their tables, ignoring the existance of the other faction. The Vaqueros and the N&NPack, who had been afraid they were going to have to break up a riot, relaxed slightly, leaning against walls or dropping to the floor as clothing and dignity allowed. Susan took her cue and motioned to Tara, who quickly mobilized Miklos and the other Ravenettes. They started circling the room, delivering booze to the ones they knew needed it -- Perri, Jennie, Cath and Tara herself topped that list -- and getting orders from the others. Gradually, the tension in the room started to decrease. The members of the non-warring factions started to mingle with each other and the two silent factions in the middle, and something resembling peace began to be restored. ****** To be continued in part three, when we finish writing it. For now, party on! ********************************************************************* A little more than Kin by Lisa McDavid Just at the beginning of Three Ring Circus, at the same time. No one actually noticed LaCroix's arrival at the Raven, flanked by Lisa McDavid and Tok, and followed at a careful distance by most of the rest of the Unembraced Kindred. He made no move to take a seat, or to comment. He just stood watching, with an odd little smile at the corner of his mouth. ********************************************************************* A Time to Howl by Maryann Jorgensen Aug 9, 9:45 p.m. Same basic time frame as "Three Ring Circus" The party at the Raven Maryann had come in with the Knighties. Looking around she saw various familiar faces. The Nick & Nat Packers were there, sitting around more to the center between the Knighties and the NatPackers. She smiled at the familiar faces, and waved to a few. Some of the smiles, and waves were returned and some weren't. *Guess that's what happens when you have to pick one fac...affiliation over another.* she thought. She also kept an eye on the Cousins and Ravenettes. After helping Lizbet and Tigon with LaCroix... well she was the one driving the getaway van, and driving, and driving.... "Now I know why they say that war is hell," she muttered to no one in particular. She continued to scan the room looking for the WoofPack. Not seeing them, she walked over to the bar. "I hope to God you have Spatens Dark beer - cause I want to get drunk on my (*bleep*) here tonight." The Ravenette behind the bar took one look at the Knightie and without saying a word reached under the bar and handed her the green bottle of beer. She drank it there. Had another and looked around the room. Various fac... um.. affiliations (must be P.C.) were sitting in groups while the Knighties and NatPackers went at each other.. "Sheez. I hope things lighten up real soon." Trying to smile, she asked for another beer. "Thanks, I think you just made my War." She took the bottle and turned back toward the floor show. She watched as Nick and Nat walked into the office. Hearing the chains rattle she turned to see the WoofPack enter the room. Tigon saw her and waved, then pointed to an empty table. Maryann noticed a little nose peek out from Tigon's sling. *If she doesn't watch it I'm going to take Timon home with me*, she grinned at the thought of the vamprat playing with a ferret. "Hi guys," she said as she pulled up a chair. "You just missed the show." Tigon shook her head. "We didn't miss it. You could hear it all the way out in the parking lot. We were busy getting the pups settled. I wasn't sure whether to bring them in or not. So I thought that we could scope thing out first and then bring them in later if things stay quiet. "I hope they work things out - for our sakes as well as theirs." Maryann said. Looking around the table at Steve and then Becky. "So what do you think of your first war?" Both looked a little shell shocked. About that time Timon came out of Tigon's sling. "Hey there, you flying rodent. I got something for ya." So saying Maryann pulled a blood soaked cracker out of her jacket. Timon zoomed across the table to sit in front of her and happily started munching away. Just as Timon flew towards the food, one of the Ravenettes came by to take drink orders. Saw the flying rat, and let out a scream. She took drink orders as quickly as possible and walked away. "Tigon next time you want me to drive around Toronto, while you have LaCroix in the back talking about Latin, your luck will have run out." She leaned forward, a couple of beers and everything seemed a lot simpler. "How many of those have you had?" Tigon motioned towards the beer. "I don't know ... three or four. I'll regret it in the morning, but tonight I'm here to party!" "What do you make of all this" Tigon asked as Timon wriggled out of the sling. "Yeah, whatever. What do you think of the Nick and Nat situation?" Getting serious, Maryann looked towards the closed office and then back at the Knighties. "I don't know", she set the beer down and rubbed her eyes. "Personally I think that they both have been acting like a couple of idiots. I love, Nick but there are times when the term brick fits. There are also times when Nat can really win the prize too. But it's something that they." she pointed to the office, "have to work out for themselves. We can't do it for them." This time she waved the bottle in the general direction of the room. Timon had finished his cracker. He seemed to sense that his human and her friends needed to lighten up. Seeing their Ravenette approaching with the drink order he promptly buzzed her and then the room in general. This got laughs from some, and other varied reactions depending on whether the party involved was being dive bombed or not. Laughing Tigon called Timon back to her, just as Susan appeared with the drinks. (The Ravenette having refused) . "Hey guys, here's your order. Look Tigon, he's a great way to lighten things up," she said indicating Timon who was happily munching on another cracker," but try to keep him grounded." But Susan was grinning as she walked away. Tigon had Perrier. Maryann shook her head at that. "Why drink that stuff? It's like drinking decaffeinated coffee. What's the use? Now _this_ is the real thing." she pointed to her bottle of beer. "Spanten's Dark. It's German, and beats anything brewed in the U.S. or Canada. Best thing on the face of the Earth!" She poured it into her glass and lifted it. "A toast to good friends, and a good War." Steve and Becky lifted their glasses of wine (red of course), Tigon her Perrier. Yes, next War the WoofPack was going to howl! And the Knightie with the Natittude was going to be back in the middle of it! ********************************************************************* MANY MISFIRED MISSILES Or, A Mild Case of Free Association by Valerie Meachum Time: about two minutes before N&N take their discussion elsewhere Place: The Raven, natch! Valerie made her way through the arguing ranks of Knighties and NatPackers as gracefully as would be allowed by the crutches GT insisted upon. She had started out trying to state her own view, graduated to trying to play devil's advocate to *everyone*, and was currently somewhere in the realm of furniture on the scale of any effect she seemed to be having on the torrent of accusations and outraged denials. Earth-toned early 80s furniture, at that. It was just too loud, and short of deploying the Banshee Special she simply wasn't going to be heard. She thought about it for a moment, but couldn't think of anything especially useful to follow up with if she *did* manage to get everyone's attention. Having used up all her remaining grace in weaving through the crowd, she plunked unceremoniously in the chair Natalie had vacated when Nick arrived, settling her chin on her hand to watch the verbal tug-of-war rage. She knew almost all of these people. She liked all of these people. All of them made perfect sense under normal circumstances. And at the moment all of them sounded perfectly ridiculous to her ears, as she no doubt did to theirs. If there were valid points being made--and if she listened really hard she could grab them on occasion- -they were not connecting to anything but blast-shield walls. Too damn many variables. Not for the first time, Valerie thought she had no business thinking *any* of the many logical conclusions was more correct than any other. Nobody really knew that. Only Nick and Nat had a *prayer* of assigning the correct values to those variables to come to any kind of sensible resolution to the whole mess. And while she could see them talking, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of hearing whether they were getting anywhere either. Somewhere during that thought process the pandemonium around her had ceased to register as words, and she couldn't help an utterly inappropriate laugh at the absurdity of it all. In a few seconds of complete clarity, she came to the conclusion that they were all living in a Tom Stoppard play, and the answer was something as simple as deciding that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were already dead and all the hullaballoo was sorting out memories of how they got that way. Then she shook her head and came back to very loud reality. "By five votes to one," she muttered, "with one abstention, Proposition No. 929 is rejected. Thank you for your time, Dr. Jekyll." "What?" Valerie looked to her left, where the voice had come from, surprised that anyone could possibly have heard the comment. It was Janette, clearly turned to watch Nick and Nat but sparing the glum NatPacker a curious sideways glance. "Never mind," Valerie told her with an attempt at a smile. "Pointless connection." Nodding acknowledgment of this, Janette turned her full attention back to Nick and Nat. Valerie picked up her crutches and levered herself out of the chair and toward the bar. Miklos mixed a great Sex-on-the-beach; time to let Janette get a little business out of opening her doors to them once again. ********************************************************************* Wash and Dry . . . or Not Friday 8/9, Evening, After "Three Ring Circus" by Susan M. Garrett Relatively certain that alcohol was being delivered to those most in need--and that soft drinks were handed the others--Susan turned to check out her own group. Janette was surrounded by Ravens and Ravenettes, between serving shifts, so that was square. Miklos was about three feet away from her, tending bar. And Tara was even closer, somehow managing to open a bottle of 50 year old scotch and light a cigarette at the same time. Susan watched the feat with some amazement, deciding to approach Tara after the flammable liquid had made its way into a glass and away from the lighter. "Look, I've gotta do something. Can you cover for me for a bit?" "Errand for the boss, huh?" Tara nodded in Janette's direction, then blew a trail of smoke that drew a disapproving glance from Miklos. "Lost her sense of timing with her sense of fashion, I'll bet." Susan covered her eyes with one hand and said softly. "You know that she heard you say that." "I'm counting on it." With a sigh, Susan uncovered her eyes and shook her head at Tara's saucy grin. "Better you than me. Just cover for me for an hour, okay? If it hits the fan, I'll be out back." "The back room?" "The alley." Tara's eyes widened. She took a step closer and asked, "Is this something illegal, immoral, or fattening? And, if it's any of the above, can I play, too?" Susan shook her head again and smiled faintly. "I wish. And--no--it isn't apt to be fun. It's just something I've gotta do. Just cover for me for an hour. And keep the coast clear." Tara raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, considering, then nodded once in agreement. "Okay. If that's all--" Poised to turn away, Susan hesitated, then leaned closer to Tara and asked a question that caused Tara's eyebrows to arch so high they disappeared beneath her bangs--"You wouldn't happen to know where Janette keeps the hose, do you?" * * * * It was a summer night in Toronto, which meant that it was relatively warm. Having ducked into the back room before heading outside, Susan had changed her formal Raven party attire for a pair of black shorts, her black sandals, and her black 'Garden State Philharmonic' T-shirt (yeah, if she'd been going out to play in traffic she would have been a road-fatality waiting to happen, but she was only going to be in an alley, for heaven's sake, and black was an awfully nice color if you happened to want to fade away into the shadows and pretend like you weren't washing a puke-green-'62 Cadillac). Three trips she had to make, before all of the equipment was in one place. She had the extension cord from the Raven's electric system to power the dust n'vac for the interior, the buckets, the hose (connected to a water spigot in the alley and she wasn't why Janette kept a hose and water spigot out back because she didn't want to think about what might have to be washed off the pavement or off someone to keep the peace), the soap, the rags, the Windex, the box of paper towels, and a number of other odds and ends she'd acquired on her spreadsheet. The young-vampire-stud (TM) who she'd bribed into watching the Caddie for the Knighties (they'd handed her the keys, after all, and God knew what they'd do to her if anything happened to the car before she'd washed it . .. now, it was washed didn't much matter because then her obligation would have been over) did what he'd been paid to do--he watched the car. And he watched her carry everything out of the back room and into the alley without offering to lift a finger to help. Now that everything was outside, she walked over to him and held out her hand. "Thanks for the help." "Hey, anytime." Because she knew that vampires existed, he gave her a toothy grin as he dropped the keys into her hand and strolled toward the rear door of the Raven. "Uh-Uh-Uh," warned Susan. When he turned, she pointed to the opening onto the street. "Private party tonight. Lots of mortals. Most of them friends of Janette. Or Nick. Or Vachon. Or LaCroix. So I wouldn't." "You're not ," he said testily. But he hesitated, looked over his shoulder toward the door, then back at her again. "I didn't think LaCroix any friends." "Let's just say he finds some of them useful. In a mortal capacity, of course." "Yeah. Right." The young-vampire-stud (TM) shrugged. "Not much in the mood for a party anyway. Nice car." Then he took a couple of steps and launched himself into the air, without so much as a good- bye. Which Susan didn't mind. She looked over at the car. "Nice car?" she echoed, in dismay. "Geez, what it with male vampires these days?" But by then it was time to turn her mind to practical matters. She'd spent weeks planning out the strategy of exactly how to best wash a puke-green '62 Caddie without becoming ill or spending half her life doing it. Her Suburu Justy, after all, only took about fifteen minutes to wash. It was also about an eighth the size of the Caddie. The Caddie could eat it for breakfast. The though made her shiver. She stepped back from the car, checked for signs of life just in case it a carouche, then decided to follow the basic agenda she'd come up with from having used her meticulously constructed three-D computer model of a certain yeah-you- got-it. The ragtop was first. Susan closed the car windows, made sure the top was locked in place, then let loose with the spray control set on 'buckshot.' After the top was wet, she climbed onto the trunk of the car and used the Ronco ragtop cleaner ($49.95, shipping not included, replaced in thirty days if not completely satisfied, your money back) to soap down the once-pristine white Caddie top. It was a short job and not entirely unpleasant--she got to bounce up and down on the trunk and the hood while she cleaned the ragtop. She'd only promised to wash the car, she hadn't said a damned thing about not breaking Nick's shock absorbers into teeny pieces. she got to sing while she did it. That was the fun of deserted alleys--acoustics. Just add water and you could belt out broadway showtunes (the good ones) and the Blues better than any blued-out angel. So Susan washed and sang and rapped the Caddie soundly when it misbehaved or tried to make her slip, because it didn't really to be washed. After all, what Caddie ever did? Once that was done, she toweled it down, then unhooked and folded the hood of the Caddie--yeah, it would get soapy again, but she'd gotten the grime off it and a second rinse at the end wouldn't be much of a problem. She'd never washed a ragtop before and knew that it should be washed with the top up and on. Which was why she was washing it with the top down. More of a challenge. The interior was next--a quick hoovering and scraping some red body paint off the interior seats and the inside passenger door. Not to mention the maple syrup in the trunk. God knew the Knighties had been doing in this car since they'd arrived in Toronto, but she found more than a handful of Canadian change, subway tokens and transfers tickets, and at least one unopened package of brightly colored balloon-like objects which some poor, deluded soul had probably picked up in a drug store, then hurriedly ditched in the Caddie when they'd actually come to their senses. Well, they Knighties. The hormone thing was a part of the package (varying from Knightie to Knightie) and, being Knighties, hope seem to spring eternal. Unfortunately, being Knighties, that was about that was going to be springing eternal. The Vaqueras, on the other hand just might have a shot at Vachon, depending on Tracy's whereabouts . . . . Tucking the package into her pocket, Susan realized that they might actually come in handy later if she needed water balloons. The interior of the car was generally clean, which was something of a relief--the Knighties seemed to have removed most other incriminating or interesting evidence . . . shucky darns. The seats were wiped down with special seat stuff, the dashboard cleaned, along with the steering wheel and glove compartment and the --ick--ashtray. Finally, the interior of the car was done. Which only left the outside. Susan opened the car door and headed for the hose and bucket. Flipping the spray cap on the hose to 'death-ray,' she turned, took aim . . . . And then dropped the hose, sighed, and went back and raised the ragtop of the car. Okay, so maybe she was getting soft in her old age. But Nick wasn't any too stable now. Doing damage to a car beloved by a not-too-stable vampire was just NOT smart. But she didn't turn the hose from the 'death-ray' setting. And she didn't close the windows the way . . . . ********************************************************************* Cameo Appearances (1/2) Place: The Raven Time: 8/9 Friday, approx 10 pm, between parts 2&3 of "3-ring circus" (after LaCroix arrives). Authos: Dawn Steele, with input from the US affiliation and checked by all the affiliation leaders, and other people mentioned. :) Urs lifted up the tray of drinks, and wondered again why she was doing this. Sure, she owed Janette a favour for letting her stay at the Raven those first few days when she had amnesia, and the bar dreadfully shorthanded, but this wasn't the best night for it to be paid back; she had a date waiting. She shrugged and continued handing out drinks. After almost a hundred years of being in or around the entertainment business, she was used to serving drinks. At least most of the crowd was women, so she wouldn't get many pinches. The club was filled with an odd assortment of people, most of whom conveyed certain "feelings" to those who could sense them; an impression of cohesiveness of mind if not body. But in the back corner, near the booths, there was a group with an even odder assortment \\Odder? Is that possible?\\ of people. \\Ah, two groups.\\ They were the Mercenaries and the Die-Hards -- although the main difference between the two seemed to be that the Mercenaries had more time to write, and enjoyed procuring their own funds. She did, however, recognize a few people in the first group. "Dawn... Chris." Urs continued handing out drinks. "It's always nice to see familiar faces." She noticed the two Mercs were trying to surreptiously check her outfit. The sleeveless black top was a mix between a vest and a tuxedo top, while the tailored black pants and tap shoes completed the outfit. "You approve?" "Professional." Chris murmered. "Sexy." Dawn added. "With a hint of mystery for spice." "A redheaded force to be reckoned with." Dawn concluded. The two mercs nodded. As any true Merc knew (or acquaintance with Dianne le Mercenaire anyway), redheads were a force to be reckoned with. "Going out with Larry Merlin again?" Dawn asked. "You two seemed very chummy last night." "He offered to show me his financial programs." Urs smiled wickedly. "An offer I couldn't refuse, but..." Dawn took another slurp of her Bloody Caesar and felt her muscles relax. "But?" "It seems I'm quite popular since my reawakening. A delivery of roses earlier this evening from someone named 'Dorian', and Feliks Twist has signed my dance card for when I get off work." Urs started to automatically pick up some of the glasses that had been rapidly emptied. "I hear he's a great dancer." After a brief meeting with Janette at the bar when she refilled her tray, Urs left to deliver another round. Janette had seemed a trifle harried --gorgeous, and in control as always but just a little harried. Janette had also been conferring with the bartender as to how much 'free' liquor had been gone through already. Urs knew she hadn't been pleased with the answer. Slipping through the crowd, she amused herself by trying to identify group affiliations by how the members were reacting to each other and how they were dressed. One group seemed to treat the others with faint distain, and when Urs realized who was standing next to the large pillar, she shivered. Glad that she had a bottle of the house special on the tray, she poured LaCroix a glass. "Bonsoir, LaCroix." "Urs." He took a sip of the blood, and stared at her thoughtfully. "I discovered that you were missing last night." "Well..." Urs busied herself with handing out the drinks. "Some of my friends, followers, whatever you want to call them, woke me up a week ago." "And you didn't call me?" LaCroix ran an index finger along the top of Urs' bare arm. "I would think that you would be more of the trouble I have taken to bring you back from the brink of death." Urs wished (not for the first time) that she had more practice with with men instead of just giving in to whatever they wanted. "Since... " Urs refilled his glass, in the hope that he was a cheerful drunk -- he'd certainly seemed to be drinking (and very cheerful) the first few months of their acquaintance. She took a deep breath. "Since it was daughter that tried to kill me in the first place... I think we're pretty much even." And with that, Urs escaped back to the bar. Running didn't solve problems (long experience with Vachon had taught her that), but perhaps a nice long trip would be a good idea. A bit amazed at the amount of liquor that was passing through, and being consumed by the parties attendants, Urs refilled her tray. It looked like it was going to be a long time before she could sneak off with Feliks. In the meantime, she circulated for the rest of her shift, and tried to impress names and affiliations on her memory. At the same time, she planned what she had to do in the rest of the evening. She'd definitely have to meet this Natalie woman that seemed to be the entire focus of everyone's thoughts and conversations tonight. One of her //I wonder why they call themselves 'Sympathizers'// friends //erica?//had mentioned that it had been Natalie that had stored her body until LaCroix had picked it up. She also wanted to meet up with Nick Knight and thank him for killing Divia -- Now was a vampire she didn't want to meet up with again. ******************************** end of part 1/2 ********************************************************************* Torrey's Secret by Sherri L. Campbell, with input from Torrey Harris Date:August 9th Time:Around 10pm or so (??) At the Raven Takes place after Three Ring Circus... Sherri was leaning against the wall of the Raven, watching the ongoing events of the evening. It was amazing her that so much tension could be packed in such a small space without bloodshed. As Nick and Nat stepped into the radio booth, the tension level began to subside slightly. Taking a deep breath, Sherri looked around to see if there were any other problems to deal with. Her eyes drifted around the room casually, then locked with dismay on one figure in particular. Spinning toward where Torrey was standing, she saw with dismay that it had already happened. It was dreadful. Torrey's head had turned and looked to the bar. Her eyes locked with the profile of Miklos and all was lost. Uttering one small squeak, her body went stiff...well, all but her right leg, which now seemed to be made of jelly. With a shake of her head, Sherri ran to where Torrey was very ungracefully falling to the floor. "Torrey? Torrey??" Shaking her fearless leader gently, she noted that there was no response. Debra E. saw what was happening, and came over to help. "Sherri? What is wrong with Torrey?" Debra E. was struggling with concern over the silly, vacant expression on Torrey's face. Sherri turned with an expression of dismay. "Oh, Debra! This happened last War, too! Torrey secretly harbors a mad passion for Miklos, when she sees him, she turns to mush!" Debra looked at Sherri, then back at Torrey. "Oh! Oh, my... oh..." and, as the giggles finally overcame her, she staggered over to the nearby wall, and leaning against it, began laughing helplessly. Sighing, Sherri led Torrey to a nearby bar stool, and propped Torrey up on it. Setting a drink next to her hand, she left Torrey to her own devices. "The Miki-fit should pass soon, I hope!" Looking from Torrey to the helplessly giggling Debra E., she just shook her head, then began to laugh. "Vachon will no doubt think this is hysterical!" ********************************************************************* Like thieves in the Knight by Sonja Launspach with Linda Rose Pierce Time: co-current with the Three ring circus Place: the Raven and the Loft Sonja leaned against the wall amidst the group of mercs observing the two groups of in the middle of the room. She scanned the Natpack for Linda Rose. She and Linda had a little task to do tonight while everyone else was occupied with the current pageant. She caught Linda's eye and nodded. She picked up her satchel from the floor and began slowly, nonchalantly to make her way toward the back as if she were going to the lady's room and then slipped unnoticed out the back, headed for the parking lot and waited for Linda by the merc van. Her dark clothes blended into the night, a shadow against the steel car. Linda arrived a bit breathless a few minutes later. 'Any trouble getting away?" Sonja asked her. "No, I slipped away when the free-for all began, nobody will notice me gone, they're too busy yelling at each other." she replied "Good, you got the 'present' we're going to leave?" Linda grinned, "you bet." The ride to Nick's loft was uneventful. Sonja parked the van around corner, she doubted any Knightie would have stayed behind, but it was best to be cautious, and she didn't want the van to show up in any surveillance pics. She and Linda quietly made their way to the door. Sonja reached into her bag and pulled out her digital analyzer. She ran the card down the side of the door code and watched the colors go from red to green. The door clicked open. "Cool" Linda said Sonja grinned back, "one fun thing about being a merc is the toys you get." They climbed the stairs to the loft. Lock picks took care of that door and they were in. The loft was deserted and dark, a jumble of shapes, mounds that emerged from the darkness, the only light the ambient light from the street. "Ok," Sonja handed Linda a flashlight from the bag and turned hers on, "you have the description of the luggage?" "Yeah, right here." Linda replied, handing her the slip of paper. "Let's get to it, we don't want to be gone too long, no will think anything of my being absent, but your affiliation might wonder where you went off to." The two women searched the loft, looking under sleeping bags, all the while stepping carefully over the piles of books and videos for Dotti's suitcase. "Eureka" Sonja called. "Quick, are they in there." Linda tried to push her way past the merc to get at the suitcase. "Wait, hold on, We have to do this carefully, you don't want Dotti to know that someone's been in her suitcase immediately, do you?" Sonja restrained her. "Here, hold the light while I work" Linda watched impatiently as the merc carefully laid out the contents of the suitcase noting where everything had been until she came to the black silk pajamas carefully hidden in the bottom. "Ah," Linda sighed. "Give me the others," Sonja said. Linda handed her the pair of JD Barney pajamas, which Sonja put back in the suitcase in place of Nick's pajamas and then replaced the contents of Dotti's suitcase so that it looked undisturbed. Dotti was in for a big surprise. Grinning, Linda took Nick's silk pajamas, wrapped them carefully and put them in her bag. Silently as they had come the two women left the dark loft to its jumbled shapes and returned to the festivities at the Raven. ********************************************************************* Three Ring Circus (3/3) by Perri Smith Aug 9, 10:12 p.m. Takes place after Three Ring Circus 1&2 and directly after To Wash and Dry... Or Not Susan opened the car door and headed for the hose and bucket. Flipping the spray cap on the hose to 'death-ray,' she turned, took aim . . . . And then dropped the hose, sighed, and went back and raised the ragtop of the car. Okay, so maybe she was getting soft in her old age. But Nick wasn't any too stable now. Doing damage to a car beloved by a not-too-stable vampire was just NOT smart. But she didn't turn the hose from the 'death-ray' setting. And she didn't close the windows the way . . . . "AAARRGGGHHHHH!" The Banshee Squeak of Rage wasn't quite comperable to Valerie's howl, but it was enugh to make Susan blink in pain, without letting go of the hose. Perri stood in the back door to the Raven, shaking with anger. "Susan, what the hell are you doing? The damn windows are open!" Susan blinked again. "Washing the car. I told you I was going to." "Susan." Perri was enunciating now. "The. Windows. Are. Open." "Oh, yeah. Right." Susan started to let go of the hose, but was distracted by echoes of the Squeal of Rage, as Knighties and members of almost every other faction appeared behind Perri. Before anyone could move, there was sort of a mass Knightie rush towards Susan. She did the only thing possible to defend herself. She turned the hose on them. They stopped as the death-ray stream of water hit them. A few even had the reflexs to get out of the way, which, unfortunately, left the field of fire behind them wide-open. As the stream of water soaked part of the NatPack, a Die-Hard, one or two Ravenettes, a few Mercs and damn near every Knightie, Susan had just enough time to realize this might have been a mistake. *** Perri sucked in her breath as the stream of ice cold water hit her, soaking instantly through her black jeans and v-neck T-shirt. Her bangs were plastered to her forehead, her hair dripping down her back. "I really hate being wet," she muttered in shock, trying to formulate a better response. Next to her, an equally-soaked Jennie pushed orange hair away from her face. "Well, at least the Caddie is clean." Yes," Amy Hull echoed, just as wet, but taking it better thanks to the cushion of straight gin and vodka. She grinned only slightly maliciously. "Inside and out." Perri turned, slowly, to the two NatPackers, then looked at her co- leader. Shared Brain Syndrome kicked in -- there was only one appropriate response to such sacrelidge. Walking as one, they reached Susan's bucket, picked it up, turned - and threw half the contents at the NatPackers. Jennie and Amy tried to get out of the way, but were deluged by a gallon of soapy water, which fogged their glasses and left bubbles on their shirts. The Knighties started laughing as they tried to wipe their faces. "Ewww, you got soap in my drink!" Amy complained. Then the NatPack gestalt kicked in. "You realize, of course," Jennie said slowly, orange eye makeup running down her face, "this means war." That, apparently, was the signal for all hell to break loose. Which it promptly did. Two Natpackers lunged for the hose, wresting it away from Susan, who gave it up willingly and got out of the line of fire *fast*. A moment of fumbling, then three Knighties were soaked as they went for sponges, which did not stop them from throwing said sponges at the closest NatPackers. One went flying past its target and impacted directly on Dianne DeSha's chest, as she stood placing side- bets with Dawn Steele. Dianne gasped, then looked down at her now-soapy T-shirt. Wih a resigned look, she then recovered the sponge, worked her way through the fire (water?) zone, and dunked the sponge in a bucket. Then she calmly squeezed it out over Catherine's head. Perri, holding a sponge of her own, considered retaliating on her co- leader's behalf, but decided it wouldn't be much fun. Emptying her own sponge over Abby's head looked much more entertaining. "Excuse me, mind if I borrow this?" Jennie asked Amy, taking the glass full of ice cubes, gin and soap from her. Working her way up behind Dianne she dumped the entire mess down the back of the merc's shirt. Dianne whipped around, murder in her eyes, as Jennie ducked and ran for cover behind some other Natpackers. Maryann grabbed a sponge and bucket with soapy water that had been forgotten on the ground. By now everyone was well on the way to being totally water logged. She took careful aim (well, as careful as you can be after a few beers) and let loose the water-drenched sponge. It flew in the general direction of the a group of NatPackers that were busy regrouping. She didn't see who it hit, but she did hear a splat as the sponge made connect with NatPacker flesh. The group of NatPackers turned to see where the assault had come from. What they saw was Maryann standing over by a bucket of water waving happily at them with soap covered hands. They advanced on her with a howl. In pure self-defense Maryann grabbed the bucket of soapy water and hurled it in the path of the on coming NatPack. She then beat a retreat towards the Knighties. There was, after all, safety in numbers. In minutes, the entire area around the Raven was soaked, as were the occupants. Screams of glee echoed over the walls as Knighties and NatPackers, with various other participants dragged, pulled or otherwise involved, soaked each other with delight and abandon, working off months of frustration and worry in one glorious water fight. Jennie and Perri grappled over the hose, getting completely drenched in the process, before both started giggling so hard they couldn't stand. A team of four Knighties jumped a group of three NatPackers, both sides throwing sponges in a wild storm of soap and water. Not horribly effectively, however, since aim was being complicated by lack of vision, alcohol and laughter. All in all, it was a helluva way to fight a war. ****** Vachon leaned against the open door, watching the fight in high entertainment. Thigns had been more interesting since he'd been revived since... well, since the last time he'd met up with this particular bunch of lunatics. He was strongly tempted to let the fight carry on -- all participants looked as if they were enjoying themselves hugely, and he was certainly enjoying the impromptu wet T- shirt contest -- but he was on a mission. "Yo!" A stream of water and five sponges intersected on him immediately, apparently out of sheer reflex. He watched with amusement as all of them missed. "In case any of you are interested," he pitched his voice to carry over the brouhaha, "Nick and Natalie have emerged. They're in the Raven." A moment of total silence. Dripping NatPackers caught in mid-wrestle with soapy Knighties stopped and stared. In a moment of foresight, Vachon got the hell out of the way, before the wet mob could make it to their feet and trample him on their way in. Amazingly, no one slipped on the wet floor during the stampede. ****** Nick and Natalie were sitting, more or less calmly, at the back of the Raven when their factions re-appeared. Nick started to say something, then the condition of the clothes and hair sank in. Perri self-conciously shoved her hair away from her face, all too aware of the water puddling on the floor around her feet. "Um, you two didn't kill each other. That's cool." "Apparently all of you tried to," Natalie observed, smothering a smile. Jennie smiled happily. "You can't drown anyone on dry land. We tried." "What's the verdict?" Kelly asked. Nick and Natalie exchanged glances. "A truce," Natalie answered carefully. "The details of which are private." "We're friends," Nick inserted before anyone could do more than get their mouths open to protest. "And you don't have to try to kill each other anymore. that's all there is to it." A few people might have tried to object, but both Nick and Natalie looked *very* firm about the whole thing. After a thirty-second stare down, Perri sighed and reached for the nearest drink. "To friendship," she toasted the room in general, before downing the shot in one gulp. Jennie looked at her, then echoed the sigh, and the toast. "To friendship." Amy Hull just stared in disgust at her wet clothing. "I *hate* wet shoes." Catherine handed her a new drink. "So get too drunk to feel them. I'm going to." Amy thought about it, then shrugged. "Might as well." Nick and Natalie sat, not touching but with a smaller distance betweeen them then there had been a half-an-hour ago, and watched as the Ravenettes started passing out towels and cries of rage when any wet body approached a piece of furniture, as the factions, disgruntled at missing the good part, tried to drown their sorrows with something other than water. All in all, Nick reflected, it was a helluva way to fight a war. Looking at Natalie, he saw the same thought reflected on her face as she called for a drink. Then a hand decended on his shoulder and he looked up to see Janette standing next to them. He gulped and reached for his own drink. Something told him he was going to need it. ********************************************************************* One Good Splash (1/1) by Sandra Gray, forever Knightie Friday, August 9, during the water battle Sandra heard the commotion outside the Raven and went to investigate. Susan Garrett was spraying water around and Knighties, NatPackers, and other people were getting into the act of throwing water and soaked sponges on each other. Sandra saw Dianne the Merc get a sponge in the chest. Then another sponge landed near Sandra's feet. Sandra smiled. It was something small, but she couldn't resist. She picked up the sponge and snuck up behind Dianne. She wrung it out over Dianne's head and laughed. It was worth getting wet afterwards. ********************************************************************* Re-Introducing Tracy Partly - Perkulators Friday 8/9, 10:15 pm or so (after Three Ring circus but before anyone has seen Tracy) Partly and all of the Perks sat in the corner of the Raven. Nick and Nat had just appeared out of room where they had been discussing things, and Vachon had just headed outside to round up the errant faction members. The Perkulators hadn't moved from their seats since they had sat down. They had watched the rest of the war file into the Raven and the spectacle that followed. But they hadn't moved. They had their own agenda. Tracy was seated in the corner, in the darkest part of the shadows, and there she was going to stay until they found a way to tell everyone she was alive. It was not the way Partly would have preferred to have handled this, but circumstances had forced her into this position. And now Tracy, who had finally decided to rejoin the living, was going to do it here. Partly chewed her lip and scanned the room. They were seated next to an alcove with a supply room behind that. Perhaps Tracy should break the news to Vachon first. Partly watched the toast of Nick and Nat, then, with a whispered "Tracy, wait in the supply room," she crossed to the throng of Vaqueros, working her way into their leader. "Vachon?" The tall vampire smiled at her. "Can I help you?" Partly swallowed, and her heart pounded. "I'm Partly. Can we talk in private?" Vachon blinked at her, then his eyes narrowed. "Your one of Tracy's?" His eyes sought out Perri and she nodded. "I would really like to talk to you," The Perkulator nodded back to her tables. She couldn't see if Tracy had made it to the room yet, but she prayed she had. Vachon nodded. "Lead the way." His voice was carefully neutral. They crossed the dance floor and Partly saw a light shining under the door. Good. She had been half afraid that Tracy would skip out at the last moment. To Tracy this had been an all or nothing choice. Telling Vachon and the rest she was alive, meant telling everyone she was alive, including her family. She had only agreed to come here that very morning. Partly reached the door. "We'll talk in here, if that's ok?" Vachon blinked at her again, but nodded. Partly opened the door, and motioned Vachon in. He walked in, most of his attention on Partly. When he finally looked ahead and saw Tracy standing in the middle of the room, he stopped dead. Partly gave him a gentle push forward and closed the door behind them, heading back to her table. As much as she would like to know what was being said -- and done -- in that room, it was really none of her business. She walked back to the table and sat down. Shrugging at the rest of the Perkulators, she downed her drink. They would just have to wait. Ten minutes stretched into twenty, and Vachon and Tracy still hadn't emerged for the room. Partly idly scratched a bite on her neck and sighed. They had received a shipment of socks -- and fleas -- from the WoofPack earlier that day. It had taken several hours, a UV-ray flashlight and a trip to the tanning beds to get rid of them all. It had been an annoying, but basically easy, exercise of using the flashlight to chase all the little critters in to the darkened bathroom where they combusted them with a high powered sun lamp. She had sent a note to the Woofpack thanking them for pointing out the problem, and saying she understood that *some* people had a hard time keeping their pets free of such vermin and expressing her hope that they would soon have the problem under control. She also sent them a bill for the damages done to the bathroom, along with a photocopy of their note where they admitted negligence. Willow suddenly poked her head out of the carryall and meowed. Partly was sure that her real owner would be here, so she put the kitten on her shoulders, hoping that she would be more noticeable there. The little animal had been very lucky and had not gotten any of the fleas on her. Suddenly Robin grabbed her arm. "Here they come." Vachon, grinning from ear to ear and his arm tightly wrapped around Tracy, walked briskly out into the room and let loose with one of his painful whistles. By now conditioned to obey, the room silenced and looked at him. "Everyone, I would like to introduce TRACY VETTER." He pulled the very embarrassed looking Tracy in front of him and held her there. The silence lasted for a second, then everyone began speaking at once. Vachon broke the decibel limit law again. "Tracy and I have just had a long talk. She does not know how she survived and does not remember anything from the point of being shot to waking up in her own apartment a week after her funeral." He pulled her closer to him. "But as I told her, how she survived doesn't matter. It only matters that she's back with us. And yes, I am very sure that this *is* Tracy." His speech concluded, he turned and, arms still tightly wrapped around Tracy, walked back to the Perkulators. "I want to thank you," he said. He started to speak again, then stopped. "Your welcome." Partly said, and then smiled. Maybe there was a reason to party after all. ********************************************************************* Perhaps the Time Has Come for Us to Talk? By Raven Cynthia Hoffman Date: August 9, 1996 Time: 10:30 p.m. and on Place: The Raven Simultaneous with/overlapping and following Three Ring Circus, Part Three >From her seat amidst the rapidly dispersing and increasingly fractious Natpack, Janette viewed the goings on with a keen eye. She noted that while Vachon's wolf-whistle had quieted things briefly, there was every indication that the shouting matches were destined to continue well into the night. //Nicola// she thought. //Life can never be managed *simply* by you, can it? And in so doing, you make all of our lives complicated.// Janette stood from her seat and maneuvered her way through the crowds toward the bar, where she smacked directly into a group of Raven/ettes in heated conversation. "Be reasonable Felicia. You know you can't go listen in to their conversation," stated Jane firmly. "They're entitled to a moment of privacy amidst this insanity. There are some things we are simply not meant to know about, okay? No matter how much we all may want ..." "Quite true," interrupted Janette. "Those two have much to discuss and those people" she gestured to the once again arguing Knighties and Natpackers "are not in a position to make things easier for either of them, n'est-ce pas? We should leave them be." So, no one noticed when, shortly thereafter, the door to the private office opened and Nick and Natalie emerged looking resolved, and headed to a far corner table. Most of the Knighties and the Natpackers were no where to be seen, and the two settled in to continue their chat in relative peace. Cynthia muttered something under her breath and began to turn away from the bar. Suddenly, all eyes were on her and Janette. "Qu'est-ce que tu dis? Did you say what I think you did?" Cynthia spun around quickly and looked Janette in the eye. "I keep forgetting about your incredible hearing. Some day I'll learn to keep my mouth shut." "Since you have spoken, perhaps you might share it with the rest of them? If *they* are any indication," she paused, once more gesturing toward the main floor of the club, "the lot of you must have something to share with me as well, oui?" Jane looked pensively at her friend, knowing that with such an invitation, Cynthia might actually say what had been on her mind for the last two weeks, not to mention really since February. The tension in the bar grew thicker. Tara handed off the bartending duties to Miklos and came over to join the group of Raven/ettes. Susan appeared, dripping wet and shaking water from her hair, and the group was joined by Catherine and Jasmine, who had given up attempting to study and were prepared to join the party. Even Melanie, who had been mostly quiet for the past few weeks showed up to see what was happening. "You've never talked about it," started Cynthia. "I mean we've never asked either, since no doubt it's probably none of our business, but you've never talked about what happened last winter. You just showed up, called us all here, and life went on like usual. But it's *not* usual, is it? I know it hasn't been for *us* and we were only bystanders. I mean you do know there are still people who believe you are dead, don't you? That *he* would never ignore a specific plea and do something against your wishes." Once started, the conversation quickly escalated. "You said no and he ignored you." stated Catherine angrily. "He never listens, does he? He's always willing to make decisions for others." Tara nodded vigorously, and was joined by mj and Jasmine, who noted quietly to each other that Janette's circumstances were quite similar to Natalie's and that perhaps that was why she had so pointedly joined the Natpack earlier in the evening. "I thought you two loved each other," Melanie said quietly. "I don't know. I mean if he hadn't ignored you, I might have had to kill him myself" added Felicia. "Confusing, isn't it?" "I can only imagine what it's been like to live with that," responded Jane, during a lull in the conversation. "I mean he saved your life, but you didn't want him to. And now you're glad to be alive. What a mess." Janette eyed the group surrounding her. She looked to Susan for support, but Susan was more concerned with getting warm and dry, not to mention finding towels to mop up the rapidly expanding puddle under her feet. Janette was going to have to handle this one on her own. "I am most certainly alive," Janette began. "As for the rest ..." With that, hordes of Knighties and Natpackers and assorted others, re- entered the bar, looking worse for the wear than Susan. The wet crowd quickly discovered Nick and Natalie's hiding place in the back. Janette moved away from the assembled Raven/ettes and walked toward Nick and Natalie's table, with a determined look on her face. Nick felt her presence, looked up and nodded at her approach. When he turned his attention back to Natalie, he was surprised to notice that she was nodding at Janette as well. The two women exchanged a small smile, and Natalie stood, relinquishing her claim on Nick's attention. Janette place a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Perhaps, mon vieux, it is time for us to talk as well." Janette noticed Nick's obvious discomfort, but refused to back down. She looked back toward her followers, gestured toward his, and added pointedly, "Privately." As Cynthia watched the two of them move through the crowd it occurred to her that the Raven's back office was now going to be in possession of more information than any one else in the war. And as resident redecoration expert, she knew more about what was in that office than anyone. ********************************************************************* A little water never hurt anyone -- but what about a lot? Time: Friday Aug.9, @10:30 -- within part 3 of "3-ring circus" Place: Just outside the Raven Author: Dawn Steele with help from Cousin Candice who tagged on the ending. :) Dawn was standing right beside Dianne when the Great High Poobah got smacked with a water soaked sponge. A few droplets splashed onto her new green silk dress, but nothing really damaging. She took a couple steps back in order to get out of range of what was rapidly degenerating into a water fight. Looking longingly at the water, she think about joining in //But I just had this dress made espescially for me out of war earnings! It's the only real dress I own, and I'm not going to ruin it!//. It looked at though Dianne was having a fun ... SPLOOSH! The water must have been thrown from an overhead window -- from a bucket. It flowed over her head, plasted her carefully curled hair to her head, and then proceeded to wet almost every inch of fabric. "No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!" Dawn spent a precious few seconds checking out the damage. //I haven't even met Janette yet!// She was still in a slight state of shock when a sponge full of soapy water smacked her on the back of her head. There was a subvocal growl in her throat as she whipped around to face her attacker! "CANDICE!" Not a sight for sore (or soapy) eyes. "You're dead!" The unregretful Cousin just smirked, and threw her second water sponge. "I just might be, we'll have to find out next war, now won't we!" The next few minutes were a repeat of certain fights in the previous two wars. Due to a desire not to bore people unduly, only the highlights will be mentioned. "Argh!" "Oomph!" "Kiah!! -- ... ugh" "dead!dead!dead!dead!dead!" "Rip/tear/shred!" "dead!dead!dead!... OW!" "Did you ever consider cutting your fingernails?" "Why no, now that you mention it." "Boink!" "Ka-zowie!" SPLISH! SPLASH! SPLOOSH! SPLAT! SPLOSHEOUTTLEOOOCHAAEEEOOOSHEOOOD!!!!! But then Candice managed to forcibly grab the "Death-Ray" water head from Susan, and Dawn started to pick up some of the (still full but not for long) buckets full of soapy water and things got serious. Fury lit their eyes to almost identical unearthly glows, and they had managed to clear off their own separate area from the rest of the (admittedly friendlier) water fight. Water flew, and they managed to spray quite a few of the (until then) dry audience. With a backhand flip that Candice copied from Highlander, she disappeared briefly behind the row of (why were they there?) steel cans. Popping up a moment later, she now held one of the fluorescent orange&green ... "SuperSoaker! Run!" Dawn tried to escape behind some Knighties that were trying to surround Susan for a group assault, but they rapidly gave way. Candice had somehow managed to also acquire a "weapons-belt" with replacement cartridges for the SuperSoaker! . She went through a few of them as she proceeded to chase Dawn back inside the Raven and through an unsuspecting crowd. (Let me just sneak in a little disclaimer that the damages did exceed my yearly income... Okay -- they did! So what! It's not as if the Raven hasn't been renovated three or four times this War already!!) Casualties screamed their rage, and a small mob started in an almost straight line. Dawn at the head, and then Candice cackling and enthusiastically spraying water at her, and then ... dozens of other party attendants who's names aren't mentioned because then we'd have to ask permission and it's the last day of the war and we don't have time!!!! While all good (and wet) things must come to an end, there remains yet another sub-plot to the War. Due to an unfortunate stream of events, Dawn had never managed to directly attack LaCroix during the War. This is a Good Thing! . What would she do in the next war if there wasn't a chance to have a fight with Candice? There was only one thing left to do. An opportunity arose. She took advantage. And LaCroix was buried under a pile of wet party-goers. It looked like a foot-ball pileup except higher, and it dripped. Dawn even managed to "accidentally" shove a wet, soapy sponge that she had (miraculously) kept a grip on till that point ... right into his face. (And now we get to Candice's part where to tries to manipulate this post to her own advantage, but... [insert evil cackle] I'M posting it!!!) Candice looked on in half-shock half-pained as a group of very wet (by her own hand, unfortunately) party-goers pounced upon LaCroix. She watched carefully as Dawn extracted herself from the pile in the hopes of going to change and avoiding more water. Candice saw her chance. She took an empty replacement cartridge and lept behind the bar looking for the deadly-yet-familiar remains of a concotion long forgotten. Candice found the pitcher marked DO NOT DRINK OR SERVE!!! and loaded it's contents into the cartridge. Candice looked for Dawn, and followed her as she headed across the Raven to change. "On guard, wench!" Candice pointed the Super Soaker at Dawn, giving her half a second to register that she was about to be hit once again before Candice started firing. Dawn, as soaked as she could have been at that point felt no compulsion to move out of the way and just laughed. The she looked down. Her skin was turning purple and her dress was gaining an even darker color and a *STENCH*! "Ahahahah!!!!" Candice continued to cackle with glee, "You see? I've had my revenge! How's it FEEL to be drenched in Grape Juice and Garlic? Muhahahahaaaa!!" Candice turned on her heel and left to make her own "costume change." (back to me! -- Dawn) "Ack!" Dawn saw the people surrounding her move a couple of steps away. "I'm glad I have a purple t-shirt to change into." Pulling out a pad of paper, she flipped to a page titled "Candice" and "Dawn". She added another checkmark underneath the Candice name. "Hm. She probably won't be able to do another post this War." So saying, Dawn went over to the bar and looked for the (still half-full) pitcher labelled "Do not drink or serve!". Without bothering to wonder why the bar would such a concoction, she refilled the SuperSoaker that Candice had thoughtlessly left behind. Dawn might not get her tonight if Candice scurried off... but there was the Next War!!! ********************************************************************* Willow comes home by Cousin Tok Time: sometime between "More than a little Kin" and the end of the party at the Raven Cousin Tok was having a good time at the party, but it still wasn't completely right. The War was winding down and Willow was still missing. She couldn't go home without her, and she couldn't imagine where the kitten had gotten herself to. Suddenly, across the room, she spotted a flash of gray fur among the Perkulators. Tok looked again and spotted a familiar looking kitten sitting on Partly's shoulder. "WILLOW!" Tok exclaimed as she ran across the room. Willow tensed at the sound, turned, and saw Tok running toward her. She launched herself into Tok's arms, and a disgustingly sentimental reunion took place, with much purring on Willow's part and low baby- talk on Tok's. "I've been worried sick about her," Tok said to Partly. "Where did you find her?" "She just showed up in our hotel suite one morning...just before a Garth Brooks alarm went off," Partly replied. "Your suite...Garth Brooks...ummm, could you excuse me?" Tok turned back to the table where a number of other Cousins were sitting. "Willow, you and I need to have a discussion with Gandalf. But that can wait until after the party. Meanwhile, you stay with Merlin and *please* keep out of trouble, okay little girl?" Willow purred in agreement and joined Merlin under the table. Tok wandered off to the bar and got herself a large glass of Bailey's, humming "Don't worry, be happy" under her breath. ********************************************************************* Cameo Appearances (2/2) Place: The Raven Time: 8/9 Friday, approx 10:45pm, after part 3 of "3-ring circus" and before "The Party's over... almost" Authos: Dawn Steele, with input from the US affiliation. Note: Due to what was probably a full mailbox in the last couple of Wardays, I wasn't able to get the NatPackers permission to use Nat before midnight. If they have a problem -- they can contact me and we can declare this a dream if necesarry. (It's fairly innocuous). ---------------------------- Why was she still serving drinks? Urs checked the room over. Over half the attendants were still busy serving drinks throughout the crowd, but at least two had been switched to other duties. She leaned over the front of the bar, and waved for Miklos' attention. "Miklos! Over here!" Miklos used the opportunity to escape the 'too' attentive efforts of several ladies, and walked over. "Need more drinks?" "I'm going to quit for the evening. People are starting to get too busy to want drinks, and I'd like to salvage as much as I can of the rest of the night." Urs sighed and wiped her sticky hands off of the wet cloth Miklos handed her. Urs had finished changing into a different top of sky blue silk that managed not to clash with her red-dyed curls. She only had a couple of minutes before she was supposed to meet Feliks at the Raven entrance. She was closing the 'employees-only' door (right next to the bathrooms) securely behind her, when she felt someone bump into her. "Sorry!" The woman used a hand against the wall to regain her balance. "No problem." Urs checked her out. The woman seemed a bit pale, and unsteady on her feet. //Stress, alcohol or is she sick?// Then recognition hit. "You're Natalie Lambert -- I don't think we've met." Natalie looked at her more closely. The hallway was fairly dark, which was why she hadn't seen Urs coming out of the room. Not enough to quickly identify someone you had encountered months ago in what was supposed to have been a permanently horizontal position. "Urs?" "That's me." An awkward silence. "I heard you took care of my body after my fight with Divia." "Severe facial and upper body lascerations." Her eyes took on a distant cast. "Your right arms was almost completely ripped off as well." "Well..." "Well." Natalie's voice became bemused. "Your body disappeared before it could be taken away for cremation. I don't think I'll ever get used to my patients walking off on me." "I didn't walk that time, I was carried." Urs smiled, and started walking down the hall with Natalie to the main room, and parted amiacably. They went their separate ways amongst the crowd, with Natalie heading towards the NatPack, and Urs towards the Knighties. There was something she still had to do tonight -- seeing Natalie had reminded her. Nick was talking to a slim woman with dark brown hair. They seemed to be on very familiar terms. "... all day." "Revenge is never the answer, Perri. I've learned that, if nothing else, in my life." Perri. Urs frowned. She had heard rumours of a Caroush with that name; an odd coincidence. "Nick." A soft voice, but his hearing picked it up over the loud background noises. "Urs! I heard you were back." He seemed glad to see her. That was nice. Urs stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a big kiss on the left cheek. "Thanks." "Thanks for what?" "For killing Divia after what she did to Vachon and me." Remembered pain swept through her almost as bad as the initial experience. A good memory could be a curse as well as a blessing. "She attacked me as well." Nick fingered his face; tracing over where scars should have been and weren't. "Are you sure she'd dead?" Perri asked. Urs turned to her, started. "I was told that she was burned and that her ashes were scattered." Perri shrugged. "Look at what's happened during this war! Nick... Natalie... Tracy... Vachon... and you. All supposed to be dead, and all of you present at this party." The three parties contemplated the thought of Divia coming back. Surely the gods, or goddesses that structured life on the fkfic-l wars would never allow it. Still... one never knew. ----------------------------- To whatever future party is considering taking on the take of being the almighty "WarMistrss" in the next war... Gonna bring Divia back? I really hope not. Everyone would spend the entire war hiding. :) ********************************************************************* A Little Help From Friends (01/01) by Alora Chistiakoff (NatPacker) and Bonnie Pardoe (former Vaquero) Time: Friday, August 9th, ~ 11pm - before "A Sign of Affection" Place: The Raven ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bonnie had tagged along with the Knighties to the Raven -- she was grateful to Nick for taking her in, especially when she didn't deserve it. He'd been uncommonly nice to her, and she deeply appreciated it. For some odd reason, he really seemed to understand how she was feeling. What she had done to Vachon, and how she had unwittingly betrayed the Vaqueros, still haunted her, despite having had the best of intentions at the time. Somehow it had all gone horribly wrong. She knew that Vachon and Torrey would never forgive her -- \\How could they? Why should they?\\ Bonnie kept to the back of the crusade of Knighties as they all bolstered around Nick for moral support. She felt very awkward, and was beginning to deeply regret coming along. After Nick and Natalie had convinced their friends to give them some time alone and had ducked into a private office, people slowly started to mingle. Bonnie had edged over to the darkest corner she could find -- which wasn't very dark given the current lighting situation at the club -- and then tried to melt into the wall. It didn't work, so she tried her best to look inconspicuous. At one point, Urs found her and brought her a drink -- something stronger than she normally prefered, but not as strong as Urs thought her friend needed. Not long after, Alora wandered by and happened to notice her. "Bonnie! It's been ages! Since Disneyland!" Bonnie smiled at the memory. They had had a screaming fine trip! But that, like everything else, brought memories of Vachon. Bonnie's smile faded and tears began to well up in her eyes. "Bonnie? What's wrong?" Alora lead Bonnie over to a nearby, empty table and sat her down. "Come on, you can tell me." "Ohh, Alora. I've done the most horrible thing...." She related the tale to her friend, nearly breaking into tears several times. "... They'll never forgive me for hiring that Merc. They'll never trust me again -- not after I had her cut off his hair. And how can I blame them? This is all my fault. Why did I have to do this to him?" Bonnie took a deep breath and sighed. Hanging out with the Knighties must be getting to her -- \\Angst Over-Load Warning!\\ she warned herself, as she fought back the tears with a sniffle. Alora handed her contrite friend a cocktail napkin, and patted her hands. "I have an idea, Bonnie. I can't promise anything, but I'm willing to try... if you'll let me." Bonnie nodded, and squeezed her friend's hand. She wiped her eyes and sniffled back more tears. Alora got up and crossed the room to where Natalie was seated. She sat down and the two spoke for several minutes as Bonnie looked on and tried to figure out what they were saying. Finally she saw Natalie smile and nod. Natalie soon got up out of her seat and made her way over to Vachon, who was presently seated at the bar. They talked for a good long while, until the NatPack came and retrieved their friend. Soon Alora returned to Bonnie's side. "I wanted to let you know that Natalie spoke to Vachon. Nat doesn't know if it helped or not, but she says that he's at least aware of how you're feeling." "Thanks, Alora. You've been great." Alora smiled at her state-mate. "My pleasure. Let's get together once were home and things settle down." Bonnie nodded and then watched Alora return to the NatPack. She took another deep breath and finished the last of her drink. To keep her mind off Vachon and the Vaqueros, she headed up on stage and began fiddling with some of the equipment (one of her favorite things to do at parties). She had noticed that one of the amps was in desperate need of re-wiring, so she found a screw driver and set to work. ********************************************************************* RAVEN PARTY, Part 1 Friday, Aug. 9/96 Raven, 11:00pm, Approx. an hour following "Three Ring Circus" and "Perhaps The Time Has Come To Talk" By Lynn Stapleton All Participants Now that members of the different factions were intermingling, glad that almost all the animosity had passed, and things were for the most part back to the partying mode, that had become second nature for Forever Knight fans. Those who had not been involved in the water fight outside, stood around, watching as their drenched counterparts attempted to dry off. Even the show's characters were mingling, and generally enjoying the atmosphere. There were a couple of people who remained guarded about the whole scenario, but overall a good time was being had by all. Anxious to get in on the fun, Lynn signed to Judy, "Do you remember the story about Urs and the Karaoke machine?" When a positive sign was returned, Lynn went over to speak to Urs. "Urs!" she shouted over the noise. No response, as Urs was busy at that moment. When Lynn managed to attract Urs' attention, she called out to her. "Urs! Do you know if LaCroix has a Karaoke machine?" "A what?" She could barely hear her. Lynn moved closer to her, to try to be heard better. "A Karaoke machine. Do you know if LaCroix has one?" "I think so. Let me check." Urs walked over to the tall, pale, ancient vampire. A few words were spoken between the two immortals, and a finger was pointed in Lynn's direction. After a guarded look, a half- smile of amusement crossed the older vampire's face. Lynn shook inwardly. "What the hell am I getting myself into?" she asked to no one in particular, and for once was glad that no one could hear her. The slight desire she had to come into contact, any contact, with LaCroix, was slowly diminishing. But one large gulp from her glass of Strawberry Daquirie, and she swallowed any reservations she might have held, as LaCroix approached her. She stiffened her shoulders and sighed, walking over to him. "Monsieur LaCroix. I was wondering if I might have the opportunity to speak with you later this evening?" LaCroix looked somewhat amused that some mere mortal that meant nothing to him, would approach him so boldly. Little did he know that her legs were shaking like a tree in a windstorm. "And what would this conversation be about?" "A little matter of removing a hypnotic suggestion placed on me by Natalie." "Ah, I see." He spoke passively, but the gleam in his steel blue eyes, made her shiver. "Later, then." Lynn turmed and sighed long as she moved closer to the bar, where the still whammied Amy had perched herself. Maureen and Alora had also gathered closer. Alora ordered another Daiquiri, and Maureen had a beer. Karen Weston had walked up after talking to Mei, and Linda, who were sitting at a booth. Betsy walked around, spotting the ghost of Richard, who was sitting in solitary near the back of the club. She swore that she could see a number of ghosts surrounding Nick, that somewhat resembled those from "Dead of Night". She even thought she saw Robert, Janette's mortal love, who had recently passed away earlier that year.. She wondered when she would lose this whammy, as she had no intention of returning to Michigan with the ability to see ghosts. After seeing that some of the resident vampires had hooked the Karaoke machine up to the system, Lynn took one chug from her Strawberry Daquirie (from which she had requested from the bar to have a little extra rum added), and made her way to the stage. Inwardly terrified, but enjoying herself very much, she looked to the NatPack, and gained every ounce of courage she could get. Lynn removed the microphone from it's stand, and lightly tapped on it to make sure it was on. When a sharp piercing sound was emitted, and more than half of the room's occupants put their hands over their ears, she knew for sure that it worked. "Sorry about that. Well here we are again. Another WAR come and gone, attacks made, people kidnapped, parcels left here and there, happy Mercs with bundles of chocolate in payment. But we've survived! And now, thanks to Janette, Susan and the Ravenettes, who have so generously given use of the Raven for the evening. It is much appreciated." Thunderous applause from the crowd errupted, and continued for a few minutes. Once the clapping had receded, Lynn spoke again. "I would like to give a wonderful thanks of praise to our WAR Mistresses, who had given up Lots of their time, a severe deprivaion of sleep (haven't we all?) and for everything else that they've done! War Mistresses, would you both come up here to say a couple words?" Another large round of applause and cheers come from the crowd. She mentioned a few words to Lynn, and then began to spoke to the audience for several minutes, basicaly thanking them for their participation, and that she needed some well deserved sleep. Then she called up Amy Albrecht, who had the unenviable task of editing the War. More applause continued. Lynn briefly takes the microphone for a moment, "I just got in some good news. Diane E., Keeper of the Time Line, is doing well, and is supposed to be released from hopsital tomorrow morning, barring anything unforseen." She quickly handed the mike back to one of the War Mistresses. "I hope you all have a great night. I need some sleep." She smiled and then she and Amy stepped down from the stage. ___________________ End Part One ********************************************************************* Raven Party [02/03] Friday, Aug. 9/96 Raven, 11:00pm By Lynn Stapleton All Participants The War Mistresses and compadres returned to their former spots to continue chatting with friends. Lynn walked back up to the stage. This time with another drink in hand. Getting slightly flushed (hey, I'm a cheap drunk :-)), she took a large sigh, and spoke. "Are you ready to Party?!" Mass applause, whooping, cheering, and general mayham was the response. After a few moments, it died down, and quiet resumed. To the side of her vision, she could see Amy Hull signing at the barkeep. Something about pouring another drink? Judy Freudenthal gave a querying glance and signed to Lynn, . Through the darkness, and the glare from the stage lights, Lynn couldn't make out what was being signed, even though her ASL skills were good. She tried whispering to fellow NatPacker, Betsy, who moved to the centre of the room and started Semaphore. "Judy wants to know when the singing starts," Betsy semaphored. "Soon." Lynn responded back, same format. Betsy relayed the info. Remembering that another NatPacker was interested in getting up and performing, she continued. "Ask Tina about the Green Cheese..." "Green Cheese?" Betsy looked puzzled, and then remembered the reference to a particular Due South episode. There were a few snickers from the crowd, who had apparently also picked up on the reference. "Oops. Wrong spelling. Ask Tina about what song she wants to do?" Betsy leaned over to Tina and asked her the question, she responded with "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper. Betsy relayed the info to Lynn. Though with all the semaphoring going on, only a few people knew what was going on, so Lynn reverted back to speaking in the microphone. "Sorry about the interruption. Apparently, there are a couple of NatPackers who seem to want to get on with the party. And, without further adieu, tonight we have in our presence a Karaoke machine." There were a few groans from those who remembered the "Karaoke Party Scene" from War 4, but overall, there was quite a bit of enthusiasm. "For those who would like to get up and sing, either individually or in groups of two or more, there will be a sign up sheet at the end of the bar." Much confusion arose as many people clamored to get to the sign-up sheet. Seeing that no one in particular was on stage, Alora saw her chance. She walked determinately over to where Perri and Cath Boo were sitting, and cajoled them into going up on stage. Since Lynn was the one who started all this mess, Alora grabbed her by the arm, and gently put her up on stage. Then Alora looked around the room for another victim. Maureen. Now there were five people up on stage. Conversing for a second, they couldn't come up with a song. And that's when an Cousin Star and Merc Lizbet stepped up and pushed a selection button on the machine. Before the performers knew it, the music started to play loudly. And it was "YMCA" by the Village People. Tigon let out a shriek of horror, for she would be singing or humming that song for the next week or so. Tigon glared at Lizbet, who simply returned a smile. For a brief second the five on stage looked stunned, and then went on, in a carefree boisterousness that The NatPack and a couple of Knighties could get. The crowd cracked up laughing as some semi-drunk, and not- so-drunk performers hammed it up. Soon, the line-up for the sign-up sheet had more than doubled. Even Nick, Natalie, Urs, Tracy, and the others were getting into the act. Well, except for LaCroix, who stood in the back, just watching the scenery as it played out before him. Catherine Siemann and Melanie gathered around the bar and talked with the Ravenettes, well at least the ones who hadn't been delegated to bartending duty. While Berg dressed in his usual black -ninja boots, sport coat, dress shirt, BDU pants, and a pair of expensive black wraparound shades, casually sauntered up to the bar and picked up some crackers that had been in a bowl. __________________________________ End Part 2 ********************************************************************* Dance When The Mood Strikes by Laura MacMillan and the N&NPack August 9 11:00pm The Raven The N&NPack was relieved that the Knighties and the Natpack had settled down after the water fight. They did want to have to break up a fight between the two groups or worse yet, have to chose a side.They were relieved that Nick and Nat had to time to sort out a few things, it gave them hope for the future. Most of the N&NPack had found a place in the corner to sit and watch quietly, afterall many of them were Wallflowers as well. After several unsuccessful tries at getting them up and dancing, Laura managed to talk Scott into dancing with promises of X-Files fiction. Before to long Mel, Chana and Idalia had been lured to the dance flower with promises of N&N SWSes (Sacred Waterfall Sisterhood which refers to FK erotica). Once Ray and Susan realized how much fun they were having, they joined them. Within fifteen minutes the N&NPack had taken over the dance floor. Kevin noticed Lacroix standing near the bar and commented rather loudly, "Is that Lacroix over there or is it the bald eagle from the muppets?" Soon several N&NPackers were rolling on the floor, hysterical with laughter. The spell was broken when someone replied "You know Lacroix is kinda cute. I wouldn't mind seeing him in a purple thong. Of course it could have to do with the fact that I'm drunk, delerious and just finished reading Laura's Rosebud Part 6:the Untold Story." All the N&NPackers turned to look at their fearless leader who had suddenly become very quiet. Laura smiled her most innocent smile and replied, "I was unduely influenced by a Cousin who pleaded with me to write it, how could I refuse? I did a Nick and Nat version that so much better, remember?" Just then Macarena started to play and everyone's attention was diverted. ********************************************************************* Music of the Night by Cousin Erik LeBeau (with help from and grateful thanks to Bonnie Pardoe) Time: wherever it fits best Place: End-of-war Party Erik was *not* having a good time. As a matter of fact, he felt rather a bit like dropping a chandelier on the whole party. He grinned and shook his head. "Yeah, I'm obsessed... sue me," he muttered to himself. He was about to leave when the Knighties walked in, Bonnie hanging to the back. He sat and stared as she snuck off to a corner in the back. Bonnie didn't particularly want to be there herself. All the Vaqueros she passed went out of their way to avoid her. She trudged to a table and dropped heavily into a chair. Urs walked to the table after a few moments and left a very strong drink on the table in front of her and walked away. Oddly enough, she found her thoughts running to the roses she recieved earlier that week. Yes, the guy who sent them had Silly Stringed the church; and, yes, she had no idea who he was; and, yes, he did seem a bit odd, dressing up like the Phantom of the Opera; but at least he cared. The two of them sat there in silence for a very long time, both lost in their own worlds. Both, uncharacteristically for both their factions, thinking about could'ves, should'ves, and what-might-have- beens. It was not a pretty sight, and Erik finally decided to change that. He walked to the table and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. Bonnie turned and did a classic double-take at the masked figure standing next to her. "May I sit?" he asked uncertainly. She nodded shakily. After Erik sat down, Bonnie said, "You... you sent me the roses." It was not a question. Erik nodded and extended his hand. "Erik LeBeau." Bonnie shook his hand. "Then who's O.G.?" Erik smiled and explained, "It stands for Opera Ghost. The Phantom signed all his notes that way." "What is *with* this Phantom obsession?" "What better way to conceal yourself than to become someone else?" Erik shrugged. Bonnie had to concede he had a valid point there, but still... "Why did you send me roses?" "I thought you might like them. You did, didn't you?" "Yes, I liked them very much, but why me?" "It seemed like the right thing to do," Erik stated simply. "Might I have the honor of a dance?" he continued. She nodded, but then reached over to touch Erik's mask. "But only if you take this off." Erik brushed his fingers across the back of her hand before replying, "Fair enough. Be back soon." Through a convienent plot hole, Erik was able to get back to his room, remove the latex with a little cold cream, wash off the base, and get back to the party in a suprisingly short amount of time. As he passed the DJ, Erik handed him a CD, some instructions, and a 20 dollar bill. Sure enough, Bonnie was still sitting at the same table. He walked back over to her and sat down. "I'm back." Bonnie looked Erik over. Once the mask was gone, he was actually a reasonably attractive guy. A bit young, perhaps, but his eyes told a story years older than he actually was. Bonnie was relieved that, not only did he look normal, he looked even a bit better. "Shall we?" Erik asked as he offered her his arm. "Certainly." They walked onto the dance floor amidst the final bars of Concrete Blonde's "The Beast." The first notes of the next song began to play as Erik and Bonnie put their arms around each other. <> "Where did you go when the Vaqueras kicked you out?" Erik whispered as they danced. "You know about that?" Bonnie was startled. "Well, word travels fast during war." "I wound up at Nick's loft. The Knighties took me in." Bonnie changed the subject with her next question. "So, tell me, why did you attack the church?" "Oh, you know, 'a form of affection' and all that. I really admire Vachon for sticking around for Tracy's sake when he could have just as easily cut and run." Bonnie raised her eyebrows wistfully and sighed, "Yeah. My, what a guy." They danced the rest of the dance in silence, Bonnie's head on Erik's shoulder. As the song ended, Erik softly sang the last two lines to his dance partner, "You alone can make my song take flight / Help me make the music of the night." Surprisingly (mainly to Erik), he was able to hold the final note for the entire what-seemed-like-minutes- but-was-really-closer-to-twenty-seconds. She took his hands in hers and stared at him for a moment, a far off look in her eyes. Then she finally said, "Thanks, Erik. You've been sweet, and I really appreciate it." She then turned and left him, wanting again to be alone but glad to have had the pleasant distraction. ********************************************************************* A Festive Occasion (01/01) by Dawn Steele trying to imitate her MMG "Christina Kamnikar" Friday, August 9, 11:05 pm just around the time "3-ring circus" occurs. The Raven Christina scrambled around in the large on the table, and managed to get the last couple of popped popcorn kernals. "I'm glad I brought a large supply." Throwing it up into the air, she caught it expertly. "Two points!" This small amusement didn't last long. Natalie and Nick were still hashing it out in Janette's office, and a large portion of the Knighties had disappeared a few minutes ago. She'd seen the start of the water from the door and then come back inside. She was sure that Dianne would get wet enough for the both of them and no one had 'hired' her to be in the water fight. Principles were principles. She shoved her way through the mass of bodies in the Raven, with but one thought on her sleep-deprived mind -- caffeine! On the way there several money posibilities became apparent, but then that was why she was the MMG of the Mercenaries. Chris ignored the voice in her head that pointed out that no one else was foolish enough to volunteer for the job. "Miklos! I want another one of my secret stash!" Chistina, aka Chris, aka Chaos, aka (and I'll never live it down) Kiki, lifted a significant eyebrow. The handsome bartender lifted one of his eyebrows and then suddenly a pop can materialized on the bar in front of her. The Nectar of the God(esses)! Diet Pepsi! Christina wrapped her hands around the can and felt the water as it condensed to the outside. Miklos had been a good little vampire, and put it in the cold bar fridge. "Muchos gracios, Senor Miklos" "De nada." "..." Chris' sleep-deprived brain refused to work in another language. So she just waved him goodbye and started back to the Merc corner with her precious cargo in tow. "Why not?" Right in the middle of the crowd, she decided that she was really too thirsty to wait any longer and popped the tab. Pop foam sprayed everything. Mostly -- due to some odd quirk of fate - - off to the right side, and all over LaCroix' shirt. She hadn't noticed him standing there till afterwards, but decided that there was no point in regretting an action that she would've done if she known he was there. "Sorry." Rampant insincerity on her part. "I'm sure you are." Resignation, and anger on his part. "I'm sure I am too." "My lawyers are still looking into the CERK hijacking to link you up to it -- an effort I made harder by blowing up the tower." "You blew up the tower on purpose?" Rampant disbelief this time. "Of course. Bianca and erica, whatever else they may be, are Cousins, and I look after my own." "Good luck with the lawyers." Chris smirked. "No proof, no witnesses that could stand up in court, and therefore no point in continuing this conversation." So saying, she 'popped' the tab of her pop can while staring straight at LaCroix and walked on. Halfway back to the table, she realized that she wasn't satisfied with her confrontation with LaCroix, turned around -- and blew a big, fat raspberry in his direction. She chuckled when she saw his shoulders tighten. And then chuckled harder when he turned around to give her the ancient Roman symbol still understood internationally today. Life was good. Back at the Merc table, she barely had time to check the popcorn bowl again for survivors before a low rumbling through the crowd. Christina stood on one of the chairs for a better view. Nick and Natalie had come out of their "conference", and were talking to the crowd. Christina shoved her way through until she was close enough to hear what they were saying. "... truce. The details of which are private." Natalie said. "We're friends." Nick rushed in to say. "And you don't have to try to kill each other anymore. That's all there is to it." Christina felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Those words seems to resonate with such things as goodbyes, departures from friends, and the loss of War opportunities for profit. That last bit hurt -- profits had been down compared to the last War. "Ah, but there's the other side of the coin!" She muttered to herself. Sleep, free time, the ability to move her belongings to her new place, and plans to set up for the next War. People surged and flowed in the next few minutes, with everyone wanting to talk to Nick and Natalie. It was like a crowd scene with rock stars in the centre. Chris let the 'mob' lift her in their wake until she passed in front of Natalie. "Natalie!" Christina had a brief chance, and grabbed it --literally. She shook her hand warmly. "I'm glad you're back!" "So am I!" "See you later!" With that, she was pushed out of range and into the less frenzied area where Nick was surrounded by faithful (and somewhat wet) Knighties. Trails of soap slid over them, and joined with the small water puddles at their feet. Janette was going to be furious at the damage. "Nick!" Never one to let an opportunity (or chance for profits) slide by, Chris leapt into his arms and did what she'd been wanting to do all War, but he'd never been around (or vulnerable) enough. She gave him a big, wet, kiss. ********************************************************************* A Sign of Affection (1/2) by Knightie Amy Rambow, with the kind permission of those mentioned (the "Wetmore" concept is referred to with the indulgent permission of its creators, L. Soward and J. Credland) Date: Friday, Aug. 9, 1996 Time: *around* 11:30 p.m. Sets: The Raven It was the messenger's final assignment of the night, but that didn't excuse its weirdness. He'd been pegged for the job because his employers thought of him as the type to not only know where the Raven Club was, but to have been there on his own time. His employers were a tad limited that way, presuming more than a bit regressively on ownership of a black jeep and a penchant for black leather jackets. He sighed, and explained his way into the club with the ever-present clipboard that is the companion of deliverypeople everywhere. The stack of envelopes perched on it didn't hurt his case, either. There was some sort of private party going on, and if his delivery wasn't specifically expected, well, it rather seemed as if *anything* was expected, so he'd get on just fine. Or so he thought until he got inside. He looked around at the extremely eclectic throng, and wondered again what idiot thought of asking deliveries to be made in crowds. What was he supposed to do? Ask each and every person until he found the twelve who matched the names on his list? Borrow the microphone and page them? He shrugged, and began to make his way to the bar. "Excuse me." The words accompanied a polite tap on his arm, and he turned around to face the woman who'd been on stage when he came in. "Your last name wouldn't happen to be 'Wetmore,' would it?" "No." He smiled. The boyish grin transformed his face, and the woman choked back a gasp. "Cross-overs aren't allowed; cross-overs aren't allowed," she chanted under her breath. "And you're not an actor? One whose credits include _Friends_, _Highlander_, and _JAG_?" "My name is Alan Anders," he said, still smiling. "I make deliveries. Actually, I'm finally finishing a Ph.D. in astrophysics, but it's summer, and this is what pays, anyway." He shifted the clipboard and envelopes and stuck out his hand. "Bonnie Pardoe," she replied, her expression dazed but her grasp firm. "Look .... ummm ... what are you delivering tonight?" He could just imagine her kicking herself for asking something so dull, but it was exactly the question he needed to answer. "I have nine deliveries for twelve people who are supposed to be in this club now. Do you know how things like that work here?" "Well, I've worked here for a few weeks now, but it's never been mentioned. Can I see the list?" "Yeah. As a matter of fact, you're on it," he noted, turning over the clipboard. "I am," Bonnie agreed. "And I know most of these people. Come on." She walked off with the clipboard. She wasn't terribly fond of taking the initiative in most things, but with a sealed envelope involved .... It was almost like not being able to access her email! "Cynthia and Jane. Good. You're on his list." She'd walked over to a table occupied by several women, but whirled around and strode off into the crowd before Alan could note which ones she was talking to. "What list?" the slight brunette demanded, giving him a look not too unlike Bonnie's initial appraisal. He supposed that he must somewhat resemble that actor she'd mentioned. "Deliveries. These envelopes are to be delivered to people who are supposed to be in this club, now. Bonnie seems to think that she can round them up without too much trouble." "She said 'Cynthia and Jane,'" the woman noted. "I'm Cynthia Hoffman, and this is Jane Credland." She tilted her head toward the blond sitting next to her. "If we're on your list, can we have our envelopes? Or do we have to sign for them?" "I'm afraid you have to sign for them, and Bonnie has my clipboard." "Four more," Bonnie declared, popping up with a handful of confused women in her wake, and turning to point at each one in turn. "Lisa, a Mercly Cousin whom I hired. Alora, the Natpacker I went to Disneyland with. Idalia, a Nick&Natpacker, who was coincidentally talking to Alora about the merits of Nat's feelings for Nick. And Kat, who's spent a lot of time with the Vaqueras. Now, I can't seem to spot .... Jane," she addressed the blond. "You were a Die-Hard, right? Would you recognize Bruce Gray?" Jane gestured at the bar. "He's over there, with Sandra." "And Nick. And LaCroix," Cynthia observed with some surprise. "Now *there's* a Kodak moment." "Great!" Bonnie remarked, glancing down at the clipboard. She headed for the bar, and everyone stared after her as if she was out of her mind. Those who knew Bonnie looked at each other with concern; maybe this tiff with the Vaqueras had affected her even more deeply than she was letting on. Or maybe it was just her innate Perk tendencies pushing their way to the fore. Alan watched Bonnie speak earnestly to those clustered at the bar, and did a double take as the tallest of the three men -- who had seemed barely associated with the group before -- turned toward the table and its increasingly crowded environs. It was that radio personality: the one from that station with the cow. What was his tag again? The Nightcrawler? He'd been off the air recently, but he'd really been quite a fad there for a while .... And now he was walking toward the table. Bonnie had convinced the shorter, less-blond man, and he'd convinced the others. "This is all of them, Alan," Bonnie announced. "The other name on your list .... She just isn't here." "Are you sure?" he asked, taking back the clipboard. "She's quite sure," the Nightcrawler drawled, leaning against a nearby pillar and sipping what looked like red wine. "The woman in question is... an acquaintance ... of mine. I know exactly where she is, and 'where' is not '*here*.'" Alan shrugged his shoulders, and set the clipboard down on the table so that he could begin distributing the envelopes. Cynthia nudged its corner, and quickly scanned the list. "You're right; she's not here this time." She looked up at the Nightcrawler and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you know about that, anyway?" He merely smiled condescendingly, and took another sip of his drink. "Alora Chistiakoff?" Alan asked. When a short-haired young woman raised her hand, he offered her a pen. Her signature for him, the envelope for her. "Sandra and Bruce Gray?" He turned to couple from the bar. Bruce reached for the pen. "Actually," Alan said apologetically. "I need Sandra's signature." When Sandra had given it to him and gotten her and Bruce's envelope, she turned to Alora. "Why haven't you opened it yet?" "Well, they're all obviously the same thing. It just seemed a bit rude to open mine while you were all still waiting for yours." "Open them now," Cynthia said. "It's not too late in the War for caution. We may be inadvertently signing a petition, or something." As she signed for the envelope addressed to her and Jane, Jane carefully slit the envelope along the top edge. Alora, slightly intoxicated, giggled. "'Teen Suicide, Don't Do It.'" "Idalia Kakesako?" Alan was pretty certain this was the young woman wearing a leather jacket with "In Love and Faith there is Forever" on the back. She smiled, and signed the sheet. "Nick Knight?" This was the man who'd convinced the Nightcrawler to pay attention to Bonnie, and he looked somehow familiar. Were these all media types? Alan wondered. Was that why Bonnie had mistaken him for an actor? "Lucien LaCroix?" This was the Nightcrawler himself, and his signature was extraordinarily elegant for someone writing on a clipboard while holding a wine glass in his other hand. "Bonnie, I already know," he winked, handing her an envelope after she'd signed. "Lisa Prince?" An athletic-looking young woman filled in that line. "June Russell?" "Kat, please," the capable-seeming blond informed him as she signed her name. "That's all of these. Now ...." Alan was cut off by a strange combination of laughter and puzzled expressions. He looked over Bonnie's shoulder at the two-sided white card she'd extracted from the envelope. On the front, it spelled out "attack" in large, red, capital letters. On the back, it said, "Affectionately, Amy Rambow, Lady of the Knight," next to a small drawing of a white rose. "'Where attack ..." Cynthia began. "... is a sign of affection,'" the other women finished. Several laughed, and started to pass their cards around. Alan saw one signed, "A Repentant Ex-Nevermore," and another signed "Recently a Knightie- in-Training." There was one addressed "To the Aunt of the Light Cousins," and one "To My Fellow Faithful." Nick pocketed his, and walked over to LaCroix. "What is this?" the older man demanded, brandishing his card. "'Founder of the Light Cousins.' There is no such thing as a "light" Cousin." "Actually," Nick grinned. "There is. Are. Sort of. They think you have a human side." LaCroix did something expressive with his eyebrows. "I suppose she's one of yours?" "'A Bright and Shiny Knightie,' I'm told." Nick chuckled. "Bah!" LaCroix snorted. He crumpled the card in his hand, dropped it on the floor, and strolled away. "Don't mind him," Bonnie told Alan, as the disparate group began to disperse back into the larger party. "I don't. Clients on this end don't tend to be a problem; I'm usually long gone by this time." "Well, now, there's a point," she said. "Why are you still here, anyway?" "I have one more delivery to make." --- Continued in part 2/2 ********************************************************************* A Parting Gift By: Lisa Prince (The Mercenary Cousin) Time: Friday, Aug. 9, 1996, during and shortly after "A Sign of Affection" Set: The Raven Mercenary Cousin Lisa had been trying to lurk unnoticed at the party. At the same time, she was trying to break a record for how many margueritas a human being could drink through a straw before becoming comatose. She knew she'd either have to be totally drunk or slightly insane to actually get up the nerve to go talk to LaCroix. After getting dragged into a group of people, that included LaCroix, who were all getting an envelope delivered to them, Lisa figured that now was as good a time as any to approach him. Especially since being the Aunt of the Light Cousins and relatively bombed by this point, she was rather disappointed to see LaCroix crumple his card, drop it to the ground and walk away. She wasn't a Light Cousin by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew her Nieces and Nephews would be upset by LaCroix's total disregard for them and their gesture. She just couldn't have that. Being an ancient vampire was one thing, being a rude, self-absorbed, ancient vampire was something else entirely. Lisa picked up the crumpled up card, smoothed it out, and stomped off after LaCroix. She caught up to him at the bar. He had his back to her and was nonchalantly sipping from his wine glass. Reaching out, she poked him rather forcefully in the shoulder. He turned quickly to face her, startled and annoyed at this intrusion. She giggled rather drunkenly at the expression on his face. Staring down at the mortal who was looking at him and giggling, LaCroix drawled menacingly, "*What* do you want?" "I, um, I, um, well, I ..." Lisa stammered softly --seemingly having lost the ability to string together enough words to complete a sentence. "Yeeesssss?" LaCroix breathed as he leaned in closer to the mortal. Getting rather flustered, Lisa's voice dropped even lower as she took a deep breath and said, "I'm a Mercenary Cousin and I haven't met you yet or anything and I know that you don't know me or anything but I really wanted to met you and I had someone procure a specific book for me because I really thought you might like it and I wanted to give it to you in person at first I was going to just leave it in your room but I figured you might get a wee bit upset if you found out that someone broke into your room and I didn't want you to be upset and ..." "STOP!" LaCroix snapped. Lisa went totally pale and probably would have fainted dead away at that point if she weren't so afraid that she'd never wake up again. "Sorry," she whispered, "you make me kind of nervous." "What exactly do you want?" LaCroix asked with very little interest or emotion in his voice. "I wanted to give you this," Lisa said as she held up the giftwrapped book without looking at him. "I thought you might like it. Might remind you of better times or something." LaCroix took the present from the woman and when she didn't make any move to leave, he asked, "Anything else?" Lisa shuffled around a bit before holding up the crumpled card. "I thought you probably didn't really mean to drop this," she said as she handed it to him and then walked away. She looked over her shoulder as she moved toward the door. A wistful smile crossed her face as she saw LaCroix look around nonchalantly before putting the card in his pocket. She walked out the door of the Raven and headed back to Merc. Central. Everything in her suite was already locked down or had been sent home. After checking out the opening of the DH museum the following night, she'd be heading home as well. \\I just hate endings.\\ she thought to herself as she walked alone into the darkness. Back in the Raven, LaCroix had moved to a relatively deserted corner of the bar to unwrap the gift. He was amused to see a copy of Machiavelli's "The Prince" nestled within the paper. \\I haven't read this in years.\\ As he flipped through it, he noticed that the woman had underlined and highlighted certain sections -- "On Different Kinds of Troops, Especially Mercenaries" and "On Cruelty and Clemency: Whether It Is Better To Be Loved or Feared." Chuckling evilly at the woman's obvious digs at him, he put the book away. \\I'll have to have a little chat with that one at some point\\ he thought to himself as he headed back to the bar. ****************************** A big, huge "thank you" to Perri and Catheboo our co-Warmistresses, Diane E. our Timeline Keeper, and Abby who has the enormous task of putting all this stuff together (I think?) and everyone who participated in any way for making this war come together so well. It was great to see everyone get into the spirit of the war and have fun. See you all on-list :) ********************************************************************* RAVEN PARTY, Part 3 Fri., Aug 9/96 Raven, 11:40pm Lynn Stapleton with the particular assistance of Valerie Meachum. As the party kept going, more people kept adding their names to the list of performers. Some would go up individually, and others preferred a group effort. The Ravenettes, along with Miklos, Urs, and some of the Raven's usual clientele assisted with the handing out of drinks. Lynn was barely able to keep up in between performances, in that as soon as one group finished another was already up on stage, rearing and ready to go. Dawn Steele was the next to get up on the stage. However, due to an heated, or rather a soaken incident earlier in the evening, her forest green dress had been torn to shreds. So now, being the practical person that she is, she wore a pair of Levi's jeans and McMaster University t-shirt. Her dark blond hair, which had been hung loosely in curls down over her shoulders was now tied back in a braid, to keep it out of her face. She pressed her selection on the karaoke machine, and began to move to the beat. When the cue came to sing, she belted out the lyrics to Alanna Myles song, "Rock This Joint" Most of the room's occupants were up and dancing. When she finished, she went back and sat with fellow Mercs Dianne, Sonja, and Elizabeth. Natalie and a good portion of the NatPackers were trying to converse, as well as dance. Amy was still at the bar. They began to talk about who would undo their whammies. There were several who debated the benefits, and the disadvantages of having the various vampires in the room. There were a few staunch declarations from some that they wanted LaCroix nowhere near their minds, while a few of them - displaying to the fullest their NatPack characteristic of having no self- preservation skills - along with some perverse attraction wouldn't mind the interaction with the ancient vampire. Not only wouldn't mind, but relished it. Amparo was *still* trying to get closer to Nick at every chance she could get. There were a couple of songs in which she tried to coax Nick out to dance with her, but had still had no luck. "Amp, you might have to wait til the next century for that," Jaime Kohles quipped, seeing that the Knighties still kept a close eye on Nick. Amparo frowned. She was determined to get Nick to herself, without any Knighties around, for more than five minutes. But it seemed nothing more than wishful thinking at the moment. Valerie looked up from where she was talking with Amy. Well trying to talk to her. Amy kept switching from English, to German, to ASL in the same sentence. Beth Sheeks, who is deaf, and a friend of Lisa McDavid's, saw this signing, and moved towards the direction of the NatPack. She introduced herself to Valerie, Amy, and Judy, and the four started a conversation. Jane Credland and Felicia Bollin moved towards the Pack and smiled. The last time they saw the NatPack, or rather their clothing, over 90% of it amounted to surgical scrubs of various colours. This night, they were dressed to the nines. Valerie was wearing her brand-new dress that she had expertly made that afternoon. Others wore dresses or very stylish light-weight pants suits. Jennie Hayes, still with her fancy for things orange, wore a faint, earthy-toned orange sundress which was now drenched in soapy water residue, and her orange coloured glasses. Valerie stepped up to the microphone to do a semi-encore of her Phantom of the Opera post from the last War, and prepared to sing "Think of Me" from the Toronto cast album version. Recalling the anarchic impromptu performance of _Phantom_ highlights that occured during the previous War, a collective sigh of relief rose at the relatively harmless selection. But as the end of the last verse approached, a look of trepidation crossed Jennie's face. "Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their season, so do we..." Leaning over to PartlyK, Jennie began to warn, "You know, I bet she's going to do --" Unexpectedly for those unfamiliar with the Toronto cast album, instead of a relatively tame little bouncing climb the showy ending of the aria, she rocketed immediately to a C before dancing up and down a few delicate coloratura riffs and finishing up with the familiar B-flat that was normally the pinnacle of the piece. Blinking behind one cracked lens in its orange frame, Jennie finished, "Rebecca Caine's cadenza." Miraculous, all but one rack of glasses above the bar had survived the assault, as well as most of those in use throughout the club. Just in case, though, Valerie was safely hustled offstage. When Lynn saw that brief break in the performances, people sat around talking to friends, she took the opportunity to switch on some pre- recorded music from the Forever Knight soundtrack. People reminisced to earlier Wars and debated the left out scenes in the American first season episodes, compared to the Canadian episodes. A number of people congratulated Valerie on her performance, while others returned to the bar, to top up their drinks. And, for those who glass did shatter, returned for a glass as well as a drink. When the cue for the song, "Black Rose" came up, Cousin Cherri got up on stage, and took the microphone from its cradle. With a long whistle, she drew attention to herself. She called for the music to cut, and then pressed her selection of "Black Rose" on the karaoke machine, and began to sing the lyrics with a sultry voice. Samantha Smiley, who had spent her time between talking with the Mercs, the Valentines, and the Cousins, worked her way around to the rest of the affiliations with ease. Laura MacMillan, Jenn Dukarski, Pat Witham, Heather DeLong and Gayle MacCreedy were up dancing on the floor, and enjoying themselves to the hilt. Tracey, Partly K, and the Perkulators made their way across the crowded Raven to meet up with Vachon, Torrey and the Vaqueras. Everyone clapped when Cherri finished her song, and Lisa McDavid followed right behind her on stage. Lisa took the microphone and spoke. "This is in dedication to my six cats, which I miss so much." She scanned the music selection for the songs she was looking for. "Ah, here they are: 'The Siamese Cat Song', and 'What's New, PussyCat?'" She began to sing. In the area of the bar, came one distinct voice, very quietly, from Natalie. "I miss Sydney." Sharon Bhandari replied to Nat. "Sydney is safe. We asked Grace to look in after him, while we looked after you. If you'd like, Mei will call her to bring him over back to your apartment tonight. We'll go by there when we leave the Raven if you want." "That would be wonderful. Thank you." While Natalie sat back and listened to the music; a small tear fell down her cheek. She had lost so much time the last few months, and she was grateful for the members of the Pack, who had shown up in Toronto, when word came down that she was very ill. After asking Janette's permission, Mei walked into the Raven office and placed a call to Grace. And as she did, she tried unsuccessfully to not become entangled in the phone cord. Valerie had managed to get a hold of a video camera, and Kelly Gritten had been recording the events of the evening for posterity. In between mixing weird and wonderful drinks for herself and other affiliation members. She'd even shown Miklos how to make some of them. Alora had gotten Miklos to mix her some vodka and Ribena. When Janette saw what he was using, she winced slightly, and turned to Alora. "You are actually going to drink that stuff?" "Yes," Alora responded, matter-of-factly. Then she added, "It's mixed with Vodka. Want to try it?" "No, thank-you, Cher. I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime." Alora smiled and went back to chatting with Lynn who had finally given up MC'ing and passed the responsibility onto someone else. Lynn ordered a Screwdriver, and sat back and relaxed, with her friends. ________________________ End Part 3 ********************************************************************* The Party's Over... almost by Jill Kirby and the NatPack August 9, 11:40 p.m. It had been a long night, but Natalie finally found her way back to the NatPack. Most of them were sitting around in various stages of intoxication and still-damp hair; some were dancing, some were talking with friends. When they spotted Nat sitting down at a table with GT and Alora, the various stray Pack members headed back to the group. "You OK, Nat?" asked Kelly, concerned. "I'm just fine." Natalie rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. "A little tired, maybe." GT peered at Natalie. "I think it's time for you to get back to bed, Doctor Lambert." Nat made a half-hearted noise of protest, but Kelly put her hands on her hips. "I agree. You look exhausted." She did; there were dark circles under Natalie's eyes that hadn't been there earlier. "This is your first outing in a while," GT said cheerfully, slinging one arm around Nat's shoulders. She kept her tone light. "Can't have you getting too much excitement in one night." "Then I shouldn't have all of you looking after me," smiled Natalie, looking at everyone gathered around her. Short and tall, dark and light, smiling and serious-- a group of contrasts and contradictions that, somehow, made up the NatPack. "Good point." Maureen linked one arm through Jill's. "We're pretty damn exciting." Jill rolled her eyes. "Oh, hell, I feel a group hug coming on." Which is exactly what happened. Separating herself-- eventually-- from the affectionate mob, Linda Rose took charge. "Let's get you home," she said briskly to Natalie in her best "I'm a mother, don't argue with me" voice. "We'll need to round up some cabs..." Nat interrupted her. "No. You guys should stay-- have some fun. You've spent too much time taking care of me." She shook her head at the grumbles of disagreement. "I'm Why should you miss a chance to party at the Raven?" "I'll go home with Nat," volunteered GT. She glanced at Kelly. "May I borrow the Autumn-Wine Coloured (tm) Chevy Cavalier?" Kelly threw her the keys. "Go ahead. Drive carefully." GT looked offended. "Don't I " "We'll walk you out," declared Mei. Arms linked, supporting each other and Natalie, they escorted her protectively out to the car and saw her safely inside. Natalie smiled at them from the passenger seat. "Goodnight, all. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do... which leaves you plenty of room." They watched the little car drive off. From somewhere came a sniff, then another, then another. Soon, the entire group was sniffling, and sounded in dire need of Kleenex (tm) and cold medicine. "I need another drink," muttered Jill. "I need " Maureen said, propelling Jill back into the Raven. "We're not drunk enough to deal with the end of a War." "Or a bunch of Knighties," Alora grumbled. "Skinner, give us strength." "Amen," added Amy, following them inside. "Where's the gin?" ********************************************************************* NatPackers, Bar None By Kelly Gritten, Alora Chistiakoff and the NatPack August 9, right after "The Party's Over... almost" "Are you okay, Amy?" Maureen asked their NatPacker friend, a bit concerned. Amy had already gone through three of Susan's mixed drinks, and seemed bent on downing a fourth. "Whaa?" Amy seemed to be looking past Maureen rather than directly at her, but the fact that the NatPacker had even identified which direction from which the question had come was a good sign. She hoped. "Uh, never mind." Maureen left her friend to contemplate her latest alcoholic mix, and frowned at the beernuts on the bar instead. They looked a bit...greasy. Methodically, she began laying them out on the counter and patting them with a cocktail napkin to remove the excess oil. "Would you like a drink to go with that?" Miklos asked. "She'll have a margarita," Jill interjected as she glided to the bar. She laid an elegant hand on the counter top. "And I'll have some of the special stock." Miklos blinked in surprise. These War people were odd, to be sure, but really.... "I'm sorry, I don't think I quite heard you. What would you like to drink?" Jill arched an eyebrow. "A glass of wine. From the reserve stock." At his impassive face, she hesitated. She shook her head a little, as if trying to clear it, then sighed. "Just give me a red wine." Miklos eyed the customer carefully and then nodded. Alora reached into a basket on the end of the bar and pulled out a book of matches with the Raven logo. "Miklos, I'd like a *strawberry* margarita, please." "Make that two, please." Kelly said as she slid up on a vacant bar stool. "How can anyone stand these?" Maureen griped, "Look how messy they look. They are just in a pile like that. Messy, messy, messy." Kelly looked at Maureen, "How else are you supposed to serve nuts, Mo?" Maureen didn't respond. She dumped all of the nuts into one bowl and then began carefully replacing them, one at a time, in a circular pattern. Alora struck a match and watched as it burned down to her fingers. She blew it out quickly and then lit another. Then glancing at Mo's beernut pattern, she asked, "Do nuts stink when they burn?" Maureen looked up and noticed the pile of burned matches in front of Alora. "I don't know. But I'll bet it makes a mess." She reached over and wiped up the small pile of ash before adding, "That is disgusting, Alora." "What?" The most recent victim of Mo's cleanliness tirade looked at her fellow NatPackers. "Have another drink, Mo." She sighed. Kelly giggled, "Alora, didn't you learn your lesson about those matches at the gas station?" Alora blinked. "I don't see any gas pumps around *here*, Kelly." Jill sighed, "No cheri, but there are many things that are just as flammable." "Oh, fine." Alora tossed the near empty book of matches back in the basket. "Well," Maureen picked up her glass, "a toast." Her fellow NatPackers lifted their drinks together. "To the end of another War." Jill smiled. "To the end of some of our *first* War." Kelly winked at Alora. "To an endless supply of gin!" Amy giggled. "To the Pack!" Maureen declared. "To the Pack!" They all echoed. ********************************************************************* A Sign of Affection (2/2) by Knightie Amy Rambow, with the permission of Bonnie Pardoe (The character "Alan Anders" was created by Amy for Bonnie. He's a gift; enjoy him, Bonnie. ) Date: Friday, Aug. 9, 1996 Time: *around* 11:45 p.m., directly following "A Sign of Affection" 1/2 Sets: The Raven "I have one more delivery to make," Alan declared, detaching the large manila envelop from the bottom of the clipboard and handing it to Bonnie. "The instructions explicitly said that this delivery was to be made separately from the first." "Really?" Bonnie asked absently, prying up the annoying metal clips. Not that she minded an excuse to continue talking to the friendly, slightly-older look-alike for Duncan MacLeod's protege, with a degree in astrophysics. Now, if only he had a black jeep, she mused. When she finally managed to separate the flap from the envelope, she extracted a letter printed by dot-matrix on form-feed paper. If that --and the distinctive signature -- had not given away its origin, the unique form of address would have. "Thursday, August 8, 1996 Bonniest, I can barely begin to express how deeply touched I am by your gift. It is a magnificent gesture, from a dear friend. The thing itself is an experience like no other I've ever had. I want to reassure you that it arrived safely in Washington, and that I have no intention of letting it out of my sight in the foreseeable future. However, you have to reassure Nick of those same things. In person. He deserves to know where it went, and why, and that it is safely in the hands of a responsible Catholic Knightie at the moment. He also needs to know that he will be getting it back. Bonnie, as you know, I simply cannot keep a saint's relic. There are only two places in the world for Saint Joan's cross: with the Church, for the benefit of everyone, or with Nick, to whom it was originally given. I cannot trust such a precious thing to the mail, of course, so I'll have to wait to return it until I finally make it to Toronto myself. Please tell Nick this. And thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. Love, Amy P.S. I'm sorry about the situation with the Vaqueras, and glad you've found refuge in the loft. Have you considered asking Nick to speak to Vachon on your behalf? --- AKR" Bonnie sighed; she'd been trying to put that out of her mind for a while, and it had seemed to be working. "Is anything wrong?" Alan asked with genuine concern. "No. No, I'm fine," Bonnie bluffed. "Good." He grinned, and Bonnie wondered idly if the actor he resembled had ever thought of patenting that irreverent, yet vulnerable, expression. This Toronto was obviously an interdimensional nexus for eerie coincidences; that was the only plausible explanation. "I have to go out and call the office, since that one delivery is incomplete, but .... maybe I can come back?" "Sure. Tell them you're with me." Bonnie hesitated a moment, recalling her indeterminate affiliatedness. "Better yet, tell them you're Unaffiliated." She grinned. "It'll even be true." Suddenly, with all the impact of a cliche reborn, he caught up her hand, kissed it, winked, and was gone. Bonnie sighed again, and reread her letter. She could tell that Amy did truly appreciate the gift; this sort of hyper-responsibility was just a Knightie kind of thing. "Is that letter also from Amy?" "Eeek!" Bonnie jumped. "You shouldn't sneak up on people, Nick. And, yes. But I thought you didn't know her." "Sorry," he said unrepentantly. "And, no, I don't know her. But I've heard of her. And from her. She emailed me by way of another Knightie to encourage me to speak to Vachon on your behalf. Even though she seems to think your true destiny is as a Knightie," he grinned briefly. "She just wants you to be happy. Are really things that strained between you and Vachon?" "No. Yes. Maybe," she rolled her eyes at herself. "I don't know." "Would you like me to speak to him for you?" "I have something to tell you, and after it, I'm not sure you'll want to help me anymore." "Try me." She did. Bonnie explained how her friend had not been able to come to Toronto, how she'd wanted to provide a most appropriate and ... unique ... momento at this tumultuous time in her friend's life, and how she'd hired a Merc to execute the commission. Finally, she just showed him the letter. It seemed to make more sense; no matter how she tried on her own, it always seemed to start in the middle and finish at the start. "Bonnie, it's okay." "It is?" "It is. I gave Joan's cross to Kira freely -- even gratefully. What's that slogan on some people's jackets? 'Love and faith'? I still think it was the right decision, and I think she would have understood. Even, understands." He paused for a long moment. "But I understand your friend, Amy, too." He grinned ruefully. "I wish I could pick out the exact moment in history when that cross stopped being a momento of a brave girl and became the relic of a saint. It's a ... weight. I don't know that it wasn't all along, but .... Do you want me to speak to Vachon?" "Yes," Bonnie sniffed. She'd been determined not to cry again. "Please." Nick reached over and patted her hand. "Gladly." He smiled gently, and Bonnie's heart did something she was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to do for anyone but black-haired Spanish vampires. No wonder Amy was a Knightie; not only did she get that quest she was always so wrapped up in, but the packaging wasn't half bad, either. Bonnie laughed a little at herself as she watched Nick wander across the Raven toward Vachon. Then she jumped half out of her skin when another person turned up at her shoulder without warning. "Yowtch!" "Sorry," Alan Anders said, unintentionally echoing Nick. Bonnie laughed. He took that as a good sign, and asked her to dance. Seeing Nick talking to Vachon, everything seemed as right as it could be at this point, and Bonnie was happy to oblige. --- END ********************************************************************* STRAIGHT INTO DARKNESS (01/01) By Bonnie Pardoe (former Vaquero) (overlapping the end of and continuous with "A Sign Of Affection," part 2) Friday, August 9th, just before Midnight The Raven and beyond ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Do you want me to speak to Vachon?" Nick so kindly offered the young woman. "Yes," Bonnie sniffed. She'd been determined not to cry again. "Please." She was continually surprised by the support of her friends and new acquaintances. She couldn't believe that anyone would have anything to do with her after what she had done. Nick reached over and patted her hand. "Gladly." He smiled gently, and Bonnie's heart did something she was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to do for anyone but black-haired Spanish vampires. \\Amy sure can pick 'em.\\ Bonnie laughed a little at herself as she watched Nick wander across the Raven toward Vachon. So, Nat had spoken to Vachon, and Nick was about to. \\Perhaps someday Vachon might forgive me after all.\\ And if Vachon could forgive her, maybe Torrey and the Vaqueros would someday as well. In the meantime, well.... "Yowtch!" Bonnie jumped half out of her skin when another person turned up at her shoulder without warning. "Sorry." It was the delivery-guy, Alan Anders. Bonnie's heart did that thing again, that thing that used to only happen around you-know- whom. Bonnie smiled, which Alan took as a good sign and asked her to dance. Bonnie took one more look over at Nick who had just starting to talk with Vachon. Everything seemed as right as it could be at that point, so Bonnie happily accepted. She and Alan danced through two songs before he suggested that they take a ride. When they got outside, Bonnie was very pleasantly surprised when he handed her up into his Jeep -- his black Jeep. It was a warm night for Toronto, so the soft-top was down and the doors were off. "So, any place you'd like to go?" Bonnie smiled and shook her head. "Um, I'm not exactly from around here. I'm kinda on vacation." She thought back over the past two weeks of singing all night at the Raven and working for the war-effort most of the day back at the church. \\I think I'm going to need a vacation from this vacation.\\ She smiled and Alan gave her that grin again; she was thankful that she was sitting down for it this time. He started up the engine and pulled out. "Guess we'll just drive around and see where we end up, eh?" After a short while, Bonnie realized that they weren't too far from the church so she asked Alan to make a detour. He pulled the Jeep over; she slid out and walked across the street. Bonnie stood outside the gates and stared at the dark, empty church. "Ah, Vach. If I had it to do all over again...." A tear snuck out of the corner of her eye and slowly trickled down her cheek. Alan came over and put an arm around her shoulder. "Say, what's with all the geese?" Bonnie couldn't help laughing. "It's a kind of a long story." He smile sincerely at her. "Well, I've got some time to kill if you do." The two walked back to the Jeep. Bonnie slipped one of Alan's cassettes into the tape player, pleased that he shared her taste in music. He started up the engine again and they headed off -- out of the city then south to wherever the Queen Elizabeth Highway would take them. end ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ FKFIC-L'ers: If I may take this opportunity, I would like to give my deepest thanks to Torrey and the Vaqueros for not actually lynching me for what I did. And to thank everyone who offered to take me in and help me out during the past couple of days. With special thanks to Amy Rambow for the special delivery. You guys are all really great and I am glad to have had the opportunity to collaborate and correspond with many of you. Thanks for making it a memorable war! ********************************************************************* Hiring Mercs, 101 by Carrie Krumtum, Knightie, with posts from Dawn Steele Place: The Raven Time: Friday night, at the party...11:59 8/9/96 Allie was having a good time at the party. She was laughing with Tracy and discussing the relative merits of cafe latte vs. cappuccino when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning she looked into the ocean blue eyes of Gary Davies. Well, not Gary Davies in person but a dead ringer for him, anyway. She blushed. "Special delivery, Ms. Percy," he was careful to pronounce her name correctly. He smiled at her with an impish look of delight at her blush. He tossed his head to the side to move his wonderfully blonde hair out of his face and handed her the clipboard. "Thanks," Allison said as she signed her name to the clipboard and handed it back to him. The messenger handed her an envelope and with a wink, turned and left the Raven. "What's in the package?" Tracy asked as she nestled up next to her new friend's shoulder to look at the envelope. "I don't have any idea," Allie said as she turned the envelope over in her hands and tried see if she recognized the handwriting. The label was neatly printed in a hand she did not know. Shrugging that she opened the envelope and pulling out the letter held within, began to read. The shriek brought the entire room to near silence as conversations waned long enough to identify the Red Knightie as the source of this outburst. "OH...MY...GOD!!! SHE'S TOAST!!!!" Tracy looked confused as she read over Allison's shoulder. The note was self explanatory... ~~~ Allie, I hoped to let you know how proud of you I was about all the effort you put into the Charity Bike Ride and decided that since attack is the sincerest form of affection in a war, I would tell the world how I feel about you. The following is the correspondence associated with the planned attack, payment for services rendered and the aftermath. Carrie, The Giggling Knightie ~~~ As she looked up, the Gary Davies look alike returned to the club wheeling a teal green Biachi racing bike with Shimano STI shifters, clipless pedals, sleek but comfortable womens racing saddle and a minipad computer attached to the stem of the bike for use in checking e-mail while out on future Charity Rides. This last attachment would ensure that she would never again have to trust a fellow knightie to keep track of herself in future wars. ~~~ Subject: Re: Confirmation of contract negotiations Date: Sat, 27 Jul 1996 18:24:44 -0300 (ADT) From: "l.d. steele" To: Carrie Krumtum On Sat, 27 Jul 1996, Carrie Krumtum wrote: > I'm just writing to be sure that the contract for keeping you on > retainer has met with your satisfaction and that you are in receipt > of your payment ie, the print. > Carrie, Proud Knightie Yep! :) It looks as if I'm going to be occupied in the first couple of days, so don't get into much trouble. @@ Dawn @@ Need a Merc? Look no further! I may be new to the Merc @@ L.D. Steele @@ faction, but I'm a War 2,3,4 & 5 veteran. (Prices vary @@ h36a@unb.ca @@ according to job.) Specializations: quick writing, and <><><><><><><><><>< {creative} problem solutions. Contact me for details! Subject: Re: Confirmation of contract negotiations Date: Wed, 7 Aug 1996 01:44:42 -0300 (ADT) From: "l.d. steele" To: Carrie Krumtum On Tue, 6 Aug 1996, Carrie Krumtum wrote: > Can you do it for me? Yes -- but not before tomorrow night. > Whatever the payment is, I'll get it, somehow. > Carrie, Proud Knightie Since this is an attack of affection... how about a Toronto Trek flyer? Sent virtually and signed by both NB and Kathryn Long (I wish!). :) Dawn Subject: Re: Confirmation of contract negotiations Date: Thu, 8 Aug 1996 00:10:09 -0300 (ADT) From: "l.d. steele" To: Carrie Krumtum On Wed, 7 Aug 1996, Carrie Krumtum wrote: > Thanks Dawn. I know there's a cease fire on, but I'm counting on > this attack to prepare for a really neat surprise for Allie. She > pedalled hard and is very disserving of her virtual present. > Carrie, Proud Knightie Since the cease fire has already started, I decided to send you a spiffied up version tomorrow morning instead of a rough draft. It'll have less spelling mistakes. :) Dawn ps. Just did you want to date it? Subject: Re: War: Roses are red, and so is... Date: Fri, 9 Aug 1996 16:40:29 -0300 (ADT) From: "l.d. steele" To: Carrie Krumtum On Fri, 9 Aug 1996, Carrie Krumtum wrote: > That was absolutely boootiful. Thank you, thank you, thank you. No problem -- I enjoyed doing it. Dawn -- who is now 40 war posts behind so I haven't seen what you did to Allie after I dumped... dropped her off. :) Subject: re: Allison Date: Sun, 11 Aug 1996 10:47:30 -0300 (ADT) From: "l.d. steele" To: Carrie Krumtum Carrie, Allison said in her latest post: > P.S. The true perpetrator will have to drop less subtle hints if > he/she wants to join in on all the fun. I take it this was a sanctioned attack (which I thought when I saw you writing bits). When is it going to come out? Dawn Subject: Re: Allison Date: Sun, 11 Aug 1996 10:59:53 -0300 (ADT) From: "l.d. steele" To: Carrie Krumtum On Sun, 11 Aug 1996, Carrie Krumtum wrote: > Next war, she can avenge away. At least then I'll be able to type > with two hands and can participate more. > Thanks for your assist. BTW, is it the usual procedure for a merc to > check on the moral fiber of their clients? Nope! Just thought it was strange she didn't clue in when wrote up the bike return scene. :) Are you sure she doesn't know? Have fun during the next war anyway. Attacks can be great fun. :) <---- patented Will Steeves smiley used to deflect attacks. Dawn Allie, you are too trusting for your own good girl. But, I love it! ********************************************************************* I Guess It Wasn't Mine by Dianne la Mercenaire (working on commission; and with deep appreciation to The Source I Do Not Have, whose excellent advice and descriptive efforts I ended up almost completely ignoring-- sorry! :-/) [Timeline: Friday, 8/9/96, evening; late evening; and the following morning] Dianne paused on her slow leisurely tour of the ROM's "Treasures from the Duchy of Brabant" to study Jan Van Eyck's "Portrait of a Man" more closely. It *was* quite obviously of LaCroix... and a very nice likeness too.... Some who saw her pause so thoughtfully might have believed her a student of Renaissance art. She was not. Others, thinking they knew better, might snidely take it as proof that the highest-ranking Merc of all was, indeed, a Cousin at heart. It was not. Those who knew the deep Mercenary leanings embedded in her soul might have thought nasty little suspicious thoughts about her being on a job. They'd be right. In a highly-overused plot device, she pulled the printout from her pocket and read the short message again: ---------------- Dear Dianne, What would it take for you to steal the Jan Van Eyck portrait of LaCroix for me? I hope it has not already been stolen. Since I am not participating in the war, I hope that you will be willing to be hired by another Merc. Would a delivery of the finest chocolates from RDM, twice a week, in perpetuity, do it? I really like Jan Van Eyck, and the portrait sounds marvelous, and I would like to hang it in my office/private study/library at Merc Central. Thank you for considering thisoffer. Mercenarily yours, Sara Orel --------------- Strictly speaking, international art theft was not on her usual list of services, but, given the circumstances-- not to mention the truly irresistible fee offered, she'd made an exception. She'd purposely left this job until most of the affiliation members had already seen the exhibit. After all, this was not strictly a _War_ job... simply a job that she had happened to take in Wartime. No attack on affiliations or characters, no one to care-- save... oh... the Toronto PD (down several of their best detectives at the moment anyway), the RCMP (Oooooooh! Now *that* could be fun!), the museums involved, the government of whatever country it was Brabant was now in, Interpol.... Nothing *big*.... No one would ever know how or who. The War participants might be suspected-- the Guild members even more so-- but there would be no apparent motive and no proof. It would become one of the many famous (and not-so-famous) works of art that 'vanished' over the years under suspicious circumstances, to be kept by a rich connoisseur in a secret private collection. But she happened to know it would be well cared-for and properly appreciated. -+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+- [From the Toronto Morning Examiner, 8/10/96, Front Page]: 'Thief In The Night' Nabs ROM Painting ------------------------------------------------------ With the help of an inside source, the Examiner was able early this morning to confirm rumors that the "Treasures of the Duchy of Brabant" exhibit currently housed at the Royal Ontario Museum was the subject of a successful theft last night. Unconfirmed reports identify the stolen painting as Van Eyck's "Portrait of a Man" which was apparently the only item disturbed by the thief, although the exhibit alos contained works by Da Vinci and Bosch, as well as other Van Eyck masterpieces. Metro PD spokesperson Commissioner Richard Vetter had no comment when asked how the thief was able to circumvent the elaborate security measures at the museum. The small painting, which dates from the early 15th century, depicts a man with pale short spiked hair, a style thought to be unusual for the period.... ********************************************************************* Spanish Dancing... Location: The Raven Time: August 9th, evening by Sherri L. Campbell After: Torrey's Secret The Vaqueros were having a *good* time. It was nice to actually take the time to relax and party. It was a shame that Torrey was Miki- zoned, but she had been needing some time off from the stress of war leadership, anyway. The various members of the Vaqueros were drinking their drinks of choice, and the laughter was beginning to increase in frequency. Sherri sat nursing her Pepsi and watching everyone's antics. It was beginning to be really entertaining. Cindy Brewer was matching Crystal drink for drink. //Wow! I didn't know they could do that!// Cindy was getting slightly tipsy, but Crystal....Sherri leaned over and sneaked a sip of Crystal's dark colored drink. Leaning back she grinned quietly. No fair having a drinking contest if one was imbibing non-alcoholic drinks... but it *was* rather funny. Suddenly Vachon was seating himself next to Sherri. Jumping slightly, Sherri looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face. Vachon leaned close, raising his voice slightly. "What's with Torrey?" Sherri blushed. "Um.. well, remember last War? Remember Torrey being fascinated with Miklos?" At Vachon's groan and rolling of eyes, she slapped him slightly on his shoulder. "Oh, come on, Vachon. It would be *soooo* boring if all your followers were completely sotted with you, now wouldn't it?" Softly laughing, Vachon shook his long hair back from his face. "It would be harder to take, I think." Looking around, he spotted his Vaqueros at play, and grinned. "At least this War I didn't have to put up with drunken limericks!" Sherri snickered at the reference to the memorable "date" that Vachon and Torrey had during War 5. "You are soooo right, Vachon. Now, why don't you make yourself useful, and thrill some of your followers?" Vachon was taken aback at this suggestion, and it showed in his face. Sherri laughed hard. "No, no, Vachon, not *that*... I meant, why don't you dance with them?" Vachon's face cleared, and he rose to his feet. "That, I can do!" Striding to where Cindy sat, he swept her up and out on to the dance floor. She was dancing in his arms before her brain caught up to *who* her partner was. Giggling giddily, she enjoyed her dance. It was really nice to finally be so close to the one she was too shy to talk to, most of the time. She tipsily wandered back to the table as Vachon moved on to dance with Terry, then McKenna, and Carla... and the other Vaqueras, except for Torrey. Taking a break at that point, Vachon shared a table with Jay, and commiserated about being a male surrounded by all the crazy women. Finally, drawing in a deep breath, he approached Torrey, and dragged her out to the dance floor. The glaze finally cleared from her eyes, and she was enjoying her dance immensely. He abruptly stopped and handed her over to an unseen friend to finish the dance. Torrey looked up, and was shocked to find herself in Miklos' arms. As she was swung away in the next series of dance steps, she could hear Vachon laughing loudly. "Enjoy your dance, Torrey! It's the least I could do for you!" ------------------------------------------------------------ Hmmm. If I write any more, my affiliation leader might get upset. :) ********************************************************************* Dance till Dawn Location: The Raven Time: August 9,evening (Immeaditely following Spanish Dancing) By Cindy Brewer, Vaquera DHRC98C@prodigy.com Cindy Brewer normally hated the taste of alcohol, but when fellow Vaquera Crystal and a few of the others had come up with the idea of a drinking contest she had jumped in with both feet. This was a War after all and she was determined to have a little fun. She had lost count after ten of Miklos's "Sex on the beach". When part of her senses finally returned she realized she was out on the dance floor doing dances she didn't even realize she knew the steps too. Strong male arms encircled her waist and she was airborn for a brief moment. Once her eyes focused again she realized it was Vachon dancing with her. Between the alcohol and the realization that she was dancing with Javier Vachon Cindy couldn't help herself. She started to giggle. Blink Blink "What's so funny?"Javier asked hoping the college student wasn't going to collapse in a fit of giggles like she had during the last War. Finally finding her voice Cindy smiled and shook her head,"Nonthing." Javier nodded,noting the song was winding down,"Thanks for the dance."He said depositing her at a small table next to Sherri. With a slightly glazed look in her hazel eyes Cindy smiled at the vampire,"Anytime." Vachon returned her smile and maneuvered through the crowd to find Torrey. Sherri gently touched her friend's arm,"Cindy,you okay?" Cindy turned to face her,nearly falling off her chair in the process,"Never been better,why?" Sherri grinned,"How many drinks have you had tonight?" Reality started to slowly sink in.Cindy glanced back at the dance floor before burying her face in her hands,slumping down in her chair. "Oh God,Sherri.Was I just up on that dance floor dancing with Vachon in front of all these people?!" Sherri patted her shy friend on the shoulder,"Yes,dear you were." Cindy folded her arms on the table and rested her head on top. After a few minutes she composed herself long enough to look her friend in the eye. "I was,really?"Cindy replied with a smile,"Well,I hope somebody got it on video tape." Sherri only shook her head in amusement before returning her attention to the dance floor. Cindy Brewer DHRC98C@prodigy.com Thanks guys! This was fun! ********************************************************************* Vinyl? Rubber? Why didn't you say so? (01/01) Friday 8/9, Evening, After the Water Fight. Brutal Cousin Karies Karies and Leslie moved on the fire escape. Their hulking dark forms had not been noticed by anyone. The last drenched figure retreated into the Raven, wet T-shirt contest about to begin, leaving the hose slumped against the side of the building. Karies shut down the video camera borrowed from her friend's cable access magazine show, and grinned sinister. This was one video that would command a tape tree tour, f'sure. They slithered down the fire escape, Karies heade through the alley way, Leslie back to the Raven. Karies locked the camera in the Voyager from the Bottom of the Sea, and stuffed the video into her pocket. She would have to have her friend dub it onto VHS, but that would not be a bother, he owed her big time for getting him a ticket to see the Sex Pistols. Karies shrieked, like a big-sissy-girly-gal who just saw a vampire rat and looked at her watch. She had to drive back to Boston and be at her apartment by five thirty Saturday night to meet the hoards of other old timers going down to see the aged band. Time to grab her things at the dingy motel and peel out. Herding Leslie and Julie out of the Raven, she took off in the big- red-car before they had their doors closed. "What's the major frolicking hurry?" Leslie spat out, never one to be pleased when dragged away from freely flowing liquor. "Freaking on the midnight train to get this sub to the Hub." "Speak American." Julie mumbled, pulling a rusty piece of barbed wire out from under her. Karies sighed, lit a cigarette. Clarity and calmness came within a matter of a few drags. "I'm going to see the Sex Pistols in a matter of hours!" "Big deal, another one of your obscure fandoms, you can't leave yet." Leslie grummbled. "You do not own this road--------Aaaack ... oh, maybe you do....." "Obscure? where have I heard that before? Leslie, let me put it this way ... I've seen the press releases, and have the Live CD ... we're talking major frolicking babes in vinyl and rubber ... oh, and of course the music kicks ashes." "Vinyl? Rubber? Why didn't you say so?" "You gals have to get your ... things out of my motel cave and help me catch Pugsley." "Forget it!" Julie whined, "That cat is psycho." "I'll help you, me 'n Puggles have bonded." Leslie offered. "How quaint. Then I'm dumping you at CERK and blowing, dig?" The Cousins packed up the motel room and captured the two thirteen pound orange cats, and Karies brought out a large rolled up package covered with brown paper. "What is that?" Leslie asked. "Uhm ... well, it's Nicks painting, "The Beast Within." I cut it off the canvas when we were in the loft." The other Cousins looked mortified. "Well, it's one of my favorites, and he had it heaped behind all these sun scape thangs. Besides, I thought he was dead, and anyway, I asked him If I could buy it after his performance of "YMCA" the other night." "Karies, that was a hallucination, and not even YOURS!" Leslie reasoned. "I know that, I meant I asked him tonight, yeah that's the ticket, tonight. And he said "... uhm ... sure, you really like it, yeah?" And I said something in art-ease, just like Schanke did when he saw it." "Hmmmph." Leslie squinted her eyes. "Karies.....?" Julie put her hands on her hips. "Gotta go Gals!" Karies hopped in the Voyager from Outer Space and revved it up. "At least I didn't take my very favorite, the freaking guy on the brick backround." she mummbled to herself. ********************************************************************* End War 7 File 10 *********************************************************************