Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 08:53:41 -0500 From: Lady Sushi Subject: "A Little Corner of His Mind" 1/1 Tippi, Debra Ann, this is your fault. :) Odd technology is my own delusion. If you don't get the "Baby Incident" allusion, mail me and I'll forward my story "Baby, Baby". "Night in Question" is also necessary watching; yes, the bullet remained where it was... "A Little Corner of His Mind" Susan "Actually, I *DO* Knit" Schaefer (c) 1996, S. Schaefer Usual disclaimers I give the okay to post, archive, burn, or make into socks. part one of one Fellow Cousins, please don't kill me. NatPackers are gonna love this... "Nat, are you sure these things'll work?" Nat nodded, biting her lip. She was just finishing sewing LaCroix back together. "I've been using them for years, don't worry. Suggest-O-Implants are child's play." Nick was suddenly overcome with the image of a maniacal doll. He realized something. "Using them for years? How?" Nat ignored him. She made the last of the neat stitches (in the shape of a heart nonetheless. LaCroix would have an interesting time explaining THAT one). "Uh, Nat? Did you hear me?" She ignored him, plunged a syringe of fresh blood into the Master Vampyre's arm. His eyes snapped open from their poppy haze. He sat up with a roar. "What have you done to me?" He checked himself quickly; he remembered the Baby Incident all too clearly. Good, he was still wearing black, although also covered with blue surgical sheets. Gingerly he felt his head. All his hair was there, but in his bald spot he felt a heart-shaped rift, almost like... He leapt to his feet, grabbed Nat by the throat. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" She yawned. Nick stood in a corner, ready to run. He watched as LaCroix's eyes turned brilliant red, and Nat's face looked more and more bemused. "LaCroix," she ordered, "let me go." With a small jerk he did. Nick was genuinely shocked; LaCroix seemed to be in the same state of mind. He tried to grab Nat again. "I said, quit it." He did. A very confused and very angry Lucien stepped back, looked at his hands, at Nat. "How did you do that?" Nat grinned. LaCroix thought he was going to cry. Nick pinched himself and looked around for Rod Serling. "Oh, that's my little secret." She held up a chip. "It's a Suggest-O-Implant, coded to my voice patterns. Whatever I tell you to do, you have to do. Now, get on your knees and bark like a dog." Sidney patted into the room only to see what appeared to be a human acting like one of those dog-things from across the street. He decided that lunch could wait until later. "Now, LaCroix, you're going to take Nick and I to your place. On the way, you will buy me 30 gallons of Cookies and Cream Haagen-Daas and one of the BIG boxes of Godiva." Nick sighed. This was going to be an interesting night. An hour later, Nat mumbled through ice cream, "Nice place. Dark, but nice. What do you do in your free time?" LaCroix found that he could override questions, as opposed to commands. "I don't have any free time." "LaCroix, show us what you do in your free time." "This is only a dream," Nick mumbled. He wasn't sure he wanted to see this. LaCroix walked stiffly into his room. "Uh, Nat, what's the point of all this? We could have just gone to my place and watched 'Casablanca', you know." She shook her head, pulled a small video camera out of her purse. "Nope. We're gonna make a MUCH better movie." Nick pondered this. Surely, no movie could outrank 'Casablanca'. He changed his mind in a minute. LaCroix sauntered out of his room wearing a bright red wig with fruit in it. In addition he wore a tight, orange wrap-around skirt, what appeared to be a frilly bra with sleeves, four-inch-heeled platform shoes, and makeup. LOTS of makeup. He carried a wicker basket. Knitting needles poked out of the top. "Hello, peoples! I am Lady Flamenco!" He put the basket down and began to dance around the room, grinning and singing in his horrible Carmen Miranda voice. The grin seemed a little forced, but there was nothing LaCroix could do about it. After a circuit or two he grabbed the needles and began to knit (while still dancing). The rapid clicking reminded Nick of castanets. LaCroix hit a stereo button with his shoe; exotic Latin music flooded the room. "I (pause) am Lady Fla-me-hen-cooooo (pause) here (pause) to dance for yoooooouuuuuuuuuuu! Daht-dah (mumble mumble) the Rhuuuum-bah (cymbal) daht-dah (mumble mumble) you'll join me too!" He continued to sway around the room, knitting in time to the music. Nat watched, catching every bit of it on tape. She bit her tongue to keep from laughing. Nick just stood there, not sure if he should laugh or run in terror. Sure, LaCroix had nice legs and all, but... He identified LaCroix's knitting as a Dr. Who scarf, one of the stripey reddish ones. Suddenly, Nat looked at the camera. "Uh-oh. Out of tape. LaCroix!" He looked at her, but didn't stop. "Keep this up for the next hour, then you will forget this even happened, and you will forget about the Suggest-O-Implant. You will not stop knitting, being Lady Flamenco in your spare time, or watching Dr. Who, but you will break into Carmen Miranda impressions at inopportune moments." She grabbed Nick's hand. "C'mon. I need to go buy more tape." He looked at her. "Why? Are we coming back?" She shook her head, pulled him out the door. "Uh, Nat?" Nick was looking over his shoulder when they got outside. "You said you've been using those for a while. Ummmm... did you start using them the night we met, by chance?" She laughed. "No, Nick, I can guarantee you that I started using them after that." "Oh. Good." He relaxed. "But..." No. Oh, no. "But what?" "Remember the night you got shot, and the 'bullet' they never took out?" Uh-oh. Nick was definitely NOT liking the sound of that. She stopped and looked him in the eyes. "You will take me back to your apartment. You will go upstairs, and put on the slinky black silk pajamas I got you for your birthday..." THE END (at least in FKFIC) Send flames, comments, Uncle, Godiva, and Suggest-O-Implants coded to my voice patterns to: Cousin "Susan" Phoenix * Camera Fanatic of the Thong Throng * LA Charter Unnamed * Example Writer of the Cold Shower Sisterhood * SKLed phoenix@ionet.net **Faciemus ut Dewus Mountainus e Tuo Nasone Exeat!** "Hey, Marines! The Chicago Cubs suck!" ~~ The Chigs, S:AaB