From: MeanRunt@aol.com 
Date: Sun, 6 Sep 1998 15:02:58 EDT 
To: fkarchiver@fkfanfic.com 
Subject: Bits and Pieces 1/1 

All of us have had experience with the effects of overindulgence in one 
substance or another. We were discussing what effects this kind of behavior 
would have on the various members of the Forever Knight universe.
This particular piece was inspired by a verse from a song. Neither of us can 
remember the name, but we think it might have been sung by Jim Stafford. 
After all, we were in the condition so described when we heard it. 
It goes thus:
The more that you remember 
The more your self respect decreases 
You can't keep the night before 
>From coming back in bits and pieces

DISCLAIMER: All the characters from the series Forever Knight belong to James 
Parriott and Barney Cohen and Sony Tristar. I'm just borrowing them. I'll 
send them back when I'm through. Sorry about the condition of LaCroix. That's 
life (or whatever). 
Flames, stakes and hangover cures can be sent to : 
Mean Runt@aol.com

Bits And Pieces 
Barb & Pat Roman 
1/1
LaCroix stood at the bar of the Raven sipping his drink. There was the usual 
crowd, but there was also a contingent from Montreal in town. Something about 
a Grateful Dead concert. He knew that many of the Community, particularly the 
younger ones were into that kind of thing, but personally, he preferred the 
classics. 
At a nearby table, two of the younger members of the Community, both in 
perceived age and in actual age, were enjoying a drink.
"So that's the famous Lucien LaCroix." One of them said. "I thought he would 
be bigger than that.
"The one and only. Don't tell me you've never seen him before." The other 
answered. "Oh, I forgot. You're here with the Montreal group."
"True. But even there, we know of his reputation. Tell me, is he really as 
uptight as everybody says he is?"
The other one leaned in. "He's so tightassed, if he swallowed a lump of coal, 
he'd eventually pass a diamond." He whispered. "He really needs to loosen up 
a bit."
The Montreal one reached into his jacket and took out a small bottle. He 
shook two tiny white pills into his hand. "I've got just the thing. If these 
babies don't do it, nothing will. All you have to do is distract him for a 
few seconds."
The first vampire went to LaCroix. "Excuse me, Mr. LaCroix." He said. He 
was standing in such a way that LaCroix had to turn his back on his drink to 
talk to him.
As soon as LaCroix turned, the second vampire quickly dropped the two pills 
into his drink. They fizzed as they dissolved.
"Is it true that at one time, you were one of the real voices of Milli 
Vanilli?" The first one asked. "I have a bet on with a friend of mine."
"I hope you did not bet that I was." LaCroix replied haughtily. "You would 
surely lose. I would not be caught even listening to that racket they call 
music, let alone be doing the actual singing, if that is what you call it. 
Now if you don't mind, leave me and go back with your group."
When he returned to his table, the Montreal vampire gave him the high sign. 
"Now all we have to do is sit back and watch the fun."
**********
Lucien LaCroix opened one bleary eye. It hurt. He opened the other eye. 
That hurt even worse. When the world eventually came into focus, he realized 
that he was laying on a cot in the storeroom of the Raven. Beside him was a 
deflated female inflatable figurine. In the doll's neck were several pairs of 
fang sized holes. He also slowly became aware that he was wearing nothing at 
all. He tried to sit up. That was a mistake. He lay back on the cot.
"Maybe it would help if I dressed." Blindly he fumbled for his clothes. He 
did not dare move his head. He was certain that if he did, it would fall off. 
At last, he located his trousers. Slowly, carefully, he maneuvered himself 
into a standing position. He waited until the room stopped spinning, and with 
a great deal of effort, put them on. He tried to zipper them, but there was 
no zipper. When he looked down, he could see that the pants were on 
backwards. With an equal amount of difficulty, he took them off and 
concentrating very hard, put them on the right way. All that concentrating 
made his head hurt even more than before, if that was possible. As he pulled 
the zipper up, he was acutely aware of a intense pulling pain in his groin. 
He had zipped his pubic hair into the fly. To make matters worse, if that 
were imaginable, the zipper was now firmly stuck. He seriously considered 
cutting the pants off, but at last, the zipper came free, taking a sizable 
chunk of his hair with it.
He tried to remember what had transpired the previous evening, but the only 
thing that came to his mind was the image of him, standing on a table, wearing 
a lampshade on his head and singing the dirty lyrics to the Macarena.
After several tries, he managed to get his shoes on the proper feet. He did 
not even attempt to tie them. Walking very slowly to compensate for the 
rocking of the floor, he made his way to the bar. The place had been trashed. 
He remembered dancing with a lovely young female vampire when somebody stepped 
on his foot. He remembered hitting him. Or was it her? Or was it an it? He 
couldn't remember. He remembered being hit by him. Or her. Or it. He felt 
his jaw. It was tender. He couldn't remember if it had been broken or not. 
It didn't matter. He did remember that the brawl that ensued was a real 
beauty.
He came to only one conclusion. He was hungover. It was the worst hangover 
he had in centuries. Nineteen centuries to be exact. There was only one cure 
for a hangover. The hair of the dog. Gingerly, he reached behind the bar and 
took a bottle of his private stock out of the refrigerator. He poured half a 
glass of that, and filled the glass from a bottle of Sangria. He closed his 
eyes and forced himself to take a drink. Immediately, he realized that it was 
the wrong thing to do. He spent the next twenty minutes in the mens room, 
worshipping the porcelain goddess. 
Another fragment of a memory came back. It had something to do with a 
beautiful female vampire and a washtub of lime Jello. Where the Jello came 
from and what he did with it, he did not know. Something in the back of his 
mind told him he really did not want to pursue that memory any further.
Then there was the attribute comparing contest. That was another area he 
deciced not go into, although he was reasonably certain that he had won. 
He vaguely remembered being carried into the back of the Raven by two young 
vampires. The next thing he remembered was waking, if that was the right term 
for what he did this evening. 
********** 
Detective Schanke looked up as LaCroix entered the precinct. "What happened 
to you, Mr. LaCroix? You look like shit." Even through the thick sunglasses 
that LaCroix was wearing, Schanke could feel the withering glare that the 
elder vampire gave him. Without any further comments, he left his desk.
"I must talk with you, Nicholas." LaCroix said. "In private."
Nicholas shut the door to Interrogation Room 5 and motioned for LaCroix to 
take a seat. "How can I help you?" He said.
LaCroix removed the glasses. His eyes were red. It was not from anger or 
bloodlust. They were bloodshot. He recounted what little he remembered from 
the previous night. "They drugged me. I am certain that they used an illegal 
substance. They have to be found and punished."
"Who did this to you?"
"I do not know. That is why I came to you."
"I'm with homicide, not narcotics. There's nothing I can do."
"I know that, but you are the only one I can trust to protect the Community. 
Find them, Nicholas." He begged. "Find them ... Before I do!"
The End