Date: Sun, 28 Mar 1999 20:48:06 -0700 From: KYER Subject: The Carouche (1/1) To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu This can be archived at Mel's fkfanfic site. My apologies to any fans of Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven. I'm suffering from a raging sore throat today and am not thinking clearly either--- so take pity. If you desire *good* classic poetry and composition--- tough. Go visit the library. Comments, flames, home recipes for mortal ailments, can be sent to kyer@prodigy.net. ***************************************************** The Carouche (aka-- Yeah, I know it doesn't all rhyme. Do I care?) by Kyer en Ysh ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Once upon a twilight dreary, while I procrastinated, full of worry over many a quaint and curious sticky note of Nat's concoction experiments. While I nodded, nearly flashbacking, suddenly there came a crashing, as of somone generally smashing, smashing thru my skylight reinforcements. "Tis LaCroix," I, disgusted, muttered, "crashing thru my skylight reinforcements. Can't he for once use the door?" Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak September, (...March?) and each separate, cowsblood stain showed quite plainly on my decor. Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow, from these notes some ease of sorrow. Sorrow for my beloved coroner. For the rare and formaldehyde-laden maiden whom the Lambert's named Lenore--- I mean Nat! Nat! Geez--- if she reads this she's gonna be sore! And the stainless-steel reinforced groaning of each high-security blind panel thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the single beat of my heart , I stood repeating, "I had better call the repair man before those suckers give out more; better call the Maytag repairman soon before I add my *own* scorch mark to the door! Now where did I leave the receipt for that store?" Presently, the screeching grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "LaCroix!" said I, "If that is you messing with my window decor! I know, I know you were just waiting until I was napping before some mischief you explore! But now I've caught you red-handed so--!" Here I opened wide the stainless-steel, fortunately still under warranty, reinforced decor. "Bad mistake," I muttered; floored. Deep into the darkness, peering; long I lay there, muttering, (smoldering) in such a fluent language mortals haven't heard for a good long time. But the the darkness was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "LaCroix?" This I whispered, and an echo whispered back the word, "LaCroix?-- Oiy thar, Nicks. Jus' spyn' fer juicy-types ratsy cusin ere's aboot likes ee's majesty asked me too. So... whar's this ere 'puter mousey I ear ya 'ave?" (*Sigh*) Employ carouche exterminators... Nevermore. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kyer, Loyal Squire(ette) to the Knight deBrabant; Knight de Soir ** absolutely nothing being advertised on this line **