Date:         Fri, 9 Apr 1999 19:04:33 -0400 
From: vampwrtr@INNOCENT.COM 
Subject:      Only the Innocent 1/1 
To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu 

usual disclaimers, and how nice that I managed to remember this time.  ;)
permission to mel moser to archive.  comments to author at vampwrtr@aol.com

FOREVER KNIGHT

"Only the Innocent"

The soft glow of moonlight lit the loft from the skylight, and the gentle
strains of a cello concerto played in the background.  Nick lounged on his
black leather sofa, sipping cow's blood from a glass.  It was a perfect
night off, the first one he'd had in a very long time.  He leaned his head
back and smiled, closing his eyes.  The music was so beautiful.

He opened his eyes sometime later, realising that he had dozed off.  The
music had long since stopped playing, and the flickering candles were
nearing their end.  Nick stood, and taking his glass into the kitchen to be
refilled, he padded softly across the loft.  As he walked by the DaVinci he
smiled.  Janette was so beautiful.  He was almost in the kitchen when he
stopped dead in his tracks, frowning.

Slowly he backed up and looked once again at the painting which had caused
more than one argument between himself and its subject.  His eyes almost
fell out of his head.  He had seen it, it wasn't his imagination.  He
thought he had, but he couldn't quite believe it.  He just stared at it,
confounded.  How could she?  How dare she.  The glass in his hand shattered
under the pressure which he placed upon it in his anger.

The beautiful image, painted by a long dead master, was marred by two
swift, black paint strokes.  Two carefully placed strokes:  Carefully
placed under her nose, upon her upper lip.

Through his clenched teeth, he uttered a single word, "Janette...."

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

She snapped the garter into place and stopped to admire herself in the
mirror, on the way to her closet.  Janette could not help but smile smugly.
The deep red undergarments offset her pale skin perfectly.  Still smiling,
she went to her closet and opened it.  Her black taffeta gown with the deep
red bodice would be--

She stood as still as a statue, as she stared into her closet.  Not again.
Surely the man wouldn't tamper with her prized possessions twice.  Janette
glared in at the contents of the walk-in closet which housed her gowns.
The gowns she had only recently replaced, at no small cost to LaCroix' bank
account.

The entire space was filled with the same four items:  Black jeans, black
shirts, black boots and black cowboy hats.  Janette's glare turned into a
scowl, which then wandered into the realm of an absolutely dark cloud.  How
could he?  How dare he.  The doorknob upon which her hand rested, was
crushed in her anger.  This time, he would pay, and he would pay most
dearly.

Her voice was filled with venom as one word escaped her lips, "LaCroix...."

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

LaCroix scanned the shelves of his private stock in the cellar.  He smiled.
Many of the bottles were filled with very old and cherished vintages.
Bottles which he had been saving for either a special occasion, or for a
night such as this - a night when he just needed to relax quietly, alone
with his thoughts.

After some contemplation, he came to a decision, and carefully removed a
bottle from the bottom shelf and carried it over to a small alcove hidden
behind several tall shelves.  In the alcove was a small table upon which
was a single goblet, a comfortable leather chair, and a small collection of
books.  LaCroix opened the bottle and poured some of the shining red liquid
into the glass.  He settled into his chair and picked up a book.

Leaning into the soft leather, he picked opened the book, and began to
read.  Without looking, he reached for the goblet and put it to his lips,
sipping some of the crimson liquid.  As soon as it touched his tongue, he
involuntarily spat it back out, spraying the page of his tome.  He glared
at the glass, then at the bottle.  He picked the offending vessel up and
sniffed it, which caused his face to scrunch up like that of a pug.

Timidly he took a swig right from the bottle, and the unpleasant look upon
his face grew more intense.  He smacked his lips together in disgust,
trying to rid his taste buds of the sour remnants which were still
lingering.  It was cow.  And not even a cow that was meant for slaughter,
no, no, worse than even that:  It was dairy cow.

His eyes began to tinge yellow as he looked back toward his sacred shelves.
He stood up and slowly walked over to his treasured vintages.  One by one,
he ripped the corks out of the bottles, only to discover that the ambrosia
which had once been present, had been replaced by the most vile pabulum
imaginable.  His lips curled up into a sneer.  How could he?  How dare he.
The bottle he was holding exploded in his angry hands.

As he started up the steps of the cellar, heading toward the bar, a single
word hissed from his lips, "Nicholas....."

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

Maurice was wiping down the bar of the Raven, when the universe as he knew
it, collided.  Nick walked in, mad as a hatter from the front door; Janette
stomped into the room from the back staircase; and LaCroix, looking like
Memnoch himself, stormed up from the cellar.  The three of them almost ran
each other over right in front of their bartender, and their mouths were
off and running.

"Janette.....how could you?  It was a priceless work of art.  A DaVinci.
You know how much I loved that painting, how could you draw a black
moustache on it?"

Janette looked at Nick in confusion, "I haven't been anywhere near the
painting, Nicolas."  Not waiting for a retort, she turned on LaCroix in
anger, "And you ancient leftover from Nero's droppings, how could you do
this to me again?  Eh?  You weren't satisfied clearing out my closet once,
non.  You had to do it again, this time replacing my beautiful gowns with
this, this....."  She indicated the clothing in which she was clad, "This
collection of hand me downs from Annie Oakley."

LaCroix just blinked at Janette, and ignoring her in typical fashion, he
glared at Nick, "I suppose, Nicholas," he hissed, "that you think it quite
entertaining to replace my best vintages with that watered down swill you
choose to consume.  I am not amused."

"What are you talking about LaCroix?"

The Ancient leftover from Nero's droppings just glared, "All of the private
stock in the cellar has been replaced with cow, Nicholas.  And not even
good cow, mind you; not that I'd know what that tasted like...."

Janette glared at him, "You're worried about a few bottles of Heifer when
my entire wardrobe has been replaced with this mockery of fashion?"

LaCroix looked at Janette and noticed her odd clothing, "My dear, really,
it's not even close to Halloween, couldn't you have waited for the costume
parade?"

Janette glared and then did the only thing she could think of; she swatted
him quite hard on the upper arm and stomped off.  Nick started after her,
but LaCroix restrained him.

"And just where do you think you're going?  You have yet to answer for all
that cow with which you've saddled me."

"LaCroix, you don't understand.  I had nothing to do with your private
stock, and my problem is much more pressing."  LaCroix began to glower, so
Nick quickly continued, "Janette actually painted a black moustache on the
DaVinci."

The Ancient's eyebrows shot upward in surprise, "Oh dear."

"Yes, oh dear."

"Well, Nicholas, you do know how to fix it, don't you?  Or am I mistaken
that Rafael showed you several tricks of the trade?"

"That's not the point."

"Really?"

"And what have you got to be so huffy about?  How could you give her gowns
away to a charity auction yet again?  That's really carrying it all a bit
far, wouldn't you say?"

"I did not touch her bloody gowns.  You think I want to be responsible for
paying for their replacement?  You didn't see the bill from the last time
round.....Quel damage, what a loss...."

Nick frowned, as a thought hit him, "You say you didn't touch Janette's gowns."

"I most certainly did not."

"Janette doesn't seem to know a thing about the painting, and I know I
didn't switch the blood in the bottles downstairs."

"And your point is?"

"My point, LaCroix, is that we've all been set up."

"Set up?"

"Yes, by some very devious prankster."

LaCroix pursed his lips slightly, "I suppose you might have a point, though
I can't imagine anyone wishing to incur my wrath in such a manner."

"Obviously someone who thinks himself quite clever."  Nick paused and then
headed toward the back stairs, "Come on, LaCroix, let's sit down with
Janette, and see if we can't sort this out."

"Indeed."  LaCroix turned to Maurice, "You've got the place in hand, eh
Maurice?"

"No problem there, boss."

Maurice watched LaCroix and Nick disappear up the back stairs.  A small but
extremely self-satisfied grin slowly crept upon the Irishman's face as he
wiped a glass and set it down.  Yes, it was always the ones right in front
of you, who could give you the best slip.  Always the quiet, innocent
looking watchers who got up to the worst trouble.  A slight chortle escaped
his lips.  He'd have to hear about this one for some time to come.  And he
knew they'd never solve it.  They would never think of him in a million
years.

fin

9 April 1999

end part 01
vampwrtr@innocent.com
http://members.aol.com/vampwrtr/forever_lacroix/