------------[Tuesday, July 12th] --------- ------------------------------------------ Date: Thu, 14 Jul 1994 16:09:36 -0800 From: "S. Tanaquil Johnson" Subject: FKWars2: Janette Has An Off Night [part 2/3]---------------- --Daylight. The heat was intense, the brightness burning even through eyes squeezed tight shut, the pain unbearable. Janette, barely clinging to the saddle, was stifling under the thick folds of black material. The claustrophobic longing to push the cloth away and breathe freely warred with the sickening odor of burnt flesh. Panic overwhelmed her. She opened her mouth to scream 'Nicholah!' but no sound came. Hands were fumbling with her clothing now. Pain exploded in her head as the cowl was torn away -- -- "DON'T tell my heart -- my achy breaky HEART -- you know it just wouldn't underSTAND --" The crash of the clock radio hitting an antique mirror and taking several perfume bottles with it was drowned out by an unprintable string of twelfth century French curses. WHAT in the name of all the demons in the underworld was that horrible noise? Janette was hopelessly tangled in the silk sheets, and she wasted several moments trying to free herself before she remembered to remove the black eye-mask she always wore to bed. She winced at the sight of sunlight showing through a chink in the heavy drapes -- really, those fledglings were becoming appallingly careless. She tolerated their absurdly puerile preference for sleeping in coffins or hanging upside down in closets in the wine cellar, and she turned a blind eye to their breathlessly adolescent habit of snooping around in her private sanctum in the vain hope that they might actually acquire a veneer of culture in the process, but the least they could do was avoid barging into the curtains. The vampire fumbled for the jewelled watch on the side table. The hands pointed to half past ten. Merde! She had only just got to sleep. The alarm wasn't supposed to go off until late afternoon, and it certainly wasn't supposed to sound like *that*. Switching from medieval French to a particularly colorful medley of Arabic epithets, for variety's sake, Janette picked her way delicately across the room and retrieved the offending object from a wreck of broken glass that reeked to high heaven of *Opium* and *Obsession*. She stalked to the door and threw it open. "ALMA!!!" ----- [end of part 2/3]---------------------------------------------------------- S. Tanaquil Johnson ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Thu, 14 Jul 1994 18:53:26 EDT From: Sharon Himmanen Subject: FKWARS2: Delivery! [part 2/2]------------------------------- Delivery! Sharon Himmanen Kentucky, the home of the FoDly Pamela Rush, Tuesday, July 12 ----- Pamela had never seen so many trucks in her life--each one bearing the name of some large food distributor. The sight was enough to bring any good FoD to tears. Why, the thought of the delicacies contained within... Boy, but Schanke had really come through for them this time, she thought, picturing the darkly handsome detective fondly. When the first dozen had rolled up to her drive, she had calmly had the drivers unload the boxes and containers into one of her many underground coolers that surrounded her house. Within a few hours they were filled to bursting. But . . . something was wrong. Something was very wrong. There were more trucks, and when she looked at the packing slips brought by some of the drivers she saw that more was on its way. A lot more. More than she had freezer space for. Tears of a different sort sprang to her eyes as she ran for the phone, stumbling in and among boxes of foodstuffs that were rapidly turning soggy in her living room. "We're sorry, Detective Schanke is on stakeout and can't be reached at this time. Would you like to leave a message?" a pleasant male voice intoned in her ear as she shakily dialed Schanke's number. So she called in favors. As the trucks continued to roll endlessly up to her house, she called all her friends, she called the local charities, the hospitals, relatives, orphanages, supermarkets, bakesales, yardsales, anyone she could think of. And she watched gladly as they came and took some of the cartons. But it wasn't enough. Still the trucks came. And with the newest batch of trucks, the ones that were being unloaded onto her lawn in the hot sun, came a car. And in that car was a Heretofore Unnamed Lurking Cousin sent by Sharon H (hereafter known as HULC). He was a non-descript young man. And he had an offer--they would take and save all this valuable food. The terms were simple. Very simple. And Pamela would get a new Uncle in the bargain! [end of part 2/2]---------------------------------------------------------- Cousin Sharon o-----------------o---------------------------------------------- ---o | Sharon Himmanen | shihc@cunyvm.cuny.edu * romana@aol.com | | Cousin | s.himmanen@genie.geis.com | o-----------------o---------------------------------------------- ---o ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Fri, 15 Jul 1994 14:26:28 EDT From: Pamela Rush Subject: FK War2: "Delivery continues" Tuesday evening, July 12: The Stone House, somewhere in KY Pamela was distraught. FoDly forces were in disarray. Truckload after truckload of good food from highly reputable comestible vendors had been delivered to the Stone House all afternoon Tuesday until Pam and John were totally OUT OF FREEZER SPACE. Food was stacked every where. Indoor cats were nibbling on torn cartons of chicken Marengo; outdoor cats swarmed around defrosting cartons of beef Stroganoff; the raccoons and foxes and 'possums that lived down the ravine out back, who usually appeared only late at night to steal cat food, were out in force in broad daylight, chewing through containers of eggplant Parmigiana and making off with whole boxes of asparagus Polonaise. Rabbits that usually nibbled on lettuces from John's garden were feasting on salads Nicoise instead. When the first truckload had unloaded its savory cargo, John had merely inquired mildly whether they were having a dinner party; when the 27th truckload had been delivered, he had asked rather pointedly where the hell all the other FoDs were and why they were not present to help sort and store. "Aren't you telepathically linked with them, or something?" he asked sarcastically. "The only thing I've had telepathic communication with recently was a plate of braised sweetbreads with Mornay sauce," Pam whined. And still the food kept coming. "No, no!" she screamed at delivery persons, "the dessert selections go in the library! Only appetizers A through L go in the sewing room!" Hours ago, John had given her one last very dirty look, made a snide comment about the foolishness of fannish activities at her age and locked himself in the master bathroom with a Black Forest cheesecake. For the first time in her entire life, Pamela did not feel like going out for lunch. When the HUNK -- no, sorry, HULC (he's not all *that* 'non-descript,' Sharon!) -- arrived in the late afternoon, he was forced to park way up on the main road, thereby getting a good view of LACROIX SUCKS still quite visibly cut into the taller grass of the long side lawn. Only a slightly raised eyebrow indicated that he had noticed the rude remark, but no doubt the message would be reported.... Couched in simple terms -- all that the frazzled Pamela could process by now -- he made his offer quite clear. The valuable foodstuffs would be saved, safely stored and cheerfully appreciated by eager, hungry people *IF* Pamela pledged herself to follow LaCroix and to concrete over the side. Although desperate, Pam was not entirely without dim hopes of finding a way out. What was it that the cute little blond kid on tv said? "Make sure there are plenty of escape routes." (1) Think, think, think! (1) Bart Simpson If Sherry were here she could take a whack at seducing the HULC. Flirtation was Sher's favorite indoor sport; but she was in Toronto. There was LaCroix's notorious lack of consideration for his henchpersons' basic needs -- the HULC was probably starving. But she noticed that his eyes did not constantly slide towards the Rum Chiffon Pie or the Watermelon Pickle Fruitcake as a FoD's would have. In fact, he seemed to be immune to the display of attractive viands: he wasn't likely to turn FoD. There must be another escape route: pledging allegiance to the Cousins' mad Uncle was unthinkable -- every one *knew* that he had no palate whatsoever. Think, think, think.... Pamela was in a real piccalilli, the kind with a little cardamon and lots of dill. (to be continued...) ----------------------------------------------------------------- ------------ Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 20:55:41 -0500 From: Jennie Hayes Subject: FK Wars 2: Clowning Around Clowning Around (Tuesday) Jennie looked at all the stuff collected in the back of her rental car and grinned. This could be a *lot* of fun. It seemed that Tanaquil and Elizabeth were doing quite well with the Raven, and Jennie did not want LaCroix and the Cousins to have too much time on their hands, so she had called Natalie to outline her plan. "Wherever did you get an idea like that?" Natalie inquired. "When I was trying to remove all that goop I put on my face to go to the Raven. Besides, I had most of the stuff for that part of the plan with me. It wont actually hurt any of them and it should wear off in about a week or so." "Well, you shouldn't go alone. Tok and Nan aren't busy, but I don't think Tok should go near the cousins just now. See if Nan can go along." "Tok could help us get set up, though. Where can I reach them?" ----- Nan and Jennie got into the car and drove carefully to Uncles address. Parking the car near the entrance, Jennie checked to make sure her nose wasn't going to fall off and the two walked as calmly as they could manage up to the apartment door, knocking loudly. "I hope this works!" Nan muttered. Jennie just nodded, not quite trusting her voice. The door was opened by a young woman, and she appeared to be alone in the room. "What..." she began, but Jennie didn't give her a chance to finish, just held the cloth over her mouth and nose until the woman stopped struggling. Carefully, she let the woman droop to the floor and stepped over her, into the room. Looking around, she started to make her way as quietly as she could to the next room. Nan made sure the outside door was closed. Jennie stopped and motioned for Nan to join her at the door. She held up the little bottle of chloroform and another rag and supplied Nan with a cloth like hers. Two voices could be heard talking from the next room. Jennie opened the door as if she belonged there and walked in, Nan following. The rooms occupants were busy with a computer and didn't look up at first. By the time they did, it was too late. Two more down. The only other occupant of the apartment proved to be asleep and was even easier to deal with. They both heaved sighs of relief when they realized Lacroix really *was* out of the apartment for the day. "Okay, Ill start on them and you go get the stuff out of the car. " Jennie took several bottles, a few paintbrushes and some magic markers out of her bag. Those dyes she had brought for the "demonstration" were going to prove useful after all. ----- Jennie and Nan surveyed the apartment with big grins. They had decorated the entire place with streamers, balloons, and other party favors, all with a circus theme. Brightly colored balloon animals perched on just about every surface. Jennie was especially proud of the bats - they were her own design. To top it all off, they had thrown several bottles of very fine-textured glitter all over the apartment. It would take years to get rid of all of that! The best, however, were the four hapless cousins. Their faces had been painted, much like Jennie and Nans were when they arrived, only *this*clown makeup was permanent dye. Of course, it would eventually wear off with time, but there was nothing they could do to remove it immediately. Nan and Jennie had done their best to make them comfortable until they woke, after all they didn't want to seriously hurt them. They even left headache remedies and glasses of water within easy reach of each one. To top it all off, they left a note near the fish: Lighten up! You all need to learn to play and stop trying to scare each other so much! Join the living, we get to have fun! They checked the four cousins again: they were just about to come to, so the two Natpackers slipped out. They chuckled gleefully as they headed into the sunset. "I don't envy them the headaches they'll have when they wake up!" Jennie grimaced. __________________________________________ Jennie jmhaye@skcla.monsanto.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Thu, 14 Jul 1994 16:09:36 -0800 From: "S. Tanaquil Johnson" Subject: FKWars2: Janette Has An Off Night [part 3/3]---------------- By the time evening came, Janette's flawless complexion looked almost haggard. The clocks, which had been hidden all over the room in ingenious places designed to take longer and longer to find, had gone off every hour on the hour. The loss of sleep was bad enough, but what really made Janette shudder was the choice of radio stations. Rap. All-talk -- she had been forced to listen to Rush Limbaugh for nearly fifteen minutes before they found that one. Country, twice. Golden oldies -- that station had been in the middle of a twelve-hour Elvis marathon. Modern rock, which wouldn't have been so bad had it not chanced to be broadcasting a live concert: the Screaming Weasels, Unplugged. But the very worst, the absolute nadir had been the seventies revival station. Janette would have infinitely preferred to continue in blissful ignorance of the Bee Gees' existence. Alma was wearing an expression of martyred innocence, which, since it happened for perhaps the first time in Alma's un-life to be genuine, would have had all the charm of novelty had Janette been in any mood to appreciate it. At some point, Janette had concluded that Alma must have developed a death wish or maybe a dangerous strain of insanity if this was her idea of a practical joke. After that, she stopped wasting her breath on the younger vampire. A few hours spent trying to get that perfume out of the carpet would cure her of a taste for practical jokes, permanently. ----- Tuesday night was half-price night, and the club was accordingly packed. Janette was looking thoroughly peevish, and Tanaquil had twice noticed other vampires backing away from Alma with an offended expression and sneezing. She did her best to look discreetly sympathetic and self-effacing. It was almost midnight and the crowd on the dance floor was well warmed up. The guy from the sound booth would be down for a refill on his coffee in -- yes -- just five minutes. Time to slip into the shadows and wait; it would only take a second to set the next phase in motion. Standing at the bar, Dave looked around impatiently. Where was the bartender? He only had a moment before the song ended and -- The music abruptly cut off. He swore and dashed up the stairs to the sound booth, only to find the door locked. The music was starting again now. At least -- "In the land Where I was born Lived a man Who sailed the sea..." That wasn't all, though. That sound was peculiarly overlaid and garbled with another sound. Dave realized, with a sinking feeling, that the two strains were coming from different speakers. Someone had fiddled with the stereo hookup. But what WAS that? It sounded nauseatingly familiar. "April is the CRUELEST month, breeding LILACS out of the dead land, MIXING Memory and DESIRE..." Somebody's poetry reading, obviously. Where had they got the narrator? The man sounded like Oscar Wilde on helium. "I *loathe* T.S. Eliot," hissed Janette at his elbow. "His poetry is bad enough, but listening to him read it is a punishment I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. What is going on here? And where is that whiny Liverpudlian singing coming from?" "And when we were CHILDREN, staying at the archduke's-" "We all live in a yellow submarine-" "My counsin's, he took me out on a SLED-" "Yellow submarine-" "And I was FRIGHTENED. He said, MARIE-" "Yellow submarine!" "Marie, hold on tight. And DOWN we went-" "Sky of blue -" "In the mountains, there you feel FREE-" "Sea of green " "Mr. Lister, the crowd is LAUGHING!" "I'm sorry, Miss De La Nuit, I don't know what's going on, the door is locked..." Tanaquil, by now safely back behind the bar, wondered how long it would take before Janette lost patience altogether and ripped the door off its hinges, witnesses or no witnesses. She rather thought the next item of the concert she'd arranged would push her over the edge. It was the Captain and Tenille singing "Muskrat Love", with Allen Ginsberg reading "Howl". ----- "Has anyone seen Goblin?" The Ravenette looked really worried. "I haven't seen her since sundown." Tanaquil made sympathetic noises and tried to look concerned. In fact, now that Janette had gone to her room to recover after one of the club-goers congratulated her enthusiastically on what he referred to as "new and daring performance art", Goblin ought to be turning up any -- The shriek of pure, unadulterated rage arrested the entire club. Janette stormed down the stairs and dropped the cat in front of Susan. It had its claws hooked firmly in Janette's best choker and was chewing on what appeared to have once been antique black lace. "I thought you said you were going to take care of this beast!" Susan wisely let her run through several European languages before she tried to placate the by now distraught vampire... ----- The last customer had departed, and the business of clean up had begun. Janette reflected that, taken all in all, she had had worse days. During the Black Death, for instance. Spike appeared at Janette's side. "Um, Janette, I found this stuck under the door, and it had your name on it, so..." "Fine, Spike. Thank you," Janette said wearily. She tore open the envelope, and stiffened as she saw that the lettering on the paper inside was of the crude type that one sees on ransom notes, cut out of newspapers and magazines. "WE kNOw wHaT YOU are DOinG," the note read. "it WON'T WorK. THERE iS No sideLINE in this WAR. how DO YOu THink NICK will REact WhEn hE FINDS OUT thaT you PLayED hiM FOR A fool? TALK to uS. mAybE WE cAn GIve YOU What You WAnt. pS hope YOU ENjoyeD yoUR evEnING :) WIth AFFecTION (to a) NeBUlous AesTHetIC TEmpEstuOUS POUTing AmbITiOUs CAlcUlaTing KITten Janette was making a sound like steam escaping from a kettle. "Kitten," she repeated in a quiet voice that had been known to frighten brave men into tears. "KITTEN??!" Alma peered over her shoulder. "I don't understand," she said in her peculiarly piercing voice. "Is it from those mean people who sent the panther?" Let us draw a merciful veil over the scene which follows... S. Tanaquil Johnson [end of part 3/3]---------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Fri, 15 Jul 1994 15:02:44 EDT From: DionneEN@AOL.COM Subject: FKW2 Correction Janette stormed down the stairs and dropped the cat in front of Susan. It had its claws hooked firmly in Janette's best choker and was chewing on what appeared to have once been antique black lace, with a very fishy odor. "I thought you said you were going to take care of this beast!" Susan wisely let her run through several European languages before she tried to placate the by now distraught vampire... --- DionneEN@aol.com Dionne Empress of Cats, Die-Hard Goblin Cat ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Thu, 14 Jul 1994 11:54:49 EDT From: Pamela Rush Subject: FS WARSII: "It's Forever Dark at the Opera" Late Tuesday evening, July 12: Toronto LaCroix was accustomed to arriving rather later than was fashionably late amongst mortals; at this season he would not make his entrance until after 9:00 pm. Although other patrons might be greeted with full parking lots, closed doors and frowning ushers at this time of night, for some reason attendants tended to fall over themselves to park, greet and usher LaCroix fervently and respectfully wherever he went. Traffic was fairly light by the time the Hummvee braked in front of Roy Thompson Hall; the parking valet displayed only adolescent, sullen blankness at sight of the unusual vehicle, but LaCroix heard the subvocalized 'way cool' as she climbed into the red, leather interior. Exactly four minutes later, LaCroix was settled in a dress circle seat. Within a few more minutes, people seated two or three places on either side of him became unaccountably restless and soon slunk off towards the lobby or lounges, leaving him with plenty of elbow room. LaCroix idly scanned the rest of the audience, the sudden dimming of the house lights no impediment to *his* view. An attractive couple in front of him -- a dark and magnetic man with a blond and dazzling woman -- caught his attention momentarily because the woman appeared to be staring quizzically back at him. then his attention was drawn to the stage by the entrance of the choral group and the first strains of music. In this one thing, Nicholas was *right*: mortals could create immortal greatness in art and music. Great music -- music like this -- music that made even LaCroix feel, feel ... NAUSEOUS. *WHY* was he feeling nauseous *again*?! Maybe it was because he was listening to a perfectly appalling, fiercely shrill tenor rendition of "Indian Love Call." Oh, gods. LaCroix scrambled for the program he had ignored since the usher thrust it upon him. He expected, he hoped, he prayed a soulless prayer for the names Verdi, Puccini, Mozart, Donizetti, Rossini, Moussorgsky or Bizet to appear before his eyes. Instead, the names Friml, Lehar, Herbert, Weill, Kern, Sullivan and the ever dreaded ROMBERG jumped off the program and struck him in the face like a plateful of weinerschnitzel set before someone expecting 'canard des cerises.' The "Louisville *Light* Opera Company in concert..." It was an evening of *operetta.* "Argh." A choked exclamation escaped between the sensual lips, now twisted in a moue of disgust. Feral eyes flickered, searching for an escape route. But centuries of theatre and concert going habit was strong, strong enough to keep him politely seated until a break in the program. Finally, "Indian Love Call" crescendoed to a supersonic tenor note and faded away. LaCroix started to stand, but strains of Borodin halted him momentarily; could it be that *real* music was on the program, too? He sat down...waiting...then.... It *was* Borodin, it was fate, it was destiny, it was...kismet! Specifically, it was "Baubles, Bangles and Beads" from KISMET. Mercifully, it was short. LaCroix made the gathering motions of a person preparing to sneak out of a crowded auditorium, but the next piece began while he was still half crouched over his seat. it was "My Name is John Wellington Wells" from THE SORCERER. In keeping with the theme of the number, fx pyrotechnics and strobe lights dazzled the audience at the "sorcerer's" command. LaCroix blinked away from the ultra violet lights flashing in his eyes; neither he nor anyone else in the audience noticed a few extra glittering motes floating around him. the beautiful blond woman LaCroix had noticed before glanced casually at him again, smiled, and let her gaze sweep innocuously on across the audience as though he held no special interest for her. Even as LaCroix stood upright, the thought suddenly crossed his mind that, really, the lyrics *were* rather clever, the tune *was* spritely, the baritone really much better than the tenor had been. Perhaps he would stay...just for a few minutes. The nearly invisible particles of...pixie dust? -- organic hallucinogenic? -- radioactive dandruff? -- settled and clung to his clothes and skin and hair. The Gilbert and Sullivan medley swept on through "Three Little Maids from School" and "A Wandering Minstrel I." A Jerome Kern song or two was next; LaCroix was very moved by "Ol' Man River." The inevitable Sigmund Romberg medley followed: the "Drinking Song" from THE STUDENT PRINCE was rousing; the "Rif Song" from DESERT SONG pounded through his veins; and "Give Me Some Men Who Are Stouthearted Men" was absolutely inspiring: LaCroix was almost ready to salute and volunteer. Suddenly, a pink spot illuminated the soloist stepping forward for the next piece and LaCroix froze in surprise and shock. A petite but well-rounded redhead with a turned up nose, the woman now spotlighted on the stage reminded him of, of...something he couldn't remember, but something that was both enticing and horrifying. Something -- no! -- *someone* buried deep in his subconscious...or in his dreams. The orchestra played the introductory phrases and a full, golden, mezzo voice effortlessly filled the cavernous auditorium, endowing "Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life!" with a whole new meaning. LaCroix was enthralled. The smokey-crystal notes flowed forever and ever and then, in a single heartbeat, it was over far too soon. LaCroix barely heard the Lehar, the Weill, the Straus that followed. He searched his program for the soloist's name: Sherry Crabtree. It was unexpectedly familiar to him; his perfect memory immediately matched it to the return address on one particularly nasty, plain manilla mailer that had defiled his living room with its unwelcome and revolting contents not so long ago. She was a FoD. An unexpected development. A delightful coincidence. An unlooked for opportunity to recruit a FoD and...whatever... (to be continued...) ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Fri, 15 Jul 1994 17:36:37 EDT From: Pamela Rush Subject: FK War2: It's Forever Dark at the Opera, pt. 2 Tuesday evening, July 12: Roy Thompson Hall, Toronto Sherry was again the featured singer in the last piece on the program, a heartrending performance of "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." LaCroix was content to wait a few minutes after the applause subsided to avoid the crush of overheated mortal bodies in the aisles. He allowed fantasies of the FoDly little songbird in private performances for his own personal entertainment to play through his thoughts. She would soon sing to *his* tune alone; he would kill two birds with one bite. The crowd had for the most part dispersed and LaCroix could see a small number of people going in and out through what was obviously a door to the backstage area. He headed in that direction himself with a self-satisfied smile. His preternatural hearing picked out the singer's voice from the backstage babble and guided him to a large dressing room crowded with both performers and members of their appreciative audience. Yes, the glowing red curls signaled her position even though the crowd around her towered over her petite height. As LaCroix entered the dressing room, a statuesque blond moved away from the circle, laughing and waving goodbye over her shoulder. She swept past LaCroix without a look; his attention was focused on the redheaded singer. In moments, everyone else in the room began to look at their watches and mumble goodbyes, suddenly anxious to leave. Sherry walked her guests to the door and closed it behind them. As she turned back towards the makeup table, she seemed to notice LaCroix for the first time and took a step backwards in surprise. "Oh, I didn't see you.... That is, are you looking for someone? I don't believe we've...?" "I just wanted to tell you...how very much I admired your... performance, Miss Crabtree," he said with an irresistible old-world bow. "Ms." He could say 'what?' with his eyebrows. Sherry really liked that in a man. "It's 'Ms.' Crabtree, but call me Sherry, or Sher."" "Ah, 'cher'." LaCroix would show her 'cher.' For her part, Sherry, always sentimental, was touched by such an old-fashioned pick-up line. And he had that very interesting air of a man who is accustomed to getting what ever he wants, besides being on the tall, good-looking and well-dressed side. She wondered whether the attractive stranger had had dinner yet; she never ate *during* a performance -- well, there just wasn't time -- and was ready for a late supper herself. LaCroix could be very perceptive when he wanted to be charming. "Perhaps we could go out for a...bite...to eat, ma cherie?" "That sounds like an excellent suggestion, Mr., uh, Mr...?" "Cross. But call me Frank." The frisson of excitement that swept through her was visible only in the dilation of her pupils, but that might have been caused by the prospect of supper. Still, she recognized the alias from FoDly intelligence and realized that she was facing the greatest challenge of her life right here, right now. She had not expected a FoDly presence in Toronto to draw the *personal* attention of LaCroix himself; having no particular plan for this contingency, she fell back on instinct: alarm 'em, charm 'em, and disarm 'em. "Well, Frankie, you *are* a big one," she remarked coyly, making a double-play with a sweep of her heavily made-up lashes and tossing her heavy mane of hair about coquettishly. Suddenly, the feeling of 'deja vu' that had afflicted LaCroix when he had first seen her on stage returned in spades; she was so much like.... "But that was a dream! A nightmare!" he exclaimed aloud. "What?" Sher did not appreciate his attention wandering. "You remind me of someone...but it was only a bad dream.... She wasn't real; in fact, she was only a p---" "Don't say that word!" "Oh. Right. I forgot. But she, uh, you, uh...." "You may have met my half-sister. People say we look alike, except that I have red hair and I'm taller." "Not much." "Watch it, buddy!" Amazing. *That* tone of voice was an exact match, too. "That's not possible. She wasn't real, she's merely, merely...a television character." Sherry rolled her eyes. "And people say that *I* live in a fantasy world," she commented to the ceiling. "Listen, uh, Frank, that's neither here nor now. Why don't we put our cards on the table and see how many eggs we have in our baskets? I know who you are, but I don't understand what game you think you are playing with me." LaCroix was unabashed. If she was indeed aware of his identity there was simply less tedious explanation to make and a quicker cut to the... denouement. "I can offer you many enticements," he began in a deep, mesmerizing tone. "All you have to do is relax, give in, allow me to take care of everything for you.... I can give you so much: you'll be rich, famous, an international singing sensation. If you wish, I can arrange things so that you will never grow old, never fade, never lose that glorious voice..." It was indeed an attractive offer. And Sherry was indeed tempted although more so by the prospect of long, cold winter nights of flirtation and seduction than by promises of fame and fortune. Yes, the prospect was.... Wait a minute. What about the prospect of supper? "What about supper?" "What?" "Supper. First you promise me supper; then you go off on fame and fortune and eternal youth but I still don't get any supper!" "You will certainly get something to sustain you after while, but the topic is hardly worthy of discussion in comparison to what I am offering you!" "Supper is not worthy of discussion?!" "Not in comparison to 'eternal life,' you idiot!" "THEN A POX ON ETERNAL LIFE!" She turned suddenly towards the dressing table and swept a collection of bottles and containers off it into the air. As they flew across the room and smashed into the walls or dropped like dead birds to the floor, some of them began to spew forth sparks, then gouts of coloured flames and then billowing clouds of purple smoke. Sherry's small figure was immediately lost to sight in the concealing fireworks. LaCroix could no longer sense her and realized even before the smoke cleared that he was alone in the room. Whether her disappearance was legerdemain or trompe d'oeille or stage effects, or whether some small part or even all of it could be due to real magic, LaCroix either could not or would not hazard to speculate. He only knew, as he hunted about for the Hummvee outside the concert hall -- the attendants having long since departed -- that whatever was in all that pixie dust and fire and smoke and stuff, it had completely settled his stomach for the first time in days. Pam Rush (pkrush01@ukcc.uky.edu) ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Thu, 14 Jul 1994 17:23:34 -0700 From: "Elizabeth L. Bales" Subject: A New Nat-Packer Enters the Fray Elizabeth smiled -- she hoped charmingly -- at the bouncer at the door and paid her cover charge. It was hard not to flinch as she entered the Raven. *I knew there was a reason I hated clubs!* she thought, reflexively covering her ears. It was nearly midnight Tuesday; she had arrived in Toronto at an ungodly hour the night before and fallen immediately into bed at her second-rate (but cheap! her subconscious insisted) hotel. She'd slept till nearly noon, and then spent the day getting oriented in Toronto. *Good thing I borrowed my SO's laptop... I don't know how I'd log in otherwise. I'd be totally at sea without the Internet.* She'd seen Tanaquil's posting, asking fellow Nat-Packers to come visit her at "work", and thought that sounded like a grand way to start off her participation in the war. She wound her way through the crowds on the dance floor. Everyone seemed miles taller than her diminutive 5'3", especially considering most of were wearing heels, while gone for comfort with her low-heeled shoes. She kept nearly bumping into folks. *Serious Goth scene in here...* she mused. *Good thing I wore black; at least I don't stick out too terribly much.* She had reached the bar by now, and eyed with some dismay the woman behind it. *She wasn't kidding about the tacky part.* The bartender, presumably Tanaquil, looked about and ducked suddenly under the counter. *Huh?* Elizabeth thought, blinking. She settled onto a stool and wished Tanaquil hadn't chosen just that moment for a trip to the ladies' room. "Hey, where's the barkeep?!" bellowed a man from just behind Elizabeth. She turned to answer, and the music cut off. Her ears rang in the sudden quiet. The man turned, cursing, and ran for a set of stairs that looked as if it went up to the sound booth. A moment later the music started up again, and Elizabeth's shoulders rose defensively. *I hate clubs... What the ?!* "In the land Where I was born Lived a man Who sailed the sea..." Elizabeth snorted. *The Beatles? This place is too Goth for the Beatles.* As a nasal voice intruded on the cheerful four-part harmony and her ears sorted the sounds, her eyes widened. *Oh my god... Someone hates Janette...* Elizabeth had turned to stare up at the sound booth; sudden motion out of the corner of her eye made her turn sharply on her stool. Tanaquil was back at her station, looking entirely too innocent. 'What'll you have?" Tanaquil called over the horrendous din. "I don't suppose you know how to make a Kermit's Left Testicle?" Elizabeth replied. Tanaquil stared at her. "A " "KERMIT'S LEFT TESTICLE!" she shouted, assuming Tanaquil hadn't been able to hear her over the noise. She noticed a couple of patrons giving her funny looks. She hadn't thought they were close enough to hear, and chalked them up as Very Special Friends of Janette's. Tanaquil grinned suddenly. "Elizabeth?" "That's me! Nice to meet you." They shook hands, wincing mutually as the Captain and Tennille began a Noise Fu match with some poet Elizabeth didn't recognize. "Well, I've never heard of Kermit's Left Testicle," said Tanaquil, "but I'll fix you something else if you like." Elizabeth laughed. "Nothing alcoholic, I'm the cheapest drunk you ever met. You got any iced tea back there?" --------------------- Elizabeth Bales Nat-Packer fatima@netcom.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- ------[Wednesday, July 13th]------- ----------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Sat, 16 Jul 1994 10:17:40 EDT From: Lisa McDavid Subject: FKWars2: Thicker than water Lisa paced the length of the waiting room at a deserted gate in the international departure area of Toronto airport. She was too tired to read and as usual, the seats appeared to be surplus from the Spanish Inquisition. Anyway, sleeping wasn't safe yet. She couldn't fall asleep if she kept walking. All the anti-suicide instructions were clear on that. It wouldn't hurt to close her eyes if she kept walking .... Suddenly a cold hand slammed across her mouth. Lisa was lifted off her feet by an arm thrown tightly around her body from behind. The palm of the hand cupped carefully out of range of her teeth. "I'd advise against screaming," LaCroix told her matter-of-factly. "By the time anyone came you'd be dead. And don't bother reminding me that you're poisonous. There are other ways to kill." He allowed her feet to touch the floor. "If I let you sit down, will you be quiet?" Lisa nodded, and was dragged backward to the nearest row of chairs. The hand was withdrawn. She said somewhat breathlessly, "If you were going to kill me, you wouldn't bother with theatrics. What do you want?" "Such directness!" replied the vampire. "I didn't know you *could* set a straight course. Did you think I'd let you leave Toronto without seeing you off?" "My war's over. Even you couldn't want more of it right now." Lisa folded her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling, and bit her lips. "Go ahead and cry. I give it a fortnight before the Die-Hards bore you to tears," LaCroix's response was almost genial. "Tell me, did you really think I didn't know your little research project was continuing?" "On the contrary. I figured the minute I got anywhere near something useful, you'd find an excuse to come crawling out of the woodwork." Lisa wished she weren't allergic to tobacco smoke. A cigarette would have given her something to do with her hands, not to mention the weapons possibilities of a lighter. She settled for crossing her legs. "I always thought of you as a sort of canary in the mine." LaCroix's laugh held genuine amusement. "Do you know, I never thought of that? Check, my dear." He flicked his fingers across her cheek. "But not mate. There is no return to mortality." "Well, in that case, you certainly spend a lot of time thwarting something Nick can't possibly do." "Nonsense -- I'm only trying to keep the dear boy's hopes up," LaCroix said. "As long as you keep feeding his pathetic delusions he'll put himself through more suffering than anything I could do to him. Dr. Lambert, too." Lisa allowed her eyes to close. "Come off it," she answered wearily. "I never trusted a word you said before. What makes you think I'm going to start now?" "I'd be disappointed if you did. It'd be like playing chess against myself." LaCroix reached down uninvited and possessed himself of the book from the outside pocket of Lisa's purse. "The Times Crosswords. You're stuck, I see." He indicated a blank in a half-filled puzzle. "Really, Lisa, that one's elementary. Think upside down and backwards." Lisa took the book out of his hands. "Upside down and backwards." She read the text, "Emergency reductions by a third reveal a beast." "Remember, it's a *London* crossword," LaCroix sounded like a schoolmaster. "London," she repeated. "Emergency. Oh, it's 999 in Britain, so take off a third ... 666. The number of the beast in the Book of Revelation." She rummaged for something to write with. "That one *would* be easy for you." "Here." LaCroix put a pen into Lisa's hand. Cross brand. She suspected the irony was deliberate. "Write it in before you forget." "I'll remember that one. Now, Spanish shawls in -- Damn it, you're doing it again!" Lisa thrust the pen back at him as if it were a stake. "What am I doing?" inquired her antagonist urbanely. "Luring me into playing games with you." Lisa glared at him. "I am, aren't I?" The pen was calmly replaced in the pocket from which it had come. "You're a game-player, Lisa. Nick's not. None of them are. Why cut yourself out of the greatest game of all?" "Playing Russian roulette against you?" "I prefer to think of it as three-dimensional chess. Besides, I thought you had more loyalty to Nick." "I'm dreaming this. In a few seconds I'll wake up in one of these chairs with a crick in my back." Lisa replaced the book in her handbag. LaCroix looked at her with raised eyebrows. She said impatiently. "If I'm not dreaming, you've finally driven me insane. What does loyalty to Nick have to do with this?" "You're throwing away your best chance to keep an eye on me. And what of the games? There's always the chance that you might win this time. It's only a matter of wits." LaCroix smiled again. "There's still an opening in the Cousins." "Don't you grin at me. I *meant* to poison you; I hate you!" Lisa stormed to her feet and turned her back. "Good." LaCroix nodded. "That's a step in the right direction." "Don't you remember what happened after you said that to Nick?" Lisa's scorn could have been used to clean corrosion. "Certainly, but you're not going to make that mistake." "Mistake?" Lisa frowned in genuine bewilderment. "Yes, mistake. After he went off in that huff, Nicholas never knew where I was or what I might do." LaCroix rose. "It's your move, my dear." Visions of Nick, defeated because he hadn't known what his adversary might be planning, flooded through Lisa's mind, followed by a flash of self-honesty. It wasn't for Nick that she wanted to go back. It was because she needed her fix. Her gloomy tiredness had nothing to do with blood loss. She'd been in withdrawal from the adrenaline rush she always got from challenging LaCroix. She turned to face the vampire. "All right. I'll come back. But only because I want to -- Uncle." LaCroix laughed again. "You're the only cousin who's never called me that to my face. Touche'. I suppose we are of the blood now." Lisa couldn't help giving him an evil smile in return. "And everyone knows, blood's thicker than water." ----------------------------------------------------------------- --- Cousin Lisa (Probably on the wrong side of the blanket) Lisa McDavid d020214@univscvm (bitnet) d020214@univscvm.csd.scarolina.edu (internet) ----------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------ Date: Fri, 15 Jul 1994 12:39:51 -0700 From: "Elizabeth L. Bales" Subject: FKW2: Yet Another Bad Day for Janette Wednesday morning, 12:45 a.m. Elizabeth grinned conspiratorially across the bar at Tanaquil. "I like it, by the way," she said. She paused, looking thoughtful, and an evil gleam came into her eyes. Tanaquil blinked. Elizabeth, even in the heavy eye makeup and dark plum lipstick that had helped her gain entry to the Raven, had looked so... innocuous. Kind of innocent, even. Elizabeth leaned a little closer. "I have an idea..." Tanaquil made little shushing motions and inclined her head toward another patron. Elizabeth glanced over at the man; his skin was even paler than hers, and he returned her gaze with a chill awareness that made her stomach clench nervously. His lips curved in a predatory smile. Elizabeth gulped, flashed him a nervous grin, and waved weakly before returning her attention to Tanaquil. "Uh... yeah. Listen, I don't suppose you could take a real short break just now? I have a couple of questions to ask you...." -- Wednesday morning, 8 a.m. Janette wasn't sleeping well. Her dreams were filled with horrid images of herself, trapped in a brightly lit room, with the Bee Gees and Donny Osmond blaring through hidden speakers. She moaned and twitched, but did not wake. -- Wednesday morning, 10:30 a.m. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Janette groaned and rolled over. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! She batted in the general direction of her bedside table. Where *was* that cursed alarm clock? Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Alarm? She didn't *use* an alarm clock. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Janette sat straight up in bed, clawing her sleep mask away from her eyes. She looked wildly about herself, and -- The scream reverberated throughout the Raven. Curled up on the bar, Goblin raised her head, startled. "ALMAAAA!!!" Alma burst through Janette's door, eyes wide. "What? What's goin-" "GET RID OF THEM!!" Janette screamed. Alma looked about Janette's room, her face puzzled. "The KITTENS!" Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Alma finally looked down at the floor. Janette's carpet, still damp from having five bottles of cologne soaked out of it, was now covered with small white shapes. Alma blinked. Kittens? Yes, there were little toy kittens here. They waddled a few steps, sat down, and emitted piercing squeaks before rising to waddle a few more steps, sit down -- "But, Janette, they're kinda cute." Alma bent to pick one up. She cuddled it in her arms and petted it, smiling uncertainly. "This doesn't have anything to do with those mean cat people, does it?" Outside the Raven, a small flock of pigeons was startled into flight. -- Wednesday evening, just after sunset Janette hummed to herself. Finally a good day's sleep, and she had such plans for the night... She finished putting up her hair and reached for the drawer where she kept her choker collection. Eyes on her reflection in the mirror, she slid the drawer open and reached inside. Something jingled. Her eyebrows lowered in a frown. *Jingle? None of my chokers jingle.* Something felt wrong with the texture, too. She glanced over at the drawer, and her eyes widened. *Cat collars?!* She hooked one out of the drawer and stared at it. The small bell attached to it tinkled merrily. *What is Alma thinking, that she puts collars for that -- that in drawer?* She sniffed. *As if Alma thought. And where has she put my chokers?* She looked closer at the drawer's contents then, and her eyes widened again, this time in rage. She snatched another of the collars and brought it near her face, just to make sure she'd actually seen what she thought she'd seen. It was really very pretty, for a cat collar. The black leather gleamed in the light, and the little engraved silver name tag on it shone softly. Its graceful, script-style lettering read, quite clearly, "Janette". Janette began to emit sounds remarkably similar in pitch to those the ill-fated kitten toys had made. -- Outside, Elizabeth strolled down the street, whistling cheerfully. Behind her, fresh paint gleamed on the Raven's wall... NAT-PACK 2 JANETTE 0 Elizabeth Bales Nat-Pack fatima@netcom.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Fri, 15 Jul 1994 11:39:23 -0230 From: "M. J. Farrell" Subject: FKWARS2: Mary Had A Little Box... Mary pulled up in front of the Raven, and got out of her car, carefully balancing a white cardboard box in one hand as she closed the car door. The bouncer at the door knew her and waved her over. She spent a few minutes talking to him, her eyebrows getting higher and higher, before entering the club. She walked up to the bar, deposited the box in front of the blond bartender, leaned across the bar and started talking rapidly to him. The other bartender, the woman in the seventies outfit, listened in vain to their conversation, but couldn't follow the rapid exchange of Danish. They were still talking when Janette came up behind her and cleared her throat. "*Where* have you been?" Mary turned around and hopped up on a bar stool. "Following your instructions, of course." She indicated the cardboard box with a jerk of her head. Janette pursed her extremely red lips, "It certainly *took* you long enough!" The lady bartender wandered aimlessly down the bar and managed to stand directly behind the two women. Mary, by now used to the haughty nature of her patroness, ignored the tone of voice and continued. "I *would* have come sooner, but that lovely little plan of ours backfired." "You mean Lisa.." "Found out I sent her the tickets. Luckily my boss barely knows how to turn on his computer, must less log on and find out about that alt.bestiality thing.." One delicate eyebrow shot up. "Pardonne?" "Uh..nevermind. I straightened it out anyway....though it delayed me acquiring this." Janette lifted the corner of the box slightly and smiled at the contents. "Tres Bonne! We have work to do, Marie. A lot has happened since you left." "Yes...", Mary winced, "I heard about the sound system thing." "Obviously, the little spies from the other faction are getting cute, n'est pas? I have no objection to their presence, one must accept that in a war of this nature..but THAT!" Janette shuddered. "NO ONE gets away with something like THAT!" The female bartender drew back at the venom in Janette's voice, and began inching back down the bar. Janette scooped up the white box and headed towards the back room. "Come, I shall brief you in here." "Just a second." Mary turned to the Danish bartender and asked him a quick question. He shrugged, and lifted the lost and found box out onto the counter. She rummaged through it, and made a satisfied noise as she withdrew a velvet choker. "Found it!" She was putting things back into the box, when her eyes fell on the title of a manuscript-looking book on top. She frowned, picked it up, and took it in the back room with her. ------------------------------ Mary, Ravenette mfarrell@admin.cabot.nf.ca ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Sat, 16 Jul 1994 18:19:25 18000 From: Valerie Meachum Subject: FKWars2: Home Again, Back Again, Jiggety-Jig... Wednesday evening, July 13... "Didn't I just *leave* here?" Valerie muttered. Under any other circumstances, the Toronto skyline would have been a welcome sight indeed--she had managed to fall head over heel in love with the city just after Christmas of 1989, when it was buried under slush and tinted by the rose-coloured glasses of a first-time _Phantom of the Opera_ pilgrimage. And just over a week from now, it was *exactly* where she intended to be, for Toronto Trek...always provided there was anyone left of her FK friends to meet there. Which was why she was back here now, and didn't especially want to be. And in fact she hadn't just left--she had been back in Columbus, back to her "real" responsibilities, since Sunday morning. Rollerskating 10 kilometers around downtown Columbus and especially over the old brick streets of German Village hadn't really been her first choice of activities to tackle after three days of little sleep (though the food sent by the ever-resourceful FoDs was a *godsend*--without it there would have been more warriors than Lisa passing out on Nick's floor) and her tumble down the stairs in desperate flight from an over-the-edge John. But Tara had sent out the photo-op press release Friday morning, so if Valerie didn't show up bright and early at the Human Race in pink tutu and tights the Marketing/PR Coordinator would have had her overworked little guts for garters. After that she had been in sporadic contact with Natalie and the rest of her little squad, apprehensive but unable to reasonably protest as one by one her compatriots donned war paint and prowlin' clothes to infiltrate the Raven. Jack had been duly alarmed by her squawk of "they did WHAT???!!!???" at word of the scoreboard graffiti...but maybe that was the way things needed to go at that. Finally, this afternoon, the year-end summary report numbers that had been giving her nightmares to completely bury any aftershock of nearly being baby-vampire lunch on Saturday afternoon balanced, the database was set up for the 94-95 contribution campaign so the whole mess could start all over again, and her outdoor _Henry V_ rehearsal was cancelled due to the fact that the sky was dropping alarming quantities of water on Central Ohio. So here she was, plunging back into the thick of the war...if she could find it. According to Nat, there had been various skirmishing the last few days, but no real breakthroughs, though the now-substantial contingent of NatPackers tenaciously hanging out at the Raven seemed hopeful. Valerie had considered joining them, and in her current attire of black bodysuit and colorful gypsy skirt might even manage to reasonably blend in...except that, after Friday night's outburst, she had not doubt that Janette knew *exactly* who she was. Her appearance at the Raven would only jeopardize the precarious positions of Tanaquil and the others. *If* she talked to them. She had no doubt of their ability to pretend completely cluelessness about her identity...and maybe an attempt to patch things up with Janette was exactly what was called for. Taking a deep breath, she gave herself an assessing look in a nearby shop window. After raking her baby-fine cloud of red waves into some semblance of intentional disorder (*I really need another perm but it'll get FRIED*) and deciding that her pale complexion could squeak by in spite of a faint dusting of freckles but she really needed to find and all-night drugstore and grab some liner, mascara and lipstick, she was decided. For better or worse--and she had visions of being literally bounced out on her behind, probably brought on by too much Animaniacs--it was time to return to her chosen role of diplomat. -- The Bad Penny * Valerie Lynn Meachum ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 20:57:02 -0500 From: Jennie Hayes Subject: FK Wars 2: All Dressed up and nowhere to go but down All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go but Down Wednesday night Jennie yelped as her foot slipped on the brick and caught herself with her hands, feet dangling precariously over the long drop to the ground. She mentally whimpered, trying in vain to pull herself up to where her feet could catch a hold. "You look like you need a hand," a wonderful, familiar voice said in her ear. Strong arms wrapped around her, but she had to pry her fingers off their hold, she was so panicked. She quickly clamped them around Nicks neck as he brought her safely to the ground. "Are you all right?" he asked as he set her down. When Jennie nodded, not trusting her voice, he continued. "You were taking a foolish risk for the war, weren't you?" Jennie concentrated on letting go of his neck before it became embarrassing and then tried to stop her hands from shaking so much. Finally she hid them behind her back. "I suppose so, but it was nothing unusual for me. It seems like I'm always climbing up to fairly high places, then realizing I have no idea how to get down. You should see me when I go hiking." She walked over to a sizeable garment bag which was lying in a heap on the sidewalk and picked it up. "So, what were you doing in there?" his eyes twinkled merrily. "I thought maybe Janette might have gotten tired of wearing black all the time, so I brought her something else to wear. "I'm afraid to ask. What did you bring her?" "Oh, surgical scrubs in all different colors, lab coats, things like that. I even brought a bunch of those cute little booties that go over your shoes and make you slide all over the place on smooth floors." "Those aren't _all_ of her dresses in that bag, are they?" "All but the one on her back." He just looked at her, amusement warring with exasperation in his face. "I was gonna give these to Natalie to hold on to, but if you would just agree to keep them for at least a couple of days Ill surrender them to you." He nodded. "Okay, but why did you go to such lengths for a practical joke?" "Its keeping her off balance. She hasn't even retaliated!" "You don't want to be there when she does!" "It *is* war." "Do you all *realize* what you are risking?" "Do you realize what we would be risking if we didn't stand up to bullies like LaCroix? And Janette is just as bad, with her power games. They try to control all of us, which makes it just as much our fight as yours. " Nick looked for a moment like he was about to protest, but instead he sighed and hoisted the bag over his shoulder. "Just promise not to pull anymore stunts like this, or Ill tell Natalie shed better restrain you." "I'm not planning anything more right now, and Ill be more careful in the future. Okay?" "You didn't promise." "All right, I promise!" Nick gave her a dubious look, then turned and vanished around the corner. Minutes later, Jennie saw the Caddy drive past on the street. Looking around, she spied some interesting graffiti, with a discarded spray can lying next to it. Picking up the can, she changed the number 2 to a 3. It now read: NatPack 3 Janette 0 ------------------------------------------- Jennie jmhaye@skcla.monsanto.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- ------[Thursday, July 14th]---------- ------------------------------------- Date: Sat, 16 Jul 1994 14:37:25 EDT From: SusanG2522@AOL.COM Subject: FKWARII--Being Accommodating Thursday - Pre Dawn BEING ACCOMMODATING They sat at the booth in the back, nursing various non-hemoglobin drinks and trying not to fall asleep, which should have been difficult, what with the loud music. But after spending most of the evening trying to scrape that Nat-Pack message off the wall outside the bar, Betsy S., Beth, and Susan were exhausted. Goblin sauntered by and gave a slight meow. Susan picked her up and the cat crawled onto her shoulders, playing with her long hair. "That," she said after a moment's pause, "was . Didn't they realize we'd have to clean that up?" "I guess they imagined Janette out there with a scrub brush," said Betsy S., looking woefully at her hands. "At least you guys missed the big clean up on Friday night. Garlic's great for removing blood stains but it's hell to clean out of your clothes. When I got back to the hotel and got into the elevator, everyone got off at the next floor. It was embarrassing." Beth let out a very weary and slightly hysterical giggle. Susan looked up, alarmed, but Beth seemed fairly sane. "Mental picture--Alma out there, with the gum scraper, the solvent and the sponge?" Beth S. smiled, then started to laugh and Susan joined in. They began upping the ante, having turned 'Alma watching' into a game over the past few days. Keeping track of Alma's eclectic wardrobe and her paramours of the hour had turned into a form of entertainment that surpassed even the best seats at the hottest Broadway play. "I'm happy to see you're enjoying yourselves," cooed Janette, as she appeared beside the table. The laughter died down quickly and she glanced at each of them in turn, but her smile seemed genuine. "That horrid sign is gone from the wall, yes?" "Once Susan found the stuff she was looking for," said Betsy S. Susan cleared her throat. "Brooklyn," she explained, caught by Janette's curious gaze. "Graffiti 101. Had the stuff shipped in by courier--works great on brick, but not so hot on elevated trains. I added a couple of gallons to your cleaning store in the basement, just in case-- " "There will be a repeat of this incident," said Janette sharply. She snapped her fingers and Goblin leapt from Susan's shoulders to the table. The cat slid gracefully over to Janette, arching against her. Almost absently, Janette reached down to tickle the cat beneath the chin. "I was wrong about that coroner's followers--they organized. dangerous." Beth sat up a little straighter in her seat and met Susan's eyes. "What are you going to do?" "Protect myself." Janette met Beth's gaze. "Where are you staying?" "Susan's hotel room." It was Susan's turn to be pinned by those blue eyes. "Is there anyone else staying with you?" "Well, Jude came in with me, but she's moved most of her stuff to the Royal York. Said something about research." Janette's eyes narrowed. "She's a 'Knightie'?" "Yes." Picking up Goblin, Janette cooed at the cat for a moment, shifting it in her arms. "Why can't you seem to bring across anything but Knighties?" she scolded. Susan's eyes widened. "Just following tradition, ma'am. You started it." Janette seemed taken aback, but then she smiled softly. "Ah, yes . . . Nicola. That's true." Then, she sighed. "The room--it has drapes, I suppose?" "Are you kidding? Industrial strength. a fridge, cable, and coffee maker." "I won't need the coffee maker, although the refrigerator will be a welcome addition." Extending her free hand in Susan's direction, Janette said, "The key?" Susan paused, momentarily baffled. But when Janette snapped her fingers, she hurriedly dug into her pants pocket and produced the key to the hotel room. Janette's carefully manicured fingers curled around the key. "You and Beth may stay here. There's a lock on my door--no one will disturb you. I'll make certain of it. play the radio--if you can one that still works. And--my apologies about the perfume. The carpet won't be replaced until next week." "Uh, sure," said Beth. It seemed enough of an answer for Janette. "Oh-- I'd forgotten. I've made appointments for you all at the salon. Full treatment. And you can choose what you'd like from the designer next door. Something appropriate for the club." She case a cold eye on Susan. "Some of you did not come at all prepared." Susan glared back. "I don't like dresses. So sue me. They always get tangled up when you're dodging out of the way of a speeding car or trying to climb over a train trestle." "The Raven does not have any train trestles, so you'll be safe enough. And I want you all in the right mood for your mission." "Mission?" squeaked Betsy S. This was news, considering that most of her time at the Raven had been concerned with items of a janitorial nature. "Um." Janette cooed to Goblin again. "I think our little visitor may be lonely. She hasn't found a rat in days. And that rabbit is just fit company for so lovely a little lady--is it my pet?" Goblin rubbed her face against Janette's cheek and Janette kissed her nose, then set her back on the table. "I want you to get me a cat." Beth was still fuming over the slight against Hazel. "A tom, I'll bet." Janette raised her eyebrows. "A male what I'd considered. Although I think our Goblin would be more interested in a playmate than a lover. And I've got just the one in mind." Betsy S. smiled. "Great. We'll drop by the pet shop and pick it up on the way back from the salon." Susan cleared her throat. "I don't think that's what Janette's planning." "You're right." She pinned Susan with her gaze. "I want you to bring me Sidney Lambert. I won't harm him," she said quickly, as the others protested. "In fact, I've got very good reason to not want a little hair on his fuzzy head harmed. Consider it . . . protective custody. LaCroix's people might very well go after him. And Nicola would be distraught if anything happened to his coroner's cat." "Forensic pathologist," said Beth. Janette glared down at her. "Pardon?" "Nat's a forensic pathologist." "Whatever." Janette shrugged, then let Goblin brush her arm with its tail. "If this helps to prevent these attacks on myself and my property . . . so be it." "But to go after the cat is just so . . . gauche," said Susan, after a pause. Janette cleared her throat. "The woman who's fondest desire is to find a copy of the old pulp 'Spicy Zeppelin Stories' is educating me on what is or is not gauche?" Then Janette shook her head. "Natalie's people escalated this. They're responsible. To attack me, my club, get darling Goblin in trouble by covering my lingerie and favorite choker with fish oil--" She shuddered, then picked up Goblin. "I leave it to you. Do it tonight, when the 'forensic pathologist' is not doubt at Nicola's loft, entertaining his harem." She glanced at Susan. "And come back with a dress. I'd hate to have to enforce the dress code among my own." There was silence for a moment as Janette whisked away. Susan put her hands on the table and leaned her head forward. "We're doomed." "You don't think we can do it?" asked Betsy S. "She we can do it," said Beth, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder comfortingly. " probably get away with it. But . . . cat-napping?" Sighing, she leaned back. "I speak from experience--having a pet stolen is fun." Susan sat back against the booth. "Well, at least staying in Janette's room will give us a chance to case the place. And if we find those letters, it'll be easier on the boss when all this hits the fan if she has something to trade." Beth cleared her throat. "I guess I'll take the floor." "Are you kidding? You think I'm going to sleep in that bed? Who knows who's been in there? Ick!" Susan sighed. "Betsy, see what you can find out about this salon business. If we don't show, Janette will have our heads. So we're going have to make a run through there and the designer dresses, give us enough time to case Janette's place, then come up with a plan for stealing the cat." Beth cleared her throat. "You know, we just go to Nick . . . ." "What'd I tell you about that Knightie stuff?" cautioned Susan. "Besides, if we do manage to find the missing letters, going to deliver them, not me. I don't want to get within ten feet of him." Betsy S. looked wounded. "Don't you like Nick?" "Oh, I like him well enough. But I keep promising to be nice to him in my fiction and . . . things never really work out that way." When the others continued to stare at her Susan said, "Two words, ladies, to close the discussion- -party favor?" Both Betsy and Beth paled visibly. "Oh, yeah," said Beth, after a pause. "I see what you mean." ---- SusanG2522@aol.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Sat, 16 Jul 1994 19:51:06 EDT From: SusanG2522@AOL.COM Subject: FKWAR II-- RLS Revisited Very Late Afternoon -- Thursday RLS Revisited The car Janette had rented for them was big, with enough horsepower to leave the competition at Daytona crying their eyes out in the dust. Susan and Beth sat in the car, awaiting the signal. Then they saw the black handkerchief wave from the side of the building. They had--having among them the sense God gave a duck--enough savvy to park behind the building. Betsy S. was playing forward scout, checking out the locale. A call to the Toronto Coroner's office told them that Natalie had been working day shifts, no doubt spending her evenings at Nick's place trying to keep tabs on the current hostilities. She'd be home in an hour. It was enough. Betsy, dressed in a smashing sheath number with accompanying black-beaded purse, was waiting at the front door. "Hurry," she said, in a hushed whisper. "We've got an hour," Beth answered. "We're right on schedule." Beth's choice had been a sleeveless two piece, with a matching toreador jacket. "I think she's worried about us not being dressed like working girls." "I wouldn't say 'that'," Beth chuckled. In response, Susan pulled the low neckline of the black dress she'd gotten closer together. Yes, it was long. And, yes, it had long sleeves and a high 3/4 black lace stiff collar. With her hair done up in the back, even Jude wouldn't recognize her. But that damned neckline . . . . She busied herself with the skeleton keys, quickly gaining them entrance to Natalie's apartment building. "Second floor," said Betsy, breathlessly. "Apartment 208?" "Doesn't matter," answered Beth, "It's right at the top of the stairs." She glanced over her shoulder at Susan. "You know, you didn't need to hit Henri like that." "Henry had his hands in an area marked 'invitation only,'" countered Susan. "I think it was 'Henri,' French," corrected Beth. "In a pig's eye. I haven't heard an accent that bad since 'Hogan's Heroes.'" Susan pushed the pair of them apart and leaned down to peer at the lock. "A number three," she announced, as she fished the skeleton key box out of her pocket and selected the correct key. "Well, Janette might not be happy when she sees her couturier with a black eye." "It match her wardrobe," commented Betsy. Susan waved a hand at them. "Sssh! This is tougher than hot-wiring cars, if you don't mind I'd like a little si--" There was an audible click and Susan looked up, smiling. "Well, whaddya know? It works. Good old number three." "Why don't I stay here in case he runs out," said Beth, as Susan opened the door to the apartment. "Cats have been known to do that." "Aw, you don't want Nick to know you were here," said Susan. But after grinning at Betsy, she said, "Okay, I understand. Old habits die hard." They left Beth in the hall and slipped into the apartment. Betsy muttered an "Oh my God!", while Susan's exclamation was an emphatic, "Corpus Christi!" They couldn't manage anything other than blindly shutting the door behind them until that horrible orange paint stopped strobing before their eyes. " is a color not found in nature," said Susan, appalled by the very audacity of the hue. "You'd think a woman like that would have more taste." "Well, she like Nick." "Yeah--what I said." Then Susan grinned at Betsy's questioning glance. "'S'okay, it's a joke. So you grab the cat and I grab his dish and toys--" "I don't think we have to worry," said Betsy, pointing. Sidney was sitting on the couch very properly, a small plastic bag beside him. As they approached, he leapt into Betsy's arms and gave a small yowl of welcome. "This is an unexpected development," said Susan. She picked up the bag, looked inside, then looked over at Sidney. Then looked inside the bag again. "What?' asked Betsy. "Cat toys, water bowl, traveling food dish, canned cat food- -" She looked up sympathetically, "I know, the dry stuff tastes like shit, huh?" Sidney yowled and snuggled deeper into Betsy's arms. Susan looked back into the bag. "A bow. Unopened catnip. And . . . aw, can't we leave the dead mouse at home?" Sidney yowled again and Susan sighed. "Okay. The mouse comes with." Betsy shifted the cat in her arms, then walked across the room, toward a computer with an active screensaver. "Does Natalie leave her computer on?" "She might. I know I do--saves me wearing out the damned on/off switch." Susan put the bag down on the couch and sat down before the computer. She touched the enter key to clear the screen saver. "Hello!" The message was e-mail, to Sidney. To: Sidney_L@tor.cor.go From: Alma@goddess.raven.com Subj: Visit? Would you like to come out and play? Sending over a car. Luv Goblin Cat, Ravenette Susan looked at Betsy, who was peering over her shoulder, then they both looked down at Sidney, who was cleaning his whiskers. "You sly devil," said Susan, patting him lightly on the cheek. "Bet you know all the lady cats on the net." "What'll we do about the message?" asked Betsy. Susan hit the save key and cleared the screen. "Save it, of course. Might be the only thing that'll save our asses from Nick and Nat--Sidney makes his own dates, we're just providing transport." Betsy glanced at the screen, as Susan quickly brought down the email system. "Wasn't that Alma's account?" "Yep. I've been using it while Goblin's around. Guess she figured out the password, too." When Betsy stared at her, Susan added, "Come on, it's Alma. Give you one guess." Betsy smiled. "Sex." "In one." Then Susan glanced down at Sidney. "Not in front of the cat." "Oh, he's used to it, a big boy like him, making dates over email," said Betsy, as Susan picked up the bag from the couch. "And he's living with a single woman--" "Yeah, who makes track record with men look like Olympic Gold," countered Susan. She headed for the door, Betsy behind her. "Let's see--prints on the keyboard, prints on the doorknob--the cops back home can cover that. Sometimes it helps if you happen to know who shot what printer when. They tend to run interference for anything less than a major felony." Then she snapped her fingers. "Almost forgot!" Susan reached into her pocket and withdrew the black leather collar with the nametag. She tossed it toward the couch, where it landed with unexpected accuracy. Then she looked at Sidney. "Ready to go?" He meowed and clung tightly to Betsy. Susan waited until she was out, then closed the door behind them. "Uh, Betsy? Did you know gray cat hair looks stunning on black silk?" --- SusanG2522@aol.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sat, 16 Jul 1994 20:50:31 EDT From: SusanG2522@AOL.COM Subject: FKWARII--On The Town Thursday Evening ON THE TOWN Susan sat in the passenger seat, Beth drove, and Betsy sat in the back. Sidney was strapped into a pet seat and not all that happy about the situation, but quieted down when Susan threatened to toss the dead mouse. Beth turned mint green. "I'm in a car with a dead mouse?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. "You keep a rabbit and that's a rodent, isn't it?" asked Betsy S. Beth sniffed, offended. "You're thinking of a guineas pig. Rabbits are elegant, well-bred creatures, from the family--" BZZZZZT The sound stopped Beth and she turned her eyes to the road. Susan looked over the seat at Betsy, who looked right back at her. "Saved by the Bzzzzt," said Susan, glancing down, as it sounded again. "Car phone?" "That'd be guess," countered Betsy. Susan took the top off the armrest, nearly jumping as the car phone Bzzzzted at them again. She picked up the receiver. "Yeah? Hello?" "Bonsoir." Susan looked over at Beth, eyes wide. "Hi, Janette. We've, uh, got your package. And we're bringing him back home." "What?" The voice was loud, even over the music, loud enough for Betsy to hide her eyes, Beth to wince, and Sidney to tuck his little whiskered nose inside the pet restraint belt. "But you ! There are those awful Nat-Packer people EVERYWHERE! They'll know him in an instant. You must hide him somewhere. Somewhere ." Susan glanced over the seat, at Sidney. "Well, actually, he was planning on rendezvousing with our little lady friend at the club." "Lady friend?" "Goblin's been email dating on the sly." There was a pause from the Raven side of the line and Susan heard a French phrase that would best be translated as 'you naughty kitten.' Or, it might have be, 'Oh my God, that banana's on fire.' She'd never been particularly good with languages. Betsy cleared her throat. "Why don't we have Alma meet us at the corner with Goblin? Then we'll take the kids out for a night on the town. Maybe the park. The Wharf. It's a nice night and I'd actually like to see some of the city." Susan made an 'OK' sign with her fingers. "You hear that, boss?" "Of course I did. And if you call me 'boss' again, I'll flay you alive. If it ever got out that I was arranging a dating service for cats--" "He's brought her a dead mouse," offered Susan. "Sounds like true romance to me." "A dead--" Janette cleared her throat. "Alma will meet you at the corner. And it can't take three of you to watch those cats--leave Betsy with me. I need someone to ward off these horrid friends of that coroner." "Forensic path--" began Beth, but Susan shrugged, indicating the line was dead. "Guess we stop at the corner." She turned toward Susan and grinned. "Hey, Betsy, sorry you're gonna miss the wharf and the fish market? It was your idea after all." Betsy sighed. "Maybe tomorrow night. I just hope they haven't spray-painted the wall again." Alma was standing at the corner, Goblin in her hands. It was something of a Chinese fire drill as Susan left her seat, Betsy left the rear of the car, grabbed Goblin from Alma and handed her to Susan, who proceeded to the rear of the car with the cat. After a moment of arranging seat belts, they drove away. "Where to, ma'am?" asked Beth, touching her forehead as if it were a limo driver's cap. "Dinner, first. The wharf. We'll get some fish and chips for them and us. On Janette's tab." Susan took a deep breath. "But Sidney, not a word to Nat, okay?" Sidney and Goblin were staring into one another's eyes, nose to nose, rubbing whiskers. And Susan sighed. "What?" asked Beth, grinning. "True love?" "No. Just real glad Goblin turned out to be a girl cat. Or we never would have been able to post this to FK-FIC." --------- SusanG2522@aol.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sat, 16 Jul 1994 21:36:31 EDT From: Sharon Himmanen Subject: FKW2: Natalie Has Enough Natalie Has Enough Sharon Himmanen Thursday, July 14; evening Three days. Three days of hanging around Nick's loft interspersed with a couple hours here and there to go to Nat's with a bunch of people to get some sleep. Three days and she was ready to climb the walls! She'd managed to avoid being alone with Nat for extended periods of time, but that hadn't stopped Nat from dropping a few hints about having "a long talk" sometime soon. There was no doubt--Natalie knew. Or at least strongly suspected. And although the demands on her time from the others was almost overwhelming, Sharon was aware that Nat watched her as closely as possible. Not that she had had anything to do. She hadn't had an opportunity to get in touch with LaCroix, which suited her just fine. She was ready to jump ship again and head back into familiar, and admittedly better-suited waters. The story she'd concocted should cover her ass pretty well, although her conscience kept reminding her that she owed everyone the truth. She should never have allowed LaCroix to talk her into switching sides, she thought to herself. It was definitely time . . . But the image of John Dencoff standing in Nick's living room drinking a bottle of blood just wouldn't go away. And neither would the sight of Lisa McDavid collapsed on Nick's couch, the holes in her throat standing out for everyone to see. Her attention was drawn back to the present as Natalie slammed angrily into the loft and stalked up to Nick. "I've had enough!" she exclaimed. "What's happened?" Nick asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. She shook him off. "Somebody took Sydney!" "What?" Sharon asked. "Somebody broke into my house and took Sydney!" "Could it have something to do with graffiti, cat toys, alarms, Beatles music and poetry?" someone asked, and got a withering stare from Natalie. "I thought you told Tanaquil to just *spy*!" Natalie exclaimed, turning to Valerie.. "I *did*." Nat nodded. "We've got to do something. Maybe if we go over to the Raven, *maybe* this situation can be salvaged." Nick shook his head. "With three attacks on her club Janette is most likely beyond reason at this point," Nick said. He'd been slipping off at regular intervals to drink the blood Janette had brought and looking much better for it. "Well then, what if *you* went and talked to her?" Sharon asked. Nick shook his head. "I doubt she'd tell me anything at this point either," he said. "No, she's just taken out insurance. Sydney will be fine." "It's worth a shot, though," Nat said, looking at him expectantly. "If somebody *did* disturb her beauty sleep, I'm the *last* person she'll want to see," he said with an amused smile on his face. Natalie glared at him for a second. "All right, that's it!" she said. "It's time to end this thing now!" She turned to Sharon. "You supposedly had a meeting with LaCroix, right?" "Well yes, but--" "So you know where he is, right?" "No," Nick interrupted, his voice low. "Out of the question. You don't know what you're dealing with." Nat nodded. "Of course we don't have the foggiest idea *what* we're dealing with because we've been sitting around this loft for days twiddling our thumbs!" The volume of her voice rose as she finished the sentence. "Now if you want to continue to *do* that, be my guest. *I'm* going to get to the bottom of this! With or without *your* help!" She moved to the center of the room where some of her followers were gathered. "Someone get hold of Tanaquil and any other NatPacker planning to go to the Raven and tell them *not* to attack Janette anymore. They're there to *spy*, OK? Then she whirled and stabbed her finger in the air just in front of Sharon's nose. "You! In the kitchen! Now!" (to be continued . . .) ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 09:00:55 EDT From: Sharon Himmanen Subject: FKW2: Plans Nat stormed into the kitchen. Sharon easily stood a full head taller than Nat, but she looked positively meek as she trailed behind. Once in semi-private, Nat didn't beat around the bush. "You *really* switched sides, didn't you?" Natalie hissed, cornering Sharon near the cupboards. Sharon averted her gaze and simply nodded. In a way it was a relief to finally have it out in the open. "And you've been here spying all this time?" Again she nodded, and snuck a quick glance at Natalie. They were both silent for several seconds, and Sharon watched the anger drain from Nat's face and body. "Why?" Nat asked. "What could he possibly have said to you that convinced you?" Her voice was softer now, bewildered. Sharon let out a quivering sigh. This was still going to be hard, even though the truth was now out. She had to make a concerted effort to keep her voice steady. "I don't really know myself," she said. "I'd *thought* about it--during the last war . . . I don't know . . . The truth is, he didn't really have to try very hard." She looked down at her shoes and felt the heat creep up her neck and flood her face. "Under normal circumstances I'd bolt completely in the opposite direction, just out of spite, you know, but . . .he really believes that Nick betrayed him. There was real pain." Nat sighed. "I don't doubt that for a moment," she said. "What else did he say?" "A lot of stuff about truth, and lies, about how both you and Nick lie to yourselves and to each other." Nat's eyes widened at that. "There's a fine line between self-delusion and hope," she said. "Maybe LaCroix realizes that . . . and maybe he doesn't." Nat looked at her, eyes full of concern for several moments. "So, what happens now?" Sharon looked at her in amazement. "Isn't it obvious? I leave the loft and find LaCroix. I can't stay here now." Nat seemed slightly taken aback by that. "You still want to follow him?" Looking quickly away, Sharon tried to clear her throat but found that it was too dry. "I don't really have a choice, do I?" "Who says?" Her voice was small and tight. "Maybe we should ask John Dencoff." Nat shook her head vigorously. "That won't happen to you. I won't let it." When Sharon looked doubtful she added "He let Valerie go. He doesn't *want* followers who aren't totally committed to him." "What about Nick?" "That's a different situation entirely," she said firmly. Sharon nodded in agreement. "And what about you and the others?" "What about us?" "He said--he said you'd never trust me again. I mean, how could you?" "He was wrong about that. I *do* trust you. I trusted you to tell me about your defection in your own way, your own time. That's right," she said nodding at Sharon's quick look. "Your story was good. But I knew something was up. Slipping out, then sneaking back in on Sunday didn't help, either." She smiled, then just as quickly turned serious again. "I trust you to make the right decision now." "There's one more thing," Sharon said, taking a deep breath. She might as well get it all off her chest. "He wanted me to destroy the copy of the Abarat if it was still intact." "I suspected that too. Would you have?" Sharon looked directly in her eyes and shook her head. "No." Natalie smiled. "So, your decision?" She was still a little fearful of the consequences, but she nodded. "I'd like to switch sides. Again." "Maybe you could try the Ravenettes this time," Nat suggested, then tapped her on the arm teasingly at Sharon's stricken look. "I'm kidding! As far as I'm concerned you never left. You just got . . . sidetracked. But now, is there anything you *haven't* told us about LaCroix?" "Well, you were right. I can get in touch with him. Presumably he's wandering about. He's got the apartment that Ivy staked out and I'm sure he's got an additional bolt hole or two. Oh, and he has the mail. When he sent me here, he told me to wait for him to arrive. He said he was going to deliver it himself." "Right," Nat said. She turned to the living room. People readjusted their postures quickly, trying to look nonchalant but it was obvious that everyone had been trying to listen in on their conversation. She turned back and grabbed Sharon's hand. "Come on!" "Where?" "I have an idea!" She led the way back into the living room and swept past Nick, heading toward the elevator with Sharon in tow. "Nat?" Nick asked, moving to follow them. He'd heard every word. At the lift door Nat spun back toward him. "Don't you have guests to entertain or something?" She smiled sweetly at him, then pushed Sharon back into the elevator. "What are you--" "Girl talk!" Nat said, slamming the lift door in his face and hitting the button. "He's going to follow us," Sharon observed. "Good! That's what I want. Oh, damn!" "What?" "I should have collected Valerie. I want her in on this too. But we can't go back up. I'll call her later and have her meet us." Sharon looked at Nat suspiciously. "What *are* you up to?" By this time they'd reached the street and headed out to Nat's car. "I want you to arrange a face to face between me and LaCroix," she said matter-of-factly. This was enough to stop Sharon in her tracks. "You want me to *what*?" "Get in. You heard me." "Nat--" Sharon started to protest sinking weakly into the seat. "And you're going to be my back up. Three years of studying vampires hasn't left me unprepared. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. But hopefully that won't be necessary." "Nat--" Sharon said again, her voice high-pitched and full of panic. At the wheel, Nat turned to her. "We're going to make all the arrangement. *Then* we're going to make sure Nick finds out about it. He's bound to step in to protect us. We have to set it in motion on our own. If we tried to do this with Nick he'd waste all sorts of time forbidding us to go and trying to talk us out of it. Believe me, I know!" She started the car. "Maybe if I can get the two of them *talking* to one another we can figure out just what the hell is going on!" Sharon knew there was no convincing Nat. And in a way she agreed with her. So far Nick had been totally ineffectual during this conflict and he was really the one who needed to step in and take charge of things. But another thought occurred to her and she turned to Nat. "You trust me this much? Knowing I was working for LaCroix and allowing me to lead you into a face-to-face with him?" Natalie nodded. "I trust you." Sharon sighed and settled back in her seat. She wouldn't let Natalie down again. (to be continued) ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sat, 16 Jul 1994 22:40:03 18000 From: Valerie Meachum Subject: FKWar2: Casting Call Thursday evening The assemblage watched from various sidelong angles as Nat stalked into the kitchen, trailed by a rather sheepish-looking Sharon. Valerie must h looked pretty sheepish herself, because Nick shook his head and reassured her, "She knows you can't really control what people get up to, and you shouldn't try." "I know. But to be perfectly honest, once I got over being loudly flabbergasted, I had to admit I kinda liked their style. I would have told them so last night, but i didn't want to blow their cover." Nick sighed. "I'm just glad you didn't tell Janette." "Not that it did any good," Valerie replied. "I didn't even rate a full sentence. 'You. Out. Now.' I didn't think she ever talked like that..." "You'd be surprised." Valerie chuckled. "Oh, colorful archaic curses wouldn't have surprised me a bit. But I'm afraid she's beyond that stage. I think my attempt at parley was too little, too late." "A lot too late," Nick agreed. "Even if you're not the leader per se, you're pretty vocal, so all that stuff pretty much got pinned on you the second you showed your face." "A wasted effort. But then, I've been making a lot of those." Valerie frowned, running a hand back through her hair. "All I've done is run my mouth and get a lot of really unconstructive attention." "Hey, you helped Scottie," Nick pointed out. "Hooray, hurrah," came the flat reply. "*Anyone* could have done that." Valerie shook her head abruptly, trying to dispel the lead-grey mood. "Listen, I'm going to take a walk around the block, clear my head. I can at least get back into my Pollyanna routine and play cheerleader for the *effective* people." Frowning, Nick suggested, "How about a walk around the roof? War is one thing, but I don't want to find you in my caseload either. There's still plenty of ordinary danger out there, and wandering around this neighborhood in the middle of the night isn't smart." "The roof it is," Valerie agreed. "Maybe a good look at the stars is what I need." "Okay. How 'bout I come check on you in a little while...or maybe send Nat?" Offering a crooked smile and a shrug in reply, Valerie slipped off to what seemed to have become the retreat of choice. But the stars held little inspiration tonight, though they seemed surprisingly bright for being seen from a city of this size. Learning what they were made of, how they worked, even that the light she was now seeing could have originated long before even LaCroix's existence, had never diminished the magic of those points of light--if anything, it enhanced it. Her firm belief--an odd one, perhaps, for one who agreed with Natalie on so many things; or maybe not so odd--that magic and science were anything but incompatible was of little comfort tonight, when neither seemed to hold any answers. It was one of those rare occasions in a world she still stubbornly reserved her right to wonder at, a night when the stars were just stars. "I see an artist looking for inspiration." The quiet voice startled her, something very seldom accomplished by anyone mortal, certainly not when all her senses were straining to catch any clues that might be held in a passing breeze or stray sound. Valerie turned to face a poised black woman who seemed to have materialized out of the shadows, and an elusive spark in the stranger's eyes told her it was indeed no mortal who had caught her unawares. She had already been ambushed by one vampire this week, and she didn't like it. "What do you want?" she asked cautiously. She considered edging toward the door, then thought better of it. There was no way she could outrun a vampire, so she might as well stand her ground. "You haven't lost your Cousin composure, I see, even though you're fool enough to follow *her*." The woman took a deliberate step forward, but Valerie forced herself to keep still, lifting her chin a little higher. "I'm here to make you an offer, one that should suit you quite well." "Offers from 'Uncle'?" Valerie inquired sweetly, silently thanking God and every saint she had ever heard of that her voice remained steady. "You people *are* behind. I defected *months* ago. And I've had *no* regrets." The stranger merely smiled. "The offer isn't from Uncle. It's from me. I operate under my own power...and I'm in a position to give you something you've worked long and hard to achieve." A nasty suspicion was forming in Valerie's mind. "And what might that be?" "Your big break, of course." "I don't follow you." "But you will." The additional implication of the statement was clear. "How would you like a featured role in the *real* second season?" Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. She had heard whisperings of... "Jennise." "Bright girl." The vampire smiled brilliantly, white teeth against dark skin in the darkness. She looked like the Martino painting of Poe's Berenice, a prime example of the sinister beauty popular in turn-of-the-century art and an image that gave Valerie the distinct impression that someone had just injected liquid nitrogen into her spinal column. "I have just the place for your talents." "I don't think so." "Wait, you haven't heard the whole deal!" It was probably pointless to keep up her veneer of cool for a vampire who could hear her heart leap into her throat, but Valerie did it anyway. "Oh? And what deal is that?" "You come to the set with me now, and you still might get a chance to salvage your relations with Janette. The boss *does* like it when his children get along, after all. If not...well, it would be a simple matter to trace the garlic incident back to you." "I had nothing to do with that! We still don't know *who* was behind that!" Jennise chuckled softly. "Of course not. But Janette doesn't know that. And right now it wouldn't be at all difficult to lead her to the conclusion that you were behind it...on the orders of the good doctor, no doubt." "She knows Natalie better than that," Valerie insisted. "Does she? I understand she was witness to a rather vehement call to arms. And at the moment I really don't think she's going to think it through too carefully. I expect she'd find out she'd been had eventually, but not before ming sure you and your little group suffer for it. Not to mention your precious patron." Valerie bit her lip. She could still scream and run--she'd never get past Jennise on her own, but especially after Saturday she knew she could count on the Banshee Special to bring Nick in an eyeblink. But what Jennise threatened would have far wider repercussions than just her own physical danger. Implicating Nat in last week's vicious terrorist attack on the Raven, even if Janette later found out the accusation was false, could shatter relations among the factions irreparably. Worse, it could lead her to make a move against Nat herself, destroying the precarious balance of relationships among the key players. And after all, it was only a TV show, even if it was LaCroix's twisted vision giving it shape. How bad could it be? "Okay," Valerie conceded at last. "On one condition: as soon as possible I get to assure everyone that I'm all right." "Of course you're all right," Jennise agreed, flashing the creepy smile again. "If you behave, you'll even get top guest billing." Before she even took another breath Valerie knew she was going to regret this. -- The Bad Penny * Valerie Lynn Meachum ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 17:18:13 -0500 From: TMP_HARKINS@DIRAC.PHYSICS.JMU.EDU Subject: FKWARSII--Nick Confronts LaCroix July 14, 1994, evening Nick looked out the window at Nat and Sharon and listened to their conversation. He visibly paled as he heard Nat's plans. She mustn't go to see LaCroix! He had to stop her before she got into more trouble! He glanced around the room briefly, then headed up to the roof. He'd tell Valerie to keep the rest of the people comfortable until he returned. But Valerie wasn't there! He looked around the empty rooftop. He'd warned her about the streets at night, so he doubted she would have gone down the fire escape. 'LaCroix!' he thought, fuming. Now it was even _more_ imperative that he get to him. He launched himself into the air. In minutes, Nick stood outside LaCroix's apartment building. A short elevator ride and he stood before LaCroix's door. He didn't bother to knock, just turned the handle of the locked door. A few mortals looked up when he entered, one young woman coming toward him. Nick grabbed her by the front of her shirt neckline and hissed, eyes gold and fangs bared, "Natalie Lambert and Sharon Himmanen are on their way here. You're _not_ to let them in and if you (he looked at the others)--any of you--harms either one of them, you'll answer to me, do you understand? Now, where is LaCroix?" "Why, Nicholas, how impolite! You didn't even bother to knock." LaCroix was smiling slightly. Nick let go of the mortal servant of LaCroix and said, "Where's Valerie Meachum?" "Valerie Meachum?" asked LaCroix, bewildered. "I've no idea." "Don't lie to me, LaCroix. If you've harmed her--" LaCroix became serious. "I have no idea where this--Valerie is. What are _you_ doing here? Besides being your usual chivalrous self when it comes to your coroner and her mortal friends." "I came to talk to you. I should have a long time ago." LaCroix lifted an eyebrow and looked Nick over. "Yes, you should have." "I want your assurances that your 'followers' won't let Nat and Sharon in here or harm them in any way." "A truce of sorts, you mean. Very well." He looked at the three people in the room. "Do as he says. And, really Nicholas, there is no need to continue that vampire fierceness of yours. Come, we'll talk." He indicated another door in the room. "On the roof," said Nick. LaCroix sighed. "If you wish." The two vampires took off out the window and soon were on the roof of the building. Nick had suppressed the vampire in himself, although he was still angry. LaCroix had a _lot_ to answer for. "I don't know why you insisted we come up here," said LaCroix, running a finger in the dust of an air conditioning master unit cover. "It's being bugged." "By the woman in the apartment beneath mine, do you mean? That's of no concern to me. I have--other homes in the city. Although I must say, Nicholas, you have fared better in this conflict than I have. Your people have given me quite a few irritations--damaging my credit, my finances, tampering with my radio station. I was rather surprised you condoned such activity, or did you order it?" "I ordered nothing of the sort. Whatever was done--people did it on their own." "While you stayed bravely home to protect the mortals in your care." "There was a reason, after what you did to John Dencoff." "Yes, I heard about that. I suppose it will do me no good to tell you his becoming a vampire was not my intention." He paused, but Nick simply glared at him. Then Nick said, "And what about Lisa McDavid?" "Lisa and I--had a disagreement. That is solved now." "If you've harmed Lisa--" "Relax, Nicholas. Lisa is back home in South Carolina. Contact her if you don't believe me." He walked away a few steps. "Did you come here merely to chide me for my treatment of my followers?" "Bringing John across--" "He betrayed me!" LaCroix lashed out. Then he calmed and said, "You know how I hate betrayal. And as I've said already, my intention was only to punish him--_not_ bring him across. Really, Nicholas, I do not want unwilling followers...in most cases." "This has to end--now." "And what do you suggest we do to end this? As I recall, it was _your_ hoarding of _my_ mail that started these conflicts in the first place. Although if Janette had not called me with the information that you had my mail--" Nick frowned. "Wait a minute! Janette called _you_ and told you I had the mail? That's not what she told me." LaCroix lifted his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "Really? It appears that our dear sweet Janette has been playing us both for fools. I wonder why?" He paused and added, "Perhaps that is the reason Natalie's followers have been hounding her lately? I must say, I am impressed by that group's mobilization." "Nat's working on stopping that. I want the mail back." "My, Nicholas, you _are_ being abrupt tonight. Having all those mortals hanging around your place has worn you to a frazzle, I believe. Actually, I expected you here sooner than this--after the Enforcer took John away." "This is getting us nowhere. What do you want in return for the mail?" "I'm not sure." "Look, I'll admit I was wrong to keep your mail from you." "Truer words could not be spoken. Although I believe I understand your reasoning." "But you've no reason to keep the other groups' mail. That is just as wrong as what I did." "You're right. But then, I have no scruples like you do." "What good is it to you? You just said you don't want unwilling followers." "That is true. But you never know who can be--persuaded." "Come on, LaCroix. You've had the mail long enough to have gotten all the information you wanted from it. You need to give it back." "And what of the future?" "One of the Die-Hards had a suggestion about that. He said we should all set up our own mail drops rather than use a central location." "A capital idea!" said LaCroix. "Very well, Nicholas. I'll return the mail. But it is in another location. I will collect it and get in contact with you regarding a time to return it, with perhaps some conditions." "Such as?" "I will inform you of that when I contact you again. Janette will have to be involved too, don't you agree?" Nick thought about Janette for a minute. "Yes," he said. "Then go back to your mortal friends. Tell them--you've arranged a cease fire." "All right. But I warn you, LaCroix, if this is some sort of trick--" "It's no trick. This 'War' has almost ceased to be amusing." "Nat and Sharon--" "They won't be allowed to see me." Nick still wasn't sure if he could trust LaCroix and resolved to find Nat and Sharon himself. "All right. I'll be waiting to hear from you." The two vampires flew back down to LaCroix's apartment. "Ms. Lambert and Ms. Himmanen. Were they here?" asked LaCroix upon entering the living room. "No." "Well, Nicholas, perhaps you'll be able to find them before they get here." He walked to the other door in the room and disappeared into it. Nick looked briefly at the mortals in the room, then left in search of Nat and Sharon. --Sandra Gray --tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 23:39:51 -0500 From: TMP_HARKINS@DIRAC.PHYSICS.JMU.EDU Subject: FKWARSII--Nick Corners the Conspirators? July 14, 1994, evening Nick left LaCroix's apartment and headed for the elevator. Maybe Nat and Sharon were on the way up. The elevator was empty. And Nick saw no sign of Nat's car outside the building. Where could they be? He'd been sure Nat had gone off half-cocked--losing Sidney had really gotten her angry. They'd had time to get here. So where were they? Nick took to the air and flew around a while, but didn't see Nat's car anywhere. He decided finally to go back to the loft and see if they were there. Maybe her normal good sense had triumphed after all. Her car wasn't outside the loft, but Nick decided to go in and see if anyone else might know where Nat was. He took the elevator up and, spying Sharon Scott in the kitchen, walked over to her and said, "Have you seen or heard from Nat or Sharon?" "No. Why?" Nick sighed in exasperation. "I thought they both were planning some fool idea of going to see LaCroix. But apparently that's not where they went." "Did _you_ see LaCroix?" Nick ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah." "So what happened?" asked Scottie, her expression excited and concerned at the same time. "We talked. He's agreed to return the mail, with conditions. He wouldn't say _what_ conditions. He wants to call a cease fire for now and said he'll be in contact about a meeting to, I hope, settle all this once and for all." "Do you trust him?" "Well, _trusting_ LaCroix is never wise. But I think he's getting as tired of the conflicts as we are." "What about Janette?" "He wants her to be there too." He thought of Janette's lies to him and added grimly, "And so do I." Then he paused and added, "But we've got another problem." "What?" asked Scottie. "Valerie's disappeared." "What? How--" "I don't know. She went up to the roof for air but she wasn't up there when I left. Unless?" he added hopefully. "I haven't seen her. What do you suppose has happened to her?" "Well, LaCroix seemed to be--surprised at her disappearance so I don't think he has anything to do with it. Considering how much the Nat Pack has been harassing Janette lately though, it's possible--" "That Janette kidnapped Valerie?" asked Scottie, alarmed. "It's possible. I'll check it out. I wish I knew where Nat and Sharon went. LaCroix promised he wouldn't see them if they came by, but--" "I doubt they would do that, not since Sharon's defected back to the Nat Pack." "You may be right." But he was worried about them anyway--and about Valerie, too. Scottie put a hand on his arm. "I'll make a few phone calls--see if I can track them down. And I'll make sure they stay if they come back here." Nick put his hand over hers briefly and smiled slightly. "Thanks. I'll be back as soon as I can." Then he flew off to the Raven. --Sandra Gray --tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 04:23:20 -0400 From: "L.D. Steele" Subject: FKWARII: The Die-Hards try to get everyone together... Thursday July 14th evening. Scene: Dawn's at the St. George trying to get caught up on her reading. Tracy has gone on vacation to New Brunswick and Dawn hasn't heard from Kathy for a couple of days. Lisa has decided to go back home so there's no one currently staying at the St. George except for Dawn. Rrring! Rrring! (click) "Hello?" "Dawn? It's Jennise. Do you remember seeing me Monday night?" "Of course I do. I wasn't drunk. Just a bit tipsy." "Un-huh. Sure. Anyway even though I do admit to following LaCroix's orders now and then, I still consider myself a Die-Hard." "Do you feel mediating tendencies coming on, or do you want to stir things up?" "Maybe a bit of both. They'll be shooting a scene from episode seventeen of version of Forever Knight on Sunday evening." "Sounds like fun. Do you think I could come and watch?" "Actually I was thinking you could invite everyone over. Get everyone at the same place at the same time. If we can't settle this, then maybe open fighting will finally occur, and that'll decimate the ranks a bit." "You sound a bit bloodthirsty. Have you had anything to drink tonight?" "It's warming up in the microwave right now." "Oh...okay." Despite what Dawn had said (in a state) to Janette at the Raven Monday night, she wasn't really squeamish. Whatever people wanted to eat was their business. Of course that was only if they didn't try to enforce their eating preferences on you. "Do you want the location then?" "What the hell. We've got to get together somehow, and I don't see anyone else phoning up a church hall to book a meeting. I was thinking of inviting everyone to the St.George residence, but the very large painted cross at the entrance might be uncomfortable." "Why do you think I phoned instead of popping over. You have to stand right under the bloody thing to phone up to your room. Anyway here's the location shoot. People will be setting up and practicing late Sunday afternoon, but they won't be shooting for real until the sun goes down." "Having the sun shine down on the characters be out of sync with the show." "Exactly. So it'll be at..." ----------------------------------------------------------- Friday am: All over Toronto, small printed invitations were shoved under doors, into mailboxes, tacked to bulletin boards, dropped on work tables etc. The message was short and succinct. The Die-Hard's were inviting everyone to meet on Sunday evening. Nothing on the message indicated why that location and time had been picked. Everyone would have to go to find out. :) ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----- Dawn steele@fern.physics.mcmaster.ca ----------------------------------------------------------------- --- ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Mon, 18 Jul 1994 00:52:28 -0500 From: TMP_HARKINS@DIRAC.PHYSICS.JMU.EDU Subject: FKWARSII--Searching for Valerie July 14, 1994, evening Nick entered the Raven. He spied Janette by the bar and stalked over to her, thoughts grim. She noticed him approaching and picked up her drink. "I want to talk to you," he said. Janette set down her drink and smiled up at him. "Go ahead, Nicolah." "In private." Janette dropped her gaze for a moment, then her eyes came back up to his eyes again. "I--prefer to speak here," she said sweetly. "All right. Where's Valerie Meachum?" Janette's cool composure dropped some. "Valerie Meachum?" She frowned in thought for a moment. "Oh, that irritating redhead friend of Natalie Lambert's?" "Where is she?" Nick said in a low, angry tone. "What have you done with her?" "Done with her!" exclaimed Janette. "I've done _nothing_ with her!" She hesitated, then added, "Except ask her to leave my club the other night. I haven't seen her since." "Are you sure she isn't keeping _Sidney_ company?" "What do you take me for, Nicolah?" she said. She lit a cigarette and blew smoke at him. Nick grabbed her arm. "You'd better not be _lying_ to me on this, Janette." "I don't know where she is. Honestly." One of Janette's vampire bouncers was edging up to them. Nick glared once more at Janette, then released her. There were things he'd say to Janette--but not now. He had to find Valerie. He turned and stalked out of the club. Nick wasn't sure he could trust Janette's word any more. She didn't _seem_ to be lying, but-- And if he found out she _was_ lying about Valerie... He decided to go back to the loft and see if anything had happened there. When he entered the loft, Scottie said she hadn't been able to trace down Nat and Sharon yet, nor had she heard from them. "What about Valerie?" he asked. "Haven't heard anything from her either. She wasn't with Janette?" Nick sat down in a leather chair. "Janette _says_ not, but I'm not sure." Scottie came over to the couch and sat down. "I'm sure they're all all right." Nick smiled slightly at her. He knew Scottie was trying to be comforting, but this was no longer a game. Not after what had happened to John Dencoff and Lisa McDavid. "I'm--going back out--to search. I'll check back from time to time, though." And soon he was airborne--again. --Sandra Gray --tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- ------[Friday July 15th]---------- ---------------------------------- Date: Mon, 18 Jul 1994 01:47:26 -0500 From: TMP_HARKINS@DIRAC.PHYSICS.JMU.EDU Subject: FKWARSII--The Early Call July 15, 1994, dawn Nick returned to the loft. It would soon be sunrise and there was nothing more he could do. He'd been in and out of the loft all night. There had still been no word from Nat or Sharon _or_ Valerie. He let Scottie convince him to drink a bottle of blood. Most of the other people who'd been at the loft had left, but he took the bottle upstairs to his bedroom anyway. He was very tired and very worried. What could have happened to Nat? And Sharon and Valerie? The blood revived him some, but he was weary to the bone. He wanted to sleep, but knew he couldn't. He wondered what to do. Finally he went back downstairs. "Any word?" he asked. Scottie turned a pale and weary face to him and shook her head. He walked over to her. "Did you get any rest last night?" "Some," she said. He put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Get some more. Use my room. I--won't be needing it." Scottie smiled slightly at him. Then she nodded and walked slowly upstairs. Nick sat on the couch and looked at the phone. He tried Nat's number, but there was no answer. A little after 9:00 a.m., he called the coroner's office. Grace answered the phone. "Hi, Grace. It's Detective Knight. Is Nat around?" "Goodness, Detective. Why aren't you in bed? Is it an important case?" "No. I'd just like to speak to Nat." "Well, she's--" Grace stopped speaking, and he heard her muffled voice say, "Yes, it's Detective Knight. For you." "Tell him I'm busy." There was a pause. "Do it, Grace." "Okay," said Grace's muffled tones. Then she said to him, "Natalie's busy right now. Would you like to leave a message?" Nick thought for a moment. Nat didn't want to speak to him. Well, at least he knew she was safe. And if Nat was safe, Sharon probably was too. "--No. No, I'll talk to her later," said Nick. He hung up the phone. He was glad Nat and Sharon were safe. But Valerie was still missing. --Sandra Gray --tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 14:01:12 EDT From: SusanG2522@AOL.COM Subject: FKWARII--Room Service Friday -- Early Morning Room Service "Cat's don't like brie," said Susan, as Sidney sniffed delicately at the air. "I have it on good authority." It was only when Goblin meowed her assent that Sidney's manners kicked in and he deferred to the tastes of the lady, returning to his plate of sardines. Goblin had delicately worked her way through a peeled shrimp cocktail and was now engaged in a serious bout with a bowl of cream. Beth was sitting on the other bed in the hotel room, lazily dangling bits of lettuce and greenery in front of Hazel. "The room is starting to smell fishy." "The whole thing's fishy," declared Susan, adding, "No offense," to the cats on the floor. "At least Betsy had the foresight to have a couple of his and her litter boxes delivered. And I like that cedar stuff for the bottom of Hazel's cage." "Unfortunately, so does she," sighed Beth. "And knowing Janette, it costs a hundred bucks a pound." "Only the best for her pets." Beth grimaced. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that." "Well, it's true." Susan spread some brie on a pepper water cracker and regarded it thoughtfully. "Nat treats her people like friends, LaCroix treats his like . . . I dunno, half of the time he scares the hell out of them with threats and the other half he treats them like favored juvenile delinquents. Nick doesn't seem to have a handle on what to do with his followers, but since most of them are women who are hot for his bod--" she glanced down at the cats again. "Sorry, forgot there were children present." "A lot of the Ravenettes are hot for his bod, too. It's just that we're cooler about it. What about the FoDs?" asked Beth, catching a bottle that Susan tossed to her. The wine glass followed, as did the corkscrew. "Oooo, the good stuff? Thank , Janette. Never thought I'd be able to afford this in my lifetime." Susan plumped up the pillow behind her head and munched thoughtfully on a cracker. "The FoD's have the best of all worlds--Schanke has only a limited notion of who or what they are--bet you he thinks they're some sort of police restaurant society or something--so they never have to deal with word from on high stuff. Plus they get regular meals." She picked up her glass of amaretto from the bedstand and sipped at it. "You know, being as we have the drinks and they have the food, we should arrange some sort of Ravenette/FoD get-together sometime." Beth chuckled. "Oh, Janette would that." Then, she sobered. "And Janette--half the time she spoils us and the other half she treats us like servants." Susan nodded. "That pretty much covers it. Makes you wonder if she knows how to treat people any other way. Or if she's ever been treated any other way." "But why put up with it?" asked Beth. Susan sat up, sending cracker crumbs flying. "You're drinking a $500.00 a bottle glass of wine and you're asking why?" Beth squeaked and looked down at her wine glass again, causing Hazel to fidget slightly. "$500.00?" Susan sank back on the pillows and dusted the cracker crumbs off the bed. "Not that it's all materialistic, you understand. Janette, well, she'd never admit it, but she needs us. For little errands and things. And to amuse her." She glanced over at Beth. "None of the other groups are like that. We're needed. That's why we're here." Susan frowned and rose from the bed. "Never philosophize over brie." Hazel picked up her ears and made a slight snuffling sound. When Susan looked over, Beth translated, "Bed time." "Good idea, bunny-friend. I think the kids are just about done, too." Susan walked over to Sidney and Goblin, who were daintily licking their paws. She picked up their tray from the floor, setting it on the table, then pulled out two velvet quilted cat sleepers from underneath the hotel bed. "Okay, kids, bedtime. And separate beds, please, this is a family rated list, thank you very much." Goblin sniffed daintily, although Sidney looked the tinniest bit disappointed. Beth was returning Hazel to her cage. Closing the door, she looked around the room. "We locked in for the day?" "Guess so. At least till the boss calls." Susan paused at the dresser, hand resting on her latest manuscript. "Second thoughts?" asked Beth, as she flopped down on one of the hotel double beds. "We could get that stuff back to Nick and Nat today." Susan hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Better wait to see what happens before we start making contacts. It's enough that we're the only group in town with a traveling menagerie. I wonder how the hell Sandye does it." Taking one last look around the room--Hazel in her cage, Goblin in her basket and Sidney in his . . . although his basket had moved quite a bit closer to Goblin's seemingly on its own, Susan nodded. "Okay, everybody know where the restroom is? Curtains drawn? Beth, you wanna do the honors of lights out?" Beth flicked off the lights and Susan made her way to the other double bed. The double draperies on the window industrial strength, no wonder Janette had been so pleasantly rested after using the hotel room for the day. "Do you think we're doing the right thing?' asked Beth's voice, in the darkness. Susan sighed. "We're not here to do the right thing. We're here to help Janette. Right and wrong doesn't apply." With that, Susan turned over and went to sleep. Then Hazel began to snore . . . . ---------------- SusanG2522@aol.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 19:22:10 EDT From: Sharon Himmanen Subject: FKW2: Preparations Friday, July 14, afternoon "Valerie Meachum's missing and Nick went to see LaCroix," Sharon blurted out as Natalie let herself back into the hotel room they were holed up in. "What?" "I called the loft while you were at work. Sharon Scott told me Nick flew out after us and paid LaCroix a little visit." Natalie's eyes widened. "Well, hallelujah!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "It's about time. What happened? Did they bash each others brains in?" Sharon shook her head. "No. He agreed to meet LaCroix at the Die-Hards meeting on Sunday night." "What about Valerie?" Sharon shrugged. "LaCroix said he had nothing to do with it. She just went missing." Nat sighed. "Would she have gone off on her own?" Again, Sharon shrugged. "She might have." "Well, is anyone out looking for her?" "All I know is that she disappeared from the roof of Nick's loft while we were in the kitchen." A worried frown crossed Nat's face. "All right. I hope to God she calls someone if she's in trouble. Unlike *somebody* I know! I swear, between the two of you and Nick this is all more trouble than it's worth." She paused to think for a moment. "Janette'll be at the meeting to. Does everyone from our group know about it?" "I have no idea, although the Die-Hards have plastered the city with invitations. Wouldn't be surprised if all of Toronto shows up." "Still, we've got a lot to do between now and Sunday. Come on!" "Where are we going now?" "To the store. There's a little idea I've been wanting to test out, and we might as well give it a practical test." ----- "I can't *wait* to see what you've got in mind," Sharon said, her arms loaded down with grocery bags. "It's a real stunner," Nat said. She took one of the bags from Sharon's arms and dumped it out on the table in their hotel room. Dozens of weird looking toys spilled out all over the table. Nat picked one up. It was a fuzzy spider. Attached to it was a long tube that led to a large rubber ball at one end. Nat set the spider down on the table and squeezed the rubber ball. The spider jumped across the table and landed on several others. As Sharon watched, she pulled the tube away from the spider, and carefully detached the other end. "Hand me the garlic powder, will you?" she asked. Sharon reached into one of the other bags and pulled out a pound bag of garlic. "Lets see, we have to get some of the garlic in here. We'll need a little funnel or something." She thought for a moment then went to the desk and got some of the motel stationary and rolled it into a little funnel, sticking one end in to the rubber thingy (for lack of a better word). Taking up the bag of garlic she tilted it over the funnel. A small cloud of the stuff rose as it poured into the rubber thingy. "When dealing with vampires, it never hurts to take out a little insurance," she lectured. "Amen," Sharon said. When it was half full Nat pulled the funnel away and hefted it in her hand. "OK, now for the moment of truth!" she said, stepping over to the bathroom. Sharon followed her curiously. Nat opened the bathroom window and turned to Sharon. "Cross your fingers!" With that, she turned and gave the ball a hearty squeeze. A huge cloud of garlic spewed out of the open end. Unfortunately for both of them, the wind happened to be blowing in their direction, and the two of them were soon coughing and waving garlic powder away from their faces. "Great!" Sharon exclaimed, exiting the bathroom in a hurry and stepping out the front door into the fresh air of the balcony. "Hey," Nat said, following her. "At least it works." "Yeah, it should do in a pinch," Sharon said. Nat grinned at her. "Or a clinch!" They both started laughing hysterically. "All right," Nat said after a minute. "We've got a bunch of these to make. I have no intention of letting any of my people end up as vampire snacks. We're going to be armed and ready. We'll put the word out on email for everyone to stop by and get one of these before the meeting starts." Sharon ----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 23:15:54 -0500 From: "Sharon S. Scott" Subject: FK War II: Steaming envelopes I was pacing back and forth in the loft. I'd called everywhere and everyone I could think of, trying to find a lead on Valerie and Sharon H.'s whereabouts, to no avail. If they hadn't vanished into thin air, they were doing a fairly good imitation. And then the buzzer sounded. I ran to the intercom, and punched the button. A female voice said, "Delivery for Nick Knight." "Who's it from?" "A friend. Someone who's been a friend for a long, long time." Jeez. That had to be LaCroix. I wasn't about to open the door to one of his minions. "Just leave it at the door." "Hey, lady, you got to sign for them. You don't sign, you don't get the packages." Plural. More than one. What the ... ? "Well, okay. Be there in a minute." I hoped it wasn't *more* laptops. That's just what we needed. I opened the door cautiously. The young woman standing there holding a clipboard was surrounded by large canvas bags. She thrust the clipboard in my face and said, "Sign. Here." I signed. And the woman stood there looking at me expectantly. Oh, hell, she probably wanted a tip. And I'd spent everything I had just getting to Toronto. Which didn't leave a lot of extra cash for the Trek. She'd just have to live on her salary. I picked up the closest of the bags and pitched in into the elevator. And the next, and the next, until all 5 were inside. The woman still stood looking at me, but the expectant look on her face had changed to one of disgust. I shut the door in her face, and I heard the truck door slam and the screech of tires as she took off. Another unhappy camper. When the elevator stopped, I wrestled the bags off. Should I wait for Nick to get back, or should I open one of them and find out what was in them? It was like finding one of your Christmas presents before it got wrapped, when you were a kid. You wanted desperately to know what it was, but if you *did* look, then you'd have to fake surprise on Christmas morning. This time, curiosity won out. ------------------------ Sharon S. scotts@baylor.edu ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------- Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 23:47:02 -0500 From: "Sharon S. Scott" Subject: FK War II: Steaming Envelopes pt.2 >This time, curiosity won out. The bags contained mail. Nick's mail; Natalie's mail; Janette's mail; Schanke's mail; Sidney's mail. And, curiously, LaCroix's mail. Either he'd forgotten to take it out, or whoever sent it here had failed to take it out, or he had some devious reason for sending it. And when LaCroix was involved, I picked door number 3--deviousness. I started sorting the envelopes into piles, by intended recipient. It's what catalog librarians do for a living. Organize things. Reaching the bottom of one sack, I started on the next. And the next, and the next. The piles on the floor were becoming hills, and then small mountains. When I finished, one pile had become Mount Everest. Nick's, of course. I wasn't surprised, although LaCroix might be. He seemed to think *he* was the main character on the show. And now what? Should I just leave the piles there, and invite the mailees over to get their mail? Or ... should I just take a little peek at a few of the letters, just to make sure they were really addressed to the right person? Three guesses as to which idea won out. I'd start on Nick's. I got a large pot out of the cabinet, filled it with water, and set it on the stove to boil. I'd never actually steamed an envelope open before, but it worked in the movie