"Channel-Surfing to Nirvana" by Christina Kamnikar, MMG of the Mercenaries Guild (with help from Lizbet the MAA, Dianne the GHP, Abby the SpyMistress, Virginia the Sword-Wielding Merc, Sara the House Mommy, and George & Ramona, Merc Cats) Time: Sometime in the Twilight Zone Hour, probably before the Ratsies Go Boom Place: Merc Central TV Room Christina should have been in heaven. She had a bowl full of chocolate Promises in front of her, an oversized bottle of Diet Pepsi next to her, the remote in her hand, and she was sitting in the primo spot to watch the big screen in Merc Central's very posh TV room. No one was contesting her control of the set (well, not after the first couple whaps with the couch pillows, they weren't) and she had nowhere she had to be; time had stopped for her to catch up on all the shows she loved, since every channel was playing terrific stuff without commercials. Nevertheless, she felt like the Grand High Poohbah looked. Which, given that Dianne was trying to train the unteachable NatPack Queen Borg Jennie (Leader? Number One? Captain? whatever) to be a Merc, was pretty darn unhappy. Idly, the Merc Mommy General flipped past a couple of Talking Heads videos, an old Goldie Hawn movie, and then settled on "Raiders of the Lost Ark" just as the GHP walked into the TV room and glowered balefully at the Mercs sprawled in front of the Sony. "Don't you people have chocolate to earn?" their Fearless Leader demanded in a voice that was much less commanding and fear-inspiring than it had been 48 hours earlier. "Other factioneers to torment? Mayhem to wreak? Why are you all," <> ".... ahem. Here?" "Takin' a break," Virgina said from the floor. "Oooh. Harrison Ford. Leave it here, Chris." "Second the motion," Abby piped up from the recliner, messing with the footrest and wriggling back into the comfily over-stuffed chair. "Cool. I love this bit...." "Feeling a bit tired, are we?" Chris asked, eyeing her Co-Leader sympathetically as Indy threw Nazis off the top of the transport truck. "No." Dee crossed her arms and pulled herself to her full height--but the effect was ruined by the drawn look around her eyes and the haggard expression. "I'm fine. Training is proceeding on schedule. All is well. It's just a matter of..." her voice cracked again, and the GHP coughed, then rasped, "discipline." Sara blinked, and unwrapped another Promise while staring at the redhead. "Discipline? And a Natpacker?" "She's a Merc now! She defected! She's going to be one of us if it..." Dianne's voice broke. "Kills me," she whispered, rubbing her throat. George twined around her ankles in sympathy, and meowed at her to give him some of the Reeses' Pieces. Christina rolled her eyes. "There's lemon tea in the pitcher over there. Drink some before you start croaking, Dee. All that shouting during the trial, and then taking on a new trainee like Jennie----I'm surprised you can still make recognizable sounds, much less words." "Thank you for your support," the GHP retorted with towering dignity, as she walked over to the bar and poured herself a glass of tea. "You backstabbing Benedicta Arnold. You and Dawn both." "Ah. Thought you were still mad about that." The MMG sighed, momentarily distracted by the sight of Harrison Ford slugging it out with a Nazi, then transferred her gaze back to her friend and leader. "If I told you I testified for Maureen due to caffeine overload and sleep deprivation, would I be forgiven?" "You're *always* working on caffeine overload and sleep deprivation," Dianne tried to snap. Her voice refused to cooperate, though. "Not that it matters," she added in a mutter. "Mo is still at large. And I've got the Mother of all NatPackers attempting to defend herself and damaging everything in sight in the gym. You and half the Guild taking Maureen's side is the *least* of my problems." "We're not on Mo's side, Dianne," Sara objected, letting Ramona climb into her lap. "We just think you ought to give it up. All of it. Training Jennie, too. It's just not worth it. Highly cost-ineffective, for one---" "And way, way stressful, for another," Abby pointed out with a small glare of her own for Dianne. "I came *this close* to being Mary Sue'd because of this obsession of yours and the NatPack's. Let it go, your Grand Highness. For the sake of our collective sanity. Let Maureen be bounced to death, let her be a traitor to the Guild, I don't care. I just don't want go through this again!" "Nobody loves me, everybody rides me, think I'll go eat M&M's." "Awwww," the four TV-watching Mercs responded, very little sympathy in evidence. Christina relented and kicked an ottoman over to Dianne. "C'mon, take a break, will you? You're letting this War get to you. Once that happens, we're _all_ goners." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Are you okay?" Dianne asked in concern, studying her second-in-command more closely as she flopped down across two Ottomans and grabbed a handful of chocolate, giving George some of the crumbled bits. "Yes. I'm never sleeping again, but I'm fine." "You never sleep during the Wars," Virginia said, not taking her eyes off the screen as Indy pointed out his bumps and bruises to Marion. "Well, not much, anyway...." "I said never and I meant never," Chris stated, her mouth hardening into a line. She started flipping channels to a chorus of protests, until she settled on 'Real Life.' Lizbet entered the room as the MMG was saying, "I'm not leaving Merc Central, either. Or getting off this couch. Not for the rest of the War." "But you said we were going to go shopping on Yonge Street," the younger Merc protested, climbing over the couch to sit between Chris and Sara, patting Ramona as she settled in. "For stuff from Darkangel's Boutique, and Siren, and--" "Not. Going. Out. There." The MMG's face had the same stubborn set that had landed her in jail last time, and Abby and Virgina exchanged here-she-goes-again glances before going back to their TV watching, as Chris flipped past the chase scenes from War #5 to land on "The Princess Bride". "Why not?" Dianne asked, taking another sip of tea, letting her gaze wander to the screen, where the Man in Black was engaging in a war of wits with the Corsican. //Really gotta show this at our next negotiation seminar....// "Because I'm afraid of what'll happen if I do," Chris said simply. Lizbet choked on a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, and Dianne nearly dropped her glass as Sara patted Chris on top of her head. "Afraid? A Merc's _admitting_ she's *afraid*?" The GHP demanded, her voice doing odd squeaky things in horror. "We never admit stuff like that. I mean, yeah, we run away when we're going to get dead, we're not stupid, but to say so out _loud_---" "You're making a funny, right, Kiki?" Lizbet asked tentatively, her attention drifting to the TV as the Man in Black dragged Buttercup along the Cliffs of Doom. "She really isn't," Sara said. "And I can't blame her much." "Explain," Dianne ordered Chris. "Before I reserve Dawn's old room at the Queen Street Psychiatric Clinic for you." "Don't you get it?" The MMG's eyes widened glassily. "Haven't you looked around you lately? The Rift in the Space-Time Continuum isn't shutting. We're getting all this work because of all these Alternate Universe versions of the FK people. And it keeps getting worse... more and more and *more* of them keep showing up." "So? Most of them are harmless. Some of them pay pretty well, or their factions do," Dianne said warily, then grinned. "All of the Guild has been doing really great work this time out. I'm proud of our little entrepeneurs--" "Have you *looked*, I mean really LOOKED, at some of these new characters?" Chris asked in desperation. "They're kind of, sort of... matching, in attitude at the _very_ least, the people they showed up with. It's like..." she groped for words, and Virginia hid underneath some of the extra couch pillows, not wanting to hear this scary theory again. "It's like an episode of STAR TREK, or something! Where thoughts create matter, and time is stopped, and space is a variable, and... and..." "Breathe, Kiki." "Breathe," Lizbet echoed the GHP, then started reciting the dialogue along with Buttercup onscreen. "'I know who you are. Your cruelty reveals everything! You are the Dread Pirate Roberts, admit it!'" "Exactly." Chris nodded adamantly. "They do, you know. Brickman for Berg; Tracette for those two younger Mercs..." Sara shrugged expressively at Dianne's look of stunned horror. "Nat-loving Screed for Libby; and I'm not going to get into what Nicolas Chevalier might want with Lisa, I'm just not..." "Okay, I get it. Weird. Symmetric. Logical. A little more than bizarre," Dianne said in determination. "But what has that got to do with never getting off the couch or ever sleeping again, Chris?" "'You killed my love...' .... 'It's possible. I've killed many men. Tell me, was you love another like this prince, ugly, rich, and scabby?'" Lizbet said with Westley. Abby threw a pillow at her. Lizbet caught it and stuck it behind her back. "I haven't met an AU character yet," Chris said softly. "But I had these nightmares..." She shuddered. "Picture, if you will, Lacroix as Howard Stern." Dianne blanched. "Or, if that's okay with you, how about Jerry Tate as a vampire?" The GHP swallowed. "How about Nick as Dick Clark?" "Eeeep!" Lizbet interrupted, distracted from Westley and Buttercup by this last idea. "My point." "And you think---" "I think that if Space-Time is this malleable, if anyone, anywhere can show up, that if AU Forever Knight characters are generated by us thinking about them..." Christina's voice trailed off. "Then with all the hijackings I've done of CERK, and the kidnappings, and the Lacroix-annoyings, I'm in big, big trouble if I think about this too much. So I'm not going to. I'm going to sit right here and let my brain go numb watching TV for the next however-long-this-War-lasts." "Good plan," Dianne said, gulping down more tea. "'You mocked me once. Never do so again!... I died that day,'" Lizbet declaimed, her eyes riveted on the screen. "'And you can die too, for all I care.'... 'Assss.... Youuuuu.... Wiiiisshhh.....'" "'Oh, my sweet Westley. What have I done?'" The entire room proclaimed. "Besides," Chris added after a few minutes. "I've discovered a Zen truth." She shrugged slightly and flipped channels back and forth from the All-Methos Channel to the All-Ray Channel. "With all the AU characters wandering through here, and all the excess, uncharacteristic excitement Merc Central has been seeing this War, it's obvious. Benton Fraser was right; sometimes, if you stay in one place, the world comes to you." "No kidding," Dianne groaned, "*That's* my problem." Abby and Sara exchanged glances. Lizbet was more vocal: "Now what's *your* problem?" The GHP let the rude tone pass in the interests of reserving more time for whining. "This is the first War I've stayed sedately at Merc Central, as befits my exalted position." (She likewise ignored the unsubtle gagging pantomime exchanged by Virginia and Abby) "*Never again!*" "This War I have not gone out and attacked _anyone_!" Chris and Lizbet rolled their eyes and settled in for one of Dianne's patented, overwrought rants. "I've stayed right here, minding my _own_ business, for once, and what have I gotten? I've been awakened in the middle of the night by a Nick-clone in spandex undies and a cape, had a vampiric chinchilla foisted upon me in the course of a thoroughly rigged trial I _still_ managed to lose, been both cheesewhizzed and limburger-cheesed (and what *is* it with _cheese_ this time anyway?), had to deal with unauthorized exploding hottubs crashing through my ceiling and destroying my office, managed to survive a *Screedy slurp*!, and-- to top it all off-- the Toronto PD just presented me with a ticket (and a hefty fine) for all the litter the RatPack scattered in front of the place." "She needs Death by Chocolate," Chris observed calmly as Dianne collapsed from lack of breath. "Does the Happy Souvlaki do take-out?" "I'll get some," Abby offered, "In exchange for waived dues, of course." Dianne merely nodded weakly, and re-draped herself over the ottomans. But as Abby rose and headed for the door, she stopped with a start. "Where do you people keep the herring?" demanded a squeaky voice at the door. Half a dozen Mercs stared at the penguin, then Chris faced the TV again, and turned up the volume, shaking her head and taking another slug of Diet Pepsi. *** "Black & White & Red All Over" by Dianne la Mercenaire Time: follows directly on "Channel Surfing to Nirvana" Place: Merc Central TV Room [With thanks to Chris the MMG and Lizbet the MAA!] ****************************** The penguin gave a dismissive 'huff' at the Merc Mommy General and waddled his way over to where the GHP was reclining on her ottoman. "You are in charge here, are you not?" the flightless little bird demanded imperiously. Dianne sighed and shook her head sadly. "I keep _telling_ people, the Mercenary Guild is a loose association of independent contractors...." " 'So whatever we did, it isn't her fault'." Lizbet *eeped* as a throw pillow caught her across the forehead. "Well I was just giving him the Cliff Notes version!" she insisted. "What I was going to _say_," Dianne continued, "was that I can't understand why everyone keeps thinking I'm this heartless, demanding, tyrannical despot!' "Um... maybe because I can tell you about this time that you were a judge who was a power-maddened autocrat who reopened the case after the verdict was decided, testified for the prosecution, and then refused to be cross-examined?" Lizbet offered. "I can't help the way I'm written!" Dianne muttered in annoyance. "Dianne, dearest, you wrote that yourself." Dianne ignored her. "I mean, pretty soon I'm not gonna have any virtual vocal cords left," Her voice was rising in both volume and pitch as she got going, "the way everyone keeps writing me 'yelling', 'screaming', 'shouting', 'snarling', and generally carrying on like a ranting, raving *loon*!" Her voice cracked painfully on the last word and Virginia wordlessly handed her another cup of lemon tea. "*Herring*," the petite, undead fowl repeated with a sneer. "Where do you keep your herring?" "Look, Opus...," Dianne began, when the bird waddled closer and looked straight into her eyes. *thipthip* *thipthip* "You will bring me _herring_!" *thipthip* *thipthip* "You will bring it now! *thipthip* *thipthip* "Oh please," Dianne groaned. "Don't you try to '*thipthip*' _me_, birdbrain!" she muttered under her breath, just before looking right back at her feathered adversary and speaking one word to him. "Walrus," she said. *+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+* [Antarctica, 79 C.E.] We see a young mortal penguin, living happily with his little flightless avian friends. It is a day just like any other day in which endless snow and ice and maybe some freezing cold sea water are all that there is to be seen. Today, however, tragedy strikes. While wandering aimlessly about the frozen landscape, as penguins are wont to do, The Penguin LaCroix suddenly slips and falls into the freezing waters of Prince Rupert Sound.... ["Wrong pole, dummy!" "Damn! ...Uh...O.k....fine..."] ...falls into the freezing waters of the _Antarctic Sea_. Luckily, a wolf happens along... ["Wrong pole again, Einstein... besides, penguins _like_ freezing water." "Oh shut up! Who's writing this flashback anyway? Work with me, dammit!"] O.k. So The Penguin LaCroix is swimming about _happily_ in the ice water when he sees that his sister is swimming beside him. Suddenly, without any warning (other than an eerie vibrating noise, weird strobe lights flashing, the earth shaking-- that sort of thing) a vampire walrus... ["A vampire _walrus_???" "Hey, they've got the tusk thing going already. It's not _that_ much of a stretch!"] ...a vampire walrus with one bent tusk rears its terrifying head out of nowhere, grabs his sister and vanishes under the water. "*Samantha*!" The Penguin LaCroix wails in anguish. ["Oh give me a _break_!"] Diving in after her, The Penguin LaCroix is severely injured by the walrus, who cuts up his face terribly and leaves him for dead. The Penguin LaCroix then conveniently washes up amongst the Amazons on Paradise Island, where someone named "Charley" speaks to him from thin air, saying something about 'Angels'.... ["...!" "Oh come on, I was _12_! What did I know?"] Anyway, The Penguin LaCroix is lying, half-dead and horribly disfigured when a mysterious figure in a long cloak that hides his face arrives and carries The Penguin LaCroix off to his home, deep in the tunnels, far, far below the city. There the mysterious stranger, who wears a pin that reads "I'm a vampire. Ask me how!", heals him with a quickie 'blood transfusion' and reads him lots and lots of heart-rending poetry. But, once recovered and aware of his new vampiric nature, The Penguin LaCroix cannot stay, so the stranger sees him off, saying "Live long and prosper!" The Penguin LaCroix wanders the earth for years until he finally finds the vampire walrus with the one bent tusk and confronts him, saying (in an unexpected Spanish accent), "I am The Penguin LaCroix. You ate my sister! Prepare to die!" ["Oh, now *that* one's original." "Bite me."] After successfully staking the walrus and grieving for his lost sister, The Penguin LaCroix begins to head back to his family. However, he soon realizes that, on his long quest, he has become hopelessly lost. Heartbroken, he leaps from ice floe to ice floe, always hoping that his next leap will be the leap home...." *+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+* With a avian start, the penguin was back with them. "Wow," Abby marveled. "If we followed all that do we get a prize? "I think if you followed all that you get _institutionalized_," Lizbet corrected. "But that's not all!" Dianne offered. "I didn't even get to the part where he and a few of his friends are stranded on this little rubber raft in the Gamma Sea, miles and miles from home, where he decides that, with his amazingly heightened senses, he is indeed the last, best hope for penguin-kind, so he pulls a katana out of his feathers and..." Chris calmly, and with the ease of much practice, muzzled Dianne with one hand. Sara frowned at the Poohbah. "Wait a minute! That wasn't embarrassing! It was actually kinda sweet! _Weird_-- very, very weird-- but sweet." "Yeah!" Virginia chimed in. "I was in Merc 666: 'The Life, Times, and Ego of Your Glorious Grand High Poohbah', you know. You told us you cut your little Mercly teeth coming up with really _humiliating_ flashbacks for LaCroix." "So what gives, Dianne?" Chris smirked. "Losing your touch?" Dianne looked at the bird, then at the Mercs, then back again, then stated the obvious. "The man's a *penguin*, Chris. How much more humiliating can you possibly get?" Within milliseconds the floor of the Merc TV room was taken over by a rolling, wrestling, cursing blur of black and white feathers and red hair as a 6'2" Merc and a small flightless vampiric waterfowl finally had it out, right there and then.