"Hangin' at the Happy Souvlaki"
by (deep breath):
Tina Cooling, Jane Credland, Dawn Steele, Dianne De Sha, Jill Kirby,
Spifff, Maureen Wynn, and the NatPack

Time:  Mostly sometime after "Mary Sue Arrives in Toronto"

Finally, they were in Toronto.  And all in one place, at least physically. 
Unfortunately, there was no Natalie at Natalie's apartment-- just another
clock, this one apparently the victim of a split personality and having an
involved conversation with itself about the ethics of animal
experimentation. 

They put it in the closet.

Jennie stormed in with Dania, muttering loudly about getting out of "these
smegging orange nightmare clothes," and went immediately into Nat's
bedroom in search of clothes she'd left there last War.  The rest of the
Pack went about making themselves at home, as usual-- Jill yanked out the
vacuum, Amy and Tina ran out quickly for peanut butter and bread, Eliz and
Lynn attempted to put the mounds of suitcases, backpacks, and bags into
some kind of order.  Maureen commandeered the stereo system.  Perri, Judy
and Catherine, having only been in Nat's apartment on stealth missions in
previous Wars, spent some quality non-time exploring, and every now and
then a delighted squeal would emerge from somewhere in the apartment.  The
other NatPackers collapsed, yawning hugely. 

Jennie emerged, finally, dressed in comfortable black stretch pants and
the ubiquitous NatPack t-shirt.  "I'm <starving,>" she announced.  "We
need food." 

"You can't order us around any more," Valerie said from her position on
the floor.  She was lying down, and her legs were in some sort of
impossible twisty position.  "You're not the faction leader this War. 
Neener neener." 

"Thank goodness," Jennie muttered, then glanced quickly at Tina and Jill,
hoping they hadn't heard her.  They hadn't-- Tina was sound asleep, and
Jill was singing along with "Chess" at the top of her lungs while she
vacuumed (much to the dismay of the rest of the room).  Jennie waved at
Jill, and she switched off the vacuum.  "Food?" Jennie asked hopefully. 

Tina woke up abruptly (loud music and bad singing won't wake the Pack, but
the mention of food will).  "Yeah!  I'm hungry!" 

There were noises of assent.  The NatPack is good at a number of things: 
confusing other people, especially Mercs; getting hopelessly lost but then
amazingly getting to wherever they were going unharmed and in one large,
semi-coherent group; assimilating the leaders of other factions; 
fantasizing; and eating. 

And they hadn't done that last thing in quite a while.

"We could order in," suggested Perri.  "It's not always safe to go out
during Wars." 

Just then, the clock marched out of the closet, looking extremely
disgruntled (as disgruntled as a clock is able to look while trailing a
dirty sock).  "Absolutely no animal products allowed in this domicile!" it
trumpeted. 

"I think we should go to the Happy Souvlaki," Tina said, edging away from
the clock, which was making sniffing noises as if trying to detect the
presence of said animal products. 

There was general agreement, and for once the Pack was out of the
apartment in only a few minutes.  This probably had something to do with
the clock, which was haranguing all of them loudly after spotting a pair
of leather shoes sitting in a corner. 

The NatPack does not take well to being lectured.  Especially by clocks. 

***

"Welcome to the Happy Souvlaki!"

Spifff, cheerfully attired in a nuclear orange Hawaiian shirt covered with
small brown animals, greeted them with a smile. 

"What <is> she wearing?" Amy signed to Lynn, who just shrugged. 

There were a few people scattered around the diner, and the NatPack spread
out over various tables.  "I Dream of Jeannie" was playing on a television
behind the counter, and one brightly-shirted FoD was watching the screen
avidly.  The deli was cheerful-- lime green walls tend to brighten up a
place-- and smelled wonderful. 

"If this <is> an alternate universe, do you think it means I can eat
whatever I want?" Maureen asked hopefully. 

"I'm getting cheese fries, so this had <better> be an alternate universe," 
Amy said firmly. 

"An excellent choice," approved Spifff.  "They're an especially nice
compliment to our tender gyros sandwich which is served with a heavily
garliced tzaziki sauce." 

"What the heck.  I'll just take alternate universe antacid," sighed
Maureen. 

"Jill?"

Jill turned and saw Jane Credland.  "Jane!"

"Jill. Long time no see. And am I glad to see you all." Jane grinned at
the Natpackers. "A War just wouldn't be the same without the Pack." 

"Is the Raven open for business yet?" Amy asked.

"You got me. I'm not here with the Ravens."  Jane shrugged. "I've gotta
tell you. This alternate universe stuff is taking some getting used to. 
One thing's for sure:  the Deli's going to make a mint. Ain't no way I'm
going to try cooking again.  At least nothing that involves an oven and a
timer." 

Catherine stopped playing with her knife. "You didn't?"

"Yeah I did. Luckily Cynthia smelled the smoke, and we managed to put the
flames out before anything was damaged -- except for dinner. That was a
total write-off. Who knew that e-mail could be such a dangerous
addiction."  Jane put in her take-out order (briefly wishing that they had
sushi on the menu) and then pulled a chair up to the table. Sitting was
definitely more comfortable than standing while she waited. 

"Did Cynthia come with you?" Catherine looked around the restaurant. 

"Not this time. Between the smoke and the cleaning fluids, the air in the
apartment was pretty much unbreathable for her, so she took off while I
was cleaning up."  Jane frowned.  "She muttered something about being
followed and needing to find out who it was." 

Conversation stopped briefly while Spifff and a couple of other FoDs in
brilliantly coloured moose shirts distributed orders. When she judged that
her friends had managed to eat enough food to feel like talking again,
Jane asked, "So, what are the chances of us getting together with the Pack
before our CPD's [convenient plot device for the curious but uninformed]
yank us back home?" 

There was silence for a moment -- the kind of silence that makes you feel
like waggling a finger in each ear to clear the white noise -- then Amy
said, "We're kind of busy for the next couple of days...maybe later in the
week?  Well, later anyway.  These days it's kind of hard to tell which day
is which." 

Tina added, "Maybe you'd like to come with us when we check out Toronto."

"That would be great." Jane took her order from the waitress. "Just let me
find a pen and paper, and I'll give you the phone number of where we're
staying." 

"Don't worry about it." Jennie shook her head. "We'll be able to find you."

"Oh.  Sure.  I'll see you later then." Jane headed back to the apartment,
looking forward to a night of lying on the couch in front of the
television.  She'd flicked through the channels earlier and discovered
that every station was playing either a movie or a television show that
she liked.  There were obviously some good side effects to this rift in
the space time continuum, and she was planning on taking full advantage of
this one. 

***

The Natpack were pretty spread out around the Happy Souvlaki, because
there weren't any tables big enough to hold them all.  As a result, they
tended to wander from table to table, chatting first with one group, then
another.  This of course drove the waitresses to distraction, since they
couldn't keep track of who was supposed to be at which tables.  One
waitress kept trying to insist on giving Jill an iced tea, and Jill was
being equally insistant that what she wanted was a Diet Coke.  Spiff
finally intervened, taking the iced tea, and sent the waitress back to the
kitchen for the soda. 

"Sorry about that, Jill," the FoD said, sipping the iced tea.  "She's new
since the last War, and doesn't know quite how to deal with Natpackers." 

"Just assure her that we tip really well, and she'll be a lot happier,"
Jill responded with a smile. 

Maureen got up from the table, saying, "I'm going to go talk to Jennie. 
Tell the waitress to bring my hot fudge sundae over there." 

On her way over to Jennie's table, Maureen saw someone at a table she
hadn't been to yet.  A someone with long, light brown hair that looked
awfully familiar.  "Julie?" Maureen said, coming up behind the woman
dressed in black. 

The woman turned around at the sound of her name, smiling when she saw her
friend and cyber-grandchild.  "Hey, Mo!" she said, standing up and giving
her a hug, "Glad to see you!  It's nice to see a familiar face.  Sit
down,"  she said, indicating the empty chair at the table, "tell me what's
happening with the Natpack." 

Maureen was about to sit down when she saw who else was sitting at the
table.  "Hi, Abby," she said to the Merc.  "Is it okay if I join you?" 

"Sure, Maureen," Abby said, hurt.  "Why wouldn't I want you to?" 

"Well, you know, traitor to the Guild, yadda, yadda, yadda."

"Oh, don't be silly!" Abby said, relieved that it wasn't anything
important.  "You know that trial was a farce!  I mean," she added,
giggling, "*kangaroos* in the jury?  Who could take that seriously?" 

"Well, in that case, why don't you declare it null and void?  Just say
that I wasn't guilty?" 

"Well, um... it's not that easy... you know..." Abby squirmed under the
gaze of the Natpacker. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Dianne's the one in charge, and Dianne's the one who
declared me the traitor, so Dianne's the only one who can do anything
about it," Maureen said, disgusted.  "And I thought Mercs were so fiercely
independent.  Ha!" 

"We are!" Abby retorted, stung.  "We can do whatever we want... as long as
it doesn't go against the Charter." 

"Well, there's nothing in the charter about giving me an appeal, is there?"

"No... not that I know of, anyway," Abby weaseled.  Maureen looked
disgusted, and Abby grew a bit more of a backbone.  "No, there's nothing
in the Charter that would deny you an appeal.  But why bother?  You know
no one took that seriously, right?" 

"It's not the trial that bothers me - it's the *blonding* that bothers
me!"  she said, suddenly looking grim.  "As god is my witness, someone
will be made to _pay_ for that!" she said, rising from her chair, and for
some reason, she was gripping a carrot from someone's veggie platter.  It
must have been a Natpacker thing... 

***

Dawn stuffed another large piece of feta cheese into her mouth and
savoured the sentation before tossing in a large black olive. The Happy
Souvlaki made the best Greek salad she'd ever tasted. After the salad she
planned on checking out the dessert selection. It <was> wartime after all,
and virtual calories made very little impression on the waistline. 

All around her people were chatting and greeting each other like the old
friends they were. Outside the Happy Souvlaki they could be at each
other's throats, but inside... there was something so <cheerful> and
pleasant like a guardian angel that wanted to make sure everyone had a
good time. 

She felt warm and fuzzy and happy and .... Dawn shook her head. Maybe she
was coming down with a cold or perhaps one of the Pack members had
accidentally tossed medication down the wrong water glass. It could
happen, in fact it was <bound> to happen when you hung around with a
walking pharmacy. 

Or maybe the olives had fermented. Could olives ferment?

On unsteady feet, she staggered to the back door for some fresh air,
unaware of the spectral spirit that patted her on the head and went off to
cheer up someone else. 

Leaning against the brick wall, Dawn drew in a deep breath... and
regretted it immediately. Turning around, she discovered that she was
standing right next to the Happy Souvlaki dumpster, and that while the
clocks may have stopped at midnight, decomposition continued on its merry
way. 

"Hey!"

Whoops. Dawn recognized that voice. Turning around, she looked at the
doorway... and then looked <up> several more degrees to get the face in
focus. 

Dianne De Sha -- otherwise known as the Mercenary Great High Poobah during
war times, and a few other names in other affiliation HQ's. 

Dawn waved weakly and the last of her fuzzy mood left with a swiftness
that would make an African swallow green with envy. "Hi." 

"Feeling _b**ncy_ nowadays, are we?" Dianne glared down at her.

"Um..." Dawn tried to figure out how Dianne could *bleep* offensive
letters like that in the middle of a conversation. And whether this was
yet another side-effect of The Rift.  "I noticed who you were sitting with
in there." 

"Oh yeah. Lynn Stapleton and some of her friends..." She smiled weakly.

"I know who her friends are, and so do you."

"Well," Dawn did her best to play it cool while she nervously eyed the
GHP's infamous Shillelaigh, "Lynn has lots of friends, you know...." 

"*Natpackers*!" Dianne hissed, startling Dawn out of her waffling. The
Poohbah leaned closer, a maniacal gleam in her eye. "You've been hanging
out with those lying, sneaking, traitorous, warped, demented, perverted,
insidious, spurious, rabid, cracked, daft, raving, lunatic,
_schitzothymic*_...," she stuttered for a moment..., "*THINGIES*!" Dianne
finished, rather anticlimactically. 

Dawn wondered for a split second whether "Blatant Abuse of a Thesaurus"
was actionable under the Charter, but decided now was not the time to
bring it up. "Um, yeah." 

Dianne blinked. And again. Very angry-looking blinks. "*'Yeah'*?"

The accused Merc shrugged. "Know thy enemy and all that. I mean, it's not
like I've left the Guild or anything." 

At another glare from the looming redhead, Dawn tried another probably
hopeless tactic -- being rational. "I don't know how it happenned... We
were between wars, and Lynn kept sending me odd snippets of NatPacker
posts and they were so <interesting>.  They have fun, joke around and its
a friendly atmosphere and ... I just thought I'd join for a while and then
quit before the next war." 

"But you haven't."

"What's wrong with being part of two different affiliations anyway?" Dawn
struck back weakly. "Just look at Cousin merc Lisa. She does just fine
earning money for the guild while acting in a purely
Cousinly-if-unpredictable-because-cousins-can't-be-typecast fashion!" 

"We're not talking about Cousins and Mercs, we're talking about a member
of the Glorious Mercenary Guild sneaking off and joining the NATPACK!" 

"You would prefer I was sneaking off to guzzle coffee with the
Perkulators?" 

"At least the Perks know how to brew a good cup of coffee!" Dianne glared
and started thwapping her hand against the Shillalegh of Death. "I'd even
prefer you were hanging out in the basement building an altar for Screed." 

"That's _not_ what they're building down there," Dawn muttered absently
under her breath. 

"What?"

"Look, I just don't see...."

"*There IS no such thing as a 'Merc/Natpacker'!*" Dianne declared, in a
voice that would have boomed like thunder, had she not worn it out to more
of a rusty squeak with all her earlier carrying on. 

"Don't force me to make a decision!" And with that Dawn slammed down her
ever-present floppy green hat (totally ignoring the fact that she didn't
have to worry about the UV factor when it was perpetually dark outside),
and stalked off majestically into the night... or would have if her right
sneaker didn't have an air leak and squeak every time she took a step. 

Dianne angrily slammed the Shillelagh of Death against the dumpster,
causing a very <large> dent and upsetting a whole den of rats living
(until then)  very happy lives behind it. 

"NatP*ckers!" She muttered. "I'm going to have to <do> something about
them..." 

***