***Friday, October 27, 1995***

THE BILL COLLECTOR ALWAYS RINGS TWICE (a)
Or: The Birth of a Merc
by Elizabeth Ann Lewis

Place: Elizabeth's home

"Hi, Mom."  Elizabeth dropped her laundry off by the washing machine and
began sorting through her week's accumulation of snail mail.  Living on
campus and coming home on the weekends, Elizabeth was getting used to her
life being split in half.  Unfortunately, it always seemed she was away
from the wrong half. At school, she invariably brought sweaters when it
was 90 degrees out, or shorts when a cold wind blew, and forgot her
checkbook or her notebook.  On the weekends, she was separated from one of
her two e-mail identities, which meant that Monday mornings were spent
playing catchup. 

Casually, Elizabeth slit open her MasterCard bill--and almost had a
coronary. How had it gotten up *that* high?  Frantically, she tried to
still the panicked shaking of her hands.  She had no money...certainly not
enough to pay off the bill!  And if she only paid a little, the interest
charges would bleed her dry! 

"Are you OK, dear?" her mom asked.

Elizabeth nodded, feeling her stomach jump into her throat.  She was dead
meat. A cooked goose.  Up a very long creek without even a twig to help
her. 

And there were two more envelopes on the table.

Somehow, she made it back to her room before her mother made the obvious
connection between the bills and her daughter's frantic state of mind. 
She could ask her parents for money...and hear about it for the next
twenty years. She could get another job...yeah, right, with midterms just
over and finals around the corner.  Her wonderful job, buried deep in the
basement of UCLA's Research Library, was heaven, but it was only ten hours
a week and barely paid enough to keep a rat alive. And she needed winter
clothes, had to pay for her AOL addiction, and she had been dreaming of
replacing her car.  Her little 13-year-old Toyota had just passed the
100,000 mile mark, and celebrated by taking odd, unexplained breaks,
randomly refusing to start no matter how much the mechanic tinkered with
it. 

She needed another job.  There was no way around it.  Surely there had to
be something out there for an almost-graduated history major with no spare
time and few skills that paid fabulously? 

Her eyes fell on her computer, and ever so slowly, a devilish grin lit her
face. She didn't have access to her UCLA account from home, but her memory
was quite sufficient to recall a few of the posts she had seen there.  WAR
was coming and like any good entrepreneur, she was willing to sell her
skills. After all, what did she have to lose?  Vampires weren't real, of
course, so she hardly needed to worry about any coming after her. 

Elizabeth sat down, turned on her computer, and began contacting a few
people she knew.  "Attention," she typed, "Merc for Hire!" 

###

***Sunday, October 29, 1995***

CHESS--OPENING MOVES
by The Natpack: Amparo Bertram, Jennie Hayes, Sharon Himmannen, Amy
Hull, Jill Kirby, Selma McCrory, Valerie Meachum, Elaine Polemenakos,
Leslie, Betsy Vera, and Mary GT Webber.  Sorry about the length, but with 
this many authors...

Time: Early morning
Place: Natalie's apartment

Natalie Lambert stood in the doorway of her apartment, keys forgotten in
one hand, and stared at her guests.  There were bags, suitcases, pillows,
stuffed animals and blankets all over her living room--and eleven women
lounging about like they lived there.  "Sharon?  I thought you said a
'few' others were going to meet you here.  I count eleven of you.  Last
time I checked, that was more than a few." 

"Oh, well, Leslie was driving Sharon, and Valerie was coming up this way
anyway, and when they heard Jennie and I were heading up, Jill, Betsy and
Amparo hitched a ride with us.  Then when Selma, Elaine and GT heard we'd
*all* be here, they made plans to come up too,"  Amy explained in her most
helpful manner. 

"Uh-huh." Natalie didn't sound too thrilled.  "I don't even know some of
these people, Sharon.  Who are they?" 

"I'm Leslie," piped up Leslie from one corner, waving.

"And I'm Jill," said Jill Kirby, putting down her Diet Coke to shake
Natalie's hand.  "It's great to finally meet you!" 

"And you remember Amparo, Elaine and GT from the birthday party, right?"
Jennie threw in. 

"And you know me, even if the dark hair threw you off a bit there,"
Valerie added. 

"Of course."  Natalie looked a little stunned.  She turned to GT. "You
flew in from Australia just for a visit?  And you're actually <awake> this
time?" 

"Worked a couple weeks of extra night shifts to pay for it.  Didn't want
to miss *this* party," GT shrugged, tossing bright red hair out of her
eyes.  "They're gettin' used to me on the night shift, though." 

"So, what am I going to do with you all?"  Nat queried. 

"Pretend we're not here--we won't get in the way, and most of us can sleep
just about anywhere when we're tired.  We stopped for supplies, so the
kitchen and bar are well stocked,"  Sharon added, gesturing with the beer
in her hand. 

"Uh-huh."  Nat looked a bit skeptical.

"And we all wanted to talk to you.  That's one of the big reasons we're
all here," Selma added. 

"I was afraid of that.  Much as you all seem to like to travel, the only
times practically *everyone* shows up at once, it's trouble," Nat shook
her head. 

"Did we say trouble?  I don't remember anyone saying 'trouble,' do you?" 
Sharon turned her question to Jennie. 

"Nope, didn't use *that* word," Jennie chimed in.  Then she grinned
impishly.  "Not yet, at least." 

"OK, spit it out...what's going on?"  Nat sighed, exasperated.

"How about you get comfortable first.  Any particular munchies?" Leslie
queried. 

"Oh, all right.  You win!  I'll be right back.  I'll just have orange
juice for now,"  Nat sighed. 

                    ***-***-***

"...so, we have to make sure they're all warned.  We could call everyone
and tell them what's brewing," Nat suggested. 

"I'll get the phone!" Amy jumped up from the floor but Jennie grabbed her
skirt. 

"Oh, no you don't.  Nat's not used to the kind of phone bills you
generate," she said by way of warning to Nat. 

Valerie carefully placed the phone farther out of Amy's reach.  "Yes, I
don't think that would be wise," she admonished. 

"Besides, I don't think they'd listen to us if we just called them out of
the blue,"  Jennie continued.  "It *is* a bit farfetched.  I was thinking
we should maybe send them all some kind of anonymous calling cards; you
know, get them suspicious and start them wondering if someone's after
them.  If they just start looking around them more carefully, they'll
probably see what's going on for themselves. *Then* we call them and try
to arrange a meeting to deal with the problems." 

"Let me get this straight.  You want to send weird things to all the
listmembers?  And you think this will help the situation?" Selma looked
like she was ready to have Jennie committed. 

"This could work.  We send them something taunting, they get paranoid,
then we've got their attention when we want to talk to them about the
problems," Amy answered, biting her lip thoughtfully. 

"I'm sure we can come up with something suitable for each of the
factions," Betsy grinned. 

"What makes you think the others will trust us if things get weird?" Jill
asked. 

Sharon smiled knowingly.  "Because they *always* trust us.  We've
basically cleaned up the mess from the last couple of wars." 

"That's true," Amy said. She'd succeeded in freeing her skirt from
Jennie's fingers and was now busy going through Natalie's CD collection. 

"If you think about it, we'll be doing everyone a favor," Selma added. 

"And get to have some well-deserved *fun*!" Amparo said.

"I love it when a plan comes together," Jennie added.

"Oh!  Nat has it!  What good taste!"  Amy exclaimed suddenly.  "Look!
_Chess_!  London cast, too!" 

"Put it on while we plan, Amy!" Elaine bounced.

"OK, so where do we start?  I think we need something especially for each
faction..." Valerie began. 

                    ***-***-***

In the background, the CD had just finished up a heated argument scene and
Amy had moved a bit closer to a speaker.  "This is 'Nobody's Side.' It's
one of my favorite songs," she told everyone.  The song's lines seemed to
Jennie to fit the situation uncomfortably well: 

 --      What's going on around me
 --      Is barely making sense
 --      I need some explanations fast

"Do you want me to turn it up?" Jennie asked.

"No, it should be plenty loud like this.  You know I don't like really
loud noises," Amy answered. 

"True," was all Jennie said as she turned her attention back to the
discussion. 

"...so let me see if I've got this all down," Selma said.  "Knighties get
bricks, Ravenettes get candy cigarettes, Vaqueros get those little cow
noisemakers that moo when you turn them over, and Cousins get cotton swabs
and Natmare photos claiming LaCroix is yellow-bellied," she reached out to
pick up one of the Natmares in question as she said this, hugging it to
her.  "Vetterans or whatever they are get pink buttons...do we even know
of any Tracy supporters?" 

"Oh, yes.  I know of at least one," Jennie said with a wicked smile.
"PartlyK.  She'd like to be called a 'Perkulator.' I'm sure there's a
coffee joke in there..." she trailed off thoughtfully. 

"OK, well, then there are the die-hards, they're getting Jeopardy music
playing in a continuous loop, and the mercs all get Chuck E. Cheese
tokens, and the unaffiliated get maps with a dot saying 'You are here' and
arrows pointing to confusion and chaos," Selma continued, "and there's the
half n' half factions who are getting containers of half n' half, and
since there are so many Nick&Natpackers they also get the human heart
replicas with arrows stabbed though them.  Is that right?" 

"Yep, and they will be realistic heart replicas, like from an anatomy
class or something.  I know of a store where you can get things like
that," Amy explained.  "And followers of Reese get Reese's Pieces and
since the FODs are still in mourning they get chocolate hugs and kisses. 
Although I'm not sure if that's enough to get their attention on the
*problems*.  I was thinking of doing something slightly more for them, but
leaving the chocolates where they can't miss them," she added. 

Several people winced as the song chose this moment to spit out the line: 

 --      I feel I need a change of cast
 --      Maybe I'm on nobody's side

"Actually, I've been thinking the same thing about a lot of listmembers. 
I mean, take Scottie," Jennie turned the stereo up a bit with the remote
control as she talked.  "She's always getting things in the mail.  I think
it will take a bit more than just a brick or something with a brick on it
showing up in the mail or at her front door to get her attention these
days...hmm...Amy, do Istvaan and Gub do brickwork, by any chance?" 

Amy shrugged, "As I recall, they're not too fond of it, but I think there
was someone who did...let me think about it."  As the song on the CD came
to an end, Amy leaned over and punched several buttons. The song started
over again. 

"And then there's Susan," Jennie continued, but Sharon cut in.

"Oh, no.  I'm not plotting anything against Susan," Sharon said in a
no-nonsense voice. "We have an agreement along those lines." 

In the background, a nasty sounding male voice in the song took over for
several lines: 

 --      I'd have thought you'd support
 --      Any attack on these people...

"Oh, all right.  I suppose she'll be one of the first to hear about all
the other people getting 'presents' anyhow," Jennie conceded, although
there was a glint in her eyes that nobody who knew her trusted.  "I think
the idea of just a pink button or a few pink buttons is kinda small for
the Perkulator as well.  I was thinking about elaborating on that one
too." 

"And those cousins ought to be slowed down somewhat, don't you think? I
mean, they can get dangerous,"  Elaine put in. 

 --      They see chess as a war
 --      Playing with pawns just like Poland

"Uh-huh, you're right, Elaine.  You know, I'm getting hungry.  What say we
order out for pizza or chinese or something?"  Jennie suggested. "Sharon
could go pick it up, since we all carried her beer in earlier." 

"Hmm...how long should I stay away?" Sharon queried shrewdly.

 --      Never stay a minute too long
 --      Don't forget the best will go wrong
 --      Nobody's on nobody's side

"Oh, I shouldn't think we'll need more than half an hour," Jennie answered
innocently. 

Everybody began talking at once...what eventually emerged were orders for
Thai food for half the group, after making sure the restaurant didn't put
MSG in their entrees because of Jennie's allergies, and three different
pizzas to satisfy the taste of the rest of the group and those who
couldn't decide between pizza and Thai food.  Most seemed to want either
cheese or vegetable pizza, although there were a few orders for something
with meat on it. 

Amy tossed Sharon the keys to Di's car.  "It's a good thing you didn't
have any more beer after that first, or you'd be gone forever walking it
here!" she commented, all but shoving Sharon out the door. 

"But...." Sharon began, but the door was closed in her face.

"Now, she can honestly say she didn't hear a thing about this," she could
hear Jennie beginning through the door.  Sharon shrugged, then turned and
started down the hallway.  Strains of music followed her as she walked. 

 --      Never make a promise or plan
 --      Take a little love where you can
 --      Nobody's on nobody's side

                    ***-***-***

"Now that that's decided, I hope Sharon gets back soon with that food.  I
really am hungry!" Selma commented. 

"Do we have to stick with listmembers?  I think we need to make certain
Nick, LaCroix and the other characters get the warning too!" Leslie
commented. 

The music in the background flared up suddenly with the argument that
introduced the song: 

 --      You want to lose your only friend?
 --      Well keep it up, you're doing fine.
 --      Why this humiliation?
 --      Why treat me like a fool?
 --      I've taken shit for seven years
 --      And I won't take it anymore.

"Yes, could we do something with Nick?  He needs warning *badly*," Natalie
commented.  "I caught him palming his vitamins again today." 

"You seem awfully upset at Nick over that," Amparo mentioned.  "Was this
that bad?" 

 --      There's a time and there's a place!
 --      Is this the girl who always said
 --      She wants to know the truth?

"Well, he *just* promised he'd try harder to work *with* me on this cure. 
If he's having trouble with the vitamins he needs to *tell* me, not sneak
around behind my back not taking them!" Nat was clearly furious. 

 --      Why'd you have to do this to me?

"Ah-hah!  Poor communication.  That drives me nuts, too!" Jennie
sympathized.  "So, what can we do?" 

 --      I see my present partner
 --      In the imperfect tense
 --      And I don't see how we can last

"I know," Amy crowed, "Valerie, you told me once you were pretty good at
flipping glasses full of water upside down on tables so that when somebody
picks them up, the water spills all over.  Will that work with wine?  Or
blood?" 

"Oh, yes.  And we could use a large carafe of it so that it will make a
spectacular mess if he doesn't pick it up properly.  There's always the
chance he'll figure it out before trying to pick it up," Valerie nodded. 

"So it's basically an intelligence test, of sorts!  I *like* that!" Nat
seemed rather enthusiastic over this. 

 --      And when he gives me reasons
 --      To justify each move
 --      They're getting harder to believe
 --      I know this can't continue
 --      I've still a lot to prove
 --      There must be more I could achieve
 --      But I don't have the nerve to leave

"I have a Christmas brick we could leave him," Betsy ventured, "after all,
his followers will all be getting bricks.  I brought it up with me because
I thought you would get a laugh out of it.  But I'd be happy to donate it
to the cause." 

"Yes!  We can leave him bricks!" Elaine agreed.  "If we stop for supplies
for the carafe joke, we can look for brick items to leave all over his
apartment!" 

"OK, that sounds like a plan.  I wonder where Sharon got to?" Jennie
worried.  "It's been almost an hour.  I thought for sure she'd come back
before we were done, but she's not here yet." 

"Jennie, does Sharon have a driver's license?" Amy asked, slowly.  "I just
realized, she doesn't drive at all in New York." 

"Oh, my, you're right.  And I don't think she *does* have one.  And this
being *Di's* car, that doesn't bode well.  Unless she walked, and that's
what's taking so long," Jennie answered hopefully. 

Leslie peered out the window.  "Nope, I don't see Di's car in that spot
anymore," she observed. "Oh, wait, I think I just saw Sharon walk into the
building.  She looked kinda angry.  I hope she's not mad at us!" 

"Don't worry, she would never have agreed if she was against going out for
the food," Valerie soothed.  "She probably got mad at someone along the
way." 

At that moment, there came a clunky banging on the door.  Amparo got up to
answer it, then backed slowly and wordlessly away from the door, letting
it swing wide. 

Several smells assaulted the nostrils of those inside the apartment,
wafting from the large bag Sharon held in one hand and the pizza shaped
boxes piled atop one arm.  Nobody said a word, however, and for a moment
everyone in the room was frozen in place as Sharon stalked into the room
and unceremoniously dumped the food and the blackened, charred remains of
a steering wheel onto the table. 

"Oh, my," was all Jennie said as Sharon turned to face her, one eyebrow
quirked. 

 --      There's nothing certain left to know
 --      And how the cracks begin to show!

"Do you know how hard it was finding a cab at this time of day on a Sunday
in Toronto?  It was unreal!" Sharon commented, almost mildly. "By the way,
Di's car has a few problems, especially the unnatural attraction for large
trucks.  Although I think that's in its past now.  I suppose we could tell
her that her car handles beautifully. One hand." She snickered.  "I'm
hungry, let's eat." 

                    ***-***-***

A few hours later, the apartment was buzzing with busy, happy Natpackers. 
They'd more or less dismissed the fate of Di's car as just that: Fate. 

The same song still spun on the CD player.  Nobody seemed to have noticed
how often it had been around. 

 --      Everybody's playing the game
 --      But nobody's rules are the same
 --      Nobody's on nobody's side
 --      Better learn to go it alone
 --      Recognize you're out on your own
 --      Nobody's on nobody's side

"My turn," Sharon said, seating herself and lifting the phone off the
hook. 

"Amy?  Have you gotten the information on someone who does brickwork yet?"
Jennie called across the room. 

"Shh!" Sharon chided her as she turned back to the phone in her hand. "Egg
and Julio," she mumbled to herself, glancing at her watch as she dialed. 

It took about twenty minutes.  "And you can do the computer animation and
all that stuff?" she asked.  Listening for a moment, she grinned wildly.
"*Great*!  I can't wait to see it.  You'll send me a copy, right?" Another
pause.  "Cool!" 

After several more phone calls she dropped the phone back into its cradle
and turned to the others.  "Next!" she said brightly. 

Amy walked over to Jennie.  "Yes, I did.  Adolf is his name.  I went ahead
and arranged it with him right away.  Scottie's not gonna be happy when
she wakes up Tuesday morning.  But Adolf does discreet work, so we don't
have to worry about her tracing anything back." 

--      No contract truly signed

"Oh, that sounds good.  OK, check that one off the list," Jennie replied. 
I need the phone when Sharon's off it.  I don't want PartlyK to go
unwarned, way up there in the north woods." 

 --      Never take a stranger's advice
 --      Never let a friend fool you twice

"Me!" cried Betsy, jumping up before Amy could snag the phone.  She dialed
a number.  "Hi, it's me.  I need a favor from you guys."  They talked at
length, explaining what she needed done.  "Think you can get the rest of
the gang to go along with it?  Great!  Thanks. Take pictures for me. 
Bye." 

"I'm done now," Betsy called.  Jennie ran over and grabbed the phone from
her. 

 --      Never be the first to believe
 --      Never be the last to deceive
 --      Nobody's on nobody's side
 --      Never make a promise or plan . . .

"Hurley, Wisconsin, please?" she told the operator.  "Yes, hello? Hang 'em
High Harry, please...Jake!  How ya doin'?  You remember me? Great, I've
got another job if you're interested.  You still got those dairy
connections?  OK, good.  I'll fax instructions.  Make sure you get half n'
half.  Yep.  Also, you remember my crazy friend from way back in the
Hamster Patrol?  Yep, well, she's up in your neck of the woods these days. 
Yeah, well, it's all north to me.  I'm going to send you some further
instructions regarding her.  Yes, yes, the usual fees and all that.  Oh,
nothing serious.  I just wanted to let her know I'm not forgetting her. 
Yep.  OK, good.  Oh, and Jake?  I'll tell the factory to send the shipment
of buttons to your place.  Yep, she always was fond of buttons, but those
were the ones with words on them.  These are just plain pink ones. 
Uh-huh.  OK, I expect the usual report, too.  Yep.  Thanks!"  She hung up. 
"The Half n' Halfs and the Perkulators have been taken care of, or they
will be when I get these faxes out!" she announced, putting the faxes in
question onto the fax machine as she spoke. 

 --      Never stay to long in your bed
 --      Never lose your heart use your head
 --      Nobody's on nobody's side

"That's it for the calling cards, right?" Amy added.  "And we've got them
all being sent off from different areas of the country?  Good. This should
about do it for the phoning.  You took care of the cousins, correct?" she
turned to Elaine, stifling a yawn. 

"I believe so," Elaine replied.  "They'll be slowed down somewhat, anyhow. 
Actually, Sharon, Jill and Leslie did a great deal of it." 

 --      Nobody's on nobody's side
 --      Everybody's playing the game
 --      But nobody's rules are the same
 --      Nobody's on nobody's side

Valerie glanced at her watch.  "If we're done with the phones, we probably
ought to get to the store.  We need a carafe and quite a few more supplies
yet before this evening!" 

 --      Never leave a moment too soon
 --      Never waste a hot afternoon
 --      Nobody's on nobody's side

###

DARKANGEL'S DEMISE (a)
by Amparo Bertram

Time: During "Opening Moves"
Place: Natalie's apartment

Amparo took her turn at the phone. "Hi, Rob? ...*Yes* I set my
VCR before I left, don't worry. You won't miss a thing. Now,
about that favor...can you handle the programming? ...You can?
Great! ...All right, see you then. Bye."

She hung up with a sigh. "Little brothers. You gotta love 'em.
Bribe them, too, but that's only to be expected." She looked
around at the other NatPackers waiting to use Natalie's phone.
"Next!"

###

CHESS--OPENING MOVES:
Lofty Expectations
by Sharon Himmanen

Time:  Evening
Place: Nick's loft

"Ugh!" Sharon said, hefting the large, heavy bag into the service elevator
to Nick's apartment.  "Are we sure this is really necessary?" 

"Absolutely," Jennie said, using her leg to heave her own large bag into
the elevator. 

The rest of the group, each carrying assorted parcels and packages piled
into the elevator behind them. 

"He'll definitely be at work," Natalie said.  "Tracy mentioned to me
earlier that she was picking him up for shift tonight." 

"Something wrong with the caddie?" Sharon asked.

Nat shrugged.  "I doubt it.  I think they're on stake-out tonight." 

"You know," Jill said thoughtfully, as the elevator door slid aside and
they piled into Nick's loft, "I just had an idea." 

Sharon looked at her expectantly.  "Pinky, are you pondering what I'm
pondering?" 

Jill grinned.  "I think so, Brain, but where are we going to find a monkey
who can use silverware?" 

They both grinned and laughed evilly as Elaine pulled out a large can of
paint and held it up triumphantly. 

Natalie shook her head and shielded her eyes.  "I don't even want to
know," she said, moving into the kitchen. 

"OK, let's get started," Jennie said, pushing open one of her bags.

Selma had been standing quietly, looking around, and spotted Nick's laptop
on the kitchen table.  Never one to resist computers, she wandered over to
it and glanced down at it.  Scanning the screen quickly, her eyes widened,
and she glanced behind, noting that the phone line was connected.  She hit
a few keys, then gasped and shook her head in amazement. 

"What?" Amparo asked, moving to stand beside Selma.

"It's his direct access line to something called the de Brabant
Foundation," Selma said, sitting down at the computer. 

"Really?" Amy said, walking over to the table, followed by Natalie.

"He's got *that* much money?" Natalie asked in an awed voice as she looked
at the screen.  "He's got *that* much?" she repeated, and her voice was
tinged with amazement and a slight bit of anger.  "I mean, I knew he was
loaded, but this?  You'd think he'd give me a few donations for *his*
cure!" 

"Another reason for the intelligence test," Valerie observed, holding up
another bag. 

Natalie tore her eyes away from the screen to look over at Val. "Right,"
she said, a small note of satisfaction creeping into her voice. 

"You know," Jennie said, laughing, "wouldn't it be funny if we made some
kind of donation to something that'll tick Nick off?"  This met with a
chorus of laughter and agreement. 

"But what?" Sharon asked, looking up from the can of paint brushes she was
busily going through. 

"We can work on that while we're hiding the bricks," Betsy said.

"True," Jennie said, returning to the bag she had recently abandoned.

Selma was gazing thoughtfully at the screen.  "We can do the charitable
donation.  We can also maybe finance some of our activities with this.  I
mean, we *are* doing this for a good cause." 

Natalie looked up and frowned.  "I'm not so sure about that," she said
quietly.  "It's stealing." 

"Well, technically yes," Selma observed.  "Although judging from the size
of this account, I doubt he'd notice if we skimmed a bit off just the
interest he makes." 

"It might solve *your* problem too, Amy," Jennie said, looking up from
where she was stuffing several large bricks between the cushions of Nick's
large leather couch. 

"My phone bill?" Amy asked hopefully.

"There isn't enough cash in the northern hemisphere for that," Sharon
said, picking up several cans of paint.  "Jill, I do believe providence
has delivered an art project into our hands."  They trooped down the
stairs followed by several others. 

"I think she means the problem of work," Valerie pointed out as she opened
the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of cow blood.  Natalie handed her
a cork screw, then took the bottle opened bottle from her hands and began
filling a large carafe with the blood. 

"How could having lots of money solve my work problem?" Amy asked. "More
than in the obvious ways, that is?" 

"We could hire a look-a-like to take your place for a couple of days,"
Selma observed. 

"Oh!" Amy said brightly.  "I like that idea.  Then I wouldn't have to rush
back to teach tomorrow." 

"I think we're pretty much decided," Selma said and began typing. "I'll
transfer some money into a couple of accounts for us, and how about we
make a couple anonymous donations to the Porphyria Foundation?" 

Still looking slightly uncomfortable, Natalie finally gave in and
shrugged, nodding her head slightly.  "Porphyria is an unfortunate
disease.  I'm sure Nick would make a donation if it were pointed out to
him."  Carefully, she continued filling the carafe of blood until it was
at the very top of the container.  Then Valerie handed her a piece of
cardboard which Natalie carefully sat on top.  Then holding her hand on
the top, she turned the entire thing over and placed it on the counter. 

"One intelligence test, coming right up," she said triumphantly.

"You know," Besty observed, as she placed brick magnets all over the
refrigerator, "you could go one better.  Use paper instead of cardboard,
and pull it out after you placed it on the counter." 

"Well, of *course*," Valerie said, "Now, Nat, hold the carafe very still
and I'm going to pull the cardboard out from under it very quickly." 

Natalie laughed.  "We want to give him a test that actually *can* be
passed." 

"If Sharon were here right now, she'd say 'Not that he would' to that,"
Jennie commented, as she cut another piece of the red brick contact paper
she was lining Nick's kitchen shelves with. 

"It *can* be passed.  Nick just has to figure out how it got here in the
first place and reverse the process!" 

In one quick motion, Valerie removed the cardboard, leaving the carafe
sitting neatly upside down on the countertop.  "Ta da!" 

Nat grinned, then reached into the refrigerator and removed the remaining
bottles of blood, placing them into the bag that had held the carafe. 

"I don't even want to think about what Sharon and Jill are up to right
now," Natalie said, shaking her head.  "How are you doing with this
stuff?" she asked Selma, walking over to stand behind her. 

"Good.  Amy's all set.  I faxed a description to an agency and they sent
back a photograph of this actress."  Selma hit a few keys and the image of
a dark haired woman appeared on the screen.  "She knows Shakespeare well
enough to take over your class for awhile!" 

"Wow, Amy.  She looks *just* like you," Natalie commented. 

"This is *so* cool!" Amy observed, checking out the image on the screen. 

"And, I've transfered some money into accounts for us.  And made the
charitable donations.  I did a little creative hacking so the transactions
won't show for a couple of days.  All that's left is to leave things
exactly the way we found them." 

This last caused everyone in the room to look around them, from the
"intelligence test" in the kitchen to quite a bit of of brick
paraphenalia, real bricks, fake bricks, bricks which Amy had proudly
fingerpainted onto the refrigerator and the elevator doors, brick magnets,
brick potholders, brick shelf paper, photographs of bricks, a book with a
brick patterned dust cover, and so on tucked here and there throughout the
loft, some in obvious places, some not. 

"I guess we're done here.  Time to see what Jill, Leslie and the others
have been up to," Betsy observed. 

                    ***-***-***

"Oh, my God!" Natalie breathed as she stood out on the street staring at
Nick's caddie in shocked dismay.  The others clustered around her and
gazed at the car in fascination. 

"Like it?" Elaine asked.

"It's the ugliest thing I think I've ever seen," Valerie commented.

"Oh, but look, I painted little Ravens all along the side," Sharon said,
waving at one of the rear fins with her brush.  "They have noses and
everything.  I thought they came out very well." 

"They came out very fuscia!" Amy observed.  "And against the pink, this
car looks like a cotton candy nightmare." 

"Or a Cotton Candy Knightmobile, with a 'K,'" Leslie added. "But you
haven't seen the best part." Leslie opened the driver's side door and
started the engine. "Watch this." She turned on the headlights, and pink
strobe lights bounced off the nearest warehouse wall. "I rewired his
lights." 

"We were just thinking that such a rare form of art should not be kept
inside, away from the appreciative eyes of the viewing public," Jill said. 

"You know," I think the green upholstry gives it a decidedly preppie
look," Jennie said, peering into the front window. 

"It was leather.  We didn't want to mess with it," Elaine said.

"Nick is going to have a cow," Natalie observed, but there was a somewhat
silly grin on her face. 

"Doesn't he always," Sharon said. "Do you have any idea how many cars were
blown up in the first war?" 

"You guys *pinked* the caddie," Natalie said, and her voice was filled
with a sense of doom.  "You pinked the caddie." 

"I have to admit, I don't normally do pink but I just couldn't pass this
up," Sharon said.  "But I have to get to the precinct," she addded.  "I've
got a date with Tracy's computer." 

"And the rest of us have more planning to do," Jennie said, glancing at
her watch. 

###

A HARD DAY'S NIGHT
by Betsy Vera

Time: Very late at night
Place: Ann Arbor, MI

Ann Arbor, Michigan; Maureen is riding her bike home after a long, /very/
long day at the office. 

It was a good thing she took this same route home every night, she thought
to herself.  She was so zonked out by now that it was only habit that kept
her on the road. 

It had been a long, miserable day.  No, make that a long, miserable week.
Actually, it had a been a long, miserable /month/, and Maureen was sick
and tired of the whole thing.  She was particularly sick and tired of the
Halloween concert.  She shuddered at the thought of the "dreaded H word." 

It wasn't bad enough that the theater she worked for had two shows opening
in October within a week of each other.  That was enough right there to
keep her box office hopping.  But then, on October 2nd, the order forms
for the Halloween concert started pouring in through the mail.  It was a
trickle, the first day.  The deluge came on the second day, and it didn't
let up for three weeks.  Trying to keep up with the workload, Maureen had
come in at dawn and left long after dark for the past three weeks. 
"Sleep?  What's sleep?" was her motto every October. 

Four days ago, she finally caught up on all the paperwork.  She had gone
home at a decent time, for a change, and had a good night's sleep.  She
spent the next couple of days catching up with real life.  She didn't get
much sleep, though--stayed up late for a party one night, very late the
next night to watch Forever Knight--but it didn't really matter.  The day
after that, she had planned nothing but sleep, sleep, sleep.  Then, late
in the afternoon, she'd get up and go to the concert. 

Her phone rang that morning.  She had fallen asleep on her sofa, as usual
on Saturday nights when she stayed up to watch FK at 1 a.m.  She nodded
good morning to the life-size cutout of Ger as Pericles that stood behind
her sofa.  It was a leftover from a MediaWest party, and it hadn't seemed
right to stick it in a closet.  The living room seemed as good a place as
any for it to be.  She just hoped her fellow Mercs and Cousins wouldn't
find out she talked to it, or she'd be drummed out of the corps. 

You know that awful feeling you get sometimes before you pick up the
phone, when you just know that it's going to be terrible, awful news? 
Well, Maureen didn't get one of those, but the news was still awful. 

The concerts had been rescheduled.

It seemed all the conductors had been at a conductors' conference in Utah,
and an early blizzard was keeping them from coming home in time to conduct
tonight's Halloween concerts.  The auditorium was booked solid for the
next month, except for this Wednesday.  Of course, there was no way to
inform the audience until they showed up for the 5 and 8:30 concerts.  In
costume.  With their kiddies.  Fortunately, there was no need to re-ticket
the shows (Maureen shuddered at the thought).  However, there'd probably
be people who couldn't come on Wednesday (especially at 5), or who would
be angry, just on principle, and demand a refund.  Could Maureen come in
and handle the box office? 

So, here she was, several long hours later, riding her bike home late at
night, zonked, exhausted, sleepless, and just too out of it to notice
anything.  She made it home, somehow, trudged upstairs, and collapsed on
the sofa. 

She woke up a few (too few!) hours later, grunted good morning to Ger--she
stopped, and did a double take.  That wasn't Ger.  It was dressed the
same; the pose was the same; but the face wasn't Ger's.  She rubbed her
eyes, forcing herself to wake up.  She looked again, and froze.  It still
wasn't Ger.  The Roman tunic that ended above the knee was still there,
but those were not Ger's knees.  The helmet was still held in the right
hand, but that was not Ger's hand.  The hair, still tightly curled, was
dark, not blond. The innocent, yet heroic, half-smile had been replaced
by--Maureen shuddered at the sight (she was getting to be awfully good at
shuddering).  It was the most horrible, awful, terrible thing she'd ever
seen.  [No, Maureen, it wasn't Paul.]

It was Al Bundy, as Pericles.

After a few moments, she was able to force herself to move away from that
/thing/.  She staggered to the kitchen.  She needed reinforcements, and
the tub of Ben and Jerry's that she kept stashed in the back of the
freezer for emergencies was just what she needed.  If this wasn't an
emergency, she couldn't imagine what was. 

Another shock.  [Author's note: no, the Ben and Jerry's hasn't been
tampered with; I'm not /that/ evil-minded.]

It was her refrigerator door.  In her mind, she could see how it had
looked that morning.  The downloaded photos of David Duchovny, the small
one of Gillian, the really nice one of Paul Gross. 

Now, the photos looked the same.  But the faces were different.  Al Bundy.
Again.  Everywhere.  The Vanity Fair replacement photo was particularly
hideous.  She'd never bee able to see Ralph Feinnes again without feeling
a bit queasy. 

She recoiled from the sight, but the thought of the Ben and Jerry's inside
forced her nearer.  She closed her eyes, and, with shaking hands, rummaged
through the freezer and found what she was looking for.  It was a bit
harder to find a spoon in the drawer with her eyes closed, but she was
determined not to look at her refrigerator door.  She must've been really
sleep-deprived to be imagining such horrible things, and she knew that a
good session of Ben and Jerry's would clear her mind. 

Still keeping her eyes closed, she staggered to her bed and settled in. 
As she opened the ice cream tub, she had a terrible thought, so she looked
under the lid /very/ carefully.  Whew!  At least /that/ was safe.  She
took a spoonful of the ambrosia, and froze.  Again. 

She had just looked at the pictures on her wall.

On both sides of the bed, lining the walls, was picture after picture of
<gasp> Al Bundy.  All her lovingly framed stills had been replaced by
almost-identical ones; Al Bundy as Agent Mulder, sneering at the scene of
the crime; Al Bundy as Fraser, sneering in a red Mountie uniform; Al Bundy
as Nigel Bennett, "To Maureen the Mad, Mercenarily Yours"; Al Bundy as
Diefenbaker, sneering at a fire hydrant; Al Bundy as the complete cast of
Forever Knight (it was months before Maureen could erase from her mind the
image of Al Bundy in Janette's dress).  You get the picture. 

Maureen dove under the covers and hid there, trembling, mechanically
eating ice cream, making little whimpering noises. 

She must've fallen asleep at some point--after finishing the whole tub of
Ben and Jerry's.  It was daylight when she woke up.  Carefully, she peeked
over the covers at her bedroom walls and dove under again.  Everything
looked normal.  She peeked again to make sure.  Yep.  Normal. 

No Al Bundy.

She checked the kitchen.  Paul Gross' face beamed at her from the
downloaded photo taped to the refrigerator door.  All was fine in the
kitchen. 

With trepidation, she tiptoed into the living room and looked behind her
sofa.  It was Ger.  /Yes!/ It was Ger. 

The nightmare was over.

Maureen was too shaken up by the experience to go to work that day (the
next couple of days, actually), and she called in sick.  As she dialed the
phone, she fingered the pink Chuck-E-Cheese tokens on her phone table, and
wondered where they had come from.  She had never been to Chuck-E-Cheese. 

###

***Monday, October 30, 1995***

CHESS--OPENING MOVES: (a)
Buttoning up
by Sharon Himmanen (By all of us, kinda...)

Time:  Wee hours of the morning
Place: 96th precinct

Sharon marvelled at how much the actual precinct looked like the set for
the precinct they'd used in the last war as she made her way over toward
Nick's and Tracy's desks. 

It was literally the middle of the night, and the room was pretty much
deserted.  The officer at the desk had checked her ID and waved her
through without a second glance, even being so kind as to point her to
Detective Vetter's computer.  Of course, it helped to be wearing a
windbreaker for Twilight Computer Repair Co. and carrying a large tool
kit. 

Not that she'd need any equipment for this little "repair job," she
thought with a smile.  Nope, just a few disks and a small hidden speaker. 
With all that Susan had told her about the ineptitude police officers
often displayed toward computer equipment, this little prank was assured
to last for some suitable, irritating duration. 

She worked quickly, aware that either Nick or Tracy might show up at any
moment.  She'd never met Tracy, but Nick would probably recognize her. 

Lifting the monitor off and placing it on the desk, she pulled a
screwdriver out of her pocket and quickly removed the cover from the
computer.  Placing the speaker carefully inside, and hooking it up to its
card, she replaced the cover. 

Then, she sat down in Tracy's chair and booted up the computer. Glancing
over her shoulder to make certain no one was paying undue attention to
her, she pulled out several disks.  One contained the WAV file that she'd
digitized and the other held the program that her friend Kirk had written
for her. 

It was a pretty obnoxious program, Sharon thought as she held the disk in
her hand and looked down at it, just before slipping it into the drive and
pulling the keyboard toward her.  A few keystrokes and it was loaded.  It
wouldn't take a genius to figure out and disable what she'd done, but
someone with even an average competence with computers would be entirely
clueless. 

Switching the computer off, she rose, giving it an affectionate pat as she
pulled the disk out of the disk drive.  With another glance around the
squad room, she casually walked out, waving as she passed the officer at
the desk who had been so kind to her earlier.  He barely glanced up at
her, and she doubted he'd be able to give anyone a good description of her
if anyone were to ask. 

                    ***-***-***

Tracy stumbled into the precinct, idly noting that Nick ducked off quickly
somewhere, probably to go to the bathroom, and stumbled over toward her
desk.  She was not adjusting at all well to the night shift, and often
found herself dragging during the wee hours of the night, just before the
end of the shift. 

Which was paperwork time, guaranteed to make her even sleepier than she
already was.  Sinking into her desk chair she dropped her head into her
hands and gently massaged her temples, pushing aside several pink buttons
that she didn't remember leaving on her desk.  On top of everything else
she had the beginnings of a pounding headache.  Nick walked over and
dropped several files onto her desk.  When she didn't respond he leaned
down and said, "Detective Vetter, are you in the mood to do some work, or
should I put in a call to Sven, my friend the masseuse?" 

Tracy lifted her head and glared at him as he sat down and smirked at her,
briefly visualizing what a small hatchet imbedded into his forehead would
look like.  Then she reached over and flipped the power switch for her
computer. 

While it was booting up, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her
notebook, flipping it open to the notes she'd taken earlier at their
latest crime scene. 

The report form was up on her computer, and Tracy swiveled in her chair to
face the monitor, and reached out to tab to the first field. 

"I'm a *good* cop!" said a loud, happy, feminine voice.

Tracy glanced up abruptly at Nick, who was looking at her with a mixture
of mild surprise and amusement.  "What did you say?" she asked sharply. 

"Nothing," Nick shrugged, looking back down at his notes.

Tracy sighed, and turned back to her work.  She pressed the shift key,
prepared to begin filling in the form. 

"I'm a *good* cop!" came the voice again.

This time, Tracy narrowed her eyes, and looked suspiciously at the
computer in front of her. Experimentally, she tapped the space key. 

"I'm a *good* cop!"

She pressed it again.

"I'm a *good* cop!"

Only a few people were in the squad room at this hour, but she heard a few
quiet snickers from behind her, and noticed that Nick was grinning
impishly at her. 

"Very funny, Knight," she said disgustedly.

Now he feigned wide-eyed innocence.  "I had nothing to do with it."

"Uh-huh," Tracy replied, noting the corners of his mouth starting to creep
up. 

"Really," he said.

She sighed, grabbing the mouse to shut down the program.

"I'm a *good* cop!" sounded when she pressed the left mouse button.

"You did this," she accused, more than a little irritated.  "And it's not
funny!  How'm I supposed to get my reports done?"  She sounded petulant
and she knew it.  But she didn't care.  She was tired, her head hurt, and
Nick's constant teasing was beginning to wear a little thin. 

"Vetter!" she heard Reese call from behind her.  Twisting quickly she
accidentally hit the keyboard with her elbow. 

"I'm a *good* cop!"

Behind her, Nick made a slight strangled noise as Reese's gaze hardened.
"I want the write-ups on the Jenkin's case into the computer before you
leave," he said.  "No matter what!  That goes for the two of you!" 

With a sigh she turned and hit the keyboard absently.

"I'm a *good* cop!"

"Oh, shut up!" she said disgustedly, looking expectantly at Nick. 

He feigned a wounded expression for a moment.  "Correct me if I'm wrong,
but didn't you just accuse me of this little joke?  And now you want to
use my computer?  How am I going to get *my* reports done?" 

"Fine, fine!" she said, attempting to be dismissive.  "I'll just use
soneone else's."  She was just starting to rise from her chair when Nick
cleared his throat.  "What now?" she asked. 

"Passwords."

Tracy glared at him for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully, almost in
resignation.  "You're right," she said.  "When life hands you lemons, you
make lemonade.  I'll just have to make the most of this bad situation." 

With that she sat back down and started to type.

"I'm a *good* cop!"

"I'm a *good* cop!

"I'm a *good* cop!"

"I'm a . . ."

###

DARKANGEL'S DEMISE (b)
by Amparo Bertram

Time: Morning
Place: Darkangel's computer

The posts only trickled in, at first. One or two messages asking if the
web site was down again, or if something was wrong with a particular
story. Soon, however, there were over a dozen of them in Darkangel's email
box, all wondering what had happened to her FK fiction page and if it
would be fixed in the near future, each letter more frantic than the last. 

For some of those who had decided to sit out the War that would be
starting soon, the fiction stored on the web site would be practically all
they could get for the next three weeks, and they weren't too happy to
discover it had suddenly vanished without a trace. 

War...that could be the answer. Her suspicions aroused, she called up the
page to see for herself what was going on. It came up just fine, no
problem there. She selected a category and waited for the titles to load.
They looked all right so far... 

Wait. Something was not quite the way she remembered it. It took her a few
moments, but she finally noticed that a small number appeared beside each
title. Curious, she clicked on one of the stories. 

The expected story didn't show up. In its place, her screen filled with a
series of characters and symbols. They seemed vaguely familiar--a computer
language? Once she realized that, she recognized it as a fragment of
assembly source code. What could it mean? 

She thought back to the numbers that had been added to each title. If
every story had been replaced by part of a program, perhaps she was
expected to assemble the segments together. The numbers could indicate the
proper sequence. 

It wouldn't hurt to try. She gathered all the sections together and
compiled the program. Her screen went black, and against the blank
background the image of a pair of coins emerged. No, not coins...upon
closer inspection, they were tokens. Chuck E Cheese tokens, to be exact. 

###

CHESS--OPENING MOVES: (b)
Buttoning up
by Sharon Himmanen (By all of us, kinda...)

Time: Late afternoon
Place: Natalie's apartment

Jennie put down the phone.  "That was it - the deed is done.  Jake says
he's filled all the cars at PartlyK's house with pink buttons and covered
them all with a nice protective coating of contact paper. He got away with
no incident, although he says he needed a little extra glue on some of the
contact paper." 

"That's good," Amy replied.  "And I heard back from Adolf.  He says
Scottie should see the light - or lack thereof - this morning.  He's
bricked all her windows and doors shut, and the work had set nicely by 4am
so it's solid.  He checked and it was still intact.  She can't get out
without help, unless she keeps some major power tools in there. And best
of all, there are a set of 'blond' colored bricks in the front door that
spell out the word 'IS.'  Really nice work.  He took a picture of it for
us!" 

"Elaine, did those 'friends' of yours from the University take care of
Perri?  We don't want her to miss out on this!"  Jennie grinned wickedly
as she said this. 

"Yep, all the power and phone lines to Perri's house have been cut in at
*least* two places.  It's going to be _days_ before they locate and fix
all the damage.  And they left the brick in front of the door, nice and
large and noticeable."  Elaine giggled. 

"And Sandra's got a little surprise waiting for her at her local cable
company, courtesy of Egg and Julio," Sharon added.  "So the Knighties
should be well and truly alerted." 

"Good!  Now, how about the Cousins and Ravenettes?  There's at least one
Ravenette whose 'surprise' is on its way," Jennie gloated. 

"And we've got Cousin Candice taken care of," GT reported, "not to mention
darling Jamie who *could* have been a Natpacker if she'd made the right
decision, although they won't get their surprises until tomorrow." 

"And the others are also being taken care of," Sharon mentioned, waving
her hand at the phone, "Guido and Dirk have been busy too, among other
people." 

"And I sent the appropriate information from the database to everyone who
was taking care of calling card distribution for us," Jennie said. 

"So now what do we do?" Selma asked, "Sit back and wait for something to
happen?" 

"Oh, no, I was thinking that, since it's the night before Halloween, we
should go someplace truly scary.  What could be scarier than the Raven,
with it's new decor?" Valerie purred.  "I was thinking we should enhance
that decor a bit, bring back a little style."  She carefully held up a
white rose. 

"Oh, that's evil.  You know how those things make LaCroix go all maudlin
over Fleur.  I *love* it!" Amy exclaimed.  "But how can we go there
without being recognized?" 

"We dress like we belong, of course!"  Valerie explained. "I'm already
disguised, with this black hair, and we can add a fall to yours, say give
it some blond streaks...yes...come on, let's see what we can do!" 

"Umm...if you don't mind, I'd really rather sit this one out..." Selma
said, "I think someone needs wait for something to happen." 

                    ***-***-***

"This is it.  Now, I don't think we'll be recognized," Betsy said, a
little nervously, "but what do we do if we are?" 

"Get out any way we can, of course.  Even LaCroix doesn't want to attract
a lot of attention so we should be able to get away if we're desperate
enough," Jennie answered. "Although I would be grateful if you all would
try to think of diversions while you watch for trouble." The group
presented quite a picture.  Gone were their normal clothes, hairstyles and
makeup.  They'd been replaced by lots of black leather, denim, and unusual
styles.  For them, at least. 

"Are you sure this is gonna stay?" Amy asked, shaking her head.  The white
streak hanging over her eyes flopped back and forth. 

"It will if you don't keep shaking your head like that," Valerie and
Jennie retorted simultaneously. 

###

CHESS--OPENING MOVES:
The N-Team
by Jennie Hayes and Jill Kirby (with lots of input from the whole list
of authors on the first post...)

Place: The Raven

They steeled themselves and slipped in, in small groups, then began
setting the roses, pastel ribbons and bows and other romantic knick knacks
they'd brought with them all over the room. 

Jennie noticed Jill making her way to the back, where LaCroix's booth was. 
After allowing herself a worried frown, she turned back to the work at
hand, but Valerie grabbed her arm, steering her towards a different
section of the back of the club. 

"Hey, Hannibal, check out the tank in there," she said, in an
astonishingly good imitation of Murdock. 

"Oh, I get it, *that's* why you gave Sharon all those necklaces. Cute,
real cute.  I guess it works--" Jennie began, but then she spied the
"tank" Valerie was talking about.  It was more of a bowl, actually.  And
it held what could only be LaCroix's goldfish, Spike. 

"I was thinking of taking out a little in-sur-ance," Valerie crooned.

Jennie gave Sharon the high sign and pointed to Amy.  "I think she'll have
what we need."  They all converged on Amy at once. 

"This is awful," Amy said between gasps when they approached her, "There's
so much smoke!" 

"Hey, Triple-A, do you have anything in your bag that resembles this piece
of Tupperware?"  Jennie pulled the container in question out and opened it
a bit.  "Perfect.  Just what we needed.  And I'll need your bag of
goldfish crackers, too.  Are they the original garlic flavor?" 

"Mm-hmm," Amy said between gasps.

"Thanks.  We owe ya.  Sharon, see that door there?  We need to slip in,
like inconspicuously.  Think we can do that?" 

"Of course.  I ain't no slacker."  Sharon seemed to be taking her part to
heart as well.  Jennie rolled her eyes. 

"Let's go, then!  Amy, don't even try to do anything.  Just keep
breathing." 

The three managed to make their way into the office without detection.

"Quick, pour him in here." Jennie opened the container all the way, and
the other two managed the maneuver fairly well, although they got water
all over the desk and floor in the process. 

The fish looked none the worse for wear in his new home.  Jennie snapped
the lid on tightly.  "OK, now empty out the rest of the water into that
plant, and pour these in the bowl."  She handed the bag of crackers to
Valerie. 

"You got it, chief."  Valerie took the precaution of wiping the bowl dry
before adding the crackers. 

"This is a stupid plan," Sharon groused. "He's gonna smell the garlic from
out there before we can make our getaway!" 

Valerie solved the problem, at least some of it, by depositing a small
plant over the rim of the bowl, effectively capping it.  "Now let's make a
break for it!" she said. 

The other two nodded and made their way out.  Heading back towards Amy,
Jennie saw that she was having even more trouble and the gasping had
turned into uncontrollable coughing.  She was, unfortunately, beginning to
attract attention. 

"We need to get you out of here, fast," Jennie said, slipping the fish
back into Amy's bag unobtrusively as she reached her.  "Be careful not to
jostle the bag too much." 

Amy didn't have the breath to answer, but all of a sudden her hair came
tumbling down.  "See..." Amy began to say, but another fit of coughing
stole her breath away. 

Jennie saw LaCroix, out of the corner of her eye, heading towards them.  A
small part of her mind was amused to note that Jill stood behind him,
apparently mesmerized at the sight of him.  "Come on, we've gotta go
*now*!" She and GT each grabbed an arm and all but dragged Amy out the
door. 

GT sneaked a glance backwards as they cleared the doorway.  LaCroix didn't
appear to be chasing them anymore; instead, he'd stopped and was staring,
transfixed, at a single white rose adorning the table nearest the door. 
She didn't wait around to question his inaction, though.  Elaine and
Amparo joined them, and they sped off down the street to Jennie's waiting
car. 

                   ***-***-***

Hiding in the shadows, Jill watched as LaCroix stalked out of the
broadcast booth - leaving the door open behind him.  "Sucker," she
whispered to herself.  No one noticed as she slipped into the booth and
locked the door, shoving a chair up under the knob for good measure. 

Throwing open her backpack, she pulled out a stack of tapes she'd carted
up and slid several into waiting players, hitting the pause buttons.  "I
knew my undergrad major would come in handy - just didn't know it would be
for <this>," she muttered as she flipped the necessary knobs, lowered the
mike to her level, and yanked out the cart that LaCroix had left playing. 

Sharon and Leslie exchanged bemused looks as they watched LaCroix stare at
the rose.  He seemed to remember himself after a bit and headed out the
front door, but by then the five escapees must have been long gone, since
he turned his attention back to the rose and stood outside, his mind
obviously elsewhere.  Betsy urgently grabbed Sharon's arm and pointed back
at Jill, who was pulling things out of her bag and taking her place in the
broadcasting booth at the back. Sharon sneaked a glance at LaCroix, who
looked like he'd be out of it for awhile, then shrugged.  "You gotta
admire her nerve," was her only comment, as she returned to the finishing
touches on the decorations, keeping herself out of LaCroix's direct line
of sight, just in case he returned to the present. 

"Good evening, gentle listeners.  I'm coming to you live from the Raven,
which is currently being...redecorated.  Our first selection tonight is
one that's very special to everyone here, and I'm sure to many of you." 
Strains of "My Favorite Things" began to echo through the Raven. 

Jill yanked the cart out of the deck, cutting the song off just as Julie
Andrews was about to sing about barking dogs.  "That's about all anyone
can take of <that> song.  Now, in honor of the new Raven and the new
LaCroix, here's one of my personal favorites.  Let's get naked - <not!>" 
As she released the pause button, Adam Ant began singing the chorus: 
"We're just following ancient history, if I strip for you, will you strip
for me?"
_____

Adam Ant stopped stripping mid-verse.  "We just have so much to play
tonight!"  Jill surveyed the room.  "It appears that the A-Team is being
extremely effective in their efforts - if all you listeners could only be
here to share in the joy of recreating our favorite night spot.  And now,
for all the survivors of War Four..."  The sounds of "Purple People Eater"
filled the room.
____

"Here's the theme song for <several> factions, and a darn good sing-along
from 'Show Boat.' "  Jill slipped in another cart. "Fish gotta swim and
birds gotta fly, I gotta love one man 'till I die, can't help lovin' that
man of mine..."  Unable to help herself, Jill danced around the booth,
singing along.  Luckily, the booth was soundproof.
_____

As the first strains of the song from 'Show Boat' began to fill the room,
Leslie noticed signs that LaCroix was beginning to come out of it.  She
looked frantically around the room, and spied a fire alarm on the wall
near her.  All at once, the vampire seemed to notice what was happening
with *his* club.  Leslie grabbed the handle of the alarm and pulled just
as he came flying in, headed straight for the booth and Jill.  Pandemonium
broke loose, as not only did the alarm go off, but the sprinklers did as
well.
_____

The Raven was complete chaos - people running everywhere, water streaming
down from the sprinklers.  It was the perfect cover for Jill to slip out
of the broadcast booth, jimmying the door shut behind her.  She looked
around breathlessly for Leslie. 

"Jill!  C'mon!" yelled Leslie from the doorway.  "We've got to get to the
airport!"  Jill ran over to her, avoiding several screaming women in
lingerie.  "Nice dancing, by the way," said Leslie wryly. 

"Oh, hush.  You should talk, Rainwoman.  Let's go."  They raced out.

Betsy wasted no time in getting herself out, heading for a convenient
nearby cab.  Sharon and Valerie hung about in the shadows *inside* the
club for several minutes, ignoring the water, watching as LaCroix changed
direction to go "wescue his little Spikey-Wikey from the awful wainwater!"
The look on his face as he discovered his precious pet's disappearance was
everything they could have hoped for.  They headed out the door and into
Betsy's waiting cab.
___

Behind them, in an endless loop, "Nobody's Side" played on.  And on. And
on. 

"Never take a stranger's advice
Never let a friend fool you twice -
Nobody's on nobody's side..."

###

THIS OLD CHURCH
by Selma McCrory

Time: Wee hours of the morning
Place: Vachon's church

"The church has acquired visitors," Selma announced, as she surveyed the
supposedly abandoned building. "Everybody has the stuff? This place could
do with a bit of fancying up." 

The six others with her smiled, or giggled, or just stood there quietly
with the supplies. They then headed into the building. 

*  *  *

Valerie quickly started to unpack the bags she'd gotten. Of all of them,
she'd done the best at finding the supplies they'd needed. The others
grabbed the items, racing away to get the church in as little time as
humanly possible. 

Amparo set to work with the cow-pattern slipcover, and Betsy ended up with
the cow-patterned bedsheets. 

Jennie gave a little yell, as she found his refrigerator. "I *told* you he
had to own a 'fridge!" she yelled. She then began to replace Vachon's
bottles with some that Sharon had provided. 

Selma looked up from where she was replacing Vachon's candles with
cow-patterned ones. "Don't forget the 'Vachons,'" she said, holding up the
Canadian snack food. Jennie nodded and put those in with the bottles, and
then closed the appliance, lovingly putting Jill's cow magnet on the
front. 

Amy was tying bows on the banister of the stairs. The group had agreed on
pink, especially since it tied in with the Caddy. Mary GT was alternately
hanging cow posters on the wall and digging around in a bag. Several
posters later, she cried triumphantly and extracted a pair of
cow-patterned slippers. These she placed by Vachon's coffin. 

Finally, with the finishing touches of a cow-patterned pillow in Vachon's
coffin to go with the sheets, they were done. "Let's see how Vachie-poo
likes our redecorating service," Selma said, trying to suppress a laugh. 

Seven snickering forms exited the church.

*  *  *

Vachon had no idea his private space had been invaded by mortals. Indeed,
his mind was on Tracy and the latest wrinkle in their relationship, and
barely on the place that, for the moment, he was calling home. 

That was why he didn't notice immediately that it wasn't the same place he
left. He would never lower himself to streamers, and certainly he wasn't
fond of *cows*! 

As he toured the loft, his heart fell in dismay at the amount of
cow-themed stuff that had appeared in his living space that had certainly
not been there an hour before. Struck with a sudden thought, he hurried to
his refrigerator and checked inside. 

In place of his blood, there was something else. Something that he didn't
recognize at first but it had ice cream in it. 

He sat for a few minutes before deciding that he'd have to find out more.

And then the perpetrators would be very sorry.

###

A VAQUERO IN BIG TROUBLE
by Deb Martin

Time: Wee hours
Place: Deb's house

"Ouch!" Deb screamed at she banged her toe on the chair leg. She was never
going to be ready in time to catch her flight to Toronto, to join the rest
of her faction for the war. She was running around her house, and it
seemed as though for every one thing she actually packed, there were 100
more things she still needed. And out of those 100, Deb couldn't find 99
of them. "This is not going well at *all*," she thought to herself. 

Finally, after it was all accomplished, the phone rang. "Damn!" she
exclaimed. Deb picked up the receiver and breathlessly said "HELLO?" 

"Well, if it isn't little miss Vaquero. What, did Vachon send you a dozen
roses or something?" 

Oh, swell, Deb cursed. Just what she needed, a call from Ron the Enforcer.
This would *not* be a pleasant conversation. Ron had been a little peeved
with Deb's defection from the Die Hards. She tried to light a cigarette
but could only get sparks. Perfect time for the Zippo to be out of fluid. 

Ron had wanted her to become an Enforcer, like him. But she'd resisted. "I
don't want to leave the Die Hards," she'd pleaded. "I want to be a normal
person like the rest of them." Ron had grudgingly relented. So far, all
attempts to avoid Ron had been successful. Deb wondered which of her old
faction gave Ron her new number. 

"Look, Ron. I do not have time for this...."

"Oh, no you don't." Ron countered. "You've been avoiding me, and it won't
happen again. You *owe* me an explanation."  Deb bristled at that
statement. "Excuse me," she said, "But I don't owe you anything. You are
not my keeper, or my master, or whatever you want to call it. It's bad
enough you've been harassing me..." 

"Wait a minute," Ron interrupted. "I may be totally upset with you, but I
haven't bothered you. Not yet, at least."  Deb recalled it all; phone
calls in the middle of the night, the subscription to Ladies Home Journal
that she had *not* ordered, and a very peculiar package in the mail, with
no return address. 

"Nope, not my style," said Ron. "When I want to bug you, you'll know it's
me. Anyway, quit changing the subject. What do you have to say for
yourself?" 

"I have to say 'I wish to be left the hell alone.' I'm going to miss my
plane to Toronto to meet..." Deb trailed off. That was it, she'd said too
much. 

A growl emanated from the telephone. "So, we've already made war plans
with Vachon, have we?" Ron hissed. "Very well, if this is the way it has
to be. But I warn you now, I won't forget this. I've either been lied to,
or fickleness is your specialty. I can only hope that Mr. Hairdo and his
Vaqueros don't commit any *serious* violatons of the Code. And, you know,
LaCroix hasn't forgotten what you did to him in the last war. Perhaps
we'll run into each other later." 

A click, and the phone went dead. Deb got a kitchen match and struck it on
the counter. 

"Oh, crap," she mused. "I'm in *big* trouble."

###

ENTRE THE ENFORCER
by Ron the Enforcer

Time: Wee hours
Place:  New Jersey - Newark Airport

Ron the Enforcer stopped by the monitors listing Departing flights. The
Air Canada flight he was booked on was boarding.  He glanced back over his
shoulder at his mortal companions, Liesl and Dave and his daughter,
Caitlin.  His little one would be staying with his friends while he was in
Toronto.  They had done this for him in the past - juggling parental
duties and duties to the Ancients was always a challenge.  However, Ron
had been hoping to spend some time with his child. 

Why did those *&%$ people have to start a War on a holiday? Halloween
might be just a joke to these mortals but for *some* people it was a holy
day. 

"How long will you be gone?" Liesl asked, keeping a firm hold on Caitlin's
little hand. 

"I don't know - a week or so.  I'll call when I know."

"This is a bad time to go," Dave said.  "Yesterday Caitlin got all the
kids in her class to give her their Halloween candy using one of those
vampire mind tricks.  Kid is starting to--" 

"I know," Ron interrupted.  "Look, I'm leaving her with you guys because
you two are the only ones I know who are hip to what I am, what she is and
what to do to handle the weirdness.  If her mom wasn't away on a business
trip, I wouldn't have this problem.  She's got physical custody - I just
visit whenever I can." 

"Bring me back a present from Canada," Caitlin demanded more than asked. 

"What do you want?"

"Nick!"

Liesl and Dave snickered.  Ron just rolled his eyes and said, "I...I can't
do that, honey.  He's busy.  And, besides, he won't fit in my suitcase!" 

Caitlin pouted.  Liesl caught Ron's eye and asked, "What are you going to
do about Deb?" 

"That little fang teaser?  I don't know.  She tells me she wants to be
brought across and made an Enforcer when we're at Crescent City Con and
then after we get back home she acts like all that never happened!" Ron
stated his frustration over the situation, making his already gold eyes
glow red.  "She wants to hang out with Vacant, that's her choice. I'm ging
to join up with *my* faction, the Die Hards, when I get up north." 

A "last call for boarding" announcment caught everyone's attention. "You
have my cell phone number - call me if there is any emergency. I can
always fly down under my own power if I can't catch a plane. It's tiring
but I'll do it if I am *really* needed at home." 

Liesl nodded and Ron picked up his daughter, giving her a huge bear hug. 
"You be good," he told her and she just nuzzled against him like a kitten. 
"I'll find something special to bring you as a souvenir." 

He handed Caitlin over to Dave.  Dave looked at his friend and asked, "Are
you expecting trouble?" 

Ron shrugged.  "Who knows?  One thing I *do* know is that when the
FORKNI-Lers get together for one of these things, anything can happen!" 

And with *that* statement, the Enforcer quickly headed off to catch his
flight... 

###

THE GAME'S AFOOT
by Cousin Deborah

Time: A couple of hours after the N team has left the Raven
Place: The Raven

Deborah was surprised at the ease with which she got into the club. She
thought she would have had to talk a pretty good game to get past the
crowd outside but when she approached the door, the bouncer glanced up and
waved her through. The patrons coming out the door looked slightly dazed.
Some were humming show tunes. As she slid past the crowd that was waiting
to get in, she could hear them grumbling about her getting in ahead of
them. Some of them had been waiting over two hours to get into the Raven
and most of them had obviously taken great pains getting dressed (well,
*almost* dressed) for the occasion. Deborah certainly didn't look like a
regular which was okay-fine with her. The high heels/fishnets/shorts look
just wasn't for her. As she made her way through the club, she found that
she still couldn't believe what he'd done to the place. The lights, those
weird dancers.  "Please let it be part of a evil sinister plan to throw
Nick off balance," she thought to herself. "What were those women doing
over... Oh, never mind them," she lectured herself sternly. "Just find
LaCroix." 

He wasn't anywhere out in the crowd. She thought about asking the
bartender but she didn't feel like getting into an explanation about *why*
she wanted to see him. As she stood there trying to decide what to do, a
vaguely familiar woman in...well, in very little actually, spoke to her. 

"He's in back. That is, *if* you're looking for LaCroix."

"Thanks. I think." Deborah looked towards the back of the Raven and then
back at the woman. "You're Urs aren't you?" 

"Yes. How did...oh, yes, that's right. They told me about you all knowing
who and what we were. You're a...cousin?" Deborah nodded and Urs
continued, "You'd better go on. He's waiting. Something's happened." It
wasn't until she had reached the door to the office, that Deborah realized
what Urs had said. 

<He's waiting.> "Damn," she thought. "He *knew* I was coming!"

Before she could change her mind, Deborah took a deep breath, squared her
shoulders, opened the door and strode up to the desk with a bravado born,
not of courage, but of years on the stage. 

"What have you done?" she demanded harshly

LaCroix raised a single brow but didn't look up from the white rose he
held crushed between his fingers. "I don't find that tone to be
particularly constructive. Perhaps you'd like to start this conversation
again." In spite of his choice of words, Deborah knew that it not a
*suggestion*. 

She sat and took a moment to collect herself. "My apologies for my...tone."

"Apology accepted." He finally looked up. "Now, you had something to ask me?"

"How did you arrange for this?"

"This?"

"My being in Toronto. You *had* to have something to do with it. Our
Canadian Sales rep suddenly asks for a leave of absence and the sales
manager decides that in spite of the fact that there are 2 dozen other
people closer to Toronto, not to mention more qualified, to fill in, that
I'm going to come here and take Matt's place. Coincidence? Providence? Not
bloody likely." 

"You do have a gift for the apt phrase. Does it matter why you got the
temporary transfer? It happens that I wanted you here in Toronto and I
preferred to give anyone keeping tabs on you a valid reason for your
presence. A simple precaution. That's all." 

Deborah hated to admit it but he was right. She knew that there was a war
coming and she knew that she would end up being involved. Better to be at
Uncle's side, she thought. She'd learned last time that trying to protect
yourself without his help was risky...and expensive. 

"Now," he said, coming around the desk to stand in front of her, "as I
recall, you were rather a loose cannon during the last conflict. I have
decided to supervise your activities more closely this time." When she
would have protested, he held up a hand to silence her.  "There will be
*no* improvising. It was this tendency of yours to 'wing it' as they say
that almost got you arrested last time and I will not spend the entire war
bailing you out of trouble." 

"But Dianne di..." she began.

"What?" he interrupted softly, his tone heavy with unmistakable warning.

"I...I...well, Dianne got me out of that tangle at the police station. You
...um...what I mean is..." 

"Ms. LaMercenaire is another reason I prefer to keep you close at hand.
Her influence is...disruptive. An annoyance at this time. I only hope it
doesn't become something that I will have to take action on." He paused to
let this sink in. Then seeing that she understood, he continued. "This
time around you will answer to me and you will focus on what we need to
accomplish." 

"Which is?" Deborah asked nervously.

He laughed softly as he leaned closer. She would have leaned back a bit
but for the hand on her shoulder. "To win, my child. To win." 

*That* Deborah understood and her sly grin met his. For that moment, they
were in perfect accord and she remembered now exactly what it was that had
drawn her to this faction in the first place. <Wow,> she thought. <It's
not fair to be *that* captivating. How's a girl to resist?> It was a pity
about Dianne. She and Uncle had a great deal in common. In particular a
sense of ruthlessness that Deborah admired. Maybe once this was all over,
she'd get him to change his mind. 

"Now, to the business at hand. *These* do not belong here," he said,
handing her a cassette tape. 

Deborah glanced at the labels. "I should say not. Where did you get them?"

"They were left here by the same people who left *this*." He threw the
crushed rose in her lap. 

Deborah gave a low whistle. "That's cold."

"Get to the bottom of this."

"Yes, sir." Deborah jumped up with the tape and the rose. "You can count
on me," she added as she closed the door behind her. 

"Criminey. I need some help."

###

BUILD A BETTER WARDROBE...
by Selma McCrory

Time: Early
Place: Urs' apartment

"I'm sure she has more intelligence than we realize. After all, we only
saw her briefly in Black Buddha." 

The others just looked at Selma, doubting her sanity. A lot of them had
volunteered to join her on her mission, but on different principles. 

Selma picked the lock on Urs' door and swiftly looked around the deserted
hallway to see if anyone was witness to the strange procession that was
gathered behind her. 

"Okay," she said, checking her clipboard. "We've only got a few minutes to
do this." 

The assembled group split up and raided Urs' drawers.

"I didn't know that Urs had this many Wonderbras," Sharon said to Elaine,
who was helping to replace Urs' wardrobe with nice, sensible blue jeans
and cute t-shirts. 

"I think she's probably broken the world record," Elaine replied.

Meanwhile, Selma, Mary GT, and the others were swapping the clothes in
Urs' walk-in closet. "Frills. Frills are a good thing. And granny dresses.
And why did these polyester outfits go out of style? I've always liked
bellbottoms," Selma said. Another Natpacker handed her an armful of pink
dresses. 

Meanwhile, Mary GT was replacing all of Urs' shoes with the shoes that she
had bought. Fortunately, she had bought a lot. She looked up at the dress
that Selma was holding. "Perfect, darling. Just perfect." 

"Isn't it, though..." Selma said. " I didn't know it came in this size."

"I almost feel sorry for her," Mary GT said.

*  *  *

Urs approached her closet, stripping off her stained dress as she went.
Due to a clumsy young vampire named Vince spilling his drink on her dress
after engaging in a long, boring speech on bringing someone across soon,
she now had a very sizable stain. Too bad that his glass had been almost
full when he was talking to her. 

Good thing for him that a young mortal woman had come to claim him.
Otherwise, she would have done something permanent to him. The young woman
had been nice, offering to help clean up what she thought was plain red
wine, but Urs had thanked her for the offer, dabbed it up as best she
could, and left. 

Something was wrong - she could tell before she opened the closet door
that something had changed, subtly. 

And then she looked in her closet.

Someone had completely changed her wardrobe. Instead of her stylish
clothes, there were polyester outfits. With *bellbottoms*. Granny dresses.
Lots of ruffles and lace and pink. 

She'd have to find out who was responsible later. First, she'd have to
return to the club. She picked out the least offensive item, a dress with
little purple dinosaurs on it, and put it on. It wasn't a bad fit.

But her day had gone from bad to worse.

Maybe she'd strangle that young vampire after all.

###

KNIGHTIES INVADE TORONTO
by Perri Smith and Amy Denton

Time: 5:45 pm EST
Place: Toronto International Airport.

Amy and Perri stepped off the plane, trudged up the gangplank and stood at
the gate entrance, waiting. 
      
"Does he know when the plane gets in?"  Amy asked.
      
"Supposedly.  Of course, with men you can never tell.  He said he told
Tracy so *she* would remind him..." Perri let the sentence trail off. 
      
"Great.  If that's the case, we'll be here all night,"  Amy grumbled,
dropping her carry-on bag into the nearest chair.  "What time is it?" 
      
Perri glanced at her watch.  "5:45. He should be here any minute." She
stood for a moment longer, then sat in the one of the chairs lining the
concourse.  "Why don't you sit, we might be here for a while." 
     
Amy nodded and shoved her carry-on bag out of the way; it slid off the
chair and landed on the floor with a thud.  Both women stared at it for a
moment. 
    
"What do you have in there?"  Perri asked finally.
    
"Not much, I swear," Amy protested, "just clothes.  Ya know, all those
bulky winter clothes that I never get to wear down in Texas." 
    
Perri nodded. "Want to check your e-mail? I've got to locate a phone and
let Dad know I haven't disappeared off the face of the earth." She offered
Amy the laptop. 
    
"Cool." Amy booted up the laptop and scanned her mail.  She was grinning
when Perri returned from the phone. 
    
"What?" Perri asked.
    
"Someone's doing a quote list from The Gathering.  Too bad you weren't
there.  Did you get a hold of your dad?" 
    
Perri sighed.  "Yeah.  But you know, the power was out this morning. 
Still is.  The lines were cut." 
     
"And no one noticed?"
     
"At my house?  In the morning?  Right.  We all have the little battery
back-up thingies in our alarms, nothing else matters." 
     
"Your dad mad?"
     
"And how.  He was blaming Halloween.  Luckily whoever it was missed the
second phone line and only got mine, so they can still use the phone. 
Power company says they'll fix it today."  Perri was silent for a moment
then said, "Amy?" 
    
Amy looked up from the laptop.  "Yeah?"
    
"When Dad went home today to meet the power company, he went in the front
door instead of out the side like we always do.  What do you think he
found?" 
    
"Let me guess, a brick?"
    
"Yup.  Dad's a *real* unhappy camper.  He watches enough FK to know what's
going on." 
    
"Perri, you've *got* to get your own place."
    
"Yeah.  I know."  Perri was silent again for just a moment before she
started to read over Amy's shoulder. 
    
Amy looked at her.  "You know how annoying that is?"
    
Perri shrugged.  "I just wanted to see what happened."
    
"Ya shoulda come, you would have had a blast!"
    
"It's not that I didn't *want* to go," Perri grumbled, "but work got in
the way.  So guess what?" 
    
"What?"
   
"*You* get to tell me every disgusting little detail."
    
"Okay.  We've certainly got the time. At least you haven't started a quote
list for the war." 
    
"Look under Word - Toronto Quote List." Amy groaned, Perri laughed. "I
*am* the quote list princess! Now talk!" 
    
Amy was well into the Q&A of David Abramowitz and Bill Panzer when Nick
finally appeared, half-an-hour late.  He literally *flew* through the
concourse looking for the women. 
     
He had told Tracy to remind him when it was 5:30 but she had forgotten and
was now sitting outside in the Caddy quite embarrassed about it.  When he
came up to the two women, Amy was telling Perri: 
     
"David Abramowitz has got the most *incredible* voice you have ever
heard." 
    
"Really?"
    
"Yeah, he's a cantor at his synogogue."
    
"Cool."
    
"Hi, ladies, been waiting long?"  Nick asked, interupting the discussion.
    
Both women sqeaked and jumped.
    
Perri glared at Nick. "Don't *DO* that, Nick.  Scared the wits right out
of me!" 
   
If it were possible for a vampire to blush, Nick would have.
   
"Sorry I'm late but I told Tracy to remind me and..."
   
"She forgot, right?"  Amy said.  "S'okay Nick.  We figured that's what had
happened."  She got up from her chair and handed the laptop back to Perri. 
   
"That's what happens when you have an air-head for a partner," Perri
muttered under her breath. 
   
Nick glared at her.  "You two *are* going to behave around her, aren't
you?" he asked pointedly. 
   
"Of course, Nick.  We'll be on our best behavior,"  Amy said, hefting her
bag. 
   
"Oh, let me carry that," Nick said.  "Come on, she's waiting outside by
the Caddy."  He hefted Amy's bag effortlessly and set off at a brisk pace. 
   
The two women had to run to catch up.
   
"Good, Perri.  Piss off the vampire why don't you?"  Amy said, trying to
keep up with Nick. 
   
Perri *did* blush. "I'm tired and hungry. So shoot me."
   
"He might."

As the automatic doors whooshed open a blast of cold air struck Nick,
Perri and Amy all at the same time.  Only Perri and Amy shivered. 
        
Nick looked at the two.
        
Perri returned the look.  "Nick," she said, "we're from Texas. We get
excited when the temperature drops below 50.  Remember that." 
        
Nick just smiled.  "The car's over here,"  he said, pointing toward the
no-parking zone.  Of course, the Caddie hadn't been ticketed or towed but
maybe that was because his new partner was leaning against the passenger
door. 
        
"Tracy!"  Nick yelled. "I found them."
        
Tracy turned toward the sound of Nick's voice.  She smiled when she saw
him. 
        
"Good," she said. "I'm glad you found them.  I feel a little stupid not
reminding you." 
        
Amy kicked Perri before she could say anything. Perri looked innocent. 
        
Nick was not fooled; he glared at her for a long moment but didn't say
anything. He and Perri would *have* to have a talk.  He was *not* going to
spend the duration of the WAR defending Tracy, even if she *did* act a
little dense sometimes. 
        
"What?"  Perri asked, looking like the very picture of innocence. 
       
Nick shook his head and told Tracy, "That's okay.  They were still by the
gate." 
        
"So help me God, if he says 'you're a good cop,' I'm outta here," Perri
said under her breath. 
        
Nick popped the trunk and put the luggage in, ignoring Perri's latest jab.
He contemplated stuffing her in the trunk too but decided against it; he
wasn't LaCroix after all.  He slammed the trunk shut, then turned to make
the introductions. 
        
"Amy Denton, Perri Smith, this is my partner," Nick waved a hand in
Tracy's direction. "Detective Tracy Vetter.  Tracy, these are..."  He
paused, unsure what to call Amy and Perri.  He couldn't say they were his
followers and he couldn't call them family.  Fortunately, Perri rescued
him. 
        
"Friends of the family."  Perri shook Tracy's hand, Amy followed suit.
"We've known Nick for about 4, 5 years.  Isn't that right, Amy?" 
        
Amy nodded brightly. 
        
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you,"  Tracy said, unsure of what to do
next. 
        
Nick opened the car door for Tracy first, then opened the back door. Perri
got in and slid over.  Amy got in and closed the door. 
        
"Where to?"  Tracy asked when Nick started the engine. 
        
"They're staying at my place,"  Nick said.  He glanced back at Perri and
Amy.  "Anyone else coming?" 
        
"Umm, maybe a few more,"  Perri said with a sideways look at Amy.
        
"Right."  Nick said.  He glanced at his partner, who was glaring at him. 
"What?  They can't afford a hotel, so they're staying with me. What do you
think I'm going to do to them?  Have them for dinner?  I don't bite,
honestly." 
        
Before the words even left his mouth, he knew he had misspoken.  He
frowned and pulled out into traffic.  In the back, Perri and Amy were
struggling to control their laughter.  Amy had to bite her lip to keep
from laughing.  Finally, the two women calmed down enough to look around
at the scenery. 
        
From the front of the car, Tracy twisted in her seat and asked, "So, what
brings you two to Toronto?" 
        
Perri and Amy exchanged looks.
        
"Umm... Family business."  Amy finally said.
        
"Really?  Well, how long are you staying?"
        
"Depends."  Perri answered that time.
        
"On?"  Tracy was persistant if nothing else.
        
"On whether Uncle can control the Cousins,"  Perri replied calmly.
However, when she glanced at Amy, she lost it.  The two women started to
laugh, they just couldn't control it any longer. 
        
Tracy stared at the two for a moment, nodded slowly, then turned back
around in the seat. 
        
Nick just shook his head. It was going to be a looong war.

###

THE GRAY ZONE
By Sharon Himmanen

Time: 10pm EST
Place:  The Gray House

Sandra got comfortable.  The house was quiet, everything was straightened
up, put back in place and otherwise organized. 

Things were just the way she liked them.  Life was good.

And to make things even better, another blissful hour of Nick Knight was
about to start.  She'd missed the episode over the weekend. 

In anticipation, Sandra leaned forward, watching the television eagerly as
a shot of the sun rising above the silhoutted skyline of Toronto slowly
filled her screen and her mind. 

Yes, life was good for Sandra.

But not for long . . .

TEASER

Nick is staggering around in a pre-dawn park where a mother is pushing her
child in a stroller.  The little girl is clutching a doll. 

CU on Nick's face--he is haggard.  His hair looks as though someone had
haphazardly snipped at it with a pair of dull scissors.  Several days'
stubble cover his cheeks and chin.  His eyes glow a feral red and he pulls
back his lips in a silent snarl, revealing his fangs. 

He pauses, catching sight of the mother and child and begins to move toward
them, licking his lips in anticipation.

CUT TO:  NATALIE at the morgue, nervously glancing at her watch.  She is
worried, concerned. 

CUT TO:  NICK closing in on the mother.  They are unaware of his presence.

The sky grows slightly redder.

CUT TO:  LACROIX flying into the Raven.  He is desperate, worried.  He
races to the phone and dials a number. 

CUT TO:  NICK standing just behind the mother, who has stopped to fuss
with her daughter. 

CUT TO:  The morgue as the phone rings.  NATALIE snatches it up.

                            NATALIE:
                       Did you find him?

Her voice has an edge of panic.  She listens for a moment.

                            NATALIE:
                        But the sun . . .

CUT TO:  The park, where NICK reaches one hand out to the woman just as
the first rays of sun stretch over the horizon.  Nick hisses.  The WOMAN
turns, sees him vamped out just behind her and screams, running to her
baby. 

NICK moves to follow, catching her shoulder.  He starts to smoulder.

The pain becomes too much.  NICK releases the woman.  Before he seeks
shelter he snarls viciously at the woman and her child, then shoots
forward, determined to achieve his prey. 

He snatches the little girl's doll from her hands and viciously twists its
head off.  Tossing the headless doll back into the stroller he dashes away
to find shelter. 

END TEASER

Sandra leaned back, watching in horror as the episode unfolded.  What in
the world *was* this?  Reese making it very clear that first Schanke and
now Tracy had been carrying Nick's workload and covering for him?  Nick
returning to his loft and opening a closet full of doll heads?  Nick
ranting and raving (hell, he was practically frothing at the mouth) at
both LaCroix and Natalie as they attempted to reason with him (and they
sounded quite reasonable too) over various things? 

It was just too, too horrible for words, she thought, sitting there shaken
and confused at the end of the episode, barely paying attention to the
screen anymore. 

At the end of the opening credits, the screen went blank for a moment,
then a small cartoon began to run.  A little animated knight walked out
onto the screen, his armor clanking loudly.  He began to build a tiny
brick wall on her screen. 

###

THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT?
by Sandra Gray

Time: 11pm EST
Place: Sandra Gray's house

For a few moments, Sandra sat watching the animated knight build the brick
facade over her television screen.  He speeded up his action suddenly and
soon the whole screen was a mass of small, animated bricks. 

"What the hell?" she said.  She was still stunned at the Forever Knight
episode she had just watched...but this?  The "knight with bricks"
disappeared and "Wings" started up. 

Sandra sprang out of her chair, and the remote fell.  The thunk it made on
the floor jarred her mind back to reality.  She picked up the remote and
hit the stop button.  Then she rewound the tape slightly and hit "play." 
And there was the knight again, bricking up the tv screen. 

Sandra put down the remote and ran back to the bedroom, where her husband
Bruce was sleeping.  He groaned as she switched on the light.  She shook
his shoulder.  "Get up!  You've got to see this!" she said. 

"What?  Who?" he stammered, blinking at her.

"The TV!  Come on!" said Sandra.  She waited until Bruce, yawning, got up
from the bed.  He followed her into the living room and looked at the
blank television screen. 

"The VCR been damaged?"

Sandra looked at the blank screen.  "Oh.  No, I must have left the tape
playing." 

"What were you recording?  Dead Air*?"  Bruce smiled.

"Funny."  Sandra turned the knob on the VCR to "rewind" and after a few
minutes the image of the animated bricks came back on the screen and
Bruce watched, smiling, as the wall of bricks came down to reveal an
animated knight. 

"That's clever," he said.

The knight was replaced with the end of Forever Knight.  Bruce stopped the
tape and pressed "play." 

"How could someone have done this?" asked Sandra.  "And it's not funny."

Bruce sobered.  "Did it appear when you turned on the set?"

"No, of course not.  Didn't you just see the end of Forever Knight?"

"Mmmm," said Bruce, watching the animated knight brick up the screen.
"Must not be the TV then.  Maybe the cable." 

"Check the cable."

Bruce looked at the clock.  "It's after eleven.  I'm off tomorrow. I'll
check it then." 

"Check it now."  He looked at her.  "Who knows what else might go on?
Maybe the TV is rigged to blow up!" 

"I doubt that," said Bruce.  At her look, he grumbled, "Ohhh, okay." Then
he sighed and, grunting a bit, pulled the entertainment center away from
the wall.  "Get me a flashlight." 

Sandra went into the kitchen and got the flashlight.  Bruce looked at the
mass of wires and cables for a few minutes.  "Well?" 

Bruce straightened.  "Looks fine to me.  I don't see anything that looks
like it's been tampered with."  He handed her the flashlight and began to
push the entertainment center back against the wall. 

"But then how--"

"Well, maybe it was done from outside somehow," said Bruce.  He had the
entertainment center back in its usual place and said, "And I'm *not*
going outside to look at this time of night."  He yawned.  I'm going back
to bed." 

"Well, don't blame me if the TV goes dead or something."

"It was a harmless prank," he said and headed back to the bedroom. He
grumbled something not quite intelligible about "wars" as he entered the
bedroom and shut the door. 

Well, if the TV did go dead or something, it would serve him right. "A
harmless prank," said Sandra.  She rewound the tape back to its beginning. 
Then she got a sudden thought.  What if the episode...? "No," she said. 
But it had been so unlike any previous Forever Knight episodes.  "It's not
possible.  No one would fake an entire episode." 

But...could LaCroix have gotten control of the show again and shown one of
*his* episodes?  Surely TPTB couldn't be responsible for that...that
*atrocity*.  Sandra hadn't minded some of the directions that the new
season had gone in, but LaCroix and Nat working together? She shivered. 
It *was* possible.  He *had* tried before, after all, to gain control of
the show.  And then that knight with his bricks at the end.  "Damn him. 
And those Cousins of his too."  Because no doubt they'd had a hand in
helping him. 

"They can't be allowed to get away with this," said Sandra.  She sat down
at the computer and logged on.  She composed a message to Perri and the
Knighties list ranting about the episode and ending with, //Okay, what are
we going to do about this?//

After she sent the message, Sandra decided to read the spoiler messages
about this week's episode.  And was soon steaming even *more*. 

*"Dead Air" is the title of a first season episode.

***Tuesday, October 31, 1995***

THE ALFRED MERCS' FIRST STRIKE! (Part 1a)
by Di, Risha, and Wyndi

Time: Midnight
Place: Alfred, NY

Hearing the drums of war calling in their blood, three of the mercenaries
of Alfred decided to throw their plans into action.  Risha called her
friends in Philadelphia to make certain everything there was prepared.
Their local cousin, Candi, had been insisting that although they would
_try_ to follow anyone for chocolate, their true alliances lay with her
"Uncle" Lacroix.  She had also been violently threatening to do horrible
things to them: "As soon as the next war starts, you guys are going to
SUFFER!!!"  So, they thought that a pre-emptive strike would be
appropriate. 

Risha called her friend Keri up.  "Is everything ready?" she asked, barely
containing the glee in her voice. 
        
"Yep!  It's really really really going awfully great, actually, except
Andy isn't here yet...but he will be, I'm sure.  Do you have the boxes
yet?" 
        
Risha grinned.  "They're being ordered as we speak."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
        
Up in the dorm room that Diana and Wyndi shared, Wyndi was on the phone. 
"All right, are the boxes ready?"  She nodded, listening to the woman on
the other side of the phone explain the special padding that had been put
in for "fragile contents."  All of the latest technology (funded by the
friendly Visa Gold) had been used, and air holes had been carefully added. 
"Send one of them to the address in Philadelphia, and the rest to the
billing address, and we have a deal."  She listened a little longer, then
hung up, a rather evil grin lighting her face. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
        
Meanwhile, in Todd (her boyfriend) and Phill's (Risha's) room, Di was also
on the phone.  She grumbled a bit about there not being enough phones
around, but was inwardly glad that all of the phone bills were being put
on Wyndi's brand new Visa Gold card.  She was also glad that none of the
mercs would have to pay the bill.  "Do you think you can find someone?"
she asked her good friend in The Greenwitch Village.  She smiled at the
affirmative.  "All right.  Then give him the bus ticket I sent you.  We
need him there right away; it's almost time."  She smiled again, made her
adieus, and went off to meet with her fellow conspirators. 
        
Everything was ready.

###

MORE FUN WITH CANDI! (a)
Or: The Alfred Mercs' First Strike (Part 2a)
by the Alfred Mercs

Time: 12:57:32am EST
Place: Drexel Hill, PA.

Brian really wanted to talk to Candi, his girlfriend, but he knew that
there was an FK marathon going on in her room.  "Not a chance--she'll be
too distracted to carry on a sensible conversation," he thought.  He
paused to sprinkle some food in the brand new fishtank; watching the Blood
Swords dart back and forth in search of food was always entertaining, even
if only for the names.  Suddenly, he thought that he heard a giggle. 
"Hello?" he asked, looking down the stairwell.  Nobody was there.  "That's
odd." 
        
Downstairs, his little brother was playing fireman as per the usual, which
knocked out his primary theory as to who could be hiding nearby.  Small
sounds and giggles had followed him down both flights of stairs.  "Mom,
have you heard anything weird today?" 
        
"What do you mean weird?"
        
"Oh, never mind. It's not important. I'm going to Dave's - the Gathering
is meeting." 

He never knew what hit him.  Or rather, what held the cloth covered in
ether over his mouth and nose.  Brian slumped over the steering wheel
senseless.  Patrick looked down at his companion in crime and complained,
"Keri, how you ever talked me into doing this for you..." 
        
"Oh, don't worry about it.  Isn't this fun?"  As she spoke, Andy pulled
the van up, and together the three of them managed to manhandle the limp
body into the back. 

Inside, Brian's mother happened to glance out the window.  She thought
that it was rather odd that there would be deliveries being made so late
at night, but dismissed it as the van, emblazoned with the words "LIVE
ANIMAL TRANSPORT, INC." roared away. 

###

THE ALFRED MERCS' FIRST STRIKE! (Part 1b)
by Di, Risha, and Wyndi

Time: 02:17:57am EST
        
The Alfred Mercs had previously arranged for Candi to be inebriated for
the next showing of FK in Candi's room.  They convinced everyone to watch
it elsewhere for once, without any hint getting back to Candi that she
would be in the room with only the three vengeful mercs. "Candi, why don't
we pop in a few FK tapes? Oh! Here's BMV! And Curiouser and Curiouser!" 
        
Happy in her inebriated state (there was another University function with
an open bar that afternooon) Candi barely noticed the fact that she had
been slowly tied up during the show.  As the closing scene rolled, Di, who
was sitting next to her, carefully wrapped the gag in her mouth.  Candi
confusedly struggled, but a breath of ether stolen from the biology lab
soon put an end to her opposition.  Risha, who had gotten the key to the
bathroom door, waved us through the clear hallway to the bathroom,
carefully locking the door behind her.  Risha then took out the bottle of
Hydrogen Peroxide she had hidden under the sink earlier.  Candi half woke
at the touch of cold porcelin on the back of her neck.  Although she
tried, her screams of horror could not be heard through the gag.  Her eyes
wide with fury, she watched the bottle descend towards her temporarily
brunette hair. The blond (or at least light haired, Risha added
meaningfully) mercs grinned evilly at each other. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
        
Di brought her car from the parking lot and they piled Candi into the
back.  Glad they had arranged to get Candi and themselves out of classes
indefinately (that Visa Gold can do wonders), they drove to Wellsville
airport. 

While waiting for the plane to be fueled (Wyndi keeping a careful eye on
the drugged, inebriated Candi) Risha called the Philadelphia team. 
Collette answered the phone.  "Has everything been done?" 
        
"Yup.  Everything's waiting for postage.  We'll get them sent out soon.
How are things at that end?" 
        
"Very well, all things considered.  Our new blond seems pretty happy."
Risha grinned.  "Talk to you later." 
        
"Bye."
        
*click*
        
Risha headed for the now fueled plane, helping Wyndi with her...luggage. 

###

MORE FUN WITH CANDI! (b)
Or: The Alfred Mercs' First Strike (Part 2b)
by the Alfred Mercs

Time: 3:01:57am EST
Place: Wellsville, NY.

As the Alfred Mercs and their faithful baggage reached the Wellsville
Airport, Diana pulled out four very important booklets and smiled. "Candi
did, actually, have a passport in her room, so that saves us the bother of
making it.  Took me a damn long time to find it, though." She smiled,
toothily, and handed both of the mercs theirs.  Wyndi took the chance to
glance at her photo, and found it not quite as bad as she had feared--not
quite.  Diana drove her car out on the tarmac and the Alfred Mercs crawled
out, Wyndi carrying a large, full bag she had picked up at the college
mail just before they left (postmarked from Indianapolis) and Risha
keeping a strong arm on Candi. 
        
As Di took the car to be parked, Wyndi got out a pair of strange
contraptions, one larger than the other.  As Risha held onto Candi's arms
(Candi, being drugged, really didn't have much to say in the matter),
Wyndi strapped each wrist inside a leather handcuff, the handcuffs being
held apart by a three inch, metal bar.  Wyndi then locked each of the
handcuffs shut with a small, but strong, padlock.  A similar thing, also
padlocked, bound Candi's ankles about six inches apart.  Wyndi then got a
four foot chain out of the bag and closed the bag up, tossing it onto her
back. 
        
While Risha and Wyndi were occupied with the first binding of Candi, Diana
was preflighting the small airplane, a Moonie, they were going to fly to
their...destination.  Risha manhandled Candi into far back seat, the one
farthest from the door, then moved out of the way so that Wyndi and her
bag of tricks could take care of the final securing of Candi.  She
strapped Candi into the seats with the _normal_ restraints, then set about
adding a few of her own. Thankful that removing of the plane's restraints
required two hands at least six inches apart, she took the chain and ran
it through a thick, steel loop soldered into, as well as pushed through,
the metal bar at Candi's wrists, ran the chain down to a similar loop at
her ankles, the padlocked the chain together, at the ankles, with a
larger, even stronger padlock.  Breathing a sigh of relief that her friend
was able to get this stuff to her, she had no idea where SHE would have
gotten it, Wyndi dug through the bag again to see if there was anything
she had forgotten.  She reached into a small pocket on one side and put a
pair of earplugs into Candi's ears, she found another chain and ran it
through the loop on Candi's ankles, around the base of the seat, and
padlocked it on the back of the chair.  The strap across Candi's
shoulders, already permanently tightened, would hold Candi's upper body
back, and she was so restrained Wyndi was sure even DIANA couldn't get out
of it.  (She grinned slyly at her escape artist friend, glad Diana
couldn't read thoughts.)
        
Taking her bag of tricks, still half full mind you, from beside Candi,
Wyndi crawled back out of the plane and let Risha crawl in beside Candi. 
Then Diana crawled in, preparations finished, and Wyndi followed suit,
shutting the door behind her.  The Alfred Mercs put on their planebelts,
put on their headsets (and plugged them in, added Diana), and were ready
to go.

________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, in Pennsylvania, the crew there were sending off three heavy
wooden boxes to three different addresses.  One of the team there sat down
before the computer and sent a message off to their contact. 

Subject:  Packages.
        
You'll be glad to know that the post office is working today, despite a
bit of a bumpy transfer, all packages have been sent off. 
        I hope you enjoy your present.
                Cousin and friend
[End of File]

        She smiled to herself and shut off the computer.

###

VACATION AT LAST
by Torrey Harris

Place: Torrey's home

Torrey drags herself out of her car after driving the 60 miles home from
the hospital where she had just put in her third double shift in a week.
She reaches into the car and pulls out her dirty uniform and her pile of
mail that she picked up in town on the way home. She notices a package in
the pile and wonders if she ordered something and forgot about it.  "Oh,
who cares, all I want to do right now is get inside and start my vacation
in style." 

Opening the front door she is greeted by the sight of her rottweiler Jesse
lounging on the couch. "Jesse, I thought I told you NOT to get on the
furniture!" To this Jesse simply looks at her as if she has lost her mind
and lays her head back down on her paws. "Great," Torrey says, "another
attitude to deal with." Throwing her pile of mail on the table she turns
to look at Jesse. "You just wait, puppy, I am now officially on vacation
and you and me are going to have a little talk about who is the boss
around here." 

Turning around to face the mail, Torrey decides that she had better look
through it now before she forgets about it. Looking down she sees the
package under a pile of bills. "Ok, let's start with you." She picks it up
and hears a muffled sound come from the package. "What the heck is that?"
The more she moves it around the more sound it makes. Thoughts of past
wars on the FK list start running through her head.  "Nah, the war didn't
start yet, but...." Torrey searches frantically through her piles of dirty
uniforms and other work stuff. "Damn, where is it?" Reaching back to
scrach her neck she finds the object of her search.  "There you are! I
have got to get out of the habit of leaving this darn stethoscope around
my neck." Reaching down she picks up the package and places the
stethoscope on it. "Moo." What was that! Well, ok, it's not ticking so I
guess I will open it. Torrey opens the package and finds a brightly
colored cylinder inside. Turning it over in her hand she hears a loud
"MMMMMOOOOOOoooo!" Torry drops the toy and Jesse jumps off the couch and
runs into the bedroom. Just then the phone rings. 

"Hello?"

"Torrey?"

"Ya, who is this?"

"It's Perri, we need to talk."

###

MERCS AND DIE HARDS AND RAVENS, OH MY! (a)
by Diane Echelbarger, Lillian Feden, Lorelei Feldman, and Vicki Merriman

Time: Early

Lorelei stood by her seat as the inimical seat belt sign was turned off,
grabbed her carry-ons, and practically jumped off the plane as the doors
opened.  With her customary (lack of) grace, she tangled her Walkman on
the seats, narrowly missed braining several of her fellow passengers with
her leather backpack, and breathed a sigh of relief that the night flight
was so empty. 

"I *hate* these long flights!" she grumped to herself.  "If I have to
spend another four hours on the way back cramped next to some businessman
that looks as though he expects me to steal his wallet, I'm jumping off
and *walking*!" 

She high-stepped down the ramp to the terminal, then stopped and did some
leg-stretches on one of the chairs.  She looked around as she headed to
the baggage claim.  "What a ratty-looking place!  Not nearly as nice as
Hartsfield," she thought to herself, her automatic hometown pride kicking
in.  "Definitely big enough to get lost in, though; I hope I don't miss
Diane.  Road trips are fun; hiking to Toronto is *not* in my time budget." 

She waited at the proper carousel for her baggage.  By the time she
collected it all, she was attracting stares from some of the other
passengers.  She stared right back.  "So, I've got a lot of luggage, so
what?  Can't come to a War unprepared.  It was so much nicer with Janette
in Toronto, when I could just go shopping for all of it..." she
reminisced, misty-eyed.  Piling her collection chin-high on one of the
rolling carts, she headed to the curb. 

--------------------

Diane grumbled at the idiotic minivan driver in front of her and forced
the nose of her battered little Metro into a hole in the right-hand lane.
Funny, even in Illinois people would rather give way before a car that
obviously had *no* insured value than risk having to file a claim.  She
was usually a fairly laid-back driver, but Chicago-area rush hour traffic
always brought out her aggressive streak. 

"Hope this thins before we pick up Lillian and Vicki," she muttered,
bullying her way in front of the Corvette to her right.  "I don't want to
even *think* about morning rush hour downtown." 

Five more minutes crawled by, at the same barely-moving pace as the
traffic.  She finally reached the pick-up area of O'Hare.  Lorelei was
waiting there as arranged, surrounded by her luggage.  Diane took a cue
from the many taxis and hotel vans clogging the area and double-parked
while they stuffed the Ravenette's gear in the back. 

As the two women piled back into the car and Diane eased its rust-
speckled nose back into traffic, she asked, "Have a good flight?" 

She sighed.  "Oh, about the same as always.  I brought plenty of music and
books, so it wasn't too bad, but wouldn't you know it?  Half the flight
empty, and some idiot with a laptop's sitting next to me who's too anal
about rules to change his seat.  So... I got no sleep.  The time change
always fries my brain a bit anyway.  Thanks for picking me up, though,"
she laughed.  "I'm glad you recognized me; I almost missed you. What did
you do to your hair?  Where'd it all go?"  She grinned, teasing. 

"I got tired of waiting three hours for it to dry,"  Diane smiled back.
"Time zones are a pain, aren't they?  Every time I fly back to visit my
family in Seattle it takes me days to readjust.  Did they feed you
breakfast?  We could hit a drive-through and grab you something." 

"No, that's OK.  I'm not much of a breakfast person, and I can't eat much
fast food.  I'm fine.  So where are we meeting Lillian and Vicki?" 

"Lillian lives in downtown Chicago," Diane explained.  "Vicki crashed with
her last night.  It's more or less on the way to Toronto from O'Hare, so I
said we'd pick them up at the condo." 

------------------

An hour later, they pulled into the drive-up entry to Lillian's condo on
the Gold Coast.  "Check out the sculpture," Diane said, waving a hand at
the metal palm-trees-and-herons.  "Cool, huh?  I just *love* Deco." 

"Ah.  Is that what that is?"  She eyed the birds doubtfully.  "I thought I
liked Deco, too; you sure this isn't more 'modern Parma' style?" 

A short, dark haired woman struggling with some unwieldy duffel bags
pushed her way through the revolving door from the lobby.  "Hey, guys!"
she said, "I see you made it in one piece.  This is Vicki, she was brave
enough to stay with me last night." 

"And lived to tell the tale."  Vicki smiled and nodded, causing a bit of
her reddish brown hair to fall across one eye.  As she was carting two
bags and had a bright blue backpack on her back, the hair stayed in her
eye. 

"Hi, Lillian.  Glad to meet you, Vicki," Diane grinned as she climbed out
of the car.  "Traffic was horrendous.  I'm beginning to see why you don't
bother to own a car, Lillian.  Oh, this is Lorelei.  Lorelei, Lillian and
Vicki." 

"Hi, Lorelei, I like your name!" Lillian began piling her luggage at the
curb. 

"Hi.  It's a nice name.  Where does it come from?"  Vicki dropped the bags
and unwound herself from the large backpack. 

"Hi, guys!  Thanks; it's German.  It's nice to put faces to *your* names,
finally!"

"This *is* all your stuff, isn't it?" Diane asked anxiously as she popped
the hatch and began piling baggage on the sidewalk.  "Good thing we're all
relatively short.  We kinda threw Lorelei's gear in the back in a hurry. I
figured we'd re-pack once we got here." 

"Sorry, I always overpack.  I carried five pairs of shoes to CCC.  I won't
even begin to tell you how much I took to Denver for the Highlander
convention.  I hear the drive is nine hours to Toronto from here.  I hope
we stop for food.  Sheesh, listen to me, I sound like an FoD!" Lillian
babbled, adding her bags to the pile. 

"Ah, a woman after my own heart!  You can see we think alike!"  Lorelei
remarked as she helped add Lillian's things to the considerable pile her
own belongings made.  "Besides, what's wrong with that many pairs of
shoes?  After all, you never know *which* ones you might want to wear." 

"I wear the comfortable ones," Vicki interjected.  "Shoes are difficult
for me.  Not to worry, I'm part FoD, too.  Food is always an important
concept.  My sister is the one with the shoe fetish, though." 

Diane eyed the huge combined pile of their luggage, measured it against
her tiny hatchback, and sighed.  "Okay, you guys want to tell me what's
breakable?  Because I'd hate to smash anything, but we're going to *have*
to pack tight..." 

"Don't you think that now is the time to create one of those plot hole
thingys and pop over to the Highlander list to pick up a dimensional
pocket?  They use it for swords but we could sure use it to get that
luggage in the back.  I don't see any other way it is going to happen."
Vicki shook her head doubtfully. 

The others laughed.  "Not to worry," Diane assured her.  "First road trip
for this car was *five* people *and* their luggage *and* ten Robotech
costumes, all going to a SF Con in Milwaukee.  We'll manage.  We can
always take *lots* of stretch breaks." 

Fifteen minutes later the back of the Metro was crammed with luggage and
the little white car was on its way to Toronto. 

"I'm impressed," Vicki said.  "I thought my Dad was the only one with that
sort of talent." 

----

Things went smoothly until just before Ann Arbor, when Vicki tried to
wrestle control of the CD player from Lorelei.  The polite discussion was
on the verge of escalating into an actual fight, so Diane pulled off the
interstate and parked at a convenience store. 

"I think we all need a stretch break," she explained, as they all pried
themselves out of the tiny, luggage-filled car.  "*I* definitely need some
coffee, anyway." 

"Yeah, I could use a soda," Lillian agreed, as she moved the gear at her
feet onto the half of the back seat that Vicki had just vacated. 

"I need the bathroom."  The words came from behind them, as Vicki was
already headed toward the store. 

When they returned to the parking lot a short while later, carrying
coffee, soda, and assorted munchies, Lorelei announced her intention of
playing Sisters of Mercy's latest CD and Vicki immediately protested that
*she* wanted to hear some Loreena McKennitt that she just happened to
bring along. 

"I listened to Loreena McKennitt all the way from Berkeley!" Lorelei
objected.  "How about some Bauhaus?" 

"I'd rather hear the soundtrack from 'The Last of the Mohicans.'"

The other two travelers listened to them bicker amicably for a moment.
Finally, Diane called, "Yo!  Guys! Time out, already!"  When the two women
turned to look at her, she asked, "Can I suggest something? After all, it
*is* my car." 

"Yeah."

"Well, okay..."

Diane reached into her canvas tote and removed a CD case, still shrink-
wrapped.  "How about this?" 

The front of the CD showed a silhouette of the Toronto skyline, CN tower
prominent.  The title, in a red, slashing font, was *very* familiar, and
her three passengers broke into excited comments. 

"Is that...  It *is*!"

"I thought that wasn't due out for a month!"

"Yeah, that's what I heard, too."

And finally, in chorus, "*Where did you get that?*"

Diane grinned.  "Remember, a couple of weeks ago, a certain lurking
composer posted to the List that he was having trouble reading his
digests?"  Her companions nodded.  "Well, I e-mailed him some suggestions
for reading 'em off-line.  He must have *really* appreciated it, because
this arrived in the mail yesterday." 

As the others passed the disc enviously from hand to hand, Diane sipped
her coffee and added, unnecessarily, "So, anyone object to listening to
it?" 

By the time they reached the outskirts of Detroit, they were singing along
with the CD in passable harmony. 

     "On the dark side of---
      On the dark side of---
      On the dark side of the tinted glass."

###

STRANGER IN A BATTLEZONE (Part 1)
Or: A War Introduction
by Mildred Cady

Time: Early
Place: Troy, New York.

"I'm all set, Jeff." Mildred placed the last of her bags next to the blue
Volkswagon Rabbit she owned.  The early morning light glinted off the keys
she held in her hand as she passed them to her companion. 
        
Her dark haired housemate just looked at her in disbelief. "Millie, what
do you think you're doing?  What about classes?  What about work?  What
about your pledging?" 
        
"Jeff, everything's ok.  I'm handling classes through e-mail while I'm
away, and I'm getting paid for doing research in Toronto, and I already
talked to Tor and Peter about my absence, which won't be _that_ long to
interefere with my pledging requirements.  As to what I'm doing... I told
you.  I'm getting paid for some freelance work, that's all." 
        
Jeff shrugged and opened up the driver's side door.  "Let's get you to the
airport.  You said you wanted to get there early and pick up some
Dramamine." 

**************
        
{I hate flying,} Mildred complained to herself for the hundredth time
while the small plane bounced over an air pocket. 

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

Time: Later
Place: Toronto Airport

{I'm here, I'm actually here!} Even though customs had been a pain about
her equipment, Mildred was elated about getting to Toronto. Intact.  After
waiting while the officer scanned her laptop for explosives, Mildred stood
outside the airport, looking for a cab.  After finally finding one, she
got in and gave the address for Merc Central. The cabbie went slowly
though the streets of Toronto but hardly hit a red light. 
        
Mildred pulled her sleeping bag and bags out of the cab and watched it
speed off.  {Why couldn't he go that fast while I was in there?} She
pulled out a brass key she had been sent in the mail by Merc Central. 
        
She placed her bags in a corner and immediatly unrolled her sleeping bag. 
On it she opened her suitcase and took out a midnight blue crushed velvet
dress.  After finding a bathroom to change in, she packed away her jeans
and t-shirt and carefully placed her laptop in a black leather bookbag
along with her pocketbook and everpresent FK folder. 
        
No one was there, so she put her black denim jacket back on and took her
bag out into the slowly developing night. 
        
{Time to look for some work.}

###

A RAVENETTE AWAKENS...
by Felicia Bollin

Time: Noon
Place: Felicia's residence

I sat at my computer, scratching my head in disbelief.  This was to be my
first War, although I had read everything up to War 4, so I felt confident
that I could at least hold my own.  But this...this was insane. 

"How in Hades does anyone do this and have time for a life?"  And not like
it was much of a demanding life--thirty hours a week at a small-town
library where they still do everything in a fashion best described as
"charmingly archaic"--by hand.  I hadn't been out on a date in eighteen
months, since I graduated college--and boy, for me, that was a hardship. 
Everyone around me was either married, planning to get married, still away
at school, or following their own exciting grandiose lives in every place
from Manhattan to India.  There I was, stuck in *Skaneateles*.  No one
even knew how to spell it, and as for geography, most of the people *I*
had known in Westchester County thought Albany was a hike.  I had tons of
friends at college because I truly worked at it, coming out of my
previously introverted shell like a force of nature.  Around here, I had
no friends except virtual ones, and as a result, I really loved my
Internet pals.  But man, those are a lot of posts. 

"Good thing I decided to take myself off digest," I had thought.  Until I
went offline and looked, really looked, at my mailbox.  How on earth was I
going to make sense of these? 

Wait a second, the introductory post from the Natpackers is *missing* part
one of five??! 

Dammit, *I* was going to suggest using Urs!

Wait a minute, *she* doesn't belong to *that* faction!!!

I needed a Diet Coke, bad.  Looking grimly at the box filled with personal
mail, over 150 letters, I took a deep breath.  Usually, I saved it all to
disk, but it was a tough act to have to deal with at two in the morning. 
 
"Good thing I don't go to work until the afternoon tomorrow, especially
since my speed of writing is stuck somewhere between Amish Buggy and Ice
Age," I mused, grabbing for a swig of the freezer-chilled caffeine rush,
squaring my shoulders, and pressing the Delete key with unaccustomed
ferocity.  Pruning ruthlessly, I tossed out everything that I had
responded to already.  "What the hey, Chanda won't mind.  Her mailer loses
everything of mine anyway... Okay, it's been three months since he wrote
back to me, if he wants to find me again *he* can do the emailing.  Wait,
I still have to pack!" I said to my cat, rubbing him under his darling
pointy chin as I jumped up, the caffeine working.  "Who knows when the
Ravenettes are going to convene (and if I did know, I sure wouldn't tell),
but I don't want to be unprepared." 

Going over to my closet, I pulled out things I hadn't worn since I left
college and fingered them lovingly. **Lessee, I'll need the cloak Blythe
made for me...great for covering up skimpy attire.  You can wear anything,
even one of those skirts the size of a Band-Aid, on the coldest day, if
you have a cloak to cover up with.  Janette really knew what she was doing
there, man.... Hold the phone, my Victoria's Secret dress.  I really,
<really> need that.** I'd bought it a year ago, but who had need of it in
this one-horse town?  There was no place to wear it anyway.  Dance club? 
Alternative scene?  In Syracuse?  Give me a break. 
 
**Ah, my Betsey Johnson fishnets, my Merry Widow, those thigh-highs with
the ribbon flounces, the seamed stockings--oh, this is heavenly. I feel
like myself again, not the pale copy I was pretending to be for the past
interminable months.  Maybe I'll go out and buy a pack of Camel Light
100's.  The librarians would never believe this.** This was actually kind
of fun. 

I started chattering aloud again as I filled the utilitarian suitcase.
 
"Maybe Dad will let me use his PowerBook.  He'd think I was crazy if I
told him I was going to go off to Toronto with it, so I just won't mention
that part.  My family already thinks I'm in arrested development just
because I like the Animaniacs, if I tell them I'm going to Canada in hopes
of eventually meeting up with a certain Gallic brunette vampiress with
that certain thousand-year-old elan, they'd never let me out of the
house." 

And into my pocket, I slipped that most dangerous item of all...my
brand-new Amex card.  Yes, I would give anything to help Janette...even
THAT. 

###

SHERRI'S PUZZLEMENT
By Sherri Campbell

Time: Noon
Place: Sherri's home

Getting off work at noon, I exited my office as fast as possible,
thinking, "If I don't get out of here now, I won't get lunch..."  Looking
at my watch, I calculated that if I check my mail now, I can zip home and
scarf lunch, and still maybe have 30 minutes on the 'net.  Driving one
block to the Post Office, I pulled in behind the guy with the "Fuzzy
Thunderbear" bumper sticker.  "One of these days, I'm going to ask that
guy what it means..." Exiting my Tempo, I dodged three cars trying to
splatter pedestrians. Successfully attaining the front door of the Post
Office, I grabbed my mail from the box.  "Oh, heck!  A package slip!" 

Looking at the line in front of the *one* clerk they keep on at lunch...
"Maybe I won't get on the 'net at lunchtime. Darn."  Sighing, I walked in
and Curt, the postal clerk, nodded at me and said, "Here - I saw you come
in, this is for you!"  

"Huh! Who says the P.O. has poor service these days? Thanks!"  Looking at
the box, I saw it had no return address, and an illegible postmark. Hmmm.
"Well, I'll open it when I get home." 

Driving the mile home, I got to wondering.  "Who on earth would be sending
me a package?  I cancelled all my book clubs...."  I pulled up to the
house, and rushed inside...grabbing a sandwich on the way to the computer. 
Booting it up, I opened the package as I was waiting for the interminable
warm up cycle. Just as I got the package open, I heard a strange noise...
what on earth? Shaking the package contents on to the table I saw a *cow
noisemaker*?? This was weird!  Maybe this was from my computer wizard; he
laughed so hard a month ago when I took my computer in when it was making
"mooing" noises...maybe this was his idea of a joke... 

Picking up the phone, I called Rod.  When he answered, I questioned him.
"Hey, Rod! Did you send me a cow noisemaker?" ROTFL. He was *laughing* at
me! "Hey, I'm serious!  Did you send me..." 

He broke in.  "I wish I had!  If I'd of thought of it I would have.  No,
seriously, I didn't."  

Well, exit great idea number one. "Oh, okay. Thanks, Rod!" Hanging up the
phone, I tried to think of who else would do this. 

"Whoa, hold the horses.  I wonder if this has anything to do with the FK
list??  Those people have been making cow jokes about Vachon ever since
late summer...but... I've only mentioned to Torrey that I'd help her with
the Vaqueros if no one else would, I really don't like people being made
fun of, from personal experience...wow, this is strange. Well, I guess
I'll just have to wait and see who is behind this." 

###

WELCOME TO TORONTO
by Karen Tobin

Place: Nick's loft

Karen parked her car near Nick's apartment. She got out slowly. She was
stiff and tired after the long drive, and it certainly felt good to
stretch! She picked up her bags and carried them to the elevator. When the
elevator stopped the door opened to reveal Perri, Amy and Nick, all
looking at her guardedly. 

"Perri?" Karen said, recognizing her from her description. "I'm Karen." 

"You made it!" Perri responded and introduced Karen to Amy and Nick. 

"Oh, you're one of the new recruits," responded Nick, helping Karen with
her bags. 

"What's going on?" Karen asked

Amy replied, "Nothing...yet." 

"We've heard from a few people who'll be getting in tonight," Perri noted,
"but that's about it." 

Nick looked on in amusement as Karen pulled two large Tupperware
containers filled with pumpkin cookies from one of her bags. She opened
one of them and passed it to Perri and Amy. She caught Nick's look and
said "Sustenance. An army marches on its stomach, you know." 

"So I've heard," Nick replied with a smile. The smile broadened as she
pulled 4 large bottles of Sangre de Toro from the bag. "Those should fit
right in in MY refrigerator." 

"Nick!" Karen remonstrated. "You're not supposed to chill red wine!" But
she put them in the refrigerator anyway. 

"Karen," Nick said, "You look exhausted. Why don't you go upstairs and
rest for a while." 

Karen nodded gratefully and rose. 

"We'll call you if anything happens!" Perri said. 

Karen started climbing the stairs. She paused and looked down at her three
new friends. "I have a good feeling about this," she said and continued up
the stairs. 

"I wish I did!" Amy muttered.

###

LURKER 1
by The Lurkers

TIME:  4:45 PM
LOCATION:  Right Behind You

"Oi, Rastro!"  Maddog called out across the ether.

"Wot?" Rastro replied, trying to figure out why her computer model had
suddenly turned into Pierce Brosnan and run screaming out into the night. 

"It's time!"

"For wot?" Rastro thumbed the tesseract and entered the auditorium where
Maddog was sitting with a large bag of Kisses and a case of Diet Coke. 
She took a seat. 

"The War, you slime, and for...."

Music started swelling in all directions.  Pounding, sharp, vaguely
melodious and very recognizable.  "The Vampire Bunch!" 

The large screen in front of the two Lurkers lit up; spinning blocks
started appearing on the screen in time to the singing. 

        "It's a story, of a master vampire
        Who had brought across two children years before,
        One of them had hair of gold; dressed in armor
        The other was a whore. (Not anymore!).

        It's a story, of another vampire,
        He's been on the run the past three hundred years,
        His best friend eats mice and rats, lives in sewers,
        He needs to change careers.

        It's the story, of lovely lady,
        Who liked cutting up dead bodies in the lab,
        She worked nights and lived alone, with her pussy,
        Ate ice cream, watched 'Ab Fab.'

        It's the story, of a man named Schanke,
        (They say he's dead now, but we don't wanna know)
        There's a new boss, and a new partner,
        Where did the old ones go?

        Now the master vampire owns the Raven,
        Janette left Nick, went off to parts unknown,
        Vachon hangs round the bar, watching bimbos
        But still they're all alone.

        Till the one day when a vampire met this lady,
        And he knew that she was much more than his lunch,
        Now this group must somehow form a family,
        That's the way they all became the Vampire Bunch
        The Vampire bunch, the Vampire bunch
        That's the way they became the Vampire Bunch!"

"So wot you think?"  Maddog smiled up at the reflected glow of the screen. 

"I think you're definitely in need of psychiatric help but that's not
important.  How are we going to make this thing?" 

"Simple, we're going to go and kidnap them all!"

"All of them, even that blonde thing?"

"Well, she is going to make a lovely Marcia, don't you think?"

Rastro smiled, an unholy glint forming in her eye.  "We gonna make her
wear day-glo polyester skirts?" 

"But of course, only the best for our production!"

"To the tesseract!"  Rastro yelled, grabbing the vegemite kidnap kit. 

*******

"Rastro, I just thought of something,"  Maddog sighed as she found herself
materializing in a puddle. 

"Wot and wot is that smell?"  Rastro stared at her surroundings; none of
it looked familiar. 

"I think the smell is cuz we're in France."

"Ewwwww."

"But, uh, we're not going to be able to exactly keep the Brady Bunch theme
correct given the sexes of the various people that we're kidnapping." 

"So?"

"So that means the person we're about to kidnap is going to be Peter."

"This is a Lurker story, reality has nothing to do with it."

###

LURKER 2
by the Lurkers

Time: 4:45 p.m.
Place: Right in front of your nose

"Hey, there she is!"  Maddog yelled around the large pastry she had in her
mouth.  Some of the rich, custard filling fell out on to her t-shirt. 
Since the t-shirt was one of her favorites, the original Sandman Death
design, she stopped to wipe off the custard before pointing.  The two
Lurkers had been strolling around Paris until the sun went down. 
Delicious food had been bought, consumed, digested, new food gotten and
also downed.  They'd seen several strange sights and had gotten lost in
the sewers for a while. Normally, that would have been frightening but
some strange guy repeating "Sink Me" over and over again had helped them
find their way out. 

"MMpphh," Rastro indicated that she saw their quarry and would have said
so but she was currently sucking the cream out of a tasty treat.  The two
Lurkers hurried across the Parisian streets to stand next to a table that
was occupied by their prey. 

Janette DuCharme was sitting at a table in a small cafe delicately sipping
a glass of what looked like red wine.  She was wearing a new outfit, a low
cut black lace blouse with red edging and a short, black skirt.  She
looked over at the two women that were standing by her table at the cafe. 
They had pastry bits all over them and glazed looks in their eyes.  They
looked familiar. Of course, given her perfect vampiric memory that wasn't
unexpected.  One of women pulled out a can of Diet Coke and then Janette
remembered.  Images of Dremel tools and squirrel guards flooded her brain. 
The last War. These two...Lurker people, had annoyed her. 

"Hey, Janette,"  Maddog said, the Diet Coke dissolving the last of the
pastry. 

"Oi,"  Rastro greeted the vampire.

"Get away from me before I kill you,"  Janette smiled at them.

"Why?  What'd we ever do to you?"  Maddog asked incredulously.  Rastro
kicked her.  That was entirely too leading a question. 

"That's not important,"  Rastro explained.  "Janette, have we got a deal
for you."  She'd managed to come up with a plan because she was clever and
had eaten vegemite and lashings of tomatoes when she was a child. 

"I kill you and you leave me alone?"

"No, you do us a...small favor and we give you a piece of information."

"It won't take long, then you can get on with the rest of the War, if
you're involved that is." 

Janette considered.  She knew that the Lurkers possessed awesome powers,
knowledge that they shouldn't have and some really disgusting personal
habits.  It would not do well to anger them and they might just know
something she could use.  "What kind of information?" 

Rastro smiled and leaned forward, flakes of dough falling off her
Garrison's Gorilla's t-shirt.  "Let's just say that it's information that
a certain master vampire wouldn't like to get out." 

"And it won't take long?"  Janette stood up from her seat and finished the
rest of her glass of wine. 

"Well, actually, it won't take any time at all. We're going to use a large
time contraction factor and make it all take place at once, you see," 
Maddog babbled. 

"Except for the end of course,"  Rastro agreed.

Janette started to follow the two and then reached out and grabbed them by
their necks.  "You wouldn't think of tricking me, would you?" The two
Lurkers shook their heads as vigorously as one can when one's afraid of
having one's neck snapped.  "Good."  She released them. 

"Here's your wig and your costume."  Maddog held out a package to the
vampire as soon as she'd regained her ability to breathe. 

Janette opened the package and was nearly blinded by a pair of striped
maroon and yellow hip huggers.  "Exactly what do you want me to do?" 

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

                         We're Lurkers, We Lurk In Paris
               We Kidnapped Janette in her Newest Little Black Dress

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

###

LURKER 3
by the Lurkers

Time:  4:45 p.m.
Place: Under your left armpit

"Rastro, does this jacket make my butt look big?"  Maddog asked, trying
vainly to swivel her head around enough to take a look at her own
posterior. 

"Did Dr. Quest and Race Bannon have something going on the side?" Rastro
shook her head.  "Stop that and come over here.  Our quarry has showed
up." 

Looking over at the entrance to the coffee bar they had been waiting in
for over an hour they watched as Detective Tracey Vetter entered.  She was
wearing a bright smile and called out a cheerful greeting to the kid
working behind the counter. 

"Yesh, she's certainly a perky thing."

"And she hasn't even drank her latte light yet."

The Lurkers looked at each other and broke into song, the melody of which
resembled 'Climb Every Mountain' from the Sound of Music, or it would have
if they were able to carry a tune. 

Fart on your Tracey Vetter
Let loose all your gas
Release all your flatulence
and blow out your ass

Freedom from all
the oppressive pain
that cramps you up
and blows out your drain

The two women shuddered and went over to sit down at Tracy's table.

"Excuse me?"  the homicide detective asked, staring at them.

"Hello, Tracy, we represent a local theatre group, the uh... Not-Ready for
Reality Players.  A friend of ours gave us your name as someone who might
be intrested in putting on a small play," Maddog said, smiling, using her
best "Yes, I am perfectly normal" voice. 

"It's only a short play and the money will go to charity,"  Rastro
explained. 

"Well, thanks for the offer.  It'd be great to tread the boards again.  I
took some drama courses in college,"  Tracey explained. "But I'm very busy
right now, I'm not sure I have time." 

"Like I said, it's a short play and it's only going to be performed once." 

"As a matter of fact, subjectively speaking, it won't take any time at
all." 

"And it's for charity,"  the Lurkers said in unision.  "The 'save the cute
little bunnies, bears and otters while destroying the evil plague of
perky, blonde detectives.'"  They chorused so fast that Tracy only managed
to get the words "save the cute little bunnies" out of the entire tirade. 

"Well, it won't take long?"

"We can show you where we'll be rehearsing.  It's a one shot deal, we'll
tape it.  Your partner, Nick Knight, will be part of the cast." 

"Really?"  Tracy brightened; here was a chance to get closer to her new
partner. 

"Yup, Nick's going to be playing a major part in our production,"  Rastro
explained. 

"Even if he doesn't know it yet,"  Maddog mumbled.

"Hi, Tracey."  Vachon walked over to the table.

"Oh, hi, Vachon,"  Tracey smiled at her dark-haired friend.

"Oi, he looks even more like Michael Praed in person,"  Rastro whispered
to Maddog. Maddog slobbered in agreement, imagining tight green tights,
leather vests and enormous swords. 

"Who are your friends?"  the vampire asked.

"Uh..."

"Maddog and Rastro Lurker, at your service,"  Rastro explained.

"They asked me to participate in a play they're doing for charity. Nick's
going to be in it,"  Tracey explained, her words coming out faster as the
caffeine in the latte hit her central nervous system. 

"Oh, really."  Vachon eyed the two women with some suspicion. He knew he'd
seen them somewhere before. 

"Really, would you like to be in it?"  Rastro asked.

"Uh, not really my scene,"  Vachon shook his head, raising his hands
slightly. 

Maddog leaned forward towards the vampire and whispered low enough that
Tracey wouldn't hear.  "Tracey will be wearing a tight, polyester
mini-skirt and a peasant blouse, no bra." 

Vachon pursed his lips and made a hmmming sound.  "Well, in that case, I'd
be glad to help out.  Anything for charity." 

"Great!  To the bat cave!" Rastro activated the tesseract and carried the
quartet away from the coffee bar. 

********

We're Lurkers, we just grabbed Tracy,
She's wearing polyester, acting really spacey.

We're Lurkers, Vachon was easy
He wants to check out Tracy acting really sleazy.

###

LURKER 4
by the Lurkers

Time:  4:45 p.m.
Place: Under the sock that's fallen behind your dryer

"Oi, Rastro,"  Maddog called out as she pulled a 2 liter bottle of Diet
Coke from her backpack. 

"Wot?"  Rastro replied, annoyed. It was difficult enough to get new
batteries into her boom box without it being pitch black as well. 
Unfortunately raising the dead had to be done at midnight. 

"Can I have some of this Diet Coke?  I'm thirsty." 

"You're always thirsty and don't drink a drop of that stuff.  We need it
all for the resurrection formula. 

"In case you didn't notice, the formula calls for chicken blood, not Diet
Coke." 

"I'm a vegeterian, I'm not killing some poor, defenseless chicken just so
we can bring back Schanke,"  Rastro informed her partner. 

"Okay, but if we accidentally destroy the universe or something, I'm
blaming you!" 

"Fine,"  Rastro snapped as she finally got the batteries in properly.
"Hand me the tape." 

Maddog handed the woman a cassette tape and withdrew the other ingredients
for the resurrection: a dozen doughnuts, a souvlaki and a bacon biscuit.
She carefully placed the items on top of Schanke's grave as Rastro started
up the tape. 

"You ain't nothing but a hound dog, crying all the time,"  the box blared,
breaking the silence of the cemetary. 

The two Lurkers looked at each other, put on sunglasses, shrugged and
began to gyrate on top of Schanke's grave.  The song continued on; as it
reached its final chorus, Maddog uncapped the diet coke and poured it all
over the grave. For a few seconds nothing happened, then the ground they
were standing on started to boil, then there was a thunderclap which
knocked both the women to the ground. 

"Shit,"  they chorused and shifted so they could look at the gravesite
which was suffused with a strange, blue, eldritch glow.  The light got
brighter and brighter until it was overwhelming even the Ray Bans they
were wearing.  An eerie whine filled the air and then suddenly both the
sound and light stopped.  Looking over again the Lurkers saw a form
standing there.  It was Detective Donald Schanke, dressed in a sequined
white jump suit, sunglasses and a pompadour hair cut. 

"Wow, being dead must really agree with him,"  Rastro whispered, "look how
much hair he's got!" 

"Quick!  Give him a donut before he disintegrates or something," Maddog
said. 

"I think you mean discorporates."  Rastro grabbed a chocolate covered one
and shoved it towards the spectre. 

"Whatever," said Maddog, tossing the bacon biscuit and souvlaki in the
direction of the solidifying Schanke. 

They waited respectfully while Schanke consumed all the snacks, finishing
off with the second bottle of Diet Coke Maddog had.  With each bite he
grew more substantial. (Not that he wasn't fairly substantial already, but
it was a bit disconcerting to be able to see through him.) When he'd
finished he looked over at the two Lurkers. 

"Hey, I remember you guys,"  he said.  Well, he meant to say that, but
what came out was, "How y'all doin', baby dolls?" in a distinct drawl. 
Maddog and Rastro stared in horror at the monster they'd created. 

"You twit,"  Rastro hit Maddog, "you've created a Schankelvis." 

"Hey, what you hitting me for!  You're the one who wouldn't let me use the
chicken like the recipe said!  Now what are we going to do?" 

Rastro shrugged, "I dunno, but I doubt we'll have a problem getting him to
wear flares." 

Maddog looked over at Schanke, who had pulled out a hand mirror and was
admiring his new suit and slick hairdo, and had to agree. 

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

                We're Lurkers, we brought back Schanke,
           He acts like Elvis and we're getting rather cranky

###

LURKER 5
by the Lurkers

Time: 4:45 p.m.
Place: The little black book I've got my poems in

"Oi, Rastro!"  Maddog complained, "this bag is getting heavy!"

"Wot you want me to do about it?"  Rastro retorted, tossing the tesseract
back and forth from hand to hand. 

"How about carrying it for a while!  All you've got is the bloody
tesseract and it has negative mass." 

"You never know when we might get attacked; besides, we're here." Rastro
opened the door to the M.E.'s lab.  Normally she would have folded
space-time and appeared in the lab itself but she decided that would be
impolite, not to mention the chance of landing on a dead body. 

Dr. Natalie Lambert looked up from the lab report in front of her. Two
women had entered the lab; they looked vaguely familiar.  "Can I help
you?" 

"Yes, you can take this."  Maddog plopped the paper bag down in front of
Nat. 

"What is it?" Natalie peered cautiously into the paper bag. 

"Ben and Jerry's ice cream and some Haagan-Daas, plus some chocolate chip
cookies,"  Rastro explained as she fished a cookie out of her pocket. 

"What's it for? And who are you anyway?"  the medical examiner asked, her
mouth already watering at the sight of the Bailey's Irish Cream ice cream. 

"It's a bribe and we're the Lurkers,"  Rastro explained in her best
Australian accent. 

"What's a Lurker?" 

"Never mind that,"  Maddog interrupted.  "The bribe is to get you to help
us put on a play." 

Natalie narrowed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.  "What kind of
play?" 

"One for charity.  It runs for one night only.  Nick and Tracey are going
to be in it." 

"Nick? Really,"  Natalie sounded intrigued. 

"Yes, and he's going to be wearing really tight polyester bell bottoms," 
Rastro interjected as she opened the container of ice cream and began
waving it under Nat's nose. 

"Very, very, very tight polyester pants and a very, very tight polyester
shirt,"  Maddog added as she began to fan her hand over some of the
chocolate chip cookies, trying to get the smell to carry. 

Natalie smiled a real shit-eating grin and took one of the cookies and
dipped it into the ice cream.  She stuffed it into her mouth.  "Really
tight pants?" 

The two Lurkers nodded their heads and looked their most sincere. 

"Anything for charity!"  Natalie mumbled around her mouthful of calories. 

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

We're Lurkers, we blackmailed Natalie
With chocolate, ice cream and a chance to fondle Nicky

###

LURKER 6
by the Lurkers

Time:  4:45 p.m.
Place: Behind your uvula

"Oi, Maddog,"  Rastro whispered.

"Wot?"  Maddog whispered back, though there was no reason for either
Lurker to be whispering.  They'd checked out LaCroix's apartment and
nobody was around.  Somehow, though, they couldn't quite manage their
usual level of bravado. 

"You wanna steal his laser disk of 'The Sound of Music'?"  Rastro asked. 
She watched as Maddog's eyes got really big. 

"Gleep!"

"Gleep, wot kind of answer is that?  Something you picked up in Kentucky? 
You wanna take his disk or what?" 

"Gleep,"  Maddog reiterated, pointing over Rastro's shoulder. Rastro
turned her head around slowly.  LaCroix was standing behind her, arms
folded, looking very, very pissed. 

"Gleep,"  Rastro commented and made a grab for the tesseract that was in
her jacket pocket.  The vampire was too fast for her and had the tesseract
in his hands before she could even complete the motion. 

"I don't think that stealing my 'Sound of Music' laserdisk would be
polite, do you?"  LaCroix asked, his voice reasonable, calm. 

Both Lurkers, terrified out of what little minds they had left, managed to
give a small nod. 

"What's that, I can't hear you?" 

"Uh, no, not polite at all,"  they mumbled. "It was her fault,"  the
Lurkers both pointed at the other one. 

"Ah, well, let's forget about that for a moment.  What are you doing in my
home?" 

"We came to see if you'd like to be in our play,"  Rastro managed to
squeak out. 

"You broke into my house to ask me to be in a play, how sweet, did you run
out of Hai Karate?"  LaCroix took a step forward towards the women, his
eyes starting to glow red. 

"Uh, uh,"  Maddog tried to engage her brain; after several false starts it
started up.  "Uh, I see you remember us from the last Forever Knight war." 

"Yes, it's hard to forget cutting a Jujubee out of one's hair." 

"Well, I'm glad that we don't have to go through introductions. You see,
we,"  she indicated herself and her friend.  "are putting on a play, a
very short one, one showing only.  It will be very amusing. Nick and
Janette are going to be in it." 

"If I want amusement, I'll torture both of you."  LaCroix stepped forward
again so he was no more than a few inches from the pair. "Very slowly," 
he whispered, "and very painfully." 

Both Lurkers felt their pulses race and faces flush.  The close proximity
to a threatening LaCroix was getting them worked up in a major way.  He
realized that their terror was gone and they were starting to thump. 

"Then again, I could just rip out your throats and get you out of my hair,
permanently." 

"But then you'll miss a really great play!  It'll be fun!" Rastro added. 

"Besides, you have to...or, or else,"  Maddog interjected.

"Or else, what?"  LaCroix leaned down to the short Lurker women. 

"Or else we tell everybody that you're really a softie inside. Hard and
crunchy on the outside, soft and tasty on the inside," Rastro explained,
hoping that Plan A would work. 

"But it's not true."  LaCroix grabbed them by their throats.

"Gackk, gurggle, blech,"  both Lurkers struggled to breathe.

"Plan B,"  Rastro managed to gasp out.

"And what's plan B?"  LaCroix asked, intrigued.  He loosened his grasp on
their throats slightly. 

"Uh, you do the play because if you don't we show everybody video footage
of you dancing around your living room singing 'The Hills Are Alive with
The Sound of Music,'"  Maddog explained. 

LaCroix considered the idea for a moment.  Yes, it could damage his
reputation as a heartless, soulless killer with great taste in clothing. 
Yes, if anybody found out that he worshiped Julie Andrews he'd be laughed
at by every vampire on the planet.  But, there was a flaw in the Lurker
plan.  "If I kill you, how will you show the film footage to anyone?" 

"Uh,"  Maddog said, looking startled.  She glanced over at Rastro, who by
this time had managed to slip the item they needed for Plan C out of her
pocket. 

"So much for Plan B,"  Rastro jumped into the conversation. "But you still
have to come with us." 

"And how are you going to get me to come with you?" sneered LaCroix. 

"If you don't, we'll tell Nick the cure for vampirism,"  Maddog
threatened. 

LaCroix laughed.  "There *is* no cure!" he said, advancing on the
trembling two. 

Rastro pulled something out from behind her back.  "What's this then?" she
asked. 

LaCroix halted, a fleeting look of uncertainty crossing his face. He
sniffed the air cautiously, then backed away, hissing.  "That's IT!  Keep
IT away from me!" 

"So you gonna come along peaceably?"  Maddog asked, brave now that their
Plan C had actually succeeded. 

"All right.  But you do realise you'll have to keep that with you the rest
of your life. And I'll be watching,"  LaCroix added, menacingly. 

"No problem," said Rastro, screwing the lid back on the Vegemite jar.
(She'd always suspected the stuff was more than just a tasty spread.) "And
I eat it for breakfast every day, so if I was *you*, I wouldn't try and
eat *me*!"  She sneered back at the vampire, who turned his glowing eyes
on the other Lurker. 

Maddog gulped and took a step back.  She knew she couldn't eat Vegemite,
not even to save herself from LaCroix.  Death was a far better fate. 

"Oh, you wouldn't want to eat her either,"  Rastro said, "she's really
toxic and has lots of bits missing."  She went on to describe the various
hideous things Maddog had wrong with her and all the nice medications she
took on a daily basis.  By the time she was done LaCroix had actually gone
a shade paler.  He was also very annoyed - there was no way he was going
to sink his teeth into either of the toxic Lurkers, so it looked like they
might actually succeed in blackmailing him.  He was not happy. 

"All right, Lurkers, I will come along peaceably.  For now." He smiled at
them, showing his teeth.  The big canine ones. 

Maddog and Rastro looked at one another, wondering whose brilliant idea
this had been.  They were deep in the doo-doo now. 

"How are we gonna get out of this one?" asked Maddog in an undertone.

"Dunno.  Do you think when we're done that we could put him back before he
left so he doesn't remember any of it?"  suggested Rastro. 

"That was Plan D - hit him over the head and hope he wouldn't remember it
later - but I don't know if you can bend time round an immortal. Might
affect the space-time continuum," said Maddog. 

Privately Rastro thought that if the space-time continuum could take
Lurker farts it could take anything.  "Dunno about that either." 

"Well, I do know one thing," said Maddog as she bravely grabbed hold of
the vampire's arm. 

"What?"  said Rastro, activating the tesseract.

"I really need a drink!"

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

                We're Lurkers, we captured LaCroix -
           "Oi Maddog, whose brain-dead idea was that?"
          "I don't know, Rastro, but I think we're dead"
     - Now we're hiding in the back room at the local bar.

###

LURKER 7
by the Lurkers

Time:  4:45 p.m.
Place: By the lampost at the entrance to Narnia

"Oi, Maddog, there he is,"  Rastro pointed across the police station. 
Their prey, Nick Knight, was busy at his desk. 

"Great, let's get this over with so we can get the the play rolling. 
Besides, I'm worried about leaving LaCroix in null space, he might take it
over,"  Maddog replied.  The two Lurkers walked over to Nick's desk. 

"Can I help you?"  he asked, looking up from the report he was studying. 

"Yeah, we represent a local theatre group, the uh... Not-Ready for Reality
Players.  A friend of ours gave us your name as someone who might be
interested in putting on a small play," Maddog said, smiling, using her
best "Yes, I am perfectly normal" voice.  After all, it had worked on
Tracey. 

"We're putting on a short play for charity,"  Rastro added. 

Nick stared at the two women in front of him.  Despite the fake glasses,
nose and moustache they were both wearing, he thought they looked
familiar. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something was
decidedly not right.  "Uhm, I'm not sure I'd have the time.  Thanks for
asking." 

"Tracey and Natalie are both going to be in it,"  Rastro interjected. 

"Yeah, and they're going to be wearing really short mini-skirts!" Maddog
addded.  "And Janette's going to be there too!" 

Nick considered the mini-skirt issue.  Sure, it could be interesting. 
Then again, having the three women who were closest to him in the same
room might be more dangerous than a tour of wooden stake factory.  "Uh, I
don't think so." 

"Did we mention mini-skirts?"  Rastro asked. 

"Yeah, and LaCroix's going to be there too,"  the other Lurker informed
him. 

"Then I'm definitely not going,"  Nick decided, turning his attention back
to the report. 

"You git,"  Rastro declared, shooting Maddog a nasty glare. 

Maddog shrugged, took a brick out of her pocket and whacked Nick upside
the head with it.  He slumped over the desk. "Don't complain, it all
worked out." 

"Hey, what's going on here?"  Captain Reese came out of his office towards
the two women.  One of whom was holding a brick over one of his
detectives. 

"Just this,"  Rastro whipped out the vegemite and held it under the
Captain's nose.  He slumped towards the ground. 

"Cool,"  Maddog declared. 

"And for years I just thought it was good for a breakfast spread,"  the
Australian woman explained.  "Then it occurred to me that it was the
reason there were no vampires in Australia." 

"How's that?"

"The air is too toxic with all the vegemite fumes for any vampires to live
there,"  Rastro explained as she activated the tesseract and whisked the
Lurkers away. 

"Vegemite farts," muttered Maddog, disappearing into the ether.

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

we're happy little vegemites as bright as bright can be
we all enjoy our vegemite for breakfast lunch and tea
our mummy says were growing stronger every single week
beceause we love our vegemite we all adore our vegemite
it puts a rose in every cheek

###

LURKER 8
by the Lurkers

Time:  4:45 p.m.
Place: In a galaxy, far, far, away

"Oi, everybody got their scripts?"  Rastro called out over the loud
mumblings of their collected cast. 

"What IS this?"  Captain Reese asked, perplexed to the roots of his cop's
soul. 

"This is the Lurker idea of amusement,"  LaCroix informed him dryly. 
"They have nothing better to do with their lives except go around causing
random mayhem." 

"What's a Lurker?" Reese wondered aloud, then he decided he was in the
middle of a dream and just to go along with the flow. 

"Okay, I see you've got your scripts and you've all changed into your
clothes except..."  Rastro's voice trailed off.  Admist the sea of
polyester and fluorescent colors, LaCroix was still dressed in a very
nicely tailored black jacket and pants. 

"I don't have a costume yet,"  the vampire smiled back at the woman,
baring his fangs slightly. 

"You know,"  Tracey "I'm a good cop" Vetter said to Vachon as she leafed
through the two pages of script, "this is one really strange play." 

Vachon did his big-eyed look at her and shook his head slightly.  The two
people in fake glasses, noses and moustaches had to be very powerful if
they could force a vampire as old as LaCroix to do this play of theirs. 
Of course, they had delivered and Tracey was wearing a tight, pink
mini-skirt and a plunging, polyester top with large pink and yellow
flowers on it. 

"Here you go."  Maddog stumbled in, carrying a pair of striped maroon and
yellow hip huggers, a yellow shirt with very wide lapels, and an orange
sweater vest. She handed them to LaCroix with a silly grin on her face. 

"I'm not going to wear...that,"  LaCroix stated firmly, voice dripping
venom. 

"Sure you are,"  Maddog assured him, "cuz if you don't Rastro will fart
and she's been eating vegemite." 

If looks could have killed the two Lurkers would have been smited on the
spot.  But they can't, fortunately.  LaCroix moved off the stage they were
all standing on to change his clothes.  Visions of torture dancing in his
head. 

"Okay, now, everybody, make sure you know what part you'll be playing. 
I'll run through it one more time,"  Rastro called out, raising her hand
for attention.  "All right, let's do the guys first. Nick, you're Greg,
Janette, you're Peter, and, Vachon, you'll be playing Bobby." 

"Why am I playing a boy, may I ask?"  Janette asked as she tilted her
head.  She hadn't minded the tight pair of white, bell bottom jeans and
she was kind of enjoying playing with the zipper that ran part way down
the front of her shirt.  It was worth it to see Nick stumble around in
pants definitely three sizes too small for him.  The prospect of seeing
LaCroix similarly dressed was just too amusing to miss. 

"The sides have to be evenly divided, mortal and immortal,"  Maddog
explained.  "We're trying to keep as close to the original concept as
possible." 

"Oh," Janette nodded.

"Okay, and for the girls, Tracey, you're going to be Marcia. Captain
Reese, you're gonna be Jan, uh, try to remember not to sit with your legs
crossed.  And Schanke, uh, you're going to be Cindy." 

"But I ain't nothing but a hound dog,"  the Elvisized Schanke sang out. 

"That's okay.  Natalie, you're going to be Mom and, as soon as he's done
changing, LaCroix is going to be Dad." 

Natalie nodded, trying in vain to get the blonde wig on her head to sit
better.  One of the bobby pins kept jabbing into her head and she kept
having flashbacks of the Partridge Family song, "Point Me In The Direction
of Albuquerque." 

LaCroix game back on stage.  Only his evil glare kept everybody on stage
from bursting out laughing.  The Lurkers, not so constrained, giggled and
made sure the video camera got plenty of shots of his polyester-clad bum. 

"All right, here we go,"  Maddog yelled out. A screen descended behind
her, taking up the whole back of the stage. Spinning blocks started
appearing on the screen in time to the singing. 

        "It's a story, of a master vampire
        Who had brought across two children years before,
        One of them had hair of gold; dressed in armor
        The other was a whore. (Not anymore!).

        It's a story, of another vampire,
        He's been on the run the past three hundred years,
        His best friend eats mice and rats, lives in sewers,
        He needs to change careers.

        It's the story, of lovely lady,
        Who liked cutting up dead bodies in the lab,
        She worked nights and lived alone, with her pussy,
        Ate icecream, watched 'Ab Fab'.

        It's the story, of a man named Schanke,
        (They say he's dead now, but we don't wanna know)
        There's a new boss, and a new partner,
        Where did the old ones go?

        Now the master vampire owns the Raven,
        Janette left Nick, went off to parts unknown,
        Vachon hangs round the bar, watching bimbos
        But still they're all alone.

        Till the one day when a vampire met this lady,
        And he knew that she was much more than his lunch,
        Now this group must somehow form a family,
        That's the way they all became the Vampire Bunch
        The Vampire bunch, the Vampire bunch
        That's the way they became the Vampire Bunch!"

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

                We're Lurkers, We Love the Brady Bunch
        For copies of the tape just give us stuff to munch.

###

LURKER 9
by the Lurkers

Time:  4:45 p.m.
Place: Somewhere over the rainbow

"Good morning, Mommy."  Captain Reese, cleverly disguised as Jan Brady,
tripped into the section of the stage that had been turned into a
make-shift kitchen. 

"Good morning, sweetie," Natalie aka Carol Brady smiled back. Hours of
watching the Brady Bunch as a kid had come flooding back and she was kinda
getting off on her role.  Except for the polyester chafing. 

"Hi, Mom,"  Nick Knight mumbled as he entered the kitchen. His green
polyester pants were so tight he was sure he was doing himself an injury,
vampire or not.  The too tight ribbed, long sleeve t-shirt wasn't helping
matters. 

"Uh, oh, Greg, is there something the matter?"  Natalie smiled, she liked
the green pants.  "What is it honey?" 

"I don't have a date for the prom, Mom,"  Nick read from his script,
wondering who had written the dialog.  "Would you go with me?" 

"Sure, son, why not!"  Natalie said hesitantly; she looked over at the
directors. 

"We decided to incorporate the fact that the actor who played Greg Brady
actually went out one night with the actress who played his mom,"  Maddog
explained. She noticed that everyone was looking at her.  "It's in the
book 'I was a Teenage Greg,' honest, go look it up." 

"Morning, Mom."  Tracey Vetter came into the kitchen area brushing her
blonde hair.  She was followed by Schankelvis, who skipped into the
kitchen doing his best Cindy Brady does the pelvic thrust imitation. 
"Good mornin', Mama." 

"Hey, that's mine,"  Janette cried out, trying to wrench a football out of
Vachon's hands as they entered the scene. 

"No, it's mine, you lost yours!"  Vachon retorted.

"Now, now, boys, we must share, isn't that the Brady way?" Natalie asked,
trying to supress a smile. 

"Yes, Mom,"  the two vampires chorused.  Janette handed Vachon the ball
and added, "Besides, Bobby has been taking it into the bathroom with him." 

Everybody in the cast looked at Vachon, who merely shrugged and picked up
one of the glasses on the kitchen table that was filled with wine. 

"Good morning, gang."  LaCroix entered, smiling broadly at his happy
brood.  He was going to kill some people and very soon. 

"Good morning, Dad,"  everyone chorused except Natalie who handed LaCroix
a glass of wine and a newspaper. 

"And what is everybody going to do today?  Something fun and wholesome?" 
LaCroix beamed benevolently (which threatened to break his face in half). 

"I'm going to practice my new song for cheerleading tryouts,"  Tracey "I'm
a good cop" Vetter said perkily. 

"And how does it go, honey?"  Natalie asked, pouring herself a glass of
orange juice that she found pleasantly spiked with vodka. 

Tracey stood tall and thrust her chest out; she loved to act.  Taking a
deep breath (and making Vachon very glad he'd tagged along) she sang. 

Do your boobs hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie 'em in a knot?
Can you tie 'em in a bow?
Can your throw 'em over your shoulder
    like a continental soldier?
Do your boobs hang low?

"Young lady, you're grounded,"  LaCroix declared; sure, it wasn't in the
script, but he had to get this blonde thing out of his sight.  "That is
hardly a song that befits a Brady to sing." 

"Your Dad's right, Marcia, you just run along up to your room for the rest
of the day,"  Natalie said sternly, waggling her finger at the detective. 

Tracey "I'm a good cop" Vetter stamped her feet and exited, stage left. 

"Hey, Dad,"  Vachon smiled at LaCroix, enjoying himself.  "I finished my
school project, wanna take a look?" 

LaCroix looked at the piece of posterboard that Vachon was holding up to
him.  "What on earth is it?" 

"The script said to make a poem about the wonderfulness of family life out
of macaroni.  So I did." 

The older vampire looked at Vachon and wondered if the slacker pose was
just a pose.  "I think they meant uncooked macaroni.  What did you use?" 

"Spaghetti O's.  I cut them into the right shapes."

"That's really disgusting,"  Janette commented.

"It's dripping on my pants,"  Nick complained.

"Young man, you're grounded for being an idiot,"  LaCroix declared.  At
least the play seemed to be moving along, he wondered where it was going. 
The Lurkers were still writing the last page off to the side. 

"Mama, I'm gonna go find me some blue suede shoes,"  Schankelvis explained
to Natalie, still gyrating away. 

"That's very nice, dear, why don't you take Jan with you?  And remember,
look both ways before you cross the street, don't sign any record deals
with strangers and stay away from exorcists." 

"Love ya, Mama."  Schankelvis gyrated off the stage, taking a still dazed
Captain Reese with him. 

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

We're Lurkers
We used to have a brain cell
But we lost it and now
Our plots go straight to hell

###

LURKER 10
by the Lurkers

TIME:  4:45 p.m.
PLACE: In the backseat of a pink cadillac

"Uh, Dad?"  Janette shuffled her sneaker-clad feet and slowly moved closer
to LaCroix. 

"Yes, son?"  the vampire responded, wondering if this play would ever end.
He wished Janette didn't appear to be enjoying herself so much.  He
contemplated a long future discussion about her behavior. 

"Well, Dad, uh..."

LaCroix rolled his eyes skyward and put a hand on his creation's shoulder.
"What is it, Peter? You know you can tell me anything." 

"Oh, in that case, your pants are bordering on a major accident and are
quite obscene,"  Janette smiled, adlibbing a bit.  She watched nervously
as LaCroix's eyes reddened and then decided that sticking with the script
was probably safer.  She continued, "Well, gee, Dad, I was wondering...
Uh, girls are different, right?" 

"Yes, I'd definitely say they're different,"  LaCroix replied drolly.

"Well, uh, gee, Dad, the guys at school keep saying stuff and..."

"And you're confused." LaCroix attempted a fatherly smile he'd once seen
Captain Von Trapp pull off in the Sound of Music.  "Considering who's
writing the script, I'm not suprised,"  he mumbled. Standing up straight,
he put his arm around his "son's" shoulders. "Come on, let's go check the
oil in the station wagon.  We'll have a man to man chat." LaCroix wondered
at the absurdity of explaining the facts of life to a thousand year-old
ex-whore.  He led Janette to the side of the stage with a cardboard
cut-out of an old Chevy station wagon. 

The exit of the two vampires left only Nick and Natalie in the kitchen
set.  Natalie couldn't resist a smile as she watched Nick attempting to
sit in those very tight, green pants.  "So, son,"  she bubbled, "What are
your plans today?  Going to practice your guitar so you can become Johnny
Bravo?" 

"Huh?"  Nick stared at his friend then he checked his script.  "I don't
know, Mom.  I'm not sure I've got the pelvic grind down pat yet." 

"Maybe you could get your sister, Cindy, to help.  She certainly looks
like she's perfected it."  Natalie tried to give her hair a cute little
flip and nearly lobotomized herself with one of the bobby pins. 

"You ain't nothin' but a hound dog, cryin' all the time,"  the recently
dead and even more recently resurrected Schankelvis skipped and gyrated
onto the kitchen set at his cue.  "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog, and
you ain't no friend of mine." 

"Back from shopping so soon?  Did you get your blue suede shoes?" 

Schankelvis held up a pair of blue suede shoes, twirling them on his
fingers.  Suddenly, they fell to the floor, taking two of his fingers with
them.  Everybody on stage looked over to the directors. 

"Uh, we've never actually ever resurrected anybody from the dead before. 
Don't think we did it quite perfectly, sorry," Rastro explained. 

"I told you we should have used the chicken blood instead of Diet Coke," 
Maddog nudged her partner. 

Schankelvis shrugged, picked up his fingers and put them in the small pink
purse he was carrying.  Captain Reese stared at him for a long second.  "I
have just got to stop eating anchovi pizza before bedtime," he decided,
shaking his head in disbelief as he and Schankelvis walked over to the
part of the set that consisted of some couches and a TV set. 

"Mom, do you think girls like to get flowers?"  Nick asked, standing up,
very carefully, from the kitchen table. 

"Yes, I'd say so.  As a matter of fact, girls, and women, like to receive
flowers, candy and other gifts on a regular basis, especially if their so
called boyfriend is capable of affording them,"  Natalie declared, hands
on hips, Carol Brady flip hair in air.  Then deciding to adlib a bit
herself, she addded, "And another thing, buying your girlfriend a four
dollar bouquet at the back of the local grocery store on your way home from
work is not the same a dozen red roses, got it, son!" 

"Uh, yeah, Mom."  Nick frowned, there was something else going on in that
conversation but damned if he knew what it was.  "So you think I should
get you a corsage for the prom tonight?" 

"Yeah, a damn nice one too!"

"Okay, uh...hey, there's no more script!"  Nick called out.

"We're nearly done, we're nearly done, hold your horses,"  said Maddog,
typing furiously. 

"Better yet, do some deep knee bends!!"  Rastro looked over at her partner
in lurking and they quickly added that to the final scenes of the play. 

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

We ain't nothin' but Lurkers
Crazy all the time
We ain't nothin' but Lurkers
And our brains ain't worth a dime.

###

LURKER 11
by the Lurkers

Time:  4:45 p.m.
Place: Under the mold in the container of spaghetti in the back of your
fridge

"Okay, here you go,"  Maddog handed out the freshly printed scripts. She
looked around for Rastro who was making sure all the cameras were
functioning properly and also that they got some really good bum shots of
certain vampires. 

"Everything's set,"  Rastro informed her.  The two directors took their
seats. 

Natalie read over her script quickly and then looked over at the two
Lurkers.  "This," she said pointing to the first page, "is very familiar." 

The two Lurkers shrugged and pulled out some Cadbury bars.  "Oi, go for
it!"  the Australian director instructed. 

"Greg, Marcia, Bobby, Peter!"  Captain "Jan Brady" Reese yelled, trying
to raise his voice into a higher octave then it had been in many, many
years. "Get in here!" 

The entire cast tromped over to the couch.  Reese was holding up a
newspaper. 

"What is it?"  Tracey "I'm a good cop" Vetter asked as soon as she'd
arrived.  For some reason both she and Vachon were now wearing headbands,
love beads and t-shirts that said "Make Love, Not War." 

"Oh, no, look at this," Reese pointed to an article.

Nick picked up the paper and began to read out loud, "Dear Libby. I have
three children of my own and recently got remarried to someone who also
had three children.  I love my marriage but the kids are driving me
insane.  I'm not to sure I can continue on.  Signed, Driven Crazy." 

"Oh, no, Mom hates us!"  Vachon whined.

"Probably because of your atrocious taste in music and refusal to get your
hair cut,"  Janette informed her faux-sibling. 

"At least I don't spend the entire family budget on lingerie," Vachon
retorted, decidedly off script. 

"Guys, guys, this is no time to argue,"  Nick said. "This could just as
easily be referring to the girls." 

"Us?"  Tracey "I'm a good cop" Vetter squeaked.

"Daddy doesn't like us?" asked Captain Reese.  "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia, it
must be your fault!"  he chanted, getting into the part at last.  He
adjusted his skirt daintily. 

"We ain't nothing but hound dogs,"  Schankelvis gyrated unhappily on the
couch. 

"The letter could apply to either of us equally,"  Knight explained. "The
real problem is, we've got to make sure Mom and Dad stay together." 

"Why, big brother,"  Janette purred, running a finger along the edge of
Nick's ear.  "Wouldn't it be more fun if it was just us guys again?" 

Knight removed Janette's hand from his body.  "We're all going to have to
be extra good and make sure that we don't drive them crazy." 

"Or we could just call up Dear Libby and find out who sent the letter,"
Tracey pointed out. 

"That's certainly quicker,"  Vachon agreed.  He picked up the prop phone
and handed it to Nick.  "Go for it, man." 

"Groovy,"  everyone else chorused and looked expectantly at Knight. 

Reading from the script, Nick picked up the Mickey Mouse phone and spoke,
"Hello, operator, please connect me to Dear Libby.  Thanks very much. 
Yes, Dear Libby, it's an emergency, could you please come to..." 

"'ere I am," Screed, dressed in a fifties-style house dress and pink fuzzy
slippers, entered the stage. 

"Uh, Libby," Tracey "I'm a good cop" Vetter spoke up.  "We've got to find
out who Driven Crazy is!" 

"We don't want our Mommy and Daddy to get divorced!"  Vachon whimpered. 

"Well, it's like this, my young chickies.  Libby ain't supposed to, like,
divulge where the letters come from," Screed explained. 

The assembled cast looked at each other for a moment and then did a
collective cry of "Pretty please with sugar on top." 

Screed shrugged, figuring that for a Uncanny X-Men Number 138 this was a
pretty easy gig.  "Okay, that letter didn't come from 'ere.  It came from
Oklahoma, which is like, uh, west of 'ere, I think." 

"What's all the excitement about, gang?"  Natalie and LaCroix entered the
scene. 

"Yes, you all seem very excited over something,"  LaCroix added
pleasantly, which had nothing to do with the part and everything to do
with his thoughts of killing certain women with possessed vegemite. 

Nick handed LaCroix the letter and he and Natalie both read it. They
smiled in unison and put their heads together and did an "aaaaah." 

"We love all you kids too much to ever split up,"  Natalie declared. A
group hug ensued. Screed tried to cop a hug from Tracey but found himself
getting one from Schankelvis instead. 

"It's so beautiful," Maddog sobbed into a handkerchief. 

Rastro stared at her and declared, "You know you really shouldn't have
wasted your entire childhood watching this crap." 

"You should talk.  That's a wrap, gang,"  Maddog called out. She signaled
to Rastro to get the special cameras in place. "Everybody take a bow." 

Glad that their ordeal was finally over, everyone walked to the front of
the stage and took a bow.  Unfortunately, polyester can only stretch so
far.  LaCroix's pants ripped.  There was a quick show of baby blue silk
boxer shorts with Winnie The Pooh on them. 

"Got it,"  Rastro yelled, activating the tesseract.  A huge white light
flooded the stage and everything disappeared. Including the furious
glowing eyes of LaCroix as he lunged for the nearest Lurker. 

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

We're Lurkers
We made LaCroix's pants too tight
Then they ripped, quite a sight -
We'll probably both die of fright

###

LURKER 12
by the Lurkers

Time:  4:45 p.m.
Place: You don't want to know

"Let's just leave this in the Raven," suggested Rastro, waving one of the
many copies of "The Vampire Bunch" at her fellow Lurker.  They were safely
sequestered in the Lurker Fortress of Solitude and had spent the week
splicing the footage of the play together.  They'd also composed a short
film "Bring Back Tight Polyster Pants" using select shots from the special
cameras they'd set up.  Promotional stills of certain vampire butts
decorated the walls. 

"What?  Swap one of the MTV tapes LaCroix keeps for his girlie dancers and
substitute this?"  Maddog's evil little brain cell was hard at work. 

"Yeah.  Think how cool it'll be when they turn on the tape tonight." 

"We better be somewhere else a long, long way away by then," Maddog said,
imagining of the reaction on the part of LaCroix.  Especially to the grand
finale butt shot where his pants ripped. 

Rastro showed her the tickets.  "The boat departs 9pm tonight from
Acapulco.  Better dial in the coordinates on the tesseract in case we have
to leave in a hurry." 

"Good idea," said Maddog, entering in the location of their cruise ship as
the number two option on the tesseract.  Number one was a back corner of
the Raven.  Both Lurkers put on their Groucho disguises and then folded
space over to the nightclub. 

As always the place was dimly lit and crowded with all sorts of weird
people.  The Lurkers easily blended in as they wormed their way through
the crowd to the DJ's booth and peered cautiously in.  Their plan D - to
return all the participants in the play to their original locations just
one minute before they had been picked up in the first place - had
apparently worked (except for Schanke who dissolved back into his
incorporeal state as soon as they hit the button).  Nobody seemed any the
wiser or had suffered any ill effects, although Tracy had purchased a pair
of platform shoes and Nick seemed to be wearing his clothing a few sizes
too big.  But it paid to be careful, especially where LaCroix was
concerned. 

No one was in the booth.  Rastro opened the door and crawled in, Maddog
following with the tape. They popped the music video out of the machine,
swapped the labels over and put their "Vampire Bunch" episode in its
place.  Then they crawled back out and slunk over near the bar to watch
the fun.  Maddog double checked the coordinates in the tesseract, just in
case. 

A few minutes later the big screens on the wall flickered to life behind
the dancers gyrating on the stage.  The Lurkers leaned forward, expectant
grins on their faces. 

"Don't I know you two?"  a very recognisable voice asked from behind them. 

"Gleep!"  said both Lurkers, hoping they hadn't heard what they'd just
heard. 

"And didn't I tell you never to come anywhere near me?"  LaCroix politely
reminded them. 

"Uh, uh,"  Maddog tried to engage her brain, but she used it too much
earlier in the day and it kept stalling. 

"We were just passing, thought we'd drop in," Rastro mananged to squeak
out. 

They were saved from having to think up anything else as the music
started.  Familiar but not at all what was usual fare for a nightclub.
LaCroix looked up at the screen as the spinning blocks started appearing
in time to the singing: 

        "It's a story, of a master vampire
        Who had brought across two children years before,
        One of them had hair of gold; dressed in armor
        The other was a whore. (Not anymore!)."

It was the first time anyone had seen LaCroix dumbfounded.  He stared at
the screen in disbelief. All movement stopped in the Raven at the entire
crowd stared at the screen in disbelief. 

Maddog used the paralysis of the master vampire to good advantage. She
slipped one hand in her pocket and pulled out the tesseract.  Rastro
grabbed ahold of it too.  As LaCroix turned his glowing eyes from the
screen towards the trembling two and snarled, "I don't know what, and I
don't know how, but I do know who..."  they smiled weakly and said
"Surprise!"  He lunged for them but Maddog's instinct for self
preservation was very finely tuned and they winked out of existence
milliseconds before LaCroix ripped their throats out.  His hands closed on
thin air as the last line of the song "That's the way they became the
Vampire Bunch" echoed through the club. 

The two Lurkers found themselves on the deck of a large ship.  Around them
people were walking around, enjoying the evening sun and sipping on very
tasty drinks with umbrellas.  After their narrow escape they really needed
something strong so they hurried over to the bar and then sat on some deck
chairs. 

"This is the life,"  Rastro declared.  "Have to get some sunscreen."

"Yeah, and some new shorts,"  Maddog added.  "Hey, do you wanna get some
dinner?" 

"In a minute,"  came the lazy reply.

"Good evening, ladies,"  a male voice startled them out of their reverie. 

Maddog opened her eyes and stared in horror.  The man in front of her was
dressed in a white, quasi-military uniform.  It was terrifyingly familiar. 

"Enjoying your cruise?"  he asked.  A perky looking woman appeared at his
shoulder. 

"Would you like to get involved in the shuffleboard tournament tonight?" 
the woman asked, tilting her head and smiling a smile that showed far too
many teeth. 

"Uh, good evening, Captain Stuebing," Maddog mumbled.

"Shuffleboard sounds wonderful, what time?"  Rastro managed to squeak out. 
A sinking feeling was rapidly replacing the calmness of a few moments
before. 

"In an hour, see you then,"  the cruise director informed them as she and
the captain moved off to another group of people. 

Rastro and Maddog stared at each other in silence.

"We're on the Love Boat, you git!"  Maddog finally broke the silence.
Death by LaCroix was suddenly looking good. 

"We've totally destroyed the space-time continuum, you git!"  Rastro
replied, figuring that their concerns about bending time around an
immortal had been correct. 

"Hi there, ladies, I'm Gopher,"  a young man stood in front of them, a
happy smile on his face. 

"AAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!"  the Lurkers screamed.

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

We're Lurkers, we're off on a long cruise,
LaCroix was on in technicolor and he's not amused.
(Although he is confused).

And now our story's all been done and said,
We're off to dream of vampires in our warm and cozy beds.

###

JUNK MAIL
by Sharon Himmanen

Time:  Afternoon
Place: The home of Dawn Steele

"Ah, the mail," Dawn said to herself when the doorbell rang, only absently
noting that it was unusual for the mailman to ring the bell. 

Dawn swung the door wide, then gasped in surprise and tried to back out of
the way. 

Too late!

An enormous pile of letters poured down on her through the open doorway,
effectively burying her in the foyer, though she managed to find shelter
beneath a small table. 

She was effectively trapped by the huge pile of mail and attempted
futilely to dig her way out.  It was pointless.  She couldn't push the
letters aside, for when she did, more would slide forward to take their
place. 

Dawn did manage to reach above her and pry the drawer to the desk open.
Good thing she always kept that flashlight there, she thought as she
flicked it on.  Good thing she was always careful to make sure it had
fresh batteries too! 

Shifting around into a more comfortable position, Dawn examined the pile
of papers that surrounded her.  There was an assortment of envelopes of
all shapes and sizes, and under other circumstances she would have thought
that having these all gathered here in one place might have been pretty. 

At the moment, though, it was anything but.

While her mind contemplated who had done this and why, as well as how she
was going to get out of this mess, she reached out and plucked a handful
of letters from the floor in front of her. 

One was a set of coupons for things like fuzzy fake leather moccasins and
tacky looking address labels.  Another announced that if she sent in the
winning number she would win $1,666,666.67 dollars.  A third, fourth, and
fifth revealed letters from a Ravenette, a NatPacker and a Cousin, all
praising her for her recent post to FKFIC-L, "Dreamscapes."  Dawn winced
as she spotted several other similar looking envelopes, realizing that a
good portion of them probably contained similar letters.  She'd said she
appreciated criticism but this was ridiculous.  And people just didn't
seem to understand the philosophy behind being a die-hard, she thought
wearily. 

There was one final envelope in her hand, a pale blue one, and she could
see quite a few very similar ones in the pile.  She tore open the flap and
peered inside.  A small mechanisim was attacked to the inside of the
envelope and just as she opened it, she heard the familiar strains of the
"Jeopardy" theme song start to play from all the blue envelopes all around
her, over and over and over again . . . 

###

THE BILL COLLECTOR ALWAYS RINGS TWICE (b)
Or: The Birth of a Merc

Place: Elizabeth's dorm

Elizabeth climbed the last flight of stairs to her dorm room.  After the
killer cross-campus trek, she was usually wishing her room was on the
first floor. She was pulling out her key to unlock her door when she
noticed a small envelope leaning against at, with "Elizabeth Ann
Lewis--Merc" written on it. Hoping it was a job offer, she opened it
eagerly... and a Chuck E. Cheese token fell into her palm.  "Great," she
muttered.  "With my damn diet, I can't even *eat* pizza!" 

###

WHAT'S GOING ON? (a)
by Lane Lombardia

Time: 5:15pm EST 
Place: Fairfield County, CT, USA

Work had been hellish. The last call had gone on for over an hour, as I
held a University Professor's hand through using Norton Disk Doctor to
repair the brutalized file structures on the hard drive of his Quadra 800.
"Why can't anyone ever maintain their equipment properly?" I raged. My
ears hurt from the wretched headset I wore on the job. 

The night air--it was still a shock for it to be already dark out when I
left work--hit me in the face and revived me. It also brought home the
reminder that I worked in one of the seedier parts of Fairfield county,
Connecticut. I expanded my awareness and made my way to the Del Sol that
awaited me. 

The parcel sat leaning against my door, with my cat's demands that I come
in at once and feed him his dinner clearly audible through the door. I
stooped and picked it up, frowning. Why wasn't this little thing in my
mailbox, with the rest of the junk? I opened the door, slipping inside,
and assured my home's true lord and master that his evening repast would
be served at once. 

As Dex wolfed down his supper, I examined my mail. It was junk and was
round filed accordingly. My attention now turned to the parcel. I sliced
open the envelope with the blade of my Leatherman Tool and discovered the
Chuck E Cheese token. "What was this?" I examined the package. There was
no indication of it coming via any regular shipping company, nor parcel
post. I was getting irritated. 

I knocked on all of my neighbors' doors and asked if they had seen
anything. I got lucky, and then I found out just how unlucky I was. The
shipping company whose markings the delivery van wore didn't exist. No
matter who I called in Hartford, there was no one who could identify any
such company located in or licensed to do business in Connecticut. 

Someone had taken a cheap shot at me and my fellow Mercenaries. Someone
was going to pay for their lousy sense of humor. It had to be that
ego-maniac on CBS's late night talk show. No one in Toronto had any reason
to have any problem with me. 

###

MERCS AND DIE HARDS AND RAVENS, OH MY! (b)
by Diane Echelbarger, Lillian Feden, Lorelei Feldman, and Vicki Merriman

Time: Afternoon
Place: Toronto

They stopped just over the border for a late lunch and to exchange
currency, then continued on. 

It was past seven by the time they checked into the B&B in The Beaches,
only a couple of blocks from Kew Park. 

Practically hanging out of the window of their room, Lillian asked, "This
place looks familiar.  Have they used this for location shooting at all?" 

"Oh, yeah, lots of times," Diane assured her, dumping a load of
luggage--none of it her own--in the center of the sitting room.  "They
used that park we passed in Only the Lonely, Bad Blood, Crazy Love, The
Fix--lots of eps.  And I think the house they used for the Schankes' place
in the *real* third season premiere is in this area, but I'm not sure..." 

By the time they were settled in, it was almost nine.  Vicki had brewed a
pot of Montagne Jiang green tea that she brought with her. 

"Would anyone like a cup of green tea?  I've extra cups with me."

"Well, thanks anyway, Vicki.  The only time I can drink green tea is if I
have sushi to go with it.  I don't suppose you have any in your magic Mary
Poppins bag, do you?"  Lillian looked hopefully at Vicki. 

"Sorry, I was considering it, but figured the dry ice to protect it for a
trip to Toronto would be just too much.  No doubt we can find some in
Toronto for dinner one day." 

"Oh, you can find just about *anything* in Toronto, food-wise." Diane was
idly examining the selection of teas sitting on a corner table, on the
placemat (to protect the table) with the tea towel, electric kettle,
teapot and tea cozy.  "Gee, do you think you brought enough tea?" 

"I can't live without my tea.  -C'est tres important.- I told you there
was more than a little FoD in me."  Vicki figured that now was not the
time to mention the bottles of red wine she brought just in case the four
of them wanted a little something in the room before, during or after the
War.  On second thought, she probably should have mentioned it to those
nice men at the border.  <Sigh.  Oh, well, too late now.>

Diane, who--thanks to the double-mocha-latte she had for dinner--was too
wound to sit still, abandoned the tea-selection and bounced onto the
loveseat in their sitting room.  "Hey, guys, since we don't know what
anyone's up to in the War yet, what say we go check out some night life?
I'm too wound to sleep, and once things get going you three will probably
be too busy to party." 

Standing up and stretching Lillian added, "Yeah, I think I'm getting my
second wind.  Besides, I really want to stretch my legs." 

"Sounds good to me, but I need a quick, and I do mean quick, shower and
change of clothes.  Can't party after traveling all day."  Vicki headed
for her bedroom, tea in hand, grabbed a change of clothes and dashed into
the bathroom with her makeup bag. 

"I don't know, Diane," Lorelei said, stretching out the new car kinks her
muscles had developed on top of the plane kinks.  "I haven't slept all
day, and I still have to unpack before my clothes have the wrinkles
embedded in them.  I don't think I'm up to doing anything unless it
involves being put on a rack for a few hours, so I can lie down and
stretch at the same time." 

Vicki's voice floated out from the bathroom.  "Is this going to be a jeans
party out, or a dress up party out?  I'd prefer casual after all day but
will go with the flow.  By the way, I don't mind sharing the bathroom if
you don't.  This is just like a convention and no one stands on ceremony
at a convention.  So if you need to do anything, come on in." 

"Oh, c'mon!" Diane coaxed the reluctant Ravenette.  "I thought all you
Ravenettes were supposed to be party animals." 

Lillian joined in.  "Come on Lorelei, the night air will do you good."

"So will sleep and a hot shower.  Not in that order.  Can't we go out
tomorrow night?  Go down to that bar on the corner if you want to do
something.  Who knows, maybe there's be karaoke everyone can get in
trouble during," she snickered. 

"Jeeze!" Diane rolled her eyes.  "I keep *telling* you, that was just an
act, for the episode.  I *never* get drunk--well, not in public, anyway.
And I wouldn't have agreed to do it, if they'd had any other parts left
when I got here last War." 

Vicki poked her head out of the bath.  "Now, come on.  You can't be a
party pooper your first night in Toronto.  You know you'll enjoy it, and
if we find a good dance club, you can work out some of those muscles. Have
a cup of tea.  Green tea relaxes and invigorates all at the same time. 
There isn't a ton of caffeine in green tea, but there is some." 

"Oh, I guess so.  The tea sounds nice, anyway.  Can we just leave *before*
I collapse from exhaustion please?  If I sit down one more time, I'm not
getting up.  And don't be surprised if I just fall asleep in a corner." 

Half an hour later, dressed to party, the quartet piled once more into the
small car. 

"So, where to, guys?"  Lillian struggled to straighten her vest.  She
loved vests and was wearing one covered with sequins.  Definitely a party
vest. 

"We could hit a couple of places," Diane replied, with a caffiene-high,
slightly-manic grin, "but there's one special one I want to hit first." 

When she pulled into a parking space across from the club, Lorelei broke
into vehement protests.  "Oh, no!  No way!  Look, guys, I was just joking
about the rack comment earlier; I agreed to some dancing, not
self-torture.  I don't even want to *see* what the place looks like at
this point.  It's sacrilege!" 

"I just want to see if it's as bad as they made it look on TV," Diane
explained. "I mean, I know LaCroix's a psychotic, obsessive, maniacal
killer, but I always thought he had better taste than *that*.  Just for a
quick look?" 

Lillian was already out of the car and halfway to the club.  "Come on!
This should be fun!" she yelled over her shoulder. "Hey, do you think
LaCroix will be in there?  Think he'll let us play with the microphone? No
comments Diane, I'm serious...sort of." 

Lorelei sat back in the car and folded her arms across her chest. "However
intriguing the idea of watching you play with LaCroix's tools may be, I
have no intention of going in there!  I can't believe you're serious about
this!  Surely *one* of you has to be sane!  Vicki?" 

"Sorry to disappoint, but I tend to be the type that picks at scabs.  I
*have* to see how bad it is.  We don't need to stay for even one drink,
especially if it is a strip night, or that ridiculous coordination-
challenged male whatever is there.  Come on, Lorelei.  We will peer in,
perhaps walk through as though looking for someone, then leave.  It won't
be so bad.  Besides," Vicki added, "I just want to be able to say that
I've been there." 

"I just want to *look*," Diane repeated stubbornly. "If it's really bad,
we'll leave right away.  I mean, it's not Friday, so even if they got it
right, there won't be strippers or anything.  What's the harm in a quick
look?  Besides, we *can't* let Lillian go in there alone!" 

"Whyever not?"  Lorelei muttered under her breath, but she got out anyway. 
She and Vicki reluctantly joined the others on the sidewalk. 

"Oh, come on guys!"  Lillian enthused.  "Look, if it's really that horrid,
we can always just leave, all right?  Aren't you even the teeniest bit
curious?" 

"There's a difference between curious and masochistic."

"Oh, come on, 'Isobelle'!"  Diane coaxed semi-playfully.  "We're all up to
doing it!  As a Ravenette, it should be your *duty* to go with us, to
confirm the atrocity!"  She grinned. 

"I don't know, guys," Vicki piped in.  "Perhaps we shouldn't play the
masochist today.  Surely there have to be other clubs in this town we
could go to... Ouch!"  She rubbed her ribs where Lillian had poked her. 

"Money?  Cover charge?  You mean we have to pay to be masochists? I'm
definitely not sure about this."  Vicki started lagging behind Lorelei. 

"Well, *I'm* going in!"  Lillian announced, and headed quickly to the
front door, pausing in the entryway to dig through her pockets for ID and
money.  With the gauntlet thrown, the others followed, Lorelei straggling
reluctantly behind. 

The four women paid their cover charge to the exceptionally pale bouncer
at the door, and were allowed to enter--

--and froze just inside, stunned.

The lights were bright.  Worse, they were *colored*--yellow, blue, and red
spotlights shone on the tables, and randomly roving spots in green, orange
and purple splashed the patrons with nauseating color.  Under the table
spots, dancers of both sexes writhed suggestively while the patrons
drooled. 

The male dancers--none of whom seemed *ever* to have *heard* the word
"rhythm"--wore g-strings in silver lame.  The female--whose "endowments"
would have made them shoo-ins at a Dolly Parton Look-Alike Contest--wore
the same, plus two very small, sequined discs. 

And the patrons-- The men were an equal mixture of leather-clad, greasy-
haired bikers and body-pierced, stud-clad punks.  The women wore skimpy
leather, or skin-tight lace, or spandex.  The ones that didn't hold
whips--or a leather-clad man's collar-leash--were leaning on a male
customer's arm, or sitting in his lap.... 

"Oh, God!"  Lorelei gasped.  "I think I'm gonna be sick!"

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Diane admitted softly.

"I'm *not* going down there," Vicki stated flatly.

"Let's get out of here," Lillian agreed.

They fled into the night.  The bouncer's laughter followed them to the car.

###

PROMETH...ER...COUSIN CANDICE UNBOUND
by Cousin Candice

Time: Two hours after sunset
Place: A statue; Uncle's digs briefly

Candice shivered and fumed alternately, trying desperately to get out of
the chains that bound her to wherever she was.  Correction -what-ever she
was on.  Clearly she was fifteen feet above the pavement, she could see
the sidewalk and the heads of people as they skulked off in different
directions.  Apparently this was not a frequently visited part of town at
night.  It was bad enough that she had just regained conciousness,
everything was kind of a blur.  There wasn't much she could remember after
Risha, Di, and Wyndi bleached her hair. //Ooooh, when I get my hands on
them...they're gonna be SO sorry...//

However, getting mad was no way to solve her problem; you see, those women
she used to call friends had left her in nothing but her underwear.  There
was something tucked neatly in her bra that kept digging itself into her
chest every time she tried to get her arms through the icy cold links. 
What was even worse was that she was straddling the rear-end of a
bronze-casted horse with a rider!! 

Candice's hands were getting numb and her feet were frozen.  A number of
times she'd thought about calling for help, but that would just attract
more people than she'd like to see in nothing but her unmentionables. And
those people would probably call Metro Police, and...she shivered again...
that would mean the story of "That girl in her underwear on the statue"
would be floating around the precinct all night.  And then she would be
brought in and questioned, and how was she supposed to answer them... "Uh,
sorry, officer, I really don't know how I got there, honest! Who?  Do I
know who might have put my on a statue?  ...Sure I do, they were my
friends..."  Yeah.  That'd work.  And pigs might fly. 

Just then her muscles started to ache.  Candice had no idea how long she'd
been tied to this statue, but her wrists were chafed (an image surfaced
through the last of the drug haze and she remembered a pair of leather
cuffs...) and her neck was sore.  Sitting in one position for more than an
hour was difficult for Candice (one of the many reasons she'd never liked
it when her drawing class asked her to model), but this was bordering on
ridiculous!  Ignoring the chill that ran through her body, she set about
slipping her hands through the chain, but she was so cold that her cramped
muscles would just not do what they were supposed to! 

"Damn them," she muttered under her breath, seeing it come out in a fog,
"damn them straight to the Ninth Hell!" 

"Oh, but the Seventh, I've found, is *so* much more rewarding in its pain
and pleasure, my dear." 

Candice nearly shrieked when she heard the familiar voice answer her
rhetoric.  Maybe she was hallucinating, maybe the drugs still had a hold
on her brain.... 

"Uncle?  Listen, would you mind ca..ca..can..nn..nn..ning the sm.mmm..
mm..mall t..t..t talk and gu..gu..getting me off this thing!" 

"Hmm..."  LaCroix hovered, literally, and thoughtfully took in the
situation.  "Well, much as I am amused at your state of undress, you're
still mortal..." he grimaced, "...and it just won't do to have you dead
for public display, now would it?" 

Candice blushed with what heat was left in her body and nodded as fast as
her head would move and causing the least amount of pain. 

"Very well then, up you go..."  LaCroix reached behind Candice and yanked
at the chains.  They fell with a slinky sounding thud to the concrete
below.  "You don't mind an early flight, do you?  If you're afraid of..." 
        
Candice gave LaCroix a look that would have eaten the paint off a new car. 
LaCroix took pity on the poor thing and gathered her up in his arms, even
*he* was warmer than Candice.  Whoever did this to her would pay dearly,
but not with their lives, no, it would be better to watch them suffer
instead. 

Wary of the few people still in this part of town, LaCroix floated down to
the ground and walked a few blocks with Candice in his arms.  Then when he
decided it was safe, he took to the sky, arriving at his home in ten
minutes.  Once there, he laid Candice in bed and covered her with a down
comforter. 

"Pleasant dreams, my sweet,"  LaCroix said softly, but Candice had already
passed out. 

###

SECOND THOUGHTS
by Diane Echelbarger
and Vicki Merriman

Time: Night 
Place: Toronto

The foursome pulled away from The Raven, concentrating on simply getting
away from the horror they had witnessed.  After a couple of blocks, Diane
stopped the car. 

"Hey, guys?  I noticed something..."

"That LaCroix has no taste?" asked Lorelei irritably.  She was beginning
to wish she'd refused to come along. 

"No--well, yes, but that's not what I meant," Diane explained.  "I mean,
we came to Toronto 'cause we thought there was a War on, right?" 

"That's what we figured," Vicki agreed.

"Well, then--" Diane hesitated, trying to find a way to say this without
getting all of them mad at her.  "How come there don't seem to be any
Cousins hanging out around LaCroix's new club?" 

"They have taste?" Vicki offered.  "No, that is really stretching the
possibilites too far." 

"You're right." Lorelei leaned forward, between the seats.  "I didn't
recognize anybody, either." 

"You mean we drove all the way out here, and there *isn't* a War on?"
Lillian frowned.  "You said there was." 

"I said I *thought* there was!" Diane corrected her quickly.  She had a
feeling she was going to need all the slack she could weasel.  "All the
signs were there," she backpedaled, trying to explain and making a hash of
it, as she usually did when she was nervous.  "I mean, Jennie didn't
answer *any* of the messages I sent her yesterday, *or* her phone.  And
*you* said Jill was out of town.  And Amy Hull didn't answer that e-mail I
sent her yesterday morning about that teaching job in Racine..."  She
cringed a little and added, apologetically, "I mean, can *you* think of
anything else that would drag *three* NatPackers out of town at the same
time?  Besides a convention, and we'd have *heard* about that."  As the
other three glared at her, she added, stubbornly defensive, "It makes
*sense*." 

"If you guessed wrong, I'm going to look foolish in front of all the other
Mercs," Vicki pointed out.  "I won't *like* that...." 

Diane winced.

"You mean I just traveled for 24 hours straight for *nothing*?" Lorelei
demanded. 

Diane sighed. "Look, I apologize, OK? I was really stupid, and I dragged
all of you into it."  Miserably, she ended, "It looked like a War was
starting--I just jumped the gun a little!" 

Vicki looked thoughtful, "Actually, I think a war IS starting.  All of my
professors either came down with plague or developed a convention they
simply *had to* attend.  Classes are all cancelled.  They will have to be
made up at the end of the year, but still . . . *someone* *somewhere* made
it awfully easy for me to get to Toronto.  The odds of that happening by
chance are pretty darn slim." 

As the silence in the car deepened, Diane suggested, hesitantly, "As long
as we're here, why don't we go find another club?  After all, it *is*
Halloween.  There are bound to be some great parties going.  I'll pay the
cover charges, and first drinks are on me.  OK?" 

The others agreed, still obviously mad at her, but willing to accept that
it had been a mistake.  They managed to find a decent club, and the
evening ended much better than it had begun. 

###

DREAMS, FLASHBACKS AND ASSORTED MUSINGS
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 11:30 pm EST
Place: Jamie's residence

In her dream, she was on the number seven subway train -- literally *on*
the subway train: clinging to the roof for all she was worth.  One of the
guys holding on to her, lying half on top of her to hold her securely in
place, to brace her as the train began its first wide turn, ascending into
the air.  The night air lashed against her, and she turned her head
sideways to breathe, and beheld the New York City skyline in all its
dazzling glory... 
     
...that memory dissolved into another: being warmly ensconced in the front
seat of her mother's taxicab as they sailed down the Grand Central toward
the city, rock music blaring from the eight-track stereo.  Sticking her
head out of the rolled-down window to let the harsh wind slap against her
face, and seeing the city skyline in the distance... 
     
...memory after memory, flashing past like an animated slide show. Hanging
out in desolate places and partying underground and twenty years' worth of
rock concerts, emerging from the dusty shadows of her mind to claim a
moment in the spotlight, reminding her of the one irrevocable certainty of
her existence: that under no circumstances could her life ever be
considered ordinary... 
     
...and she awoke, blinking up at the ceiling fuzzily.  The images of her
dream faded away too quickly for her to grasp, leaving only a vague sense
of irritation.  //And he thinks HE has trouble with flashbacks,// was the
thought that drifted through her head, though she had no idea why. 
     
She rolled over, and her arm stretched out, making contact unerringly with
the mouse; she was clicking on the buttons that would allow her to check
her e-mail before she was fully awake.  It was a habit she'd developed in
the few months since she'd obtained her computer, supplanting her former
habit of lighting a cigarette upon waking.  Oh, the cigarette would
follow, too; but the e-mail was far more important. 
     
Once upon a time, she had traveled nearly constantly: the one, the only
thing her memories had in common was the fact that she was always *moving*
-- but for the last three years, she had been virtually trapped, and the
constraint had all but driven her mad.  Then she had gotten her computer,
signed onto the lists... 
     
//FK is my life,// she reflected idly, as she waited for her mail to drop. 
//And it's the best thing that's happened to me in three years...//
     
Of course, she'd heard rumors of a war starting, which meant that this
could change at any time. 
     
A patch of furry warmth against her cheek impressed itself upon her
slowly-emerging consciousness, and she realized that Elfy was sleeping on
her pillow, as was the cat's habit.  Sleepily, she buried her face in the
soft fur, eliciting a *mrrrrbl* in response. 
     
"What's goin' on, Pelfsqueedle?" she murmured.  "Is there a war happening,
or not?  I haven't gotten any listmail in ages..." 
     
"Mmbrrrowwl," said Elfy seriously.  "Mairrh mrrouww."

She gazed into bright yellow eyes.  "You an' me gotta start speaking the
same language," she grumbled. 
     
"Hrraurh," the cat agreed.
     
Her e-mail box was empty, and that was unusual; there was usually
something in it, whether a newsletter or a newsbot digest or a comment
from someone who'd just caught up with one of her stories.  She checked
her connection, found it intact (weary as she was, and despite the head
injury that made hash of her memory, there were some things that came to
her automatically).  So if it wasn't her server...what was the problem? 
     
As was common in times of stress or confusion, she could almost hear the
voice in her head: *his* voice, the tone of the only person she'd ever
trusted utterly and without hesitation.  "Reality bends itself around you
in strange ways," Morgan had told her, oh, so many times, while she'd
gazed attentively up at him with her twelve-year-old eyes.  "You're going
to have an interesting life, Jamey.  And the one thing you're going to
have to learn is...how to deal with the strangeness.  Once you get that
down, you'll do just fine." 
     
How right he'd been.  And what else had he said, so many times it had
drilled itself into her head?  "Trust your instincts, Jamey.  Believe in
what you feel.  Your perceptions are the only ones that will ever make a
difference to you."  Words that her twelve-year-old self had been unable
to comprehend: but the intervening years had brought her some measure of
understanding.  In those years, she'd transformed herself from little
Jamey Morgan to Ms. Jamie Melody Randell; a person in her own right,
rather than Morgan's shadow.  Yet she missed him as much as she ever
had... 
     
Resolutely, she shook off the old sadness, distracted herself with the
words rather than recollections of the one who'd spoken them.  "Trust your
own perceptions."  Good advice to anyone, in any circumstances.  Even
better advice for her; she was prone to perceptions that were quite a bit
broader than most people's. 
     
But the only intuitive spark she could strain out of the ozone was the
vague but persistent feeling that all sorts of crap was about to hit the
fan.  And there was very little she could do without at least some form of
specifics... 
     
With a sigh, she hoisted herself out of bed, forced her aching back to
untwist itself from its pretzel-bend convolutions and dragged herself
toward her bedroom door, pausing to scritchy-scratch Elfy on top of her
fuzzly-snuzzly little head (and describe every detail of the act to the
cat in loving babytalk, much to the animal's disgust) on her way
downstairs to procure some coffee.  There was, after all, very little else
she could do at the moment. 
     
If only she could shake the unsettling feeling that something BIG was
about to happen... 

###

CALL AND RESPONSE (a)
by Michael Wayne Jackson

Time: Midnight

"We are at the Crack of Time!  This is the night that belongs neither to
the old year nor to the new.  This is the night when the veil between the
worlds is at its thinnest.  It is the New Year in the time of the year's
death, when the harvest is gathered and the fields lie fallow.  The gates
of life and death are opened; the dead walk and we know that every ending
is a new beginning...." 

My High Priestess went on with the opening of the Samhain ritual, but my
mind wasn't on it totally.  All week long I'd had flashes of trouble
brewing, but I wasn't sure exactly what or where.  And on top of it all,
my Mac was having hard drive problems again, the modem lines into the
university seemed to be always busy, and I just felt very ill at ease. 

"...hoof and horn, hoof and horn, all that dies shall be reborn.  Corn and
grain, corn and grain, all that falls shall rise again...." 

The chanting went on and on but I could not keep focused.  If I was just
able to relax, to reach out toward that vague, shadowy figure I saw in my
mind, then I would know what was going on. 

"...the spark of life is within me, as is the darkness of death..."

The High Priest touched my brow with the black feather and it was as if
the veil had been torn away.  I heard Her voice say, "I need you
Michael...come to me...come...."  Of course!  The raven feather had
unleashed the images I had been carrying around.  They snapped into
razor-like focus instantly. There were only two women who knew my real
name.  One was in Orlando and the other was Janette!  Dawn left from
O'Hare this afternoon and things were fine with her.  It had to be
Janette.  I knew then what the trouble was and that I had to get to
Toronto, and I had to leave now.  There was a War going on and I didn't
know about it due to the phone lines being tied up!  I bet that
silver-tongued devil had something to do with that too!  I knew I had to
leave, and leave NOW, but how could I break the Circle?  I know!  The
pyrotechnic stuff I learned last year, that should do it, I thought to
myself. 

My mind reached to the altar and quarter candles.  They began to flicker
and sputter in the darkness.  As I directed more and more oxygen their
way, their flames rose higher in the shadowy room.  Higher and higher they
climbed, and suddenly they exploded with a loud FWOUMP! which startled
everybody.  The curtain around the altar caught fire and suddenly naked
people were rushing everywhere, looking for the water and the sand,
pulling the curtains away from the flaming wax.  Howling as if she had
been burned, the dog scampered off toward the back of the house.  On top
of this, the phone began to ring insistently even though I knew that it
was unplugged. 

In the confusion I cut a door in the Circle and slipped away, after
hastily scribbling a note to the High Priestess informing her where I was
going and why.  Phaedra was a wonderful woman and was well aware that I
had been troubled lately.  She would understand. 

###