HLFIC-L Gathering Starting Early Tuesday... (Part 1 of 3) =========================================================================== Date: Mon, 18 Mar 1996 16:21:58 From: Laura Ruggiero Subject: WAR: The Bad News Title: The Bad News By: Laura Ruggiero Time: Late Monday /Early Tuesday March 18/19, 1996 Location: Joe's Bar Laura pulled into the paking lot of Joe's bar, hoping to find a parking spot. *There are sure a lot of people here I hope some of the other MFW's have arrived. I hate sitting in bars, way to smokey for me* she thought. Laura looked around but couldn't she anyone she really knew, and then remembered she had met only a few of the 1000 + people on the lists in person (though she did recognize some from the last FKFIC-L war). *No Adam/Methos yet. I'll just find a quiet corner and check my e-mail, this new laptop and the 28.8 modem is just wonderful!* As the slew of messages raced in, she caught several emergency messages. ------------------------------------ From: Carol Ann, grinnyp@aros.net To: Marina, tmar@fast.co.za, Celli, slane@SUNBIRD.USD.EDU, Sean, stsas02@moravian.edu, Rachel, janier@ix.netcom.com, Virginia, vfoster@mindspring.com, Joanne, jcurme@pyramid.com, PISSANT GRAD STUDENTS Subject: Emergency--Please read~ Date: March 16, 1996 Lizbet Kidnapped! Wendy Missing! Methos Chronicle location unknown! ----------------------------------- "Oh, bloody h**l" she said quite loudly, *and it's dated the 16th??? Why didn't anyone else tell me, It already the 18th, no its now the 19th. Things are going from bad to worse. I'd best read the rest of these, though I don't know what I can do by myself.* Laura continued to scan the accumulated messages and came across some good news, the MFW's had a headquarters now. She quickly got directions to the Hotel and headed off. [After all, all that computer and electronic equipment has to be set up somewhere] She arrived at the Four Seasons without a problem (after stopping by the motel she had checked into, gathered her stuff and checked out), got her room, and arranged for the equipment to be delivered later in the day, and got back online. ---------- From: Laura Ruggiero To: PISSANT GRAD STUDENTS Subject: I'm now at the Four Seasons Date: March 19, 1996 Okay every one, I'm now at the four seasons. I just (about an hour ago) got the 3/16 emergency message from Carol Ann. Has anyone done anything about it yet? All the stuff I acquired from my brother should arrive later today (Tue, 3/19) I'm going to bed as I've been up since sunday. Call if you need me. ------------------------- Laura Ruggiero, MFW larug@siu.edu =========================================================================== Date: Tue, 19 Mar 1996 06:38:01 From: Rob Distante Subject: WAR: Getting Lucky "Luck: being in the right place at the right time." The wee hours of Tuesday morning . . . 01:42 AM, closing time at Joe's. Rob grinned at the woman sitting across from him. Normally he didn't drink this much, but he was really enjoying himself tonight, and the company. The pair did seem to be attracting a lot of discreet attention from Mike the bartender and Joe Dawson - probably just jealous, he thought cockily. Their conversation had drifted to music, and the woman shook her mane of jet black hair as she laughed at something Rob said. "She actually likes my puns," Rob thought, "Good sign!" The band had packed up some time ago, so the place was quiet except for the murmuring of the other diehard customers and the clink of glasses as Mike cleaned up. Rob couldn't think of anything to say. "Don't you hate those?" she asked. " . . . . What?" "Uncomfortable silences." Reaching into the pockets of her black leather jacket, she handed Rob some change. "I like rock and roll, so put another dime in the jukebox, baby." "Chicks in chain mail," Rob thought as he got up. "Gotta love 'em." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The phone rang. Joe picked it up as he swiped at the counter. "Joe's." "Yeah Brian, what's up?" Joe looked startled. "Kenny? Outside MacLeod's dojo?" Rob nearly choked on his beer. "You're sure?" "I'll take care of it. Thanks, Brian." Rob tried to look nonchalant as Joe suddenly shot a sidelong glance his way. It was all he could do not to break into a huge grin. He was glad Felicia was in the ladies' room so he didn't have to explain himself. He slapped a large tip on the table and made his way to the telephones, muttering to himself. "Kenny's gonna pay." He dug through his pockets for his phone list. "Rip off an orphanage, huh?" Ahah! Got 'em. "Betray the Sisters?" Press those buttons carefully, now. "He even stole the deed!" Ring-ring-ring-ring-ring- "You'd think Joanne would be used to these late night calls by now!" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kenny settled down in the corner of the dumpster. He had used nearly all his stash to get a flight to Seacouver, and the plane food was making him queasy, but after all he'd been through lately, the dumpster felt like paradise itself. Which is probably why he slept through the racket made by the arrival of the sanitation vehicles . . . =========================================================================== Date: Tue, 19 Mar 1996 22:30:49 From: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Subject: WAR: Ms Manners You Ain't Title: Ms Manners you ain't Authors: Elizabeth Lewis/Randy Ferrance When: Just after "tailess skies" (early am, Tuesday) Where: Sanctuary, Seacouver The Anvil smiled at her, a warm smile, non threatening in the extreme. But then at 5'10" and a bit... soft... he wasn't all that threatening anyway. To most people, that is. In this case, however, he was talking to a member of the MFW, who were almost universally short. Towering a foot above his... um, *guest*, he talked in a soft voice. "We have more Tylenol," he assured her, "for when you change your mind." He walked to the bar. "Can I get you something?" he asked. "Sometimes after the general people wake up with a slightly parched throat. And you've been up in the air a long time anyway....?" "I am most certainly up in the air," Lizbet said in her frostiest voice. Without responding to the anger in her voice the gentleman in the tux merely looked at her, expectantly. Relenting, she said, "Diet Coke, please. And some answers!" He poured the soda, added a slice of lemon and brought it to her. "Once again, Lizbet, I apologize for the way we had to do this. But, you see, it had to *look* authentic. After all, would Methos drop everything, like slugging back umbrella drinks with that group of wild pygmies he's got with him now at Disney World, just to rush here to rescue you if he thought you didn't really need rescuing?" Lizbet nearly choked on her drink. "But I *didn't* need rescuing!" she yelped. "I had *already* been rescued! So why this charade?" "Okay, lemme explain a bit." He took a seat again, facing her, and crossed his legs, politely sipping at his cognac. "I am a wombat. You've heard of us, right? We're most famous for biting the legs of immies. And don't get me wrong, that is one of the more enjoyable of our duties. But... we also protect. We're.... Immie guardian angels, I guess you'd say. We tail immies, if you'll forgive the pun, and keep them from falling prey to K'immies who cheat. By the book, we're not supposed to interfere unless there *is* actual cheating going on." I shrugged. "Sometimes we're a bit enthusiatic. But we don't kill cheating K'immies. Well, actually we do, what I mean is, we don't maximally kill them. And we avoid actual blood shed if at all possibly. We much prefer to humiliate a bad guy into submission using various wombat patented tricks. Are you following me?" "No, but I'm not too far behind you. What does this have to do with saving me from kidnapping, then rekidnapping me?" "I'll get to that. We've got tails on all the immies in town for the War, and those coming in. We're not taking sides in the war, mind you, we're just here to be sure no one cheats. And to keep the weasels busy so they don't sue us all into a deadlock. Oh, by the way..." I took another sip of cognac. "Would you happen to have the Methos Chronicles *on you*? Like, in your katana space or anything?" Lizbet shook her head. "Nope, all I have in my katana space is the sword Wendy gave me." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why? Do you want it?" He had to laugh out loud. "Want it? Hell no, we don't want it." He pulled up the computer screen in the room. Surely she'd recognize the first five pages of that chronicle. "Digitized in its entirety," he told her. "We just want to make sure that the wrong folks don't get it. Like, the K'immies. Or... Horton." Lizbet bent over the screen. She scanned the Latin and nodded. "This proves that Immortals go through active periods and dry spells. Methos in the 13th century was as busy as Duncan is now." She looked back at the wombat. "OK, if I can believe you--and that is a *very* big if right now--we are on the same side. I have no desire to have the Chronicle fall into the wrong hands." "So tell me where it it, and we'll keep an eye on it." "I'd love to. There is only one problem." "What?" Lizbet rubbed her forehead, and admitted ruefully, "I can't remember where I put it." Lizbet |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ elewis@ucla.edu | METHOS!!!!! ~ Co-Warmistress for |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the first Highlander| "Arnyd yw Ewyll hyd yw" Gathering | Passion is the will to be =========================================================================== Date: Wed, 20 Mar 1996 14:27:24 From: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Subject: WAR: Being a good host Title: Being a good host Author: Randy Ferrance When: Just after Ms Manners she ain't Where: Sanctuary "So," I said to Lizbet finally, "are you satisfied that all is well here? You will be treated as an honored guest here at Chez Wombat, and if there is *anything* we can do to make your stay more comfortable, or even more pleasurable, please feel free to call for me personally." I shut down the account I had open on the computer and called up a new one. "This is an account we had specially programmed for you," I told her. "You have full telnet capabilities, as well as email account here. Your address is MFWHostage@wombats.0tails.com. We're assuming that there's at least *someone* in your organization who will be able to trace the domain address back to us. When they come looking for you, we'll be able to show them how this account was actually remotely activated, and we will, by then, have 'traced back to the *true* culprit.' " I allowed a sly smile. "We'll lay the blame for this on Horton's folks. I'd recommend being careful about letting slip the truth, though, since methos is likely to be as upset with you as he would be with us. Of course," I ventured, "if you'd rather he *didn't* come to rescue you......." She didn't seem to have a problem with his coming for her. "You're free to roam around the house and grounds at will. There are a few places we can't let you into, for security reasons, you understand, but those doors are locked, so you won't be accidentally getting yourself into trouble." I stood and drained my cognac. "Remember, if you need me, just whistle, eh?" rferrance@gems.vcu.edu (Anvil) http://views.vcu.edu/~medtoast/anvil.html =========================================================================== Date: Thu, 21 Mar 1996 10:43:11 From: Carol Ann Liddiard Subject: WAR: A slight interlude When: Tuesday, March 19, 1996, @4:00 am Where: Somewhere over the mid-west Carol Ann looked up from her computer and saw that Methos and Joan were still putting the beer away. she thought. Shaking her head, she went back to what she was doing. Into the drive went the SyQuest disk titled "The Methos Chronicles". Carol busied herself typesetting a story about the relationship of Adam Pierson and Don Salzer, never noticing the shadowy figure watching from a few rows back. The shadow hovered for a few minutes, then quietly headed for the back restroom. Once inside the figure pulled out a radio. "Headquarters, I've got a lock on an electronic copy of the missing Chronicle . . ." ************ Yet another shameless plug! :-) Carol Ann grinnyp@aros.net | grinnyp@xmission.com | GrinnyP@aol.com Co-Chief Flagwaver, Methos Publisher, "Richie Forever" and "The Methos Chronicles" * HeLLLion Extraordinaire * PSEB * List-Goddess, PWFC * http://www.aros.net/~grinnyp =========================================================================== Date: Tue, 19 Mar 1996 12:04:47 From: Jeff Booth Subject: WAR: Another Joins the Fray Time: 3/19 7:00 a.m. (Seacouver time) Place: Seacouver International Airport Jeff Booth walked out of the rent-a-car carrying a green army duffle bage and the keys to a beat-up blue van, *It looks just like the one I have at home*, he thought absently. He looked at the overpriced map he had bought in the duty-free shop and highla....er make that highlighted the best route to Joe's. *If anyone knows where I can hook-up with the MFW's they'll be at Joe's* About a half hour later Joe watched as a seemingly young man with a long dark brown pony-tail with a long dark brown trenchcoat to match walked in the front door, ignoring the closed sign. "We're closed." "Thee door was unlocked." Jeff looked around and couldn't believe the sheer amount of people passed out on the floor. "Big party last night?" "Just some friends staying over." "Sure, I'm looking for some information, and since everyone goes to Joe's, I figured you'd know. I'm trying to find the MFW's" Joe, not being a morning person, looked at him blankly and said, "MFW's?" "FLag wavers for a certian ancient Immortal" "Oh them. Try the Four Seasons. Tell the front desk you know Toni Holm. Now we really are closed and have a lot to do today, so to put it bluntly get out." Jeff's decided to spend some time learning the city, it took him two hours to get to the Four Seasons Hotel. He walked up to the front desk clerk, who looked condansendingly at the dirty jeans and torn Pantera t-shirt he wore under his trench, "I would like a room." The clerk opened his mouth, no doubt to tell him to get out, when Jeff finished, "I believe my friend Toni Holm is staying here already." The clerks expression did a 180, "Of course sir, may I have your name" "Jeff, Jeff Booth" "I don't see your name here, but it does say to register rooms to people not to unknown's." *Definitly have to mention THAT security breach* "Here is your key sir may I call someone to help you with your bag?" "No I got it" "Of course sir, just use this card to get into the direct elevator, it's the last one on the right. Your party has reserved the whole floor for its convenience" As Jeff rode up in the elevator he thought *I wonder what I'll find up their* #Ping# Nobody,nothing,nada,zilch,zero. Jeff tried pounding on some doors, but he got no answer. *Where is everybody? Oh well I could use some more sleep.* -Jeff Booth Delurking MFW =========================================================================== Date: Wed, Mar 20 1996 00:29:38 From: Russet McMillan Subject: WAR: Substitute Hostage Tuesday morning Outside, near Joe's bar. Russ sighed deeply. "I'm not really a morning person," she groaned. "Especially not after staying up till three jamming." She adjusted her black hat to block out more of the bright morning sun. "You guys sounded pretty good," Selma offered. "At least until I went to bed." She strolled slowly at Russ' side. "Well, I have blisters now and a headache, and I didn't get enough sleep." "So why'd you get up so early?" "I may not be a morning person, but _he_ is." Russ nodded at Daniel, who was investigating a bush on the edge of a vacant lot. "What kind of dog is he, anyway?" Selma asked. Russ shuffled her feet. "He's a wolf in sheep's clothing," she replied, which made sense at least visually. Daniel's thick, curly hair was a lot like fleece. "I thought sheepdogs were fatter than that." Russ took a deep breath and looked embarrassment. "Well, actually . . . he's a poodle." "What?" "Don't tell him, though, okay? He thinks he's just an ordinary dog." "But poodles are little tiny things!" "No, those are imitation poodles. This is the real thing." Russ reached out to scratch Daniel's head, without bending down. "I'm allergic to all the other large breeds, okay? At least poodles are smart." "Smart enough to do what he's told?" said an unfriendly voice from behind them. Russ and Selma turned around to find a scruffy man pointing a gun at them. Daniel began to growl. "What do you want?" Selma asked. "A hostage. Or two. Come on, ladies, into the car. Lose the walking rug." He gestured to a car that idling behind him at the curb with the back door open. Russ smiled thinly and let go of Daniel's leash. As the dog started to charge and the man shifted aim, Russ and Selma attacked together. The gun went flying and the bad guy ended up with two women and a dog on top of him. "Get the gun!" Russ gasped, trying to pin his arms. Daniel kept getting in the way; with his quarry on the ground, he was mostly just confused about what to do. Selma ran after the gun. "Get out here!" the bad guy choked as he wrestled with Russ and Daniel. Russ heard footsteps behind her and realized her mistake; the car had a driver. She ducked but caught a glancing blow on the head. The driver grabbed Russ by one elbow and his buddy by the other, hauling them to their feet. "C'mon, get her in the car!" "Let her go!" Selma ordered, waving the gun. "Don't shoot!" The former gunman pulled Russ before him as a shield. First the driver crawled into the car, then the man holding Russ followed. In a tangle with the dog, they half-fell into the backseat. "Go, go!" cried the man holding Russ. Russ braced her heels on the open doorframe and elbowed her captor firmly in the gut, then hauled herself out of the car as it began to move. She ended up rolling dizzily across the pavement. But Daniel's leash was still tangled with the man in the car, and as it moved, he was dragged along. As the car picked up speed, the man inside pulled the reluctant dog closer and lifted him in. Selma still had the gun aimed at the car, but she didn't want to risk shooting Russ or the dog. In a few moments, the car was gone. Russ staggered to where her hat had fallen and jammed it back on her head. "Well," she said shakily. "They got their hostage." "Are you okay?" Selma asked uncertainly. "Oh, I'm fine," Russ snarled. "They --" she pointed in the direction the car had gone "-- are dead men." Selma urged Russ back to the bar. The first sounds of other people stirring were just beginning to be heard. "Lori!" Selma called. "Joe! We have another gun." She glanced at Russ. "And another problem." =========================================================================== Date: Wed, 20 Mar 1996 02:14:39 From: Enmare Subject: WAR: Cindy's virtual computer part II Title: Cindy's virtual computer part II By: Cindy Shettle Date: Tuesday, March 19th Time: morning Place: The Four Seasons Hotel Cindy waited by the desk for her overnight package from Jim to arrive. She was worried that there might be a mix-up since she had given him the wrong room number due to the fact that she had moved to the group floor as soon as she found out about it. The delivery man arrived with her box and Cindy eagerly signed for it, noting with pleasure that her signature was actually legible. Her recovery was a slow process, and she liked to gloat at all the little steps. Her wrist started hurting if she wrote too much with it, but at least she could write at all, rather than the scrawled mess she made when trying to do it left handed. Since she obviously couldn't carry the box to her room herself, that after all being the point of having it mailed to her, Cindy had someone assist her in bringing it to her room. Inside, she opened the box and upon removing the top layer of clothing, uncovered the computer she had been waiting for. Cindy sternly ordered herself to calm down at least a little. The virtual lap-top was heavy and a bit bulky to lift one handed, being roughly the proportions of her roommates real lap-top, just with the specs of her own as yet unbought computer. With effort, she moved it from the box to her bed, thankful that it only had soft things to fall on in either when she slipped. After plugging in and turning on the machine, Cindy double checked the door to make sure it was locked, then she carefully removed the CD from her waistpack and put it on the computer. Excitement filled her. She not only had Adam's computer database now, but she was actually going to get a chance to look at it. But there was one other thing she needed to do this morning. Once Adam arrived, Cindy was going to tell first him and then the Pissant Grad Students about the CD, after which it would probably become group property and it seemed likely that Adam would want to keep or destroy the CD once this war was over. This meant that if she wanted her own copy of the database, she had to make it now, while the CD was still her own little secret. The computer was brand new, having nothing on it except the software that came pre-installed, and she knew that the hard drive was at least 1G in size, preferably more. This meant that there would be no problem with finding room for the contents. Cindy copied the contents of the CD onto her laptop and then ran the program from the C: drive just to make sure that it had worked properly. Cindy ____________________________________________________ The Fantasy Realms Journal & RPG Staff Joseph Teller * Cindy Shettle * Kiralee McCauley ____________________________________________________ frj@tiac.net or http://www.tiac.net/users/frj/ BBS : (617) 899-9483 (FIDONet 1:101/245) =========================================================================== Date: Wed, 20 Mar 1996 10:16:57 From: Enmare Subject: WAR: Warehouse 151 A note: please ignore my post "Planning and security details" in favor of Jill's "Ho about a tartan blankie". Hers was sent first, and was the better post, actually. Thank you for your support. -------------------------------------------- Title: Warehouse 151 By: Enmare Time: Tuesday morning Location: a warehouse somewhere in Seacouver... Enmare checked her e-mail, and heard a beep as the Spontaneous Combustion Counter went up by one. She quickly scanned through the messages, and paused on one. From: Horton@aol.com To: Enmare Subject: You played your hand too soon -Yeah, but I can always draw more cards- she thought, reread the message body, and shut down the laptop. ----------------------------- The guards at the warehouse let her through without too much bother, which worried her a little. Hefting the paper bag, she walked into the main area of the warehouse. "Ms. McCullen?" she asked. A young looking woman walked into light in the center. "Yes?" "Here," Enmare put the bag on the ground. "I have a portable radio for you, with a tape player. I even brought some tapes." She began taking things out and handing them to Ms. McCullen, who inspected them before putting them down. "Jazz? You brought me blues and jazz?" Enmare looked up. "Well, I was never told about your musical preferences. And it could have been worse. I could have brought techno. Here, let me show you that." She picked up the radio and turned it on its side to show the switches. "This setting here is shortwave, this one is FM, and this last one is AM, although there are no good AM news stations in Seacouver that I've found yet." Ms. McCullen made no move to look at the radio. "I suppose I should thank you." "Don't." Enmare put the radio down. "Horton said to bring you a radio. I did so. I'm not happy about this, but if I don't do this little errands, I'm sure he'll think up something worse." "You're one of those misguided Joe people, aren't you." "Yes." Ms. McCullen turned her back on Enmare, who sighed and continued. "I'm to ask you if you want anything else." "No. If I do, I let Horton know." "Right." Enmare looked over to the guards. "You know, it is comforting to know that you guys can't even trust each other," she said before leaving. =========================================================================== Date: Mon, 25 Mar 1996 22:12:14 From: Virginia Foster Subject: WAR: Connor's First Appearance I posted this Saturday night and yet to see it. So here it is again, my apologies if you see this twice. :-) Yep folks, despite being technically challenged for the first part of the war, I'm back, and nearly caught up. :-) Title: Connor in Atlanta When: Tuesday, March 19, 1996 (this can run concurrant to other posts that take place on 3/19) Where: Atlanta, GA By: Virginia Foster "Atlanta is a wonderful city, but why does the weather have to be so goofy?" Virginia thought. "Here is it spring and they are talking about snow. I just hope we can make it to New York." But then the odd Atlanta weather was the least of the bizzare things that had happened this past week. It started when in the midst of growing computer problems, she had seen a message from Lizbet that Horton was alive. Just then, the old 9600 baud modem coughed and sputtered. Then the new modem refused to work. Then the computer barfed. Then HE showed up. Very unexpected. Virginia tried to find out what Connor MacLeod was doing in Atlanta, but all he would say was business. He was in town checking on some potential purchases and wanted to drop by for a visit. And after this long a time, Virginia knew better than to push. In fact, Connor was quite good with computers and helped Virginia get her cranky modem and computer talking again. Then she began trying to catch up on the war that seemed to be breaking out in Seacouver. Of course she was concerned, like who wouldn't with Watcher Chronicles missing and Horton running around loose. But so far he didn't know about Connor, and since she had Connor in Atlanta, all to herself, she decided to keep working on getting caught up on the action. Then just when she thought it would be safe, Connor got a phone call from Rachel Ellenstein in New York. "What's wrong, Connor?" Virginia asked from her computer terminal. The Immortal did NOT look happy. "That was Rachel", Connor answered. "There is a problem and I need to get back to New York sooner than I expected. I know we were going to Seacouver, but that will have to wait." "Well then I'm coming to New York with you. Just let me send a quick email to Laura to tell her we will be delayed. We can fly to Seacouver from New York." Before Connor had time to protest, she had the mail program up and sent the following: Date: Tue, 19 Mar 1996 09:16:59 From: Virginia Foster To: lauram3017@aol.com Subject: update Connor and I are headed to New York. Virginia ---------------------------------------------------------- Virginia Foster ***** vfoster@mindspring.com Flag waver for Connor MacLeod / Christopher Lambert ("Same clan, different vintage" / "Dare to Dream ") *** Christopher Lambert Online Fan Club *** http://members.aol.com/CLFanClub/home.html **** Now open!! my very own web page :-) ***** http://www.mindspring.com/~vfoster/va.html "There" Virginia thought. "Maybe Laura won't be to worried now if we don't make it to the party on Wednesday." She hurriedly packed some clothes and gear into a suitcase. As she and Connor headed for the airport, Virginia couldn't help but wonder just what she was getting into. To be continued...... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------= --- Virginia Foster ***** vfoster@mindspring.com Flag waver for Connor MacLeod / Christopher Lambert ("Same clan, different vintage" / "Dare to Dream ") **** Now open!! my very own web page :-) ***** http://www.mindspring.com/~vfoster/va.html =========================================================================== Date: Mon, 18 Mar 1996 21:30:34 From: Jennifer Hawthorne Subject: WAR: Checking In Title: Checking In By: Jen Hawthorne Time: Tuesday morning, around 9 am. Location: A pay phone on a street corner, about a block from Richie Ryan's apartment "Hello, Four Seasons Hotel? Could you connect me with Laura Ruggiero's room, please? ...Ruggiero. Are-You-Gee-Gee-Eye-Eee-Are-Oh....Thanks." "Laura? Jen here....What? Password? Oh, for Pete's sake...Right, okay, okay! The password is 'Gerontology.' Are you happy?" "At Richie's apartment. Just outside....Yeah, he's fine, though I don't know how he's going to get the drool stains off his carpet. Or the dirt and grease from my bike....Huh? Hey, it wasn't *my* idea! Someone else carried it upstairs when I wasn't looking. Trying to be helpful, I guess. Good intentions and all that...Yeah, they're all up there, sacked on the living room floor mostly. I think David slept in the bathtub....Yeah. So what's up with you-know-who and his you-know-what?" "Really? Wow. I guess he's seriously broken up about Alexa. Everyone managing okay?...Yeah, I figured as much. Just don't let him get into any sword fights in that condition....Liz was *what*? Did you call the cops?!...Wombat? Huh?...No, I don't. Well, as long as she's okay now, and the book's....it's not? Where is it?" "Hang on, Laura, I think I have something wrong with my ears. I could swear I just heard you say you lost track of the Methos Chronicle....you're not serious. Tell me you're not serious." "That's *not* what I told you to tell me, Laura." "Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're right - I should be counting my blessings that we still have him, at least. Speaking of which, when is the rest of the crew going to arrive?...They're what?... Where?!... *Disneyworld*? Why?...Oh. Hm. I suppose that might work....Nah, not Mickey. Definitely Goofy." "Because I've seen his underwear, that's why...Geez, Laura, don't shriek at me! It wasn't nearly as much fun as you might expect..." "Necklace? What necklace?....He what?! Right under my *nose*?! AUGGH! If I ever get my hands on that Immortal rat he is SO dead!...With my swiss army knife, if I have to! With the corkscrew attachment, even! Watch and see if I don't!" "Yeah, yeah, I know. It still stinks, big time. Now we've got one more thing to worry about." "Okay, sounds like you've got everything under control. So there's no problem with my hanging out here for a bit?....No, it's been very quiet. It's just that...well, I've got a feeling something bad's going to come down here soon...Nah, just a feeling. You know how it goes....Yeah, me too. Hey, any chance you could send over a courier with one of those laptops you got from your brother?...Great, I'll be looking for it. Thanks a million." "Right. Got it...You too. Watch your head. 'Bye!" ****************** Lost books. Boozing Immortals. Mysterious necklaces. Wombats...wombats? Jen shook her head, deciding she was too jet-lagged to think about any of it right now. Especially the wombats. She trudged back to the apartment building, a Dunkin' Donuts bag in either hand. Four dozen donuts (half of them chocolate, Richie's favorite), a jug of orange juice, and a gallon or so of hot coffee should be just about enough breakfast for the mob up in Richie's seriously overstuffed apartment. As she set the bags down to open the outer door, she thought she saw a dark shadow leaning out of a nearby alley. She jerked her head up, startled, but whatever it was had gone. If it had ever been there. Jen thought. She shoved the door open with her foot and shouldered her way in with her burden of breakfast. The Mysterious Figure watched her go. jen@rio.com * It is better to soar with the Eagles... maytree@aol.com * ...but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines. =========================================================================== Date: Tue, 19 Mar 1996 11:49:42 From: Tay and CA Nelson Subject: WAR: A Crush of Knowledge Sorry, folks, this is technically late for PST, but school, errands, and my MFing server can slow me down a bit... Tuesday March 19 Seacouver 9.23am by Taylor Nelson I had gotten in to Seacouver right on time Monday night. Benny had arranged for a rental car as well. When I arrived at the Seacouver Raddison Hotel, my room was ready and the Power Book was waiting for me as well. I immedately made sure that I could work on my story okay and be able to patch in to my computer back home. Well, it worked all right, but by nine o'clock I was a bit too tired to get any new material down. So I simply went to bed. My wake up call was the sound of the telephone twittering in my ear at eight am. It was Benny. He wanted to make sure that I got in all right and asked me to join him for breakfast as his place at ten. He said that he would explain everything then. Now here I was, showered and shaven, getting dressed in jeans and an old VW t-shirt to go and meet some old man who had done my grandfather a favor some fifty odd years ago. "What the hell am I doing?" I asked myself aloud. I didn't know what I was doing. What made me come up here? Did I think that this guy could make my life miserable if I didn't comply? In a word, yes. I've seen enough mob-type movies. I know what happens to people who don't go along with them. I could wind up....Stop it! Now just relax, finish getting dressed and go meet the guy. Seacouver 10.04am I drove the rented Grand Am up to the building where Benny said I'd meet him. Hmmm, nothing too out of the ordinary. I locked the car and made my way up the steps of the old brick building. As I entered, I saw a short and rather young looking man waiting for me. This has got to be one of Benny's thugs, I thought. He walked up to me, "Mister Nelson." "Yes." "I'm Benny Carbassa." I shook his hand, "But you don't look...." "All part of the story. Please." He directed me to an elevator that took both of us to the third floor. Apparently he had taken the whole building and turned it into his entire headquarters. The third floor looked like a huge studio flat. At one end stood a large table with a breakfast large enough to out-do most hotel buffets. I sat down with a plate of pancakes, bacon, and a croissant. Since I'm single, my average breakfast consists of cereal, cold pizza, or a grilled cheese sandwich, so getting the chance to eat like this was more than welcomed! Benny dug in to his stack of pancakes, "So tell me, what do you know about immortality?" "Well," I said gulping down another bite, "you live forever." He gave a short laugh, "True. But what about the reality of it?" "Oh, well that's about as possible as time travel." "Then what you're saying is that time travel *does* exist." I stopped in the middle of a strip of bacon, "I hate to say it, but I don't follow." "Taylor, I'm here to tell you that immortality *does* exist. And I am immortal." This was starting to sound like a story I wrote in high school, "Woah. You mean you're always going to look as though your thirty until the end of time?" "Unless someone takes my head." I gulped loudly, "As in decapitation?" "As in *really* losing your head." "But how, why, can anyone do this?" "I don't know how and I don't know why. All I know is that I am and it's what I'll always be." "So....exactly how do you take another guy's head? I mean, you can't just walk up to them with a sword or something." Benny started laughing uncontrollably. "What? What did I say?" "Swords. We use swords." "Oh boy, you're kidding, right? I mean, that's really kinda conspicuous, isn't it?" "It's the nature of the game." I decided to just take him at his word. I had a feeling this was something I didn't want to get too involved with. "You wanna know a secret of the game?" "The game as in...." "As in getting ahead in life. Living like me, for example." "Oh," I breathed a sigh of relief, "What?" "Stick it to people in subtle ways." "Oh, so is that why my car rental receipt, hotel bill, and flight stub say," I fished into my pocket for a moment, hey so I'm a packrat, "Duncan MacLeod?" "Yep, in the next week or so he should be getting a bill for an airplane ride and a nice room at the Seacouver Raddison." "I'm assuming you know this guy." "Yep. Known him for a long time, now." "He's another Immortal, right?" "Oh yeah." I nodded. "So you wanna know what I want you to do?" "Lemme guess, kill this MacLeod?" Benny started into even larger laughing fits. "What now?" "If you tried to go after MacLeod, he'd have you dead and in many pieces before you even got through his door. No, what I want you to do is simple. There's another Immortal named Kenny, he looks eight but is more like eight-hundred. He is obnoxious, plain and simple. It's like he's a perpetual brat! Now, I don't want you to kill him or anything, it wouldn't be right, but I just want you to make things....difficult for him." "Okay, any ideas?" "Yeah, I got it all set up for you. There's a porn shop down on Third called 'The Plain Brown Wrapper,' a friend of mine runs it. Tonight at ten you're going to meet Mikey down there and give him a hand with a little plan I cooked up." "Seems easy enough." "Yeah. Now I'm going to call Kenny and arrange it so he thinks he's going to fight me there. Once he gets there on time, whammo! Captain Kenny Crunch for everyone! Now I'm going to need you there in the store, park across the street or something, to make sure everything goes off right." "Sure, guess I can do that. But I'll warn you I'm not great at mechanics. I mean, Volkswagen engines, no problem. But something like this?" "Don't worry, it's so easy a kid could it." I nodded and began to stand up. "You want something for the road? Croissant or something?" "Yeah, thanks," I said as I picked up one and a bagel. One of Benny's thugs came over to him. "You sure he's got the third copy of the Watcher's CD-ROM?" asked Benny. "Yeah, boss, he's got it hidden in a cassette case in his car." "Good, because tomorrow it becomes mine." =========================================================================== Date: Wed, 20 Mar 1996 18:22:31 From: Sheila Marie Lane Subject: WAR: Hurt/Comfort WAR: Hurt/Comfort Tuesday 10:30 AM Richie's apartment Beth watched another line scroll up on the screen of her laptop and swore. "No luck?" Celli asked. Beth jumped. "I thought you were asleep." "I am. Did you find her?" Beth looked suspiciously at the couch, where Celli was lying, eyes closed. Richie was in a chair by the TV, as far away from Celli as he could get and shooting nervous looks at the Coke on the end table. The other flagwavers were sprawled on the floor between the two, rather closer to Richie. Beth looked longingly at a convenient spot on the arm of Richie's chair, then jerked her attention back to the screen when it beeped. "Nothing here either! I've tried all of her email addresses, everyone I know who knows her...she hasn't even logged on in days. Nobody, and I mean *nobody*, has heard from Wendy since that email message to Carol Ann." "Damn!" Celli jumped to her feet and started pacing. Richie watched her for a moment. "Uh...I think I'll leave you guys alone for a while," he said. They all started to protest at once, but he held up a hand. "You guys need to find Wendy, and I need to get a workout in." The word "workout" really got them. Several of them begged to come along, but Richie was firm. After he left, they all stared longingly at the door for a while. "Okay," Marina said after a suitable time had passed. "Let's get down to business." Two hours later, the apartment was full of activity. The two Lauras were on their cellphones, talking to airline representatives and hospital receptionists. David was also on the phone, trying to explain to the conference people why he wouldn't be attending the conference *again* that day. Jen was doing something messy involving her bike ("In Richie's *kitchen*?" "Yeah, you got a problem with that?"). Diane was doing something messy involving the rats. Beth was on her laptop, trying to figure out Lizbet's location so they could question her. And Celli was making lists (what else?), while Kim looked on in amazement. A phone rang. Everyone not on a cell phone grabbed for it--except Kim, who picked up Richie's cordless phone. "Uh, Richie's place?" she said. "Oh, yeah, sure. Right here." She handed it over to Celli. "Hi...WHAT??? You're kidding me. They wouldn't!...He what? I don't care...okay...okay, thanks. Do you know where...yeah? Great. I owe you...yeah, another one." She hung up and sprang out of her chair. "Okay, guys, Wendy's on hold. We've got problems." "What?" everyone asked at once. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that right now. All I can tell you is that we have a mission." She looked toward the ceiling, mentally calculating. "Actually, we have three missions. Beth, Diane, you're with me." "Where?" "You'll find out. David..." She was scribbling something on a piece of paper. "Find *him* and deal with him. You know what I'm saying?" He nodded. "Good. And Marina, you take the rest of the group. Head to the dojo. You'll know what to do when you get there. And *don't leave* until I call you, okay?" She headed for the door. "Wait!" Celli turned around. Laura Michaels was staring at her. "I'm completely confused. What exactly is this mission here?" "You've heard of hurt/comfort, right?" Everyone nodded hesitantly. Celli grinned. "Well, that's our mission." She pointed at herself and Rob. "Hurt--" She nodded to the rest of the group. "Comfort. Got it?" Everyone headed for the door. They were grinning too. ########################################################################## Sheila Marie Lane slane@sunbird.usd.edu http://www.usd.edu/~slane ########################################################################## "Where's the kaboom? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!" -- Marvin the Martian (Welcome to the War!) ########################################################################## =========================================================================== Date: Wed, 20 Mar 1996 18:37:15 From: Rob Distante Subject: WAR: Escher's Dojo "Where ever you go, there you are" - Buckaroo Banzai Dateline: Tuesday, March 19, 11:00 AM, Seacouver Tay and Rob systematically drove around Seacouver. "I know the dojo's here somewhere -- this post is straight from the HL mailing list. The dojo's in Gastown, whatever that is. It's the back of some other building." "Are you sure about that?" asked Tay. "I think all of those green beers must have affected your hearing." "No chance of that. Honest. It wasn't that!" Big smile. "They were completely out of green beer. I checked." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "Well, I can't find it. Let's go pick up Joanne. She must be finished by now." They drove to the city's records office. Joanne was sitting on the steps outside, a bundle of papers in one hand, a doppio alto latte in the other, and a wide grin on her face. "Must be good coffee," Tay remarked as they drove off again. "You never have a second cup at home. What'd you find?" "Birth records and death certificates for the last 70 years. It's amazing that someone can be alive for only a few hours, yet own property and be paying taxes on it 50 years later. I'd gone all the way back to 1936 when --" "Bingo!" Rob shouted. "Exactly!" Joanne said enthusiastically. "I found --" "No, the dojo!" Rob slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. Tay gave him a look. "It's OK, it's a rental. That's what they're for. And I've always wanted to do that!". He grinned, ear to ear. "Just like on TV." They got out of the car and stood looking at the imposing edifice that was Duncan MacLeod's dojo. Stairs led up to what seemed to be the main floor, and fire escapes circled the building. The trio couldn't see the beginning or end of the stairs; they were just kind of, well, there, and everywhere, all at once. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * <> The sound caused Rob to glance down a side alley. <> Some sort of muck stained humanoid creature was brandishing a 2x4 over a fallen body. Waitaminnit - this was Highlander, not X-Files! Rob's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then he sprinted down the alley. "KENNY!" The boy looked up from rolling the bum, and turned to flee. He shoved the wallet he had just stolen into his pocket and dashed to safety, knocking over trash cans and boxes as he ran. Rob crashed after him, through the debris, with Tay hot on his heels. Joanne ran over to the body and felt for a pulse. She dropped his wrist in surprise when she saw the Watcher tattoo. "What's going on here?" she thought to herself. Now she could see that the man was too fit and too well-dressed to be a bum. She left him there and went to find her friends. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "I can't believe he'd come back to Mac's place. They're supposed to be enemies. I thought MacLeod was a 'good' immortal." Rob was staring at the dojo. He could see three entrances, each one on a different level. "He's went inside." As if on cue, they saw the front door open slightly, and Kenny peeked out. He spotted them standing in the open and jumped back inside. With a steely glance at the other two, Rob said, "We're going in: two minutes - *mark*. Go in through the side doors and make sure he doesn't escape. We can't afford to lose him a second time." <*We* didn't lose him the *first* time> Tay thought, as he began to walk toward the building. Joanne stood a moment longer looking up at all the stairs. There seemed to be something wrong with the building; a wave of dizziness passed over her, or maybe it was just all the coffee. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Exactly two minutes after Kenny had escaped back into the building, they each entered the dojo through their assigned door and closed it quietly behind them. Rob was startled to see Joanne and Tay standing next to him. So were they. They all turned around, back to where they had come in. There was only one door behind them. Shrugging helplessly, Rob walked down the hallway toward the workout area. He motioned for Tay and Joanne to stay behind. "You find a way upstairs once I distract the opposition. Kenny's here somewhere." "Excuse me," he said to the men working out on the weight equipment, "I'm looking for a kid, kinda obnoxious, nasty temper, who . . ." All hands pointed toward the back office. On cue, Richie Ryan stepped out of the office. He looked up with that telltale expression of immortal recognition. Apparently he was noticing Kenny's *buzz*. , Rob thought. Richie's gaze settled on Rob. "I'm Richie Ryan," he announced. "What do you want?" "Rob Distante. I think you know who I'm here for." "Duncan MacLeod?" "What?! No! Kenny. You're hiding him here." "Kenny? He's not here." Richie stepped closer, challengingly. "You must be a pretty tough guy to go headhunting for little boys." Rob strode forward purposefully. "Are you protecting him? Then you're a fool. Don't stand in my way, little Ricky. The train's coming through, and you're standing on the tracks." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Tay looked toward Joanne. "Look, a door! That wasn't here a moment ago, was it?" Joanne tore her attention away from the tense scene in the dojo and noticed the single door in the hallway. "No, it wasn't. We all came in through separate entrances, but where did they go?" They stared at the mysterious new door, half expecting it to disappear in a puff of logic. Tentatively, Joanne reached out to touch it. "So do you want to try it, or should I?" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "We can't fight here in front of them," Richie protested, indicating the curious weightlifters. "It's against the rules." "What's wrong? Don't want any witnesses to see you get your butt kicked?" Rob smiled as the two circled each other, looking for an opening. "Then back down. Give me Kenny." "I told you already. I can't do that." Ryan glanced at the observers, thinking about his sword. "Then we have a problem." Rob feinted forward with a left backfist towards Richie's head. Instinctively, Richie reached out to block with his left - Rob stepped inside, and his right arm snaked around Richie's left arm, locking the elbow. He stepped back, throwing Richie off balance, pitching him forward. Rob's left hand rocketed towards Richie's left armpit - and returned with Richie's sword, straight out of katana space. Rob leapt back and carefully slid the weapon across the wooden dojo floor. "You won't be needing that." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Joanne tried to ignore the fact that the door was missing again. She saw what seemed to be a stairway next to a freight elevator on the other side of the dojo, and began to edge along the wall toward it. The two combatants locked stares, circling around, flexing and growling at one another. The overabundance of macho posturing had already sent the others packing - the testosterone those two were giving off caused the hormonally overenhanced athletes to quickly overdose. At least, that's one possible explanation why they were getting sick to their stomachs. She watched Rob point towards his chest, then Richie. "Your Kung Fu is good . . . but mine is better!!" She could almost swear his lips weren't moving in synch with his voice. "I have learned the Red Dragon Style from GrandMaster Lou himself. You cannot hope to defeat me!" Heck, that didn't even sound like his voice! "I will avenge the honor of my friends. Prepare to die!" Joanne reached the stairs and started up. A few more moments exposed to that level of testosterone and she'd surely start growing hair on her chest. Rob reached into his pocket - and put on a pair of sunglasses. "We're on a mission from God." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Taylor stood in the loft, looking into the wardrobe. *Empty!* He knew for a fact Kenny had just run into it - he had seen him with his own eyes. But he had vanished as completely as a twinkie at a Weight Watcher's meeting. He stepped into the closet, looking for a secret panel of some sort. He pulled the door closed behind him, checking for a secret release mechanism. No luck. What's going on here? He stepped out of the closet - into bright sunshine. A fire escape? He moved towards a window. It seemed to take forever to reach it, and he felt a sense of vertigo when he finally looked in - and saw Rob and Richie battling it out upside down on the ceiling, apparently defying gravity. The world swirled around Tay, and he got a sour taste in his mouth. He spit over the railing - and watched it drop sideways, instead of straight down. "I gotta get back inside," he groaned. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Joanne opened a small door at the top of the stairs; she had to crouch down to get through. , she thought. It looked like a locker room. Holding her nose, she realized it smelled like one too. Suddenly a half naked man came around a corner and looked up at her in anger. "What are you doing in here?! I was a member here for almost SIX MONTHS before I could figure out how to get to the showers, and you just waltz right in! Get out!" Joanne backed away nervously. "I'm looking for a little boy - have you seen one?" He glanced down at himself, and blushed furiously. "And get the damn water heater fixed already!" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It had been a while since Rob had fought an immortal. He was definitely enjoying himself. You couldn't quite cut loose like this on mortals - they broke too easily. He liked messing around with immortals. Except, of course, for Kenny. In a sudden surge of anger, he planted a vicious spinning back kick squarely into Richie's gut. "SAAAAAHH!!!!" he kiaied. The immortal landed on his butt and slid across the slick, polished wooden floor. , he thought as he went after the battered immortal. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Finding himself back in the loft, Tay looked suspiciously at the spiral staircase. , he thought frantically, . He looked around the loft, hoping to find Kenny hiding in the cupboard, in a corner, or behind the odd collection of luggage. He tried to ignore it, but he was irresistibly drawn back to the mysterious staircase. "What the heck - you only live once," he said out loud as he began climbing the staircase. He paused. "Well - most of us, anyway." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Joanne jogged across the dojo floor towards the elevator. They were still at it. Richie kept getting up, and Rob kept tossing him to the ground in new and interesting ways. "C'mon, Twitchy!" Rob taunted. "It wouldn't hurt so much if you learned how to fall correctly. Try it again." Infuriated by the preponderance of T's Rob used, not to mention the Y, Richie grabbed for him. Rob pivoted his back toward Richie, bent his knees, and grabbed the immortal's belt in one fluid motion - then gracefully hurled him over his hip. Richie hit the ground like the proverbial ton of bricks. He groaned loudly as he tried to get up. "That was obi-o-gosh," Rob explained. "Now are you going to tell me where Kenny is? No? Since you're not taking notes, allow me to demonstrate again." Joanne pulled the doors of the elevator shut. , she shrugged. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Tay was completely flabbergasted. He stood in a tremendous storeroom full of fascinating antiques, objets d'art, and, well, garbage, he thought as he picked up what appeared to be a dress, and a woman's wig. He shuddered at the thought of the woman who would fit into THAT thing - especially considering all the body hair stuck in the bodice. ::brrr:: There was an immense array of swords from all eras, historical uniforms, and the random piece of armor. Tay wandered through the stacks of items. Hmm - quite a few were labeled "Property of Panzer/Davis Productions". MacLeod must have gotten those from Hollywood. Interesting guy! Here was a stack of pictures dating back to the beginning of photography. Several black felt paintings of Elvis adorned the nearest wall. A spare carb for a Ford, it looked like. Wonder if Duncan ever . . . A look of utter amazement spread across Tay's face. "Duncan owned a Vee-Dub . . . !" He ran forward, gleefully examining the array of goods lovingly laidout on sheepskins and clan tartans. "Wood-slat roof racks!" "Empi Bumper Guards!" "Judson SuperChargers!" Tay felt dizzy, and sat down on a stack of Firestone WhiteWall Tires. "1949-1955 Semaphore Turn Signal Assemblies," he whispered in awe. "I've been looking for these for years." He turned the knob on a 1958 Blaupunkt Radio. Not so amazingly, it worked. He knew he'd taken the Stairway to Heaven. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Joanne entered the loft. She greedily sucked in the details of the daily life of Duncan MacLeod. She wandered through the kitchen, running her hands along the countertop. , she thought to herself. she laughed to herself. A glorious thought emerged. Wearing a huge goofy smile, she flew over the coffee table and springboarded off the back of the sofa, landing in a curled-up heap under the battle tapestry, and passed out before she hit the sheets. The headboard rattled with the impact, as always. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * This was one heck of a workout, Rob thought. True, he was using Richie as a walking punching bag, but it was fun. Why couldn't Richie understand that he wasn't going to behead Kenny? Trying to pound some sense into Richie was like beating his head against a brick wall. It was gonna feel really good when he finally stopped. Richie got up again, and glared. Rob could see his bruises heal noticeably. Rob was taking on some collateral damage - and it added up after a while. You couldn't play tag with an immortal indefinitely. Rob smiled. As Monty Python would say about immies, "I'm not dead yet." "Don't make me get rough on you," Rob threatened as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His nose was sore, and bleeding slightly. Time to end this. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Rob's attack was swift, brutal, and merciless. He knew he wasn't doing any permanent damage, but still . . . "Man that had to hurt," Rob said. Richie was dazed, favoring one leg. "I think you broke my ankle." "So? You'll heal." "That's not the point." "Crescent Butterfly Kick," he said. *whap* *whapwhap*. "And now, for the mandatory movie maneuver - a Jump Spinning Crescent Kick." *whack* He never could imagine using that in a real fight . . . except maybe to impress members of the opposite sex. And Richie was down for the count - finally. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "TAYLORR!!" "JO-ANNE!!" "YO, PEOPLE!!" Rob was concerned about the lack of response - although his accent was nonexistent, his South Bronx hollering genes were usually more than adequate for their chosen purpose - though their use was thoroughly discouraged by the population at large, sometimes with criminal penalties. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Richie revived, began to move - and felt excruciating pain lance through his arm. "Hold still, and it won't hurt, OK?" Richie nodded, gasping for breath. "I can't find my friends. They're here in this building. If I leave you here incapacitated - Kenny will behead you, no doubt in my mind whatsoever. I don't want that." "You just want his head." "NO!" Rob yelled. He unsheathed a razor sharp tanto he found on the dojo wall. "Cooperate, or I cut off a finger. One of yours. I've always wondered if you immortals could regenerate that kind of damage." "What do you mean 'you immortals'? As if you aren't one!" "Me? Immortal?" Rob laughed. "Not quite. I've met quite a few, and know a good bit about your kind - but I'm not one of you." With a wicked gleam in his eye, Rob said "*I* . . . have never been killed. And never expect to be." "But I felt you come in!" Richie protested. "You felt KENNY. Haven't you heard a thing I've said?" He grimaced in frustration. Rob released Richie's arm. "Kenny is on the loose. He's still in here someplace, and my friends are probably in danger." Helping Richie to his feet, Rob explained. "He has something very important that belongs to my friends. My family. As I said, 'We're on a mission from God.'" Richie looked up as yet another cult movie reference went whizzing over his head. "Ever see the 'Blues Brothers'? I'm saving an orphanage. Kenny took the deed when he looted the place, even after they cared for him, and the penguins will lose everything if we don't send it back there in the next few days." The mention of the word orphanage began to bring Richie thoughts of his childhood . . . but his "Flashback" processes short circuited. , Richie thought to himself. Noticing the lack of vacant expression (and occasional drooling) that typically accompanied immortal flashbacks, Rob realized that Richie was a really, really young immortal. "You're really new at this stuff, aren't you? A little wet behind the ears? Ah, with MacLeod as a mentor, you'll learn a lot -- when he has a chance to teach you. Unless you want to come down to So Cal to train with me?" "Southern California? Like Los Angeles? Kewl. You know, pilot season is starting soon. I was thinking of going to Hollywood to try my hand at acting. I was once in a show with some 'Friends'. Maybe half the time here in Seacouver, the other half in L.A. - you have a card or something?" "Sure!" "Let's go find your friends." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The wombat peered out from under one of Tessa's larger sculptures. He stared intently at the refrigerator, concentrating very carefully on something only he could sense. He walked toward the bed - shot a quick glance back at the fridge, then continued on, apparently satisfied for now. He leapt up on the bed and sniffed cautiously at the girl. She felt the touch of his whiskers, giggled "Oh, Dunkie!", and rolled herself up in the covers, kicking her feet in the air. The wombat shook his furry head sadly. , he lamented. Glancing again towards the kitchenette, the wombat quietly awaited the reappearance of the enchanted staircase. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Richie retrieved his sword, as Rob hollered again for the missing K'Brigadeers. Puzzled, Richie looked at a misplaced staircase. "Where do these stairs go?" "They go up. Let's use the elevator instead." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Tay sat there, contentedly spit-shining a VW hood ornament. He hadn't noticed the wombat at all, and it had been trying to attract his attention for ten minutes already. , thought the wombat. He carefully bit the man on his ankle. "Ouch! Hey, what are YOU, little fella? And what happened to your tail?" Tay asked. , thought the furry one. He grabbed the Semaphore TSA in his teeth and scampered for the staircase. Tay overcame his momentary shock at such uncivilized behavior and ran after the wombat. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Richie and Rob reached the loft as the wombat dropped the Semaphore down on the steps. In his haste to avoid this fine piece of German machinery, Tay lost his balance, sailed through the air, and landed squarely on the bed. The freight elevator doors opened to show a rumpled Joanne tangled up in Duncan's sheets and a frantic Tay holding the Semaphore as if it were a holy grail. "Caught it..." he sighed. Then they both noticed the couple standing in the elevator door. "Rob!" "Tay!" "Richie!" "Joanne!" "Rob!" "Joanne!" "Richie!" "Tay!" Joanne hastily composed herself, managing to stuff one satin pillowcase up her sleeve as Richie eyed them both warily. She pulled a long blond hair off her blouse. she thought. . Tay broke the silence. "Hey, you got any TurtleWax?" "For THIS I'll have bruises for a week," Rob said under his breath. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The refrigerator door opened slowly. The tip of a sword emerged, followed by a ragged, Keds-clad foot, reaching for the floor. The wombat, patiently waiting for just this moment, hissed loudly. The foot jerked spasmodically, the refrigerator door flew open, and Kenny spilled out of the fridge with a large crash. He was pelted by numerous bottles of Evian, celery sticks, and a single head of lettuce as the broken shelves emptied their contents on him. "Why me?" he thought, for the umpteenth time these past few days. A wine bottled crashed on his head, knocking him out. "What a shame," Rob said, examining the mess, "that was a superb vintage." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "I'm telling you, I don't have it! I don't know what your talking about!" Kenny screamed. Rob and Richie looked at each other. They'd had enough. Half an hour, and the kid wouldn't talk. They had frisked him and only found the wallet Kenny had taken in the alleyway. "I'll make sure this is taken care of," said Joanne. She smiled as she slipped the Watcher's wallet in her pocket. Could be useful. "If we get the deed, you can walk. Just give it to us, Kenny!" Joanne demanded. "I didn't take nuthin.' Lemmee go." The little kid act again. "That's all I can stand, I can't stand no more." Rob grabbed Kenny's ankles and held him upside down. Richie took an ankle from him, grinning widely. "You asked for it." Rob and Richie shook Kenny vigorously. Joanne and Tay stared in amazement as 800 years of accumulated kid junk and pocket fuzz began to fall out of Kenny's katana space. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The deed retrieved, Kenny demanded release. "You said if you got the deed you'd set me free! You didn't say how!! Now let me go - YOU PROMISED!!!" The group shrugged and looked to each other. Richie swept the Kenny droppings into a dust pan and dumped them in a bag, handing it to Kenny. "Duncan will be sorry he missed you," he sneered. Joanne mumbled something under her breath that nobody heard. "We did give our word," said Rob resignedly. "A deal's a deal", sighed Joanne. "Keep your nose clean, kiddo," warned Rob. "We won't forget this." Sometimes it was hard, growing up in the Age of Chivalry. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * In the distance, a wombat laughed. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kenny dashed out the door, ecstatic nobody had noticed the three inch cd he had kept stashed in a half eaten bag of Lay's Potato Chips. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The trio prepared to leave the dojo, escorted to the door by Richie. Joanne, Tay, and Richie carried on an animated conversation as Rob paused in the center of the dojo. There was a large, rusted iron pull ring on the floor . . . for a trap door. , Rob thought. He was mystified. And curious. Against his better judgement - he had to take a peek. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Rob stumbled out of the dojo, white as a sheet. He tried not to think about it. . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Rob Distante, K'immie Brigadeer Sensei Rob@aol.com (many thanks for the collaboration, Joanne, uh, boss!) =========================================================================== Date: Wed, 20 Mar 1996 18:25:32 From: Sheila Marie Lane Subject: WAR: Hurt part 1 WAR: Hurt part 1 Tuesday (3/18) Sometime after "Escher's Dojo" and "Hurt/Comfort" (*shrug* just time it so it fits, I can't keep track anymore) Beth's truck from hell "Turn right here--your *other* right, Beth!" Celli held her breath as the truck bounced over a curb. She was ferverently glad she hadn't had much for lunch. Why was it that she'd been a fine traveller for years, and as soon as she met Beth, she'd started getting motion sickness? Beth was completely unconcerned about her Celli's problems. Naturally. "When are you going to tell me where we're going?" she yelled over the Les Miz soundtrack that was playing full blast on the CD player. "When we get there. If you haven't scared the whole neighborhood away first." Diane, squished between them, took that as her cue to reach over and turn the stereo off. "Thank you, Diane. Okay, go one more block and stop." Beth pulled to the side of the road and got out. The other two followed. Celli took in a grateful breath and felt her color starting to return to normal. "Wait a minute," Diane said. "I recognize this house." "I would hope so," Celli said. "You guys stay here. I'll be right back." Kenny was stumbling through the bushes, sill swearing, when a hand grabbed him from behind. "Wha--" he started to yell. A hand clamped itself on his mouth. "Keep your mouth shut and do as I say." He elbowed his attacker and pulled away. "Who the hell are you?" he spat, turning around to face a very determined-looking girl holding a very big flag. *Wait a minute. She didn't have that a second ago.* "Hi, Kenny. I'm Celli. You're coming with me." "Says who?" "Says this." She waved a computer disk in his face. "This disk contains your entire life history. Come quietly, and I won't be forced to tell your mentor Amanda about the sixties." "How did you find out?" "I'm psychic. Get your butt in gear, twerp." He followed her, but not incredibly willingly. He had run out of insults in English by the time they got to the truck, and was starting in French. "Kenny!" Beth and Diane said in unison. Celli ignored them. "Get into the truck," she said to the still-swearing Kenny. He glared at her. She waved the disk threateningly. He fired off another round of insults and climbed into the cab. Beth pulled Celli over. "Two questions. Why is he here?" "All I can tell you is that it won't be pleasant for him." Beth thought about that for a second. "Fine, I can deal with that. But how *did* you get him to come with us?" Celli grinned and held up the disk. "The first draft of 'Things to Do in Toronto When You're Dead'* and a really lucky guess." *Poster's note: "Things to Do..." is my latest story, a collaboration with Marina, and a part of "Richie Forever" volume II. You didn't think Carol Ann was the only one capable of shameless plugs, did you? ########################################################################## Sheila Marie Lane slane@sunbird.usd.edu http://www.usd.edu/~slane ########################################################################## "Where's the kaboom? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!" -- Marvin the Martian (Welcome to the War!) ########################################################################## =========================================================================== Date: Wed, 20 Mar 1996 18:37:32 From: Sheila Marie Lane Subject: WAR: Hurt part 2 WAR: Hurt part 2 Tuesday (3/18) Right after "Hurt part 1" A random parking lot in Seacouver "Are you sure?...Well, he's not here yet...okay, fine, I'll get back to you." Celli hung up the phone, ignored the curious stares of Beth and Diane, and looked out the window. "Any minute..." Kenny squirmed in the back seat of the truck cab. "Let me out of here!" "Shut up, Kenny," the three women said together. He started swearing again. They all groaned. After a few minutes, he came to a sudden halt and started looking around frantically. "You double-crossed me!" "I don't *think* so," Celli said. "Take a better look. There's an Immortal that wouldn't hurt a fly. Mostly 'cause he can't." Beth craned her head to get a better look. "Hey, that's Benny!" "Thank you, master of the bloody obvious." When Beth glared at her, Celli just shrugged. "Hey, I had to get it in at some point, didn't I?" The three women jumped out of the truck. Kenny half-fell out after them and ran to the other Immortal. "Help! They're trying to kill me!" "Oh, not that *again*," Beth grumbled to Diane. The blonde rolled her eyes in agreement. "What's going on here?" the stocky little man said suspiciously. "Oh, nothing much," Celli said. "We just want to have a little talk with you." "Why don't I like the sound of that?" "Because you have something approximating a brain?" Celli jerked her head at Beth and Diane. They spread out to either side. Beth followed Benny's every movement, and Diane never took her eyes off Kenny. Celli advanced toward the two, who were finally starting to show signs of reall apprehension. "Okay, here's the deal. A couple of your...fans...just decided that our Richie made a good punching bag. We don't like that. We *really* don't like that. So we want you too pass on a message for us--you're the kind of guy that understands this sort of thing, aren't you Benny? Tell your friends that we take our titles seriously." "Titles?" Benny was actually starting to sweat. He felt around in his jacket for his sword. Damn, where was it? He knew he should've gotten the magic pocket fixed when it started to rip... The three women spoke as one. "The Richie Reserve, Flag Wavers and Defenders of Richie Ryan." "You're nuts!" Kenny snapped. He pulled out his sword. Benny followed. "You're not listening to me." Celli pulled her flag out. Benny's eyes popped wide, then wider when Beth and Diane whipped theirs out too. "Guess we'll have to show you. Ladies?" Diane advanced on Kenny. He took several steps back. "Hey, I've got a sword." "Try it, pipsqueak." He made the mistake of doing so. There was a *swish* followed by a *whapwhapwhap*! He found himself on the ground, staring up at the business end of a flag. "Ow!" "Oh, did I hurt you? Good." Diane gave him her most evil grin. Meanwhile, Beth was dealing with Benny. This was a little more tricky--not much, but a little. "I had nuthin' to do with--whatever this is!" he yelled, backing away. "We don't care. You're just the demonstration models, so to speak." "Ahh!" He threw all caution to the wind and attacked. Beth parried every move easily. Finally, he gathered all his strength and moved in for a killing stroke. Guess how successful *that* was. Kenny looked up--painfully--and saw three faces above him. "Tell your people to lay off Richie. Or we'll have to do another demonstration. And we might not be nice next time." He watched them saunter off, dragging Kenny by one foot. "Scary chicks they have in this town." "Come on," Celli said as she threw Kenny into the back of the truck," Let's get him back where we found him." "Why?" Beth looked completely lost. Celli shrugged. "I wouldn't want to mess up anyone's plans. They might want to hurt him more over there." "Cool!" ########################################################################## Sheila Marie Lane slane@sunbird.usd.edu http://www.usd.edu/~slane ########################################################################## "Where's the kaboom? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!" -- Marvin the Martian (Welcome to the War!) ########################################################################## =========================================================================== Date: Wed, 20 Mar 1996 00:01:39 From: Sandy Fields Subject: WAR: Let 'Em Eat Cake Title: Let 'Em Eat Cake Author: Sandy Fields Tme: Around noon Tuesday, 3/19 Place: Joe's Bar The four ravenous women trudged into the bar ready to eat the wood panelling off the walls! They couldn't believe the prices for room service in that hotel. At this rate they'd go broke before they ever found out what the heck they were even *doing* in Seacouver! They were all in pretty bad moods by this time. The southern belle couldn't believe the poor service at the hotel -- and for this they had to tip?! The two ladies from the midwest didn't care much for the service, either, but they were just determined to enjoy this trip (if they didn't starve to death). And the one from Berkeley was just glad that the others had been in the middle of a snack when she had arrived after her 16-hour drive, and she had been able to build her favorite sandwich. After they had finished off the food, they had all hit the sack around 3 a.m. No sooner had their heads hit the pillows than they were all comatose -- exhausted from the long day and its hectic activity. But that was last night (this morning?), and this is a new day; and they were all starving again and determined not to spend another dime on that hotel food. They took a table in the back, where they could get a good view of anybody and everybody that came in. People-watching was a hobby that they all shared. They didn't really expect much traffic at this time of day, though. Actually they were surprised that the door was even open when they arrived. Just then a young girl who looked no more than 17 came over to take their orders, and before she could say "Hi, I'm Jill", they all started ordering at once, "hamburger & fries... no, make that a cheeseburger, no lettuce or tomatoes, just ketchup & mayo", "how much is a hamburger?", "steak & fries... and don't forget the A-1", "What do I get with this chicken gyro thing?", " how much is the chicken gyro?", "Do you serve milkshakes here?" "Ladies", Jill said with a frightened look on her face, "this is a bar.... see the name? Joe's Bar. Wouldn't you like a beer or a Coke, Pepsi or something? We have a double chocolate cake that's pretty good." She looked quite flustered. They explained that they needed FOOD, so she took their orders and headed for the back, mumbling to herself. She was gonna pay Joe back for this one. When he left he said there'd probably be no customers since it was too early in the day. Now these four weird women come in here wanting her to *cook*. And that one with the green eyes and the southern accent keeps asking the prices of everything! Give me strength! Just as Jill was sorting the orders out in her book, another group of customers came in the door. "I don't believe this", she thought. The dark-haired guy with the ponytail had to be Duncan MacLeod. No mistaking him. But who was the amazon with the fiery mane? And the others didn't look familiar, either. Six of them altogether. , she thought to herself as she tried to figure out how to turn on the stove. Sandy - Motor City Mama =========================================================================== Date: Tue, 19 Mar 1996 14:58:22 From: Jimmy Murphy Subject: WAR: Chez Lindsey: t-minus-one and counting Mid-day, suburban Seacouver March 19, 1996 "Amanda...did you ever get her address?" Anne asked Donna hurriedly, pacing impatiently. Not waiting for an answer, she continued. "I have to get a dress....that one I picked out for *April* just won't cut it. And what about Duncan and Richie? I mean, last time I talked to Duncan was...." She trailed off, aware of how eager Donna was to know the answer to this question. Donna was in overdrive in her quest to make Mary's Christening into a reconciliation party for Anne and Duncan. Donna was even suggesting that Anne call Duncan to invite him personally. "A while ago," she said neutrally. "Well, *somebody* has to play the godfather role in this thing, since your so-called reliable godfather has wandered off. Did his girlfriend ever reply to that e-mail?" "'Fraid not," Anne said, wholly sure that Karen had received the letter, and more than likely deleted it without reading past the "Dr. A. Lindsey" heading. Anne had called the airlines and found proof that Jimmy was indeed in town; Anne was a mixture of worry and disdain when thinking about the situation. On the one hand, she should have expected Jimmy to bail out when the heat was on, but she was still greatly disappointed. Mary needed him at that ceremony, even if she did not know what was going on. "Why did you name *him* godfather anyway? Seems to me that 'tall, dark and Duncan' would make a much more solid father figure. This Jimmy guy doesn't even live in this town." Marie had been sitting and listening to the entire conversation, attempting to write down notes on the Christening details. She gave Anne a scowling look when the subject of Jimmy Murphy came up, and when Donna mentioned how Jimmy was living out of town, Marie arched an eyebrow. "He only moved south recently, within the last year," Anne said. "I really think something has happened. Maybe I should call the police." Marie rose from the chair, straightening her Valentino jacket. "I think you should call Mrs. Taylor and get her to come over tomorrow morning while the three of us supervise the caterers and the tent people." She was obviously trying to change the subject. She succeeded. Down the street at Mrs. Taylor's house, Mr. Taylor was fiddling with his 1958 Ford truck, attempting once again to bring it to life. The thing was a lost cause, but at least it got him away from his wife's nagging about the uncut lawn. He looked up to see a young boy approach, a child he did not recognize as being from their neighborhood. "Hey, mister...need some help?" he asked, putting on his best Dennis-the-Menace grin. "Are you from around here?" Mr. Taylor asked. Kenny did not answer; he jumped forward and closed the rickety hood down on Mr. Taylor. Before he knew what had hit him (literally), Kenny had made off with the man's tool box and a thermos full of some warm drink. "So, Miss-Priss Anne," he snarled to himself, "you *know* I had to come back to get you, didn't you? Well, it's payback time for getting in my way." Anne, Donna, and Marie went upstairs, trying to find something suitable for her to wear when the three were going out later in the afternoon. Marie offered her favorite Chanel, but Anne was scared that Chanel might be overdressing. "Where on Earth did you get this garbage? The thrift store?" Donna cracked, pulling from the racks an especially ugly, ski sweater. Anne snatched it away and tossed it toward the green clothes hamper in the corner of the room. "I did not pick that out. JAX department store downtown provided me with clothes free of charge last year, right before I got pregnant...and worth every penny, huh?" Marie and Donna nodded, then pushed aside the oversized tops, tight-looking sweaters, and dull-colored slacks. "Ugh! Who would actually wear that?" Donna said, spotting a green skirt on a hanger. "Oh, *this*...this I like," Marie said, pulling out a silver dress with a scooped neckline. Anne remembered instantly the last time she had worn it: the hospital benefit with Duncan. Anne agreed that it would be the best choice; she seemed more enamored with the idea of wearing the dress due to its memories than for its actual appropriateness. "Is that one of Mary's play toys? I don't remember buying that..." Anne commented as she looked in the crib. Marie was wrapping Mary in her favorite blanket and Anne was still straightening the necklace around her neck. In the crib she spotted a small, fuzzy object. Anne decided it had to be one of the ten thousand-plus toys that Marie had brought from LA. "The woman must have bought out Neiman's *and* Bullock's before leaving," Anne quipped. Remembering the baby, Anne decided against the necklace, deciding to save herself the strangulation. The ladies soon piled into Anne's Sentra (with Mary in the carseat) and headed out to lunch. Watching from the woods behind Anne's house was Kenny, who formed a devious grin as he planned to become another resident of Anne's house. He grabbed the wrenches from his new toolbox and set to work on the back door's latch. A Hider in the House? Stay tuned....