***Tuesday, November 7, 1995***

A PARTY PLANNED (Part 1b)
by Cousin Toni
with a lot of help from Sara Orel and Partly K

Time: Dawn
Place: Toronto International Airport

Sara pushed her honey colored hair out of her face again as she shepherded
yet another singularly dressed woman off the plane.  Cousin Toni hadn't
said exactly how many people there would be, although she had warned that
some "extras" might hitch along.  She winced as the airport ground crew
let yet another piece of luggage hit the pavement.  Ona, the tall
Amazonian tattooed soundwoman ran over the see what the damage was _this_
time. 

"Hey," she heard Beth, Ona's tiny partner, screaming, "watch that, you
_idiots_!" 

Sara tried to block out what was happening to the hapless ground crew at
Beth's hands and concentrate on getting all the assorted band members,
sound crew and various roadies off the plane and on deciding just how she
was going to get them all into Tracy's modest flat. 

She'd entered the flat the day before after calling Tracy to make sure she
was at the station.  She'd never seen a place so meticulously *neat*.  The
apartment was not empty, in fact it was full. Decent furniture, childhood
souvenirs not quite left behind, the long row of ribbons and awards,
starting with 3rd grade gymnastics and progressing through softball,
dance, Tai Kwan Do, girl guides, right up through a series of marksmanship
ribbons from the police academy. But everything, and she meant everything,
in the place was arranged at right angles to its neighbor, in
chronological order, without a speck of dust.  The woman had even arranged
her fridge alphabetically for God's sake.  Intrigued, Sara had inspected
every crevice of the apartment looking for even one small speck of dust or
human disorder to no avail.  "You'd think the she lived on a TV set," she
thought, annoyed. All Tracy's rather prosaic clothing hung clean and
pressed (arranged by color, of course). Her toothpaste tube was neatly
rolled and capped, the toothbrushes dated to be replaced every three
months just as the Canadian Dental Association recommended. Even her beer
empties were neatly stripped of labels, rinsed, and aligned in rows in the
clean blue recycling bin. 

"Sara," Ona said, bringing her back to the present, towering over her 5'4"
self, "you've got to get these *men* to leave the equipment alone or I
won't be responsible for what Beth's going to do to them.  It's early and
she's not feeling very tolerant." She said *men* as if they were members
of a particularly moronic and loathsome species who Beth might decide to
remove from the face of the earth if she were bothered. 

"Ok, ok," Sara said. "You and Beth get the rest of the gang distributed
into the limos and I'll talk to them." Beth and Ona had been a godsend
when they first arrived, introducing her to each of the band members,
dismissing the hangers on and starting the ground crew unloading into the
waiting truck. Sara could only try to track the women to whom she'd been
introduced by hair color or piercings. Sue, the woman with jet black hair
and velvet red roots had handed her an envelope, saying "This is from
Toni," and then said strangely, "don't worry, you'll get used to dealing
with her." 

Sara was tired. She felt maybe she'd gotten into more than she anticipated
with this contract. "Maybe that's why I was warned about being careful in
contracts with Cousins," she thought, "but the price had certainly been
tempting." She happily contemplated the volumes of the Metropolitan
Museum's excavations at Lisht series awaiting her in the hands of a
neutral party. 

Finally everyone and all the equipment was loaded and Sara got in her
rental with Sue, Ona, and Beth and led the cavalcade off into the cold
Toronto morning. 

***

Place: Outside Tracy's apartment

Sara had left the waiting parade a block away, as she quietly led Beth,
Ona and two of the strongest roadies into the apartment. "The way I figure
it we have a couple hours," she said quietly. "The station said she
wouldn't be back before her shift ended, she apparently had a breakfast
meeting."  The women began quickly stripping the living room of all its
furniture and carefully arranged knicknacks.  "Remember," she said
urgently, "no sound check, we don't want the neighbors calling the police,
do we?" 

Beth and Ona worked quickly, setting up the massive speakers and sound
board, while Sue quickly arranged the order for the show. "Madigan and I
will start, Kathleen and Bikini Kill are next, then 7 Year Bitch, Sleater
Kinney, and Donna, Jody and Kaia will end with Team Dresch." 

"Sue!" Corin interrupted, "we have to go _after_ Bikini Kill, because I'm
using their drum kit." 

"Ok, ok," Sue said, "let's run through the order again."

Sara interupted.  "Do you think we could start with something more..." she
paused and thought, "aggressive? I want her to be blasted out of here the
moment she steps through that door." 

Sue shrugged.  "Not my choice in line-ups, but you're calling the shots.
Exactly *what* is going on here?"  She held up her hand before Sara could
answer.  "Wait, I don't want to know."

Gradually the chaos began to resolve itself into order. The bands began
bringing out songlists, the sound system screeched unhealthily several
times (much to Sara's dismay) and finally all was ready.  Sara donned some
spare clothes from the Riot Grrrls and slid into the background.  She
really wanted to see what Tracy did when she saw this.  Now, they only
need wait 'til she showed up. 

###

YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE...
by Berg Oswell

Time: Just after sunrise
Place: The Raven
        
Early in the morning, a shadow flitted from rooftop to rooftop, in the
vicinity of the Raven.  Muttering under its breath, it managed to clamber
onto the roof of the Raven and get in through the roof. Ain't micro-saws
wonderful? 
        
After getting inside, Berg crouched among the ceiling lights, his pack of
equipment weighing heavily on his back, but not for long.  First order of
business was to re-wire a few of the lights with a little radio controlled
cutout switch and a timer.  Using a low-level white noise generator to
mask his movements a bit, in case of vampiric presences below, he climbed
among the lights, adding a bulb here, a radio switch there, and the
occasional small black box. 
        
There was one brief moment of panic as someone walked right below him,
nearly causing his heart to stop, but they passed on without noticing him. 
With the lights rigged, now came the hard part.  Installing the CDs and
tapes he carried where they'd be played, *without* being seen. 
        
Stealthily climbing down the wall near the sound system, Berg managed to
slip into the booth with no difficulties.  Re-wiring the system to accept
remote control by radio was simple enough, although doing it mostly in the
dark by touch made it take longer than it should have.  As a result, he
nearly missed his chance to escape, making it by mere seconds.  On his way
up through the overhead lights, he stopped only to place a few extra
surprises, then dropped a small pellet down behind the bar. 
        
After returning to the roof and pulling the piece he'd cut back into the
hole, gluing it in place, he crept away into the rising sun. 

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

Once back at Merc Central, he quickly composed some email to his employer,
sent it, and went to sleep. 

###

IN FOR A PENNY....
by Partly

Time: 7am EST
Place: Coffee shop
   
Partly was almost getting used to the idea of having breakfast with Tracy
every morning.  It let her keep track of what was happening to her, and at
least she had the satisfaction of knowing that no one was *directly* going
after Tracy.  They sipped coffee together, and Partly listened to Tracy's
tale of murder and mayhem that she had investigated the night before. 
  
"Well, maybe tonight will be calmer," Partly offered.
 
"I know it will.  I have off."
 
Surprised, Partly gave Tracy her full attention.  "Off?  I thought that
Wednesday and Thursday were days off?"  She immediately suspected some
sort of war related ploy. 

"I don't know.  Nick put in for some sort of leave, and the Captain gave
me off too."  Tracy shrugged.  "Normally I would fight it, but I thought
it would give us a chance to go out on the town.  I could show you some of
Toronto's night life." 

Partly almost choked on her coffee then looked at Tracy to see if she
meant any sort of double entendre.  Tracy met her gaze levelly.  Partly
found her voice.  "I'd love to go...  Wait, I can't."  Tonight was the Die
Hard party. If all went right Berg would have finished with his
"alterations" and she really wanted to see the results.  "I'm going to be
busy tonight." 

"We'll make it late.  I don't have to get up early tomorrow."

"The party's going to run all night...."  Partly stopped in mid-sentence.
This much she had in common with Tracy:  They both talked too much on
occasion.  On most occasions. 

"You're going to a party here in Toronto and you didn't even invite me?"
Partly swore that Tracy was almost pouting. 

"It's not that way at all."  Partly searched for answer.  "It's kind of
hard to explain." 

"Oh, more of that 'You just got to trust me' stuff, huh?"

"Something like that," Partly agreed.

"Why do I suddenly feel so left out?"  Tracy asked.

Partly stared at Tracy thoughtfully.  That was her exact feeling for most
of this war.  Of course, if Tracy *did* go it could cause some people more
problems than the sunlamps that she had planted.  It would require some
quick talking on her part and perhaps some strategic distraction.  The
risks were great, but...  What's war without risks? 

"Well, I suppose you could go.  You just have to give some allowances. 
It's kind of..."  Partly searched for a good comparison.  She found one. 
"It's kind of like a sorority party.  Not everyone is going to be acting
like themselves.  And you can't take everything you see there seriously." 
Partly paused again.  Perhaps she should test Tracy's believability factor
a little more.  "There might even be some people you know there."  Partly
watched Tracy carefully, judging her reactions.  "Nick and Nat are
probably going." 

"I knew you knew them,"  Tracy said triumphantly.  "They were both asking
me some pretty strange questions about you.  Did Nick ask off just for
this party?" 

"I don't know.  And I really don't know Nick or Nat.  They're just friends
of some friends."  Partly was becoming slightly confused on what
explanations she had used before.  Finally she settled on the truth. 
"Don't try to figure it out.  I'm not even sure what is going on."  And I
read all the posts. "Just be ready at 6:00.  I'll pick you up then." 

"What should I wear?"

Partly shook her head.  That was a no win question.  Should it be Tracy
the *good* cop, blonde airhead and newbie partner, or Tracy the bimbo cop,
blonde airhead and newbie partner.  In the end, Partly decided, it didn't
matter. People would see what they wanted.  "Whatever you like," she
finally answered.  "It's being held at the Raven."  Tracy's surprised look
meant she knew about the Raven.  Partly hesitated for a minute, then
continued.  "If it were me, I'd want to knock them dead."  Maybe Vachon
and his following will show up.  Tracy in a distracting dress would be
just what was needed to keep Vachon's mind on Tracy rather than his
groupies.  All in all, it was shaping up to be *quite* a bash. 

###

THREE LITTLE MAIDS FROM WAR 5 AND THE MISSION THAT DIDN'T DO A WHOLE LOT 
MORE TO SCREW UP THEIR TARGETS (a)
Or: How to Waste a Day While Making an Extra Big Effort
by e.m. and Bianca Hall

Time: 8am EST
Place: Everywhere - especially the relevant places
    
erica had adopted a mantra by now. "It's a good writing exercise.  It's a
good exercise..." She would eventually come to believe it and, when
showing off her battle scars (calloused fingers and trick wrist) to the
little nieces and nephews who would gather around her rocking chair, she
would come to praise such a character-building ordeal. But, for the time
being, anxieties over lost sleep, neglected homework, and a postponed
submission to Laurie CF and Celeste's _Toujours LaCroix_ Zine threatened
to rob her of any direct future involvement after "Three Maids or How to
Waste Time," which you, dear reader, are reading. 
    
erica thought of this as she ran alongside Toronto's skyline, leaping from
building to building and then stumbling and scraping elbows and knees when
she remembered she wasn't Spiderman. Her thoughts were permanently
interrupted as she tripped over a TV antenna, which probably stuck out its
skeleton frame from the crumbly asphalt bed for the sole purpose of
stopping her. And then she saw why - this was Nat's building. 
   
She hefted up her backpack full of brick dust and brick shards - items to
plant in Natpackers' pockets, trouser cuffs, and purses and sprinkle upon
all their possessions. 

***

Time: 9am EST
   
erica emerged onto the fire escape and climbed down to the street below,
eager to move onto her next hit. 
   
One ugly church. Old churches were usually so regal and, at the very
least, spooky. This one was a clunker. Moreover, it was dirty. Why hadn't
it been condemned? she wondered, shielding her eyes from the hazy Canadian
sun to get a better look. Or, if it had, when were they gonna demolish it?
What an eyesore. 
   
She looked down at the half-empty (you pessimist, erica, you) paint cans
(which i plan to order, thank you, Linda, Roth! What is this about Nigel's
lips...?) in her arms. Too bad she couldn't throw the stuff onto the
*outside* instead of the inside of Vachon's place. Ah, well, off to
splatter the tiniest drops of pink on Vaquero/Vaquera clothing and hide
stained brushes upon their persons... 

***

Time: 10:15am EST

Bianca knew that, as much fun as it was to play vandal, these had to be
the most pointless stunts imaginable. She and erica had only heard the
initial reports of Q-Tips, delivered pierced hearts, altered Caddies,
parrotting precinct computers, candy cigarettes... By now, each faction
must surely be attacking the other, regardless of proof of involvement or
lack thereof. Whatever incriminating evidence she, erica, or Jamie planted
on their assigned listmembers would probably go virtually unnoticed.
Still, sneaking around was fun. So Bianca gladly talked her way into Nick
and Tracy's division. 
   
She was Cohen's niece who would greatly appreciate one last tour around
the station. "Oh, yes, I'd love to see the Captain's office. Yes, I'm
sorry to have missed Captain Reese, too. I very much wanted to
congratulate him but I'll be back on the plane to British Columbia by the
shift change. <sniffle> No, I'm okay... <blows nose> Well, <sniff> maybe
if you could just leave me for a moment... I just need a second alone...
God bless you, officer." 
   
Traffic cops. They were the best. Bianca unzipped her shoulder bag and
amateurly pre-recorded tapes, labeled "Finding the Good Cop Within," burst
forth. A tape here, a tape there...stick your head out the door to make
sure no one's looking...sneak on over to Nick's desk...a tape in his
drawer and 10 in Tracy's... 
   
"Oh, officer, I'm glad you're back. I'm sorry but I can't stand being here
any longer. It just all brings back too many memories of Auntie Amanda...
Thank you so much for your kindness. Please give Nick, Tracy, and Captain
Reese my respects. God bless..." 
   
Bianca had wanted to get Vachon but, heck, this assignment was rather fun.
She got to put those Repertory classes to good use and, besides, erica
absolutely couldn't stand Vachon. Let her have some fun, too. 

Now, off to find an out-of-the-way manhole...

###

A PARTY PLANNED (Part 2)
by Partly K, with help from Toni and Sara

Time: 9:30am EST
Place: Tracy's apartment

Tracy paused outside her door and frowned slightly.  Something was wrong.
She wasn't sure what.  Perhaps it was all the evidence of people having
been moved in and out of her building.  Perhaps it was the way Mrs.
Fredrix just stared out her window and didn't smile or wave the way she
usually did when Tracy got home.  Perhaps it was just the strangeness that
seemed to be happening ever since Partly called her.  Whatever it was,
Tracy would be relieved once she was secure in her own bed. 

Tracy turned the key in the lock, pulled open the door, and was blasted
back into the hallway by the opening riff of Bikini Kill's first number. 
It took her a moment to recover, the noise level emanating from her
apartment was deafening and her living room was filled with the weirdest
assortment of women she had seen in a long time.  Two of the women, one
very, very tall and one very small, rushed out, grabbed Tracy by the arms
and dragged her into the apartment. 

The noise was almost unbearable.  It took all her strength to pull her
arms away from the two women holding her, but when she finally freed
herself, she spun around ready to lay into anyone who looked even remotely
in control.  Instead she froze, staring at the women onstage.  It was
Kathleen Hanna and Bikini Kill.  Her ears slowly adjusted to the level of
music and the song they were playing, "Star Bellied Boy," filtered in.  It
was her personal favorite.  She had loved it from the first moment that
she had heard it, off of a bootleg concert tape that a friend in Seattle
sent her.  She couldn't believe it.  Bikini Kill were here, right in her
own apartment. 

The song ended and in the silence everyone stopped and stared at Tracy. 
In the corner, Sara watched with delight.  She had instructed Ona and Beth
to keep Tracy in her apartment until the police arrived.  In a quiet
neighborhood like this one, the neighbors had probably already called
them. She couldn't wait to see Tracy try to explain her way out of this
one.  But first, she wanted to see her try and get the band to leave. 
Sara moved in closer, not wanting to miss a word.  She didn't. 

Tracy stood silently for a moment after the music stopped, then walked to
the band.  Partly had said that she should be prepared for strange things
to happen to her and that she should just "go with the flow," as Partly
had put it.  While finding an entire concert hall in her living room was a
bit more strange than she had imagined, she still decided to take Partly's
advice.  Besides, she *liked* this band.  She stepped closer to the
makeshift stage and the entire room leaned in to hear what she was going
to say.  It was not what they expected. 

"Could you play 'Rebel Girl'?" 

Someone in the back laughed, and Kathleen smiled and nodded.  She was just
about to begin when there was a knock on the door.  Tracy held up a hand,
"Just a minute," and walked to the door.  Ona and Beth stood in her way.
Tracy toyed with the idea of trying to push past them, but decided against
it.  She still didn't know what was going on, but she was beginning to
understand some of the rules.  "Could you please get the door?" 

Ona and Beth exchanged glances, then Beth shrugged and opened the door.  A
small, frail-looking, grey-haired old lady walked into the room, stopping
when she saw the entourage gathered inside.  Sara smiled.  Now, things
were going to get back on track. 
 
"Tracy, are you all right?"  Even her voice was faltering. 

"Mrs.  Fredrix."  Tracy ushered the old woman into the room.  "Have *I*
got a treat for you.  Meet Kathleen Hanna, Tobi Vale and the rest of
Bikini Kill." She gestured to the band. 

Mrs.  Fredrix eyed the group suspiciously.  "How'd they get here?" 

Tracy laughed.  "I have no idea, but I'd like to thank whoever's
responsible.  A personal appearance in *my* apartment is just
unbelievable."  Sara groaned and reached for the phone.  She had to tell
her employer about this.  Tracy turned to the band.  "I lent Mrs.  Fredrix
one of my tapes of you.  She's a big fan." 

The band looked doubtful, but nodded politely.  Mrs.  Fredrix smiled at
them.  "I can't say I approve of all your songs," she said, her voice
barely above a whisper.  "And I certainly don't approve of the way you
dress."  The band looked dubious at this, but Mrs.  Fredrix kept right on
talking.  "But at least you're keeping the men on their toes.  They seem
to be taking themselves a might too serious lately.  It's good that you
remind them who's *really* in charge."  She reached out and patted
Kathleen maternally.  She nodded to the other assembled women and spotted
Donna Dresch.  "I hope you young ladies will do 'Freewheel for us too.
*Personal Best* was one of my top five albums for 1995." ("Best unsigned
band in America," she said in an aside to Tracy.) Then she went back to
the door. "Speaking of which, I've got to be getting back.  Henry will be
wondering what happened to me."  She surveyed the room one more time. 
"I'll be able to hear the rest of you from my apartment.  I'm just on the
next floor down.  Don't you be fretting about the neighbors, either.  Most
of them are at work, and the ones that aren't, well, I'll just talk to
them." 

Tracy shut the door behind her neighbor just as the music began again. 
She should call Partly and let her know what was happening here.  While
she was at it she should call a bunch of people.  No use wasting a good
party. 

As Tracy ducked into the kitchen where she could use the phone in peace,
Sara set down the phone in the living room.  She had informed her boss of
the unexpected developments and she still was going to get paid.  She
listened to the music for a minute then smiled.  Well, just because things
didn't turn out the way her boss expected, didn't mean she couldn't enjoy
herself. 

###

TAPES "R" US
Report by War Correspondent Celeste Hotaling-Lyons:

Time:  10am EST
Place:  In the offices at CERK, where the Cousins are hanging out

*Tap, tap, tap*; Celeste looked up from her computer at the discreet
rapping. 

A CERK secretary stood in the door of the office the Cousine had
commandeered when the Cousins had been forced to evacuate The Raven and
take over the radio station. 

"The fellow who runs our mailroom just called," the secretary said,
"you've just received a box from the States, Federal Express.  Is it . . .
um, do you think it's . . . ?" 

The unspoken question, "Is it gonna blow up in our faces?" hung in the air
between them. 

"Thanks, Terry--I've been expecting the delivery, could you have the
mailroom bring it up?" the Cousine put the secretary's mind at rest with
her words and a smile.  The woman nodded.  Once she'd left, Celeste rubbed
her hands together in glee and anticipation. 

Soon, the box deposited on her desk, the door closed against prying eyes,
the Cousine was ripping at the tape.  The top flipped open, to
reveal--rows and rows of neatly labeled audio tapes.  A gross of audio
tapes, in fact.  She pulled one out and popped it into the tape deck she'd
lifted from the radio's Intern room, and moments later the sweet vocals of
the Cousine's talented friend, Irene, accompanied by piano and guitar,
rang out from its speakers. She was pleased to note that the tape quality
was good, but still retained the raw, immediate quality she associated
with the best filk.  No over-processed, homogenized, phony,
we've-been-in-the-studio-since-Arbor-Day tones here.  To the tune of "I've
Been Working On The Rail Road," this is what she heard: 

"I've been merkin' in the War Games,"
said Dianne Therese De Sha!
"I've been merkin' in the War Games,
'Cos I know I'll make them pay!"
Can't you see old Nicky pouting,
Hangin' 'round his place all day?
Can't you hear poor Uncle shouting,
"Sandra, go away!

"Sandra, won't ya go?
Sandra, won't ya go?
Sandra, won't ya go awaaaaay?
Sandra, won't ya go?
Sandra, won't ya go?
Sandra, won't ya go away!"

Someone's in the basement with LC,
Someone's in the basement, I kn-o-o-ow;
Someone's in the basement with LC,
Prayin' that he'll let her go!

As the tape played on, the Cousine sat down at her Mac again and called up
her E-mail.  Her toe beat out a rhythm on the floor as she typed. 

Subject:  SONGS OF FK WAR V!

Body of Message:

Filk songs commemorating some of the more outrageous moments of Forever
Knight War V, including such (soon-to-be) classics as: 

"I've Been Merking In the War Games"
"Can You Feel The Love, To Knight"
"I Feel Mortal"
"Vachon's Theme"
"I've Got Those Thoroughly Depressing, Low Down, Mind-Messing, Trapped with
Uncle, Basement Blues"
"Ode To Joy" (Found A Crate of Cranberry Juice)
"Vampire in a Blue Dress"
"Rainy Days and Natmares Always Get Me Down"
"Caffeine!"
"Wedding Bell Blues" (Marry Me, Nick)
"Smells Like Ribena"
"Keep Your Heart Under Your Hat"  (The Coroner's Song)
"Sunshine On My Shoulder" (Makes Me Implode)
"Lurk, Lurk, Lurk"
and MORE!

Only $10, plus shipping!

Those who buy the audio tape will be the first to be offered the MUSIC
VIDEO tape, expected to be completed by January 1. 

Celeste typed in her E-mail address at CERK, then posted her advertisement
to the ForKni list. 

There!  Something for everyone--a couple of goopy love songs for the
Nick&Natpackers, sarcastic songs that would do Weird Al Yankovic proud for
the Cousins, a fashion-oriented song for the Raven/ettes, an
organ-oriented song for the Natpackers, several food-related ditties for
the FoDs, and every other kind of filk in between.  And now that she had
her very own copy of The Infamous Basement Videotape, the entire set, she
could begin editing together the music videos for "I've Been Merking In
The War Games" and "I've Got Those Thoroughly Depressing, Low-Down,
Mind-Messing, Trapped With Uncle, Basement Blues."

The computer pinged that she'd just got a message.  It sounded like the
*ching* of a cash-register, almost. 

Who said the Mercs were the only ones to make a buck in this filky, I
mean, filthy little war? 

###

A LONGSHOT FOR LONGPATH (b)
by Lane Lombardia

Time: Morning
Place: New Canaan, CT

The Federal Bureau of Investigation had been called in to investigate the
termiting of a certain late night talk show host's New Canaan, CT home.
The reason given was a suspicion that this insane act of wanton violence
had been an act of terrorists. The Bureau was looking to make heads roll
for such an outrageous and publicized action. 

###

IN SEARCH OF "LA CLUE"
by Jamie M.R.

Time: 10:30am EST
Place: Jamie's room

Jamie sat cross-legged on the bed in her room at the boarding house,
sipped at her morning coffee, and thought. 

She'd done a fair amount of eavesdropping, crouching on rooftops and
hanging precariously from fire escapes and such; she'd also talked to her
contacts, and (finally!) caught up with her e-mail.  Not that any of it
had done any good.  So far, all she'd come up with was 

1) Several people were claiming quite vociferously that Janette was in
Toronto, even though it was established fact that she was not; others were
saying just as vehemently that there were scads of Janette impersonators
(either that or Amy Hull impersonators) running around loose. 

2) The Happy Souvlaki Deli had apparently been hit with a restraining
order, and the Raven was being investigated by the Dept. of Health.  Or
something like that. 

3) Speaking of the Raven: it was apparently being shuffled back and forth
like a ping-pong ball, and no one Cousin Jamie had talked to was really
sure who was holding it at the moment... 

On the plus side, the confusion was aiding her as well.  For one thing,
Cousin Julie had apparently not made the connection that Mercenaries were
people who did things for payment, and was targeting them for retribution
rather than searching for the actual reason behind her (heh, heh) new
look. For another, she hadn't yet experienced the wrath of Sharon
Saltshaker, which gave her time to think of more interesting things one
might do with (heh, heh) sodium chloride crystals. 

"Mairrh," said Elfy, rubbing her fuzzy little head against Jamie's knee,
and batting a Q-tip into her lap. 

"Not now, Pelfsk, I'm busy," said Jamie absently, and thought some more. 

The latest word out on the street was that the DieHards were holding some
sort of defection party at the Raven tonight.  The question was, did Jamie
want to go?  She was torn.  On the one hand, she'd never so much as set
foot in the famous club.  On the other, she had the feeling that the stage
was being set for another transfer of residency among the factions -- and
Cousin though she was, Jamie was a firm believer that the Raven belonged
to the Ravenettes.  Or should. 

"Merrhhhowwwwr," said Elfy plaintively, and placed one soft, furry paw on
Jamie's thigh. 

"Nnn," said Jamie absently, petting the cat without looking at her. 

"Mmhargharrr," insisted Elf, and extended one claw to delicately puncture
Jamie's flesh. 

<That> got Jamie's attention, and she glanced down to see that Elfy had
rummaged around in her luggage, extracted the Natmare photo, and brought
it to her. 

"Yeah, I know, I gotta do something about the Natpack," Jamie agreed
(never having thought to turn over the photo and look to see if there was
any misleading writing on the back, she was surprisingly unconfused on
this issue).  "The Natpack in general, I mean; the salting of Sharon
doesn't count." 

"Nggrowwwwwwr," Elfy said mournfully.  "Mairrh mraagh, mrrahr rrawwr..." 

"I know; I can't figure it out either.  I mean...the tattoo, yeah, I can
see that being them, but the drugging?  Hey, they're Natpackers, they're
ORGANIZED; one of 'em should have known that I'm spectacularly allergic to
all sorts of things.  Sooo...either it *wasn't* the Natpack, and I really
think it was; or else there's something seriously wrong here." 

"Mrrrrrbl," said Elfy; she'd dragged a teal t-shirt from Jamie's backpack
(the Natpack shirt that Jamie had ended up stuck with some time ago, that
had mysteriously appeared in with her packed Cousinly clothing, although
Jamie had not put it there). 

"What do you want me to do, show up at their front door and ask them?"
Uncle had suggested that very thing, when she'd chatted with him on IRC.
Her Natpack sympathies were, after all, well-known; on the other hand, so
were her tattooes.  There was no way she could pass herself off as a new
Natpacker, and little chance she could convince them that she was truly
changing affiliations; and so LaCroix had eventually dismissed the plan as
unworkable. 

Those were his reasons.  Jamie's were rather different.  For one thing,
she'd never had any intention of trying to b***s*** the NatPack or any
other affiliation, regardless of <what> Uncle wanted.  She would attack
openly; or she would defect to their faction honestly and completely; she
would not combine the two -- that wouldn't be fair.  And Cousin Jamie had
a strong (if strange) sense of honor, one that not even LaCroix could
shake. 

<What a group we are,> she thought wryly, contemplating her fellow
Cousins. <Half of us cringe and cower and follow Uncle's every whim and
desire, while the other half cheerfully risk death by defying him at every
opportunity.  No wonder all the other factions think this is our fault --
we're a bunch of crazy m***f***'s.>

And the NatPackers had not corrected that assumption; had in fact
encouraged it, in tiny ways.  Which was as uncharacteristic for them as
drugging an innocent (or at least, an unsuspecting) person.  What was it
Morgan had always said?  "When consistent people begin acting strangely --
or when strange people start acting consistently -- that's usually a sign
that all sorts of things are just about to hit the fan." 

The only question was, did Jamie want to hide under her bed until the
objects stopped flying...or wade directly into the middle of the fray? 

Silly question, that. 

Automatically, her fingers flew over the keyboard of her laptop, accessing
her e-mail.  An item from "Rosebud" caught her attention immediately, and
she scrolled to it first; after a brief glance at its contents, she tabbed
her way into her IRC program and connected to #WarChannel. 

"Rosebud" wasn't on-line at the moment, but a great number of her fellow
Cousins were.  Jamie contributed only silence to the conference that was
taking place there, and afterwards sat on her bed and thought, hard.
Information could be such a burden... 

But in the end, there was only one course of action she could take, in
accordance with her own beliefs and ethics. 

<I do what I think is best,> she decided, as she gathered up her cat and
her luggage and her laptop.  <Just like Uncle, I make up my own mind --
whether anyone likes it or not.>

She glanced around the little room, to see if she had forgotten anything,
with no small amount of regret.  She didn't want to leave, but too many
people now knew where she was staying -- more to the point, Uncle knew
where she was staying, and it was a good bet he would be extremely
displeased with her very shortly...and while he couldn't do anything about
it in daylight, her fellow Cousins *could*. 

Taking a deep breath and bracing herself (and finding some small amount of
comfort in the cliche), Cousin Jamie shouldered her backpack, took the cat
carrier in one hand and the laptop in the other, and headed out into the
unknown... 

###

THREE LITTLE MAIDS... (b)
by e.m. and Bianca Hall

Time: Noon
Place: The sewer

Bianca sloshed around towards Screed's subterranean sanctuary, completely
unperturbed. Screed was a carouche (well, that's what *we* got from the
ep). Carouches can become animalistic, if they aren't full-fledged animals
already. She thought of dogs. Most of the dogs she had known were absolute
floor potatoes. Cats more so. And the only mouse she and erica ever had
spent the entire day under the shavings (rabbits are an entirely different
story, being intellectually superior to all of the above). Therefore,
should Screed be down here, he'd probably be somnabully occupied at the
moment, especially if listmembers have given him any sort of a workout, as
shown possible in ISOLC (tm by Jamie MR). 
   
Something in her bag sloshed as loudly as her shoes. Yeck. Were blood
stains as hard to get out as grass stains? She'd have to ask the butcher
the next time she saw him. He could be trusted with such a suspicious
question. I mean, he didn't say anything about 15 cow hearts, now, did he? 
   
Oh, shoot. Bianca hoped the blood wasn't leaking into the salt sacks. That
wouldn't do at all. 

###

A DEFECTION
by Vicki Jean Merriman

Time: 9:30am EST
Place: Vicki's room

The call came in the middle of her morning tea, making quite a splash in
the cup as a matter of fact. 

"Hello.  Merc, Raven and Die-hard adjunct.  We deliver."

"Uh, hello.  Is Vicki Merriman there?  Or Lorelei?  She's staying there,
right?"  The voice was a little hesitant, and who could blame it after
receiving an opening line like that. 

"This is Vicki.  May I help you?"

"Well, actually, I'd like you help you and Janette."  The woman on the
other end of the phone hesitated.  "I know that you are missing some
important papers and I can tell you who took them." 

"Who is this?"

"I'm a Cousin, but don't agree with our attempts to take back the Raven.
It belongs to Janette, legally and morally, and it really isn't any good
for Uncle." 

"So you are saying that the Cousins _did_ take the papers.  We assumed
that but didn't know for sure." 

"You knew the papers were gone?"

"Oh, yes.  I saw a shadow as someone fell out the window.  I think he was
male, but he got away before I could get a good look at him." 

"I know who he is and where the papers are now."

"What do you want for the information and why are you willing to give it
to us?" 

"Because Janette should have the club.  Look, I can't talk too long on
this phone or it will be noticed.  I'll come by the club today around
noon.  Then you Raven/ettes can either accept my help or not.  My
conscience will be clear." 

"Fair enough," Vicki said.  "Who is this?"  But the woman on the other end
had already hung up. 

###

A COUSIN CROSSES THE LINES
by Jamie M.R.

Time: Noon
Place: The Raven

She rapped hard on the heavy door, was about to knock again when it
opened, revealing a fathomless darkness beyond. 

"Truce," she said quickly, holding up a white flag -- actually, a white
bandanna patterned with a vaguely western design; it was the best she'd
been able to do on short notice.  "I have information for you.  Not the
most useful information I could get, but better than nothing.  May I come
in?" 

She waited while the person at the door thought it over; a moment later,
it opened, grudgingly allowing her inside. 

Once her vision had adjusted to the darkness, Cousin Jamie looked around
with wide-eyed approval.  "It's just like it's supposed to be!" she said
happily. 

"Nice to know that you approve," said Susan sardonically.

"Oh, definitely.  That's why I'm here.  This is *Janette's* club," Jamie
said emphatically, "by law as well as by emotional imperative; and I
believe that her faction ought to be in charge.  Not to mention... LaCroix
just hasn't been the same since he took over ownership and management of
this place.  I really think it'd do him good to be rid of it, whether he
thinks so or not."  She looked around at the myriad eyes which studied
her, measuring and appraising. "Look, I'm a Cousin; you know it, and I
know it.  I'm not asking you to *trust* me or anything.  But I believe
that the Raven belongs to the Ravens; on that point, there is no conflict
of interest." 

The suspicion in the stares didn't waver.  "I'll promise you this much,"
continued Jamie, unflinchingly.  "If you offer me sanctuary -- 'cause I
think it's a fair bet that the Cousins will be after me as soon as they
know what I've done -- I promise I won't do anything nasty to any of your
people while I'm under your protection; and if I encounter another ethical
dilemma which requires me to screw you over, I'll drop you a clue first. 
And just to prove I'm sincere, I'll even give you the information before I
ask you to commit to anything." 

She waited, until, "Well?" Jill said pointedly.

"Cousin Zillah stole the deed; he gave it to LaCroix last night," said
Jamie. "See?  I told you it wasn't much in the way of useful information
-- but at least I've done my part."  She looked visibly distressed.  "I
can't stand the idea of seeing this place converted back to the way *he*
had it. Especially after seeing it this way, now."  And glanced about at
the assembled Raven/ettes.  "So?  Are you going to take me under your
collective wing, pardon the pun?  Or are you going to dump me back out on
the street, to be beaten and ravaged and covered with salt by the first
pack of Cousins that happen to find me?" 

And she waited for the Ravens to reply...

The Raven/ettes looked at each other, trying to decide what to do.

"We wouldn't throw anyone out to be ravaged by the Cousins," Jill said. 

At that moment the door opened again, and everyone tensed up until they
saw Vicki Merriman come through the door.  She was dressed casually in
leggings, western boots and an oversized shirt. 

"Hi.  I'm late.  At noon we're expecting..."  She paused while taking in
Jamie and her white flag.  "Oops.  You must be the woman I talked to over
the phone.  Sorry, I meant to get here in time to warn the other
Raven/ettes that you were coming."  She looked around.  "Well, I see
everyone is still in one piece.  What exactly is going on?" 

Susan and Jill explained why Jamie had come and what she had to tell them. 

"And why are you doing this?"  Vicki asked.

Jamie explained for what felt like the 10th time.  "I like the Raven the
way it is.  It belongs to Janette and I don't like my Uncle while he's
playing clubowner.  But I'm gonna need protection from the other Cousins. 
They'll be out for blood." 

Susan considered the ramifications.  "True.  Even though the information
wasn't all that important, it was still useful.  Besides, just the fact
that you told us anything is going to annoy them no end." 

"I think we should give her sanctuary,"  Vicki commented. 

Jill nodded her head and Susan agreed.  "You should probably stay here at
the Raven right now, but I'll contact a trustworthy merc I know to arrange
for a little around the clock protection.  Where are you staying?" 

Jamie pointed to her luggage and cat carriers that had been missed in the
flurry of Jamie's arrival.  "I brought everything with me." 

"You have two cats with you?  Well, maybe they can be company for the new
kitten.  Why bring two cats?"  It seemed like a lot of trouble to Vicki. 

"Haven't you always written about only having one cat?" Jill asked. 

"This is Ralph, the cat double for Nat's Sidney.  I'm the one catsitting
him." 

Oohs and ahs greeted that statement.  "That's potentially a lot more
useful than the information you brought."  MJ had wandered up and joined
the conversation. 

"You can't do anything to hurt the cats," Jamie said fiercely. 

"We would never hurt a cat,"  Vicki said just as fiercely.  "At least, I
wouldn't let anyone hurt him, and I'm sure the other Raven/ettes feel the
same way.  However, you must admit, it does sound like a situation that
has potential..."  She grinned. 

"Maybe Miklos would let the cats stay in the apartment, although I can't
imagine that Janette would be too thrilled to have cats in her club," 
Jill said. 

"We've got to keep them out of the club itself.  We do _not_ need the
health inspectors down on top of us as we've got enough trouble with what
the Cousins have thrown at us already."  Vicki thought about the
confrontation over the lost papers that would surely occur sometime in the
next day or so. 

Jill wondered what Amy/Janette would think about the cats and hoped that
she wouldn't mind. 

"It's settled then,"  Susan said.  "You may stay in the Raven for now and
we'll plan a little merc protection for you."  Susan knew that Jamie
couldn't double-cross them.  The Raven/ettes had the only cranberry juice
supply in the city. 

###

ONWARD AND UPWARD (Part 0)
by Cherri Munoz

Time: Early afternoon
Place: Cousin Central

"Heh, Cousin Lisa P.!"  Cherri called to the lady who had just entered the
room. "Cousin Julie, the Green and Pink One, said that you'd be available
to help with a little project I had in mind." 
  
"Sure.  What do you want me to do?"
  
"Follow me.  There's an office in the back which has two phones in it.  We
have a lot of work to do before the party tonight." 
  
Sitting behind one of the desks, Cousin Cherri began, "I want you to
understand that the attack on Cousin Julie must be avenged." 
  
Cousin Lisa's eyes narrowed in anger, but she said nothing.
  
"I want you to locate a store which sells Ribena.  Since we will be
**entertaining** the Knighties, NatPackers, and Vaqueros after the party
tonight, we will probably need about two cases of the large bottles. 
Also, see if one of the party stores has some cow design wine goblets. 
Cows have been so popular in the last few years, surely some store carries
them. 
  
"In the meantime, I'm going to locate a dairy.  Those guys are gonna pay
for messing with one of our own," Cousin Cherri growled. 

An Hour Later:
  
"Got it!" Cousin Lisa P exclaimed.
  
Cherri quickly finished her call.  She gently placed the phone on its
cradle. "Got what?" 
  
"I found the wine goblets!"  Cousin Lisa bounced up and down in her chair.
"They're at a party store which is across the street from the place with
the Ribena." 
  
"Perfect!"  An evil smile spread across Cousin Cherri's face.  "Go get the
stuff, but be discrete.  Not all the Cousins are in on this and I don't
want to take any chances on the word getting out about what we're going to
do. Leave the wine goblets in the trunk of the car." 
  
"What about the Ribena?"
  
"Cousin Julie has a place we can store it."  Cherri shivered.  "It
certainly can't stay in the trunk.  All the bottles would freeze." 
  
Cousin Lisa started to leave but Cherri called her back.  "Remember.  Most
of the Cousins have to be at the Raven doing our fray so it will look as
if we're all there.  Be careful and trust no one except the ones the Green
and Pink Cousin has named." 
  
"Don't worry." Cousin Lisa laughed.  "This is going to be glorious!"
  
As she left, her laughter changed to something sinister sounding.  'I'm
glad she's on own side,' Cousin Cherri thought. 

###

STRANGER IN A BATTLEZONE (Part 3)
by Mildred Cady

Time: Afternoon
Place: Merc Central
        
{Hmmmph.  Absolutly nothing for a week.} Sightseeing had become a bore. 
There were only so many places in Toronto one could go to. Especially
since the ones Mildred wanted to visit the most were either "claimed" by a
faction or in massive contention.  She was also ahead of the mundane work
that she was here to do. 
        
But not one contract had come her way.  Not even a quiver rang from her
cell phone.  No messages in Merc Central.  Most of her time was now spent
keeping tabs on what was going on. 
        
{People being kidnapped and sent places, money changing hands, legal
flip-flops over the Raven, health inspections on the Deli, etc. etc.  I
wish I was in the action.}  Merc Central and its lovely computer was
perfect for watching out for transactions and legal records. 
        
{But I want to _DO_ something.}
        
Mildred then reached into her pocket.  She pulled out the token that she
had recieved back in Troy.  All the other Mercs had recieved one also. 
Then she pulled out the envelope it had come in and started typing into
the Merc Central computer. 
        
{Time to find out who caused this all.}

###

BAD SPECIAL EFFECTS (a)
by Wendy Kelley, Jane Snyder, and Lyn Cannaday

Time: 4pm
Place: DieHard Headquarters        

"So you can get it? ...Good... Okay, can you deliver it at this address
by...hmmm...seven o'clock?  Yes, tonight.  What did you think I meant?
...Well, use a plot hole if you have to, but I need it tonight.  Yes...
You'd better have it here... Just what I told you...okay...talk to you
later."  Wendy hung up the phone and stared silently at it for a moment
before snarling and turning around.  She headed into the kitchen where
Jane was helping prepare the food for the party. 
        
"Jane," she said, "I talked to my brother.  Everything is all set.  The
Union has the equipment.  It's being delivered as we speak." 
        
"Good," Jane said.  She pulled an audio cassette from her pocket then a
small black box with wires hanging from it and held them out to Wendy.  "I
think these will go well with the rest of this evening's plans." 
        
"What's on it?" Wendy asked, eyeing the tape distrustfully.
        
"Ninety minutes of the most annoying songs ever created: Don't Worry, Be
Happy; Achy Breaky Heart; The Barney Theme Song...songs that get stuck in
your head and never get out." Jane waved the tape around proudly as she
talked.  "Between this and your plans, they don't have a chance." 
        
Wendy cringed in mock horror.  "Perfect."

###

THREE LITTLE MAIDS... (c)
by e.m. and Bianca Hall

Time: 4pm EST
Place: Fe-Malefaction Headquarters

erica was cutting up vegetables on the computer console when Bianca
spilled in. She put down the knife to cover her nose. "Blech, what a
stink. Go hose yourself off outside." 
   
Bianca sloughed back out. erica chuckled to herself. Even if their
incriminating evidence went unnoticed, even if their plans backfired on
them, seeing Bianca in the aftermath of her sewer expedition would make
this all worthwhile. 
   
"I think this refuse seeped into my brainpan. Tell me again why we're
doing this? Assuming anyone notices," Bianca called. 
   
The motive speech: "Well, sister sib, we planted bricks on Natpackers
because, surely, this non-existent relationship of Nat and Nick's has got
to be driving them crazy; Vachon would have painted the Caddy pink
because, as a true shower-shunning, anti-grooming, self-proclaimed
gentleman, he couldn't possibly tolerate a spineless, insensitive,
fashion-conscious, vest-wearing girly man; Screed was the source of much
salt 'cause he's secretly planning to eat everybody and wants them
properly seasoned (and the hearts, well duh); the Ravenettes stuffed
Cousins with Q-Tips 'cause of what Uncle did to the Raven; Cousins would
have substituted candy for ciggys in a snubbing, nyah nyah gesture;
Diehards sent Half-and-Half to the IdaKnows; Immortal Beloveds are
collecting garden hoses (oh - maybe i should have given them the hearts?);
Lurkers are stocking up on "Sound of Music" discs... Oh, and Tracy rigged
her own computer to tweet 'I'm a *good* cop!'." 
   
"Huh?"
   
"Well, i figure that after years of psychological abuse from her
domineering father, deceptive childhood friend Bruce, and guilt from
ditching Jodi...she could very well have developed multiple personality
disorder. And Jacqueline Vetter seems to have a pretty good sense of
humour." 
   
"Huh?"
   
"Hm, maybe one of them really *is* a good cop. Anyway, none of this has to
resemble what's really going on. i just want to turn everyone against each
other. Uh, more than they are now, i mean." 
   
"Do you have a life?"
   
"Why is that such a popular question? Shut up." erica paused. "i wonder
how Jamie is doing with hers. Have you even heard from her today, Bonk? i
hope she's okay... Do you think we should go to the Raven meeting?" 
   
Bianca looked shocked. "What, and actually become part of everyone else's
storylines? Do we dare imagine...?!" 

###

OIL FOR THE COOKS
by Diane Echelbarger, Laura Ruggiero, and Jane Snyder

Time: Late Afternoon
Place: Die Hard Headquarters

The kitchen at Die-Hard Central was chaos.  Organized chaos, but chaos
none-the-less.  The four cooks--Diane, Jane, Jennifer, and Laura--had been
working all day to prepare food for the party the DieHards were throwing
at the Raven that night. 

To no one's surprise, the Raven had no kitchen facilities, and Janette's
followers had flatly refused to give them day-long access to the kitchen
in Janette's apartment.  As a result, they had been forced to prepare all
the food here and take it over to the Raven at the last minute. 

<Thank God we've got an industrial-quality kitchen to work with,> Diane
thought, brushing a strand of steam-dampened hair off her forehead as she
taste-tested the vindaloo--well, that wasn't the Sanskrit name for it, but
it was amazing how little Indian cooking had changed in two thousand
years--and added a bit more cumin. 

Jane, who was deep-frying samosas, asked, "Did we hear back from that
bakery yet?" 

Laura nodded as she added the last ingredient to the mulligatawny soup. 
"They called five minutes ago.  They can let us have all the chapati and
nan bread we want; we just have to get there before they close." 

"Do we have someone free for pick-up?" Jennifer asked.  She was cooking
cauliflower; the smells of cumin, mustard and fennel enveloped her like a
cloak. 

"We could always ask the folks from the Deli to pick it up," Jane
suggested. "They've been really helpful, considering we gave them less
than 12 hours notice." 

"I can't *believe* how big the guest list is." Diane turned the heat down
under the vindaloo and started to check on the tandoori chicken in the big
ovens.  "We're just lucky the FoDs were willing to help, or we'd *never*
have gotten it all done..." 

"They're making the basmanti, right?  And the chutneys?" Laura leaned
against the counter and wiped her hands on her apron.  "What's next on the
list?" 

"And the tabouli and couscous," Diane nodded.  "Raita next, I think. 
That's a spinach-yogurt salad.  It'll be a nice contrast to the curries. 
The recipe's on the fridge." 

"How are we going to tell the hot from the mild?" Jennifer asked. 

"We label 'em.  Any of the DieHards know calligraphy?" Diane grinned. 
"Can't have your guests getting sick; they might suspect poisoning,
instead of too much garam masala." 

The other cooks chuckled, and Diane turned from the stoves and burrowed in
one of the big cardboard boxes of food supplies. 

"I think it's time for a break," she said.  "Come on over here.  There's
an old feast-cook tradition I want to share with you guys." 

"What?" 

Jane put the current batch of samosas in the warming oven.  The other two
DieHards stopped what they were doing, and all three gathered around their
guest-turned-cook. 

Diane handed them each a juice glass from the cupboard.  "I've helped with
a fair number of SCA feasts," she grinned. "And one tradition I've always
upheld is that pans and cooks work better when they're well oiled."  She
reached behind her and pulled out a bottle of Amaretto de Saronno and
another of Bailey's Irish Creme.  "Preferences?" 

"Great idea," Jane smiled.  "I'd like the Bailey's.  The Amaretto doesn't
like me very much." 

"Well, I like *it*," Laura responded immediately, "and it's the good
stuff, not the $5 a bottle stuff I usually get."  She took a sip.  "Though
I have this killer recipe for Bailey's Irish Creme Liqueur cake, I wonder
if we have time to make it?" 

"Maybe."  Diane poured herself some Bailey's.  "But could you make enough
to serve everybody?  I didn't rent cake pans.  And what else do you need?" 

They began rummaging for ingredients, sipping their "cook's oil" as they
worked. 

--------

Several hour later, the quartet was maneuvering the last of the food into
the Happy Souvlaki's van, loaned for the purpose.  As each rack of hot,
foil-wrapped food was loaded in the back, Diane checked it off on her
clipboard. 

"Chicken kapama, curried chicken soup, imtabal, khoshaf, meghlie, and
mutabal," she muttered, checking each pan to make sure it was properly
marked. "Okay, that's the last of it."  She turned to the Knightie/FoD
driver. "Thanks, Roni, we *really* appreciate the help.  Pam's at the
Raven, setting up, right?" 

"Yup, everything's under control," Roni assured her.  "We picked up the
bread last run, so you're all set." 

"Great," Diane sighed, relieved to have the monumental task of feeding--
well, it wasn't *quite* the whole FK List, but it felt like it--out of her
hands. "Jane, Laura, will you ride with her?  Jennifer and I need to make
sure all the ovens are off and perishables stored, and then we'll be on
our way." 

The two DieHards nodded and climbed into the van.  Diane and Jennifer
slammed the back doors and the bright yellow vehicle roared off toward the
Raven and Lillian's Transition Party. 

"One last check," Jennifer grinned, as they re-entered DieHard Central,
"and *then* we can collapse.  Pity we couldn't make that other recipe,
though.  It sounded really good." 

"Yeah," Diane agreed.  "But even *Toronto* can't produce camel's tongues
on one day's notice.  Let's hurry, I don't want to miss the party." 

###

THE GATHERING OF INFORMATION (a)
by Torrey Harris
editing by Sherri Campbell

Time: Late afternoon
Place: Vachon's church

Things had been kind of crazy at the church the last couple of days. The
Vaqueros had been scrambling around on individual missions to gather
information on the various other factions.  Torrey had decided that they
needed to know a lot more about *who* they were dealing with, even to
stand a chance in this war.  Let alone keep up with events as they were
happening. 

Now with the sun going down, the Vaqueros gathered in the church on their
little box seats to put together all of the info they had found out. 

"Ok, what have you all found out?" asked Torrey, trying to get comfortable
on her box. 

"I guess I will," answered Sherri. "Hmmm, I checked out the Knighties, I
don't think we have anything to worry about with them. They have been
really busy trying to find all of their kidnapped people." 

"OK," Torrey said, making a note.  "Next?" 

"I guess that would be me," answered Cindy. "OK...well...um...I checked
out the Ratpack and the FoDs...and see no problems there either." 

"Good," Torrey said, making some more marks on the paper. 

"The cousins are definitely up to something," chimed in Crystal. "But, I
can't tell who is going to get it." 

"You never know with that bunch..." answered Torrey, still writing. "They
are especially tricky." 

The side door slammed open, causing all of the Vaqueros to jump. In
strolled Linda...decked out in dark clothing, rapelling gear, and carrying
a strange assortment of listening devices, night vision gear, and some
stuff no one could place. 

"Sorry, I'm late," Linda said, throwing her gear on the floor and pulling
up a box. 

"What did you find out?" asked Torrey. 

"Well...the mercenaries sure are a busy bunch...but, I didn't find
anything that would prove that someone had hired them to come after us,"
Linda said, rubbing her neck. 

"Ok, that leaves me..." Torrey said. "Something strange is going on with
the Natpack, but I am a loss for what it could be,"  Torrey said, shaking
her head. 

A faint giggle was heard in the backround and everyone turned to look at
the source of it. 

"All right, Vachon," Torrey said, getting up to face him. "You have been
lurking around here for days with that 'I have done something bad' look on
your face.  Give it up....what did you do?" 

"Well...remember when you went to the Raven?" asked Vachon. 

"Yes," answered the group in a chorus. 

"Well... I got worried, so I took the underground way to the Raven myself
and got there before you did." 

"The underground way...?" asked Cindy. "Ewww, you don't mean you took the
sewers, do you?  You need to stop hanging out with Screed so much." 

"Anyway," shrugged Vachon, going on with his story. "When I got there, I
found someone in the club." 

"Who?" asked Torrey, her eyes narowing. 

"Um, I think she said her name was Amy...Amy Hull," Vachon answered.

"Amy Hull?!? The NatPacker?" gasped Torrey.

"Yes, that's her," confirmed Vachon. "Anyway, I knew you all would be
there any minute so I had to get rid of her." 

The eyes of the watching Vaqueros grew large with dismay. 

"Oh, no!...you didn't...HURT...her did you?" asked Torrey. "You know you
can't do that.  Uh...don't you?" 

"I didn't hurt her...I just whammied her," answered Vachon, grinning. 

\\A 400 year old mischievous grin is...unnerving,// thought the Vaqueros. 

"Oh, okay, so you made her forget," sighed Torrey, greatly relieved. 

"Well...not quite...I kind of made her believe that she was Janette,"
Vachon stated with a more unnerving grin. 

The Vaqueros looked at each other and, simultaneously, broke down into
peals of laughter. 

"Whew..." Torrey wiped her eyes with the back of a hand, "Not bad at
all, I like your style." 

*****

After the laughter and bad jokes about a Natpacker thinking she was
Janette had died down, Sherri picked up a piece of paper off the table. 

"What do you want to do about this?" asked Sherri.

"What is it?" Torrey said, still wiping tears from her eyes.

"It's that invitation to the Die-Hard party tonight," Sherri answered.

"Augh, I forgot all about that...well, never mind, I don't think we should
go," Torrey said. 

"Why?" asked Vachon, still looking rather smug about his little prank on
poor Amy. 

"Well, let's see," answered Torrey, "I just think it is a bad idea to have
all of the factions together in the middle of the war...something is bound
to happen. I would rather stay out of that one." 

"Yes...you're right, Torrey," agreed Sherri, "we can just kick back here
and let them all attack each other...then we will have the upper hand
again." 

"Good idea," Torrey agreed. "Plus, I need the rest...with everyone at the
party we don't have much to worry about here..." 

###

LOST IN TORONTO
by Jana Hege

Time: Afternoon
Place: Toronto
     
Jana turned another corner and sighed in frustration.  Still nothing
familiar.  She'd been to Toronto how many times?  Well, at least three. 
And she was hopelessly lost.  She had left the dogs in the car for the
time being; it was cold enough here that they would be fine.  Plus it gave
them something to do: guard the car. 
     
She passed a Second Cup coffee shop.  "Okay," she thought, "I've seen that
before."  She looked around at the other buildings in the area.  "Okay,
maybe not.  Geez, there must be twenty of these places around the city." 
She could have asked someone on the street, but that would mean
approaching someone and starting a conversation.  She shuddered and
continued walking. 
     
What was she doing in Toronto, anyway?  Helping a vampire she'd never met,
who probably didn't want her help in the first place.  She'd tried going
by the Raven to find Urs, but from the people milling in and around the
place, she deduced that there had been some recent changes and determined
it would be best not to show up there.  Even though this was her first war
and no one would recognize her. 
     
She knew she could have looked up Nick in the phone book. Technically, the
Vaqueros and Knighties were in alliance.  But after some of the harsh
words on the list recently about her faction leader, she couldn't be
entirely sure the mooing device wasn't the act of one lone Knightie trying
to get a rise out of her.  So with the Raven and Nick's loft crossed off
her list, she figured the only place she could go safely was the abandoned
church.  Of course, abandoned churches don't usually get a listing in the
yellow pages.  So she wandered Toronto's streets, searching. 
     
Jana shifted the backpack that was rapidly getting too heavy.  "Stupid
cellular phone battery," she thought.  "Should've gotten the flip phone,
but no, I had to have the *free* bag phone."  Suddenly she realized that
in the five days since she'd left home, the thing hadn't rung.  Not even
once. 
     
She sat down on the curb and zipped open the backpack.  The battery had
come unplugged.  "Oh, great," she said, pulling the phone out of the
backpack.  She plugged it in and dialed her voicemail access number.  Sure
enough, there were messages. 
     
The first was her husband, Joe.  He didn't sound very happy about her
sudden departure, but told her to take care of herself, call when she
could, and "Try not to get brought across."  The other was from Torrey,
leader of the Vaqueros.  It had been left days earlier.  "Jana, I tried
calling you at work and they gave me this number.  We're all in Toronto. 
Thought you might want to help.  If you do come up, meet us at the
church."  But no mention of where that was, or when to be there.  She
sighed and hung up. 
     
Then the phone rang.
     
"Hello?"
     
"Jana?  Where have you been?  Things are crazy here."
     
"Torrey?  Thank goodness.  I'm in Toronto, I'm just not sure _where_."
     
"Okay, listen."  Jana wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder while
digging for a pen and paper to jot down directions to the church.  She
managed to scribble down the basic idea before Torrey said, "See ya!" and
hung up. 
     
She walked back toward her car, grateful to know she wouldn't have to
walk around in the cold any more.  Two years of living in Louisiana had
made her a major cold-weather wimp.  Of course, how likely was it that a
vampire living in an abandoned church would have central heating?  She
sighed and turned the corner. 
       
And came face to face with her husband.
       
"There you are!  I flew up as soon as I got your note!"

###

PARTY CENTRAL
by Felicia Bollin

Time: Afternoon
Place: The Raven

"So, what'd you guys get?"  Catherine asked, coming out from the back room
with armloads of clothing bags and hanging them on the garment-store-style
racks that now proliferated in any free space.  "Cynthia and I just about
cleaned out the stores we went to." 

"Oh, we went to this divine little boutique,"  Ari enthused, dropping into
a chair.  "The owner knew Janette, just like Miklos said, and he was
expecting us.  They had the most gorgeous clothes, bar none, just like
what you'd think Janette might wear.  We could have done some serious
damage too, but I knew we couldn't take advantage of Miklos's generosity. 
That card certainly got a workout as it is." 

"Good.  We need to get moving if we're to make the party."  She began to
carefully steam wrinkles out of her dryclean-only ensemble.  "So show me." 

Ari stood up and dramatically unwrapped a box.  "Well, I was really torn. 
Since I'm leader of a faction, I decided I should really try to go with
flags flying.  So I spent at least half an hour trying to decide if I
wanted to wear something really killer in your basic black and floor them
with sex appeal, or something a little different, in a standout color. 
So.... I went for both." 

"Starts low and ends high, does it?"  Catherine snickered.  Ari gave her a
most wounded look. 

"It *certainly* does," said Chanda as she breezed into the room with her
own padded bag.  "I don't know if I'd wear it out of doors.  Mine's nice
and floor-length."  It certainly did look nice, a strapless tube of black
silk shot with very random silver threads, falling in a straight column
from her hands. 

"Not bad,"  Catherine said. 

"I couldn't talk her into a thigh-high slit,"  Ari explained.  "Something
about that unfortunate sidewalk roller-skating aftermath." 

"I got long gloves and a moonstone pendant to go with it though,"  Chanda
said.  "That man certainly was helpful." 

"I wonder what kind of a credit rating the Raven has," laughed Ari.

"Before or after this trip?"

"Let's not think on that, shall we?  After all, I still want to be able to
coax Miklos into a dance tonight."  Throwing back the tissue paper, she
lifted forth a most amazing garment. 

It was a lovely claret red, definitely tailored to hug the body.  With a
just-next-to-indecent scoop neck and a back that dipped to a point just
above her last vertebra.  In actuality, the hemline of its jersey skirt
was only somewhere around the top of her knees, but who would have noticed
with all the other?  At least the dressmaker had had enough shame to
attach a net collar to fill in the decolletage (though it was kind of like
the difference between a skater in a skimpy costume with and without nylon
stockings, Catherine admitted), and something that by a vague stretch of
the imagination could be called a choker ended the net. 

"That would do it,"  Chanda said.

"Don't worry, I'll wear the cloak outside."

"How does it stay up?  asked Catherine, fascinated.

"You don't like it?"

"Let me walk around it first!"  She did so, murmuring to herself.  "Yes,
cut and color get four stars."  She looked up and grinned.  "A little
flashy, but at least the Nick&Natpack will be able to find you in the
dark." 

"Funny, very funny."  Ari brushed imaginary lint off her prize as she
reached into the box for a pair of stockings with little spider-in-web
patterns embroidered on them, about as fragile as said cobwebs.  She had
been the most pleased by this discovery.  What a perfect touch.  "I get
dibs on the bathroom," she warned, rushing for it. 

"No fair, you'll take longer," Catherine protested.  "It takes me less
time to get ready.  My hair dries quicker." 

"I washed mine this morning.  Use the ladies' room,"  she called as she
dashed.  The phone rang.  "Get that, will you,"  she added.  "That's
probably Lynne and Khaavren calling from the airport.  Wasn't it nice of
Miki to pay for them?  Especially since we *know* he isn't an Immortal
Beloved." 

Mumbling "The ladies' room!" to herself, Catherine picked up the phone. 
"Yes, the Raven.  We're closed tonight for a--Oh, hi!  Sure, we've been
waiting for you."  More listening.  "Uh-huh, I'll be right there.  Sit
tight, and don't go with anyone else no matter what they tell you.  This
is War, remember."  She cradled the receiver. 

"I'm going to the airport after them,"  Catherine aimed in the general
vicinity of the bathroom.  "You know where to find my will." 

Chanda turned, still hanging up Ravenettes' garments.  "Don't get killed. 
Or painted pink and green," she called considerately. 

"Thanks--I think."

###

REALITY IS RELATIVE
by Corinne (Cori) Peterman (with MAJOR help/editing/input by Lana Soward)

Time: Late afternoon
Place: Georgetown University School of Medicine (Washington, DC)

Cori had three things going on at once, as she tried to explain to one of
her co-workers how to fix a software "feature" (i.e., press the reset
button), tell a student that "no" they were *not* an exception to the
rule, and convince her own computer that today was *absolutely* not a good
time to crash. 

Then the phone rang.

"Yes," answered Cori, too busy to go into her usual phone spiel.  "What
can I do for you?" 

"Funny you should put it that way, my dear," answered the voice on the
other end of the line. 

"Who is this?"  Cori was thoroughly confused.  Most people who she worked
with at the Medical School, besides being female, didn't call her dear. 
And the voice *definitely* wasn't female.. 

"Your Uncle, of course." 

"Uncle Dave? Funny, it doesn't sound like you.  You have a cold?  How are
the munchkins?  I miss them." 

"No!" snapped the voice sheathed in velvet steel. It then dropped into a
seductive tone.  "Your *Uncle*." 

Oops.  "Sorry, Uncle."  Cori thought fast. //OK, I've definitely lost my
mind and points with Uncle, as well.  I knew the computers would
eventually drive me insane.  Now I know for sure.  What did I expect after
all the installations I've done of Windows 95 lately?// She had hoped that
her absence wouldn't be missed, but once again fortune was not smiling on
her.  Still, she felt calm, and decided to stare danger right in the face. 
"My original question still holds then.  What can I do for you? Do you
need someone to install 95 for you?" 

"Well, yes but that's not why I called. It seems your...loyalty has been a
tad, shall we say, lax of late.  There are some among your number that say
you are headed down that road to Knightie-dom." 

"Me?? A Knightie?? Never,"  Cori stated.   "Now Janette..."

"So you would desert me as well?"

Cori jumped guiltily.  She hadn't realized she was thinking out loud.

"Don't think I don't know about your correspondence with Cousin Jamie. And
then there is the matter of your help to a few mercs, during wartime!"
said LaCroix with deceptive calm. 

"Hey!  That was computer related.  I *always* help out with computers. 
And a few mercs grateful to you is...*useful* in the long run," said Cori. 

"Enough," dismissed LaCroix "Why aren't you here?" 

"Well, work has been difficult to escape from of late," stammered Cori. "I
haven't had time to keep up with the updates from the war, let alone
travel for it.  Then garage people lost my car keys.  With the spare set
in Baltimore, I figured I was cursed.  So traveling to Toronto seemed not
to be the brightest of all moves, ya know.  I'm sorry, but I really need
to get back to work.  It was nice chatting with you, Uncle.  Let me know
when you need windows 95 installed, and I'll see if I can make up there." 
Cori wanted to get off the phone because she had a feeling what was coming
next. 

"Wait!" LaCroix commanded.

"Yes?" asked Cori somewhat impatiently, while at the same time feeling a
sickening lump in her stomach. 

"Your loyalty needs to be proved." 

"And how do you *suggest* I do that?" Cori was well aware of how LaCroix
sometimes wanted loyalty proved. So she took refuge in sarcasm.  She knew
it was dangerous with LaCroix, but Cori felt somewhat secure by doing it
over the phone.  "You want a few bodies from the Gross Anatomy labs?  A
few pints of A- from the hospital? One of my co-workers to munch on?" 

"No!"  The irritation in his tone silenced Cori.  She had the feeling that
she'd almost pushed her luck and his patience too far. "I am sending you a
ticket for a flight to Toronto.  It leaves at six.  Be on that plane." 

"But, work..." 

"Is unimportant. Unless you want to start looking for protection from
someone, you WILL be on that plane.  And lost car keys would be the
*least* of your worries, if you continue to annoy me. Someone will be
there to meet your flight." 

"Who?" 

"You will know when you see them,"  he said and hung up.

"Bye,"  said Cori automatically, and hung up the phone. Cori decided to
handle it in the only way she could deal with.  Ignore it.  Pretend it was
a delusion. 

Real delusions that order you around. Great.  Just what I needed to add to
my life.  All right, delusion over.  Time to get back to work, Cori
thought.  She turned back to stare at her monitor. 

"Ms. Peterman?"

Cori turned and saw a Fed-Ex man standing by her desk.

"Yes?"

"Please sign here."

Cori signed.  She always signed.  She wondered what would happen if one
day she just refused to sign and asked the delivery guy to sign for her.
Oh, well, another time. 

Ripping open the envelope, Cori found inside some money, a ticket from
National to Toronto in her name, and a short note that looked like many of
her "to do" lists. 

\\\***///---\\\***///---\\\***///---\\\***///---\\\***///---\\\***///
1.  Take cab.
2.  Use money for cab.
3.  Get on plane.
4.  No excuses will be tolerated.

Leave NOW.

-L
\\\***///---\\\***///---\\\***///---\\\***///---\\\***///---\\\***///

As she stared at the items in her hand, Cori's reality shifted again.

###

STRANGER IN A BATTLEZONE (Part 4)
by Mildred Cady

Time: Late afternoon
Place: Merc Central

Mildred never even heard it.  Engrossed in tracking down the marks on her
envelope that let her know of the war, she never even heard that there was
a party.  She never noticed her fellow mercs comming in and changing and
leaving.  Mildred was glued to that computer terminal. 
        
She had found a thread.
        
Seaching databases, invoices, and everything led to one part of Toronto. 
Checking airports and plane ticket records led to one faction. 
        
NatPackers.
        
They got here before anyone else.
        
They paid money for large numbers of items.  Qtips, tokens, bricks,
mooers, novelty hearts, candy ciggarettes. 
        
They sent stuff by mail and delivery services.
        
They must have been responsible.
        
But when she looked up to tell someone, they weren't there.
        
Then the phone rang.  A couple of possible contracts came through the
lines. 
        
{Oh, boy...work!}

***
        
"Yes... That's agreeable...  Where was that?....  I'll let you know.... 
OK, it's a deal."  The line went click as the party on the other end hung
up.  That's when she noticed that there was a message over her head saying
that everyone else was at the Raven party. {Great...no one to answer the
phone.} Paleish pink hands punched a number into the phone on the desk. 
        
{Yes...a job!} Mildred got up from the chair she was glued to. The laptop
she had running to the side of the Merc Central computers went into her
black leather bag, along with a scanner attachment.  She grabbed her coat
and scarf, placed the bag over her shoulder and went out into the cold
city of Toronto.
_______
        
She wasn't at the street corner outside of the library long when her
contacts showed.  The first one was around 5'6", blonde and possibly in
her early thirties.  The second contact was a pale, freckled brunette in
her mid twenties, with green-hazel eyes and glasses.  This one giggled
softly as she handed a thick envelope to Mildred.  "You've got to let me
know when it's done." 
        
This was the voice Mildred had heard over the phone when the contract was
made.  "I will.  Expect a phone call in a while.  Do you have a cell
phone?" 
        
"Yeah, here's the number."  The brunette handed her a piece of paper.
        
"Later, then."  Mildred took the paper and headed into the library.
        
The other two looked at each other and smiled at each other. Mildred heard
the blond say, "Uncle's going to love this...." just as she opened the
doors.
________
        
She was sitting in a quiet room in the library, laptop hooked up, scanner
plugged in, and phone cord set into the wall. 
        
{First the police station.  That's going to take the longest.}
        
The first of the pages in the folder came out onto the table. Mildred
slowly ran the scanner over one glossy page after another.  While waiting
for the information from the scanner to compile, she slid into the police
station's computer.  {Thank gods I had preset something in case I needed
to get in here.  Now setting these images in will be a piece of cake.}
        
The first of the images were set to display during startup, the others in
order at defining points of the computer's run.  One pops up when a
request is logged in for information, and other comes with the info;
logging into any internet applications could provide the officers with any
of several images. 
        
{I wish I could see the officers' faces when the division sees all of
this.  Wish I could also see Nick's face when he finds out.  I like him,
but this would be just too funny." 
        
After everything was set in the computer system, she wiped out her tracks,
logged out and packed up everything but the folder and its contents. 
These she walked to the nearby photocopier and made several copies of
everything.
_________________
        
{Everyone must be at the party,} Mildred thought.  No one had answered her
when she buzzed Nick's loft.  She set down the thin gold wrapped box on
the ground and took a piece of paper out from her bag.  Uncapping a gold
and black marker, she wrote in her most elegant script,

                "To the noble followers of the Knight
                and to the dreamers of his mortal union
                this is a gift from the soldiers of darkness' voice.
                                        l
                                        l
                                        l
                                        l
                                       \l/
                                        V       "
        
{This should do.} Capped marker went into pocket, cell phone came out. 
//beep beep beep beep beep beep beep... ring....//
        
"Hello?"
        
"Everything's set and your gift has been delivered.  I'll collect my fee
in 1/2 hour."
__________________

To the Knighties and the Nick&Natpackers...
        
You have on your doorstep as you go to leave from the "knighting" of
Lillian or return from the Raven party (whichever/whoever gets there
first), a gold paper wrapped box of photocopies of the pictures that Cousin
Shirl and Cousin Tokaara took during "Peeping Cousins." 

To others, especially those who are connected with the police division-
(Tracy and her Perkulator should take note)
        
At stategic points in using the police computers, images will pop up onto
the screen with these same pictures. 

###

A MEETING OF TWO MINDS...UH...COUSINS
by Jackie with a "W" and Cousin Toni

Time: Before the Raven party
Place: Niagra Falls, ONT 
        
Cousin Toni leaned back luxuriously in the buttery leather seats of the
stretch limousine. She'd slept on the charter from Seattle and showered
and changed as the plane touched down at the small airport near Niagra
Falls.
        
Here she was to collect Cousin Jackie W. and then off to the party at The
Raven. She'd have to be careful to keep a low profile.  LaCroix probably
wouldn't be happy she'd given up her stronghold and come to Toronto. 
        
"Well, H**L," she thought defiantly, "If he didn't like it, fine, see if
he enjoyed sitting at the station while people sent *him* a *#%*#^ smiley
face!" 
        
The button, although of yet unknown origin, had annoyed her enormously. 
Not only did someone know where, and who, she was, they also knew how much
she _hated_ smiley faces. (Not realizing everyone had been finding the
d**n things on their pillows, etc.) She briefly contemplated some sort of
cousinly revenge against the person who'd probably revealed her identity. 
Well, she'd wait and see if the Knightie used the plane ticket she'd had
sent this afternoon.  As they approached the border crossing she smoothed
her black silk skirt and midnight blue jacket and reached for the
electronic corkscrew that had been conveniently provided.  Cousin Jackie
had said to have some wine ready for the drive to Toronto and not knowing
her preferences she'd asked for a selection of good vintages.  Although it
was tempting fate to wear it to The Raven, she slipped her favorite Haida
ring on her right hand and settled in to await Cousin Jackie. 

***

Place: Somewhere in the U.S. 
     
"Mom."  Frank addressed his rather strange parent cautiously, still not
quite sure how to take her bizarre request. 
     
"Let me see if I got this...you want me, Zak, Joe and Chuck to drive MY
truck to Canada, take all our very expensive bikes, and meet some other
lady in Toronto?" He frowned, his handsome face half hidden by the long
nearly black hair whipping in his eyes.  True, she had promised to pay the
gas, and his mercenary little heart had been soothed by the promise of the
new chrome alloy wheels she had bribed him with, but putting more milage
on his 90 Nissan truck was not in his master plan, and she had yet to
explain why. 
    
"Look."  She fixed him with the evil green eyed stare that could still put
him neatly in his place after 22 years, and gave him a little more. 
    
"I need to meet Toni in Toronto, she's got a limo waiting, and we have to
go to a party." 
    
"A PARTY. You're going clear to Canada for a party!  You are a little
loose Mom." 
    
"Actually, my son, it's war...and besides, the only time you've ever been
to Canada was when we visited the Falls, and you were too little to
remember. Just load up the truck, and let's go. Oh, and Frank..."  She
paused. 

"Yeah, Mom."

"Make sure you pack all the tapes in the back.  I'm NOT listening to Hole
and Smashing Pumpkins all the way to the border." 

"Are we there yet?"

Cousin Jackie glanced from the map she held under the so called map light
and glared at the three heads crowding through the rear window of the
truck.  The dim light reflected off the silver ring Chuck had recently
installed in his eyebrow, matching the one that dangled from one nostril. 
Mercifully, the darkness hid the worst of Zak's technicolor hair, and Joe
looked almost normal with his bald head covered by an X-Files cap.  If
they hadn't been necessary to Cousin Toni's plan, she would have never
consented to riding in a small red truck listening to three bikers
squabble over cold french fries and Mountain Dew while her own son moaned
about the wear and tear on his precious vehicle and scarfed Taco Bell.
"This is it...stop here!"  She gestured to the unmistakable gleam of a
silver limo gleaming ghostlike in the pitch darkness, its parking lights
the only illumination...trust Toni to carry Cousinly caution to
extremes...meeting at a deserted McDonalds? 

***

Place: McDonald's - Somewhere near the Candian Border 
        
Cousin Toni leaned forward as the electric opener rolled the window
smoothly into the long silver beast.  A whoosh of air and diesel fumes
twisted her vivid red hair briefly across her face. ("I should have
brought something to tie it back with," she thought, but she hated
restraints of any kind and always managed to lose even the nicest combs
and clips.  It was bad enough to have to do it at work, she wasn't going
to do it now.)
        
Scambling out of the truck with unmatronly vigor, Cousin Jackie shook out
her leaden limbs and smoothed the folds of her rumpled black skirt.  The
chic skirt and hip hiding jacket that had looked so good some hours ago
were now a little worse for wear, but who would see them in a party in a
darkened club?  Besides, waging war wasn't a pretty business...she turned
as one smoky window on the huge car rolled down at her approach, and a
head of long red hair became visible. 
        
Cousin Toni looked across the brightly lit tarmac and thought she could
make out a figure getting out of a red Nissan truck. "5'5", fortyish,
green eyes and dark brown hair," Jackie had told her. This woman looked
quite a bit younger, but as she drew closer Toni could see the black skirt
and the moonlight catch a highlight on the silver tipped crystal pendant
around the woman's neck. 
        
"Cousin Jackie, I presume?" she said, extending her hand.  "Get in, the
driver will deal with your luggage."  As the woman settled in she handed
her a glass, "Red? Or white?"
        
"Cousin Toni," she breathed with relief.  Leaving the four boys huddled
around the car with instructions to go back to the truck and follow, she
sank gratefully into the plush seat and stretched her legs out full
length as Toni handed her a chilled goblet of crisp white wine. 

"God, I needed that."  She sighed, turning a deaf ear as the sounds of
Nine Inch Nails began blasting from the truck following close behind.  As
the car purred smoothly off into the night toward the city of Toronto, the
two women began to make plans... 

###

ARRIVALS AND GREETINGS
by Dawn Steele 

Time: Early evening
Place: The Raven

The bouncer at the door of the Raven thoughtfully held it open as Dawn
stepped gingerly inside. 

She was trying to juggle over half a dozen items at the same time and
navigate into the Raven. Not a good combination. 

Dawn finally dumped the <items> onto a handy table and waved her similarly
burdened companions to do the same. Then she went off in search of the
proprieter. 

She finally found Miklos in the back room. He looked as if he'd rather be
unpacking the cases of alcohol than supervising, but he was restraining
himself. "Hi, Miklos! How's it going?" 

He turned towards her. "Do I know you?" 

Dawn thought about her options. //Yes: Reveal under what circumstances we
last met, No: I just look like a random war idiot.// It was an easy
choice. 

"Never seen you before in my life." She stepped forward and shook his
hand. "I'm one of the co-leaders of the DieHards." 

He just stood there with a blank (if gorgeous) look on his face. "The
DieHards... We booked the Raven for a party tonight." 

He smiled. 

And Dawn melted into a little gooey puddle. //Oooh... What a great
smile!//

"Susan mentioned something about that." He pointed towards another back
room. "Why don't you go talk to her about it." 

Backing away (so she could look at him while she did it), Dawn moved
towards the other room. Once at the door she gathered her (few) senses and
knocked. 

"Come in!" Susan sounded harried. 

//Who isn't?// Dawn thought, and then went inside. Susan was sitting at a
desk trying to organize what looked to be a massive pile of paper. "The
DieHards are here." 

"Fine, great... What are you bringing inside? We have specific
restrictions against gaudy decorations," Susan said. 

"Some tables to put the food on." Dawn pulled out a few stapled sheets of
paper and handed them to Susan. "Here's the listing of the food. Some of
it is arriving from the Happy Souvlaki Deli, but the rest we cooked
ourselves." 

Susan perked up at the thought of a delicious (and free) meal. "Looks
good." 

"The food will arrive just before the party is scheduled to start. Right
now we'd just like to put together a small stage area and hang up some
decorations." 

"Tasteful?" Susan pleaded. The horrors of trying to remove all of
LaCroix's "improvements" still lingered in her mind. 

"Definitely," Dawn said. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I have a few
Ravenette leanings myself." 

Susan just stared reproachfully at Dawn's worn out jeans and comfy (if
worn) green sweater. "I'm sure." 

And so Dawn went off into the main area once again. Numerous trips were
made in and out trying to get all the decorations inside. 

But then... 

Dawn spotted three people lurking in the alleyway behind the Raven.
Tossing caution to the winds (it was still daylight after all), she moved
towards them. 

And stopped in surprise. "Aerin Hanson! Lois and D.L.! What are you doing
in Toronto?" Dawn greeted her three fellow University of New Brunswick
students. "I didn't know you were participating in the war." 

"Well...we <want> to, but we're having a hard time keeping up and getting
in contact with the other groups," Aerin said. "I kept trying to reach the
Cousins at the Raven, and the people on the phones just laughed and
slammed the phone down." 

"So we decided to come to Toronto and see what was happening." Lois added. 

"Chaos. That's what's going on. Just Chaos." Dawn stared at the three
Frederictonians. She wasn't sure what factions Lois and D.L. belonged to.
Maybe NatPacker and FoD, but she wasn't sure. She knew Aerin was a Cousin
with FoD'ly leanings. Weird combo. 

"Are you going to be here long?" she asked. 

The three looked at each other and shrugged. The perils of university
life. "We're going to try, but you never know..." Lois said. 

"This could be our only mention in this war," Aerin added thoughtfully. 

D.L. spoke up. "Our problem is that we don't want to separate into the
different factions." 

"Hey! We're the 'lone pack'!" Aerin said. "We stick together." She pointed
towards the others. "I have the car, Lois pays for the gas, and Debbie has
the maps.  We'd be stuck without each other." 

Dawn just looked at them. What was she to do? She scratched her head, and
thought, and thought, and thought (okay so my brain is fried right now). 

She finally did what she had the power to do. "I can't help you get in
contact. But..." Dawn pointed to the back of a truck where a bunch of
DieHards were scurrying around. "Would you like something to eat?" 

###

IN-DEED
by Vicki Jean Merriman

Time: Early evening
Place: The Raven

"He's the one."  Jamie pointed out a dark haired man dressed totally in
black. 

Watching Zillah stride blithely into the Raven as though he hadn't a care
in the world just infuriated Vicki.  She waited until he reached the
bottom of the stairway, had looked around and then made eye contact with
her.  Zillah wasn't smiling by any means, but did appear to be pleased
with himself.  "Tracy, this is the man who broke in, damaged our residence
and stole the papers from my briefcase.  I want you to arrest him." 

Zillah stopped short and looked startled.  "That's ridiculous.  What proof
do you have?  I am here for the transition party." 

"We already assumed it was a Cousin.  Who else would break into a building
and steal nothing of value but take some important papers? Cousin Jamie
let us know that it was you,"  Catherine pointed out. 

Jamie was standing nearby and Zillah turned to her with a bit of a snarl.
"You traitorous..." 

MJ quickly stepped between Jamie and Zillah, and Miklos looked over to see
if the incident required his help.  Nobody moved for a moment and then the
tension eased. 

"It wouldn't have made much difference," Jamie said.  "They already knew
that the papers had been stolen and assumed who had them, although I
didn't know that at the time.  All I really gave them was your name,
Zillah.  And I had to do it.  The Raven is Janette's, morally and
*legally*.  Besides, this clubowner thing isn't doing Uncle any good." 

LaCroix heard that and frowned at her.  "What gives you the right to make
that judgment?" 

"I don't make decisions for you, but I do make decisions for myself. No
one else does that.  I did what I thought was right."  Jamie was more than
a little frightened, but stared defiantly at LaCroix.  "You know me,
Uncle.  I'm gonna do what I'm gonna do, and no one's gonna stop me, not
even you.  Besides, when it comes to figuring out what's best for
yourself, you're about as swift on the uptake as ol' Nicky-boy." 

LaCroix sighed <These mortals are __so__ much trouble.  Lunch.  One of
these days they will all be lunch.> That thought consoled him, even though
he admitted in the back of his brain (and in a tiny spot in his heart)
that he would never hurt these _particular_ mortals. 

LaCroix turned back to the lawyer.  "I would not appreciate your arresting
one of my followers, but neither will I stop it immediately.  I am here to
recover my bar, which you got that law enforcement officer to mistakenly
take away from me."  He handed Vicki the Deed that was amongst the papers
Zillah had brought back with him and indicated that Tracy should take a
look at it.  "I have ownership and am entitled to possession of the
Raven." 

"Oh, honestly."  Vicki was annoyed and it showed.  "Did you bother to
consult a lawyer or show him the documents you are carrying?  I understand
you have a Cousin who is one.  What makes you think you are entitled to
the Raven?" 

"We have the deed to the Raven.  It is still in my name."  LaCroix smiled
his superior little smile.  "It is my bar and I want it back."  He stepped
a little closer to the arrogant mortal, just to emphasize his power.  It
seemed to work, as her heart speeded up, her eyes widened and she seemed
to take quicker breaths.  If he wasn't so sure he smelled fear, he would
have thought her body's reaction the result of attraction. 

<So many of these mortals who have attached themselves to Toronto vampires
find us attractive,> he thought, remembering the crowd he had seen
trailing that long haired newcomer around.  <What was his name? Oh, yes,
Vachon.  I understand some of the mortals have been doing strange things
to him - something to do with cows.  He had better get used to it if he
plans to stay in Toronto.> LaCroix also thought that Miklos was enjoying
the attention of the Raven/ettes entirely too much, but that was his
business.  <As long as he hides any mistakes deep in the lake.  And he can
explain to Nicholas as well as Janette what happened to one of her little
mortal pets.  Keeping track of my own is _more_ than sufficient trouble.>

Vicki took a deep breath to try and calm herself down.  She also took a
step back.  <It is a lot harder to act professional and competent when
wearing this little black silk cocktail dress.  Clothes really do make a
difference.> For lack of anything to do with her hands, she fingered her
silver necklace, the hippogriff with his tail wrapped around a large opal. 
It felt reassuring.  Opals were her birthstone.  She was also wearing opal
earrings and a antique gold ring with three opals in it that had been her
grandfather's. 

"Well, Ms. Merriman, have you nothing to say?  I want my bar back."
LaCroix stepped forward again to loom over her. 

"It is still Janette's bar." 

LaCroix hissed at this comment and his eyes started to swirl yellow. "This
deed has my name on it.  The bar belongs to me." 

"I'm sorry.  That may be true, but the bar is still legally Janette's,
even though the deed hasn't been changed yet." 

"I have the deed.  It has my name on it.  The bar is mine." 

"No.  I'm sorry, but this isn't the 1700 or 1800s.  Deeds have to be
recorded in the County Recorder's office.  There are computer and physical
records kept that have nothing to do with a piece of paper.  Perhaps we
could sit down and I could try to explain."  She managed to get him to sit
in one of the booths.  They were joined by Zillah, the thief, and by Susan
Garrett.  Zillah did not seem at all enthused at the idea of joining this
little get together, but LaCroix insisted.  Several Cousins and
Raven/ettes stood around, listening to the conversation. 

A server brought drinks for everyone, including blood/wine for LaCroix. he
took a sip. "Ah, yes, I believe I had some of this during the night I
spent trapped in that damned cellar."  Everyone was a little anxious that
the blood reminded him of that incident.  <This is not a good start to the
evening,> Susan thought. 

"So enlighten me, Ms. Lawyer.  I have the deed, and the deed, in fact, has
my name on it.  Yet you say this is not my bar.  Do tell."  LaCroix was
using his tongue instead of his fangs to flay his opponent.  It was
working. 
     
"The sales contract had several conditions that you breached, so we got a
court order granting us possession of the Raven." 
     
"What sales contract?  What Court Order?"  He raised an eyebrow
inquiringly. 
     
"The sales contract you and Janette signed when she sold you the Raven. 
You were given a copy of it and the order on November 2." 
     
"I repeat.  What contract and what Court Order?  I have the deed with my
name on it." 
     
"This Court Order and this Contract."  Vicki pulled out copies from her
briefcase and handed them over.  "You may keep them, they are copies." 
     
LaCroix spun around and stared at Zillah.  "You said..."
     
"He broke into our room and stole documents out of my briefcase. Did you
honestly think that the originals would be kept in a briefcase? Law is an
incredibly paper intensive profession.  It has by no means caught up with
the computer age.  We make originals and 5 copies of documents all the
time.  The court gets the original, each side's lawyer gets a copy, the
clients get a copy and in some cases, the court needs 2 or 3 copies. 
     
"The deed that you handed me so proudly certainly isn't the original; 
it's a copy.  I'm not sure if you have the original or not but I suspect
that it is in the County Recorder's office.  For all I know it may be with
the copy of the sales contract that I'm sure you got at the time of the
original transfer.  The point is that it doesn't really matter. 
    
"As soon as we got the Court Order granting Replevin and Right to Eject
signed on November 2, we took it immediately over to the County Recorder's
office to record it.  Our order was recorded there and attached to the
title record for this property." 
     
Catherine Siemann spoke up.  "This isn't a victorian novel.  Property
records and ownership can't be passed simply by acquiring a piece of
paper, especially considering how that paper was acquired."  Everyone
stared at Zillah. 
     
"The proof is all in the Courthouse and County Recorder's office.  It
isn't in my briefcase."  Vicki eyed Zillah, before adding, "And if you try
to break into the Courthouse and County Recorder's office, you'll leave a
trail a mile wide.  We have copies of what are in those places, and the
motive and trail would lead directly to you, or at least to LaCroix.  I do
not advise you to try it.  You'd be staring at a major felony offense
rather than a minor theft.  As it is, that window you broke will be paid
for.  Count yourself lucky that none of us seem to have caught pneumonia
due to the fact that you left us without a window in Toronto in November. 
     
"While we are at it let us discuss the cost of repairing the B&B that
Zillah damaged."  She handed Zillah and LaCroix each a copy of the
estimated repair bill.  "That includes the cost of getting someone to fix
the window on Sunday morning as well as the expense of repairing the holes
the pitons made in the side of the building.  I'm sure that you will want
to cover it so Mrs. McGillicudy, our landlady, doesn't suffer any loss or
increase in insurance rates. 
     
"If you do, we will agree not to have Zillah arrested and charged with
breaking and entering, burglary and theft.  Think of it in the nature of a
plea bargain." 
     
LaCroix started to get extremely quiet and then turned to Zillah with a
snarl. "This is your fault!  You said we could gain possession from these
papers."  LaCroix had been humiliated in "his" club again and could barely
control his infuriation.  He had vowed that he wouldn't brangle with these
"well-dressed dress forms" or with his own child and here he was doing
that very thing.  He snarled again.  The young man had asked to become a
vampire as a reward.  Perhaps as a punishment LaCroix should give him half
of his fondest wish.  LaCroix wanted to bite someone, anyone, very badly. 
     
Susan Garrett wanted to defuse the potentially explosive situation. For
one thing, she didn't think that blood would go nicely with the new decor. 

###

AMY UNLEASHED
by Susan M. Garrett

Time: Early evening
Place: The Raven

Susan was about one hundred miles and two feet closer to LaCroix than she
wanted to be in this or any other life time.  So far, he hadn't bitten,
wounded, maimed, or even been too nastily sarcastic to anyone . . . which
she considered generally a good thing.  But that could only last so long. 

"Perhaps--"  She cleared her throat when LaCroix turned his gaze on her.
"Well--maybe we can come to some sort of . . . arrangement." 

"Arrangement?"  LaCroix raised an eyebrow and then looked back at Vicki.
"Another voice added to the matter?  Another lawyer?" 

"No," said Susan sharply.  "Vicki's our counsel.  I'm speaking directly on
behalf of Janette and the Ravens and Ravenettes." 

"One of Janette's shadows."  He turned his gaze to her again and she tried
not to look away . . . but didn't quite manage.  "I remember.  You're her
writer, aren't you?  The one Dorian wanted to interview.  Tell me, how is
our little Archivist--still sleeping off his bender from the last war?" 

"I wouldn't know," answered Susan tautly.  "I'm not his keeper."  There
was a touch on her elbow--Vicki had moved closer to her.  She looked down
at the ground, realizing that she was arguing with LaCroix.  "Look, this
can't go on.  If we keep pulling the Raven back and forth between us, the
place is going to explode and all we're going to have left is a couple of
broken bottles, tangled chains, and part of a dance floor." 

"And you want to prevent that?" asked LaCroix, with a disbelieving smile.
"For Janette?" 

"Yes," Catherine said defensively.  "Do you have a problem with that?" 

"Absolute, unconditional loyalty?"  LaCroix looked back across his own
people.  "How . . . touching.  And, I would think, boring.  Janette never
could abide boredom.  Perhaps that's why she left, for greener pastures
and more interesting followers?" 

There was a snicker from amongst the cousins.  Susan stiffened and met
Catherine's eyes, realizing that she was just as angry.  But before they
could do anything, Vicki held up her hand.  "We could keep this up all
night.  And we can spend the rest of the war pulling the Raven apart
between us.  So you have a choice--keep baiting us, or cut a deal.  Which
is it?" 

LaCroix paused.  "That would depend on the terms, wouldn't it?" 

"Thief!" cried a very loud and angry voice.

"Oh, God," moaned Susan, hiding her eyes when she heard Amy's cry.

And, sure enough, Amy pushed her way to the front of the crowd and planted
herself in front of LaCroix.  Her hand snaked out to slap him, but he
caught her wrist before it could connect.  "What's this?" he asked, more
amused than annoyed. 

"Let go!"  Amy struggled, unable to dislodge his grip. 

Her voice quiet, so that Amy couldn't hear, Susan whispered, "Amy thinks
she's Janette.  Someone's hypnotized her." 

LaCroix heard every word quite clearly.  His smile broadened as he stared
at Susan, then glanced down at Amy, who was kicking at his boots with the
toe of her high heel.  "One of the coroner's people, isn't she?  A . . .
Nat-Packer?"  Holding her arm a little higher, he turned her around, as if
examining her.  "The resemblance <is> uncanny.  Of course, she's quite
mortal.  Shall I fix that little detail and make your transformation
complete?" 

"Unhand me!" declared Amy, as if oblivious to his comments.  To her
surprise, LaCroix did so and she ended up on the floor in a heap.  When
Susan reached down to pick her up, Amy pushed her away, struggled to her
feet, and adjusted her dress.  "I won't stand for this.  This is mine.
You'd no right to take it from me.  And then, what you <did> to it--"  For
a moment, she quivered in absolute fury, then she seemed to regain control
of herself.  With a look of disdain, she added, "I'd always thought you
had a modicum of style, but after seeing how you redecorated <my> club 
. . . well, it shouldn't be any surprise, since you seem to have lost all
of your fashion sense.  Spending too much time at the mall lately, are
we?" 

LaCroix raised an eyebrow.  "Clothes do <not> make the man, my dearest, in
case you've forgotten.  Should I mention someone's rather unfortunate
decade-long infatuation with polyester blends--?"  Then, LaCroix stopped,
almost in mid-sentence.  He looked down at Amy, as if in surprise, and
smiled, murmuring, "Oh, she <is> good.  Very good." 

"We all make mistakes.  My latest was in not having a bouncer stationed to
prevent you from entering," said Amy.  Turning aside toward the bar, she
held out her hand for a drink--which Sheryl quickly gave her.  After a
sip, and a sharp glance at Sheryl, she gestured toward the door.  "I'm
certain the rest of the guests wouldn't mind if you had another, more
pressing engagement.  But would you mind taking your little psychopaths
along with you?  Either that, or buy them a better wardrobe if you're
going to take them out in public.  I've never known you to be cheap
before." 

LaCroix no longer seemed amused.  And, much as Susan wanted to delve into
this mention of a polyester skeleton in Janette's closet, she realized
that Amy's life was probably at stake if this kept up.  "We'll handle
this, Boss," she said quickly, looking around for some sort of diversion. 
"Oh, look--is that Nick?" 

"Nicola?"  Amy's eyes lit up like sparklers.  "Where?" 

Without a moment's hesitation--the bastard deserved it, after what he'd
done to her in the third war--Susan pointed toward a crowd of Knighties by
the doorway.  Amy handed her drink to Susan, then turned to LaCroix and
hissed, "This isn't over.  I'll deal with you later," before she left. 

"That," said LaCroix quietly, "was actually quite vicious."  He gestured
toward Amy, who was fighting her way through the incoming crowd to reach
Nick, then smiled faintly.  "I approve." 

"Thanks.  I think."  Susan blanched at the stench of the mock-blood
concoction from the glass and placed it back on the bar. 

"We were going to discuss an 'arrangement,' I believe?" asked LaCroix, as
he turned toward Vicki. 

There was a shriek from the far side of the room.  With a sigh, Susan
pushed past Catherine, pausing only long enough to whisper, "Do the best
you can," before she headed into the crowd.  She was leaving negotiations
in far more capable hands than her own and anything that got her away from
LaCroix <had> to be considered a blessing. 

Especially if it involved embarrassing Nick in a big way.

###

OUT OF COURT SETTLEMENT
by Vicki Jean Merriman

Time: Early evening
Place: The Raven

A server came over and took refill orders as Vicki, Catherine and LaCroix
watched Amy rush over to climb on Nick. 

"We were going to discuss an 'arrangement,' I believe?" asked LaCroix, as
he turned back towards Vicki. 

She nodded.  "Susan is right that there is no point in using up a lot of
energy playing tug of war with the Raven.  What precisely do you want?" 

"What do I want?"  LaCroix raised an eyebrow.  "To hunt humans as I have
done for close to 2 millenia before mortal technology and 'civilization'
interfered.  Not to hide what I am from creatures weaker than myself and,
most especially, for you to understand that I might suck you dry as easily
as you could swat an annoying fly.  Can you 'arrange' that, Ms. _Mortal_
Lawyer?" 

<Oh, God.  I've pushed him too far.  He's going to kill me.>  All of
Vicki's thoughts immediately froze solid in her brain.  She could barely
swallow over a throat tight with fear, and buried her face in her wine
glass instead. 

Catherine bravely drew attention to herself.  She had more experience with
FK wars, and knew that LaCroix would threaten a great deal, but that he
hadn't actually hurt any faction members yet. 

"LaCroix, what can we do so that the Cousins will stop fighting over the
Raven?" 

"Give it back to me." He smiled.  "There.  That was easy, was it not?" 

Catherine took a calming breath before replying.  "Besides that, LaCroix. 
I understand it is really more a matter of pride at this point, but the
Raven is truly legally Janette's, and it won't do either of the factions
any good to keep playing tug of war." 

"So what do you suggest?"  LaCroix was using his smoothest voice.  The bit
about it being a matter of pride stung, because she was right. 

Catherine and Vicki looked at each other.  Vicki had gulped half of her
second glass of wine and managed to get her throat unstuck. 

"We've talked it over with Susan, and we are willing to let the cousins
come and go freely at the Raven, as long as there aren't any more
hostilities between our factions." 

"How thrilled my followers will be."  LaCroix was singularly unimpressed. 

"You have CERK and your apartment while Janette always stayed here.  It is
all the Ravenettes have here in Toronto.  Miklos is in her apartment right
now.  Well, actually, Amy is in it but Miklos had been staying there,"
Vicki said. 

LaCroix smiled.  "That must have been a sight to see.  Who threw whom out
of the apartment?  They didn't share?  How selfish of the little
Natpacker." 

"We just let Amy have it and moved Miklos,"  Catherine said. 

"Moved him so he was in danger of being attacked by all those overheated
mortal Raven/ettes?  How amusing.  And there's only one bed in this
building." 

"Precisely why I'm not staying here,"  Vicki said. 

"Why Ms. Lawyer, if I didn't know better, I would say you were
propositioning me."  Ah, LaCroix thought, there is a way to disturb this
woman's sangfroid. 

"Don't be ridiculous."  Vicki looked uncomfortable. 

"Could we get back to the negotiation?"  Catherine asked.  "We propose
that the Cousins will have free entry to the Raven.  Now you have CERK to
do your radio show at and the apartment to stay in, so the Raven/ettes
will be staying at the Raven." 

"Some of my important equipment is still here, due to that ridiculous
sales contract." 

"Yes, we were wondering about that.  In that case, you may come in to do
your radio show here,"  Vicki said. 

"You are too kind."  LaCroix raised his glass of blood in a silent toast. 

"Well, we are trying to be accomodating.  We don't have to offer you
anything, but we didn't start this war.  The Natpackers did, and if our
two factions don't stop squabbling over this bar we will never figure out
why they attacked in the first place.  It simply isn't Natpacklike
behavior to do such a thing."  Vicki had recovered from her fright and was
exasperated with LaCroix again.  She went on. 
     
"Our basic offer is this:  the decor, the music and the management style
remain ours.  We'll handle the expenditures and take the profits. You will
agree to cover any damage the Cousins do, but they will have free access
to the Raven, Janette's apartment excepting, whenever the Raven is open. 
If either faction breaks the truce, then it is back to the hostilities. 
You can do your show from the setup you had in the back booth. 
     
"The Raven/ettes aren't particularly thrilled with this offer as they
consider it Janette's bar, but Susan has approved of the offer and both
Catherine and I think it is a good one.  Both factions are spending too
much time playing tug of war. 
     
"Additionally, I am offering to not prosecute Zillah for theft and
breaking and entering, if you will agree to cover the damage caused to the
B&B.  It is a lot of money to Mrs. McGillicudy, but isn't a lot to you. 
Quite frankly, none of us will want to remain here for a trial. Since the
witnesses and defendant are all Americans, it will just be a mess.  But we
will prosecute if necessary." 

Vicki stopped talking, took a sip of wine, and waited for LaCroix'
response. 

###

SIDE-SWIPED
by Susan M. Garrett

Time: Early evening
Place: The Raven

The shriek, it seemed, had come from the Knightie who was sitting on the
floor, still stunned by Amy's bee-line for Nick.  Susan looked up and
spotted Nick pinned against the wall, with Amy the pin-er--her arms were
around his neck, you couldn't have fit an electron between their bodies
(in fact, Amy seemed determined to wrap her legs around his waist) and
there was some serious lip action going on--at least from Amy's end.  Nick
seemed more than a little bewildered but wasn't making any really
significant attempts at escape from Amy's Frenching him, nor did he seem
inclined to help Matt and Gary, the Knighties who were trying to drag Amy
off their stalwart leader . . . without much success. 

After bemoaning the fact that she didn't have a camera, Susan took the
only action she could.  Dashing to one of the emergency "Miklos is in
danger" units she'd had strategically installed throughout the club, she
borrowed the elbow of a leather-clad vampire to break the glass, then
pulled out the fully loaded extra-strength super-soaker and fired. 

There wasn't time to shout a warning, so a few nearby and concerned
Knighties got splashed (which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, considering
that the hormone level of Nick's followers usually shot off the scale when
he was around).  Amy got a shot right down the back of the dress, which
was constructed with an optimum skin-to-cold water ratio in mind.  Susan
fumbled with the trigger for a moment after Amy slipped off Nick, enraged,
which meant that Nick caught a face-full of water, too.  (No, it wasn't
exactly unintentional, but Nick had hormones too and she wasn't about to
give up the opportunity of Nick getting as well as he could give for a
change.)

"How <dare> you!" screamed Amy.  She flung her hair from side to side,
eliciting more shrieks from the party guests (it's the wet-dog splatter
effect) and stalked toward Susan with murder in her eyes. 

There was nowhere to run and even though Amy wasn't Janette, Susan was
pretty certain that Amy's more humane and sensible instincts wouldn't
engage in time to save her from some pretty intense pain--hair pulling was
a <very> high possibility on the agenda.  Throwing down the now-empty gun,
she said, "But Boss, you <told> me to do it!" 

"I <what>?" declared Amy.  She stopped, hands on hips. 

"You know," said Susan, gesturing toward Nick.  "You said that if he
showed, you might forget yourself, so I was supposed to hose you down. 
You're <supposed> to be angry with him, remember?  I mean, one minute he's
kissy-face and then he doesn't call you for a month?"  When Susan looked
back, Nick--dripping more than slightly--was pushing aside his followers
and heading for them.  Reaching out her hand, Susan picked up the first
thing she could grab (which happened to be an ashtray) and gave it to Amy. 
"You also asked for ammo?" 

"Of course.  Thank you."  With a fierce smile, Amy turned and hurled the
ashtray at Nick.  It whistled past his ear and slammed against the wall,
shattering. 

Nick turned for a second to survey the damage, but Amy picked up another
ashtray.  Ducking beneath Amy's line of sight, Susan grabbed an empty
table, flipped it on its side and ducked behind it.  Just after she heard
the second ashtray smash against the wall, she peeked up over the table
and called, "Nick?  Explanations over here!" 

He caught the third ashtray in mid-air, but the fourth followed too
quickly and barely missed him.  Susan was almost bumped out from behind
the table as Nick slid into her.  "<What's> going on?" he demanded. 

"One of the vampires hypnotized Amy into thinking she's Janette."  When
Nick stared at her in disbelief, she added, "All I know is that I had to
get her away from LaCroix, so I sicced her on you." 

"Thanks."  He ducked lower as an ashtray shattered against the other side
of the table.  "And what am <I> supposed to do with her?" 

"Make nice."  Nick merely stared at her, then they both ducked again as
another ashtray hit.  "She thinks she's Janette.  Do what you'd do to calm
Janette down.  Trust me, it <will> work." 

For a moment, Nick smiled, then, if it was possible, he got even paler.
"Here?  In public.  But . . . she's not Janette--" 

"Just the PG version . . . a lot of lies, promises, and quick lips." 
Susan counted on her fingers.  "She's only got two--" another bang sounded
against the table "--okay, ONE more ashtray.  Get her to go change into
something dry.  By the time she comes out, she'll be fine." 

"You're serious?" 

Another bang sounded against the table top.  "You're on!" called Susan. 

Nick moved--he was a blur as he vaulted the table top.  Another Knightie
dashed in behind him and grabbed Susan's arm.  "What's going on?" 

"Amy's been hypnotized into thinking she's Janette.  Nick's gotta stop her
and save the day." 

"Oh," said Perri.  "Of course. Makes perfect sense." 

Susan peered up over the edge of the table.  Nick had Amy's hands held
down at her sides and was talking with her, their voices low.  Several
Knighties moved forward, but Perri waved them back--this was Nick's
business. 

Knighties, you gotta love 'em--they can't believe Nick <won't> save the
day. 

There was one or two more lip-locks, then Amy smiled at him and headed for
the back rooms, squishing all the way.  Susan moved to follow her, but
suddenly Nick was beside her, a hand on her shoulder.  "Hang on." 

Susan "eeped" and looked around for support, but the Ravenettes were
scattered and so was most of the crowd now that the show was over.  She
turned and was faced with a slightly damp Nick and a whole bunch of
annoyed Knighties.  "Can I get you a towel?" 

"Who hypnotized her?" 

"I don't know.  Like I said, LaCroix's as surprised about this as you are
and Alma and Miklos are clean.  The Boss--"  Susan swallowed when Nick's
eyes darkened.  "Janette's not here.  But . . . you know that." 

He released her shoulder.  "That's Amy.  She's one of Nat's people."  Amy
Potter stood close behind him and whispered something.  Nick half-turned
his head, as if considering, then looked back to Susan again.  "Have you
tried to unhypnotize her?" 

"Miklos did.  But he said that since she thinks she's a vampire, she also
thinks she can't be hypnotized, so it's a no-go."  Susan looked down.
"We're turning her over to the Nat Pack tonight--they should be able to
sort it out.  As for who did it--I won't let them get away with this.  You
know how I feel about that kind of stuff." 

"I remember," said Nick evenly. 

"At least one of us does."  She wasn't able to meet his eyes.  Murmuring,
"I'll have someone bring you a towel," Susan slipped away into the crowd.
She caught sight of Cynthia and gestured toward the wet bunch in the
corner. "Towels for the Knighties," she explained, "I'll take care of
Amy." Grabbing a bottle from the bar as she passed, Susan called behind
her, "And send the Nat Pack in when they show.  The quicker we get rid of
Amy, the happier I'll be!" 

###

ONWARD AND UPWARD (Part 1)
Or: Nevermore, Quoth the Raven
by Maureen Wynn

Time: Evening
Place: The Raven

The Raven was *hopping*.  Even at the height of the atrocities that Uncle
had perpetuated on the place, it had never been this crowded.  And, of
course, when Janette had been the proprietress, the clientele had tended
toward quality, rather than quantity. 

"I love parties!"

"Well, DUH! Who doesn't?"

The speakers wandered out of earshot of the Mercs seated at a dimly-lit
table near the bar. <I love over-hearing bits and pieces of conversations! 
You never know what you might learn that way...> Maureen thought, sipping
her wine. 

"So what exactly do you need me to do?" the Merc-in-training asked
eagerly. "Do I get to kidnap someone?  Or maybe interrogate someone?  Or,
oohhh, can I follow someone?  I've been reading a book on the best methods
for trailing a suspect..." 

"No, no, nothing like that!" the head Merc interrupted hastily, before her
trainee could get carried away. <A *book*? She expects to learn this job
from a *book*?  There are too d*mn many librarians on the list!> she
mentally groused to herself. <They're a bad influence...> "How's your
acting ability?" she asked.  "Here's what you're going to do..." 

Virginia waited at the position Maureen had put her in, trying not to
fidget. <Don't be nervous!  You're supposed to be a Mercenary, for Pete's
sake! It's all part of the job.  Oh, there he is!> She moved closer to her
prey, putting on her best "I'm just a bimbo, and aren't I cute?"
expression.  "Um, excuse me...aren't you Vachon?" 

The long-haired man turned to stare at her blankly.  "Ye-es, yes I am.  Do
I know you?" 

"No, but I'm just *such* a fan of yours, you don't know!" Virginia gushed.
She leaned in and continued, "I just *love* men with long hair!  And your
eyes - they're so... ypnotic.  Like pools I could just *drown* in!"  She
flipped back her long red hair, and moved in, pretending to trip and
falling against Vachon, who caught her arms automatically to keep her from
falling. "Sorry!  Gosh, you're just so *strong*!" <...and I'm about to
*gag*!  Maybe I'm overplaying it a little?>

Vachon didn't seem overly eager to let go of the tall mercenary, however,
so Virginia assumed the part she was playing was working.  "Are you all
right?" he asked, moving her out of the way of the worst of the crush. 
"It's too crowded in here to move without being knocked down," he added,
frowning at the crowds of people around the bar. 

"Why don't we move somewhere that isn't so crowded?" Virginia offered.  "I
think there's more room back there," as she indicated the tables beyond
the dance floor.  He looked undecided, so Virginia delivered the
coup-de-grace. "I'll buy us a couple of drinks, and we can just sit down
and talk for a while, OK?  You can tell me all about yourself!  I'm sure
you've led such a *fascinating* life!" 

"Well, why not?  I'd like to get away from all these...um, people," he
said. 

<Sucker!> crowed Virginia.  <No man can resist an offer to talk about
himself!> She turned to the bar and caught the bartender's eye, and
indicating herself and Vachon, held up two fingers to indicate two drinks,
then laid a twenty on the bar-top.  The excessive tip got her immediate
service, and she grabbed the drinks and turned to lead Vachon to a table. 

Maureen, watching from behind a pillar, smiled with satisfaction.  <*That*
should keep him busy for a while!  And if talk doesn't do it, then she
knows that she's to spill his drink on him. Since he's actually dressed
nicely for a change, for the party, he'll be willing to wait while she
"cleans up" the stain.> Maureen smiled again, imagining Vachon stuck,
pantless, in the little vampire's room while Virginia took her time in
cleaning out the stain. 

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

Dianne was enjoying herself.  But then, she always enjoyed herself,
believing, above all else, that the purpose of life was to have *fun*, no
matter what you're doing. It just helps if you're at a party, surrounded
by friends, and with a drink in your hand.  Life was *good*!  She lifted
the glass to take another drink, when she was interrupted by a voice
behind her. "So, what is that - a zombie beachcomber?" 

Dianne did a classic spit-take, the words triggering an immediate
flashback to the last War, and turned to glare at the figure that had come
up behind her.  "No, it's not, thank you very much!" she said, brushing
the drops of liquid off her clothes. 

"Tsk, tsk, Dianne, spilling good booze is such a waste," Maureen said,
smiling up at the taller woman. "That'll count against you in the
afterlife." 

Dianne looked at her, puzzled.  "What the h*ll does booze have to do with
the afterlife?!" 

"Oh, well, I'm Irish, you know.  The Irish believe so completely in the
magical powers of uisgebagh <whiskey to you non-celts>, that they consider
it a sacrilege to spill any.  So the legend goes that all the booze that
you've spilled in your lifetime is collected in a barrel. When you die,
you're suspended head-first in that barrel, and if you drown...well, then
to hell with you!" 

Dianne started to laugh, then suddenly stopped, looking suspiciously at
the other Mercenary. 

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Dianne grumbled. "You just better not have told that story
as an excuse to tell me to go to..." 

"Why, Dianne!  You wrong me. I'm deeply hurt. Deeply!" Maureen said,
smiling innocently up at her friend and collegue.  "Would I do that to
you?" 

"You better not!" Dianne said, her good humor restored, grinning evilly
back. "We both know who can beat up whom, don't we?" 

Maureen raised her glass in a toast "To friendship - and may the balance
of power never tilt!" 

Dianne joined her, "To friendship!"

***several drinks later***

"Uh, excuse me, I have to answer a call of nature!"

Dianne headed back toward the rest rooms at a fast walk, breaking into a
trot after a few steps.  She really had to go *now*.  She shouldn't have
held it in so long, but she was having such a good time, she hated to
interrupt it for anything so mundane as a trip to the john.  She turned
into the hallway where the restrooms were, and was dismayed to see long
lines coming out of both doors.  "Man, did *everyone* decide to go to the
restroom at the same time?!  Just my luck!" 

She started to get in line, but the length of the line, and the sensation
from her bladder told her that she would explode if she had to hold it any
longer.  She was about to push her way into the bathroom <and to h*ll with
the rest of these people!>, when she spotted a figure coming in the back
door of the Raven, buttoning up his Levi's.  <Well, if it works for him...
now's not the time to be proud!>

She ducked out the door, and looked both ways down the alley, to be sure
there was no one hanging around.  She moved to duck behind the dumpster
for a little privacy, when... 

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

Maureen looked up when the Cousin sat down at the table.  "Well?"

"Mission accomplished! And it was so simple! I should have thought of that
plan myself." 

"Well, you didn't.  I did, and I'm the one who gets paid for it.  Right?"
Maureen said meaningfully. 

"Oh, right!  Here you go," the Cousin said, handing over the package. 
"The payment we agreed on..." 

Maureen opened the small box, smiling with pleasure at the glitter within.
"Yep, this should take care of things nicely.  And with enough to provide
a nice cut to everyone who helped out."  She raised her glass, and said,
"To friendship!" 

###

CARPE NOCTEM AT THE RAVEN
by Cousin Candice

Time: Evening
Place: The Raven

As usual, LaCroix looked stunning.  Garbed in a black (as usual) Armani
suit, though no sword pin this evening, he waited in the living room for
Candice to "get ready."  She'd been getting ready for over 2 hours. Women. 
It seemed that over the centuries some things would never change. 

"Okay!  I'm coming, I'm coming...what time is it anyway?"  Candice called
out from the bathroom. 

"It's irrelevant, you're late, my dear."  LaCroix walked to the foot of
the half-flight of steps and adjusted his tie.  He turned his back to the
stairs and began to pace. 

"Shall we?"  Candice walked carefully down the 10 steps in her 2 inch
heels (height is such a wonderful thing, no?).  Once she reached the
bottom, she spun around so her skirt twirled out a little bit.  The black
dress was by far one of the most expensive things she'd ever bought--tight
to the chest and midriff, cut straight down the middle, both front and
back, with red silk, then coming to a halt at the waist, a mid-thigh skirt
balanced on top of a chintzy fabric. 

"My, my, my...wherever did you find that, O ravishing one?" 

Candice licked her lips and smiled ever so slightly, knowing that he'd
NEVER get the joke, and said: 

"It's a LaCroix, sweetie!" 

LaCroix glanced at the recently re-blonded, trying to figure out why she
found what she'd just said so amusing.  He walked (though to Candice, it
looked like he'd just *popped*) to the window and held out his hand. 

"Well, are you coming or do I have to drag you?" 

"Would I ever miss a party?"  Rhetoric always getting the better of
Candice, she met LaCroix at the window and once again was airborne for the
second time in Toronto (though this time more appropriately attired).

They arrived at the Raven just in time to watch Lillian Feden get
"knighted" by The Die-Hards.  They were standing on the edge of the crowd,
trying not to burst out laughing.  There was really no guessing to which
faction Lillian would be defecting this evening.  Candice surveyed the
decorations in The Raven once again, taking her eyes off the stage,
glancing at the suits of armor and the FoDly spread at the far end of the
main room.  The lanterns and other forms of primitive illumination made
the club even darker than usual, which meant there were a lot of shadows
in which to place one's self.  Suddenly there was a crash and she looked
back to the stage and saw a woman almost doubled over with laughter, and
another face down on the floor.  Poor Lillian.  Cruel Die-Hards, they all
had their Cousinly tendancies. 

"Ah, so *that's* Dawn Steele," Candice mused quietly to her Uncle; they
stood with their backs to the wall. "I'm not sure if she'd like to meet me
tonight...I think I'll go get us a drink--any preferences?" 

"1645, burgundy blend. Oh, and Candice?"

"Yes, my Uncle?"

"Merci, ma cherie."

Candice turned and shoved her way to the bar before LaCroix got a chance
to see her blush. 

###

THE CEREMONY OF TRANSITION
by Dawn Steele

Time: Evening (about 7pm EST)
Place: The Raven

Dawn had managed to convince the Ravenettes to cobble together a small
stage area against one wall, and the Die Hards had decorated it with a
medieval motif. 

A couple of suits of armour flanked the edges, and the wall behind the
stage was flanked with various swords, pieces of armour and items that no
one could identify. 

Dawn herself was dressed as the master of ceremonies in a floor length
black gown that managed to make her skin luminous instead of pasty and
took off about 15 pounds (heh heh heh). 

She was holding a portable mike and tapping it absently to make sure that
it worked.  Then she looked up at the crowd of people.  They had stumbled
in over the night, and Dawn had seen a few things happen that <weren't>
exactly in the spirit of the occasion but had decided to let it pass. 

She was a bit nervous in such a large crowd, but...strangely the nervous
attacks of butterflies that she usually got were noticeable in their
absence. The lanterns and other primitive forms of illumination made the
club even darker than usual, but Dawn was able to see most of the crowd. 

Dawn mentally noted the locations of various groups of people. DieHards,
Diane Echelbarger, Nick, and... She noticed Candice standing on the edge
of the crowd. She was eyeing the rest of the club and seemed to be testing
which shadows would hide her best. Dawn brought herself back. Maybe she
was more nervous than she thought, getting distracted like that. 

"Testing, testing, one two three..." She caught a few glares from the
audience. 

"Okay. It seems to be working." Dawn smiled and pointed to the buffet
table at the back. "I'm glad to see that everyone enjoyed the
refreshments."  She singled out a small group of Die Hards and FoDs
towards the back.  "I'd like to thank our cooks, Diane, Jane, Jennifer,
Laura and the Souvlaki Deli for coming to our rescue at the last minute
and boosting the amount of food, incredibly good food by the way." 

A brief