CHALLENGE for the week of 05-27-01

TRIO CHALLENGE: A necklace, iron rod, Mission

QUOTE: "Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge." Shakespeare (Titus Andronicus)

QUOTE: "Follow love and it will flee, Flee love and it will follow thee." 16th C. Proverb

Authors: Eliza, Jo, Laura, Lisa, Maril

By Eliza
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Only one muse in residence today and she keeps insisting that she looks much better in black then the Queen. I really can't argue with that. <shrug>

CATEGORY/RATING: Crossover PG13
DISCLAIMER: I think Fireworks owns them all, at least they were the last to give them work. No harm, no foul.

~~~~~

This really wasn't a challenge, just a little bit of exercise. Some practice so that she wouldn't get rusty. An easy way to earn some pin money. But there was such a thing as pride in one's work, so she held her breath as the guard passed by.

When everything was still again, she considered her options. There was the iron bar, which should have been holding a lantern, at the entrance way to a courtyard filled with rose vines. She looked into the courtyard. Now the choice was swinging herself up onto the wall via the bar then walking the top until she reached the balcony, or... she could take the stairs. There is a difference between making things interesting and being stupid. She took the stairs.

The office was the main room on the second floor of this part of the building. It was easy to find and obscenely simple to break into. The thought of robbing the local military governor's office likely didn't cross the minds of many thieves, but then she was no ordinary thief. She was here for one reason -- to get a certain necklace and win that blasted bet. If a few pieces of gold happened to fall into her pocket in the process she really couldn't be held responsible. The problem was, she had this feeling in the pit of her stomach that this wasn't as simple as it looked. She hadn't won one of Suzanne's silly wagers in three hundred years. She really was old enough to know better then to accept one when her mind was fuzzy with wine and kisses.

She took a careful look at the room. Her gaze didn't dwell on the desk or the chests, but made a thorough inspection of the fireplace, the wall behind the desk, and the bookshelves. The bookshelves -- something didn't look right. The way the sections fit together was odd. She started to lightly run her gloved fingers over the books in the centre section, paying particular attention to those on the end. When she found the latch, a surge of adrenaline went through her and she had to stop and take a few deep breaths. This always happened when she was this close to her prize but she could easily control the effects after years of practice. Hers hands were steady as she pulled on the spine of the false volume and the bookcase swung outward.

Inside was a cage with standard prison bars and lock. She didn't even watch her hands as they opened the lock like it was a routine chore. Her eyes were riveted on the sight in front of her -- gold. There was silver, too. She entered the cage and lifted the lid on one of the small chests. Oh, that's pretty! She stopped herself as her fingers reached for the diamond pin. Rebecca always called her a little raven, helplessly drawn to shiny objects. She insisted that it was the challenge, the pride in her skill, that kept her crossing the line and breaking the law. But it was more fun when the prize twinkled in the light.

Focus, Amanda. If you get greedy, she'll win. That's what happened the last four times. Suzanne knew her far too well. Amanda wasn't going to give in this time. Only the necklace was leaving the cage, the proceeds from winning the bet will have to do as compensation. Pride was at stake after all.

That resolution lasted until she opened the second chest to look for the ruby necklace. Emeralds! The earrings went into her pocket. It was one thing to resist gold but no one should be asked to resist emeralds. She lifted the cloth that the jewels had sat on and she breathed a sigh of relief. She could get out of this pit of temptation. The necklace went in a different pocket than the earrings.

As Amanda turned her back on all the shiny treasure and walked out the door of the cage, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. She took a closer look at the top of the steel door. Damn you, Suzanne! You knew the place was rigged and counted on the sight of all this to distract me. It's so annoying when you're right! But the deal was to bring the necklace back, we never said anything about being quiet about it. Opening the cage had broken a thread, that dropped a weight behind the wall, that set off a bell, or some other signal, indicating the lock had been breached. She had seen similar alarms in large manors and private collections, but who would go to such trouble for such a well hidden stash in the middle of nowhere. She had been taking her time up until now, and it had run out.

She closed all of the doors behind her, just in case luck was on her side and no one had noticed the alarm. The soft clearing of a throat behind her let her know that it was wishful thinking. She winced at the sound and then slowly turned around.

She was pleased to see only one man in the room, a handsome one at that, but with a drawn sword. It was not what Amanda considered a flattering accessory.

"The rest of the guards are at all of the entrances. I prefer to greet all of my guests myself," he said.

Cultured as well as attractive. And I thought Suzie was patronizing me with this wager. Amanda hoped that she could charm her way out of this situation. It's not like she was making off with sacks full of gold. "Colonel Montoya, if my information is correct. And far more handsome than described."

Her attempt at flirtation prompted him to take another, more leisurely, look at her. "You have me at a disadvantage, senorita. Whom would you happen to be? Other then a thief."

"I'm a nun from the Mission at San Jose collecting alms for the poor," she said with a cheeky smile. Montoya was torn between being angry at her impertinence at daring to steal from him and being amused at her self-possession and wit. She looked more like a little girl being caught taking a sweet than a criminal at the point of a sword.

When he had first heard the alarm, his first reaction was that the Queen of Swords had become overconfident and that he would finally have her head on a pike. But the woman in black that had exited his obviously not-so-secret room, was not his nemesis. Her dark hair was pulled back, likely braided, and tucked into her shirt. Her attire, though as unique as the Queen's, seemed more practical, designed for function rather than distraction; although, like the Queen's, it left little to the imagination. However, it was the lovely face that prompted him to briefly consider alternative compensation for her misdeeds. He was drawn to the sparkling brown eyes, the playful grin, and the spirit that was behind them, more so than the long legs and feminine curves.

But then the impulse passed. "Amusing. But a Good Sister would have had God on her side and would not have tripped my alarm. Shall we try again? I would like to be able to put a name on your gravestone."

"How about... I didn't take anything, I was just browsing. You can search me if you like." That grin was back.

Montoya was having a little trouble keeping focused. "It will be just as easy to search you after you are dead."

"But not near as much fun," she pouted, another weapon in her arsenal. She was also making her way steadily to the balcony door.

He moved to block her path and brought his sword up under the swell of her breast, almost touching her. "I will give you a choice. Either I can run you through now, as a thief invading my home and threatening the security of the Spanish government in California, or you can accompany me to the jail peaceably, and tomorrow there will be a trial and you will be hung."

"Now Colonel, you know that's no way to impress a lady." Even as she said the words, the thief was sending a nearby chair in Montoya's direction. When he looked at her again, after the brief diversion, she had a sword in her hands as well. The flirtatiousness was gone, but there was no blood lust in her eyes either, just a surety as to her ability with the weapon in her hand. This confidence gave him pause, but only briefly; others had overestimated themselves before. But Montoya found out that he was the one that was out matched, for within a few moves he found himself unarmed and against one of the pillars with her blade at his throat.

She leaned her body against his and sighed, "It's a real shame that you didn't consider my offer of a search. You may have enjoyed what you found, and I'm guessing I would have as well."

"Where did you gain such skill with a sword, senorita?" Montoya couldn't think of returning the suggestive remarks. He was starting to worry that there were more dark-haired, sword wielding Amazons out there and that they would all eventually end up in his pueblo.

"It's just practice, Colonel. When I set my mind on learning something, I practice until I am the best that I can possibly be. Particularly when I enjoy the activity," she said.

She removed the sword, but then the press of her lips held him as immobile as the blade had. This must have been one of those activities she practised. Enthusiastic and erotic, skilled and seductive, she plundered his mouth yet invited him to return the favour. Then suddenly she was gone.

Montoya ran out the door to the balcony and watched as his soldiers fired at the figure riding into the night on a stolen horse. I must order more target practice for those idiots, he thought, as he went back inside to find out exactly what was missing.

END

By Jo
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My Grisham Muse perked right to life when he saw the cool challenge posted by Heeroluva. Marcoo thanks you! <g> Here's what the challenge was: Write a fic where Marcus Grisham finds out who the Queen of Swords really is. You can decide whether or not he keeps her secret.

WEEK 19 QUOTE CHALLENGE 1: "Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge." Shakespeare (Titus Andronicus)

~~~~~

I have her. She is right there in front of me. She isn't trapped in a mine, she isn't being held by my Sergeant or the Colonel's soldiers. It is just her and me. My hand is to her throat. During our sword fight, she screwed up. Now I have her. As I look into those eyes surrounded by the black lace mask, I wonder why she spared my life. Her mistake was not taking the coup de gras; she could have burrowed her sword right into my chest as I was trapped under her, lying among those sharp rocks, not able to roll out of the way. In that split second that she didn't stab me, I was able to raise my sword to disarm her. Being as nimble as I am, I was able to get to my feet, grab her throat and shove her back against the cliff face.

Now I have her. I can feel every breath that comes from her lungs and out of her open (could that shock?) mouth. Yes, she's gotten cocky. When she started making trouble, I admit it, we hadn't expected such a woman and had made many mistakes. But now I have her. Before she can move except to clutch at my arm that pins her to the wall, I pull the dagger from my boot. I hold it to her face, lightly rub it along her cheek, then slip it up under that concealing mask.

Her eyes grow wide, she knows what I am fully prepared to do. Before she could stop me, I cut that mask; it split and fell on each side of her face. That face! Her hands cover her face, but I take them, releasing her neck. That face! She turns her face away from me, but I saw it. I have her. She can not get away unless I allow it. That face! It has lost it's confidence that it held during the fight, now it is red. Can she be embarrassed? Fear for her life? Her secret is out.

I have to stand back and look at the total package. Under those bandita clothes was a Señorita, Marta Teresa Alvarado, the little lady who would faint from any disturbance to serenity. The Dona who shall remain nameless' best friend! Oh God! The daughter of the man who I shot in cold blood under orders from my Colonel. It all fits. Of course! Oh God, I had dropped my hold of her, she will surely run away! But wait! She isn't running. She is only holding the ends of that mask and is now pulling it out of her hair.

"So, you know," she gravely says.

I stumble back, damn rocks! I straighten myself to show her who is in charge here. She waits. What is she waiting for? What am I waiting for? I have her! I know who she really is! ... Why can't I move, do my duty, impale her, take her back to Montoya 'dead or alive' as he had been wishing for almost a year? No, I can't do anything to her. I killed her father because he wouldn't pay the extra tax Montoya leveed. Her father's death is probably why she started dressing up, started making Montoya's life miserable. Yes... That is exactly why.

I put the dagger back in my boot. Why? For many reasons. The first of which is because she hadn't picked up a weapon to defend herself. Another, she hadn't killed me when she had the chance. Another, under no circumstance would I kill an unarmed lady, no matter what she had done. What she had done, she had a reason. A very good reason. She's really suspiciously looking me over now. I suppose she wonders why I haven't taken her prisoner. The answer is simple, I can't.

Where's my hat? Oh, over there by the rocks. I pick it up and slowly put it back on my head, to spare time to think about what to say to her. I should be official, I should be in the service of my Colonel. I should...

I look at her, staring at me, waiting for me to do something. Why hasn't she reached for her sword? It's not that far away; if she's anything, she is quick. Ah, she couldn't kill me once, she couldn't now. Maybe it was a good thing that I didn't take the mask off in the collapsed mine, after she had passed out from lack of oxygen. No matter how she behaved after we were freed, she had to have respected that.

I have to clear my throat to speak to her, as the words hadn't come out on the first try. I tell her, "Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge, Señorita Alvarado." She tilts her head and squints her now unobstructed eyes, obviously impressed that I have read a bit of Shakespeare. "My gift to you is not revealing your secret to Montoya or anyone else, you have my word as an officer and a gentlemen, contrary to what everyone else believes me to be. But," I have to put in a but... "You make another appearance as Queen, you will once again be my prey. I may not be as merciful next time. I will never name you, I don't need to reveal your name to kill you. Another strike to Montoya or me and I will strike with force. I now know who I'm dealing with and will use all information at my disposal."

She walks over to pick up her sword. I pull mine up with caution. What do you know? She stands there, and gives me the sign of respect, pointing her sword up, then down. She sheathed her sword and walked to her horse. As she mounts, I sheath my own sword. A new game has begun.

~~Jo

By Laura
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CHALLENGE #19 mixed with a song

~~~~~

FAST LOST IN THE CROWD
FEET WANDERING EMPTY STREETS

Doctor Helm walked down the now darkening streets of Santa Helena.

VOICE CRYING OUT LOUD
HEART ACHING WITH EVERY BEAT

He passed by the church where the little girl was getting prepared to be buried. He worked for hours trying to save her in the end it was too late.

SOMEONE SEARCHING
SEARCHING FOR SOMEONE

The queen watched him mount his horse and ride off.. Her thoughts thinking ' Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.'

EVERYWHERE AND ENDLESSLY
WISHING WAITING
COULD THERE BE SOMEONE

Grisham watched as she followed the good doctor out of town. Follow love and it will flee. Flee love and it will follow thee, Grisham thought as he mounted.

SEARCHING FOR
SOMEONE SEARCHING

Marta looked out the window praying for her Tessa as she always did when she went out as the queen.

OH I HEAR THE CRY
AND I KNOW THE PAIN

Helm stood at the cliff watching the sun go down. He looked down at his feet. They were on the edge. If he took another step he would go over.

CAN IT BE DENIED
THAT EVERYONE HAS BEEN

The queen dismounted and watched the doctor. She made sure not to make a noise in order not to scare him.

AND WILL BE SOMEONE SEARCHING
LOVE STANDING ALONE

The queen walked over toward him. Grisham watched from his mount on a close by hill.

HANDS SCARRED BY THE NAILS OF HATER

The doctor turned around as if smelling her sent on the ocean breeze. His eyes red from crying. she stepped closer to him. She took his shaking hands in his.

HOPE SUFFERING ALONG THE WAY

His eyes told her he was lost.

FAITH URGING THAT IT'S NOT TO LATE

The queen took one hand and held the side of his face. He closed his eyes to the touch of her. She motioned him a little bit closer.

SOMEONE SEARCHING
SEARCHING FOR SOMEONE

Grisham looked at the two kissing. Jealousy rising. He pulled out his gun.

EVERYWHERE AND ENDLESSLY
LOVING, LONGING

Helm's hands brushed up and under her mask. His eyes making contact with the woman behind the mask. With the site of her he removed his hand and held it behind her head to hold in a more passionate kiss.

ALWAYS THERE'S SOMEONE

Grisham took better aim. The sun setting wasn't making it easier to get a good clean shot.

SEARCHING FOR SOMEONE.

The two remained unknown of him and remained in the moment of their love.

SOMEONE SEARCHING

Grisham fired the gun

SOMEONE SEARCHING

~~~~~

SOMEONE SEARCHING
By Ginny Owens

By Lisa
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Contains mentions of a necklace, an iron rod and a Mission (okay, I did finesse and fudge a bit on "iron rod," but both words are in here) as well as the Shakespeare quote (twice). A bit long, but I got carried away. Oh, and it does come within hailing distance of slash. Sort of. In a harmless, absolutely no sex involved, theoretical way.

~~~~~

"Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge."

"Patient yourself, and pardon me." Colonel Montoya echoed Titus' response to the plea without looking up from the documents before him. He picked up his pen and signed with a flourish. Still holding the quill he regarded his visitor. "In your place," he added mildly, "I would have chosen to quote Portia rather than the 'barbarous Tamora.' Subtext, my dear Doctor: the irony of that sentiment from the most unmerciful queen of the Goths quite undercuts your argument."

Ostensibly returning an undivided attention to the papers on his desk, Montoya glanced up to watch Robert Helm rise from his chair and begin to pace. "A man's life is at stake, and you're quibbling about Shakespearian quotation?" Once again the good Doctor had come to argue some cause with the Colonel, and once again tempers--or at least his temper--was beginning to flare. For today the Colonel appeared unwilling to play along with this familiar little game, and his lack of cooperation was showing every sign of making the Doctor more passionate. He stopped pacing and leaned over the desk, resting both hands on its edge. "Eduardo Gomez--"

"Was found with Senora Ortega's necklace in his possession," Montoya explained patiently. He replaced the pen carefully.

"A present--"

"Really? From a rich dona to a poor ranchero?" Montoya stood up to meet the Doctor's eyes. "What can you be suggesting? Senora Ortega claims theft. Surely you do not question a lady's honesty? She also charges rape. The young man's life is forfeit, Doctor: the lady's husband's honor, if not her her own, demands no less. Under the circumstances Gomez should be grateful," he added in a calculatedly jocular tone, emerging from behind the desk and approaching the other man more closely. "A simple hanging is so much more merciful than the punishment Don Manuel might desire, I do assure you."

"Rape? Theft?" Helm straightened and turned toward him, his voice rising in even more open anger. "Payment for services rendered, you mean. Half the town has seen the way she--"

"Doctor Helm," Montoya interrupted sternly. "I strongly suggest you take more care what you say about the wife of one of the territory's wealthiest and most powerful ranchers."

"Oh yes, that's what's at stake here, isn't it? That's your precious Law. Tell me, Colonel. How much is Ortega paying you to murder his wife's lover?"

"Doctor Helm!" Montoya finally allowed his own matching passion to surface. "I will warn you only once more."

"Can you really whore your command so--"

"Guard!"

"Now what?" The Doctor's voice dropped into a sneer. "Are you going to have me escorted home again? Sending me to my room without my supper? You're not my bloody father!"

"No. I am not. But since you insist on exhibiting such adolescent belligerence... Spare the rod and spoil the child, isn't that what the Bible warns?" Montoya took another step toward him. "I have put up with your insolence for far too long," he growled. "I have indulged your insubordination and ignored your constant undermining of my legal authority. I have overlooked your nearly constant aiding and abetting notorious criminals and fugitives. No more." He stepped back and turned toward the guard. "The Doctor is under arrest, Corporal." He calmly resumed his seat behind the desk. "Bind his hands and take him to our jail. Oh, and Corporal," he added with almost gleeful sweetness as he met Helm's glare with one of his own. "If he resists, you have my full permission to punish him as you see fit."

He waited until the guard had hustled the fuming Doctor out of his office, then crossed the room and slipped out on to the balcony in time to watch them crossing the plaza toward the stockade. Many eyes followed the pair's progress--it was market day, after all. But where?... Ah, there, partially hidden in the fitful shade of the cantina's veranda, Senorita Alvarado stood watching with the rest. Montoya stepped back inside. He grinned and rubbed his hands together contentedly. He did so love it when a plan came together.

~~~~~

A FEW HOURS LATER.......

Montoya gazed with some satisfaction at the rumpled figure stretched out on the cell's narrow and no doubt far from comfortable bed. Doctor Helm lifted the arm he had thrown across his eyes.

"Come to gloat, Colonel?"

"Merely hoping you have come to your senses." Montoya gestured for the guard to open the door. "Come. This is no place for a gentleman. Join me for supper, eh? Who knows, but you may yet persuade me with your arguments. Sweet mercy is, after all, nobility's true badge, no?"

Helm sat up, swinging his legs off the cot. Slowly and silently he crossed the space between them. He stopped for a moment in front of the Colonel and it seemed as if he were preparing some sharp reply, some comment on Montoya's resemblance to Titus Andronicus' cruel and bloody empress, some invocation perhaps of "her sacred wit to villainy consecrate." But in the end he merely brushed by him with a familiar insolence and sauntered down the corridor.

In another cell the unfortunate Garcia grasped hold of the iron bars. "Colonel, please, I beg you. I am innocent! I swear by all the saints! By God's Holy Mother herself!"

Montoya rolled his eyes, turned on his heel and followed the Doctor's retreating form.

The long early summer twilight was just settling upon the now quiet town. In the Rose Courtyard the sweetness of night-blooming jasmine mixed with the exhalations of the Colonel's much-prized blooms in the dulcet evening air. The table had been laid, as he had ordered, for a private, light supper.

"My cook is quite gifted, you know," Montoya remarked, guiding Helm to a chair and pouring him a glass of the local rioja. "Sometimes I might almost believe myself back in Spain. And yet she came to one of my predecessors here as a Mission girl, born a heathen and raised by the good padres at the rancheria on God knows what--beans and acorn mush, one hears. She is quite the Spaniard now, a devout Christian woman, with two sons in the garrison." He filled his own glass and sat. "To Civilization," he offered in toast, "however tenuous its hold may appear in this savage land."

Helm raised his glass politely to share the toast and took a drink. "So this is supposed to convince me that you are right in hanging poor Gomez?"

Montoya sighed. His physician was nothing if not persistent. "Even as we speak that young man is taking to the road on a serviceable if expendable horse, with thirty reales in his pocket and admonition never to revisit our fair pueblo."

"You let him go?" Helm lowered his glass. "Thank you."

The Colonel inclined his head slightly. "As you said, Senora Ortega's interest in him had not gone unnoticed. It seems, moreover, that the lady indulges a taste for rough trade. Indeed, one or two of my own soldiers have enjoyed her favors in the past. The luridness of their confessions! Really, one was quite shocked. And grieved to have to share one's knowledge with the husband. I understand, by the way, that the senora will also be leaving us soon, on a prolonged visit with her family."

"You knew? From the beginning?"

"There is little that happens in Santa Helena of which I am not aware."

Helm smiled a little smugly, slyly as he helped himself to some of the food. "Except perhaps the identity of the Queen of Swords?"

"Oh, and are you so sure I do not have my suspicions even there?"

"Really? Who?" That wide-eyed, blandly innocent and open look had no doubt beguiled many an unwitting opponent, but the Colonel only smiled. Helm shrugged. "So what of Senor Ortega?"

"Senor Ortega is a proud man, but wise enough to know when matters are best left in silence. As it stands, even rumors have tarnished his reputation and lessened his influence among the dons. A horse, a few coins, and some other trivial concessions are so small a price to safeguard what is left of his honor."

"Then why? Why this charade?"

As if on cue, with all the delightfully expected coincidence of melodrama, the night's peace was broken by a furious clatter of hoof-beats, a smattering of rile shots and the inevitable cry of "la Reina!"

"I see." Helm drew the obvious conclusion. "Garcia was bait." Montoya nodded and waited for further awareness to dawn. "I was bait."

"Of course. I had to be sure the Queen would play her part in this little comedy. Rank injustice. And the man she loves cast into durance vile. It was sure to get her attention. And now she will bear the credit--or the blame--of freeing a man who must, at least officially, remain branded a thief and a rapist. Neatly done, wouldn't you agree?" The Colonel smiled more broadly.

"But you needn't worry, Doctor," he went on. "She will get away: I put Grisham in charge of her capture. It is a pity, but I fear the gallant capitan has developed somewhat of a fondness for your masked lady." He reached across the table to refill the Doctor's glass. "Inevitable, I suppose. Argument and aggression so easily become courtship and foreplay, after all. Think of Beatrice and Benedick: lovers 'too wise to woo peaceably.'"

Helm narrowed his eyes warily. "I have always preferred Viola and Rosalind."

"And Portia? Ah, yes, the breeches part. Why am I not surprised? But tell me, have you never considered how queer it is that the Bard's heroines must court their husbands as young men? No? It is as I told you, my dear Doctor," he announced, raising his glass in a second toast. "It's all a matter of subtext."

END

By Lisa
[email protected]

Maybe I have too much time on my hands. Maybe the cat spiked my coffee this morning. Whatever.

Something short and pointless employing the trio (necklace, iron rod and Mission) and the proverb. PGish because of suggestive language, I think. Slight spoiler for the end of "End of Days."

~~~~~

The problem with reading pornography in a foreign language, Marcus Grisham sighed to himself, was the way the body's response had to wait upon the mind's translation.

He tossed the book aside and lay back on his bed. Oh, well, when in Rome... Or more to the point, when in a Spanish colony, you had to make do with Spanish porn. He closed his eyes and concentrated on replaying the scenario he had just read in his own vernacular, as it were--which meant, these days, involving a certain black-clad bandita. Ummm... Oh yes, that would do nicely. With his mind's eye (okay, maybe his mind wasn't exactly the organ most interested in this) he could see her stretched out, spread-eagled and tied to a bed, gagged with that red scarf of hers as she had gagged him. Such a pity: he could think of more entertaining uses for her mouth, but even his imaginary Queen tended to complain and insult, at least at first. He hooked a knife point just under the top lacing of the corset and tugged upwards. There was a satisfying snick! as the lace yielded, and he paused a moment before moving to the next. Slowly, slowly, he reminded himself, smiling and giving himself over to the pleasure of the images.

The stentorian knock on his door brought him out of his fantasy abruptly, with the wrong kind of jerk. "Go away. I'm off duty."

"Not any more, Grisham." The door began to open.

Christ, but the Colonel had the worst timing. Marcus scrambled to pull himself together and get off the bed before his commander could make it much further into the room. Under the circumstances he decided not to tuck in his shirt.

"I trust I am not interrupting anything important?"

"No, sir. I was just...reading."

"Reading? Really, wonders never cease." Colonel Montoya picked up the discarded book and opened its tattered cover. "Ah, I see. Virginia the Vestal, or the Pleasure-Slave of the Legion" He ruffled through the pages. "I had no idea you were interested in Roman history."

"It's supposed to be based on Suetonious." Yeah, like that was believable. "It's not all smut. There's this incident with Caligula and a pearl necklace and an iron rod..." Marcus frowned. He hadn't been paying very close attention at that point in the novel, and now that he thought about it, the phrase might have been "rod of iron" and...oh, shit. "So," he concluded lamely. "I could lend it to you."

"No, thank you, Capitan." Montoya laid the book aside with a gesture of delicate disgust. "I doubt our tastes in such literature coincide."

"Yeah," Marcus muttered to himself. "Notice the lack of surprise on _my_ face."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, sir. Ah, there was a reason...?"

"I have a job for you. When you have finished...reading."

"Go out and pursue the Queen?" Damn. Even to his own ears that sounded rather too eager.

"No, Grisham." Montoya cast him a shrewd and yet slightly amused look. "I think we'll leave that to Sergeant Perez for the time being. He seems less preoccupied. No," he repeated. "I'm sending you up to the Mission for a few days. Escort duty. I had meant it to be a little vacation for you. But perhaps," he added, eyeing the lurid little volume, "you could use your time with the good padres for sober reflection on the state of your soul."

"The state of my soul?!?" Marcus sputtered when he alone once more. Like the only reason the Colonel might escape Hell wasn't because he had the Devil shit-scared he'd take over. Marcus flopped back on the bed. Oh well, things could be worse. After all, he thought, grinning widely and hungrily, who knew but maybe the Queen would decide she needed to investigate his actions this time? Maybe he would even find an entertaining way to return her red sash. Wasn't that what the proverb promised? Follow love and it will flee; flee love and it will follow thee. Though in this case he wasn't at all sure "love" was the best translation.

END

By Maril
[email protected]

RATING: PG - sexual innuendo
DISCLAIMERS: Fireworks et al have the copyrights, but we keep them alive.
FEEDBACK: yes, please
NOTE: this piece was inspired by Lisa's vignette followed by Jo's suggestion about what would happen when the Queen tried to get her sash back. This must be 'be nice to Grisham' week <g>.

"Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge." Shakespeare (Titus Andronicus)

~~~~~

He seemed to be swimming toward a light at the surface, his mind sluggishly trying to identify what was persistently pricking at his neck. A cool room bathed in moonlight met his gaze as he finally pried his eyes open. Groggily shaking his head brought a needle of pain somewhere near his throat. The moonlight flashed on a length of shiny blade. He followed its luminous path to the hand holding it, then to the shadowy figure standing next to his bed. He groaned. And was rewarded with a throaty chuckle.

"You have something I want, Grisham," she said. The sword tip never wavered far from his throat.

"Well, you know you don't even have to ask," Grisham replied while lifting the covers invitingly. The wan light flashed on his grin.

Another chuckle accompanied the blade moving down toward the top button on his longjohns. "Don't you ever take those off?" the Queen asked, wrinkling her nose at the strong male odour arising from him. She sliced the button and it flew off and bounced on the floor.

"In the mine, you got a little peek at the Grisham body and want to see the rest, eh? Well, I always try to oblige a lady." His hand moved slowly to the next button on the garment, but her sword stopped him.

"Please, spare me. Just give me what I came for and I'll be on my way."

His eyes glittered merrily in the moonlight as he carefully began to reach under his pillow. The increased pressure of the blade on his chest halted him. "I know what you came for and I'm just getting it for you." The blade moved back a fraction and he pulled out a red sash, proffering it to her. As she reached for it, he clamped it in his teeth. "Get it from me," he laughed around the cloth.

"You kept it under your pillow?" Behind the lacy mask, a pair of dark eyes sparkled mischievously. The sinuous swish of silk tracked the sword moving from his chest to his groin region. She lowered her face to his, her breath warming his cheek as she opened her mouth to take hold of the cloth next to his lips. She laughed deep in her throat as she gently tugged on the sash. His grip seemed unbreakable as they silently duelled over the red silk sash.

Her breasts pressed softly against his chest, the warmth of her body and her fragrance drugged his senses. His head was giddy with sensations and reached up to pull her closer. The blade at his groin reminded him she still had the upper hand. But would she use it? He dropped his hands back on the bed and waited while keeping a firm hold on the cloth in his teeth. The silent tug-of-war continued for another slow eternity until she slid her free hand under his longjohns, seductively caressing his chest with her gloved hand. He groaned, sighed deeply, and let go. In a second she had lifted from him and triumphantly bore her prize away in her teeth. She took the sash out and shoved it into her belt. She bent to his ear and whispered, "That was too easy."

"Best of three?"

She laughed lightly. "I still have your uniform, Grisham. What will you do to get it back?"

"You've got me at a disadvantage here. You won't let me use my sword...," he grinned when she laughed at his double-entendre, imagining the colour rising in those beautiful cheeks. "What do you want from me?"

She studied him appraisingly for a moment, then said seriously, "Nothing. You have nothing I want. Besides, "Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge." You were merciful to me in the cave by not taking off my mask when I was unconscious. That was a noble act. Sometimes, even enemies can be allies for a while. Here's your uniform and boots. Now we're even." She leaned over him again and kissed him softly on the lips. "Until the next time, Capitan."

END

By Maril
[email protected]

RATING: G to PG
DISCLAIMERS: Still Fireworks, et al
NOTE: This is the one combination of characters I haven't tried yet, so I gave it a shot. I think I was inspired by "End of Days". <g>

A necklace, iron rod, Mission

~~~~~

The dust rising on the trail caught her attention. A squad of six soldiers was coming toward her, their banners fluttering vividly against the cerulean sky. In the distance, the mounted men seemed to waver in the heat haze, like a mirage. She sighed heavily. It was not a mirage, and Capitan Grisham was leading the troop right to where she was, near the ruins of the old Mission.

Marta compressed her lips and stood up from her cramped position. Her eyes were wary, unwelcoming as Grisham held up his hand for the men to halt. He grinned down at her; his eyes, blue as the sky, seemed to glitter.

Grisham thinks:
'She's all alone out here. What's she doing? Picking herbs or something for a Gypsy potion, I suppose. Funny, I've never noticed 'til now, how beautiful she is. Look at that face, and her hair, so tangled and curly, not like any woman I've ever seen. Wonder if it's true what they say about Gypsies, how they're more fiery and passionate. Only one way to find out. She's in for a real treat today.'

As he gazed on her, Marta began to feel unaccountably nervous. She fingered the necklace that Joachim had given her. It contained items he had chosen for her, to keep the evil spirits away. 'Too bad it doesn't work on humans,' she thought in alarm, watching Grisham alight from his horse.

"You men ride on and meet me back here in about an hour," he said. Turning back to Marta, he added, "We're patrolling all the likely hideouts that the Queen might have. Every bandit has a secret place where they stash their loot."

"Why don't you ride on with your men, Capitan? I would prefer to be alone."

Marta thinks:
'I don't like the look on his face, a look I have seen many times before. It is usually trouble. At least I have my dagger in my boot, in case he tries anything. And the wagon is not far away. Perhaps I can reach it before anything happens.'

As if reading her mind, Grisham led his horse over to the wagon, and tied its reins to the wheel. He grinned widely, as he took her in with a leisurely assessment. The colour rising in her cheeks only added to his amusement.

Grisham thinks:
'I thought this was going to be just another dreary patrol. But it's turning out far more interesting than I expected. And look how she's blushing. She knows what I'm thinking and is excited. If I can get her inside the ruins, no one can see us if anyone rides by here. Or hear if she tries to resist.'

"Marta, I can't leave you here undefended while there's so much danger everywhere. Bandits, pumas, rattlesnakes..."

"Do not worry about me, Capitan. I know how to handle snakes." She resisted the urge to back away as he moved toward her. Her pulse leapt suddenly; the impulse to flee nearly overcame her. But she waited, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

Grisham thinks:
'She's not backing away. That's a good sign. That means she wants it too. This will be easier than I thought. Though a little resistance always makes it more fun.'

"You know, señorita, I've been attracted to you for a long time. Maybe you've taken a bit of notice of me too. I know I'm not that hard on the eyes. Neither are you. When two people are attracted, and find themselves alone... in a romantic spot like this ...well, I'm not one to let opportunities pass." He reached for her arm and took a firm grip, only to find a boot aimed at his groin. She nearly hit her target. He let go and stepped back quickly, his eyes darkening and narrowing with anger.

"I don't like women who play games. We both know what we want, so let's go. If you try to resist, you'll get hurt."

He lunged for her and grappled her about the waist, taking them both to the ground. His superior strength was winning as she struggled vainly to get loose. His florid face moved down on hers and she tried to turn away, but he gripped her chin and forced her back. As his mouth descended, she heard a loud clang. Then Grisham relaxed suddenly, all of his weight settling upon her. Marta's arms were pinned under him and she was stuck, her mind rebelling against the feel of his body so close to hers. In her peripheral vision, she saw a dark boot shove at the captain's shoulder, rolling him off. A black-gloved hand reached for her and she turned and gasped.

Montoya smiled grimly as he helped her up. She noted the iron rod in his other hand, taken from her wagon likely. "I must apologize for the capitan. He has the base instincts of an animal, but sometimes he is useful. I trust he did not hurt you?" His eyebrows raised as the wintery eyes bored into her.

She knew what he meant and her face flushed hotly. "No, I am not hurt. Thank you, Colonel. What will you do with him?" She glared at the supine Grisham, while her hands trembled with the urge to throttle him for what he tried to do to her.

An amused look crossed the colonel's lips. "What do you want me to do with him? Hang him? Execute him by firing squad?"

"No, Colonel. I have no wish for you to kill him." She stooped to her basket and pulled out some herbs. "This will cure his headache when he awakens. Make sure he takes it all with water."

Marta thinks:
'And the herb will cause him to spend the next day or so in the latrines, along with some severe stomach cramps. I think that will be punishment enough. Of course, I will not tell Tessa of this outrage or she may be tempted to some other revenge. That would be too dangerous for her. He might even be expecting it and set a trap. No, I will take care of this myself.'

The colonel handed her a linen handkerchief to wipe the dust smudging her face and clothes. "We will consider the matter closed then. By the bye, I am quite surprised that you would give him something for his pain, after he attacked and tried to ravish you. Marta, you are a remarkable woman." He bowed over her hand and kissed it.

"There is a time for mercy and a time for revenge. A wise person knows which is which. Buenos dias, Colonel." Marta collected her basket and mounted the wagon, after unfastening Grisham's horse. With a slap of the reins she was off, her blood finally cooling as she smiled to herself. Over her shoulder, she called to the colonel, "And make sure he takes his medicine."

END

RATING: G
FEEDBACK: Yes, please
NOTE: I wasn't very happy with my previous story and the Grisham muse wasn't either. This is the result. <G>

Act 1, scene 1 -

--Marta standing alone near a woven basket, a few metres from the ruins of an old mission. Grisham has just dismounted and is coming toward her with a purposeful look on his face.--

"Marta, I can't leave you here undefended while there's so much danger everywhere. Bandits, pumas, rattlesnakes..."

"Do not worry about me, Capitan. I know how to handle snakes." She resisted the urge to back away as he moved toward her. Her pulse leapt suddenly; the impulse to flee nearly overcame her. But she waited, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

Grisham thinks:
'She's not backing away. That's a good sign. That means she wants it too. This will be easier than I thought. Though a little resistance always makes it more fun.'

"You know, señorita, I've been attracted to you for a long time. Maybe you've taken a bit of notice of me too. I'm not so hard on the eyes. Neither are you. When two people are attracted, and find themselves alone... in a romantic spot like this... well, I'm not one to let opportunities pass." He reached for her arm and took a firm grip, only to find a boot aimed at his groin. She nearly hit her target. He let go and stepped back quickly, his eyes darkening and narrowing with anger.

"I don't like women who play games. We both know what we want, so let's go. If you try to resist, you'll get hurt."

He lunged for her and grappled her about the waist, taking them both to the ground.

GRISHAM: "Whoa ...wait ...hold on here! Where's the writer?
MARIL: "Is there a problem?"
GRISHAM: "You bet there is! I've never had to force a woman in my life. Used alcohol a few times, money now and then. But I've never used force. Unless they wanted it, of course, heh, heh."
MARIL: "So what do you want me to do with this scene?"
GRISHAM, glancing amorously at Marta: "Well, you could make her go along with the seduction at first. I mean, if she could go for that big lummox in "Takes a Thief", why not me?"
MARTA: "Being also a big lummox, you mean?"
GRISHAM, frowning: "I'm sensitive, gentle, romantic. Ask ...., well, never mind."
MARIL: "So you want Marta to seem to be playing along while looking for a chance to escape?"
GRISHAM, eyeing Marta: "Yeah, that's it. And once I start kissing her, she is overcome by passion...
MARTA, coughing uncontrollably: "Sorry, something's stuck in my throat. I can't seem to swallow it." grins apologetically.
GRISHAM: "And another thing. I don't like Montoya clocking me over the head with an iron bar."
MARIL: "Iron rod, see ...it's in the challenge outline. That's why you're out here at this mission."
MARTA: "And why I'm wearing this tacky necklace."
GRISHAM: "Whatever. The audience isn't going to buy Montoya whacking me over the head. We're pals. He can't get along without me."
MARTA, coughing again: "Dry throat. Must be the hot air around here."
GRISHAM: "So, Maril, get out your pencil and start rewriting. Here's how it goes. I get close to Marta, she swoons in my arms from my impetuous passion, and then a love scene begins. I unlace her bodice while she's unbuttoning my tunic, she runs her hands through my flaxen locks..." looks up surprised. "Is there something wrong?"
MARIL: "Yeah, Marta's gone."

Both view a dust cloud rapidly disappearing over horizon.

GRISHAM, kicks the dirt in frustration, then leers at Maril: "Well, I still have about an hour to kill before my men get back. Maybe we could work on that scene together, you know, work the kinks out of it."
MARIL, looking around, says in undertone: "I wonder if Marta left any of that medicine."

END