_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit with Ben Yee Season 4, episode 13: "Firewater Burn" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis "The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire We don't need no water, let the mother@#$%er burn Burn, mother@#$%er, burn!" -- "Fire Water Burn," traditional urban hymn, covered by (among others) the Bloodhound Gang and Too Kool Chris Cast: Charles Ruttheimer II, Warlock, Scar, Pagebert, A.P. McIntyre, Lynn Cullen, Tom Sloane, voice of Kay Sloane, Mara Fitzgerald, Daria Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, gunman, Quinn Morgendorffer, Trent Lane, unseen late arrival ACT 1: HARBINGER OF TRAGEDY The door of the Ruttheimer residence opened, and Mr. Ruttheimer -- a dark-haired man with the same angular face as his son, and freckles less prominent than they'd be on a redhead but still there -- leaned out to fetch the paper. He was pale and unshaven with dark circles under his eyes; it would be obvious, even to a casual observer, that he hadn't slept in a while, presumably not since his son's death. He stopped in mid-lean, noticing that upon the day's _Sun-Herald_ lay an envelope addressed to "The Ruttheimer Family" in ornate handwriting. He picked it up and opened it, then stared at the contents -- a great many $100 bills, and a note. He pulled the latter out and unfolded it. Computer- printed in fairly large block capitals were three words: FOR YOUR SON. Mr. Ruttheimer blinked at the envelope, then picked up the paper and took them both inside. _Warlock's room, The Blue Motorcycle, San Francisco, CA_ The man called Warlock lay in bed, sprawled out, dead to the world... at least, until his phone rang. He muttered briefly, fumbled for it, and picked up, dead tired. "Ohayo, 's Warlock--" He was interrupted by the caller. "WHAT?" He popped to his feet, instantly awake. "Slow down! ... Okay. Who? Where? Shit." He blinked rapidly. "I won't insult you by asking if you're sure. -- Not the worst, what the fuck do you mean...? -- Oh shit. You don't think...yeah, me neither. -- I have to get the word out. I'll be in touch." He got up, but before he could take two steps, his phone rang again, and he answered it. "Warlock. -- Slack. Didn't expect-- Not since she left, why? -- Aw crap. I'll be in touch." He hung up again. Almost without knowing how he'd got there, he found himself standing in a hallway barefoot, pounding on a door. "WARLOCK," Scar snapped from behind it. "This better be important." "Um. Four of our top people are, respectively, missing, dead, missing, and overdue." "...Eap. That counts." Pagebert appeared behind Warlock. "What are you talking about? And what are we going to do?" "What we're going to do is go down to Lawndale and collect the Twisted Pair and associates. I'll explain on the way. Pack up and lock up, we may be away for a while." He strode away, already dialing. _the parking lot, Lawndale High_ Mr. Ruttheimer was standing near the school, scanning the students. A.P. approached the Mercedes, and Mr. R. facefaulted before saying the first thing that came to his mind. "YOU!" A.P. jumped a literal foot in the air, came down running, and got about five steps before tripping over a bootlace and falling flat on his face. He looked up to see a man standing over him, staring down, looking not entirely bemused but quite worried. "I'm not...um...going to hurt you or anything..." "Oh!" A.P. took a moment to collect himself, then went into coverup mode. "Oh, no, of course you're not. You just...kinda freaked me, that's all." He thought some more. "Who're *you,* anyway?" The stranger extended a hand to help A.P. up. "Charles Ruttheimer the Second." The older Ruttheimer noticed something. "How did you know I meant you?" _Oops._ "Uh...I didn't. I just got outta English and we're doing Poe. I get jittery after horror junk. -- Soooooooo...you *did* mean me. What can I do you for?" "Given that you look like my..." His voice broke. "...son... and after what just happened to him..." "Why come to me?" "You look like him. You were on that trip. And I got this." He brandished the now-empty envelope. "Uhhhhhhhhh..." "Is someone mad at you or something?" "Uhhh..." A.P. made puppy-dog eyes and an attempt at an innocent grin. It looked rather ghastly and "Bob"-like, actually. "Who'd be mad at *me*? -- Well, except for Bitter Pill, but the glassware was crap *anyway.* The non sequitur was enough to throw Ruttheimer for a moment. "HUH?" "Never mind. Uh, not really, no, no one's mad at me. No." "Really." He obviously didn't buy it. "I think that bullet was meant for you. I'm not mad...I just want to know why." "Uhhhhhhhh..." "Watch _The X-Files_ much, sir?" "Dah!" Mr. Ruttheimer spun at the sound of Lynn's voice from behind him. "Who're *you*?" "Who wants to know?" "He's Hef..." A.P. trailed off. "...er...Upch...uh...Charles Ruttheimer's dad." "Ah. -- Condolences." Mr. Ruttheimer's tone turned grim. "I don't want condolences ...I want explanations. I want to know why my son went to Houston on a bus and came back in a body bag." "And you think *he* knows?" "He was on that trip. He looks like my son. And I got this." He brandished the envelope again. Lynn raised an eyebrow. "It's empty." "It *had* over ten thousand in cash in it. And *this*." He waved the note. "It feels like an apology. What I want to know--" He rounded on A.P. again. "--is, an apology for *what*?" "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." A.P. observed intelligently Lynn noticed the gathering crowd and permitted herself a small sigh. "Sir...maybe you should discuss this with A.P. elsewhere." Mr. Ruttheimer looked around. "When? Where?" "Arrange that with A.P. He's in the phone book." She literally dragged the Maverick into the car and drove off. Mr. Ruttheimer was left standing in the crowd of curious students, staring after the Merc, looking *very* confused. "What's his last...?" He trailed off. "...name." Inside the Merc, it was jangle. "You want me to *talk* to him?" "We'll prepare you a statement. I do not want us going here." Sigh. "Damn. I guess none of the Ruttheimers are stupid." _Tom's room, the stately Sloane estate, next morning_ There were some papers strewn idly on the bed. Tom, mostly asleep, shambled in with a mug of coffee, sipping as he moved. He sat down on the bed, set the coffee down and sprawled out face-first, continuing idly to sip. It didn't seem to be doing him any good, though; as he set down the cup for the third time, he landed face-first in his homework papers and fell asleep. "Who the hell made decaf?" Kay wondered downstairs. _Chez Cullen_ Lynn stepped out of the house, backpack slung over one shoulder. As she locked the door behind her, she heard a familiar voice saying, "Hey." She turned. Mara was standing at the end of the walk, dressed unusually for her in blue jeans, a black T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of the traditional cartoon devil and the words, _God is busy. Can I help you?_, and a red checked flannel shirt. Also unusually, she'd done only the average amount of mascara and lipstick for a teenage girl. Her hair was back in a ponytail. She looked almost "normal," whatever that means. Nervous and upset, but normal. "Hey," Lynn greeted her. After a moment, she added, "Trying to prove a point about the Nympho- Goth cracks?" Mara allowed herself a very small, very brief smile. "Nah. Just a comfort thing. I guess I'm in a Cobain state of mind." Lynn regarded Mara very carefully. "What are you doing here at this time of day? Don't you have school?" "Ditched. Most of my teachers won't care. The whole school knows what happened to Red and they're cutting me severe slack. -- Can you ditch?" Lynn looked at Mara. The look on Mara's face spoke volumes about why she was asking Lynn to ditch. Then she sighed and re-opened her front door, flung her backpack through and slammed it shut. As she locked up, out of the corner of her eye, she just caught Mara's weak but grateful smile. _the bigwhitevan, in transit_ Sitting in the shotgun seat, Warlock hung up his phone. "Dammmmmn." "Whaaaaaat?" Pagebert wondered from the back seat. "Rat's gone." "What?" "Mr. Exotic Weapons Master. Texas State Police are swarming over his place. Apparently there's about twelve dead bodies in there." "So we can't stick the kids there?" "No, and neither can we tap his armory." "Well..." Scar began, turning away from the wheel as she spoke. "EYES ON THE ROAD!" the other two squawked. "EYES ON THE ROAD!" Scar turned her gaze forward again. "Will you guys *relax*? I'm not Aph, you know. -- Seriously, we haven't lost all of it. What we *did* lose was the safest place we could have hoped to stash the kids." A short pause...and then they all agreed, "Dammmmmn." ACT 2: SOMETIMES SHE CRIES "And now she turns, ele ele The way she moves is the logic of all my dreams This fire burns, ele ele I realise that nothing's as it seems" -- Sting, "Desert Rose" _Lawndale High cafeteria_ Daria looked around nervously. A.P. was idly picking at his Roadkill Surprise ("meat loaf"), lost in thought. Jane was sketching something. "Have either of you seem Lynn anywhere?" A.P. wasn't really paying attention. "Mmmnope." Jane was likewise absorbed. "No, but if you see her, could you ask her where one could get their hands on a few pounds of plastique and a good-sized sheet of titanium?" Daria looked askance at them, then went on. "I haven't heard from her since yesterday. And she's not in school." (beat; _Why are they not worried about this?_ "And I haven't seen Tom yet today either." Jane just kept sketching. "Guess they're together. Now, what color do you think goes best with powder burns?" A.P. still wasn't focusing either. "I'll call after that meeting at Starbucks with Mr. R." Daria sighed and went back to worrying in silence. _Fitzgerald residence, the kitchen_ Lynn and Mara sat side-by-side at a breakfast bar with plain cheese pizza in front of them. Lynn looked sidelong at Mara, a little surprised. "Why'd you come to *me*?" Mara toyed nervously with her pizza. "Well, I don't have a lot of chick friends." That got a deserved Look. "Okay, I don't have *any* chick friends. And even if I *did,* you think someone like Jenny Malloy would understand about...*that*?" "Which `that,' exactly?" "Don't bullshit me, Lynn. You've had that thing with the geek- ball for years. *Literally* years. And let's not even talk about the hundred-mile stare." "That obvious, huh?" "Well, word gets around. Even freaks have a mill. We heard about your principal going psycho. -- That won me a hundred bucks, by the way, so I should maybe thank you." Lynn allowed herself a wry smile. "You had bets on that too, huh?" "The psychotic are always a good betting event. Matt Templeton won seventy-five on the geek-ball getting kicked out -- it was less than it should've been 'cuz *he* said Honson'd be the first to crack." After that, silence reigned for a moment. "There...doesn't have to be this reminiscent lead-in, you know." "Look, Lynn...I'd never got into a...thing before. A relationship, you know. It was always just...guys. And then I met Red. And *then* when I was just starting to maybe *love* the little red-headed freak, he gets his head blown off." A slight choked sob. "Why does life suck so bad?" Lynn was beginning to get alarmed. "You're not going to cry... are you?" A defensive sniffle. "Hell no. Not over some *guy.* I mean ...that'd be really sad...right?" Lynn raised an eyebrow, gave an exasperated sigh and reached over to hug Mara. In tones you could have missed if you'd breathed too loud, she said, "Cry if you have to, you stupid bitch. You're human." Mara drew back, wide-eyed and with her mascara a little bit streaked. "*You're* saying that. *You.*" "Invitation accepted? Or declined?" Mara stared for a moment longer, then let out a full-voiced sob and buried her face in her hands. Lynn sighed and hugged her again. _Morgendorffer Home Base, upstairs (sidebar)_ Daria stalked into her padded room, slung her backpack on her bed and clicked on the computer. While it was booting, she went over to the pack and dug out her homework. At length, it was up and ready. The mouse pointer hovered between word processor and Internet sign-on. She clicked the latter and opened up her email -- and her eyes widened in shock. _Mara's room_ Lynn sat at a desk chair pulled up by Mara's bed, where Mara was now facedown, sobbing her eyes out. Suddenly Lynn's phone bleeped. She looked to her hip, then pulled the phone off the belt and regarded it. "Huh. Didn't even ring." She punched a few buttons -- and *her* eyes widened. At the same moment, she and Daria said, "Oh *shit.*" _a street in Lawndale, somewhere near Pizza King_ As A.P. passed the mouth of a narrow, shadowed alley, a pair of pale hands shot out, and he was dragged into the shadows before he even had time to cry out. The look on his face fairly screamed _oh crap, not again_ as a gun was pointed at his head by a very steady hand. "You killed Billy," said the owner of that hand, with no emotion of any kind. Piku piku. _File not found._ "Wh...who's *Billy*?" "William...Loman...Jensen." It was at the surname that A.P. finally twigged, eyes widening in understanding and fear. "But...but...but..." he sputtered, "...but he *deserved* it! He was...I mean, he...well...YOU DIDN'T SEE WHAT HE DID TO MY GIRLFRIEND!" "No. I saw what you did to my brother." _I am *so* dead._ "Y...your...?" "He didn't kill her. But you killed him." "Y...yes." "Then you see my position." The gunman might have been saying _You really need to comb your hair._ A.P. gave a brief, resigned sigh. He should have known that going out the window was just delaying things. A Sandman T-shirt he'd once seen on Nympho-Goth (or maybe Black Magic Woman) came back to him, a (mis)quote from Morpheus' older sister. _You get what everyone gets. You get a lifetime._ "Okay. Fine. Just...just don't go after Purple Peril; that's all I ask. -- Y...you know who she is, right?" "Lynn Jaquenetta Cullen Smythe," the lesser Jensen replied by rote, as if reading off some internal list. "Age 18. Brown hair, recently with bangs, grey eyes, commonly seen wearing purple..." "Okay, okay, you know! Just...don't hurt her. Ever." The other shrugged. "Fair enough." He cocked the weapon; A.P. closed his eyes... ...and heard the motor of a car approaching the mouth of the alley. He looked to see the bigwhitevan parked across the street from the alley mouth, with Pagebert getting out. The gun was gone from his head very suddenly. Still with no trace of emotion, the gunman said, "Another time." A.P. heard brief footsteps, then utter silence except for ambient street noises. He slowly fished his Maglite out of his pocket, turned it on and shone it around the alley. It was a dead end; there was a fire escape, sure, but the access ladder was up and all the windows were shut. A.P. was suddenly very scared, scareder than he'd been since they saw the video from the Lawndale Witch Project. "Eeeeeeeeeeee..." "Maverick? That you?" "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" A.P. must have jumped *two* feet in the air that time. Pagebert stepped into view. "Hey, Maverick, what are you doing in h..." He got a good look at A.P.'s face. "You okay?" A.P. was still in condition brain-freeze. "I...I killed Billy." Piku piku. "Say what?" "J-jensen." Pagebert was starting to get concerned now. "Yes. Yes, you did. This is a GoodThing (tm)." "His...his brother doesn't think so..." Switch from concerned to really alarmed. "His..." "Tall thin pale guy; mouse-brown hair. All in black. Gun," A.P. mimed it out, "to head. Revenge thing." Pagebert's eyes widened and he drew his sidearm, scanning the area. Then he took the still-shellshocked A.P. by the arm and led him away, to the back of the BWV, and went to open the doors. A.P. was trying to make his brain work. Who...I mean, how... I mean...eee..." Pagebert looked nervously at the alley. "Get in." "Wh-where are we...?" "Out of here. Now *in.*" "But...but...but..." "You sound like Narcissa." A.P.'s indignation briefly overrode his panic. "HEY!" Pagebert shoved A.P. into the back of the BWV and slammed the doors shut after him. Then he took one last look at the alley. "Oh, the Maverick's *screwed*..." he muttered under his breath, then got into the van and took off. ACT 3: ERASER _Biers_ So this misery chick walks into a bar -- barges in, actually -- and finds it completely empty. There wasn't even anyone *behind* the bar. This desolation stopped Daria dead. And then she got knocked over when the door flew open again and hit her in the back. "Dari..." Lynn saw Daria on the floor, looking peeved. "...ah. Sorry." "Okay," Daria observed as she got to her feet, "you don't *look* like you're neck deep in--" "And nor do *you.* -- What makes you think *I'm* in any trouble?" "What, besides your stellar track record?" "Rub it in, why don't you? -- Hang on." Lynn stepped toward the bar. "SHOOTER! What the *hell* is..." By now, having reached the bar, she vaulted over it. There was a disconcertingly splashy noise as she landed. Daria watched as Lynn stayed out of sight, crouched behind the bar, for a moment. Then she straightened, and Daria saw that her sister's face was very pale. Lynn stepped aside, making splat-splat thud-thud-thud noises, to the partition in the bar, flipped it up and stepped into the main area. This was when Daria noticed that her father's elder daughter had blood on her hands and on one knee, presumably from that landing, and was tracking bloody bootprints as she walked. A certain shock came over her. "lynn..." The reply was equally quiet. "shooter." "..." fnff fnff. "Do you smell something weird?" "You mean besides a lot of spilled vermouth and even more spilled blood? I..." "SMOKE!" they chorused. Lynn tossed Daria her cell-phone. "You call 911, I'll get the fire extinguishers!" _Morgendorffer Home Base_ Quinn was standing on the curb, waiting, looking very nearly as impatient as she felt. She saw Tom's rustbucket approaching and heard music coming from inside it -- that "The Roof is On Fire" song. She stalked toward the alleged car. "It's about time! I was *trying* to track you down at school to tell you I'd be home early and..." She noticed that he looked very tired and puffy. "What happened to *you*?" "My parents picked today to pull a `Home Alone' on me." Her confusion must have showed on her face. "They didn't realize I was still home and asleep when they left for work and it's not like Elsie cares." He frowned. "I still wonder who the hell made decaf this morning..." "Oh, you can think about that later -- come on!" She hopped into the car and snapped up her seatbelt. Tom put the car in gear and got about three feet before his cell- phone rang. He clicked it on while driving. "Hello? -- Scar. What--? You're *where*? But why *there*? And-- Oh crap. I'll be right there." He hung up and increased his speed quite a bit. Quinn looked at him, confused. "What was *that*? Where are we *going*?" "There's been a change of plans. But you'll never have to complain about that smelly bar ever again." Quinn just looked at him. She was beginning to understand why those Smythe people thought he was so useless. _Casa Lane -- living room_ Scar hung up the phone as Jane looked on in some irritation. Trent came in, looking bemused. "What's *she* doing here?" "Making phone calls," Jane snarled. "Getting us into or out of trouble and we don't even know the difference. Smythe stuff." She turned to Scar. "So, what exactly is going on?" "At the moment, someone torched Biers." "You're telling me the place is on fire?" Trent rasped. Jane's voice was Sahara-dry. "We don't need no water, let the mothe--" "I wouldn't say that if I were you," Scar interjected. "If their armory goes up..." _Biers_ The walls were starting to go up. Lynn and Daria were desperately trying to control the worst of the flames. Considering that they were using water-filled, hand-pumped fire extinguishers that had probably been cutting-edge technology in (say) 1931, Daria didn't think much of their chances. "Lynn?" "Yeah?" "Is there any reason why we're trying to play hero with equipment more suited to a backyard water fight?" "Because I have to get to the...other rooms. There's an armory." "And you're willing to risk our lives for a few lousy guns?" "Actually, it's a lot more than a few lousy guns. I'm willing to risk our lives for the surrounding three blocks. If that thing goes up, we won't survive the blast anyway." "...Oh." "I think I can get through. Can you cover me?" Daria coughed, but nodded grimly. Lynn looked concerned, but saw the set of her sister's jaw and left without another word, keeping low to avoid the worst of the smoke. Daria kept trying to put out the hottest spots, but her coughs got steadily harder. _Casa Lane_ Quinn and Tom came into the living room to see that Warlock guy, that Scar woman and that Pagebert geek, who immediately wheeled on them both. That A.P. guy was sitting on the sofa, pale as a wraith. Trent was watching him from across the room, a little concerned despite himself. Jane was pacing, and obviously had been for a while, but when she caught sight of Tom, she launched herself over the sofa, past Warlock, Scar and Pagebert, and slammed Tom into a wall. "Janey!" "Scarlet..." Jane didn't even seem to hear Scar's warning. "I am *never* going to forgive you for this," she explained to Tom, "do you understand me? NEVER!" "Scarlet, it wasn't him," Warlock pointed out. "He's the lowest of the low on the totem pole." "HEY!" the object of this debate barked. "I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, if he'd stayed out of Lynn's life in the first place..." "Uh...wait, Jane?" A.P.'s comment had been fairly quiet, but Jane heard it and rounded on him anyway. "WHAT?" "We...don't know where Daria is. And Lynn's been...gone all day. We don't have time to beat Tom up 'cause we should be finding Daria and Lynn. Right?" They all just looked at him for a moment. Quinn was the first to speak. "*Wait* a minute. You mean Daria's *missing*?" "Anyone know where they're likely to be?" Pagebert wondered. "Do you think they're together?" They all looked at A.P., who was still staring at his boots in a shell-shocked sort of way. Then at Jane, who dropped her hand from Tom's throat and looked at the floor with pain in her eyes. Then all of them at Warlock, who just sighed. _Biers_ Lynn came barging through the door behind the bar, a wet washcloth over her face. "We're okay, Daria; the place is se..." Then she saw Daria lying facedown on the floor, that damn antiquated fire extinguisher lying about five or so feet away, where it'd presumably rolled. "Oh crap -- *Daria*?!?" So she carried her out of the now-merrily-blazing bar in a pretty good fireman's lift. She dropped her armload of relative and proceeded to check for vital signs, then to start CPR. "Come on, Daria, don't *do* this to me..." She heard a heavy tread and saw a pair of booted feet come into view. She looked up, still doing the CPR. When she saw who it was, all she really had time to do was a quick facefault. If, however, this were (say) a Marvel comic from the Silver Age, she'd probably have screamed something along the lines of "No! It can't be! Not...*you!*" before slumping (or being knocked) unconscious just above the CONTINUED NEXT ISSUE caption. [tsuzuku] ADAPTER'S NOTES "No." (C. Richard Davies, endnotes to "Epilogue") Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2001 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) Monty Python quotes and characters are copyright 1970, 2001 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The characters of Lynn Cullen, A.P. McIntyre and (arguably) the rest of the Smythe Family, not to mention Mara Fitzgerald (but I just did), are copyright 1999, 2001 by the lovely and talented Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson. This storyline is copyright 2001 the Canadibrit and Ben Yee and was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is also copyright 2001) with their permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson, Ben Yee and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose. Austin, and good day. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313,407,506 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD Oh, all right. Free adaptations of the teasers from "A Family Holiday"; CB was hoping they'd spawn inspiration particles. ----------- DJ huddled in a corner of the darkened room. The man they called "Doc" was kneeling over the brown-haired female figure face-down on the floor, looking at the wound in her side -- there was blood everywhere. "So what's the verdict, Doc?" his companion said from somewhere behind. "Can you patch her up enough to let us grill her?" "She's a human being, not a...a...fraying pair of jeans! She needs more medical attention than I can give -- hospital care -- or she is going to die." "She's a Smythe. Do you think we care?" ----------- Tom stood there in the light of the streetlamp, face grim, hand on his sidearm. "I know what you are," he said simply. ----------- "Look what taking on too much did to your family," Warlock reminded Lynn as he moved a rook into position. "That's the whole point," she replied, toying idly with a knight. "My family; my revenge." ----------- Quinn stood there with the bow in her hand, trying to keep her jaw set so there'd be *one* part of her face not displaying her abject terror. "DO I HAVE TO SAY IT AGAIN? THEY'RE COMING!" ----------- "I hope it won't come to that," Warlock said into his cellphone. He fell silent for a moment, and his eyes flitted closed. "But if it does ...sell yourself dearly." -----------