Date:         Wed, 11 Aug 1993 17:13:26 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      Fluff:  Outfoxed, part 1


Dear Kindred:

No, you are not seeing things, this is new fluff from
the baron.  While not part of either my autobiography
or "Rip in Time", this is a (relatively) short (compared
to the others) story I wrote to see things from a
different viewpoint.

The setting is the present, the place Fletcherville,
Maine; the quaint village where I and others eventually
settle after many adventures.  The narrator is NOT
myself, but a human Breather named Todd (Fox) Fletcher.
The story is currently unfinished, because I cannot think
of an ending.  I actually do not personally appear in this
tale, but it centers around my good friend, Count
Alexander Goldanias.

This means everyone reading my autobiography will have
to *keep* reading it to find out who he is... *chuckle*

OUTFOXED

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

After the mortar shell exploded next to my jeep, killing
my driver and costing me two fingers, three broken bones
and severe burns, I decided I wasn't cut out to be a
foreign correspondent.  My newspaper agreed.  We settled
on a pension and parted ways with no hard feelings.

That left me, when I was released from the hospital, at
loose ends.  My nerves weren't what they should be, and my
maimed hand left me unfit for most work.  I was still a
reporter.  It's in the blood.  So I did something I'd
sworn never to do, and called on the family connections.

As one of the vast clan of Fletchers in New England, I
had a lot of family to call upon.  In very little time,
my uncle Hubert offered me a jog working for his small-
town rag, the Fletcherville Gazette.  An east coast
fishing village was a long way from Bosnia.  I agreed.

I'd never set foot in what we referred to as the "family
town".  Fletcherville sits in a pocket of Maine where the
20th century is just a myth.  Half the streets are
cobblestone.  Fletchers "discovered" the place, meaning
they drove the Indians out, and with typical modesty,
named the town and the surrounding valley after
themselves.  There was an odd story about the valley.
Seems one Fletcher, Dagobert by name, lost the deed to
the valley in a card game in Paris.  What Dagobert was
_doing_ in Paris in 1815 is one of the big unexplained
mysteries of the family.

Anyway, the valley and the cliffs belonged to a family
named Goldanias, but they'd let the name Fletcher's
Valley stand.  I didn't know anything more about the
Goldanias family than that.

A place to stay was no problem.  Plenty of Fletchers
were willing to put me up, even after I told them
about the screaming nightmares.  They told me I
could stay with my Aunt Dahlia, who was single
and childless.

Date:         Thu, 12 Aug 1993 17:18:05 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff:  Outfoxed, part two


Dear Kindred:
So far, reponse to this little story has been slow, but
friendly *grin*.  Once again, I remind everyone that the
time is the present day, the narrator is not myself, but
a human named Fox Fletcher, and that it does concern vampyres.

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

There was a lot of activity at the community center.  When
you live in a town the size of Fletcherviell, the community
center is just that.  It was almost Hallowe'en, so I made an
educated guess that they were preparing the center for a
costume party.

I parked my car in the lot and walked over.  Sure enough, there
was a guy stringing up cardboard skeletons and pumpkins to the
outside of the building.

I tried out the only piece of Maine lingo I'd learned.  "Do
you think they'll have it?" I asked.

The guy straightened a cut-out ghost and flashed me a big
grin.  He had very white teeth, startling in his swarthy face.
His complexion made me think he was part Indian, maybe, but he
had hair of that dark red colour they like to call auburn, and
his features weren't native American.  "They have to," he replied.
He had a British accent.  "The tickets have been sold."

I'd been told this was one of the typical responses to the
question.  It was the Maine way of saying "hi".

"All of them?"  I asked.  "I'd sure like to get one, if there's
any left."

"Members of the press admitted free," the guy said, with an
even bigger grin.

"Is there anyone in this town who _doesn't_ know who I am?"
I demanded.

"Only if they're deaf, dumb and blind.  My name's Evan Jones, by
the way.  I'm on the decorating committee.  The only man who
volunteered, which means I'm the one who has to go up ladders."

Evan Jones?  This was one of the mysterious Cliff Road Crowd?
A servant, Uncle Hubert had said, but still to be left alone.
He seemed very friendly and not at all mysterious.

"I'm Fox," I said, taking his offered hand.  "Why'd you volunteer,
if you knew it meant dog work?"

"It's fun, too.  I'm coming to the dance, and I want to be able
to take people aside and say 'I hung that skeleton there.  Doesn't
it look great?'.  Besides, it's the community spirit."  He patted
the ghost he'd just hung.  "No pun intended.  Come inside."

Fake spiderwebs, adorned with plastic spiders, decorated the
doorway and hung from the ceiling.  Orange and black crepe
paper swirled across the walls, wavering in the breeze.  Plastic
bats on threads dangled in my face.  And this was just the
entrance.  The main room of the center looked like a brief
excursion in a cemetery.  Skeletons and ghosts danced on the
walls.  Bats and spiders hung everywhere, surrounded by more
crepe paper.  Real pumpkins with carved faces sat around the
room.

"Pretty spooky," I said.

A woman, a Fletcher cousin, came forward carrying two brooms
of the kind one associates with witches.

"Where should I put these, Evan?" she asked, then saw me.  "Howdy,
Fox," she said.

"Howdy, Ramona," I replied.  See what I mean about Fletcher names?
Anyone less like a Ramona than my cousin...

"Isn't Evan a genius?" she asked, blinking at the guy as if he
was Michelangelo.  "He does the most amazing things with a bit
of crepe paper."

I almost said 'I'll bet", but I managed not to.  But that was
the way she was looking at Evan, as if he'd given her a tumble
and she wanted more.  None of my business.

"The dance'll be a big hit," was what I did say.

Ramona beamed up at me.  "You'll come, won't you, Fox?"

"Of course I will.  I'll do a story on it."

I thought I saw Evan narrow his eyes at me, but the next
second he was all smiles, so I couldn't be sure.  But my
instincts were pricking me again.  Evan wasn't overly tall,
maybe 5'10" or 11", but he had a lot of muscle.  I wondered
what kind of "servant" he was.  A bodyguard is a servant,
and I couldn't picture Evan in a butler's rig, pouring tea.
I started wondering about his employer.

"Be sure to mention the decorations," Evan said.

"You bet," I told him.  "See you at the party.  I'll wear
gloves, so you'll have to guess which one is me."  On that
note, I left.

I checked out the nightclub next.  It was deserted at this
time of years.  A small sign stated that the China Clipper
was closed for the winter.  I went home instead, and made
some of my three-alarm chili for Aunt Dahlia.  She said
she liked it, but the way the tears ran from her eyes, I
have my doubts.

"What's the big deal about the Cliff Road Crowd?" I asked
her when she could talk.  "Why does everyone leave them
alone?"

"They're outsiders," Aunt Dahlia explained.  "Rich bastids."
This was said entirely without anger.

"They're not special just because they're rich," I persisted.
"Lots of people are rich.  We Fletchers aren't exactly on
welfare."

"No, that's true enough, I reckon.  But you listen to me,
Fox.  The Cliff Road Crowd is different.  They keep them-
selves to themselves."

"I met one of them today.  Evan Jones.  He seemed nice enough."

"Oh, Evan.  He's well enough.  Works for the Baron at Oakwoods."

"The 'Baron'?" I repeated.  "I thought it was a Romanian count.
Baron isn't a Romanian title."  Quite a household, the 'Baron' had,
too:  two servants and a "friend".  I wondered how good a "friend"
Joshua Trevallion was.

"It was a Romanian count who won the deed," my aunt replied.
"But he gave Oakwoods to his friend, an English baron.  It's
not a feudal village, by any means, but usually if one of the
Crowd wants something done, it gets done.  They don't ask for
much."  She looked at me sharply.  "Fox, leave be."

It was the second time someone had asked me to leave the
Cliff Road Crowd alone.

Hallowe'en was coming fast.  I discovered I didn't have a costume
to wear to the dance.  The only place in town that rented
costumes had nothing that appealed to me.  I remembered I'd
told Evan that I'd be wearing gloves.  A doctor was too obvious.
A family huddle provided me with the solution.  A pair of
striped overalls, a grimy white T-shirt, workboots, a pair
of oversized gardening gloves and an engineer's cap, plus a
little soot on the face, and I was Casey Jones.

I took the photographer for the Gazette as my date.  Yeah,
the female version of Jimmy Olsen.  She even had freckles.
Her name was Lil.  She wasn't a Fletcher.  She wasn't much
of a photographer, either, but that's another story.  She
was even dressed as Jimmy Olsen.  Not my idea of a great
date, but this was work.
#############
I must leave you there, as my transcriber is complaining
of a sore wrist.  These humans, so frail...

Opinions?

Baron Gideon Redoak
(fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca)

I should explain about Fletcher names.  I mean
Dagobert, Dahlia, Hubert... when you live in a
family as big and as intermarried as the Fletchers,
you tend to run out of names in a hurry.  A family
can only support so many "Susans" or "Bills".  It's
become a challenge to give your kid an unusual first
name.  So there are a lot of Fletchers around with
names I wouldn't give to a dog.  Me, I never could
live with Todd.  Everyone calls me Fox.

I almost missed the exit to Fletcherville.  How the
hell the tourists ever find the place, I don't know.
It was like driving into a time warp.  There was only
one building in town higher than six stories.  The
middle of town was a big park.  Downtown, or what
passed for it, had a few touristy boutiques, an old
inn, a department store, and oddly, a nightclub.
There was a big bay, with a yacht basin for the
tourists and wharfs for the lobster boats and fishing
trawlers.  The only word I could think of for the whole
set-up was "quaint".  A New England tourist trap, far
away from the bombs and guns of Yugoslavia.  Nothing
hidden under the shining whitewash, no secrets lurking
beneath the cobblestones.

Hoo boy, was I wrong.

I found my Aunt Dahlia's place with very little
trouble.  It was the one with the mob of Fletchers
on the lawn.  I took a couple of days to settle in
and walk around the town to get my bearings, then I
went to see my Uncle Hubert at the Fletcherville
Gazette.

"Fox," he said, "This ain't the New York Times.  It
ain't even the Boston Herald.  It's a little weekly
rag that prints the menu of the church social and
who caught the biggest lobster of the month."

"I realize that, Uncle Hubert," I said.  "I don't want
to work for the New York Times.  I don't want to get
shot at."

"Just so you know.  Ain't never had a reporter shot
at.  But then, there ain't much to report in
Fletcherville.  Walk around.  Talk to people.
Attend the town council meetings.  Go to church.
Get to know the town and the people, you'll know
what to write up soon enough.  Just one thing:
stay away from the Cliff Road Crowd."

This was the first I'd heard of them, and my
newspaper instincts sat up.  "Why?" I asked.
"Are they trouble?"  I pictured a gang of
leather-jacketed teenage toughs on motorbikes,
terrorizing elderly tourists.  So much for my
instincts.

"Not the way you mean," my uncle replied.  He
produced a map of the valley.  "Do you know the
history?" he asked.

"The deed to the valley was lost in a poker game,"
I said.

"Actually, I believe it was banquo, but that ain't
important.  The guy who won the deed was a Romanian
nobleman by the name of Alexander Goldanias.  He had
the Cliff Road constructed so he could get out to his
property.  He kept some of the clifftop and gave
the rest to friends of his.  Any questions so far?"

"Yeah," I said.  "What was Dagobert doing playing
Banquo with a Romanian count?"

"Beats me.  What matters is that the people who live
out on the Cliff Road aren't really part of the village.
They pay their taxes, shop in our stores, and once in
awhile come to town council meetings, but they're
outsiders.  They don't bother us and we don't bother them.
They don't like to see their names in the Gazette.  And
don't ever try to take a picture of any of 'em.  Got that?"

"Got it," I said.  "so, who are they, so I know to avoid them?"

Hubert tapped places on the map, to indicate houses.  "Francis
Calvert.  Raymond Griffin.  Gideon Redoak, his friend Joshua
Trevallion, and their two servants, Evan Jones and Mitch
Pritchard.  Alex Goldanias, his cousin Janine and their
housekeeper.  Michael and Mary Fairlawn and their kids.
That's the lot.  There's two more in the Crowd, but they
live in the village.  Leave them alone."

Of course I was burning with curiosity about the Crowd,
but I promised to leave them alone, and went out.
The first thing I did was drive out to the Cliff Road
turnoff.  It was posted with a big sign reading
"Private Road.  Trespassers Will be Prosecuted".
I didn't challenge the sign.  It was a long drive
back into town.

Date:         Fri, 13 Aug 1993 12:30:56 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      Fluff:  Outfoxed, part 3

Dear Kindred:

Thank you to all who have told me how much they like this story.
(For those who have said they like it *better* than my auto-
biography... humph!).

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

We went together with a group of Fletchers in various costumes.
We were early.  The decorations looked spookier than they had in
the light of day.  I saw Evan Jones lighting the jack o'lanterns.
He was dressed like a gangster.  I guess that was his own private
joke.  Hired muscle.  He was being helped out by a long and lanky
kid wearing a superhero outfit.  There are some people who
shouldn't
wear tights.  He didn't have the legs for them.

Evan gave me a nod to show he recognized me, and very politely told
Lil to stop pointing her camera at him.  Of course.  He was one of
the Cliff Road Crowd, and we must never, ever try to take pictures
of them.  Why the hell not?

The young man in the cape and tights gave me a pretty sharp look,
as if he knew what I was thinking.  I hadn't seen his face til now,
and it gave me a bit of a shock.  Not that he was ugly or deformed,
but his eyebrows met in the middle.

I wasn't superstitious, and I didn't believe in werewolves, even
if I'd seen every movie about them.  And since the kid had shaggy
hair, it made sense that his eyebrows shook hands across his nose.
But it still startled me.

He gave me his name.  Mitch Pritchard, yet another of the Cliff
Road Crowd.  So this was the other "Servant" who worked for the
baron.  Doing what?

I grabbed Lil and told her to start taking some pictures, as more
people were coming in.  I talked to the ones whose costumes
interested
me.  I was so busy interviewing agirl who wsn't wearing much of
anything at all (I think she was supposed to be a cavegirl) that I
almost missed the big entrance.

The big guy came in first.  Six-four if he was an inch, and power-
ful.  Not like a body-builder.  If anything, he was on the slim
side, but the muscles were there.  His hair was jet black.  He
wore it longer than most men in their late twenties would, not
quite to his shoulders.  He was handsome, too, the bastard --
every girl in the room was staring at him.  He looked like he'd
stepped off a movie screen.  He was wearing a Regency gentleman's
rig -- ruffled shirt, tight breeches and cloak.  His pale skin
suited the image of a young buck of that day and age.

His followers were noteworthy of their own accord.  There was a
boy, maybe he was twenty, but I doubted it.  He'd gone for the
vampire bit.  White makeup, plastic fangs, black clothes, black
cape.  His hair spoiled the illusion.  It was pale, pale blonde,
almost silver, and very long.

And then there was the girl.  She was the same age as the blond
vampire, and she was blonde, too.  But her hair was golden, not
pale.  She wore a medieval page-boy's costume that did nothing
to hide her figure.  She had beautiful cheek-bones.  She was
gorgeous.  Her big blue eyes sparkled up at me when she noticed
I was staring.

"Hi," she said.  "Where's your train?"

I took a deep breath.  Steady, Fox, she's just a kid.  "Haven't
you heard?" I asked.  "I wrecked it.  I saw an angel on the
tracks."

She giggled.  "Why, thank you, sir."

The big guy frowned at her, but one corner of his mouth twitched,
so he wasn't mad.  There was a similarity between them, something
about the cheekbones.  I remembered Uncle Hubert's list of the
Cliff Road Crowd, ..."Alex Goldanias and his cousin Janine..."

Well.  So the Crowd had chosen to honour our little Hallowe'en
party.  And not just any of the Crowd, but the descendant of
the man who'd won the valley in a card game.

"OOh, Count Goldanias," a female voice squealed.  "Could I
take your picture for the Gazette?"

I winced.  It was Lil, of course.  Some people...

The big guy didn't wince.  He looked down at Lil like she
was a little mutt yapping at a Rottweiler ... annoying, but
not worth biting.

"First of all," he said, and his voice was very gentle but
that didn't fool me one bit, "I am an American citizen."
He had a nice voice, not a New England twang to be heard
in it.  Smooth and cultured, no accent at all.  "As such,
I have no claim on what is, after all, a very old family
title.  I am not a count.  And I do not pose for photographs."

Lil backed away from him.  The cousin, if that's who the
page boy was, saved the day.  She slipped her arm around the
count and said, "I get the first dance."

#######

There is more to come.  That is just all I have time for.
What do you think of Alex now that you have met him?



  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                           +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK               +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Date:         Fri, 13 Aug 1993 16:47:30 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff:  Outfoxed, part 4


Dear Kindred:

Thank you again to everyone who has been kind enough to tell
me they really like this story.


Not to fear, fans of my autobiography.  Once I have finished
Outfoxed, "Gideon Redoak" will return...

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

Not even the most confirmed queer could've denied that request,
and whatever else Alex Goldanias was, he wasn't that.  He let
her steer him out to the dance floor and what might have
blown up into an ugly scene was forgotten.  Except by me.

"Lil," I said to my photographer, "What were you thinking
of, doing a damn fool thing like that?"

She blushed.  "I forgot," she mumbled.  "He's so..."
words failed her.

"Arrogant?" I supplied.  "Rich?  Or were you thinking 'cute'?"
Actually, "cute" was a pretty lame word to describe that hunk
of manhood.  Another word came to mind.  "Dangerous".

Lil made a face.  "Damn you, Fox," she said.  "You're just
jealous."

Me?  Jealous?  Of that ... perfection?  Damn flaming right,
I was.  He had all his fingers, and I'd bet he didn't wake up
screaming in the middle of the night.  That would've disturbed
whatever village girl he was practicing his _droit du seigneur_
on.

"Shut up," I told Lil, "and take a picture of the Mayor."

I turned, and found the kid in the vampire get-up grinning
at me.  I'd forgotten about him.

"Original costume," I snapped at him.  Gonna kick a dog next, Fox?

He shrugged.  "I wore it mostly to bug Alex," he said, as if
that explained it.

Bugging Alex seemed like an admirable mission in life.  "Can
I buy you a drink?" I asked.

"No thanks.  I brought my own."  He whipped out a can of
tomato juice.

"Oh, Jeez, how corny can you get?"

"I gather you're the new reporter," said the vampire.  "I'm
Francis Calvert."

"Where's the rest of the Crowd?" I couldn't help asking.

He laughed.  "Some didn't want to come, and some had ... other
obligations."

Other obligations?  On Hallowe'en?  Firmly repressing mental
pictures of witches' covens, I excused myself and went
hunting for a girl to dance with.

I even got to partner the gorgeous page-boy for one number,
and learned that she was, indeed, Janine Goldanias.  Cousin,
just-cousin-nothing-more, to the aristocrat who didn't pose
for photographs.  By the end of the dance, I was hopelessly
in love.  And we are talking hopeless here.

At midnight, they announced the prizes for best costume.
Lil snapped photos of the winners accepting their prizes,
and there were a couple more dances.

Me, I didn't feel like dancing anymore.  The only girl I
wanted to dance with was booked solid.  I asked Lil if
she wanted to leave, and she said sure, so I drove her
home and returned to Aunt Dahlia's.

Date:         Sun, 15 Aug 1993 16:05:46 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff:Oufoxed part 5


Kindred:
Here is the next installment, in which Fox learns some disturbing
things about Fletcherville after dark...

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

"You're early, fox," Aunt Dahlia said.  "Didn't you enjoy the
party?"

"I guess so," I said.  "I'm going to wash and change, then go for
a walk."

"Alone?  In the middle of the night?"

I looked at her, surprised.  There'd been real concern in her
voice.
This was a quiet small town, not New York, and certainly not
Sarajevo.

"Why not?" I asked.

"It's not ...adviseable."

"I can protect myself from muggers.  Are they a big problem?"  I
smelled a story.

"Not muggers."  Aunt Dahlia sighed.  "Come into the kitchen and
have
some coffee."

Hoo, boy.  This was serious.  Anything that called for coffee at
one
in the morning was serious.  I washed the soot off my face and
hands,
and went into the kitchen.  In New England, if you have something
to talk about, you do it in the kitchen.  The living room is for
funerals.

"So?" I asked my aunt as I sipped.  "Why can't I go for a midnight
stroll?"

Aunt Dahlia gave me a look that said she wasn't going to take any
backtalk.  "It's not safe at night, Fox," she told me.  "And don't
you
dare write that up in the paper.  Folks already know about it."

"What's out there?" I asked.  "Murderers?  Ghosts?"

"Bats," said my aunt.

"Bats?"  I stared at her.

"Not just any bats.  Big, black bats that come suddenly and bite
people.  The people are always found missing some blood."

"How are they bitten?"

"Usually on the arm, right over the vein.  Just two little fang
marks."

All those horror movies I watched... all those novels I read...
this wasn't Fletcherville.  It was Jerusalem's Lot.  I thought
of Alex Goldanias, big, black-haired man, and the way
he'd looked at Lil when he'd said "I do not pose for photographs".
I thought of his pale skin, and the fact that he was of
Romanian ancestry.  I thought of young Francis Calvert, in his
silly vampire costime, saying "I wore it to bug Alex".  And I
thought of his pretty young cousin, so full of life...

"Right, Aunt Dahlia.  Big black bats."  I kissed her on the
cheek.  "Thanks for telling me.  Guess I'll skip that walk.
Good night."

"Fox!" she called out.  "Don't you go thinking about hunting
those bats."

"No, Aunt Dahlia."  But I held my fingers crossed behind my back.

I woke up early the next day, and spent it typing up my stories
to give to Uncle Hubert.  The Fletcherville Gazette went to press
on Saturdays, in order to be ready Monday.   Uncle Hubert was in
the office, looking a little bleary-eyed.  Towards the end of
the last night, the punch had gotten pretty potent.  There were
a lot of sore heads in Fletcherville.  Hubert waved me into a
chair.  A little while later, Lil came in.

"You were a brute last night, Fox," she said.

"Your own fault," I answered.  "You broke the rules."

That got Uncle Hubert's attention.  "Something that didn't make
the papers?" he asked.

"Not like you're thinking.  Old Flash here tried to take a picture
of the Count last night."

"Good Lord, Lil, you didn't!" Hubert roared at her.  "What if he
sues us?"

"I didn't take the picture!" she said, on the verge of tears.

"I don't think he'll sue us," I put in.  "He seemed more ticked off
that Lil called him 'Count' than that she asked for his picture."
After a minute, I asked, "Was he born here?"

"No.  He was born in Italy.  Fox, why this sudden interest in
Goldanias?  I told you to leave the Cliff Road Crowd alone.
Goldanias could make a lot of trouble for us."

"I know.  And he pays his taxes."  I walked out of the office.  I
needed clean air.

I drove up to the Cliff Road turnoff.  The "private road" sign
mocked
me.  How much in extra taxes did the Crowd pay?  I saw the
sherrif's
car prowl into sight, yet another Fletcher cousin driving.  She
strongly hinted I should return to town, and she had a gun, so I
did.
Not surprisingly, I got a police escort.  And a threat to tell Aunt
Dahlia on me.

Shit.  It was a long walk to the Cliff Road.  A horse?  I was
getting
hysterical.  I'd only been on a horse once in my life, when I was
six years old and had been put up on a poor lame pony.  I'd
screamed
my fool head off.

Bet Alex Goldanias could ride like a centaur.  I realized I was
working
up a real hate for the Count.  every man in the village who saw his
girl compare him to Alex Goldanias must have felt the same way. 
But
if what I suspected was true, all that yearning on the parts of
wistful
maidens was for nothing.

Vampires can't have sex.  I read that somewhere.

#########
My time limit has been reached, kindred.  There is still a bit more
to come before I reach the part where I stalled.

Comments?


  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                             +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK                +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
======================================================================== 124
Date:         Mon, 16 Aug 1993 13:43:36 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff:Outfoxed. part 6


Dear Kindred:
Here is another installment, and yes, it really IS a short
story (compared to my autobiography, or Rip in Time, that is!)

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

Now that I'd thought the word, I felt better.  Vampire.  Nosferatu.
The undead.  Alex Goldanias was a blood-sucking monster.

Great?  How was I gonna prove it?  I couldn't drive out to his gloomy
gothic mansion and catch him taking forty winks in his mahogany
coffin.

Instead, I went to the town records office.  Although it was officially
closed on Saturday, there were two or three clerks putting in unpaid
overtime.  A couple of twenties let me in and gave me access to the
records of the Goldanias family.  They all seemed to have been born
abroad, to parents who died off early, and to have come to settle
in Valley Mansion, the house on the cliff, only in adulthood.  The
current owner had been here fifteen years.  He must have come when
he was about thirteen, then, cause if he was thirty, I'd eat my shirt.
There was certified proof of everything, all having passed legal
scrutiny.  It all meant nothing to me, except that he knew a good
forger.

I had to save the girl.  Had she looked a little pale last night?
Well, actually, no.  But obviously the fiend who called himself her
cousin was saving her for when the time was right.

Aunt Dahlia and I went to church the next day, along with the rest
of Fletcherville.  All but the Cliff Road Crowd, although someone told
me that sometimes Mary Fairlawn and her kids showed up.  Never her
husband, though.  What was there, a whole vampire colony out on the
Cliff Road?

Uncle Hubert dressed me down for acting the way I had in his office, and
warned me again about not harrassing Alex Goldanias.  He looked scared
as he said it.  I no longer thought it was a lawsuit he was afraid of.

Sunday night passed, and nothing bit me.  It snowed the next day. I
could say something about fairy dust, but that would be bullshit.
There was an inch of fresh snow and a raw wind off the Atlantic that
said it wasn't going to be the last.  I read the Gazette three times.
It always gives me a kick to see my name in print.

After dinner, I decided I needed a drink.  With the nightclub closed,
the Fletcherville Inn was the only place to get one.  It was only a
few blocks away, so I walked.  By the time I got there, I was freezing.

It was warm in the bar, though.  There were real wooden beams, and
small round tables with captain's chairs, and a big painting behind
the bar of fishing trawlers at work. That was it for decor.  There
weren't any old nets full of starfish and shells strung across the
beams, or stuffed fish mounted on the walls, or buoys and lobster
traps all over the place.  The tables didn't have little candles in
glass bowls or plastic flowers on them.  I liked it.

Of course, a Fletcher was behind the bar.  This one was Samantha.
Yep, a lady bartender, and I'll bet she didn't need the bouncer near
the door to keep the customers in line.

"Hey, Fox," she said, as I plunked down on a bar stool.

"Hey, Sam," I said.  "Vodka on the rocks."

"Igneous or sedementary?"

"Volcanic."  When she brought the vodka, I asked, "Do you get away
with that joke with the fishermen?"

"Nope.  Not even the tourists, most times.  I read your articles in
the paper."

"And?"

"They were good."

"Careful with that heady praise," I warned.  "Give me another drink,
and go turn some other guy's head."

Somewhere into my third drink, I noticed a change in the atmosphere.
People had been going in and out without my taking any notice, but
someone had just come in who was worth gawking at.  Someone six-four
and slim but powerful, with nightfall hair and pale skin.  Someone
wearing kid gloves and a beautifull tailored coat of cashmere or
camels hair or some damn thing that stood out in a room full of
denim.  Someone who sat down next to me at the bar, and nodded
but didn't smile at me.

"Mr. Fletcher," he said, in that beautifully modulated voice.

"Mr. Goldanias," I nodded back, remembering at the last second
not to call him "Count".

############
Just a little bit more to come, kindred.  Are you enjoying this
story?  Please let me know...


  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                             +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK                +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
======================================================================== 138
Date:         Mon, 16 Aug 1993 17:01:41 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff: Outfoxed, part 7


Dear Kindred:
The last installment.  After this, I'm stumped.

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

His eyes were gray.  I hadn't noticed that before.  I resented him
for it, for the way every girl in that bar (and yeah, okay, a few
of the guys) was devouring him.

Vampire.

Samantha came up.  She was almost leering at him.  "Your usual,
Mr. Goldanias?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," he said.  Her, he smiled at.  "And please refresh
whatever it is Mr. Fletcher is drinking."

His "usual" turned out to be a glass of white wine.  Yeah, that's
right.  White, not red.  He drank it, too.

I reached for my cigarettes, checking en route to see if I had the
crucifix I'd bought, but found the pack empty.

"Here," Goldanias brought out a gold cigarette case.  "Try one of
mine."

There was no mirror inside the case.  They weren't cigarettes, they
were those little cigars made to look like cigarettes.  I picked
one.  So did Goldanias.  He snapped his lighter -- gold, of course --
and lit them both.  His hand was cold.  He blew out smoke with
every sign of enjoying it.  Hell, so did I.

"One shouldn't indulge," he remarked, smoke trickling out his nose,
"But I do enjoy it."

We sat drinking and smoking in silence for a couple minutes.  Then
he stubbed out his butt in the ashtray and looked at me.  Here it
comes, I thought.

"I understand," he said, conversationally, "That you have been
making inquiries about me and my family."

"Maybe I have," I replied, grinding out what was left of my
cigarello.

"May I ask why?"

"I'm a journalist.  I get curious about things."

"I would appreciate it if you stopped being curious."

"What do you have to hide, Mr. Goldanias?" I asked.

"I have nothing to hide.  I simply value my privacy," he answered.

"Are you telling me to stop making inquiries?"

His eyes tightened.  "I am _asking_ you, Mr. Fletcher.  Politely.
Kindly respect my right to privacy.  However, should you continue
to pry, you will find I am not without influence.  Don't make me
threaten you."

With what? I wanted to ask.  A lawsuit, or a visit from big black
bat in the middle of the night?

"Okay," I said.  "I'm cool."

"Thank you.  I appreciate it."

"Do you know anything about antiques, Mr. Goldanias?" I asked him.

There.  I'd caught him off guard.  He looked totally blank.

"Antiques?" he repeated.  "I am a collector, but certainly no
expert.  Why?"

"Well, it's just that I have this very unusual object, and I'd
like your opinion of it."  I reached inside my jacket for the
crucifix.

When he saw me reaching, he tensed.  But when I pulled out the
crucifix, his reaction was the last one on earth I'd expected.
He chuckled, and all the tension left him.

"It's not really that unusual a piece, Mr. Fletcher," he said.
"Late 19th century Italian, I'd say.  May I?"  He reached out
and took it.  In his bare hand.  He didn't scream and it didn't
burn him.  "Yes," he nodded, tapping the decoration on the wood.
"Made in Florence in the 1880's, for the tourist trade.  There
are hundreds of them on the market.  If you bought this as a
rarity, you were tricked, sir."  He handed it back to me and added,
in a low voice that only I could hear, "Really, Mr. Fletcher,
what are you going to try next?  Garlic?  Holy water, perhaps?"
He clapped me on the shoulder and his fingers dug in until I
almost screamed.  "You would do well to forget your suspicions,"
he said, still in that low voice, and let go.

He flung two twenties on the bar and told Samantha to keep
the change.  Then he left.
#####################
And that, friends, is as far as imagination will take me.
How to resolve the problem of Fox?  I do not wish to kill
him off.  I've grown rather fond of him, and if he died or
disappeared, suspicion would naturally fall upon Alex.
Our dear Count has, indeed, already drawn far more attention
to himself than is usually adviseable.  All suggestions
gratefully received.  If, in fact, someone else wishes
to take up the thread of this story... welcome.  Just please
contact me before posting it to the list, so that I can
tell you if you are true to my characters...

Date:         Thu, 19 Aug 1993 17:10:03 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff:  Outfoxed, part 8?

Dear Kindred:

The ? is in the title because I am not certain if this is
the direction I want this story to take.  Please, please, please
tell me your reactions to this thread, favourable or otherwise.
Let me know if this is what you expected...

(And speaking of feedback, it was rather sparse to my last
installment of "Rip in Time"... )

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

I left the bar right after Goldanias, but there was no sign
of him on the street..  He'd probably already changed into a
bat and flown back to his mansion.  My shoulder hurt like hell
where his fingers had dug in.

He'd practically admitted he was a vampire.  Now I knew I
had to rescue Janine.  There had to be a way to get out to
his mansion.  I thought about the map Uncle Hubert had shown
me.  The valley side of the Cliff Road was a trackless pine
forest, and I'd have to not only scale the cliff, but cross
the road.  On the Atlantic side of the road, there was ...
well, the Atlantic.  And the cliff.

Thinking it over, I went back home and checked my shoulder in
the mirror.  Five little bruises were starting to show.  He
could've broken my collar bone.  Hell, he could've broken
me in half.

On an impulse, I got out the phone book.  There was a listing
for Goldanias.  Yeah, really.  I guess everyone in town knew
better than to call that number for no reason.  I had a
reason.  I picked up the phone and dialled.

If a man answered, I was going to hang up.  But a woman
answered.

"Valley Mansion," she said.  It didn't sound like Janine.
I remembered they had a housekeeper.

"May I speak to Janine?" I asked.

"Just a moment, please."

I couldn't believe it was that easy, but it was.  A minute
later, her voice said, "Hello?"

I untangled my tongue.  "Hi," I said.  "This is Fox Fletcher.
You danced with me at Hallowe'en, remember?"

"I remember," she said.  "What can I do for you, Fox?"

Uh, good question.  "I wondered...  would you like to
have dinner with me some time?"  It just came out without
my thinking about it.

Expecting to hear a refusal, I was totally blown away when
she said, "Yes."

"You would?" I squeaked, then got control back.  "I mean,
you would?"  That still didn't sound right.  "I mean, is
it okay with your cousin?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Janine sounded amused.  "He's my
cousin, not my father.  I go out when and with whom I
choose.  What night did you have in mind?"

"Tomorrow too soon?"  Smooth, Fox.  I sounded like a
desperate teenager.

She laughed.  "Not at all."

"Seven?  Shall I pick you up?"

"No," she replied, very quickly.  "The Cliff Road is private
property.  I'll meet you.  Where would you like to go?"

I named the most expensive restaurant in town.  She was
worth it.  I stopped reminding myself that she was likely
about fifteen years younger than me.

Seven didn't come fast enough for me the next night.  I
wore my Sunday suit.  She arrived right on time, driving
a red sportscar and wearing a really smart black-and-white
outfit.  I wanted to kiss her, but it was our first date.

I don't remember what we ate.  We talked about everything
except her cousin.  She changed the subject every time his
name came up.  I didn't feel like talking about him, anyway.

We lingered over drinks, then I walked her to her car.  She
thanked me for dinner, and kissed me on the cheek.  Before
I could ask if I could see her again, she drove off.

"You're making a mistake, you know," a voice spoke out
of the night.

I jumped a foot and turned.  Sure enough, the damned Count
was standing behind me, smoking one of his black cigarellos.
I was alone and unarmed.  I didn't even have the crucifix
anymore.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

He wasn't wearing the expensive coat tonight -- just
a sweater and jeans in the freezing cold.  A vampire in
blue jeans?

"Relax," he said.  "I have no intention of harming you,
unless you make it necessary.  I suppose you are thinking
that you have to rescue Janine?"  He waited, but I didn't
say anything.  "That is a serious error on your part,
Mr. Fletcher."

"She's a nice kid," I retorted.  "She doesn't deserve
to have some monster drink her blood."

To my surprise, he smiled.  Not a fang in sight, either.
"Would you mind making statements like that a little less
loudly?" he asked.  "You are wrong, you know."

"About you?  I don't think so... Count."

"Not about me.  But that is not my concern.  I know
you now for a hunter, and I have my defences.  No,
Mr. Fletcher, you are wrong about Janine."

"Bullshit," I said.

Goldanias sighed.  "I don't expect you to believe me,"
he said.  "But all the same, you are in danger from
my cousin."

"Don't tell me she's a vampire."

"Would you believe me if I did?  I didn't think so.
Just remember that I warned you, Mr. Fletcher.  And
hunters are considered fair game."

"Yeah, right."  But I said that to nobody.  He was
gone.  He hadn't even offered me a smoke.

####################

So, what does everybody think?  Does this development
make sense, or would you rather see Janine as a good
vampyre, or not as a vampyre at all?  Let me know...


  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                             +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK                +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Date:         Fri, 20 Aug 1993 13:35:27 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff: Gideon Redoak, part 27


Dear Kindred:

Everyone seems to like the thread in "Outfoxed" of Janine as
a bad vamp, so I think I'll run with that...  now, if I could
just decide in which direction to run... *grin*.  Seriously,
keep the suggestions coming, and feel free to take up the
story thread if you like.

Meanwhile, back in the 17th century (sorry, couldn't resist):

Date:         Mon, 23 Aug 1993 12:46:42 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff: Outfoxed, part 9?

Dear Kindred:

Once again, the ? is in the title, not because I have lost
track, but because I am not certain this is the direction
I want to take.  All opinions eagerly awaited...

I have changed the POV narrator to Alex.  I thought you
might enjoy a bat's eye view of the situation.

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

I'd followed Janine on her date, to keep an eye on the situation.
She was intrigued by Fox, and so far was just playing with him.
Although I didn't go into the restaurant, I knew what she'd do --
order something and make Fox think she'd eaten it.  I'd worked
the same trick often enough myself, and I was the one who'd
taught it to her.

They were coming out of the restaurant.  I lit one of my
cigarellos -- a hard habit to kick, even now -- and watched
them closely.  Still just playing, Janine kissed Fox on the
cheek and drove off.

>"You're making a mistake, you know," I told him.

He jumped and turned, demanding, >"What do you want?"

So I warned him about Janine.  He didn't believe me.  I knew
that since our encounter in the bar, he'd definitely crossed
the line from nosy reporter to hunter.  That was partially
my fault, and it was going to make the rest of the
Brotherhood very unhappy with me.  Despite all that, I rather
liked Fletcher; and I didn't want to see my cousin get her
fangs into him.

>"Just remember that I have warned you, Mr. Fletcher," I told
him.  "And hunters are fair game."

I left then, but heard him say, >"Yeah, right."

There was only one thing to do now, and that was inform the
Brotherhood that Fletcher was a hunter.  Chances were that
I was the only one he'd come after, because of his absurd
idea that Janine needed rescuing, but the others needed
to be warned.  At least the othr vampires.

I stopped first at Francis' shack.  He was out front,
looking at the several pieces of a disassembled motorcycle.
As usual, Ray Griffin was with him and they were discussing
a subject far more arcane than the occult.  I didn't
understand a word of their conversation, but then I have no
mechanical abilities.

They both looked up when I arrived.

"Car trouble?" Francis asked

"Nt car trouble," I replied.  "Janine trouble."

"Shit, Alex, didn't I tell you not to turn her?"

He had.  Everyone had.  When she'd come to live with me in
Valley Mansion, Janine had been a sweet young woman whom
everyone had liked.  But her innocent appearance had been
a sham, disguising her passionate, violent nature.  She'd
discovered what I was and kept her discovery a secret;
until the night I'd woken and found her in bed with me.
Stark naked.  Begging me to take her.

What was I supposed to do?  A stronger vampire might have
refused, thrown her out of bed, but I did what came
naturally.  I'd been paying for that night ever since.
For one thing, Janine and I now cordially hated each other.
For another, as her bloodmaster, I was responsible for
keeping her under control.  I was beginning to be afraid
I'd have to destroy her.

"It's a bit late for that, Francis," I said.

"What trouble has she stirred up now?" he asked.

I looked at Griffin.  He obviously had no intention
of going away.  I'd wanted to keep this amongst my
own kind for the moment, but the damned witch wasn't
going to give me that chance.

I turned back to Francis.  "You remember Fox Fletcher
from Hallowe'en?" I asked, and he nodded.  "He knows
I'm a vampire.  And he's a hunter."

"Holy shit," said Francis.  "How'd he find out?"

"That's not important," I replied.

"How does this concern Janine?" Griffin asked.

"Fletcher asked her out for dinner tonight.  He thinks
she needs rescuing."

He laughed.  "_He'll_ be the one who needs rescuing."

"We'd better tell the others," Francis stated.  "I'll go
to Fairlawn if you'll take Oakwoods, Alex.  Ray, can you
call Nicholas and Maggie?"

"Sure," I complained.  "Leave me the hard one."  It was not
pleasant to contemplate the expression on Gideon's face
when he found out what I'd done.

Francis was already gone.  I looked at Griffin.  "Want to
trade?" I asked.

"Not a chance," he replied.  "You're stuck."

So I went to Oakwoods.  I knocked on the door, not wishing to
simply appear inside the house and interupt any private
conversations that might be going on.  Mitch let me in,
assuring that all I was interupting was a vampire film
festival that everyone was watching.

"Why don't they ever show any _good_ movies?" Mitch grumbled
as he showed me into the living room.

"Like 'American Werewolf in London'?" I asked.

"Like that," he grinned.  "Boss, it's Alex," he called out as
we came into the living room.

Gideon nodded.  "Good evening, Alexander," he said, not even
bothering to tell Mitch not to call him "boss".  He'd given up.

Evan and Joshua both said "hi" and Warg wagged his tail.  Evan
turned off the tv, and everyone looked at me.

"There's a hunter in the village," I began, and proceeded to
explain.  Then I sat down to wait for the tongue-lashing.

It didn't come.  Gideon just looked thoughtful.

"You warned him." he said.  "Why?"

"I like him," he said.  "Even if he is a hunter, he doesn't deserve
to have Janine get him."  I waited a bit, then asked, "You're not
angry with me?"

"On the contrary.  I am furious."  And his eyes flashed.  "But the
damage is done.  I do not think there is a single thing I can
say to you that you have not already said to yourself.  Am I
correct?"

"Yes," I said.  I'd been let off lightly.

"What do you intend to do about this situation, Alexander?"
Gideon asked.

I hate it when he calls me Alexander.  It makes me feel about
ten.  The irony is that, going strictly by our chronological
ages when we turned, I'm four years older than Gideon.  But
that counts very little amongst the kindred.

"I don't know what to do," I confessed.  "That's why I came to
you."

He pressed his fingers together and rested his chin on the point.

"There are several arguments against simply killing Mr. Fletcher,"
he said.  "The first, and most important, is that suspicion would
fall directly upon you.  It is known in the village that he has
been asking questions about you.  You have been seen and heard
publicly asking him to stop his investigation.  He has dated
your cousin.  Were he to die or disappear, it would be assumed
that you were responsible."

"Agreed," I said.

"Secondly," Gideon continued, "The sudden death of a reporter who
has
been investigating the Cliff Road Crowd would give outsiders the
impression that there is something here to investigate.  Our
harmonious relationship with the village is precarious at the
best of time.  Neither it nor the Brotherhood would survive any
serious prying into our secrets.  I for one am very fond of the
life I have established here."  He shot a smile at Joshua, who
smiled back.  "It would distress me to start over again elsewhere."

"Assuming we could," Evan spoke up.  "If there was a full-scale
hunt, even I couldn't protect us all."

"There is that," Gideon agreed.  "Thirdly, you have formed a
personal attachment to Mr. Fletcher."

"I said that I like him," I protested.  "Not that I want to..."
Some things are better left unsaid.  One of these centuries,
I'll learn that.

He gave me one of his looks.  "There is no question of that,
Alexander.  I was merely suggesting that it is difficult to
kill someone that you have grown fond of."

"So what do we do?" I asked.

He lifted his head up off his steepled fingers and looked me
right in the eyes.

"I wish I knew," he answered.
######################

Any ideas?  Any CotN care to join the story and come to the
rescue?


  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                             +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK                +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
=================================================================
======= 133
Date:         Tue, 24 Aug 1993 17:21:55 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff: Outfoxed part 10

(This is continuing Alex's POV)

Copyright 1993 by Anne Fraser

>"I wish I knew," he answered.

"You're not," I told him, "A hell of a lot of help."

"Boss," Mitch spoke up, "What about that other bunch?  The one
Jessica and Elizabeth belong to?  The Cotton?"

"That's CotN," Gideon corrected him.  His expression brightened.
"I know that Jessica is terribly busy right now, but perhaps
one of the others might be able to help."  He stood up.  "Come
into Mitch's office, and we'll send a message."

So we all went into Mitch's office, which used to be the drawing-
room but now holds the computer, the fax machine and all the other
technological gadgets that Gideon refuses to learn how to operate.
That, he says, is why he hired Mitch.

"Send this message to VAMPYRES@GUVM.BITNET," Gideon instructed
Mitch.

When the werewolf had tapped into mail and send, he looked up
at his employer.  "Go ahead," he said.

>Dear Kindred (Gideon dictated)

>I have a small problem here in Fletcherville, and I thought I
>would send it to the list and see if anyone out there has the
>knowledge to help me.

>There is a reporter in the village by the name of Fox Fletcher
>who has learned that my friend Alexander Goldanias is a vampyre.
>This reporter is romantically involved with Alexander's cousin
>Janine, whom he refuses to believe is also a vampyre.  Fletcher
>has become a hunter, and we believe he will come after Alexander
>and attempt to rescue Janine.  We cannot simply kill him, or
>suspicion will fall upon Alexander.  Also, Janine is becoming
>uncontrollable, and we fear she will attack Fletcher, possibly
>either killing him or Turning him before she can be prevented.
>If anyone has a solution to this difficult situation, I would
>welcome their insight... even their presence.


  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                             +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK                +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


"Is that wise?" I asked.  "Seems to me the last thing we
need in the valley is more vampyres."

"I believe that is what you were told," Gideon shot back at me.

"How many times do I have to explain?" I complained.  "She
was naked.  She was begging me to take her.  Could you have
resisted?  Well, maybe you could have... "

"That is quite enough.  Evan, do you think you can manage
to maintain security, even if several of the kindred respond?"

"I think so," he grinned.  "Depending on how many you mean
by 'several'."

"I doubt if more than two or three will come to the valley
itself.  More may offer their advice."

"I can manage, then," Evan said.

"I hope that Wulflord doesn't show up," Mitch said.  "I don't
think we'd get along too well."

Joshua, who'd said absolutely nothing up til now, spoke up.
"I wonder," he mused, smiling, "If it might be wise for me
to take a business trip right now."

Gideon looked at him.  "You are under my protection," he said.
"And Evan's.  Don't worry."

"Easy for you to say... "

When the rest of the Brotherhood arrived at Oakwoods, summoned
respectively by Francis and Ray Griffin, Gideon told them
about his invitation to the CotN.  No-one seemed to think it
was a bad idea.

Except me.

###################

Well, was it a bad idea, Kindred?  (Just please contact me
first...)


  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                             +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK                +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
======================================================================== 50
Date:         Wed, 25 Aug 1993 14:21:24 -0230
From:         "M. J. Farrell" 
Subject:      FLUFF:  OUTFOXED - a reply


A certain blue monitor flickers to life and grey-green eyes skim the day's
messages.  Long fingers flash over the keyboard and type:


My Dear Baron,

        What a situation!  Speaking as a reporter (part-time anyway), I can
say that you DO have a problem.  If Mr. Fletcher is any type of reporter at
all, he is tenacious, curious, and determined to get to the bottom of
ANYTHING he doesn't understand.

        From what you've told me about Janine, it would seem that you are
correct and that it is indeed Mr. Fletcher that needs rescuing.  I take it
that Mr. Goldanias HAS tried to warn him off.  This will NOT work.  He will
only become MORE determined.  What you need to do, if I may be so bold, is
to put Mr. Fletcher in a situation where he may see Janine for what she IS!
This will HAVE to be handled delicately, so as to not put him in too much
danger.  If it is possible, set up a "situation" at the house, and have him
observe her.  This would be the ideal, as it would not put Mr. Fletcher in
direct danger from her.  The alternative would be to let the situation
continue between them, with someone following them at all times, and wait
until Janine makes an attempt at him.  THIS would be dangerous and I
recommend this only as a last resort.

        I will be in the area within the next few days, travelling on
business.  If you like, I will drop by Mr. Fletcher's office, as a fellow
reporter, and attempt to discover what the situation is as he perceives it.
Perhaps he CAN be convinced after all, without letting the situation get
TOO dangerous.  Perhaps also, I can have a little talk with Janine. As a
sister-vampire, I MAY be able to convince her that she is acting foolishly.
The alternative?  I'm sure you have already thought about that. But
nothing can be done in THAT area until this situation with Mr. Fletcher is
resolved.

I remain, always (more or less :)),
Samantha V. Catra

..with a delicate touch of the keys, the message is sent on it's way to
Fletcherville...

Date:         Thu, 26 Aug 1993 12:21:56 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      Fluff:  OUTFOXED: The Baron's Answer

Just a brief note, kindred.  The POV has again changed, to
third person.

*****

Despite Alex's cliam that Gideon refused to learn how to
operate a computer, the baron was atually quite adept, at
least when it came to reading his mail.  He did not allow
Mitch to do this for him, or to send messages... usually.
An hour or so after he had asked Mitch to relay his request
to the CotN, Gideon returned to the office and went inot
e-mail to see if there were any replies.

There was one, from Samantha.  Gideon smiled as he recalled
this youngster.  He read her letter, which had some very
good suggestions.  He thought a moment, then composed an
answer.

+++++++

My dear Samantha:

Yes, it is a difficult situation.  Certainly all of your terms
seem to describe Mr. Fletcher, if Alexander is correct about
him.

As for setting up a situation where Mr. Fletcher may truly see
Janine for what she is:  this is an excellent idea, but I
am not certain that she would co-operate.  Alexander seems
unable to exert any control over his fledling, but we shall
see what can be done.  Perhaps the other alternative, that of
following them both, might be the only solution.

Please, by all means, come to the valley and speak to Mr.
Fletcher.  You are a stranger to him, not known as a member
of the "Cliff Road Crowd", and he will not suspect your
involvement.

I hope that you will accept my invitation to come and stay
here in Oakwoods.  We have a suitably appointed guest room,
and I trust that you will not be off-put by the fact that
it is a rather masculine establishment.  You will be welcome
here, and it is not really sage to stay in the village.

I am looking forward to seeing you again, and introducing
you to my housemates.

+++++++

Gideon added his .sig, with the quote that Mitch had
suggested and that secretly amused him.  He executed the
command that sent his message speeding electronically
towards its destination, and departed from the office in
search of Joshua.

***********

If there are any CotN who would like to join us, welcome.
Just please, please contact me first.


  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                             +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK                +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Date:         Sat, 28 Aug 1993 01:07:29 CDT
From:         Adriel Ginsburg 
Subject:      New Orleans fluff 3

        Greetings CotN,

        It's time for the next episode of "As the World Turns".
No wait, that's not it, maybe it's the New Orleans Fluff, yeah
that's it. Replies anyone? Is anyone even reading this?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Unbelieveable. I couldn't believe that I was going to
leave Kal. As much as it hurt, I had to go. Gideon and his
friends needed help with that reporter, and I had a secret that
might just be their solution. I sat down to write a goodbye note
for Kalpurnia, hoping that she wouldn't hate me for leaving,
assuming she didn't hate me to begin with.

        
Subject:      fluff:  Gideon Redoak, part 23


Come, come, dear kindred:

Surely someone out there has an inkling of what should happen
in "Outfoxed"?  So far, the good Corvus has been the only one
to suggest a possible direction for the story to take, and
I like his idea very much.  But some more input would be most
welcome.  As I said, if anyone cares to take up the thread
themselves, be my guest, just contact me first.

In the meantime, due to fan pressure *grin*, I bring you
Chapter Two of my autobiography.
=================================================================
======= 27
Date:         Tue, 17 Aug 1993 15:32:02 -0400
From:         athan y chilton_212 illini tower

Subject:      Whither Alex Goldanias?


Anne,
Methinks, as much as a hard-wired insect can think,
that you should work up some intrigue twixt the
toothsome Janine and Fox.  What if Janine and Alex
are NOT in harmony, and she flees to Fox as a note
of sanity in an otherwise 'let's not interfere
with the Cliff Road Crowd' local mentality?
Then Alex might come after Fox, and all sorts of
strange things might happen.  'Course, is Janine
one of THEM?  For that matter, is Alex?  And
are there things about Fox WE don't know -
like a way-back ancestral connection to Goldanias?

Just my 2 bits (inflation, y'know)
Firefly

p.s. Fionn, ye rascal, didja get my note?  It bounced once...

Date:         Tue, 17 Aug 1993 17:11:18 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff:  Gideon Redoak, part 24

Dear Kindred:
Ah, begging usually works.  The ideas for "Outfoxed" are
beginning to come in, enough so that I may even forgive
Firefly for the ultimate sin of addressing me by my
alter-ego's name... :-)

Any suggestions for resolving the problem of what
to do with Alex and Fox, please address to:

Baron Gideon Redoak

Date:         Wed, 18 Aug 1993 12:04:46 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      A note to fans of OUtfoxed


Dear Kindred:

More ideas are coming in, thank you!  At the request of
several fans, though, I offer this listing of the Cliff
Road Crowd, aka the Brotherhood of Darkness.

Out on the Road, there are five houses.  As you drive
north from the village, you will find:

Francis Cavert, a teenaged vampire who lives in a
converted shack and drives motorcycles.

Raymond Griffin, a possibly reformed former practicioner
of black witchcraft.

Oakwoods, the home of Baron Gideon Redoak.  Also in this
house dwell Mitch Pritchard, a werewulf, Evan Jones,
a mysterious occult being, and Joshua Trevallion, a human.
Also Warg, a wolf.

Valley Mansion, the home of Count Alexander Goldanias.
Alex is a vampire, in case anyone is wondering.  With him
live his cousin Janine, (Possibly a vampire, possibly not),
and Mrs. Jenkins, a housekeeper from the same mysterious
race as Evan Jones.

Fairlawn, the home of Michael Fairlawn, an immortal
Archdruid and his family, consisting of his (mortal)
wife Mary and their three kids, one teenager and two
toddlers.

In the village proper abide two more of the Brotherhood,
both Druids:  Nicholas Edwards and Maggie Bruce.

These are all (except possibly Griffin, and Mitch on the
night of a full moon) relatively good guys.  They do not
regard the villagers as cattle, but try to live in harmony
with them.

Any questions?


  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
  +                                             +
  +                                             +
  +          BARON GIDEON REDOAK                +
  +                                             +
  +   e-mail to:Fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca  +
  +                                             +
  +#############################################+
  +                                             +
  +   "Never run from anything immortal.        +
  +    It only attracts their attention."       +
  +                                             +
  +    Peter S. Beagle, _The_Last-Unicorn_      +
  +                                             +
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Date:         Wed, 18 Aug 1993 17:01:22 -0400
From:         Anne Fraser 
Subject:      fluff:  Gideon Redoak, part 25

Dear Kindred:

I am still considering the options for "Outfoxed".  Should
Janine be a vampyre?  Good or evil?  Does she need rescuing
from Alex, or does Fox need rescuing from her?  Or are there
other possibilities?  The more of you who make suggestions,
the more I'll know what to do!  *subtle hint*.

Now, on with my autobiography...



    Source: geocities.com/g_redoak