CHALLENGE for the week of 05-13-01

TRIO CHALLENGE: A pail , a promise, herb garden

or

QUOTE 1: "Ill-luck, you know, seldom comes alone." Cervantes Don Quixote. Part i. Book. iii. Chap. vi.

or

QUOTE 2: "You can collect evidence to support any belief." The Angel - Brimstone

AUTHORS: Dea, Jo, Mala, Maril, Neil

By Dea
Deianira@prodigy.net

CHALLENGE: promise, pail, herb garden

~~~~~

"Promise you'll still respect me in the morning, doctor?"

"I don't think that will be a problem, senorita."

"Even if things don't go your way?"

"I'm pretty certain that things will go my way, but yes."

"You have done this before haven't you?"

"Most men have, I suppose."

"I didn't ask about most men."

"I'm fairly familiar with the activity, yes."

"So am I."

"The pressure's not bothering you is it?"

"No, you?"

"Of course not. I always perform better under pressure."

"Well, then, shall we get to it?"

"Would you two just get on with it!"

Tessa Alvarado and Robert Helm turned to look at Marta's exasperated face as she stood in the midst of her herb garden.

"If you two are going to race, then just do and stop talking about it," she told them.

Helm and Tessa faced each other again. She sat astride Chico and he was on the horse he kept at the stables in town. It had all started off innocently enough. A little tease here. A little barb there. Like most friendly squabbles it had ended in a dare of sorts. Who was faster? Tessa felt she had this wrapped up. After all, she certainly had enough practice fleeing from Montoya's soldiers.

She and Dr. Helm had been spending quite a bit of time with each other lately. Ever since they had shared a dance in the Rose Courtyard he seemed to be showering her with attention. And she certainly wasn't complaining. Pretending to study the path ahead of her, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He wore no jacket or vest, just a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The top three buttons of the shirt were undone and she could just see a hint of perspiration on the exposed skin. His hair was slightly mussed from the riding they'd done earlier.

He'd come out to see her on this lazy Sunday afternoon with a story about having no patients to see and nothing else to keep him occupied in Santa Elena. She liked to think that even if he had a line of patients out the door, he would somehow find time to come and see her.

"We've yet to discuss the outcome of this little demonstration," Helm was saying, a wry smile firmly on his lips. He was enjoying this immensely. Things in town had been quiet lately and therefore there had been no need for the Queen. He was actually starting to believe there might be chance for a normal relationship between him and Tessa. He could always hope.

He watched her as she surreptitiously watched him. She had on a red blouse that clung in all the right places and a long pair of dark blue gauchos. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose braid with a few wisps escaping around her slightly flushed face. She looked a far cry from the Senorita Maria Theresa Alvarado that he usually saw in town, and he was very pleased.

He admitted to himself that this race had been his idea. His casual goading had spurred her on and she now felt it was her duty to prove him wrong. Yes, he was enjoying himself immensely.

"I take it you're referring to what you'll get if you happen to win?" she asked impishly.

At his nod, she said, "Okay, if you win, I'll cook you a magnificent dinner here at the hacienda."

"You're supposed to be encouraging him to win, Tessa, not scaring him out of it."

Tessa looked sharply at Marta who was now kneeling beside a pail of fresh soil and so didn't catch the twinkle in her charge's narrowed eyes.

"As I was saying," she continued sweetly. "If you win, I'll cook you dinner. Or if that doesn't suit you, I could help out at the clinic for a week?"

"Just what I need, a nurse with absolutely no experience," he replied, the smile on his face taking away the sting of the words.

"How soon you forget!" she exclaimed. "How about that time I bandaged your hand after you got into that fight with Grisham?"

"I'll have you know that bandage fell off the moment you left," he said archly.

"It did not!" she replied indignantly.

"Did so."

"Did not!"

An impatient groan from Marta ended the debate.

"Dinner would be lovely," Helm conceded. "And if you win?"

"And if I win," she said, pausing to think it over. An evil grin spread over her face. "If I win, you can help me clean out my stables."

He stared at her a moment open-mouthed, as he remembered the last time he had entered the Alvarado stables. It had not been a shining moment for him. Then he seemed to screw up his courage and faced her unblinking. "As long as you keep your hands off the oat bags."

"Well I've never heard it put quite that way, doctor," she giggled, "but rest assured I'll keep my hands to myself."

"You're raising a wicked woman here, Marta," Helm threw over his shoulder.

"You have no idea," Marta replied with a mischievous grin.

"Shall we?" Tessa asked with a sweeping gesture toward the path ahead of them. "I could give you a head start?"

"That won't be necessary," he assured her grimly.

"Alright then. Marta? Will you do the honors?"

Marta stood off to the side, watching as the horses skittered beneath their riders. They too seemed to be enjoying the tension. She raised her arm and in her hand she held a red handkerchief. Tessa and Helm were both watching her intently. When she quickly lowered her arm Tessa urged Chico forward with the ease of familiarity and in moments all Marta and Helm could see was a trail of dust.

Helm sat calmly on his mount enjoying the sight of the lovely senorita barreling towards the horizon. Marta just stood there, hands on her hips.

"You should have taken the head start," she informed him wryly.

He turned to her and smiled a contented smile. "In this particular situation, it seems to me I win either way."

Laughing, he urged his horse forward and galloped after her.

END

By JoLayne
EnyaJo@aol.com

#17 CHALLENGE
TRIO CHALLENGE: A pail , a promise, herb garden
QUOTE 1: "Ill-luck, you know, seldom comes alone." Cervantes Don Quixote. Part i. Book. iii. Chap. vi.
QUOTE 2: "You can collect evidence to support any belief." The Angel - Brimstone

RATING: G
CHARACTERS: T, G, M, CM
DISCLAIMER: God knows who owns them but I didn't harm them, if you don't count a little ego bruising.

~~~~~

Captain Marcus Grisham strode from the jail with a purpose. Beating up defenseless prisoners just didn't have the same spark as it once had, pounding on the face of a man who was scared he'd be hung for fighting back just didn't do it for him anymore. After Vera dumped him he had to work out his frustrations somewhere. After that little altercation with Helm and talk of scissors... well, Grisham decided to take the butinski Brit's advice. There were many beautiful women in the pueblo and every single one of them should be flattered to have him cast his eye in their direction. He had been wasting his time with Senora Hidalgo. To think he was actually in love with her. To each his own. If she wanted to spend her life with a fat, unappealing Don and wipe the snot from a brat's nose, that was her problem. She can lie in that bed she made. For himself, he couldn't dwell on her, he had señoritas to woo.

As soon as he had stood at the door of the jail wiping the blood from his fists, he had spotted Señorita Alvarado at the cantina with a luncheon companion, who shall remain nameless. He could just imagine that they were talking of the Doña's 'glorious' news and didn't want to disturb them. But now that the fair haired one was just about to leave with her corpulent husband, he was ready to make his move on the most eligible Señorita in Alto California. As soon as the Hidalgo carriage left, Grisham sauntered to the rail just to the left of Tessa's chair. Her smile was immediate and Grisham thought warm. "Capitan. It is a nice day, is it not?"

"Just beautiful, señorita, but of course it pales in comparison to you," Grisham said with a tip of his hat. He was pleased to see a slight blush to her already rosy cheeks.

Marta walked to the table and Grisham saw her smug expression at seeing him. "Marta, you look... healthy," Grisham said, thinking he needed to butter up the woman who everyone knew Tessa trusted with her life, and probably made most of the decisions. What Maria Teresa Alvarado needed more than anything was a man to take over those pesky details of maintaining a vineyard, livestock and acreage. Not to mention that outstanding house. During his visits to the Alvarado hacienda, Grisham had pictured himself sitting at the desk, in front of the fire, having Marta wait on him.

Tessa had stood and now slightly curtsied to Grisham. "Well, Capitan. Nice to run into you this afternoon. Do take care."

She was going to leave with Marta. He had to do something, quickly. "Señorita, may I have a word with you?" Tessa stopped and looked at him. Marta had stopped also. Grisham said, "In private?"

Tessa told Marta, "I'll meet you at the carriage. This will only take a minute."

Marta whispered something that Grisham couldn't hear, but she did go away, so he didn't care. What he was focused on was Tessa. She lifted her hand toward him and lifted her skirt with the other. He gallantly took her hand to help her down the steps of the cantina's patio, then kept holding it as they walked toward the fountain. She hadn't tried to take her hand away. Grisham thought that was a good sign.

He brushed the stone bench around the fountain and offered her a seat. When she was situated on it, he sat next to her, then jumped up as his sword was between them. He didn't want to frighten her with the metal blade so close to her leg, so he sat on her other side. The look that she gave him as he did so was confusing to him, but he chalked it up as 'thanks for his being a gentleman'. "Maria Teresa, may I call you Tessa?"

"All right. Marcus," she slowly said with a smile.

"Tessa," Grisham began and then cleared his throat. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? That was definitely odd. Ah, yes. That's right. Tessa was one of the wealthiest people in Alta California and he had to do this right, that's why. He fidgeted in his seat and began again. "Tessa, I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of having dinner with me in the near future."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. Soon. Tonight?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly have dinner with you tonight. Eladio is already started roasting the pig."

He waited for her to invite him, but she didn't. She only flicked open her fan and waved it gently in front of her face. "Tomorrow night?"

Since she was silent, hadn't said no, he quickly said, "I'll pick you up at your residence around seven."

"Well, wait a minute," Tessa said.

"What's the matter?"

"Are you going to be drinking? Remember what happened the last time?"

Grisham fidgeted again. He didn't know why he acted so strangely the last time they were together, in the courtyard with a bottle of wine. "It was an extremely hot day and we had wine after I had already exerted a lot of energy. This time, I will wait to exert energy until after dinner."

Tessa chuckled. "Well, that is certainly encouraging."

She started to stand, clearly the conversation was over. What had he done? He took her arm and she sat back down. "Please, Tessa...." No. Don't beg. That was wrong.

Tessa suddenly said, "Capitan Grisham, if you have trouble holding your liquor, maybe you should not drink any more."

"I can hold my liquor. It was... I just had a headache that day."

"Oh. Do you have one now? I could have Marta pick some herbs from her garden for you."

The mention of that smart mouthed Gypsy wasn't what he wanted. "Tessa. I promise that will not happen again."

"Well, in case it does, I could always have a pail ready in case you get sick."

"So," Grisham said as he smiled. "We will have dinner."

"Oh I did not say that," Tessa sweetly replied.

"But you said I will have a pail ready and you haven't walked away."

"You can collect evidence to support any belief, Capitan. You surely understand why I am... cautious... about seeing you socially."

Grisham mocked offense. "Me? What's wrong with me? I'm a pussy cat."

"And I have seen you purr," Tessa whispered to him as she stood. He watched her walk toward Marta waiting with one hand on her hip at the Alvarado wagon. All Grisham could think was that the Doña who shall remain nameless had filled her in on everything about their affair. He should have struck earlier. Tessa had only heard her side of the story.

He could hear Tessa and Marta's laughter as the Alvarado wagon left the pueblo square... okay. This wasn't going to be easy, but he was up for the challenge. This was just a little set back. No need to worry. The Grisham charm will get her in the end. It was just his luck that Tessa and the nameless beauty were so friendly. As he rubbed his hands over his face, he heard the Colonel's voice behind him. "Capitan. Do I pay you to sit alongside a fountain in the middle of the day?"

Grisham turned to look at Montoya stand above him. "I take it that the thieves who robbed the bank last night are tucked neatly into jail and that the new enlisted have been properly trained, and that you have already chosen my personal guards who will escort me to Monterrey in the morning."

Grisham groaned and said to himself, "You know, ill luck seldom comes alone."

When Grisham stood, Montoya asked, "Pardon me?"

"I'll get right on it, Colonel."

"Was that not Senorita Alvarado that I saw you talking to?"

"Yes, it was."

"Have you made any progress on that front?"

"It's a pretty chilly front, Colonel. Maybe I should have stolen a rose from your courtyard to give her to... warm her up a little."

Montoya's hand stopped as he was going to wipe his brow. His eyes were rocklike serious. "Not if you want to live long."

~~~~~

By Mala
malisita@yahoo.com

SPOILERS: "The Dragon."
RATING/CLASSIFICATION: PG-13, H/K-ish, H/T-ish, H/Q, angst, nongraphic physical stuff, fluffy.
CHALLENGE #17, QUOTE #1
SUMMARY: Helm's in a tub naked...we KNOW this happened, lol.
DISCLAIMER: Fireworks, etc. Blah bliddy blah.

~~~~~

Her hands are like soft silk...spun from the magic of the earth and the human worm. They slide across his back with the precision of a physician and the sensuality of a geisha.

They are not the smooth, unblemished hands of a noblewoman. He feels the calluses won from battle. Her badges of honor. But her warrior's hands do not deliberately offer pain. Even though he gasps and moans as she rubs away the soreness, he knows she is gentling the results of her own violence.

He knows her touch is not really for him. But she offers it anyway.

And before he can thank her...before he can caution her once more against Montoya, the samurai is gone.

The tepid bathwater sloshes against his lower body, reminding him, again, of where he is. Of his state of undress. Of the biological encumbrances therein. He throbs as he sinks low in the tub, rests his head on the cool porcelain rim.

The base of his neck is still vaguely sore...and he remembers another touch. A rough tap that made him start, touch the wound, and scowl up at a petulant mouth and sparkling dark eyes. Tessa Alvarado's eyes. Her hands. The smooth, unblemished hands of a noblewoman.

Deliberately teasing if nothing else. Well-meaning but playful. Both light and violent. Her fingers, he thinks, know nothing of consequence. They, perhaps, know how to seduce, to soothe...but are better suited to holding fans or the reins of an expensive team of horses.

He knows her touch is not really for him. But she offers it anyway.

He would thank her for it...teach her a lesson in kind...teach her the consequences...but the cad in him is long gone.

Suddenly, he hears splashing...the echo of before. Hot water spilling from the pitcher and warming the sea around him. "Kami! Have you come back, then?" he wonders, opening his eyes and sitting up. "Have you come to your senses?"

But it is not the lovely Asiatic that meets his gaze with challenge. "You make a habit of entertaining young ladies during your bath, Doctor Helm?"

The Queen.

Of course. 'Ill luck, you know, never comes alone, he quotes to himself, wryly. Although, Cervantes couldn't have foreseen said luck to come in female form twice in one night.

It is pure instinct to draw up his knees...and he cannot mistake the amused upward tilt of her rose-hued lips...the flutter of her hands at her slender, corseted, waist. "No," he murmurs with as much aplomb as he can manage, "It seems young ladies have a habit of entertaining me during my bath."

She waves away his excuse as she kneels at the side of the tub, leaning companionably against the edge. Her fingers trail, lightly, in the water. They do not move to make contact with his legs...with any part of him...and, yet, he can feel their weight despite that. Precise...yes. Sensual...yes. Teasing...yes. Well-meaning...yes. But always firm, always certain. Never without reason or rhyme. "Perhaps it is because men are most vulnerable at times like this?" she wonders, eyes fixed on his--not even casting one glance downwards at what the soapy bath barely hides. "Most naked?"

"Quite literally," he agrees, with gritted teeth. "You have me at a damnable disadvantage."

Her smile brightens her whole face...even reaching up under the spidery webbing of her mask. "On the contrary, Doctor...I would say this is advantageous for us both."

In one swift motion, she is leaning forward...bathwater splashes over and her black shirt clings to her like a second skin. But he has no time to feast his gaze on the glory of her curves...not as her mouth descends on his.

Oh, God, he thinks. Hands are nothing. Hands are nothing compared to this. Silk...lightning...fire.

~~~~~

The water that is still in the tub--that didn't somehow end up on the floor--is cold now, and he is beginning to wrinkle. But she doesn't seem to mind. Curled against him, clad in nothing save the mask that she refuses to take off, she is caught somewhere between asleep and awake.

It is times like this that she is most vulnerable. Most naked. Not just every inch of her skin flush against his...but her eyes, too. Half-lidded innocence, youth. Something headier than the flash of steel against steel or the thunder of her horse's hooves.

"Robert?" she murmurs into his neck.

"Yes?" he whispers into her damp, black hair.

"Can she kill me?"

Not "can she beat me?"...or "is she going to kill me?". Not battle questions...not at twilight. He knows what she asks. What she wants to know. He caresses the back of her neck with a physician's precision and a lover's sensuality. "No. I don't think she can. Not in her heart."

She turns her face downwards...presses kisses to his throat, his chest. "Thank you." And her hands follow the trail of lace and lips. Deliberately teasing if nothing else. Well-meaning but playful. Both light and violent. Firm. Certain. And never without rhyme or reason.

He holds his reply at bay...feels the "I love you," halt at the edge of his mouth and hang precariously off the precipice. "You're welcome," he gasps, instead.

He knows her touch is not really for him. That it cannot be. For a thousand reasons. But she offers it anyway.

And he accepts.

He will always accept.

He has no choice.

He wants no choice.

END
May 20, 2001

By Maril
maril.swan@sympatico.ca

RATING: G
FEEDBACK: Yes, please
DISCLAIMERS: Fireworks, for now

And now for something completely different...

QUOTE 2: "You can collect evidence to support any belief." The Angel - Brimstone

~~~~~

"You can collect evidence to support any belief." Helm looked into Churi's eyes. Their darkness and ageless depth seemed to compel him to stare, to draw him into that eternity; so much wisdom for one so young. Helm was shaken for a moment, then shrugged off the chill that suddenly rippled through his lean frame.

"You reject the truth of your own eyes, Doctor." The young shaman calmly added these comments to the long discussion the two men had continued for several hours. Churi had returned to thank the doctor for his care, and his help in retrieving the sacred mask. Their ensuing debate on beliefs now seemed to be at a standstill; neither man willing or able to give way.

Churi's serious young face studied Helm and made the doctor uncomfortable. Helm had put aside all that religious nonsense long ago. Too many deaths had convinced him of the futility of trying to change Fate; too many disappointments and failures made him sure there was no grand plan for the universe--no deity's guiding hand controlling each life. Chaos ruled. One could only try to meet the challenges of each day and move on. No point in trying to plan for tomorrow, much less an afterworld. But Churi's faith seemed so sure and immutable; he was so very peaceful in his beliefs in his gods, so tranquil in his certainty of his place in the universe. It gave Helm pause. Could it be possible that there was such a Creator who cared about every life, human or animal? Helm shook his head as if to rid himself of such a ridiculous thought. It ran counter to all his experiences. Death took the very young and the very old, the beautiful and the profane, with an equal brutality. What part of the grand plan made wars so constant? What grand plan created such plagues as he had seen in Spain and elsewhere? Whose plan was served by blindness, mental infirmity, physical deformity?

Helm glanced at Churi as he felt the young shaman's eyes still observing him. Churi seemed to occupy a still, silent place as if resting in the hands of his gods. Helm envied him. If only I could believe in anything, he thought with a heavy sigh. He felt Churi's hand on his shoulder and gasped at the shock of power that seemed to come from the shaman's touch. Those ageless eyes held him.

"I could teach you, Doctor, if you are willing to take this journey. When you are ready, I will come to you." With that, Churi removed his hand and with a brief smile, turned toward the back door of Helm's office and disappeared into the darkness.

When the shaman was gone, Helm sank onto his chair as if a force had suddenly released him. He felt slightly breathless and dizzy. And frightened. What if Churi is right? Helm knew he was in for a long night as sleep was now beyond his grasp. The single candle on his table cast a pool of light around him; his only comfort for that lonely vigil ahead.

END

By Maril
maril.swan@sympatico.ca

RATING: G
FEEDBACK: Yes, please
DISCLAIMERS: Fireworks, and now maybe Zorro Productions and Sony and Tristar and.... somebody owns this copyright, I guess.

This little vignette is the product of several coffees first thing in the morning.

TRIO CHALLENGE: A pail , a promise, herb garden

~~~~~

"Marta, why are you weeding the herb garden when the roses are languishing. And besides," Tessa began to sing, "Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a new emotion."

The Gypsy woman stood up and belted out, "I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden, Along with the sunshine, there's got to be a little rain sometimes."

"Yes, but Marta, after you set the cake out to cool "Someone left a cake out in the rain, ...."

Marta replies, "...and I don't think that I can take it, It took so long to bake and I'll never have that recipe again....Oh noooo."

"Well, I'm going in because, "Raindrops keep falling on my head..."

Marta says, "You go in if you want to, but as for me," she picks up a pail and swings it around, and begins to dance among the herbs, "I'm singin' in the rain, just singin' in the rain, what a glorious feelin', I'm happy again."

"I guess you're right, Marta. The rain is wonderful." Tessa lifts her face to the silvery drops and sings, "Every time it rains, it rains, pennies from heaven,... and if you want the things you love, you must have showers,..."

Marta and Tessa join their voices in a duet, "So if you hear it thunder, don't run under a tree, There'll be pennies from heaven for you and me."

END

OK, name that tune...anyone know all the songs mentioned in this vignette?

--Maril

by Neil Burns
Neiltkd@aol.com

TRIO & ITEM CHALLENGE #17
SUMMARY- Nothing goes right for Montoya this day.

It was an unusually hot day in Santa Helena, hot enough to make Vulcan himself sweat. Colonel Montoya was in the courtyard tending to his roses, which were wilting. Grisham obesrved his superior obsessing over the flowers with unabashed amusment.

"Really, Colonel," the ex-patriate smiled. "They're just flowers. You can always grow some more."

"These are not just flowers, Grisham!" Montoya snapped. "These roses have been here since I came and I have taken care of them ever since!"

"Well, what's wrong?"

"What is wrong is this damn heat! This plus there has been no water for weeks. I do not know how much longer these roses can survive."

Suddenly, a soldier entered the courtyard and stopped before the two officers, saluting respectfully and waiting to be addressed.

"Yes, Gomez?" Montoya demanded. "What is it?"

"Your stallion Salan is ill, Colonel," Gomez replied. "It will not eat."

"What! When did this happen?"

"Just now, sir. I went to the stable to fed Salan. It won't touch its food."

"Get Dr. Helm immediately. Is there anything else?"

"The Queen of Swords has made off with the gold from Monterrey."

A loud scream seemingly from the lowest depths of Hell echoed around the courtyard as Montoya threw his pruning shears into the fountain in frustration. Grisham wordlessly dismissed Gomez who gladly left as quickly as possible.

"Ill-luck seldom comes alone," Montoya fumed trying to calm down.

"Sir?" Grisham asked confused.

"Cervantes' Don Quixote, Grisham. Part 1. Book 3. Chapter 6. 'Ill-luck, you know, seldom comes alone'."

"What's Don Quixote have to do with anything?"

"My ill luck, Grisham. First, my roses are dying. Second, my stallion is ill. Third, that masked Diabla stole another gold shipment."

Montoya's reptilian eyes narrowed to icy slits as he regarded his "lapdog".

"Fourth, the gods curse me with a tactless idiot with no vision of any kind I believe you have the expression 'when it rains, it pours'. I do not just have one unlucky occurance. I must be inendated with numerous curses. Leave me."

Grisham saluted and left fuming under his breath. Got your vision right here, Louie! Let's see how your vision is with those shears down your throat!

THE END