Chapter 13
By dawn’s early light Prue was fading fast.
Perdita had felt Prue’s agony and pain when she had been captured and put into the hourglass by Sabroh. She knew, with the aid of her telepathic powers, that Prue was out of her body and was in two separate, spiritual planes.
Perdita could sense her image was flickering in and out, whilst the other sisters wondered what could be done. Phoebe recalled there was nothing in the Book of Shadows which provided an explanation for this sort of behaviour. It was just as Prue had thought to herself, now they didn’t know how long Prue could contain herself in astral projection without there being serious repercussions.
However Phoebe knew Sabroh was going to pay big time for this. Deep within her heart she hoped her vision of Prue didn’t mean this. They had been estranged for so long with Prue thinking Phoebe was hopeless. After Phoebe returned to San Francisco they had grown much closer, as sisters should be. The most dreaded thoughts entered her mind again. Then horror filled her heart once more, Aghast she screamed at herself over and over again.
“This does not signal Prue’s demise!!”
She shuddered as a chill entered her bones. She couldn’t lose her big sister now, after finding her again after all this time. In the midst of agony she despaired. Scolding herself.
Perhaps she should have told Piper and Prue of her vision of foreboding. Maybe then she could have prevented Prue from leaving her side and going out on her own. But realizing her own stupidity or irresponsibility wouldn’t really have altered her vision.
In the past she could have prevented and did prevent innocents from meeting their destinies and changing their lives, saving them even. But now. Could she have stopped Prue? She was in two minds. Since when did big sister not speak her mind and act out her own will. Feeling guilty at an inopportune moment wouldn’t help Prue now. She had to think of some alternative action before it was too late.
Piper was horrified and shocked at Phoebe’s confession.
“If you had seen our sister’s impending future doom why didn’t you tell us, her?”
“Because I wasn’t sure of what I saw and anyway it was just a brief flash. I didn't know what it meant at the time!”
Besides wasn’t there something about not using their powers for personal gain? How would that be interpreted in this scenario anyway?
Repentant, hating herself at this minute, Phoebe said,
“All I saw was Prue surrounded by flashing blues and greens, lights and reflections, like a glitterball. She looked like she was in some sort of glassy, aqueous liquid. Like a turquoise sea.”
“Fishtank! You mean.” Piper said tersely. “Oh great! Now there are two of her and we don’t know where either one is or whether she can get back into her own body or not? Especially if she’s trapped in some glass structure and can’t get out.”
“Which means we have to get to this Sabroh demon or dijinn or whatever he is and vanquish him. Sabroh steals lost or wandering souls, so Prue being in her astral state would have been wandering. It would give him ample opportunity to capture her.” Replied Phoebe. A look of anger, then worry passed over her face.
“But what does he do with the body?” Enquired Piper.
“They’re enslaved. Without a soul their body just becomes a hollow shell pandering to his every demand.” Phoebe answered.
They had to find some sort of spell to vanquish Sabroh. Only unbeknown to them Sabroh couldn’t be vanquished in the normal sense of the word.
This was easier said than done considering the Book of Shadows was at home. They couldn’t have bought it with them. It would have been funny trying to explain it to British Customs, or they’d probably have to smuggle it through. That would have been a task in itself but not really that difficult to pull off. Piper could have frozen time and everyone surrounding them. Then Prue could have wafted it through the green “Nothing to declare” zone.
“Phoeb can you think of some sort of tracking spell to locate Prue?” Piper asked.
“You think I haven’t tried that already! My mind’s come up with so many alternatives. Nothing works. Something must be interfering. A mystical force field or untapped energy. Either that or our conventional spells don’t seem to be working on this continent.
“You don’t need a spell.” Perdita cut in. “I know where they may be – but we’ve got a lot of territory to cover, especially since we have to do a lot of legwork.”
“We haven’t got the Book of Shadows with us which is a darn shame.” Phoebe protested.
“Perhaps you don’t need it. I have something you could use, but it’s not very big. It doesn’t contain many spells or anything. Just bits and pieces handed down to me over the years and other stuff I’ve come across myself. Spells I’ve made up on my own.” Pointed out Perdita.
“You know I haven’t had to fight demons, or help reunite lost people or vanquish either; because I don’t really have the Power of Three do I?” Grinned Perdita. “Here it is.”
Perdita pulled out a little black book the size of a notebook with gilt and silver edges. Laydees Spelles and Other Portente Potions, was written on the cover.
“Gosh you English really tend to do everything civilized don’t you?” Remarked Piper. “Look at the funny spelling.”
“It’s written in Medieval English – most of it dated back to the time of the Crusades and there’s some more modern stuff too.”
Phoebe flicked through the yellow stained pages.
“Here’s something – a piece on vanquishing the body of one who is brought back to walk the earth.” Phoebe mumbled to herself.
“Hmm, sounds a bit suspect to me.” Phoebe was puzzled. Piper snatched the book from Phoebe’s hand.
“I don’t know what that means?” Piper quipped.
Phoebe snatched it back.
“Do you mind Piper.”
Perdita continued with her explanation of Sabroh’s intentions.
“He’s planning to win mankind, take their souls and turn them to the dark side because of the Knights Templars.”
Knights Templars were the secret hood of knights that gave pilgrims returning to and from Jerusalem, safe passage. Hence the Middle Temple, and Inner Temple Inns of Court in legal London.
Perdita was a part of that tradition too, in a way. Being a barrister she had to join an Inn of Court. A sort of a society which helped students and qualified barristers alike and gave them support during their student year and after qualifying; and facilities to use, such as libraries. Where Perdita did most of her research. She’d wile away the hours until day and would sometimes be found by her friends sprawled out over her books. They put it down to simple dedication.
“So I suppose he blames me too somehow.” Perdita added.
“Here’s a spell containing a poultice of wheaten breadcrumbs and egg white for removing ‘worms of the face’. This would work wonders for your circles Piper!”
“Very funny. Can you quit with the jokes Phoebe and find something fast. What are worms of the face anyway?” Piper naively questioned.
“Blackheads, in those times.”
“Ugh! Phoebe that’s disgusting.” Piper replied with a sullen look.
“This definitely dates from medieval times. Look at the ingredients in some of these: boiled lizards and distilled young ravens. Yuck! This isn’t so much a book of spells, as it is of cosmetic improvements. Improve you looks without resorting to facelifts and nips and tucks. Here's something. Join hands in a circle and chant the following:
"Once, twice, thrice..which probably means we’ll have to repeat it three times. But it’s got be done in the wane of the moon and we’ll need distilled water of elderberry leaves to throw around him.”
“I don’t know what that will achieve?” Piper looked even more confused.
Now all they had to do was find Prue’s body and their foes and put an end to this whole fiasco. Neither of them knew where to start looking as Piper and Phoebe’s trip to Madame Tussaud’s had proved unfruitful. Although they did chance upon a wax figure that exhibited an uncanny resemblance to Kane.
However Phoebe had been on the right track with her theory of body snatchers.
After putting their heads together, pondering and deliberating over the clues they had in their possession, like Sabroh needing bodies to carry out his deeds, the place where Perdita had been pursued by Sabroh and the clues on body snatchers. Phoebe and Perdita finally had a flashing brainwave at the same time. Something about great minds thinking alike.
“Craven Street!” They both shouted simultaneously.
“Craven Street?” Piper asked with a puzzled expression.
In the eighteenth century, Craven Street was a district full of lawyers; as there seemed a clean, professional air about the place. What perfect a location to hide out and carry out mass illegal dissections and experiments than right under the snooty noses of lawyers.
Perhaps a most gruesome thought would be that many bodies snatched were probably those of lawyers themselves. Poetic justice? Or perhaps legal justice?
“It’s history lesson time again Piper.” Phoebe laughed. “Remember the Founding Fathers? Ben Franklin, the most famous one of all?” Phoebe replied sharply.
“The guy who flew his kite in a thunder storm and discovered electricity. Yeah what about him?
“Well apparently it’s rumoured he lives around here. Craven Street. Round about the eighteenth century some doctor used to live in his house and conducted medical experiments. You know, the pioneering days of medicine.” Phoebe told her.
“No,” answered Perdita softly. “It’s not a rumour. It’s a documented fact, he did live here, but it was more of an office than a home and he did rent it out to a doctor. But you might like to know Franklin did visit The Hellfire Club on many occasions.”
“Ah the notorious band of womanizing, drunken Satanists.” Phoebe joked. Then glanced at Piper’s sour expression. ”Oops sorry!” Too many jokes weren't called for at this time.
“Yeah. So?” Piper looked confused again. Her question was vacant and the know-it-all attitude of the two was agitating her.
“So, so get your thinking cap on Pipe. So they needed bodies didn’t they; and where did they get those bodies from?” Phoebe ogled her.
Piper tersely replied, “Twenty questions or are you going to give me a clue?”
“From grave diggers of course. Body snatchers. London is riddled with history. Only they were called resurrection men.”
“They got bodies from anywhere they could.” Perdita commented.
“So what’s the significance?”
“We’ve been over this already Piper.” Phoebe observed.
“Kane – he’s a modern-day Burke and Hare. Two of the most famous body snatchers of London. He’s a reincarnation most probably, or he’s been resurrected himself by Sabroh. I should have realized. His touch was petulant. Ice-cold. He was too good to be true; and a good man is 'oh so hard to find'. All those other cliches spring to mind too.” Perdita looked sad.
“Yeah. No man can be that gorgeous and be one hundred per cent good. There’s always some catch isn’t there?” Agreed Piper.
“Catch here is, he’s evil and there aren’t any ifs or buts about it and he’s got Prue!” Phoebe gave them a quick, harsh lesson in reality.
Saturday, 1 August 2015
Friday, 31 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 12
Chapter 12
“That’s it,” exclaimed Phoebe. “Remember someone was bringing wax bodies to life at Madame Tussaud’s and The London Dungeon. What if Sabroh had the power to do that?”
“But he doesn’t have a physical body – he can only manifest himself in animate form, like fire he can only appear in the form of fire or reflect himself in water.” Piper interrupted.
“His powers have been growing and he did manifest himself in a solid mass. We all saw him. Horrible as it was.” Phoebe reminded her. “And you couldn’t freeze him Piper. Which means he still needs someone to do the dirty.” Phoebe commented grabbing her bag. “Come on Pipe. I know exactly where to go.”
They ran out of their hotel and darted across town on the underground (subway). Phoebe knew exactly which train to catch and which line to take as she had studied the entire underground map the night they had arrived, when she should have been exhausted. They took the train from the brown colored Bakerloo line from Oxford Circus to Baker Street station, scurrying like busy bees. A short journey which was only two stops from end to end.
“Next stop Baker Street.” She enthused.
“Why here?” asked Piper looking flustered.
“This, sweetie, is where it all began. Remember the paper headlines: the two tourists disappearing and Perdita’s encounter with some strange man. Well right here are ye olde waxworks: Madame Tussaud’s.”
Here were housed the world famous collection of waxworks and dummies of famous people, past and present.
“What you mean Sabroh’s here!”
“I don’t think so. But then he could be anywhere. Anyway you said he needed “people” to work for him, where else can you find the devil’s minions – but here.”
“Phoeb don’t bring the devil into this – that’s just what we don’t need!”
“Quit worrying honey, it was just a figure of speech. As I was saying, remember the body snatchers?”
“No I didn’t go see the movie at the Revivalist.” Said Piper.
“Not the sci-fi movie silly! The Body Snatchers. Don’t you know your history Piper?” Phoebe remarked. Not only is it English history but US too.”
“Well I’m not the one who’s grown a big head just cos I’m back at school.” Piper said obtusely.
“Nah, it’s basic high school stuff. General knowledge even. They used to find dead people; dig up bodies and sell them to doctors for experiments and research; cutting them up and using their body parts.”
The eighteenth century was a particularly difficult and far from austere time for medicine in many countries around the world and even more so in England and America. Whereas many “doctors’ before this time were considered quacks, butchers or bloodletters, the eighteenth century regarded surgery as a suitable occupation for many young men from rich, prominent backgrounds, of good blood and breeding, it could be said, rather distastefully.
Medical schools, once created, boasted unscrupulous competition for places and more so for students of anatomy. Bodies, cadavers, were needed. Those that could be obtained legally for experiments were those of criminals. Hence the need for unsavoury characters such as body snatchers, since there was an unusual shortage of hung criminals in England for that time.
One such notorious body snatcher, so dedicated to his craft, actually snatched the body of his own sister. Adding a new dimension to the phrase “keeping it within the family!”
The most famous body snatchers in London at that time were Burke and Hare.
“So. So I don’t get where you’re going Phoebe. What would Sabroh want with Prue or with live bodies?”
“No, remember he’s a djinn he needs live people for their souls and what I mean is he’s got these two old body snatchers working for him. The twist being, these characters are taking the real thing and not dead bodies. Taking over their minds and souls probably gives him his power. If he knows Prue is a charmed one he’d want her soul even more.”
“Because she’s good?” Piper asked.
“No because she has her powers.” Phoebe wished she didn’t have to spell everything out for Piper all the time, but she felt Piper’s cautiousness probably made her not see the true picture all the time.
“Ok, so what now Phoebe? You seem to have all the answers.”
Their trip to Madame Tussaud’s proved to be a waste of time. They stumbled out looking down. They stood outside in the rain oblivious to their surroundings. As though they were standing still with the rest of the world passing them by. Crowds of people, tourists rushing round without a care in the world. Almost dejected and heartbroken they returned to their hotel where Perdita was waiting for them.
“That’s it,” exclaimed Phoebe. “Remember someone was bringing wax bodies to life at Madame Tussaud’s and The London Dungeon. What if Sabroh had the power to do that?”
“But he doesn’t have a physical body – he can only manifest himself in animate form, like fire he can only appear in the form of fire or reflect himself in water.” Piper interrupted.
“His powers have been growing and he did manifest himself in a solid mass. We all saw him. Horrible as it was.” Phoebe reminded her. “And you couldn’t freeze him Piper. Which means he still needs someone to do the dirty.” Phoebe commented grabbing her bag. “Come on Pipe. I know exactly where to go.”
They ran out of their hotel and darted across town on the underground (subway). Phoebe knew exactly which train to catch and which line to take as she had studied the entire underground map the night they had arrived, when she should have been exhausted. They took the train from the brown colored Bakerloo line from Oxford Circus to Baker Street station, scurrying like busy bees. A short journey which was only two stops from end to end.
“Next stop Baker Street.” She enthused.
“Why here?” asked Piper looking flustered.
“This, sweetie, is where it all began. Remember the paper headlines: the two tourists disappearing and Perdita’s encounter with some strange man. Well right here are ye olde waxworks: Madame Tussaud’s.”
Here were housed the world famous collection of waxworks and dummies of famous people, past and present.
“What you mean Sabroh’s here!”
“I don’t think so. But then he could be anywhere. Anyway you said he needed “people” to work for him, where else can you find the devil’s minions – but here.”
“Phoeb don’t bring the devil into this – that’s just what we don’t need!”
“Quit worrying honey, it was just a figure of speech. As I was saying, remember the body snatchers?”
“No I didn’t go see the movie at the Revivalist.” Said Piper.
“Not the sci-fi movie silly! The Body Snatchers. Don’t you know your history Piper?” Phoebe remarked. Not only is it English history but US too.”
“Well I’m not the one who’s grown a big head just cos I’m back at school.” Piper said obtusely.
“Nah, it’s basic high school stuff. General knowledge even. They used to find dead people; dig up bodies and sell them to doctors for experiments and research; cutting them up and using their body parts.”
The eighteenth century was a particularly difficult and far from austere time for medicine in many countries around the world and even more so in England and America. Whereas many “doctors’ before this time were considered quacks, butchers or bloodletters, the eighteenth century regarded surgery as a suitable occupation for many young men from rich, prominent backgrounds, of good blood and breeding, it could be said, rather distastefully.
Medical schools, once created, boasted unscrupulous competition for places and more so for students of anatomy. Bodies, cadavers, were needed. Those that could be obtained legally for experiments were those of criminals. Hence the need for unsavoury characters such as body snatchers, since there was an unusual shortage of hung criminals in England for that time.
One such notorious body snatcher, so dedicated to his craft, actually snatched the body of his own sister. Adding a new dimension to the phrase “keeping it within the family!”
The most famous body snatchers in London at that time were Burke and Hare.
“So. So I don’t get where you’re going Phoebe. What would Sabroh want with Prue or with live bodies?”
“No, remember he’s a djinn he needs live people for their souls and what I mean is he’s got these two old body snatchers working for him. The twist being, these characters are taking the real thing and not dead bodies. Taking over their minds and souls probably gives him his power. If he knows Prue is a charmed one he’d want her soul even more.”
“Because she’s good?” Piper asked.
“No because she has her powers.” Phoebe wished she didn’t have to spell everything out for Piper all the time, but she felt Piper’s cautiousness probably made her not see the true picture all the time.
“Ok, so what now Phoebe? You seem to have all the answers.”
Their trip to Madame Tussaud’s proved to be a waste of time. They stumbled out looking down. They stood outside in the rain oblivious to their surroundings. As though they were standing still with the rest of the world passing them by. Crowds of people, tourists rushing round without a care in the world. Almost dejected and heartbroken they returned to their hotel where Perdita was waiting for them.
Thursday, 30 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 11
Chapter 11
For a long time Sabroh had been caged in that deep prison of walls. Termed time immemorial. Gazing upon the Sorceress’s limp body that was no more. Minah was her name and he had loved her from afar and from the start. She had forsaken him. They were from two entirely separate universes. Two entities that could not, dared not influx together. Light and dark; good and evil. He wanted Minah to be as one with him. To convert to his evil ways so they could unite. But she had defied him.
Fire and water do not mix for one would extinguish the other. Minah hadn’t felt love for him but a deep, sorrowful pity – for his kind, the good of his kind, who had been ravaged by invading armies.
Nevertheless he was still her dreaded foe and she was his. Love never once entered the sinful equation.
She had protected lost souls and guided them to their rightful place in heaven’s holy twilight. She used all her might to fight him with savage battles of mind over matter. Her mind over his matter. Winning many splendid victories. Once strong and eloquent in her fight. Now she was no more but a seraphic beauty in Sabroh’s fading memory.
***
Prue hated being helpless. She closed her eyes and astrally projected again. She appeared in the same room but this time she knocked one of the silver, floral screens she had hidden behind on her first projection. Sending it ferruling towards a mirror, crashing into a thousand pieces.
“Aagh, another seven years bad luck.” She wearily screamed.
Sabroh and Kane turned their heads to gawk and immediately Sabroh wafted his scrawny, emblazoned fingers towards her. In a flash the room filled with mystic shafts of hazy violet.
Prue found herself shrinking whilst all around her, above and below the whole room was increasing in size. She tried to project herself back but it was too late. She was a miniature and her body wouldn’t have accepted her back in that state. Prue was there but motionless, in spirit only. Her alternate self was stuck in an hourglass. Standing all alone in time. Prue had underestimated Sabroh’s powers. Thinking she could defeat him on her own.
Phoebe’s dreaded vision had come true.
Fire and water do not mix for one would extinguish the other. Minah hadn’t felt love for him but a deep, sorrowful pity – for his kind, the good of his kind, who had been ravaged by invading armies.
Nevertheless he was still her dreaded foe and she was his. Love never once entered the sinful equation.
She had protected lost souls and guided them to their rightful place in heaven’s holy twilight. She used all her might to fight him with savage battles of mind over matter. Her mind over his matter. Winning many splendid victories. Once strong and eloquent in her fight. Now she was no more but a seraphic beauty in Sabroh’s fading memory.
***
Prue hated being helpless. She closed her eyes and astrally projected again. She appeared in the same room but this time she knocked one of the silver, floral screens she had hidden behind on her first projection. Sending it ferruling towards a mirror, crashing into a thousand pieces.
“Aagh, another seven years bad luck.” She wearily screamed.
Sabroh and Kane turned their heads to gawk and immediately Sabroh wafted his scrawny, emblazoned fingers towards her. In a flash the room filled with mystic shafts of hazy violet.
Prue found herself shrinking whilst all around her, above and below the whole room was increasing in size. She tried to project herself back but it was too late. She was a miniature and her body wouldn’t have accepted her back in that state. Prue was there but motionless, in spirit only. Her alternate self was stuck in an hourglass. Standing all alone in time. Prue had underestimated Sabroh’s powers. Thinking she could defeat him on her own.
Phoebe’s dreaded vision had come true.
Wednesday, 29 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Dark, sanguine echoes lulled the twilight mist. Feebly Prue fumbled in the darkness for a light, a candle. Some sense of belonging. Of being back home with her sisters. She was the eldest but time and again she felt herself let down by her own common sense. Not lack of, but from not using it. For trusting Kane and not telling the others where she was going. Now she was paying for her stupidity.
She had passed out as if last night was just a dream. A convoluted nightmare. Her face was streaked in a checkered pattern of black mascara and the feeling of barely surviving an avalanche. Her left shoulder, where Kane had kept a tight hold on her so she couldn’t fight him off with her powers, throbbed incessantly and painfully. A hot bath would have revived her, relieved her muscle pain, but not her emotional turmoil.
“Can anyone here me?” she shouted in desperation.
Shouting was futile. Desperately she crawled the space of her prison. Feeling every crack in the floorboards. Every inch of the empty walls. There was nothing there. No pictures, no doors, sounds. No visible signs of life. She heard water dripping. Was it water? Where was it? She crawled on all fours like a hungry dog in search of a bone. The tuneful dripping grew louder as she forged towards it. The wall was wet and mouldy. Maybe there was a hole in the wall, her chance to escape. She moved her hands across the wall. Up and down, round and round in circular motion. It was smooth in places, indented in others.
“There must be something!” Prue’s heart raced. Nothing. She folded her knees and rested her head on them. There was nothing else to do but sit and wait.
Was she a prisoner in time, of shadows? How had she arrived here, surrendering to the dim hollow of an eerie, cold isolation? This was existence in its bleakest. Its lowliest. How she wished for friendly faces. Those of her sisters. A brief glimmer of hope. She was a stranger in a forbidden past, present or future. No one heard her wailing. The pleas for deliverance.
The dim tunnel seemed endless. She had to sit still. No one would come. No one was here. Only shadows. The faint thoughts and distant memories of yesterday. She was in need of salvation. Of rescue. To be transported to a new world. A new beginning, one without dark, marauding shapes or desolate howlings.
Prue remembered herself as a little girl again running to greet her mother. Her warm gentle hugs and caressing voice. It was her birthday and time to open her presents. To change into her pretty pink, flowered dress. Make a wish, blow out candles. Suddenly the door was slammed shut. Everything was in turmoil. They had lost their mother, she had drowned in a lake whilst trying to defeat an evil warlock. Her heart sank. Yet all three were safe in the knowledge Gram’s would always be there to help and guide them.
Prue berated herself for being so stupid. Swept away by Kane in a moment of blind passion. It could have been a budding holiday romance but she never really had his heart. Perdita was right and so was Phoebe. She was here to work and she should have listened to them.
It had been a mistake coming to a far off mysterious land. Looking back she could remember the excitement. Her dream trip to London that many could only dream about. But this, this was like The London Dungeon itself.
Would no one come? Would she have to bear the agony of silence alone? Face the torment of bleak night. Where was her fair and princely knight? This wasn’t a fairytale but fate. Cruel and unrelenting. True heroism was a thing of the past when dragons and princesses towered the land. Graceful, strong and regal. The present was a mire. A world where everything and everyone was lost. Caught up in their own selfish existence. Friendship and love a mere fragment of her imagination. Distasteful villains and avaricious swine had squandered chivalry. They had tried to help innocents from a world full of tragedy and wickedness. Was this her reward?
Prue put her hand to her head. It was wet with the sweat of fear. There were tears in her scarlet tired eyes. She recalled the past. That was only a fleeting flicker of a memory. She was here, now. Regrets were in the past and should be forgotten. Just as she was forgotten?
Piper and Phoebe would lament her passing, burn the midnight oil with worry. Pace the floors in anguish.
Prue caught herself in a moment of despair and regret. Men were so fickle. Specifically the ones she always met. It was never meant to be. She felt so much emptiness and pain and hurt inside. Foolishly believing a mysterious man could fill all those empty far away places in her heart and mind. Such teenage rebelliousness. Teenagers had an excuse. Prue was a grown woman and should know better.
She wondered how much time had past. Was it still day or night? Her watch had been broken. Day probably turned to dusk by now. Dusk to darkness. All she could do was count the eternal hours. Imagine time lapsing. No sweet birds who could flee to the sky. To freedom far and away.
Freedom. A meaningless word. All words were imagined. All words are costly, yet still cheap and empty.
There was nothing else to do except sit and wait. Give up. Rot away in a timeless dungeon. Wait and wither like the last rose before winter and fade. Fade…
Clenching her fists tightly, she hurtled them against the stone wall in defiance. She wasn’t done yet. She wasn’t going to let a man get the better of her. She thought of Grams again. Her lessons on life. Grams wouldn’t give in without a fight and that’s what she’d taught them too.
“Never let darkness and defeat tear you down. Always think and win!”
Yes, think. That was the key. Why was she here? Closing her eyes she projected herself, astrally, into a different plane. Astral projection was another aspect of her powers that had been revealed to her as her powers had grown.
Her projected body found Prue in a majestic room. Dimly lit with candles and oil lanterns. Rich with tapestries hanging from every nook and cranny. A myriad of gold, yellow and amber was radiating around the room. In the hearth was a flickering glow. Something about the earthly fire reminded her of the finest alchemy metals, of their warmth and purity. Yet within this entire splendour lurked something eerie and sinister.
Voices seemed to be approaching. Quickly she searched the rest of the room focusing on every little object. Unfortunately there weren’t any phones anywhere. You’d think in this day and age there’d be some primitive form of communication. Of some way of getting word to the others. For some uncanny, unexplainable reason she hadn’t been able to project through the outside walls of her prison.
Hiding behind a huge, flower motif screen, she crammed her neck to see who was there. It was a large figure in a long, flowing, black velvet cloak. He turned abruptly to reveal a hideous face with protruding green, luminous eyes and slimy, dirty teeth. It was Sabroh.
The second figure was hooded but his bony, skeletal, hairless features were visible. The air turned smoggy and a great bellowing stench filled the room. Prue put her hand to her nose to stop herself breathing the odorous fumes.
“What of the other Charmed ones?” The first creature asked in a shrill, sharp voice. “Have you made any attempts at locating them?”
“The plan was to lure one of them here, thereby bringing the others after her.” He said acidly.
Prue recognized the voice immediately. It was Kane. He was no longer the handsome striking six foot dreamboat but implacably ugly and gross.
“It had better work. Now I know they are here, I need to harness the powers of all four of them if I am to bid to take over all of mankind. Make them my slaves. To exact my revenge, retribution.” The creature spoke morosely. “Slaves of everything malfeasant, especially of the dark side."
Prue retreated back into her body in the cold din. She wasn’t sure how long she could astrally project out of her normal body, as she hadn’t timed it or utilized her power to its fullest potential. Still it was better to be safe than sorry.
She pondered over their conversation. Tried to fit the pieces together. He was after Piper and Phoebe but who was the fourth person he mentioned. She thought pensively. Already this demon, or whatever he was, must be powerful, being able to menacingly transform other demons, obviously dead bodies into live beings. Kane must be dead, the walking undead? Because he wasn’t flesh and blood just now.
Sabroh’s powers embraced many aspects, including resurrecting the dead just by clicking his fingers and the ability to restore old bones to their former munificent; mortal body.
“Where is the one who calls herself Perdita? Through her tiresome meddling I haven’t been able to carry out my goal yet. My kismet has yet to be fulfilled.”
“I haven’t been able to capture her. For some reason she’s able to resist. To evade my spells.” Grunted Kane.
“She is part of the ancient realms of knights. The Knights Templars. Being an ancestor of the Sorceress, whose powers I stole, she must have developed many of her own by now. I must have her too. No one must escape my grasp!” Sabroh was contrite.
Dark, sanguine echoes lulled the twilight mist. Feebly Prue fumbled in the darkness for a light, a candle. Some sense of belonging. Of being back home with her sisters. She was the eldest but time and again she felt herself let down by her own common sense. Not lack of, but from not using it. For trusting Kane and not telling the others where she was going. Now she was paying for her stupidity.
She had passed out as if last night was just a dream. A convoluted nightmare. Her face was streaked in a checkered pattern of black mascara and the feeling of barely surviving an avalanche. Her left shoulder, where Kane had kept a tight hold on her so she couldn’t fight him off with her powers, throbbed incessantly and painfully. A hot bath would have revived her, relieved her muscle pain, but not her emotional turmoil.
“Can anyone here me?” she shouted in desperation.
Shouting was futile. Desperately she crawled the space of her prison. Feeling every crack in the floorboards. Every inch of the empty walls. There was nothing there. No pictures, no doors, sounds. No visible signs of life. She heard water dripping. Was it water? Where was it? She crawled on all fours like a hungry dog in search of a bone. The tuneful dripping grew louder as she forged towards it. The wall was wet and mouldy. Maybe there was a hole in the wall, her chance to escape. She moved her hands across the wall. Up and down, round and round in circular motion. It was smooth in places, indented in others.
“There must be something!” Prue’s heart raced. Nothing. She folded her knees and rested her head on them. There was nothing else to do but sit and wait.
Was she a prisoner in time, of shadows? How had she arrived here, surrendering to the dim hollow of an eerie, cold isolation? This was existence in its bleakest. Its lowliest. How she wished for friendly faces. Those of her sisters. A brief glimmer of hope. She was a stranger in a forbidden past, present or future. No one heard her wailing. The pleas for deliverance.
The dim tunnel seemed endless. She had to sit still. No one would come. No one was here. Only shadows. The faint thoughts and distant memories of yesterday. She was in need of salvation. Of rescue. To be transported to a new world. A new beginning, one without dark, marauding shapes or desolate howlings.
Prue remembered herself as a little girl again running to greet her mother. Her warm gentle hugs and caressing voice. It was her birthday and time to open her presents. To change into her pretty pink, flowered dress. Make a wish, blow out candles. Suddenly the door was slammed shut. Everything was in turmoil. They had lost their mother, she had drowned in a lake whilst trying to defeat an evil warlock. Her heart sank. Yet all three were safe in the knowledge Gram’s would always be there to help and guide them.
Prue berated herself for being so stupid. Swept away by Kane in a moment of blind passion. It could have been a budding holiday romance but she never really had his heart. Perdita was right and so was Phoebe. She was here to work and she should have listened to them.
It had been a mistake coming to a far off mysterious land. Looking back she could remember the excitement. Her dream trip to London that many could only dream about. But this, this was like The London Dungeon itself.
Would no one come? Would she have to bear the agony of silence alone? Face the torment of bleak night. Where was her fair and princely knight? This wasn’t a fairytale but fate. Cruel and unrelenting. True heroism was a thing of the past when dragons and princesses towered the land. Graceful, strong and regal. The present was a mire. A world where everything and everyone was lost. Caught up in their own selfish existence. Friendship and love a mere fragment of her imagination. Distasteful villains and avaricious swine had squandered chivalry. They had tried to help innocents from a world full of tragedy and wickedness. Was this her reward?
Prue put her hand to her head. It was wet with the sweat of fear. There were tears in her scarlet tired eyes. She recalled the past. That was only a fleeting flicker of a memory. She was here, now. Regrets were in the past and should be forgotten. Just as she was forgotten?
Piper and Phoebe would lament her passing, burn the midnight oil with worry. Pace the floors in anguish.
Prue caught herself in a moment of despair and regret. Men were so fickle. Specifically the ones she always met. It was never meant to be. She felt so much emptiness and pain and hurt inside. Foolishly believing a mysterious man could fill all those empty far away places in her heart and mind. Such teenage rebelliousness. Teenagers had an excuse. Prue was a grown woman and should know better.
She wondered how much time had past. Was it still day or night? Her watch had been broken. Day probably turned to dusk by now. Dusk to darkness. All she could do was count the eternal hours. Imagine time lapsing. No sweet birds who could flee to the sky. To freedom far and away.
Freedom. A meaningless word. All words were imagined. All words are costly, yet still cheap and empty.
There was nothing else to do except sit and wait. Give up. Rot away in a timeless dungeon. Wait and wither like the last rose before winter and fade. Fade…
Clenching her fists tightly, she hurtled them against the stone wall in defiance. She wasn’t done yet. She wasn’t going to let a man get the better of her. She thought of Grams again. Her lessons on life. Grams wouldn’t give in without a fight and that’s what she’d taught them too.
“Never let darkness and defeat tear you down. Always think and win!”
Yes, think. That was the key. Why was she here? Closing her eyes she projected herself, astrally, into a different plane. Astral projection was another aspect of her powers that had been revealed to her as her powers had grown.
Her projected body found Prue in a majestic room. Dimly lit with candles and oil lanterns. Rich with tapestries hanging from every nook and cranny. A myriad of gold, yellow and amber was radiating around the room. In the hearth was a flickering glow. Something about the earthly fire reminded her of the finest alchemy metals, of their warmth and purity. Yet within this entire splendour lurked something eerie and sinister.
Voices seemed to be approaching. Quickly she searched the rest of the room focusing on every little object. Unfortunately there weren’t any phones anywhere. You’d think in this day and age there’d be some primitive form of communication. Of some way of getting word to the others. For some uncanny, unexplainable reason she hadn’t been able to project through the outside walls of her prison.
Hiding behind a huge, flower motif screen, she crammed her neck to see who was there. It was a large figure in a long, flowing, black velvet cloak. He turned abruptly to reveal a hideous face with protruding green, luminous eyes and slimy, dirty teeth. It was Sabroh.
The second figure was hooded but his bony, skeletal, hairless features were visible. The air turned smoggy and a great bellowing stench filled the room. Prue put her hand to her nose to stop herself breathing the odorous fumes.
“What of the other Charmed ones?” The first creature asked in a shrill, sharp voice. “Have you made any attempts at locating them?”
“The plan was to lure one of them here, thereby bringing the others after her.” He said acidly.
Prue recognized the voice immediately. It was Kane. He was no longer the handsome striking six foot dreamboat but implacably ugly and gross.
“It had better work. Now I know they are here, I need to harness the powers of all four of them if I am to bid to take over all of mankind. Make them my slaves. To exact my revenge, retribution.” The creature spoke morosely. “Slaves of everything malfeasant, especially of the dark side."
Prue retreated back into her body in the cold din. She wasn’t sure how long she could astrally project out of her normal body, as she hadn’t timed it or utilized her power to its fullest potential. Still it was better to be safe than sorry.
She pondered over their conversation. Tried to fit the pieces together. He was after Piper and Phoebe but who was the fourth person he mentioned. She thought pensively. Already this demon, or whatever he was, must be powerful, being able to menacingly transform other demons, obviously dead bodies into live beings. Kane must be dead, the walking undead? Because he wasn’t flesh and blood just now.
Sabroh’s powers embraced many aspects, including resurrecting the dead just by clicking his fingers and the ability to restore old bones to their former munificent; mortal body.
“Where is the one who calls herself Perdita? Through her tiresome meddling I haven’t been able to carry out my goal yet. My kismet has yet to be fulfilled.”
“I haven’t been able to capture her. For some reason she’s able to resist. To evade my spells.” Grunted Kane.
“She is part of the ancient realms of knights. The Knights Templars. Being an ancestor of the Sorceress, whose powers I stole, she must have developed many of her own by now. I must have her too. No one must escape my grasp!” Sabroh was contrite.
Tuesday, 28 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 9
Chapter 9
On an ill-lit night the fires shone brightly. Orange light filled the night sky as a deafening silence shrouded the landscape in a cowering din. He had burned the Sorceress. Brought death to the one who had spurned him. One in a long ancestral line of many. She had tried to ensnare him and she had succeeded not once but many times. But not anymore. He was free and she… was no more.
Her long, dark, flowing tresses sparkled in the raging fire and burnt ash smoke-like sequins embedded in a sepia mantilla.
She was a witch, or so they said. Her tiny body lay motionless on the makeshift sacrificial altar. Life had been squeezed out of her once limber, agile body.
He turned around in a bewildered state of glory. He promised vengeance on his enemies and on his friends alike. Those who wronged him and his race. His emerald green eyes appeared hollow and in them was reflected the emblazoned mist of the pyre.
With the Sorceress's demise went all her power and her soul, or so he thought. She was good and her good deeds in helping the innocent had been exploited by a malicious life force who specialized in malevolent evil. For he was not a man with a devil’s soul or a devil with the powers of a fallen angel. He wasn’t cast from any of the natural elements, not earth, nor water or air but fire. Believing man to be on this mortal realm only to be enslaved. Humans were weak.
He was created from fire by fire. In the Middle East, in Arabia and Persia and far off lands where Crusaders in their quest for world domination, to convert the heathen masses; had killed, pillaged and tortured. This life force had remained strong. They had long since vanished. He remained, promising revenge and his own brand of wrath and justice on all those who ransacked his world and his kind. On those who had imprisoned them in holy chalices and ornaments of dark crystal.
His name was Sabroh – the Defiant one. For he was a djinn. All djinns are created from fire. There was no human way to kill him or rid him from this mortal earth. He wasn’t human…after all.
With the Sorceress now gone, he had her power. He was a consuming djinn. Living off the fear and souls of mortal men. But he grew stronger from the power of witches, warlords, wizards and warlocks. The masters of light and dark shadows. This witch’s power gave him everything he needed to enter the world once more. After banishment to an eternity within a jewelled, golden chalice by the Sorceress.
She had the power to enter different realms on earth; between earth and the portals amongst them. Spreading the goodness from the seeds of her soul.
With her end had commenced Sabroh’s beginning. He was on a savage quest for belligerence and now he began a new journey. Leaving the Neverworld far behind to enter the mortal depths once more and grow stronger wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting, materialistic many.
From the ages of enlightenment, men; spirits, good witches and white sorceresses were created to protect human bodies and more importantly their own spirits. This Sorceress was one who was spawned from the enlightenment at a time when perilous evil forces ruled the land. When good versus evil was the only realm in which true beauty and survival depended.
On an ill-lit night the fires shone brightly. Orange light filled the night sky as a deafening silence shrouded the landscape in a cowering din. He had burned the Sorceress. Brought death to the one who had spurned him. One in a long ancestral line of many. She had tried to ensnare him and she had succeeded not once but many times. But not anymore. He was free and she… was no more.
Her long, dark, flowing tresses sparkled in the raging fire and burnt ash smoke-like sequins embedded in a sepia mantilla.
She was a witch, or so they said. Her tiny body lay motionless on the makeshift sacrificial altar. Life had been squeezed out of her once limber, agile body.
He turned around in a bewildered state of glory. He promised vengeance on his enemies and on his friends alike. Those who wronged him and his race. His emerald green eyes appeared hollow and in them was reflected the emblazoned mist of the pyre.
With the Sorceress's demise went all her power and her soul, or so he thought. She was good and her good deeds in helping the innocent had been exploited by a malicious life force who specialized in malevolent evil. For he was not a man with a devil’s soul or a devil with the powers of a fallen angel. He wasn’t cast from any of the natural elements, not earth, nor water or air but fire. Believing man to be on this mortal realm only to be enslaved. Humans were weak.
He was created from fire by fire. In the Middle East, in Arabia and Persia and far off lands where Crusaders in their quest for world domination, to convert the heathen masses; had killed, pillaged and tortured. This life force had remained strong. They had long since vanished. He remained, promising revenge and his own brand of wrath and justice on all those who ransacked his world and his kind. On those who had imprisoned them in holy chalices and ornaments of dark crystal.
His name was Sabroh – the Defiant one. For he was a djinn. All djinns are created from fire. There was no human way to kill him or rid him from this mortal earth. He wasn’t human…after all.
With the Sorceress now gone, he had her power. He was a consuming djinn. Living off the fear and souls of mortal men. But he grew stronger from the power of witches, warlords, wizards and warlocks. The masters of light and dark shadows. This witch’s power gave him everything he needed to enter the world once more. After banishment to an eternity within a jewelled, golden chalice by the Sorceress.
She had the power to enter different realms on earth; between earth and the portals amongst them. Spreading the goodness from the seeds of her soul.
With her end had commenced Sabroh’s beginning. He was on a savage quest for belligerence and now he began a new journey. Leaving the Neverworld far behind to enter the mortal depths once more and grow stronger wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting, materialistic many.
From the ages of enlightenment, men; spirits, good witches and white sorceresses were created to protect human bodies and more importantly their own spirits. This Sorceress was one who was spawned from the enlightenment at a time when perilous evil forces ruled the land. When good versus evil was the only realm in which true beauty and survival depended.
Monday, 27 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Did Kane have some sort of skeleton in his closet? Not talking about himself much and his frequent attempts to ask Perdita for help when he didn’t really need it. Was it all a ploy to get something from her?
Kane arrived a little before noon running lithely down the steps leading from the street onto the tiny, cobbled path. Then firmly planted a kiss on Prue’s sultry, red lips. Prue took a step back in astonishment. She hadn’t been expecting such a warm greeting. Not so soon anyway.
“Come with me.” Kane boomed. “I want to show you something I think will be of interest to you.”
“I thought we were going to eat. I’m starving! (and not just for food either!)” Prue placed her hand on Kane’s arm.
A second later and she would have missed it. Perdita turned the corner to see Kane swiftly manoeuvre Prue down the street into a dark alley. She couldn’t tell if her arms were bound or not otherwise Prue could have fought him off with her powers, unless she was a willing captive.
What was he up to now and why had Prue willingly gone with him; it was beyond logic but then again she was besotted with him. Kane turned around and Perdita quickly jumped behind a large, stony column.
Now her suspicions had been confirmed. This rogue was up to no good. Not only had he lied to her about having to cancel their conference, but he was now having a secret rendezvous with Prue Halliwell of all women! This woman who had envied her from the outset. Who’d given her the cold shoulder when Phoebe introduced them. Scoffing the mere mention of the word family or cousin when it was said they could be related.
Perdita recalled the conversation. How Prue had met Phoebe’s news with blue-eyed, defenseless silence. Then she let it rip when Perdita tried to warn her about Kane and his secret, wildly, wicked side. A destructive, brutal arrogance which could only lead to recklessness and folly.
She’d even gone so far as to accuse her of being jealous when she mentioned Kane had asked her out. Almost vampingly, Prue said she wasn’t the least bit interested in what she or anyone else had to say about Kane.
Here was Kane embarking on a secret conference all of his own. Prue had given Perdita an icy stare ignoring her warnings about Kane. Not only that, she was sure envy played a part in this picture too. But she was unsure as to why. After all they hardly knew each other.
Perdita would see where Kane was going and then she’d go back for help. Find Prue’s sisters. Especially Phoebe, with whom she felt a ‘bond’. She liked Piper who was down to earth and approachable. The sensible one. Phoebe was a fellow kindred spirit.
When she arrived at the very spot where Kane and Prue had been only two seconds earlier, she was shocked to discover there weren’t any entrances or trap doors anywhere. All the windows were locked so where did they disappear? Was Kane a ghost or a floating spirit that he could walk through walls and what of Prue?
Kane hadn’t disappeared into any buildings or houses with Prue. There was a car waiting for them at the other end of the street. A broken down, beige VW Beetle.
Prue heard noises. The general hustle, bustle of city life.
“Taxi.” A grim, sharp voice had shouted nearby. She heard cars sloshing by on the drenched streets. They made the sound of ice being shaken in a drink… She turned around and saw a man huddled in a dark raincoat. His face partially covered with a striped scarf and a slate black Trilby squarely perched on his head. He was stocky and short. Not much taller than Prue herself. Though she could hardly see him in the shadowy gloom of the tall, faceless, radiating buildings around her in the alley, she noticed him squint his eyes.
“Where are we going?” Questioned Prue furtively.
“Don’t ask so many questions.” Kane crossed. Tightening his grip on Prue’s left arm.
“You’re hurting me.” She screamed. Attempting to break free and nod her head to use her powers. Her movements were fruitless.
The Beetle pulled up from behind Prue and blocked her in between the large, grey wheelie bins and the wall. Kane followed hastily, forever keeping his tight reign on her arm. The left passenger door of the car flew open in front of her. The rumbling, groaning of the engine masked the sharp, menacing voice. Kane threw her into the car. Prue twisted and turned trying to gyrate out of his hold but he was so amazingly strong. Hitting her head against the metal rim of the door she gave out a lingering yell.
In an instant the car’s engine was revved and they started moving. Prue was bound with coarse rope. The stocky man grimaced a lot and had a distinct tattoo of a snake on his right wrist. Green, red and slimy with a slithering, forked tongue. She relived the smell of sweat and aftershave. The same as the taxi driver they hailed at the airport. This man too was partial to smoking. Could it have been the same man? So much for her insult about his body odour. But he was taking a grudge too far. This wasn’t like the taxi ride through London’s history she’d taken with Kane at Madame Tussaud’s, called ‘The Spirit of London’, this was a vast, slimy ride into today’s reality.
Prue felt blood running down her cheek. Kane pulled out a smelly, reeking rag and placed it to her nose and mouth. She turned her head from side to side and tried in vain not to breathe the caressing chemical fumes from the ether. Prue eventually passed out.
Did Kane have some sort of skeleton in his closet? Not talking about himself much and his frequent attempts to ask Perdita for help when he didn’t really need it. Was it all a ploy to get something from her?
Kane arrived a little before noon running lithely down the steps leading from the street onto the tiny, cobbled path. Then firmly planted a kiss on Prue’s sultry, red lips. Prue took a step back in astonishment. She hadn’t been expecting such a warm greeting. Not so soon anyway.
“Come with me.” Kane boomed. “I want to show you something I think will be of interest to you.”
“I thought we were going to eat. I’m starving! (and not just for food either!)” Prue placed her hand on Kane’s arm.
A second later and she would have missed it. Perdita turned the corner to see Kane swiftly manoeuvre Prue down the street into a dark alley. She couldn’t tell if her arms were bound or not otherwise Prue could have fought him off with her powers, unless she was a willing captive.
What was he up to now and why had Prue willingly gone with him; it was beyond logic but then again she was besotted with him. Kane turned around and Perdita quickly jumped behind a large, stony column.
Now her suspicions had been confirmed. This rogue was up to no good. Not only had he lied to her about having to cancel their conference, but he was now having a secret rendezvous with Prue Halliwell of all women! This woman who had envied her from the outset. Who’d given her the cold shoulder when Phoebe introduced them. Scoffing the mere mention of the word family or cousin when it was said they could be related.
Perdita recalled the conversation. How Prue had met Phoebe’s news with blue-eyed, defenseless silence. Then she let it rip when Perdita tried to warn her about Kane and his secret, wildly, wicked side. A destructive, brutal arrogance which could only lead to recklessness and folly.
She’d even gone so far as to accuse her of being jealous when she mentioned Kane had asked her out. Almost vampingly, Prue said she wasn’t the least bit interested in what she or anyone else had to say about Kane.
Here was Kane embarking on a secret conference all of his own. Prue had given Perdita an icy stare ignoring her warnings about Kane. Not only that, she was sure envy played a part in this picture too. But she was unsure as to why. After all they hardly knew each other.
Perdita would see where Kane was going and then she’d go back for help. Find Prue’s sisters. Especially Phoebe, with whom she felt a ‘bond’. She liked Piper who was down to earth and approachable. The sensible one. Phoebe was a fellow kindred spirit.
When she arrived at the very spot where Kane and Prue had been only two seconds earlier, she was shocked to discover there weren’t any entrances or trap doors anywhere. All the windows were locked so where did they disappear? Was Kane a ghost or a floating spirit that he could walk through walls and what of Prue?
Kane hadn’t disappeared into any buildings or houses with Prue. There was a car waiting for them at the other end of the street. A broken down, beige VW Beetle.
Prue heard noises. The general hustle, bustle of city life.
“Taxi.” A grim, sharp voice had shouted nearby. She heard cars sloshing by on the drenched streets. They made the sound of ice being shaken in a drink… She turned around and saw a man huddled in a dark raincoat. His face partially covered with a striped scarf and a slate black Trilby squarely perched on his head. He was stocky and short. Not much taller than Prue herself. Though she could hardly see him in the shadowy gloom of the tall, faceless, radiating buildings around her in the alley, she noticed him squint his eyes.
“Where are we going?” Questioned Prue furtively.
“Don’t ask so many questions.” Kane crossed. Tightening his grip on Prue’s left arm.
“You’re hurting me.” She screamed. Attempting to break free and nod her head to use her powers. Her movements were fruitless.
The Beetle pulled up from behind Prue and blocked her in between the large, grey wheelie bins and the wall. Kane followed hastily, forever keeping his tight reign on her arm. The left passenger door of the car flew open in front of her. The rumbling, groaning of the engine masked the sharp, menacing voice. Kane threw her into the car. Prue twisted and turned trying to gyrate out of his hold but he was so amazingly strong. Hitting her head against the metal rim of the door she gave out a lingering yell.
In an instant the car’s engine was revved and they started moving. Prue was bound with coarse rope. The stocky man grimaced a lot and had a distinct tattoo of a snake on his right wrist. Green, red and slimy with a slithering, forked tongue. She relived the smell of sweat and aftershave. The same as the taxi driver they hailed at the airport. This man too was partial to smoking. Could it have been the same man? So much for her insult about his body odour. But he was taking a grudge too far. This wasn’t like the taxi ride through London’s history she’d taken with Kane at Madame Tussaud’s, called ‘The Spirit of London’, this was a vast, slimy ride into today’s reality.
Prue felt blood running down her cheek. Kane pulled out a smelly, reeking rag and placed it to her nose and mouth. She turned her head from side to side and tried in vain not to breathe the caressing chemical fumes from the ether. Prue eventually passed out.
Sunday, 26 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Phoebe gestured to Prue to pick up her camera.
“Well if you want anything done you have to do it yourself,” she muttered under her breath. Kneeling down to pick it up, a cold shiver consumed her body and she turned to stone as she felt a sharp pain to her head. She hunched up her shoulders and closed her eyes.
Phoebe was having another vision. Two in one day was getting to be a bit much. Reaction came like a douche of ice-cold water, setting her nerves tingling, her spine creeping, setting the room rocking about her. This time it was closer to home than she had expected or ever hoped.
She saw Prue struggling to get out of a glass obelisk. She described it as a glass menagerie, with sparkling diamond-shaped, peach, aqua and green lights. As if she was encased in a kaleidoscope. It would have been a beautiful picture had it not set the scene for something more ugly and sinister.
Phoebe didn’t really have that many visions about her sisters before. Only a few times about Piper and Prue. But usually she had worked out, with the help of her sisters, what they had meant in time and had been there to see them through before they turned into something more grim or serious even.
Phoebe invited Perdita back to her hotel to meet her sisters. Prue however was in no mood to converse with “that woman.” The vagabond thief who had stolen her outfit.; and her man. How tasteless. More especially since she had seen her with Kane and wasn’t too happy about it.
“Well what do you expect,” Phoebe commented. “They do work together and she’s known him longer.”
“You don’t have to defend me Phoebe. I don’t want to cause any trouble between any of you.” Perdita returned.
“After all the loser guys I’ve been with, all expect Andy, of course,” Prue paused, “A holiday fling is just what the doctor ordered. Four whole days not thinking about any serious commitments or attachments. At the end of the week I can just go home and it’ll be sayonara baby! No strings.”
Andy was Prue’s first true love and she thought they were destined to be together, until Andy had been killed by a demon. From then on it had been hard in the relationship department.
“But you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like. I for one agree with Perdita. He can’t be everything you think. She knows better.” Phoebe protested.
“So you’d trust the word of a stranger; a nobody. Little Miss Prim ’n’ Proper over me. She’s jealous, it’s written all over her face.” Prue glared madly at Perdita. She was in a huff.
“Prue I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Since meeting this Kane guy, he’s bought out the worst in you. To coin a cliché, he could be an axe murderer for all you know. What d’ya say Piper?”
“Leave me out of this. I know what Prue’s like when dating men and I don’t want to get caught in the middle again.”
“Coward. I feel closeness to her. Like I do with you and Piper. Like a special bond. We are related you know. I can instinctively feel it. In my vision I saw her name in our family tree.” Phoebe was defensive of Perdita.
“That doesn’t mean anything. Show me some hard evidence. Cold, compelling, conclusive.” Demanded Prue. Always the cold conveyor of sombre or sober news.
“For someone who has a dislike for lawyers, you’re sure beginning to sound like one Prue. Kane’s a lawyer. Do you doubt me? My visions haven’t been wrong before.” Phoebe was about to tell Prue about her vision but Perdita interrupted.
“Prue, I realize you don’t know me, or even want to know me and I do understand your reservations about trusting me, or even believing me; but I wouldn't lie. Not about something like this. I don't lie. I’ve nothing to gain.”
“Yeah, I can believe that coming from someone like you. What’s the line? “Trust me I’m a lawyer’. Lawyers lie; it’s an occupational hazard. They can’t help it.” Prue was right of course, to a certain degree.
“I’m no lawyer...”
“You’ve had your say. Both of you. Now I’m going on this lunch with Kane tomorrow whether you like it or not. Besides it’s more of a working lunch. I have to interview him for 415.” Prue was excited.
“Interview him?” Piper asked.
“Yes, it’s killing two birds with one stone. If I find romance in the midst of work then what’s the big deal?”
“We don’t trust him. He’s got shifty eyes. Piper noticed them. And another thing where was Kane when that demon made an entrance at the museum?” Phoebe was curious.
“Come to think of it Prue, where were you?” Piper chipped in.
“Powdering my nose or is that a crime now too? I heard a commotion and when I came back, I tried to redirect those fireballs but for some reason my powers didn’t work.”
“I’m starting to think this trip wasn’t a good idea. Not if you’re going to behave so irresponsibly.” Commented Phoebe.
“I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have bothered spending all my hard earned money to bring you here. You’ve been so ungrateful and haven’t quit complaining since we arrived. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here and you Phoebe, you wouldn’t even have met your new friend! The talk’s over. I’m going to bed. Oh, by the way where did you get your outfit from Perdita? It’s so garish.” Prue was adamant in her decision and so was her stubbornness. Being in a new country, new town, had really turned her head and her thinking.
“Your dress? She can talk!” Phoebe finished.
“So what now?” Announced Piper.
“Not much we can do. If she doesn’t want to listen or be helped; there’s nothing more to do or say.” Phoebe had a sour note in her voice.
“I’m going to keep an eye on Kane. That’s all I can do. We were supposed to be in conference all day tomorrow, including over lunch.” Perdita tried to sound helpful.
Phoebe gestured to Prue to pick up her camera.
“Well if you want anything done you have to do it yourself,” she muttered under her breath. Kneeling down to pick it up, a cold shiver consumed her body and she turned to stone as she felt a sharp pain to her head. She hunched up her shoulders and closed her eyes.
Phoebe was having another vision. Two in one day was getting to be a bit much. Reaction came like a douche of ice-cold water, setting her nerves tingling, her spine creeping, setting the room rocking about her. This time it was closer to home than she had expected or ever hoped.
She saw Prue struggling to get out of a glass obelisk. She described it as a glass menagerie, with sparkling diamond-shaped, peach, aqua and green lights. As if she was encased in a kaleidoscope. It would have been a beautiful picture had it not set the scene for something more ugly and sinister.
Phoebe didn’t really have that many visions about her sisters before. Only a few times about Piper and Prue. But usually she had worked out, with the help of her sisters, what they had meant in time and had been there to see them through before they turned into something more grim or serious even.
Phoebe invited Perdita back to her hotel to meet her sisters. Prue however was in no mood to converse with “that woman.” The vagabond thief who had stolen her outfit.; and her man. How tasteless. More especially since she had seen her with Kane and wasn’t too happy about it.
“Well what do you expect,” Phoebe commented. “They do work together and she’s known him longer.”
“You don’t have to defend me Phoebe. I don’t want to cause any trouble between any of you.” Perdita returned.
“After all the loser guys I’ve been with, all expect Andy, of course,” Prue paused, “A holiday fling is just what the doctor ordered. Four whole days not thinking about any serious commitments or attachments. At the end of the week I can just go home and it’ll be sayonara baby! No strings.”
Andy was Prue’s first true love and she thought they were destined to be together, until Andy had been killed by a demon. From then on it had been hard in the relationship department.
“But you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like. I for one agree with Perdita. He can’t be everything you think. She knows better.” Phoebe protested.
“So you’d trust the word of a stranger; a nobody. Little Miss Prim ’n’ Proper over me. She’s jealous, it’s written all over her face.” Prue glared madly at Perdita. She was in a huff.
“Prue I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Since meeting this Kane guy, he’s bought out the worst in you. To coin a cliché, he could be an axe murderer for all you know. What d’ya say Piper?”
“Leave me out of this. I know what Prue’s like when dating men and I don’t want to get caught in the middle again.”
“Coward. I feel closeness to her. Like I do with you and Piper. Like a special bond. We are related you know. I can instinctively feel it. In my vision I saw her name in our family tree.” Phoebe was defensive of Perdita.
“That doesn’t mean anything. Show me some hard evidence. Cold, compelling, conclusive.” Demanded Prue. Always the cold conveyor of sombre or sober news.
“For someone who has a dislike for lawyers, you’re sure beginning to sound like one Prue. Kane’s a lawyer. Do you doubt me? My visions haven’t been wrong before.” Phoebe was about to tell Prue about her vision but Perdita interrupted.
“Prue, I realize you don’t know me, or even want to know me and I do understand your reservations about trusting me, or even believing me; but I wouldn't lie. Not about something like this. I don't lie. I’ve nothing to gain.”
“Yeah, I can believe that coming from someone like you. What’s the line? “Trust me I’m a lawyer’. Lawyers lie; it’s an occupational hazard. They can’t help it.” Prue was right of course, to a certain degree.
“I’m no lawyer...”
“You’ve had your say. Both of you. Now I’m going on this lunch with Kane tomorrow whether you like it or not. Besides it’s more of a working lunch. I have to interview him for 415.” Prue was excited.
“Interview him?” Piper asked.
“Yes, it’s killing two birds with one stone. If I find romance in the midst of work then what’s the big deal?”
“We don’t trust him. He’s got shifty eyes. Piper noticed them. And another thing where was Kane when that demon made an entrance at the museum?” Phoebe was curious.
“Come to think of it Prue, where were you?” Piper chipped in.
“Powdering my nose or is that a crime now too? I heard a commotion and when I came back, I tried to redirect those fireballs but for some reason my powers didn’t work.”
“I’m starting to think this trip wasn’t a good idea. Not if you’re going to behave so irresponsibly.” Commented Phoebe.
“I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have bothered spending all my hard earned money to bring you here. You’ve been so ungrateful and haven’t quit complaining since we arrived. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here and you Phoebe, you wouldn’t even have met your new friend! The talk’s over. I’m going to bed. Oh, by the way where did you get your outfit from Perdita? It’s so garish.” Prue was adamant in her decision and so was her stubbornness. Being in a new country, new town, had really turned her head and her thinking.
“Your dress? She can talk!” Phoebe finished.
“So what now?” Announced Piper.
“Not much we can do. If she doesn’t want to listen or be helped; there’s nothing more to do or say.” Phoebe had a sour note in her voice.
“I’m going to keep an eye on Kane. That’s all I can do. We were supposed to be in conference all day tomorrow, including over lunch.” Perdita tried to sound helpful.
Saturday, 25 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Prue eyed him from afar and studied him with her glittering, hard eyes. The mysterious man with the toothy, crooked grin.
“Hmm, perfect teeth.” She picked up her bag and flounced towards his direction. Then like a cunning vixen she maneuvered herself between him and the other person he was speaking to. Prue’s eyes dwelt with naïve pleasure on his handsome face. He looked even more luscious up close and personal.
“Oh hocus pocus,” she heard him say as his eyes slithered away from the other lawyers towards her. The stranger made a quarter turn and stared at Prue out of a pair of rather dreamy pale eyes set close to a narrow nose.
“Oh no, look Prue’s done it again” Piper said. “She’s found a positive hunk out of all these fuddy duddies here. Some sisters have all the luck.” She sounded jealous.
Prue thought she’d play it sheepish. With him being English he was probably rather reserved; as she looked attentively downwards and then slowly her eyes crept back to the meaty package of manliness. Six foot, dressed in a black pin stripe suit – how de rigueur.
“Hello. I’m Prue Halliwell. Are you here for the collection too?”
“Yes, I am actually. My chambers is handling the sponsorship and the legal formalities for the exhibition.”
As he opened his mouth, Prue was devoured by his melting voice. Chambers? Prue loved the sound of that word. Chambers as in bed she thought longingly.
“So you’re into P.R then?” She gushed timidly.
“No – not really – well, I suppose you could call it P.R of a certain nature. I’m actually a barrister.” He boasted.
“Oh a lawyer. Well I’ve left my lawyer jokes at home but I could have amused you with a lot, especially the, ‘How many lawyers does it take to change a lightbulb?’ ones.” Prue jibed with dry humor.
“Oh really. I always make a quick comeback from those. My personal favorite being “What do you call 100 clients at the bottom of the sea? Non compos mentis’. Do you get it?” Kane joked. “You’re American?” he queried. “In that case I shouldn’t have mentioned chambers then. Didn’t mean it to sound like a dungeon and I’ve been let out for good behavior.”
“Of course I am, silly! Let out to meet me. Perfect timing! I’m doing a photoshoot for my magazine, 415. So you must know plenty about this collection. I should interview you and probably take some shots too. If you don’t mind?” Enthused Prue.
“Well..” he appeared to consider. “If you take your drink here and dine with me, we shall see..”
With that the conversation sputtered to a stop. Prue imagined she was doing so well conversing with the English. Obviously looks weren’t everything and he seemed to be lacking personality.
“Oh I didn’t catch your name.” Prue added quickly.
“That’s probably because I didn’t throw it.” Kane uttered a snort, which ran through the museum like a pistol shot. “You know our name is one of the very first things we’re supposed to give. Excuse my manners. It’s Kane Willis-Kincaid.”
Prue said it to herself.
“Kane Kincaid just rolls off the tongue. That’s an unusual name.”
“Not really. It’s Kane with a ‘K’ and it pays to have a double-barreled name in my line of work. Rather posh wouldn’t you say,” as he gave her a wink.
***
Phoebe and Perdita wondered if they should say anything about what just happened or if they should just put it down to prosperity.
“Boy that was a strange episode.” Phoebe remarked frankly. “I’ve never been through anything like that before.”
“Anything like what? Having a simultaneous vision? This is new to me too. I never thought anyone else got visions. This sounds silly I know, but when I first realized I had the power to alter peoples’ thoughts and used to get weird visions, I used to put it down to my name. It’s quite unique you know.” Perdita declared.
Phoebe was flabbergasted to find a complete stranger sharing such feelings out aloud with her. They hardly knew each other and yet here was this girl telling her all sorts of things you could have been burned at the stake for even thinking, in past century’s back home.
“Perdita means “the lost one.” My ancestors, some of them, were from New Orleans. But I also have English and Spanish blood as well as Persian. My family tree also boasts a Melinda Warren and I’m supposed to be a direct descendant. Several generations, removed of course.” Perdita continued rapidly. “That’s perhaps why we both saw a family tree in our visions, right? Which may make us family or not? Distant cousins perhaps?" She was resigned in her questioning.
Before Phoebe had a chance to answer her or even to take in what she had said Perdita waspishly carried on.
“But anyway you must have heard of the legend of Perdita? At least it’s supposed to be a legend. I never really paid any heed to legends until I found out who I really was. Well, at any rate, who my ancestors were.”
The legend foretold of a young man who vowed his love to a girl named Perdita whom he had met at a ball. After he, forsaked her. Lost her. Because of his regret and woe he began a tradition of sending out money, in the form of a dowry, to poor, young brides-to-be in New Orleans. So other women wouldn’t have to suffer like she did and not be able to marry for lack of money. It became a tradition in memory of his forgotten, lost love, Perdita: “the lost one.”
Phoebe listened with intense vigor.
“At last someone who talks as much as me.” Phoebe said in silent wonder.
“Oh excuse me, I’m needed over there. It was good meeting you, I hope to see you again before you return home.” With that, she flew out of the room like a feather in the breeze.
No sooner had Perdita gone, the lights went out. Two luminous, green lights were seen. It wasn’t a power cut but a demon making his grand entrance. The green was the green of his eyes. He was after the golden chalice Phoebe saw in the glass case.
“Hurry Piper freeze him.” Shouted Phoebe shakily.
“I’m trying. It’s not working!”
The demon floated past them with his fiery body pausing to stretch out and grab Piper. She threw herself to the floor and rolled under the ice sculpture on the table. Out of his reach he turned and threw fireballs, setting the giant navy blue, velvet curtains aflame. Shattering the glass, a dark figure grasped the chalice and ran out.
Chaos ensued as people started running to escape the flames.
Prue returned from her excursion from the ladies. Saw what was happening and attempted to thwart back the demon with her powers. It was hopeless. Her actions were in vain. Nothing seemed to stop the dreaded demon dead in his tracks. In a brief moment the demon had disappeared in a flash of fire and brimstone. Prue desperately searched for her sisters.
Prue eyed him from afar and studied him with her glittering, hard eyes. The mysterious man with the toothy, crooked grin.
“Hmm, perfect teeth.” She picked up her bag and flounced towards his direction. Then like a cunning vixen she maneuvered herself between him and the other person he was speaking to. Prue’s eyes dwelt with naïve pleasure on his handsome face. He looked even more luscious up close and personal.
“Oh hocus pocus,” she heard him say as his eyes slithered away from the other lawyers towards her. The stranger made a quarter turn and stared at Prue out of a pair of rather dreamy pale eyes set close to a narrow nose.
“Oh no, look Prue’s done it again” Piper said. “She’s found a positive hunk out of all these fuddy duddies here. Some sisters have all the luck.” She sounded jealous.
Prue thought she’d play it sheepish. With him being English he was probably rather reserved; as she looked attentively downwards and then slowly her eyes crept back to the meaty package of manliness. Six foot, dressed in a black pin stripe suit – how de rigueur.
“Hello. I’m Prue Halliwell. Are you here for the collection too?”
“Yes, I am actually. My chambers is handling the sponsorship and the legal formalities for the exhibition.”
As he opened his mouth, Prue was devoured by his melting voice. Chambers? Prue loved the sound of that word. Chambers as in bed she thought longingly.
“So you’re into P.R then?” She gushed timidly.
“No – not really – well, I suppose you could call it P.R of a certain nature. I’m actually a barrister.” He boasted.
“Oh a lawyer. Well I’ve left my lawyer jokes at home but I could have amused you with a lot, especially the, ‘How many lawyers does it take to change a lightbulb?’ ones.” Prue jibed with dry humor.
“Oh really. I always make a quick comeback from those. My personal favorite being “What do you call 100 clients at the bottom of the sea? Non compos mentis’. Do you get it?” Kane joked. “You’re American?” he queried. “In that case I shouldn’t have mentioned chambers then. Didn’t mean it to sound like a dungeon and I’ve been let out for good behavior.”
“Of course I am, silly! Let out to meet me. Perfect timing! I’m doing a photoshoot for my magazine, 415. So you must know plenty about this collection. I should interview you and probably take some shots too. If you don’t mind?” Enthused Prue.
“Well..” he appeared to consider. “If you take your drink here and dine with me, we shall see..”
With that the conversation sputtered to a stop. Prue imagined she was doing so well conversing with the English. Obviously looks weren’t everything and he seemed to be lacking personality.
“Oh I didn’t catch your name.” Prue added quickly.
“That’s probably because I didn’t throw it.” Kane uttered a snort, which ran through the museum like a pistol shot. “You know our name is one of the very first things we’re supposed to give. Excuse my manners. It’s Kane Willis-Kincaid.”
Prue said it to herself.
“Kane Kincaid just rolls off the tongue. That’s an unusual name.”
“Not really. It’s Kane with a ‘K’ and it pays to have a double-barreled name in my line of work. Rather posh wouldn’t you say,” as he gave her a wink.
***
Phoebe and Perdita wondered if they should say anything about what just happened or if they should just put it down to prosperity.
“Boy that was a strange episode.” Phoebe remarked frankly. “I’ve never been through anything like that before.”
“Anything like what? Having a simultaneous vision? This is new to me too. I never thought anyone else got visions. This sounds silly I know, but when I first realized I had the power to alter peoples’ thoughts and used to get weird visions, I used to put it down to my name. It’s quite unique you know.” Perdita declared.
Phoebe was flabbergasted to find a complete stranger sharing such feelings out aloud with her. They hardly knew each other and yet here was this girl telling her all sorts of things you could have been burned at the stake for even thinking, in past century’s back home.
“Perdita means “the lost one.” My ancestors, some of them, were from New Orleans. But I also have English and Spanish blood as well as Persian. My family tree also boasts a Melinda Warren and I’m supposed to be a direct descendant. Several generations, removed of course.” Perdita continued rapidly. “That’s perhaps why we both saw a family tree in our visions, right? Which may make us family or not? Distant cousins perhaps?" She was resigned in her questioning.
Before Phoebe had a chance to answer her or even to take in what she had said Perdita waspishly carried on.
“But anyway you must have heard of the legend of Perdita? At least it’s supposed to be a legend. I never really paid any heed to legends until I found out who I really was. Well, at any rate, who my ancestors were.”
The legend foretold of a young man who vowed his love to a girl named Perdita whom he had met at a ball. After he, forsaked her. Lost her. Because of his regret and woe he began a tradition of sending out money, in the form of a dowry, to poor, young brides-to-be in New Orleans. So other women wouldn’t have to suffer like she did and not be able to marry for lack of money. It became a tradition in memory of his forgotten, lost love, Perdita: “the lost one.”
Phoebe listened with intense vigor.
“At last someone who talks as much as me.” Phoebe said in silent wonder.
“Oh excuse me, I’m needed over there. It was good meeting you, I hope to see you again before you return home.” With that, she flew out of the room like a feather in the breeze.
No sooner had Perdita gone, the lights went out. Two luminous, green lights were seen. It wasn’t a power cut but a demon making his grand entrance. The green was the green of his eyes. He was after the golden chalice Phoebe saw in the glass case.
“Hurry Piper freeze him.” Shouted Phoebe shakily.
“I’m trying. It’s not working!”
The demon floated past them with his fiery body pausing to stretch out and grab Piper. She threw herself to the floor and rolled under the ice sculpture on the table. Out of his reach he turned and threw fireballs, setting the giant navy blue, velvet curtains aflame. Shattering the glass, a dark figure grasped the chalice and ran out.
Chaos ensued as people started running to escape the flames.
Prue returned from her excursion from the ladies. Saw what was happening and attempted to thwart back the demon with her powers. It was hopeless. Her actions were in vain. Nothing seemed to stop the dreaded demon dead in his tracks. In a brief moment the demon had disappeared in a flash of fire and brimstone. Prue desperately searched for her sisters.
Friday, 24 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 5
Chapter 5
The London Museum of Art was a mish-mash of a modernist building which allowed for a riot of sumptuous color and brick work. Flushed with distinct smells and aromas of paints and artifacts. Underpinned by archaic, gothic styled towers enhancing distinct baroque undertones.
Prue emerged from under her ruby red wrap looking dressed to impress. She was wearing a burgundy, figure-hugging bodiced camisole with thin straps, a matching silk skirt filled with a patchwork of wine-red delicate floral patterns. She’d worn black strapless sandals going against Piper’s advice of boots, a more suitable, sensible choice for this weather.
“You’ll probably catch cold and end up in bed for days. With me having to play nurse.” Piper had warned her.
Upon arrival Phoebe immediately began exploring every aspect of the museum and the extraordinary artifacts. She was going to soak up all the cultural atmosphere of the exhibits and their history like she was actually there herself in that time frame. After all you never could tell when knowing some little detail about those objects and their past may come in handy in their everyday lives as the Charmed Ones. A small clue could prove extremely helpful if they ever happened to chance upon an evil demon or warlock from an ancient realm. Or another continent, such as Europe or Asia.
She found the interior boasted a rococo building with a carved alabaster doorway. A quartet of atlantes were strategically placed over ledges pouring water from amphorae; bathed in creams, caramels and pewter.
Other parts of the interior of the museum walls were brand new, lushly decorated with polished, pastel, granite tiles. Spotlessly clean. Neo classic with symmetrical arches modeled on the Venetian look, like giant paper origami structures. Porcelain figurines were dotted about the place, along with a churrigueresque façade. They would have been temples of worship for lovers of modern as well as classical art freaks everywhere.
The esplanades contained Spanish and medieval ceramics and relics. Greek and Roman works of art. Paintings by Goya. Sculptures by Benvenuto Cellini.
Phoebe was most fascinated by a bejeweled chalice. Encrusted with sapphires and the most intricate, delectable emeralds and opals. This must have a glorious story to tell. Reading the inscription in the glass case, she found it was from Spain at the time of the Spanish Moors in 711 AD.
Most of Spain and Valencia had been under Moorish rule for five centuries. A period which was dominated by the legendary Castillian Knight called El Cid. Moorish culture had brought many increases to the land, irrigation helped to nurture and oranges were planted. This bought in Argonese kings intent on taking the city for themselves. Hence the need for people to have conjured spirits such as djinns to rid their land from outsiders.
Apparently the chalice was surrounded by a myth. It was once used to capture and imprison a great djinn called Sabroh. He had been conjured by the dervishes and the Moors to aid them in their fight against their oppressors and the infidels in Valencia, Spain, during the fifteenth century. This was not so much a genie in a bottle; as a demon, a djinn in a decanter. Phoebe laughed.
“Well it’s not exactly I Dream of Jeannie.”
***
“Did you see that girl? She was dressed in the same clothes as me! The nerve of some people.” Prue was green with envy.
“Well Prue honey, you’re not exactly wearing a ‘one-off’ off the rack original are you? Get over your clothes and what you look like, that’s so passe!” Piper commented.
“No, it was, is, an original, the woman in the store said so. I want a refund!”
“Since when were you so gullible and believed everything a shop assistant told you?” Piper replied.
“Since I spent a small fortune!” Huffed Prue.
Phoebe wasn’t even listening to Prue’s lamenting. Someone else had grabbed her attention. She was shocked and surprised at actually meeting the mysterious stranger who had just bumped into Prue and caused her to spill her drink. Was it accidentally on purpose, she thought?
But Prue’s clothes were furthest from her mind. At this point in time, like Prue, she was only interested in that girl, but for different reasons. Could it really be? Was it really the girl in her dreams? As opposed to the girl of her dreams. Well the one she’d been dreaming of subconsciously.
It must be her because she looked the same. Brown eyes, auburn-brown hair, and rosy lips. Resembling Phoebe in many ways; mannerisms, gestures, but yet still different enough to retain her own identity. Who was she? Having an inquisitive nature she had to investigate.
“Hello. Forgive my sister making that awful scene back there. She’s really protective about her clothes. Her entire wardrobe in fact. We can’t borrow anything of hers without her permission or knowledge. She’s got such a large collection but instinctively knows when something goes missing. I’m Phoebe by the way.”
“You know I assumed my outfit was an original. I have this eclectic sense of dress or so people tell me. I usually wear clothes that are meant to be worn on a specific part of the body somewhere else. You know shawls as tops and scarves as skirts. I’m also into that new age retro style. I suppose it’s because I have to wear conservative suits to work. Not everyone’s heard of dressing down yet. OH I’m sorry to go on about clothes – I’m probably boring you. To say the least.”
“You’re not boring me. Believe me with two sisters around you get used to all sorts of things and in a hurry too.”
“Ooh, my name’s Perdita. Pleased to meet you.”
Perdita extended her hand towards Phoebe in a friendly gesture. Phoebe took her hand and they shook. Suddenly the two them froze as an intense energy passed from their hands and entered their bodies. They felt the full force of a mystical field as though a bolt of lightening jarred every inch of their life force. An earth shattering experience.
Phoebe had a vision and Perdita had one too. Each wondered if the other could feel what she had felt. Sensed what each had seen. They pulled away quickly. Then stood motionless. Their gaze firmly transposed upon one other.
Phoebe and Perdita had seen a book in their collective visions. A generic family tree. Phoebe immediately recognized it as being their own. Gram’s name was near the middle and Melinda Warren near the top. But there was something else too. Phoebe had seen another picture. It was a glass prison and someone, a girl, trapped within its scarlet glare. Flashing colors radiating all around. Neither was aware of the prophetic vision or its consequences which would eventually present themselves in a most dangerous and evil manner.
The London Museum of Art was a mish-mash of a modernist building which allowed for a riot of sumptuous color and brick work. Flushed with distinct smells and aromas of paints and artifacts. Underpinned by archaic, gothic styled towers enhancing distinct baroque undertones.
Prue emerged from under her ruby red wrap looking dressed to impress. She was wearing a burgundy, figure-hugging bodiced camisole with thin straps, a matching silk skirt filled with a patchwork of wine-red delicate floral patterns. She’d worn black strapless sandals going against Piper’s advice of boots, a more suitable, sensible choice for this weather.
“You’ll probably catch cold and end up in bed for days. With me having to play nurse.” Piper had warned her.
Upon arrival Phoebe immediately began exploring every aspect of the museum and the extraordinary artifacts. She was going to soak up all the cultural atmosphere of the exhibits and their history like she was actually there herself in that time frame. After all you never could tell when knowing some little detail about those objects and their past may come in handy in their everyday lives as the Charmed Ones. A small clue could prove extremely helpful if they ever happened to chance upon an evil demon or warlock from an ancient realm. Or another continent, such as Europe or Asia.
She found the interior boasted a rococo building with a carved alabaster doorway. A quartet of atlantes were strategically placed over ledges pouring water from amphorae; bathed in creams, caramels and pewter.
Other parts of the interior of the museum walls were brand new, lushly decorated with polished, pastel, granite tiles. Spotlessly clean. Neo classic with symmetrical arches modeled on the Venetian look, like giant paper origami structures. Porcelain figurines were dotted about the place, along with a churrigueresque façade. They would have been temples of worship for lovers of modern as well as classical art freaks everywhere.
The esplanades contained Spanish and medieval ceramics and relics. Greek and Roman works of art. Paintings by Goya. Sculptures by Benvenuto Cellini.
Phoebe was most fascinated by a bejeweled chalice. Encrusted with sapphires and the most intricate, delectable emeralds and opals. This must have a glorious story to tell. Reading the inscription in the glass case, she found it was from Spain at the time of the Spanish Moors in 711 AD.
Most of Spain and Valencia had been under Moorish rule for five centuries. A period which was dominated by the legendary Castillian Knight called El Cid. Moorish culture had brought many increases to the land, irrigation helped to nurture and oranges were planted. This bought in Argonese kings intent on taking the city for themselves. Hence the need for people to have conjured spirits such as djinns to rid their land from outsiders.
Apparently the chalice was surrounded by a myth. It was once used to capture and imprison a great djinn called Sabroh. He had been conjured by the dervishes and the Moors to aid them in their fight against their oppressors and the infidels in Valencia, Spain, during the fifteenth century. This was not so much a genie in a bottle; as a demon, a djinn in a decanter. Phoebe laughed.
“Well it’s not exactly I Dream of Jeannie.”
***
“Did you see that girl? She was dressed in the same clothes as me! The nerve of some people.” Prue was green with envy.
“Well Prue honey, you’re not exactly wearing a ‘one-off’ off the rack original are you? Get over your clothes and what you look like, that’s so passe!” Piper commented.
“No, it was, is, an original, the woman in the store said so. I want a refund!”
“Since when were you so gullible and believed everything a shop assistant told you?” Piper replied.
“Since I spent a small fortune!” Huffed Prue.
Phoebe wasn’t even listening to Prue’s lamenting. Someone else had grabbed her attention. She was shocked and surprised at actually meeting the mysterious stranger who had just bumped into Prue and caused her to spill her drink. Was it accidentally on purpose, she thought?
But Prue’s clothes were furthest from her mind. At this point in time, like Prue, she was only interested in that girl, but for different reasons. Could it really be? Was it really the girl in her dreams? As opposed to the girl of her dreams. Well the one she’d been dreaming of subconsciously.
It must be her because she looked the same. Brown eyes, auburn-brown hair, and rosy lips. Resembling Phoebe in many ways; mannerisms, gestures, but yet still different enough to retain her own identity. Who was she? Having an inquisitive nature she had to investigate.
“Hello. Forgive my sister making that awful scene back there. She’s really protective about her clothes. Her entire wardrobe in fact. We can’t borrow anything of hers without her permission or knowledge. She’s got such a large collection but instinctively knows when something goes missing. I’m Phoebe by the way.”
“You know I assumed my outfit was an original. I have this eclectic sense of dress or so people tell me. I usually wear clothes that are meant to be worn on a specific part of the body somewhere else. You know shawls as tops and scarves as skirts. I’m also into that new age retro style. I suppose it’s because I have to wear conservative suits to work. Not everyone’s heard of dressing down yet. OH I’m sorry to go on about clothes – I’m probably boring you. To say the least.”
“You’re not boring me. Believe me with two sisters around you get used to all sorts of things and in a hurry too.”
“Ooh, my name’s Perdita. Pleased to meet you.”
Perdita extended her hand towards Phoebe in a friendly gesture. Phoebe took her hand and they shook. Suddenly the two them froze as an intense energy passed from their hands and entered their bodies. They felt the full force of a mystical field as though a bolt of lightening jarred every inch of their life force. An earth shattering experience.
Phoebe had a vision and Perdita had one too. Each wondered if the other could feel what she had felt. Sensed what each had seen. They pulled away quickly. Then stood motionless. Their gaze firmly transposed upon one other.
Phoebe and Perdita had seen a book in their collective visions. A generic family tree. Phoebe immediately recognized it as being their own. Gram’s name was near the middle and Melinda Warren near the top. But there was something else too. Phoebe had seen another picture. It was a glass prison and someone, a girl, trapped within its scarlet glare. Flashing colors radiating all around. Neither was aware of the prophetic vision or its consequences which would eventually present themselves in a most dangerous and evil manner.
Thursday, 23 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 4
Chapter 4
“Piper slow down and stop making a nuisance of yourself,” Prue called out. “Anyone would think you’ve never been on a plane before.”
“Ooh, ooh I want the seat by the window!” Piper charged past Phoebe and nearly mowed down an old lady in the process, as she slumped into a heap in her treasured seat. This wasn’t Piper’s first time on a plane but she was always fascinated by them like a child with a new toy.
The flight was anything but perfect. But Phoebe couldn’t get the dream out of her head. Who was that girl? She found she couldn’t sleep either. It was turning out to be such a bumpy ride. Not only due to the turbulence of the plane and Piper’s stomach, but also because of her turbulent feelings. Attempting to close her eyes, her shoulders jerked but nothing moved in her face. Phoebe gave up all thought of shutting her eyes and pulled guidebooks and maps of London from her bag. At least language won't be a problem.
It was a dull, overcast day as they stepped off the plane. They expressly checked out of customs and into a black taxi. Black cabs were meant to be more reliable and safe.
“Where to ladies?” asked the driver in a cockney accent.
“Park Hotel, West End.” Prue answered as she smelt the sweat and aftershave and squinted her face. The taxi driver was partial to smoking. She sniffed the burned out tobacco on his breath.
Taxis and cars swished by on the slippery rain-drenched freeway, glistening in the yellow sodium lights like linoleum interspersed with oil. Their first glimpse of London was dismal and bleak.
The taxi ride was long and tedious. Nothing could be seen from the windows. Rain trickled down the panes of glass like sticky honey so they snuggled back into the seat and waited for journey’s end.
“£70 luv” the driver demanded.
“Keep the change,” Prue replied; “And personal hygiene costs nothing!” she muttered under her breath as she slammed the back door.
“That was uncalled for Prue.” Piper retorted.
Prue just shrugged.
The hotel was far from impressive. Static, sterile, antiseptic modern building with people scurrying about. As for their room. Phoebe remarked,
“It’s just like Halliwell manor.” Prue turned to peer owlishly at her sister.
“This is one of the best hotels around. It’s just off Oxford Street. One of the greatest places to shop. Famous rock stars stay here you know. Bon Jovi. Michael Jackson.”
“Yeah, all the archaic ones.” Phoebe chuckled as she hooked a chair with her foot, drew it close to the table and sat down.
“Admit it Prue,” Piper laughed, “You were thinking about clothes all along.”
“Well I do need something for the gala at the museum don’t I?”
Quick as a flash Prue grabbed her wallet containing her credit cards and was about to hit the stores big time. Nothing was going to stop her from her favorite ritual not even something termed jetlag, or the British weather.
“Anyone want to join me?” Prue asked.
“Count me out”, Phoebe insisted. “I’m going to chill out in your wonderful hotelroom and see if I can’t rest up. I’ve planned a major sightseeing tour for us and I for one am not going to miss out on the museums and waxworks. Madame Tussaud’s is an adventure waiting to happen.”
“Me too,” said Piper, “ I want to look at least presentable for tomorrow. I may want to check out the club scene round here too and remember don’t buy anymore bags.”
“Or boots!” Phoebe added sarcastically.
“Piper slow down and stop making a nuisance of yourself,” Prue called out. “Anyone would think you’ve never been on a plane before.”
“Ooh, ooh I want the seat by the window!” Piper charged past Phoebe and nearly mowed down an old lady in the process, as she slumped into a heap in her treasured seat. This wasn’t Piper’s first time on a plane but she was always fascinated by them like a child with a new toy.
The flight was anything but perfect. But Phoebe couldn’t get the dream out of her head. Who was that girl? She found she couldn’t sleep either. It was turning out to be such a bumpy ride. Not only due to the turbulence of the plane and Piper’s stomach, but also because of her turbulent feelings. Attempting to close her eyes, her shoulders jerked but nothing moved in her face. Phoebe gave up all thought of shutting her eyes and pulled guidebooks and maps of London from her bag. At least language won't be a problem.
It was a dull, overcast day as they stepped off the plane. They expressly checked out of customs and into a black taxi. Black cabs were meant to be more reliable and safe.
“Where to ladies?” asked the driver in a cockney accent.
“Park Hotel, West End.” Prue answered as she smelt the sweat and aftershave and squinted her face. The taxi driver was partial to smoking. She sniffed the burned out tobacco on his breath.
Taxis and cars swished by on the slippery rain-drenched freeway, glistening in the yellow sodium lights like linoleum interspersed with oil. Their first glimpse of London was dismal and bleak.
The taxi ride was long and tedious. Nothing could be seen from the windows. Rain trickled down the panes of glass like sticky honey so they snuggled back into the seat and waited for journey’s end.
“£70 luv” the driver demanded.
“Keep the change,” Prue replied; “And personal hygiene costs nothing!” she muttered under her breath as she slammed the back door.
“That was uncalled for Prue.” Piper retorted.
Prue just shrugged.
The hotel was far from impressive. Static, sterile, antiseptic modern building with people scurrying about. As for their room. Phoebe remarked,
“It’s just like Halliwell manor.” Prue turned to peer owlishly at her sister.
“This is one of the best hotels around. It’s just off Oxford Street. One of the greatest places to shop. Famous rock stars stay here you know. Bon Jovi. Michael Jackson.”
“Yeah, all the archaic ones.” Phoebe chuckled as she hooked a chair with her foot, drew it close to the table and sat down.
“Admit it Prue,” Piper laughed, “You were thinking about clothes all along.”
“Well I do need something for the gala at the museum don’t I?”
Quick as a flash Prue grabbed her wallet containing her credit cards and was about to hit the stores big time. Nothing was going to stop her from her favorite ritual not even something termed jetlag, or the British weather.
“Anyone want to join me?” Prue asked.
“Count me out”, Phoebe insisted. “I’m going to chill out in your wonderful hotelroom and see if I can’t rest up. I’ve planned a major sightseeing tour for us and I for one am not going to miss out on the museums and waxworks. Madame Tussaud’s is an adventure waiting to happen.”
“Me too,” said Piper, “ I want to look at least presentable for tomorrow. I may want to check out the club scene round here too and remember don’t buy anymore bags.”
“Or boots!” Phoebe added sarcastically.
Wednesday, 22 July 2015
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 3
Chapter 3
London, England.
Perdita walked down the cobbled paving stones of legal London. This was the highlife. She had achieved her ambition to be a barrister. Only a junior one at this stage. But it was a really good start and she had a warm feeling about everything in her life. To walk down these streets where so many famous names had graced their steps before her was a monumental event. Since during the eighteenth century, the Bar was an inaccessible place, especially to women. In fact barristers were few and far between. A profession for the elite and those who could afford schooling.
Walking the paving stones of Inner Temple was like walking into another period of history, of time. It was to walk with the likes of Charles Dickens’ Sydney Carton in A Tale of Two Cities, or even Dickens himself. Barristers in fleeting attire with their periwigs, conjured up bygone days and eerie ghosts of legal life long past. Following in the lightly trodden footsteps of Dr Johnson, a famous Londoner.
However today the short walk from court to her chambers (law office) seemed an eternity. Although it was only four in the afternoon, it was the middle of winter and it got dark very early. To top it off it had been raining. Dark grey clouds hung over the skyline painting it into a sinister looking canvas. The slicked out streets glistened like a lavish carpet on which the traffic seemed to stand still. Perdita recalled the events from two nights ago.
That night the moon had chosen to disappear behind the fluffy, cotton wool clouds casting strange shadows in unusual places. The trees looked like wild panthers ready to pounce. There was a dark patch of street a few feet away from the entrance to a bleak house.
“That’s where I saw them disappear. Then I glimpsed a figure. A dark shadow which appeared to be a man coming towards me; or some creature of the twilight hours. I screamed out for help. Gasping and panting for every suffocated breath of air. Foolishly I believed he could have..would have helped me.” But her would-be knight had been nothing more than her everlasting torment.
Perdita recalled the past events to some of her friends. Some teenage tourists had disappeared whilst attending a rave in one of the dingy parts of the city. Perdita had seen them vanish and when she tried to help was chased away, her own life in peril.
“I began to run. It was instinct. Second nature. Never for one moment thinking about what he would do; or about my own safety. I had to get help.”
Who would have dared to help or even have listened to her? She was in hysterics. Frantic. The streets were desolate. Even if anyone was around they’d have been too frightened to move. To venture out of their four walls of safety. Their fortified fortresses of cement and plaster.
“I noticed a car on the rained out street. Screeching and wailing. Wildly I tried to signal the driver. Waving my arms about like a ferocious windmill in a sudden, unrelenting summer storm.”
He just carried on driving the metallic monster. Perhaps he didn’t see her. Didn’t want to. Never noticed a wide-eyed flame-brown haired woman chasing after him or being chased.
“I ran until I could no longer run. Until I ripped my skirt. Lost my shoe. Like a flustered, distressed Cinderella. Eventually I admitted defeat.” Perdita didn’t tell them of what else she’d seen. It was too amazing a sight. None of them would have believed her anyway. They’d accuse her of exaggerating or say she was most probably in shock.
Sometimes when she thought of it she had trouble coming to terms with it too. A fire-eyed monster oozing slime with hollow green eyes. She felt she had imagined it. But her imagination wasn’t that wild or warped. In reality it wasn’t imagined. The monster was as real and as alive as she was.
Perdita had been stalked. Even the police were miffed at the disappearances. Exhausted and bewildered. She spent fifteen agonizing minutes with them.
“What were you doing out so late? All alone? Or was she? Why wasn’t she more careful?” On and on they droned like a broken record. Fat lot of good they were. Having the tables turned on her as if she had any part in those kidnappings. They were neither attractive nor comforting.
Where was her Agent Fox Mulder now?
She was a barrister. They frowned at her. Gazed upon her with suspicion and innuendo. Good thing she never told them about the ‘real’ creature she’d seen. Flaming body; venomous, green protruding eyes.
Perdita needn’t have bothered. She wasn’t treated like a witness but like a suspect. Endlessly interrogated. Now she knew how a common criminal felt. Only she hadn’t done anything wrong. Broken any laws.
Perdita locked her door and poured herself a large brandy. Convincing herself it was purely for medicinal purposes. She wasn’t a drinker. Never touched the stuff. It tasted warm. Bitter, but she was in dire need of consoling. To forget everything about the terrifying encounter. Even for a couple of tortured hours.
At chambers all her friends and colleagues had heard of her ordeal. Not with the raving monster but with the local police.
“It’s getting to be like the old days again.” Remarked one of her colleagues. “A woman needs a bodyguard to escort her home.”
At which point Perdita glanced over to Kane. She had worked with Kane for about six months now and she found him to cut a fine figure of a man. Or to use the modern parlance. He was a bit of a hottie. With his ice-blue eyes and raven black hair. He was to die for, not literally speaking of course. But his eyes. There was a certain something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something menacing.
Perhaps the ice blue was the problem. Maybe the ice ran deeper into his veins and was embodied in his blood and further still into his heart.
Although he had always been civil to her and never cold, Kane was fast developing a reputation around chambers as a ruthless “head-hunter” type. That was no big deal in this profession, but he was well known for tearing the opposition to shreds. Fiery in nature also meant fierce in the boardroom and presumably in the bedroom too. But what was Perdita thinking letting her thoughts wander like that.
She found it strange she could never read his mind. Well her powers didn’t really extend to reading minds per se. She could sense feelings, emotions, as well as having the power to alter thoughts. Akin to hypnotic suggestions. Her powers were more telepathic than supernatural.
“Make him fall in love with me,” she giggled to herself. Where did he get that name from anyway? Even though her name was distinguished and had origins; his stemmed back to the time of Adam and Eve. Since the beginning of the world itself and one of the original sins – murder! Cane and Abel.
If anyone found out about her powers, her wicca powers, as Perdita called them, they’d probably insinuate she’d been using them to influence decisions of judges and juries alike in court. A sort of a personal gain for her. Since the more cases she won, the more she’d gain a reputation for herself. With that would come status, promotion and her name higher up the name plaque outside chambers. A bigger profile where she’d be calling the shots. Dream on!
“Afternoon,” she heard a sweet-sounding voice say to her. Sickly sweet? It was the “god” himself. Speak of the devil. He must have felt his ears roasting. Perdita felt a shiver down her spine as he placed his hand on her shoulder. Someone had walked over her grave. Through her thick jacket she felt his frosty touch.
“Goodness. You startled me there.” She jerked her body forward in an attempt to loosen his grip. Boy did he just come out of the freezer.
He was always turning up in the wrong place at the wrong time or vice versa. Once he was there when Perdita felt someone had been following her; and out of the grim shadows Kane had appeared to save the day. Just as on the night those teenagers had vanished, when someone was chasing her on the street. Her savior or her tormentor? She wished she knew. Now reading minds would have come in handy.
“I wonder if you could help me out with a case I’m working on? I seem to be stuck on finding a precedent.” A likely story she thought to herself.
“You could try the Net. Unless you’ve exhausted all the possibilities like Lexis. I mean you are familiar with computer technology aren’t you?” The wonders of the twenty first century. You had to be computer literate to get a job in this place otherwise you couldn’t get your foot through the door. Unless he had connections or family. Nepotism was rife in the legal profession of this country. Old school ties also came in handy too. Especially for men. So that’s probably how Kane got work here. That or he obviously impressed the women on the candidate selection committee.
London, England.
Perdita walked down the cobbled paving stones of legal London. This was the highlife. She had achieved her ambition to be a barrister. Only a junior one at this stage. But it was a really good start and she had a warm feeling about everything in her life. To walk down these streets where so many famous names had graced their steps before her was a monumental event. Since during the eighteenth century, the Bar was an inaccessible place, especially to women. In fact barristers were few and far between. A profession for the elite and those who could afford schooling.
Walking the paving stones of Inner Temple was like walking into another period of history, of time. It was to walk with the likes of Charles Dickens’ Sydney Carton in A Tale of Two Cities, or even Dickens himself. Barristers in fleeting attire with their periwigs, conjured up bygone days and eerie ghosts of legal life long past. Following in the lightly trodden footsteps of Dr Johnson, a famous Londoner.
However today the short walk from court to her chambers (law office) seemed an eternity. Although it was only four in the afternoon, it was the middle of winter and it got dark very early. To top it off it had been raining. Dark grey clouds hung over the skyline painting it into a sinister looking canvas. The slicked out streets glistened like a lavish carpet on which the traffic seemed to stand still. Perdita recalled the events from two nights ago.
That night the moon had chosen to disappear behind the fluffy, cotton wool clouds casting strange shadows in unusual places. The trees looked like wild panthers ready to pounce. There was a dark patch of street a few feet away from the entrance to a bleak house.
“That’s where I saw them disappear. Then I glimpsed a figure. A dark shadow which appeared to be a man coming towards me; or some creature of the twilight hours. I screamed out for help. Gasping and panting for every suffocated breath of air. Foolishly I believed he could have..would have helped me.” But her would-be knight had been nothing more than her everlasting torment.
Perdita recalled the past events to some of her friends. Some teenage tourists had disappeared whilst attending a rave in one of the dingy parts of the city. Perdita had seen them vanish and when she tried to help was chased away, her own life in peril.
“I began to run. It was instinct. Second nature. Never for one moment thinking about what he would do; or about my own safety. I had to get help.”
Who would have dared to help or even have listened to her? She was in hysterics. Frantic. The streets were desolate. Even if anyone was around they’d have been too frightened to move. To venture out of their four walls of safety. Their fortified fortresses of cement and plaster.
“I noticed a car on the rained out street. Screeching and wailing. Wildly I tried to signal the driver. Waving my arms about like a ferocious windmill in a sudden, unrelenting summer storm.”
He just carried on driving the metallic monster. Perhaps he didn’t see her. Didn’t want to. Never noticed a wide-eyed flame-brown haired woman chasing after him or being chased.
“I ran until I could no longer run. Until I ripped my skirt. Lost my shoe. Like a flustered, distressed Cinderella. Eventually I admitted defeat.” Perdita didn’t tell them of what else she’d seen. It was too amazing a sight. None of them would have believed her anyway. They’d accuse her of exaggerating or say she was most probably in shock.
Sometimes when she thought of it she had trouble coming to terms with it too. A fire-eyed monster oozing slime with hollow green eyes. She felt she had imagined it. But her imagination wasn’t that wild or warped. In reality it wasn’t imagined. The monster was as real and as alive as she was.
Perdita had been stalked. Even the police were miffed at the disappearances. Exhausted and bewildered. She spent fifteen agonizing minutes with them.
“What were you doing out so late? All alone? Or was she? Why wasn’t she more careful?” On and on they droned like a broken record. Fat lot of good they were. Having the tables turned on her as if she had any part in those kidnappings. They were neither attractive nor comforting.
Where was her Agent Fox Mulder now?
She was a barrister. They frowned at her. Gazed upon her with suspicion and innuendo. Good thing she never told them about the ‘real’ creature she’d seen. Flaming body; venomous, green protruding eyes.
Perdita needn’t have bothered. She wasn’t treated like a witness but like a suspect. Endlessly interrogated. Now she knew how a common criminal felt. Only she hadn’t done anything wrong. Broken any laws.
Perdita locked her door and poured herself a large brandy. Convincing herself it was purely for medicinal purposes. She wasn’t a drinker. Never touched the stuff. It tasted warm. Bitter, but she was in dire need of consoling. To forget everything about the terrifying encounter. Even for a couple of tortured hours.
At chambers all her friends and colleagues had heard of her ordeal. Not with the raving monster but with the local police.
“It’s getting to be like the old days again.” Remarked one of her colleagues. “A woman needs a bodyguard to escort her home.”
At which point Perdita glanced over to Kane. She had worked with Kane for about six months now and she found him to cut a fine figure of a man. Or to use the modern parlance. He was a bit of a hottie. With his ice-blue eyes and raven black hair. He was to die for, not literally speaking of course. But his eyes. There was a certain something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something menacing.
Perhaps the ice blue was the problem. Maybe the ice ran deeper into his veins and was embodied in his blood and further still into his heart.
Although he had always been civil to her and never cold, Kane was fast developing a reputation around chambers as a ruthless “head-hunter” type. That was no big deal in this profession, but he was well known for tearing the opposition to shreds. Fiery in nature also meant fierce in the boardroom and presumably in the bedroom too. But what was Perdita thinking letting her thoughts wander like that.
She found it strange she could never read his mind. Well her powers didn’t really extend to reading minds per se. She could sense feelings, emotions, as well as having the power to alter thoughts. Akin to hypnotic suggestions. Her powers were more telepathic than supernatural.
“Make him fall in love with me,” she giggled to herself. Where did he get that name from anyway? Even though her name was distinguished and had origins; his stemmed back to the time of Adam and Eve. Since the beginning of the world itself and one of the original sins – murder! Cane and Abel.
If anyone found out about her powers, her wicca powers, as Perdita called them, they’d probably insinuate she’d been using them to influence decisions of judges and juries alike in court. A sort of a personal gain for her. Since the more cases she won, the more she’d gain a reputation for herself. With that would come status, promotion and her name higher up the name plaque outside chambers. A bigger profile where she’d be calling the shots. Dream on!
“Afternoon,” she heard a sweet-sounding voice say to her. Sickly sweet? It was the “god” himself. Speak of the devil. He must have felt his ears roasting. Perdita felt a shiver down her spine as he placed his hand on her shoulder. Someone had walked over her grave. Through her thick jacket she felt his frosty touch.
“Goodness. You startled me there.” She jerked her body forward in an attempt to loosen his grip. Boy did he just come out of the freezer.
He was always turning up in the wrong place at the wrong time or vice versa. Once he was there when Perdita felt someone had been following her; and out of the grim shadows Kane had appeared to save the day. Just as on the night those teenagers had vanished, when someone was chasing her on the street. Her savior or her tormentor? She wished she knew. Now reading minds would have come in handy.
“I wonder if you could help me out with a case I’m working on? I seem to be stuck on finding a precedent.” A likely story she thought to herself.
“You could try the Net. Unless you’ve exhausted all the possibilities like Lexis. I mean you are familiar with computer technology aren’t you?” The wonders of the twenty first century. You had to be computer literate to get a job in this place otherwise you couldn’t get your foot through the door. Unless he had connections or family. Nepotism was rife in the legal profession of this country. Old school ties also came in handy too. Especially for men. So that’s probably how Kane got work here. That or he obviously impressed the women on the candidate selection committee.
Charmed "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 2
Chapter 2
“Are you ready Piper?” shouted Phoebe. “Enough make-up already, we’ll miss our flight!”
Piper came out of the bathroom looking the worse for wear. All that partying at P3 the night before had left her tired and sulky and in a foul mood.
“Can you stop shouting Phoebe. Not everyone can be so cheerful this early! Look at my circles.” She pointed to the dark crevices under her eyes.
“Age is definitely catching up with you girl!”
“Get away,” Piper nagged as she hit Phoebe on the shoulder.
“Aren’t either of you ready yet?” Prue appeared in the doorway.
“I don’t see why we all have to go with you” Piper moaned. “Not this early anyway.”
“Oh come on it’s a great way to see London. An all expenses paid trip. You should be lucky my magazine, 415, forked out so lavishly and gave me a bonus too.” Prue had an assignment in London, England to photograph the Millennium Collection. A great find of artifacts and object Des arts from an archaeological dig in the Middle East. For one fleeting moment Prue felt a pang of déjà vu - it was as though she was back at Bucklands again dealing with antiques and artifacts.
The three of them were going to see the sights as well as it being an educational trip for Phoebe, who was interested in England’s historic, bloody past. She for one was in a lather for days and couldn’t contain the excitement any longer at the thought of visiting all those haunts. London was seeped in history. Hampton Court Palace rumored to be haunted by several of Henry VIII’s wives. As well as The Tower of London which saw off many a beheading and boasted the ghost of Anne Boleyn, seen haunting the Tower with her head tucked under her arm; and tongue firmly in cheek!
There was also Jack the Ripper and not to mention the seedier side of legal London and those horsehair wigs that lawyers, known as barristers, wore. What were they called again? Periwigs. No wonder lawyers had such a bad reputation Phoebe mused; the animal rights movement hadn’t caught up with them, in more ways than one!
“Are you ready Piper?” shouted Phoebe. “Enough make-up already, we’ll miss our flight!”
Piper came out of the bathroom looking the worse for wear. All that partying at P3 the night before had left her tired and sulky and in a foul mood.
“Can you stop shouting Phoebe. Not everyone can be so cheerful this early! Look at my circles.” She pointed to the dark crevices under her eyes.
“Age is definitely catching up with you girl!”
“Get away,” Piper nagged as she hit Phoebe on the shoulder.
“Aren’t either of you ready yet?” Prue appeared in the doorway.
“I don’t see why we all have to go with you” Piper moaned. “Not this early anyway.”
“Oh come on it’s a great way to see London. An all expenses paid trip. You should be lucky my magazine, 415, forked out so lavishly and gave me a bonus too.” Prue had an assignment in London, England to photograph the Millennium Collection. A great find of artifacts and object Des arts from an archaeological dig in the Middle East. For one fleeting moment Prue felt a pang of déjà vu - it was as though she was back at Bucklands again dealing with antiques and artifacts.
The three of them were going to see the sights as well as it being an educational trip for Phoebe, who was interested in England’s historic, bloody past. She for one was in a lather for days and couldn’t contain the excitement any longer at the thought of visiting all those haunts. London was seeped in history. Hampton Court Palace rumored to be haunted by several of Henry VIII’s wives. As well as The Tower of London which saw off many a beheading and boasted the ghost of Anne Boleyn, seen haunting the Tower with her head tucked under her arm; and tongue firmly in cheek!
There was also Jack the Ripper and not to mention the seedier side of legal London and those horsehair wigs that lawyers, known as barristers, wore. What were they called again? Periwigs. No wonder lawyers had such a bad reputation Phoebe mused; the animal rights movement hadn’t caught up with them, in more ways than one!
Tuesday, 21 July 2015
Charmed 'Fan Fiction' - "Wicca Becomes You" Chapter 1
Wrote this Charmed story (the TV show) back in 2001, but it wasn't published, for reasons too long to go into here. So it's not the usual 'fan fiction' as the term has grown to be used these days.
Thought I may as well blog it and let people read it and cringe!! Ha.
Chapter 1
Who was this woman, this mysterious stranger she had dreamt about over and over. Every night whilst attempting to get some shut eye, some peace and quiet, some rest. Instead she had this same recurring vision. Was someone trying to send her a warning? Was this a sign of things to come? The future. Tomorrow.
Whatever.
In a distant far away shore Phoebe awoke with a shudder.
“Boy that was one hell of a nightmare” she said to herself. She had to get up and change her baby blue, baby doll nightdress. Her “dream” had been so intense she’d woken in a stream of sweat. As if the visions weren’t bad enough, she was now getting them in her sleep too. At least Phoebe thought her nights of endless slumber would have been free of such placid, scary dreams. Talk about not giving up the day job.
She recalled every minute detail as though she was having a nightmare in the day. Her visions, most of them at least, were usually quite hazy, abrupt and in fragments. But this was vivid and real. As she drank a glass of ice-cool water she pieced together what she’d seen.
A woman dressed in a black velvet robe was being chased down a foggy, rained-out street by a ghastly apparition of some sort. It resembled a hideous giant monster with dense green eyes and fiery red lips. Phoebe paused for a second. Perhaps this was just her subconscious remembering the unearthly demon she and her sisters had vanquished the other week.
But that woman was so beautiful she couldn’t get her out of her mind. She had brown-flame hair, auburn eyes and a small, dainty crimson heart-shaped mouth. In fact “if she had tickets,” on herself, to use the Aussie term, Phoebe thought, “I’d say she kind of looked like me.”
How could that be? This must be a vision, more than just a vision, a nightmare of someone, of an innocent in trouble; and yes demons did always chase after beautiful people. To mar their souls and steal their wisdom and beauty. They had encountered all sorts in their quest to protect innocents and even themselves too. One had even been Piper’s boyfriend back when Phoebe had just arrived in San Francisco. Now that was unreal and frightening.
London, England. Present day.
The girl awoke with a scream. Tears and sweat rolling down her rouged face. She swept back her long, auburn hair and ran her hand across her forehead. For months now her nights were filled with these “visions”. Nightmares. She had made up her mind this time she was going to act.
“Oh cursed dreams and demons of the dark, damned abominations of witchcraft – why do you torment me once more with your d
“Oh cursed dreams and demons of the dark, damned abominations of witchcraft – why do you torment me once more with your dark forebodings and meaningless prophecies,” she whispered to herself portentously.
Without A Trace - Looking Back
The stuff that you find you've written over the years and do nothing with! Time to share perhaps? ha.
September 2005 marked the fourth season of Without A Trace. The CBS/Warner series about missing persons which has garnered surely and loyally a huge following on both sides of the Atlantic and indeed globally. An essential part of prime time viewing: it is intelligent, thought provoking with snippets of humour and heartache.
Without A Trace has carved up its own niche in the schedules and viewers are taken aback by its breathtaking production techniques; fast-paced action, nicely peppered with the personal lives of these our characters and actors. While it comes from the stable of Jerry Bruckheimer, serving as executive producer: it serves up a slice of investigation and nail biting stories in which the viewer can immediately involve themselves from the outset.
As Jerry Bruckheimer is also behind the equally huge and successful CSI franchise and the spin-offs, you can’t help notice the little pieces of CSI creeping in here and there; the reference to forensics, of course is essential. Inevitably certain comparisons had to be made on both shows but for the most, and certainly on my, part it’s not done in any critical way or as a put down. (I’m a fan of all the shows.) The success of each show is a testament to its merit and entertainment factor. Effective and stylish use of flashbacks; assumptions, crime scene reconstructions/enactments and suspect/witness statements getting to the crux of the current investigation. Most effective and crucial is the missing person appearing as a ghost in their apartments etc as though the team is actually there with them, or looking into a facet of their life, before they vanish: like the investigation begun in the Pilot episode and carried throughout the seasons…Pilot episode when Sam (Poppy Montgomery) watches the photo of the missing woman; Jack (Anthony LaPaglia) in Chet’s (Charles S Dutton) apartment when he cries and Viv (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) in Sydney’s apartment in the season 1 finale.
Indeed there was a void crying out to be filled by such a drama series since the schedules were filled with soaps and to a large extent until much recently, sci-fi. Let's not even mention the reality shows!
First hand way in which the FBI conducts a missing person investigation. Not since Mulder and Scully has a show with an FBI theme drummed up so much interest. In fact our special agents in WAT are just as revered and well loved. No finer cast could live up to the FBI motto of Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity; than these.
Though most of the investigations covered are fictitious – some of them are based on true stories, for example the season 2 opener, The Bus. Never-the-less the stories still have a bearing on the everyday: marriage break-ups, affairs, emotional moments which end up mirroring the personal lives of the agents.
On another level some have criticized the story relating to Jack and Sam’s affair – the hints to it in the first season; finally seeing light of day in the two part season 1 finale; have been termed ‘falling into the old romantic trap’ that has been the downfall of many-a show: Moonlighting, Remington Steele. Spring to mind. However, this is counteracted by the fact the affair is already over by the time we hear about it; though their colleagues are in the same boat, re knowledge of this, only Viv knows. But this is finely balanced by Martin’s (Eric Close) immediate attraction to Sam; his jealousness when she speaks to her beaus and his feelings finally see fruition when they finally come together in the season 2 finale and ensuring season 3 where the romantic aspect comes full circle – as what started out in season 1 with Jack and Sam’s secret affair now translates/turns into Martin and Sam’s secret.
The affair may have played a significant part in Jack’s marriage break-up to his wife, Maria (Talia Balsam) it’s not entirely conclusive. Contributing to this is the element of work – his work and this plays an important part too. The number of hours he puts into the job, 24:7 have all had an impact too. Though to be fair, Maria, being a lawyer, isn’t exactly a 9-5 occupation either.
WAT deals with the missing persons section of the FBI and focuses on a team of 5 special agents assigned to such cases: Jack Malone, the leader; Vivian Johnson, Samantha Spade, Danny Taylor (Enrique Murciano) and Martin Fitzgerald, the new agent. Each one comes from a different background, bringing with them a multitude of mindsets and skills; to utilize their knowledge and experiences in ensuring the missing person is located quickly.
This knowledge includes investigative methods: of checking financial records, phone records as well as the vital use of psychological profiling to get to know the missing person’s private and personal life, public appearances. In short, their entire background. Nothing about their life is omitted: every question needs to be asked and answered, no matter how personal or irrelevant it appears – it’s the little things that add up into the whole. From this they can ascertain whether they’re looking at an abductee, a disappearance, a run away, a murder or someone who’s just dropped out of the rat race. In the words of Jack, “you have to get to know the victim,” so they can determine where to look for them. In order to do this, the team constructs a Day of Disappearance (DOD) timeline: crucial details outlining the missing person’s movements on the day they disappeared. Sometimes this time line extends to 2 days before disappearing (DBD) or even months before. This way if there’s any blank spaces to be filled between the DODs, they may be a key to explaining why or how they vanished.
The show was not meant to be about characters: the personal lives revolved around the cases but as the series progressed, this is exactly what has happened. Soundbites and snippets of information about personal problems, emotions, how a case is more closer to home at times than others. Part of the work envisages who they really are. There’s also an element of procedure; the show is procedural. Let’s face it – how many of us will actually get to see the intricate workings of an elite FBI taskforce, short of joining the real FBI (in which case you need to be a US citizen.) As Poppy says, “as the show progresses all the characters are developing more and more. It is a procedural show but the writers are so good that they’re managing to work more and more character into it. I think it’s a good balance.”
Eric on his co-stars says: “We all have a great chemistry….this is a different type of show though. It’s less about the relationships of the characters and more about finding the missing person. But they don’t focus on the interaction between the characters as much, we’re interacting but we’re talking about case information and personality profiles less than peoples’ relationships. We have touched on that Martin and Sam have been in a romantic relationship but that’s clearly the focal point of the show.”
There was sometimes closure for the fans, involving the missing person being found, alive, sadly dead or sometimes in between. It was different too, in that on occasion there was no clear cut conclusion or resolution, thus leaving the stories on a loose thread where the missing person remained missing for obvious reasons such as starting over. Bigamist husband; where the suspect escaped justice season 2 ep Doppelganger (only to get their comeuppance in season 3 Doppelganger 2 or the excellent Two Families which told the ever-questionable story of whether the death penalty should be abolished, let alone maintained in it’s unusual, unjust and cruel form. Given the flaws of the criminal justice system, ranging from incompetent counsel; judge’s misdirection to the jury, wanting to deliver a swift verdict and reliance upon accomplice testimony. This episode ended on a cliff-hanger so we never knew if the telephone rang or not, symbolizing a death knell! Even to episodes which overstepped the boundaries of Federal law in Underground Railroad dealing with the run away victims of domestic violence.
Though sometimes predictable in its approach, it never falters in impressing: concentrating on real life cases as well as the real world: political: the events of 9/11 and fallout from this in the season 1 episode In Extremis and the season 1 finale, Fall Out. How an innocent man can find himself a suspected terroris; a victim of circumstance. The legal: death penalty, immigration and social shortcomings: peer pressure, bullying, foster care, the school system, the have/have not divide. Regardless of the inequalities in societies and backgrounds, each victim was treated fairly on an individual basis, irrespective of race etc.
The show was applauded in earning a Golden Globe in 2004 for its main star Anthony LaPaglia, as well as an Emmy nomination for Best Actor in September 2004.The Pilot episode earned 21 million viewers, rating second across all households and broke the record by being the first drama to beat ER in the ratings. Some thought it doomed as it aired against this show too.
Rightly earning its top spot in the ratings, the Pilot episode dealt with a successful, missing career woman and quickly paved the way for dealing with a number of topics and varied underlying reasons for her disappearance, laying down the basic premises of time lines and getting to know the ‘victim’; thereby leading to them being found. It also contained no end of suspects and was funny in that each of the 5 team members had their own views of her disappearance and which of the endless array of suspects was behind it.
The Pilot also emphasized the time within which the missing person was to be found: 51 hours, though extended to 72 in other episodes. After that the chances of being found alive or at all, were slim. Add to this the characters own take on the story; sometimes being being closer to them than they’d like to admit and especially not to each other.
Comments Eric Close: “…Without A Trace happened to get stuck into a timeslot with a great lead-in [ from CSI] but also the fact that ER was coming to the end of its run. I think timing is important, that has a lot to do with it. It’s the number one show [CSI] on TV and considering the habits of television viewers, when thy like a show I think sometimes they’ll stick around and see what’s coming up next…produced by Jerry Bruckheimer’s company; this company produces good work and so I think people at least were willing to tune in and give it a chance and see what they thought. I think we probably did even better than they expected numberwise. I think they were hoping that we would do well, but I think that we’ve done more than well. I think we’ve exceeded peoples’ expectations, no question.”
September 2005 marked the fourth season of Without A Trace. The CBS/Warner series about missing persons which has garnered surely and loyally a huge following on both sides of the Atlantic and indeed globally. An essential part of prime time viewing: it is intelligent, thought provoking with snippets of humour and heartache.
Without A Trace has carved up its own niche in the schedules and viewers are taken aback by its breathtaking production techniques; fast-paced action, nicely peppered with the personal lives of these our characters and actors. While it comes from the stable of Jerry Bruckheimer, serving as executive producer: it serves up a slice of investigation and nail biting stories in which the viewer can immediately involve themselves from the outset.
As Jerry Bruckheimer is also behind the equally huge and successful CSI franchise and the spin-offs, you can’t help notice the little pieces of CSI creeping in here and there; the reference to forensics, of course is essential. Inevitably certain comparisons had to be made on both shows but for the most, and certainly on my, part it’s not done in any critical way or as a put down. (I’m a fan of all the shows.) The success of each show is a testament to its merit and entertainment factor. Effective and stylish use of flashbacks; assumptions, crime scene reconstructions/enactments and suspect/witness statements getting to the crux of the current investigation. Most effective and crucial is the missing person appearing as a ghost in their apartments etc as though the team is actually there with them, or looking into a facet of their life, before they vanish: like the investigation begun in the Pilot episode and carried throughout the seasons…Pilot episode when Sam (Poppy Montgomery) watches the photo of the missing woman; Jack (Anthony LaPaglia) in Chet’s (Charles S Dutton) apartment when he cries and Viv (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) in Sydney’s apartment in the season 1 finale.
Indeed there was a void crying out to be filled by such a drama series since the schedules were filled with soaps and to a large extent until much recently, sci-fi. Let's not even mention the reality shows!
First hand way in which the FBI conducts a missing person investigation. Not since Mulder and Scully has a show with an FBI theme drummed up so much interest. In fact our special agents in WAT are just as revered and well loved. No finer cast could live up to the FBI motto of Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity; than these.
Though most of the investigations covered are fictitious – some of them are based on true stories, for example the season 2 opener, The Bus. Never-the-less the stories still have a bearing on the everyday: marriage break-ups, affairs, emotional moments which end up mirroring the personal lives of the agents.
On another level some have criticized the story relating to Jack and Sam’s affair – the hints to it in the first season; finally seeing light of day in the two part season 1 finale; have been termed ‘falling into the old romantic trap’ that has been the downfall of many-a show: Moonlighting, Remington Steele. Spring to mind. However, this is counteracted by the fact the affair is already over by the time we hear about it; though their colleagues are in the same boat, re knowledge of this, only Viv knows. But this is finely balanced by Martin’s (Eric Close) immediate attraction to Sam; his jealousness when she speaks to her beaus and his feelings finally see fruition when they finally come together in the season 2 finale and ensuring season 3 where the romantic aspect comes full circle – as what started out in season 1 with Jack and Sam’s secret affair now translates/turns into Martin and Sam’s secret.
The affair may have played a significant part in Jack’s marriage break-up to his wife, Maria (Talia Balsam) it’s not entirely conclusive. Contributing to this is the element of work – his work and this plays an important part too. The number of hours he puts into the job, 24:7 have all had an impact too. Though to be fair, Maria, being a lawyer, isn’t exactly a 9-5 occupation either.
WAT deals with the missing persons section of the FBI and focuses on a team of 5 special agents assigned to such cases: Jack Malone, the leader; Vivian Johnson, Samantha Spade, Danny Taylor (Enrique Murciano) and Martin Fitzgerald, the new agent. Each one comes from a different background, bringing with them a multitude of mindsets and skills; to utilize their knowledge and experiences in ensuring the missing person is located quickly.
This knowledge includes investigative methods: of checking financial records, phone records as well as the vital use of psychological profiling to get to know the missing person’s private and personal life, public appearances. In short, their entire background. Nothing about their life is omitted: every question needs to be asked and answered, no matter how personal or irrelevant it appears – it’s the little things that add up into the whole. From this they can ascertain whether they’re looking at an abductee, a disappearance, a run away, a murder or someone who’s just dropped out of the rat race. In the words of Jack, “you have to get to know the victim,” so they can determine where to look for them. In order to do this, the team constructs a Day of Disappearance (DOD) timeline: crucial details outlining the missing person’s movements on the day they disappeared. Sometimes this time line extends to 2 days before disappearing (DBD) or even months before. This way if there’s any blank spaces to be filled between the DODs, they may be a key to explaining why or how they vanished.
The show was not meant to be about characters: the personal lives revolved around the cases but as the series progressed, this is exactly what has happened. Soundbites and snippets of information about personal problems, emotions, how a case is more closer to home at times than others. Part of the work envisages who they really are. There’s also an element of procedure; the show is procedural. Let’s face it – how many of us will actually get to see the intricate workings of an elite FBI taskforce, short of joining the real FBI (in which case you need to be a US citizen.) As Poppy says, “as the show progresses all the characters are developing more and more. It is a procedural show but the writers are so good that they’re managing to work more and more character into it. I think it’s a good balance.”
Eric on his co-stars says: “We all have a great chemistry….this is a different type of show though. It’s less about the relationships of the characters and more about finding the missing person. But they don’t focus on the interaction between the characters as much, we’re interacting but we’re talking about case information and personality profiles less than peoples’ relationships. We have touched on that Martin and Sam have been in a romantic relationship but that’s clearly the focal point of the show.”
There was sometimes closure for the fans, involving the missing person being found, alive, sadly dead or sometimes in between. It was different too, in that on occasion there was no clear cut conclusion or resolution, thus leaving the stories on a loose thread where the missing person remained missing for obvious reasons such as starting over. Bigamist husband; where the suspect escaped justice season 2 ep Doppelganger (only to get their comeuppance in season 3 Doppelganger 2 or the excellent Two Families which told the ever-questionable story of whether the death penalty should be abolished, let alone maintained in it’s unusual, unjust and cruel form. Given the flaws of the criminal justice system, ranging from incompetent counsel; judge’s misdirection to the jury, wanting to deliver a swift verdict and reliance upon accomplice testimony. This episode ended on a cliff-hanger so we never knew if the telephone rang or not, symbolizing a death knell! Even to episodes which overstepped the boundaries of Federal law in Underground Railroad dealing with the run away victims of domestic violence.
Though sometimes predictable in its approach, it never falters in impressing: concentrating on real life cases as well as the real world: political: the events of 9/11 and fallout from this in the season 1 episode In Extremis and the season 1 finale, Fall Out. How an innocent man can find himself a suspected terroris; a victim of circumstance. The legal: death penalty, immigration and social shortcomings: peer pressure, bullying, foster care, the school system, the have/have not divide. Regardless of the inequalities in societies and backgrounds, each victim was treated fairly on an individual basis, irrespective of race etc.
The show was applauded in earning a Golden Globe in 2004 for its main star Anthony LaPaglia, as well as an Emmy nomination for Best Actor in September 2004.The Pilot episode earned 21 million viewers, rating second across all households and broke the record by being the first drama to beat ER in the ratings. Some thought it doomed as it aired against this show too.
Rightly earning its top spot in the ratings, the Pilot episode dealt with a successful, missing career woman and quickly paved the way for dealing with a number of topics and varied underlying reasons for her disappearance, laying down the basic premises of time lines and getting to know the ‘victim’; thereby leading to them being found. It also contained no end of suspects and was funny in that each of the 5 team members had their own views of her disappearance and which of the endless array of suspects was behind it.
The Pilot also emphasized the time within which the missing person was to be found: 51 hours, though extended to 72 in other episodes. After that the chances of being found alive or at all, were slim. Add to this the characters own take on the story; sometimes being being closer to them than they’d like to admit and especially not to each other.
Comments Eric Close: “…Without A Trace happened to get stuck into a timeslot with a great lead-in [ from CSI] but also the fact that ER was coming to the end of its run. I think timing is important, that has a lot to do with it. It’s the number one show [CSI] on TV and considering the habits of television viewers, when thy like a show I think sometimes they’ll stick around and see what’s coming up next…produced by Jerry Bruckheimer’s company; this company produces good work and so I think people at least were willing to tune in and give it a chance and see what they thought. I think we probably did even better than they expected numberwise. I think they were hoping that we would do well, but I think that we’ve done more than well. I think we’ve exceeded peoples’ expectations, no question.”
Monday, 20 July 2015
Richard Dean Anderson Talk Saturday 18th July #LFCC2015
Well the highlight had to be the talk with Richard Dean Anderson, which was highly anticipated. Though it would've been better if they had found a different place for it. It was rather echo-y and then you could hear the crowd outside. For the number of people there, a 'Superstage' wasn't really needed.
The moderator saying we missed Rick changing his shirt backstage and the crowd went 'wooo' with Rick adding, " you didn't just go wooo did you...you haven't seen me naked, that's for sure." That'd get people going!! Yeah Rick needed to cool down cos it was boiling hot and they placed him in a horrible spot without any aircon to sign, he so should've been on Level 3 with the Game of Thrones, The Musketeers cast, and the wrestlers!!
His daughter, Wylie wants to go to Emerson College, Boston and try her hand at acting and added Rick, she can keep him when he's old and grey or grey and old. Forever the doting father, he speaks so lovingly of her.
Fan Q: if Jack was funny [per se] or if he had part of Rick in his character.
As for Jack being funny in SG-1, he started ad libs at table reads and "I got laughs which is a tantamount of disaster for me cos feed me a laugh and I'll keep going." But he realized he was making fun of the writers and their hard work and this was after a direct conversation with Brad Wright.
Michael Shanks and Amanda [Tapping] got... he loves Amanda more than Michael. "..all the technical dialogue and he just had to listen to it and his response was 'what?' {That reminds me of what Michael said in the Winter 2013 #LFCC that he got all the exposition and long dialogue cos he didn't realize he should've kept his mouth shut, just like Rick did.}
Would he recall his fave ep of Stargate by now?? He doesn't recall things like that, if you knew him, you'd know that. "My favourite was the first one...but Brief Candle ..4 hours in a make-up chair..."
Comment on his Buffy Tee by a fan and Q what part he'd like to have played in the show, if he was in Buffy.
Rick looking surprised at his shirt, "this is Buffy?!" "Buffy she got paid more...not that familiar with the show...
Moderator: 'they were usually after vampires or lesbians.'
Rick:"my 2 favourite people."
Moderator asking what his fave shows were growing up and his idols?
Rick: The local Minneapolis station ran a show called Axel and His Dog..."if there's one person out there who knows the show I'll marry them..." Oh idle promises Ricky!! ha. I accept the proposal!! But it's on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=No0a8QEK1VM
He watched Saturday morning cartoons, but he was always outside. 3 months spent cycling in Southern Canada, Alaska and back to 5,600 mile bike trip and altered his life at 17, he didn't know what he wanted to do and he wasn't good enough to play hockey for the rest of his life.
He still has some of his hair, more or most of it. On the mullet he doesn't pay too much attention to his hair, "so it just kept growing and growing and hair guys kept trimming...I can't believe I was talking about my mullet."
Mentions Rod Stewart and we don't like him anymore cos of his seal skinned jacket he got made. Rick's staying out of the political stuff!
Well that's a Q my sis would've asked re the mullet! But it suited him and was good for him, got all that recognition for it.
Filmed some MacGyver eps in the UK. He had a development deal with Paramount after the show was over. Wrote 2 scripts which they filmed in London and went to France first, but Paramount France wanted too much money from them. Rick adding how those eps "have the mullet gone crazy"
He fell in love with Britain and the countryside. Moderator: he can do a bike ride from Lands End to John O'Groats.
Rick: " the roads are kinda skinny for that."
Moderator: what's it like working on an American soap, General Hospital.
Rick: Was getting his real life education in front of the camera. He didn't have anything like that in school for theatre. California was nice and he ended up there, so it was 'on the job training.'
Fan Q: Is he still active in Sea Shepherd?
Rick it's his effort with conservation. Met Paul in Alaska and no one knew what it was and Paul gave it an empassioned speech many times. He was taken in by it. Growing up in Minnesota, it's associated with the water.
Sea Shepherd see here: seashepherdglobal.org and on Twitter @seashepherd
MacGyver developed had a backstory and kept him from utilizing guns but the concept was to follow the philosophy you don't use guns to solve problems, Rick: "but we stretched the credibility just a wee bit."
His SG-1 story with Chris Judge and they were being 'gaseous' on the set, re the pranking on set Q. He won that day Chris couldn't keep a straight face when they came out of the elevator. "Could see it in his eyes and smell it in his nose...everytime..Chris was a young fighter and he gave him the crown." Somewhere he didn't want to go and dwell on this 'hot air' story! ha.
When he started out he was in heaven, he was having fun, being paid, "I was young...knew I was on my way when I had my daughter, Wylie and I didn't have her of course...I knew that my life was gonna change in a massively aggressive way and I knew that all I wanted to do was to have plenty put aside so I could put Wylie through college. He said you have that. So I made it. That made me happy."
Fan Q: will there be anything planned with rest of the cast for the twentieth anniversary of Stargate. [As if Rick would know about that, he wouldn't be organizing it!] He hasn't heard anything about it.
Rick:Was talk of MacGyver being brought back in some form and he was asked a few times, when some newbie would try and convince him to do MacGyver, which was 'ludicrous to me'. I would only do MacGyver if Mac could be as old as I am and as fat as I am and as cranky as I am. A far more interesting character than watching me play a younger guy as MacGyver."
Fan Q: his fave character from MacGyver, Jack O'Neill and Nicodemus Legend, which is his weak spot. {Legend that aired on the Paramount channel here}. "He was a drunk, smoked cigars and womanized and all the things my grandfather used to do so I fashioned the character around him and it took place in the late 1800's. Also grew a moustache (yeh that caterpillar as I call it. ) " John De Lancie played Nikolas Tesla "I'll tell him [John] I made you clap...was fun and absurd in a good way."
If he cared about his life, he'd want MacGyver around, or even Jack around, did I say that out loud, "Jackaround." He has more in common with Nicodemus. Sitting around smoking cigars and womanizing...there's a soundbite for ya."
To end he said he's a huge fan of this country and since his dad introduced him to Brit humour such as Terry Thomas and it's great. Thanked his fans for coming to the event.
But honestly these questions were all asked and answered (my fave phrase right now) during the course of various interviews over the years by Rick.)
Sorry to bore you with all the Qs repeated in much detail, but it's my memory to blame!! Retains everything. Ha.
Hope you'll enjoy reading for those who couldn't be there!
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