Himself wandered through the tall corn. "Lachlan!" he called. "Nash!" He heard

a rustle behind him and whirled quickly, his nerves a bit on edge what with the

plasma sucking and all so recently in that very area. A shadowy form stepped

out from between two stalks. "You!" he said, surprised.

*************************

"My very self," Sid replied, brushing a few remaining blue sparkles from his

lapel.

Himself frowned. Why, he wondered, had he ever brought this character to

life? Oh, yeah, he recalled. It had been a blast. At the time. But...now?

Now Sid was...was... well, just TOO...too....um, Siddish.

"I understand, " Sid continued, examining a fingernail closely, "that your newest

character will have no name." Himself said nothing. "While I, on the other

hand, have not only a perfect name but also two numbers AND a decimal point."

"And that makes you...?" Himself queried, one eyebrow cocked.

"Unique!" Sid chuckled. "And quite unlike that boorish, uncouth Max fellow."

A sound rather like the snort of a charging bull came from behind Sid and he

turned quickly. "My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius and you will tell me

where you have taken Joimus or I will crush you with my bare hands." The

General said the words levelly, almost quietly, but with eyes looking at the

Chipman like javelins already tossed.

Sid actually smiled at him, and not just a little lip curve but a big, full-out

grinning, tooth-baring smile. Then Sid noticed Terry close beside the General,

seemingly supporting him somewhat. "A bit green about the gills, are we?" Sid

commented.

"What have you DONE to her?" Maximus roared.

"Me? Done? Would I DO something to dear, sweet Joimus? Me?"

Maximus wobbled a bit. The effort of standing took more out of him than he

had thought and the walk to the cornfield had been hard. Terry, aware of all

this, asked on his behalf, "Have you taken her memory?" Maximus squeezed

his eyes shut. It was a thing he, indeed, feared.

Sid twirled, singing, "Memories...light the corners of my mind. Misty watercolor

memories of the way we, " he paused, "were." He looked at the perceptibly

sagging General. "Now, now, Maximus, don't be...upset. Her memory is quite

intact." Maximus looked up, fixing his gaze darkly on Sid. "I've just made a

few minor...adjustments. That's all." He laughed so hard he had to hold his

stomach.

Maximus felt ill. He sank to one knee, breathing hard, Terry bending slightly

over him. Himself looked concerned. "How is he?" he asked.

"A bit of a concussion," Terry replied. Maximus shook his head. It wasn't his

injury so much as what Sid may have done to Joimus that made him feel ill. Or

so he thought. But the shake of his head caused everything to spin and he had

to further brace himself by placing one palm on the ground.

"Ah," Sid sighed, enjoying the sight, "where are the tigers when you really

need them?"

Himself cuffed Sid's right ear. "Where is she NOW?" Himself asked, his

anger rising fast.

Terry felt a soft finger run down the camo on his left cheek. "Euwww!," a

female voice said. "Whenever will annsmac talk you into using...chocolate

and pistachio?"

He turned to see Joimus standing beside him, licking the camo off her

forefinger. "Joimus!" he cried, but then narrowed his eyes and just stared.

WAS it Joimus? Himself's mouth had dropped quite open, Sid was grinning ear

to ear, and Maximus, who had toppled to a complete sitting position, looked

decidedly dazed.

Wiping her wet finger on Terry's chest pocket, Joimus stepped forward and

squatted in front of the General. "MaxiBaby," she said, cupping his chin in

her left hand, "did ya miss me?"

She then looked up at the other 3 men. "You guys run along now. Me and the

General here, we got some reacquaintin' to tend to. But don't go...too...far.

I might be needin' you...later." She made a little kissy sound at Sid.

No one moved, well, unless you count the series of tremors that ran through

the General. They all just stared at her. Her long pale hair was a shimmering

blue, with blue ribbons and sparkles worked all through it. The pale yellow

gossamer gown was now a pale blue gossamer gown. Her nails, her lipstick,

her eyeshadow were all sparkly blue. Maximus, though, had gone nearly white

and his upper teeth sank deeply into his lower lip. "I...I...," he gasped, "I

thought you were dead."

"Oh, MaxiBabe," she laughed, "I'm WAY better than DEAD!"

"Indeed, she is," Sid added. "I have, um, added to her a bit...especially

for you, my dear General of the Felix Legions. Are you not pleased?" Joimus

stood and it was then Maximus first saw the blue fishnet stockings.

Juba stopped, studying the high arch of sky. "The blue plasma streak has

gone," he said, looking at Jeffarry.

Jeffarry sighed deeply. He needed to save somebody. How could he do that

if there were no trail to follow, no clue at all? He turned, looking back at the

now- distant porch. Uthne had risen and was standing by the railing, gazing out

toward the cornfields. He placed his palm over the pocket where the black

crowe feather lay. "Uthne," he breathed softly, "I will win you back. I will give

you something you've never seen before."

Juba looked at him. "Do all of you talk in such a manner?" he asked. Jeffarry

nodded, then smiled a bit sheepishly.

"Help!" came a desperate cry from the cornfield nearer the large log home.

Jeffarry's ears perked. He looked at Juba. "Did you hear that?"

Juba smiled. He had learned of late that 'not yet' often seemed to come to

one before one truly expected. He was glad for Jeffarry. He liked the man.

"You remind me of the General," he said, "only perhaps older and with whiter

hair and a bit more flaccid of muscle and larger of paunch and with no sword

fighting skills."

"I'm younger," Jeffarry replied.

"Younger than whom?" Juba asked.

"Maximus," Jeffarry said, almost a bit embarrassed.

"Maximus? YOU are younger than Maximus?"

"I am," Jeffarry continued. "I know it's hard to believe, but I was here

before he was."

"If you were here earlier, does that not make you older?" Juba replied, very

puzzled.

"No," Jeffarry tried to explain. "With characters, earlier means younger."

Juba shrugged. "I do not understand."

"It's Himself," Jeffarry said. "Himself was younger when he was me than

he was when he was Maximus."

"Himself?" Juba repeated, then he suddenly understood. "In the arena," he

said, "when Maximus would laugh and talk about the big kitties....THAT was

Himself!"

"Right!" Jeffarry exclaimed.

"Truly," Juba continued, "Maximus did not laugh in the arena...or find the

tigers amusing."

Right about now, Maximus was not laughing or being amused. Not at all. Terry

and Himself had helped him to his feet and he stood, slightly swaying, looking

down at Joimus. She batted her lashes at him. "Maximus," Terry said quietly,

seriously, "it's not her fault. Sid...."

"I know!" the General spat, pressing one hand to his temple where a chisel

seemed intent on splitting his skull.

Sid did a little skippy movement off into the corn, waving a hand and singing,

"I'll be seeing you in all the old, familiar places...."

"Who knew he had such a musical bent?" Himself remarked, watching Sid go.

"Musical or not," Terry added, "he's definitely bent."

Joimus was studying Maximus. She reached up, putting her soft hand over

his atop his temple. "Come, MaxiPoo. Let Joimus take care of you." She pouted

her lower lip out as she said it.

Once, the mere touch of her hand on his would have sent tingles of pleasure

coursing through him. Now it was more like chills running down his spine.

A tear brimmed in his lower right lid where all his tears first appeared.

"Joimus," he said, breathing her name so lightly it was almost more a sigh

than a word. He turned his hand, cupping his fingers around her wrist and

pulling it down, though not letting go of it. Turning his head, he looked at

Terry, his eyes all lost and terribly confused. "What am I to do?" he

whispered, then looked back at Joimus and repeated it. "What am I to

...do?"

"Take her home, Maximus. For now...take her home."

"Yeah!" Joimus giggled. "Take me home, Big Boy!" She wriggled her hips

happily. "I wanna see your...sword."

Terry gulped. Maximus gulped. She looked at Terry, her lids half lowered.

"And you," she said huskily, "tell annsmac I plan on borrowing your equipment...

later."

The tear overbrimmed, rolling freely down Maximus' cheek. He encircled her

with his right arm, pulling her close, pressing her into him. "No," he said,

his voice cracking. "No."

Jeffarry and Juba ran through the corn toward the cry for help. From the

sound of the voice, it was definitely a character...and most likely one who

had grown up in southern West Virginia, which rather narrowed the field.

Jeffary tripped and fell flat.

"OW!" the voice shouted just behind his feet.

Turning, he looked back over one shoulder. "NASH!" he cried. "What happened

to you?" He had, you see, tripped over Nash's head which, one might add,

was all that was visible of the mathematician at the current moment.

"I.. I'm not sure," Nash replied. "I was riding my horse off to the south

seas... I think...and, and...suddenly I was whooshed off and the next I knew,

here I was."

Juba had been listening. This one looked a little more like Maximus, but was

clean-shaven and had lighter hair. He squatted near the head, curious. "Are

you younger than Maximus?" he asked, the General being his only gauge by

which to judge characters.

"No, I'm older," Nash replied, a bit annoyed that conversation rather than

excavation was underway.

"You don't look older," Juba continued, studying the face. "How can you be

older than the General?"

Jeffarry grinned, "Just wait till you meet Braddock. He looks younger still."

"Braddock?" Juba asked.

"Yes," Jeffary explained, "he's even older than the Captain but looks much

younger."

"It's the weight loss," Nash added, "and all the exercise and the giving up of

croissants."

"He...he...youthens?" Juba wanted to know.

"Sometimes," Jeffarry answered, "but not always. He didn't for the Captain,

did he, Nash?"

Nash, however, had become rather occupied in biting the heads off the

fireants that were creeping up his chin. "Could you," he asked politely,

"continue this later? I seem to be in need of some assistance here."

"Quite right!" Jeffary said, and set about stomping the thousands of ants

still on the ground. Using a corn leaf, he scooped the ones off Nash's face

then began to dig around his neck.

"You might help," Nash said, looking up at the large, muscular Juba who

seemed intent on merely observing.

"No," Jeffarry puffed, "this is MY rescue. He has no black crowe feather!"

Nash decided not to ask what that meant. Often in epis not knowing what the

heck was going on was the only way to maintain any semblance of sanity and

Nash figured he'd better not push his luck in that department.

Himself, Terry, and Maximus walked back to the yellow farmhouse, with the

General trying to keep Joimus tucked beneath his cape. He was not having

much success as she kept peeping her head out under his armpit and making

faces up at him that involved an embarrassing amount of tongue wiggling.

Many of our cast members had gathered on the porch, waiting as they saw

the men returning. When it became obvious they had company and that that

company was in the form of Joimus herself, Berti shouted,"They found her!"

Their general gladness was somewhat interrupted, however, when she broke

free of Maximus' grip and bounced up to Cort. She licked her finger, the

very one with traces of camo still lingering, and with it shining wetly, made

a large "X" on the dusty sheriff's right cheekbone. "Just marking the spot,"

 she purred to Sue.

"Marking the spot?" Sue repeated, her hand going to her whip coil.

"Yep!" Joimus burbled, "for when the General is tuckered out. I don't

wanna forget where to plant my...."

"ENOUGH!" Maximus said sternly, grabbing her upper arm and steering her

through the doorway.

"What was THAT?" Susan Guildford asked, horrified.

"That," Terry sighed, "is Joimus after Sid...improved...her."

Annsmac came up beside the K&R agent she so adored. "Your equipment,"

she said quietly, "it's not safe, is it?"

"I fear not," he replied. "She has already expressed her, um, intent."

Maximus stood beside the table, the very table where he had so recently, so

happily, devoured apple pie. Now he held Joimus facing him, his hands gripping

both of her forearms. "You must leave the other characters alone," he said

firmly. He thought of Sue and her whip. "It is a matter of personal safety,"

he added. "You MUST leave them alone!"

"I'll...try," she lied blithely, thinking that the General had to sleep...

sometime...and Hando was looking at her through the screen door, his eyes

dancing enticingly. He liked the blue hair...and the fishnets.

Maximus saw Joimus looking toward the door and jerked his head around

quickly, catching sight of the young Melbourner before he stepped behind

the wall. He shook his head at her. "You are playing with fire," he said,

really quite worried about her safety. Ando was known for creative

vengeance and she had had very few lines of late so might well burst on

the scene loaded for bear, so to speak. He could see clearly, though, that

he was not getting through to her at all, that she was not in the least worried

about such things, so he simply scooped her up in his arms and carried her

upstairs, plopping her on the bed and locking the door. "Now," he said,

undoing the clasp of his cape, "it is just you and me."

Stretching her arms languidly above her head, she twisted her hips slightly,

murmuring, "Oh...goody!"

He looked down at her. Gods, how he wanted her, but to be with her now

would be taking advantage of her...condition. With tired fingers, he

unbuckled his cuirass, letting it fall heavily to the carpet. As he slipped

off his wrist cuffs, she laughed a low, throaty laugh and he suddenly

realized she saw it as him stripping for her pleasure. Leaving the rest of

his attire in place, he lay beside her, wrapped his arms completely about

her waist and locked his fingers tightly. Brushing his lips lightly over her

cheek, he then placed them on her ear, whispering ever so softly, "I will

never let you go." He kissed her ear. "Never."

"There!" Jeffarry said with some satisfaction. He had, at last, unearthed

Nash.

The mathematician, though, lay there in the cornrow, stiff as a board.

"I can't move," he said, "my muscles have completely cramped."

"I'll get you back to Franki," Jeffarry said. "She'll know what to do to

uncramp you."

Juba lifted Nash's shoulders and Jeffarry his feet, and they began the

long trip back to the yellow farmhouse. Jeffarry smiled. Uthne was there!

She would see that he had saved Nash from not only embeddedness but

ant devouration. She would be proud of him and he would give her back

the black crowe feather.

When they reached the edge of the cornfield, he stopped. "I must continue

alone," he told Juba, "else Uthne will think I was helped."

Juba stepped back, remaining in the cornish shadows while Jeffarry

dragged Nash across the final stretch of grassland like some proud parent

bringing home the Christmas tree. By now the shades of evening were

creeping softly over The Village and the tree frogs of late summer had

begun their songs.

"Jeffarry's coming!" Eryn called out, "and he's got...something...with

him." She turned to Uthne. "It's Jeffarry, Uthne. Look!"

But Uthne sat on the porch swing, turning her head away. "What've you

got there, Jeffarry?" Andy asked.

"Nash," Jeffarry replied, staggering up the several steps to the porch

with Nash's shoes going bumpety-bumpety-bump behind him.

"John!" cried Franki, running out the door. Jeffarry propped the

mathematician against the windowbox of red geraniums. "Why...why...,"

Franki gasped, "John! You're stiff as a board!" Hando murmured something

unmentionable in polite society, which, of course, made Ando giggle. "What

happened to him, Jeffarry?"

"I found him buried up to his neck in the cornfield and about to be dinner

for a few million fireants."

"It's true," Nash groaned. "Jeffarry saved me."

Franki grasped Jeffarry's hand. "Oh, THANK you, dear Jeffarry!" she

said heartfeltedly.

"I owe him my life," Nash added.

"Did you hear that, Uthne?" Eryn said brightly. Uthne had turned slightly,

looking at Jeffarry. He held out his hands toward her, his palms rough,

scratched, and caked with corndirt, his nails split and broken, dead

fireants lodged beneath their tips. Saying nothing more, he knelt before

her, hands still extended, eyes locked onto her face. She studied his

hands, usually white, soft, and well-tended. Very slowly, she put out one

of her own hands, allowing her fingertips to trace a large welt across his

right palm then flick away a fireant leg. It was a very romantic moment.

She looked, then, up into his earnest, hopeful, seagreen eyes. He could

see a softening wash across her face as her jaw relaxed and her eyes

grew fond once more.

"Oh, Uthne!" he cried, throwing his arms about her waist and burying

his face in her lap. "Can you...will you...forgive me?"

Her fingers played in his silvery hair for a while, then she whispered,

"Give it to me."

When he lifted his face, tears of joy stained his cheeks and her lap.

"You mean it?" he asked.

"I do," she smiled.

Hando added loudly, "I now pronounce them Insider and wife."

Reaching quickly into his pocket, he brought forth the dreaded black crowe

feather. "What do I do with this?" Jeffrey asked. Ute took it and tossed

it over her shoulder, off the porch.

"Ow!" came the tiniest little cry. How was Ute to know that Bunny was down

there in the lilac bushes with Sid?

"Here, let me," Sid said, plucking the feather out of Bunny's cottontail.

"You are, after all, not a crowe," he commented.

"But I could be," she replied, "with a little help."

"You want my help, eh?" Sid laughed softly.

"I do," Bunny said, echoing Ute.

"Then come with me!" Sid urged, leading her off toward the large red barn.

They snuggled together atop a blanket he carefully spread over the trapdoor...

beneath which lay his hidden green crystal. "You are the only one, you know,"

he continued, "who truly wants me for myself."

She smiled, tracing along his clean jawline. "For years" she said dreamily,

"I collected purple marbles, never knowing why. Then you came along and

suddenly everything was clear to me." The light of the rising moon put his

finely-chiseled features into full relief. "You are the most beautiful, the

most self-possessed of all the characters." Her fingers tracked slowly

down his nose, then across his cheekbone. "What is it you truly want,

Sid," she asked, "besides total world domination including Illinois, I mean."

"I want," he began, then paused long before continuing, "to be Maximus."

Her jaw dropped. This she had not expected. She sat up, looking down

at his still-reclining form. "But you HATE Maximus!" she exclaimed.

"How can you say you want to BE him?"

He looked up at her. She had never seen him so serious...so almost sad.

"I hate him because I am not him."

She was stunned, totally at a loss for words. She lay back beside him,

her arm curved over his chest. Blinking back tears, she studied his

profile in the moonlight. "I won't tell," she whispered. "I'll never tell."

Turning his head towards her he said, "I know."

Joimus, in the upstairs bedroom, studied Maximus' profile, watching as his

lids grew heavy and his chest rose and fell with deep regularity. Gradually,

his fingers loosened their lock and she was able, with great care, to slip

out of his arms. She went to the window and leaned out, pleased that the

clematis trellis was not only right beneath it, but was also so sturdily built.

In her fishnet-stockinged feet, she padded back to the bed, kissed her

fingertip, then pressed it lightly to his parted lips. "I'll be back," she

whispered. "Sleep well, and dream of...me."

Turning, she almost skipped to the window, then climbed down the trellis.

The moon was up and she felt free so did a series of cartwheels across

the lawn. At the far edge of the large yard was a single tree that looked

strangely out of place with its enormous, low branches that nearly swept

the ground. Something moved in the deep shadows beneath its canopy and

she decided to investigate. As she approached, she determined it was a

version of Himself who stood there, elbows resting on a low branch.

"Braddock?" she whispered, "Is that you?"

"No," a familiar Aussie voice rumbled back.

"Russell?" she tried again.

"No," the voice repeated then added, "well, not entirely."

"Who ARE you?" she asked, intrigued.

"It is only for you," he continued, "that this single quercus virginiana is

growing in the epi. They are not found much north of Williamsburg...usually."

"Quercus virginiana? What's that?" she asked, deciding to play along with

what he seemed determined to do.

"Live oak," he said simply. "Are you 'live' tonight, Joimus?"

She came up to him, the branch swooping between them, and she, too,

leaned her elbows upon it, staring directly into his face. "I know you,"

she said, "and yet I don't. What's your name?"

"I don't have a name," he replied, chuckling softly.

"Surely you have a name!" she insisted.

"Truly I don't," he said.

"What a shame," she laughed, "and what a complication, epily-speaking.

Tell me about yourself," she suddenly demanded.

He chuckled again. "I don't really exist yet," he said, "except on paper,

a storyboard here and there...and in Russell's mind. But I'm...coming."

"I'm glad," Joimus said, leaning forward, pressing her lips to his, making

no move to remove them.

Finally needing a breath, he pulled back just a little. "You ARE 'live',

aren't you," he smiled.

"Would you like to find out just how....," her sentence was cut off by a

sudden strong hand on her arm.

"Back off!" Maximus growled, "Whoever you are."

Joimus frowned, looking at the General. "He's new, MaxiLuv, and I was

gonna be his first."

Maximus glared at the shadowy form. "Go now!" he ordered.

As the nameless man faded toward the blackness at the far edge of the

huge tree, he called back, "I'll see you again!" Then he was gone.

Maximus looked seriously at Joimus. "I didn't hear you leave," he commented.

"Good," she retorted, "I tried."

"So it would seem," he replied, keeping a tight grip on her right wrist.

"You were asleep," she shrugged, "I have...needs."

He pressed his lips grimly together. "Come now," he said firmly.

"No," she answered. "I will not."

"You will...not?" he repeated, still quite unused to this version of his

Joimus. "By the gods you WILL!" and once again he swept her up in his

arms. She nipped his ear defiantly. "Don't," he said, "it will make the

tabloids."

She laughed then, recalling the time he had been forced to steal his own

sword from the museum in New York City and had gotten photographed in

the act. He grinned, thinking of the same thing, then looked at her with

wonder in his eyes. "You DO remember me, don't you?" he cried, hope rising

in his heart.

"Of course I remember you, MaxiBabe!" and she started tickling his armpit.

He was just so glad to have her back in his arms no matter what, that he

let himself go with the tickling and toppled over in deliberate stages onto

the lawn, pulling her down atop him as he went. She tickled him mercilessly

until he gasped for air and laced his fingers through her blue hair, pulling

her mouth down onto his.

Berti poked Wanda in the ribs. "Are you sure Joimus is writing this particular

epi?"

"No," Wanda replied, still upset that her entire fireant collection had not

only escaped, but had been squashed. "I'm not at all sure."

"Good," Berti replied, "I wanted to be sure it wasn't just me thinking that."

Lachlan was tired and he yearned for Wanda. He had been walking homeward

through the cornfield when suddenly all around him, the corn had rerisen.

He had been forced to dodge here and there in order to avoid being severely

whumped by the thick stalks. It was then that....

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