BETWEEN THE ADVENTURES 2
Well, they can't have adventures EVERY day!
Disclaimer: They're not mine, alas. They belong to those other really cool people.
Vignettes By The Inner Genie
***********************************
Outfoxed
8/10/03
Even paradise can be boring. Anyway, that's what Marguerite Krux thought as she threw down the book she was trying to read and covered a giant yawn with one slender hand.
"Oh, this will never do," she murmured to herself.
Her large, gray-green eyes darted around the treehouse looking for something, anything, to relieve her tedium. An anticipatory gleam appeared in those twin orbs of mischief as they landed on the back of the hapless Edward T. Malone who sat scribbling furiously in one of his many journals.
Marguerite smiled slowly. Ned's journals would certainly make for more interesting reading than that stale, old book that she must have read a hundred times.
Her smile faded, and her lips pouted ever so slightly. Only trouble was, he'd never let her read them.
Marguerite's delicate brows drew together at the memory of their last blow- up. She'd found his journals spread out on the kitchen table for anyone to see. When he'd found her reading them, he acted as if she were the one who had done something criminal! Really, all she'd done was rewrite some dialogue he had gotten all wrong and scribble over a few paragraphs he'd written about his 'heiress" character that were just short of libel. She sniffed in irritation. Really, if he insisted on including a character so obviously based on her, you'd think he'd give her some editorial input.
A heady rush of righteous indignation coursed through her. She glared at the offending back. By God, if he were writing her character in an unflattering light again, it was her right to see those journals. She would get a look! Boredom was completely forgotten as she calculated her next move. Standing up, she shook her dark, curly locks behind her shoulders and smoothed down her skirt. What was that saying Challenger was always spouting? Ah, yes-'If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.'
Hunched over his journal, writing the latest chapter in the continuing adventures of The Lost World (as he had decided to call his great novel), the young reporter had no inkling of the menace approaching behind him.
"Oh, Ned," the lovely heiress said placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Ned's shoulders tensed. He turned his head and looked suspiciously up at the lovely brunette.
"I'm busy, Marguerite," he said with a frown.
"I can see that." Her laughter tinkled innocently. "I just thought that since you're working so hard, you might like some help."
The journalist was instantly on guard. The beautiful Miss Krux was not known for helping.
"Help? What kind of help?"
"Oh, I suppose I could.oh, I don't know.check for spelling errors or something," she answered carelessly.
Ned was confused and not a little alarmed. After their last run-in, he'd taken care that she never got the chance to read his journals again. She had been furious with him. So, why the sudden good will? He shrugged. Well, he could use an editor to read over his stories and correct. He stopped as realization of her true purpose hit him. Oh, so that was it, eh. Marguerite was getting nervous and curious. She was wondering just what he'd written about his heiress character. Funny how she thought the horrible, nasty heiress was based on her when, actually, he'd based her on Gladys' cousin. He looked down and grinned a wolfish grin. It wasn't often that he got to outfox the fox. Two could play at this game.
"Well, gosh, Marguerite," he gushed insincerely. "That is so thoughtful of you. I really can use some help."
Marguerite smiled triumphantly.
He grabbed her hand and dropped a couple of drippy pens and an almost empty bottle of ink into her waiting palm.
"Here, wash these, and refill the ink bottle, will you." He tilted his head and beamed gratefully up at her. "You're a real pal, Marguerite.
Marguerite looked down at the inky mess spreading between her fingers.
"Could this day get any better?" she muttered as she hurried to the kitchen sink.
***********************************
Spring Cleaning
9/02/03
THWAP! THWAP!
Lord John Roxton squinted his eyes almost closed as dust billowed into the air. He coughed pitifully and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed the unhealthy sound of his lungs. Rats. No one was paying him or his lungs any attention at all. He raised the woven, snowshoe looking thing and again took aim at the filthy rug hanging over the branch.
THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!
Marguerite Krux heard the British Lord coughing and swore under her breath.
"He can choke on those dust bunnies for all I care," she muttered, then winced as she plunged her red, chapped hands into the steaming tub of soapy water and fished out another dingy curtain. She balled it up and scrubbed it up and down on the wooden washboard that sat in the tub.
"How could.scrub, scrub.he .scrub, scrub.be so stupid.scrub, scrub. as to complain to Veronica about.dunk, dunk.the dust.wring, wring.on the.shake, shake.bookcases?"
Carrying the wet curtain in a death grip like it was the neck of a certain dark-haired man, she stomped over to the clothesline and flung it carelessly over. "And now we all have to suffer," she complained darkly.
"What was that, Marguerite?" said a light though strangely scary voice behind her.
She whirled around in time to see their hostess dump another armload of linens into the tub.
The formerly outspoken heiress clamped her lips shut and groaned inwardly. She didn't dare say anything. Enraged by Roxton's audacity in complaining to her, Veronica had threatened to close up the treehouse and move to the Zanga village. They had begged her to change her mind and promised to do all the cleaning if she wouldn't turn them out. It took all of Ned's charm and persuasion to get her to agree to the deal. However, she warned them that she would not tolerate any sign of mutiny.
Veronica gave the subdued beauty a sharp look and then continued in a voice so scathing that Marguerite flinched.
"That certainly was thoughtful of Roxton to point out that my home is a pigpen. But, he's perfectly right you know-the treehouse hasn't had a good spring cleaning in at least three years." She put her finger on her chin. "Why three years ago was when all of you came to live under my roof wasn't it?" She shook her head in sad disbelief. "Tsk, tsk, I don't know how you've put up with my squalor. Well, we'll take care of that problem today- inch by filthy inch."
She narrowed her eyes and raked Marguerite with a withering stare. "Now what was that you were saying, Marguerite?"
Marguerite gulped. She didn't fancy being thrown out, homeless, into the jungle.
"Hooray for Spring Cleaning?" she hazarded.
"That's what I thought you said," Veronica said with a satisfied nod.
*************************
R emember
9/26/03
Three tired explorers stumbled out of the elevator and down the steps of the treehouse, quickly divesting themselves of their rifles and brimming packs. They had been out since morning scouting for medicinal plants and it had taken them all day to collect enough to satisfy their resident scientist.
"That should hold us for a while," Professor George Challenger said with a satisfaction nod.
Lord John Roxton stretched his aching back. "Seems we've come full circle. We have to collect medicinal plants so that we can have medicine to put on our muscles that were strained by carrying all those bloody medicinal plants." He groaned and flexed his shoulder.
Challenger smiled smugly. "One of us, old boy, must be feeling his age. As for me, I feel fit as a fiddle despite our arduous day." He ruined his boast, however, when his right knee buckled and he grabbed it with a muffled moan.
"I freely admit that I'm bushed," Marguerite Krux interrupted. "What I need is food and lots of it." She stopped and inhaled deeply. "Yum. What is that marvelous smell?" She looked around hungrily.
Roxton walked over to the kitchen table. Five elegant place settings were laid around the usually plain table, and three large, covered bowls, clustered in the center of the table, emitted heavenly aromas.
"What have we here?" he murmured. He started to lift one of the lids when a discouraging noise from the older man made him hesitate.
"I wouldn't do that, John," Challenger warned as he poured water into the washbowl and began to scrub his hands. "You remember how upset Veronica was the last time we didn't wait." Drying his hands, he shook his head as he remembered the scolding they had gotten from their hostess.
Marguerite took Challenger's place at the washbowl. "Well, I hope she serves dinner soon. I'm so hunger I could gnaw on one of you."
Roxton came up behind her and whispered. "Name the time and place, my dear, and I'll be there." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
Marguerite looked down and smiled. Raising her dripping hand, she flicked water on him and scurried away before he could retaliate.
Meanwhile, the red-bearded scientist was calling over the railing down into the lower floor. Getting no response, he muttered, "I wonder where Ned and Veronica are. It's not like them to go off without telling us. Especially when it's their turn to cook," he ended querulously.
He had turned back to the table when the elevator began to descend on its own.
"Ah, that must be our two cooks, now."
Eagerly, the three hurried over to the table and stood behind their chairs, ready to eat as soon as Veronica gave the word.
The elevator started back up again. It reached the top and with much whispering and bumping, Ned Malone and Veronica Layton sprang down the steps and smiled at their housemates.
"Good, you're here," Ned observed rather needlessly.
"Here and very hungry," agreed Marguerite brightly.
"Please, be seated," Veronica said taking the hint. "Everything is ready."
Chairs scrapped back as they all took seats. Ned removed the lids and stuck a large spoon in each bowl. Marguerite held out her plate and licked her lips as he spooned a large portion of each onto her plate.
"By George, is that.?" Challenger began excitedly.
"Yes," Ned explained. "Honey glazed tubers, wild turkey and dumplings, and fresh steamed greens."
Marguerite looked up from her plate, chewing ecstatically. "Delicious! Keep it coming, Malone."
They all fell to eating and silence reigned.
After a few minutes Ned put down his fork and said leadingly, "Weren't glazed tubers one of Arthur's favorites?"
Challenger chuckled. "Indeed they were." He shook his head. "Now, there was a man with a sweet tooth."
Veronica looked over at Ned and raised her eyebrows in silent communication. Clearing her throat, she asked quietly, "Do any of you remember what today is?"
Roxton and Marguerite hesitated with their forks held over their plates and shared a look.
"Well, yes, Veronica, we did, but.um.we didn't want to mention it in case it brought back sad memories," the hunter answered.
Marguerite put down her knife and fork. Only Challenger continued to eat.
"What day is it?" the scientist asked with his mouth full.
"Two years ago today, Professor Summerlee fell into the gorge and- disappeared," Veronica reminded him gently.
Challenger slowly lowered his fork and set it beside his plate. His face froze for an instant, then his mouth turned down and he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Has.has it really been two years?" he asked bleakly.
Veronica drew in a deep breath. "Yes. So, Ned and I thought it would be.fitting to make this day a day of remembrance. See," she said gesturing to the food on the table, "every dish here was.is a favorite of his."
Marguerite reached for Roxton's hand under the table. She smiled at the younger couple.
"You're absolutely right. I can still hear him going on about your dumplings; how they reminded him so of Anna's."
Roxton laughed. "Do you remember the fight you and he had over the tubers, Challenger? I thought he was going to poke your eye out before giving up the last one."
Challenger cheered up at the memory. "Indeed, I do remember. I had to threaten to hide his tobacco before he consented to share."
They were all smiling now and then started talking all at once.
Ned held up his hands. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute," he said. "Before we start with our "Arthur Anecdotes," I want you to see something wonderful that Veronica made for us."
He walked quickly to the elevator and returned with a picture in a beautiful, polished, wooden frame. He set it on the table and turned it around for them to see.
They gasped.
Smiling out at them was their dear friend Arthur Summerlee. His eyes twinkled at them over the rims of his glasses and his favorite pipe was held up in a silent salute. The scruffy, white beard couldn't hide his kindly face that was alive with his love of life.
"Spot on, Veronica. Spot on!" exclaimed Roxton admiringly.
Marguerite stood up to get a better look. "It's wonderful," she breathed. "I can almost hear his voice."
"You've done the old boy proud, my dear," Challenger said misty eyed.
"She's been working on it for months," Ned said proudly. He beamed at the blonde jungle girl.
"Thank you," Veronica grinned. "I'm glad you like it. But it isn't just my present. Ned made the frame."
Roxton clapped his friend on the back. "I didn't know you were a carpenter, Neddy Boy."
Ned winced. "There're a lot of things you don't know about me, Johnny Boy," he replied giving the older man a taste of his own medicine.
"Where shall we hang it, eh?" Challenger asked still looking at the picture. "A place of honor, I think."
"I know," Marguerite said enthusiastically. "Let's hang it right here on this post by the table. That way Arthur can share every meal with us." She hesitated and looked over at their hostess. "That is.if it suits you, Veronica."
"I think it's a fine idea."
By removing a string of drying herbs from the nail that was in the post, it was the work of a moment to hang the portrait.
Challenger bowed to the picture. "Won't you join us for dinner, old boy?" He put his hand to his ear. "Eh? What's that? You'd be delighted? Fantastic!"
Laughing, six friends gathered around the table to finish their meal.
Well, they can't have adventures EVERY day!
Disclaimer: They're not mine, alas. They belong to those other really cool people.
Vignettes By The Inner Genie
***********************************
Outfoxed
8/10/03
Even paradise can be boring. Anyway, that's what Marguerite Krux thought as she threw down the book she was trying to read and covered a giant yawn with one slender hand.
"Oh, this will never do," she murmured to herself.
Her large, gray-green eyes darted around the treehouse looking for something, anything, to relieve her tedium. An anticipatory gleam appeared in those twin orbs of mischief as they landed on the back of the hapless Edward T. Malone who sat scribbling furiously in one of his many journals.
Marguerite smiled slowly. Ned's journals would certainly make for more interesting reading than that stale, old book that she must have read a hundred times.
Her smile faded, and her lips pouted ever so slightly. Only trouble was, he'd never let her read them.
Marguerite's delicate brows drew together at the memory of their last blow- up. She'd found his journals spread out on the kitchen table for anyone to see. When he'd found her reading them, he acted as if she were the one who had done something criminal! Really, all she'd done was rewrite some dialogue he had gotten all wrong and scribble over a few paragraphs he'd written about his 'heiress" character that were just short of libel. She sniffed in irritation. Really, if he insisted on including a character so obviously based on her, you'd think he'd give her some editorial input.
A heady rush of righteous indignation coursed through her. She glared at the offending back. By God, if he were writing her character in an unflattering light again, it was her right to see those journals. She would get a look! Boredom was completely forgotten as she calculated her next move. Standing up, she shook her dark, curly locks behind her shoulders and smoothed down her skirt. What was that saying Challenger was always spouting? Ah, yes-'If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.'
Hunched over his journal, writing the latest chapter in the continuing adventures of The Lost World (as he had decided to call his great novel), the young reporter had no inkling of the menace approaching behind him.
"Oh, Ned," the lovely heiress said placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Ned's shoulders tensed. He turned his head and looked suspiciously up at the lovely brunette.
"I'm busy, Marguerite," he said with a frown.
"I can see that." Her laughter tinkled innocently. "I just thought that since you're working so hard, you might like some help."
The journalist was instantly on guard. The beautiful Miss Krux was not known for helping.
"Help? What kind of help?"
"Oh, I suppose I could.oh, I don't know.check for spelling errors or something," she answered carelessly.
Ned was confused and not a little alarmed. After their last run-in, he'd taken care that she never got the chance to read his journals again. She had been furious with him. So, why the sudden good will? He shrugged. Well, he could use an editor to read over his stories and correct. He stopped as realization of her true purpose hit him. Oh, so that was it, eh. Marguerite was getting nervous and curious. She was wondering just what he'd written about his heiress character. Funny how she thought the horrible, nasty heiress was based on her when, actually, he'd based her on Gladys' cousin. He looked down and grinned a wolfish grin. It wasn't often that he got to outfox the fox. Two could play at this game.
"Well, gosh, Marguerite," he gushed insincerely. "That is so thoughtful of you. I really can use some help."
Marguerite smiled triumphantly.
He grabbed her hand and dropped a couple of drippy pens and an almost empty bottle of ink into her waiting palm.
"Here, wash these, and refill the ink bottle, will you." He tilted his head and beamed gratefully up at her. "You're a real pal, Marguerite.
Marguerite looked down at the inky mess spreading between her fingers.
"Could this day get any better?" she muttered as she hurried to the kitchen sink.
***********************************
Spring Cleaning
9/02/03
THWAP! THWAP!
Lord John Roxton squinted his eyes almost closed as dust billowed into the air. He coughed pitifully and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed the unhealthy sound of his lungs. Rats. No one was paying him or his lungs any attention at all. He raised the woven, snowshoe looking thing and again took aim at the filthy rug hanging over the branch.
THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!
Marguerite Krux heard the British Lord coughing and swore under her breath.
"He can choke on those dust bunnies for all I care," she muttered, then winced as she plunged her red, chapped hands into the steaming tub of soapy water and fished out another dingy curtain. She balled it up and scrubbed it up and down on the wooden washboard that sat in the tub.
"How could.scrub, scrub.he .scrub, scrub.be so stupid.scrub, scrub. as to complain to Veronica about.dunk, dunk.the dust.wring, wring.on the.shake, shake.bookcases?"
Carrying the wet curtain in a death grip like it was the neck of a certain dark-haired man, she stomped over to the clothesline and flung it carelessly over. "And now we all have to suffer," she complained darkly.
"What was that, Marguerite?" said a light though strangely scary voice behind her.
She whirled around in time to see their hostess dump another armload of linens into the tub.
The formerly outspoken heiress clamped her lips shut and groaned inwardly. She didn't dare say anything. Enraged by Roxton's audacity in complaining to her, Veronica had threatened to close up the treehouse and move to the Zanga village. They had begged her to change her mind and promised to do all the cleaning if she wouldn't turn them out. It took all of Ned's charm and persuasion to get her to agree to the deal. However, she warned them that she would not tolerate any sign of mutiny.
Veronica gave the subdued beauty a sharp look and then continued in a voice so scathing that Marguerite flinched.
"That certainly was thoughtful of Roxton to point out that my home is a pigpen. But, he's perfectly right you know-the treehouse hasn't had a good spring cleaning in at least three years." She put her finger on her chin. "Why three years ago was when all of you came to live under my roof wasn't it?" She shook her head in sad disbelief. "Tsk, tsk, I don't know how you've put up with my squalor. Well, we'll take care of that problem today- inch by filthy inch."
She narrowed her eyes and raked Marguerite with a withering stare. "Now what was that you were saying, Marguerite?"
Marguerite gulped. She didn't fancy being thrown out, homeless, into the jungle.
"Hooray for Spring Cleaning?" she hazarded.
"That's what I thought you said," Veronica said with a satisfied nod.
*************************
R emember
9/26/03
Three tired explorers stumbled out of the elevator and down the steps of the treehouse, quickly divesting themselves of their rifles and brimming packs. They had been out since morning scouting for medicinal plants and it had taken them all day to collect enough to satisfy their resident scientist.
"That should hold us for a while," Professor George Challenger said with a satisfaction nod.
Lord John Roxton stretched his aching back. "Seems we've come full circle. We have to collect medicinal plants so that we can have medicine to put on our muscles that were strained by carrying all those bloody medicinal plants." He groaned and flexed his shoulder.
Challenger smiled smugly. "One of us, old boy, must be feeling his age. As for me, I feel fit as a fiddle despite our arduous day." He ruined his boast, however, when his right knee buckled and he grabbed it with a muffled moan.
"I freely admit that I'm bushed," Marguerite Krux interrupted. "What I need is food and lots of it." She stopped and inhaled deeply. "Yum. What is that marvelous smell?" She looked around hungrily.
Roxton walked over to the kitchen table. Five elegant place settings were laid around the usually plain table, and three large, covered bowls, clustered in the center of the table, emitted heavenly aromas.
"What have we here?" he murmured. He started to lift one of the lids when a discouraging noise from the older man made him hesitate.
"I wouldn't do that, John," Challenger warned as he poured water into the washbowl and began to scrub his hands. "You remember how upset Veronica was the last time we didn't wait." Drying his hands, he shook his head as he remembered the scolding they had gotten from their hostess.
Marguerite took Challenger's place at the washbowl. "Well, I hope she serves dinner soon. I'm so hunger I could gnaw on one of you."
Roxton came up behind her and whispered. "Name the time and place, my dear, and I'll be there." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
Marguerite looked down and smiled. Raising her dripping hand, she flicked water on him and scurried away before he could retaliate.
Meanwhile, the red-bearded scientist was calling over the railing down into the lower floor. Getting no response, he muttered, "I wonder where Ned and Veronica are. It's not like them to go off without telling us. Especially when it's their turn to cook," he ended querulously.
He had turned back to the table when the elevator began to descend on its own.
"Ah, that must be our two cooks, now."
Eagerly, the three hurried over to the table and stood behind their chairs, ready to eat as soon as Veronica gave the word.
The elevator started back up again. It reached the top and with much whispering and bumping, Ned Malone and Veronica Layton sprang down the steps and smiled at their housemates.
"Good, you're here," Ned observed rather needlessly.
"Here and very hungry," agreed Marguerite brightly.
"Please, be seated," Veronica said taking the hint. "Everything is ready."
Chairs scrapped back as they all took seats. Ned removed the lids and stuck a large spoon in each bowl. Marguerite held out her plate and licked her lips as he spooned a large portion of each onto her plate.
"By George, is that.?" Challenger began excitedly.
"Yes," Ned explained. "Honey glazed tubers, wild turkey and dumplings, and fresh steamed greens."
Marguerite looked up from her plate, chewing ecstatically. "Delicious! Keep it coming, Malone."
They all fell to eating and silence reigned.
After a few minutes Ned put down his fork and said leadingly, "Weren't glazed tubers one of Arthur's favorites?"
Challenger chuckled. "Indeed they were." He shook his head. "Now, there was a man with a sweet tooth."
Veronica looked over at Ned and raised her eyebrows in silent communication. Clearing her throat, she asked quietly, "Do any of you remember what today is?"
Roxton and Marguerite hesitated with their forks held over their plates and shared a look.
"Well, yes, Veronica, we did, but.um.we didn't want to mention it in case it brought back sad memories," the hunter answered.
Marguerite put down her knife and fork. Only Challenger continued to eat.
"What day is it?" the scientist asked with his mouth full.
"Two years ago today, Professor Summerlee fell into the gorge and- disappeared," Veronica reminded him gently.
Challenger slowly lowered his fork and set it beside his plate. His face froze for an instant, then his mouth turned down and he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Has.has it really been two years?" he asked bleakly.
Veronica drew in a deep breath. "Yes. So, Ned and I thought it would be.fitting to make this day a day of remembrance. See," she said gesturing to the food on the table, "every dish here was.is a favorite of his."
Marguerite reached for Roxton's hand under the table. She smiled at the younger couple.
"You're absolutely right. I can still hear him going on about your dumplings; how they reminded him so of Anna's."
Roxton laughed. "Do you remember the fight you and he had over the tubers, Challenger? I thought he was going to poke your eye out before giving up the last one."
Challenger cheered up at the memory. "Indeed, I do remember. I had to threaten to hide his tobacco before he consented to share."
They were all smiling now and then started talking all at once.
Ned held up his hands. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute," he said. "Before we start with our "Arthur Anecdotes," I want you to see something wonderful that Veronica made for us."
He walked quickly to the elevator and returned with a picture in a beautiful, polished, wooden frame. He set it on the table and turned it around for them to see.
They gasped.
Smiling out at them was their dear friend Arthur Summerlee. His eyes twinkled at them over the rims of his glasses and his favorite pipe was held up in a silent salute. The scruffy, white beard couldn't hide his kindly face that was alive with his love of life.
"Spot on, Veronica. Spot on!" exclaimed Roxton admiringly.
Marguerite stood up to get a better look. "It's wonderful," she breathed. "I can almost hear his voice."
"You've done the old boy proud, my dear," Challenger said misty eyed.
"She's been working on it for months," Ned said proudly. He beamed at the blonde jungle girl.
"Thank you," Veronica grinned. "I'm glad you like it. But it isn't just my present. Ned made the frame."
Roxton clapped his friend on the back. "I didn't know you were a carpenter, Neddy Boy."
Ned winced. "There're a lot of things you don't know about me, Johnny Boy," he replied giving the older man a taste of his own medicine.
"Where shall we hang it, eh?" Challenger asked still looking at the picture. "A place of honor, I think."
"I know," Marguerite said enthusiastically. "Let's hang it right here on this post by the table. That way Arthur can share every meal with us." She hesitated and looked over at their hostess. "That is.if it suits you, Veronica."
"I think it's a fine idea."
By removing a string of drying herbs from the nail that was in the post, it was the work of a moment to hang the portrait.
Challenger bowed to the picture. "Won't you join us for dinner, old boy?" He put his hand to his ear. "Eh? What's that? You'd be delighted? Fantastic!"
Laughing, six friends gathered around the table to finish their meal.