Author: IrishRavenX

Title: Little Hope of Escape

Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. No sirreeeee. But if TnT and Top Cow don't get their act together, I shall take over!!!! Muhahahahahahahaha!!!!... Okay, maybe not.

Spoilers: None that I can think of.

Feedback: Yes. Please. Please. If don't get reviews, I will begin begging in a multitude of different languages. And that'll be just plain pathetic.

Author's pathetic babblings: I haven't written a Witchblade fic for posting in quite awhile. Ever since I got a permanent writers block on Connections, I kinda drifted away from the swirling red light. But any way...on with the feature presentation.

April Fools Day, the Witchblade way...

Chapter I

The insistent beeping of the alarm clock jarred Sara from her peaceful sleep, and she groaned. Yes...it had been a *peaceful* sleep. For once. The alarm clock hit the floor, and the piercing sound stopped. Sara fell back onto her bed, the warmth encompassing her. She wanted to sleep...just sleep... She looked around the room through her half-closed eyes, then settled back into sleep, the last thing she focused on being her wrist.

Sara's eyes popped open after a few moments, and she sat up, rather alarmed. She stared at her wrist; the point where most of her problems stemmed from...except today, that certain nuisance was not where it had been when she had fallen asleep.

"Oh Shit," Sara muttered, searching through her bed sheets frantically. Any thoughts of further sleep had been completely swept away by the new adrenaline rush.

She knocked everything off the bed stand, the dresser, looked under the bed, the closet.the living room, the counters, the bathroom...it looked as if a tornado had swept through her loft, with the amount of stuff strewn all over the floor.

Sara sat down on the couch and sighed in frustration. For something that she desperately wished to have out of her life, she was certainly worrying quite a lot over it.

_Ironic, huh?_

She rubbed her face in aggravation, and looked out the window. The sun was just coming up, and lit the windows of the building across the street. But another gleam on the windowsill caught her eye as well. A red, conniving, gleam from the bracelet sitting on the windowsill. Sara walked over and snatched up the bracelet, and looked into its glowing red eye.

"You think that's funny, huh?" Sara asked darkly, getting the distinct impression that the sentient piece of metal was laughing at her, "You almost gave me a coronary!"

The sensation that Sara guessed was laughter increased, and she just shook her head. Great. Of all the enchanted, mystical pieces of jewelry that she had to run across, it had to be one with a sense of humor. And a twisted one at that. Sara put the bracelet back on her wrist, where it swirled slowly, content with its prank, and started towards the kitchen; hoping she had remembered to buy coffee. She walked nearer to the kitchen, only to realize that the rug was very, very moist. As in "the dishwasher has gone insane" moist. Sara muttered some things that ought not to be repeated, and dashed to the bathroom, grabbing some towels to soak up the mess on the kitchen floor. She could only hope that it hadn't soaked through to one of the apartments below. "Shitshitshitshitshit," Sara muttered, picking the drenched and now useless towels off the floor.

She sprinted back into the living room, looking for more towels, and tripped over the leather jacket which she had left in the middle of the floor, and went flying over the back of her couch, her head hitting the coffee table as she fell off the other side.

Sara just laid on the floor, wondering if she didn't move, maybe all the forces working against her would just forget about her, and not bother her for the rest of the day. Hell, maybe they'd leave her alone forever...

The phone rang, and with a sigh, Sara sat up, managing to hit her head on the coffee table coming back up. Sara put her hand to her head and closed her eyes, the ringing monotonously in the background.

_Damn, that hurt._

~*~

Ian woke up with a start, hearing a crash in the distance. At first he thought it was thunder, but as he listened more intently, he heard another crash, from within the mansion. He jumped up from his bed, tripping over the sheets he had become entangled in during the night. He had been through some rather.interesting dreams of lately. He pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of black pants while he ran into the hall. The noise continued, more intense this time. He sprinted down the stairs, more or less dressed, and towards the kitchen, where he suspected the racket was coming from.

He skidded to a halt on the wooden floor outside the door, only to see something that made his face contort into a look of pure horror and absolute confusion. The kitchen staff were all hunched in a corner, looking just about as terrified and confused as Ian was when he saw what they were staring at. He saw his employer and master sitting on the floor, banging pans against the kitchen's linoleum floor, creating a god-awful clamor. And even more peculiar...he was smiling....and his clothes were in such disarray as to suggest he did not know how to dress himself. Kennith also had a rather expensive looking tie adorning his head.

"Mr. Irons...what..." Ian looked in puzzlement as his employer looked up at him with the look of a five-year-old child.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm playin' the drums," he replied perkily, resuming the horrible percussion solo and denting the pans while the kitchen staff remained crowded in a corner.

"Sir...are you feeling all right?"

"Uh-huh," Irons replied, continuing with his childish behavior.

"Perhaps you should give me those pans and go sit at the table..."

"NO!!!!!" Irons shrieked, throwing the pans at Ian, which he narrowly ducked out of the path of.

"I want to play!!!" Irons was silent for a few moments, then looked up at Ian, "Can I have chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast?"

Ian glanced to the cook, who nodded hesitatingly. Irons broke out into another drum solo, and Ian turned to the kitchen staff.

"Please keep an eye on him...I am going to call Dr. Immo." The staff agreed begrudgingly, avoiding Irons as they made their way around the kitchen, wishing to avoid being hit with metal pans at all costs.

Ian shook his head, thoroughly bemused. Had Irons truly snapped? Had his mind no longer been able to keep up with the treatments he was partaking in to seem young? Ian glanced at the calendar on the wall and stopped in mid- step.

April 1.

That date held significance, but Ian was unable to remember why. April first. April...fools...April Fools day. He should have known. Ian slammed his fist against the wall. His first call would be to Dr. Immo, but then he needed to have a chat with a certain retailer of Talismans...

~*~
Authors note: It's not much, I know. If people like it and review...I shall post more of it. Yes. I have more written. Just ask an ye shall receive. ;P.

Question: Did I get the character voices down all right? As I said, it's been a long time since I have written a Witchblade fic, let alone seen an episode.

Thanks.

Slan agat!

-X, of the Irish Raven persuasion