***
Broadway Goes to Hollywood
A Gargoyles story
by Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
mrwilson@umr.edu, missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1997,1998
TV-Y7
***

Disney and Buena Vista own the characters, situations, and even the
plot of this story.  However, I'll lay odds they never thought of
*this*.  My most sincere and heartfelt apologies go to Cary Bates.
I really did enjoy the original episode, as much as any TGC ep.

I'd like to dedicate this to the voice actors of "Gargoyles," who
made our beloved characters come alive.  Michael, Brynne and Greg
gave them life, and gave us stories in which to believe; you gave
them depth, and made those stories a part of us all.

***

                             Prologue

     The room was dark.  The windows had been draped in black
curtains to cut out even the low glare of the city below and the
stars above them, and there were no torches either electrical or
chemical to bite back the absolute night.  Until ...
     A single lamp attached to the ceiling made a faint *crackle-
snap* as it caught life, and continued to hum just beyond human
hearing range.  A circle of light caught onto another set of
drapes, these not covering any window.
     Owen stepped out from the curtain, a piece of paper clasped in
his good hand.  He stared down at it, adjusted his spectacles so as
to see it better, and opened his mouth to speak.  His eyes widened,
and he said to the curtain in an agitated whisper, "You *can't*
expect me to read this!"
     A muffled response was his only reply, a response that sounded
very much like David Xanatos saying, "Read it!"
     Owen turned back to the piece of paper, curled his mouth just
enough to let anyone interested know he was less than pleased with
events, and read aloud:
     "The Goliath Chronicles premiered on September 7, 1996 on
ABC."  He added under his breath: "Why we didn't keep it in Pack
Media Studios is beyond me."  The curtain poked him, and he turned
his attention back to the paper.  "After a rather good episode
under series creator Greg Weisman, the show suffered from a lack of
direction.  Although the writing staff tried to continue the
quality of the series, Standards and Practices at ABC, as well as
executive decisions from the Walt Disney Company, turned what was
once an excellent series into an unfortunate one."  He stopped and
addressed the curtain again: "They know this already!"
     He received another reply from the darkness beyond, and again
returned to his reading.  "One group of fanfic writers, heartbroken
at the turn the series had taken, took it upon themselves to
rewrite the third season.
     "The production you are about to read is the effort of one of
those writers to turn an episode of the series into something a bit
more palatable.  The episode in question was among the least
offensive, and the author, having spent far too much time in the
minds of the villains ... "
     A distinct "Hey!" could be heard from behind the curtain, as
if from two voices.  Owen poked the curtain back.  " ... decided a
serious take on the episode would be a bad idea."  He narrowed his
eyes and muttered, "This woman's ego must be the size of several
Midwestern states!"  The curtain moved yet again, and only a
fortuitous step forward saved him from being swatted.
     "Without further ado, then, we would like to present for your
viewing pleasure, 'Broadway Goes to Hollywood.'"  He frowned,
looking even less pleased, as he added, "'The Musical.'"
     He bowed his head once, then stepped back inside the curtain.
Thirty seconds later, his voice came from behind:
     "What do you mean that's my only speaking part?"

                         Act 1: Scene 1

     The limo was rocking.  She and David had made it rock a few
times on their own (and with the tips they gave the new chauffeur,
he'd better not say anything about how often!) but this was
different.
     "The neighbours are restless tonight," David observed.
     "We can't even go out anymore without being harassed," she
said, shaking in her seat.  When they tested the shocks on the car,
rarely was there an angry mob outside watching.
     "The rumours about our ties to the gargoyles have certainly
made our lives more difficult," he replied.  Although, she thought
to herself as she nearly fell into David's lap, this could prove
interesting ...
     "But still, things could be worse," said David.  He didn't
seem to object to her new positioning, either.  They shifted so as
not to cause bodily injury, and looked out on the seething crowd
pressed up against the windows.
     "Imagine if it got out that Goliath and his clan are living
above us," he added, clicking a few buttons
     She blinked at him.  "Don't tell me that line was actually in
the script."
     David shrugged, and when he finished typing in commands, he
reached under the seat, pulling out a dog-eared spiral-bound book,
with "Broadway Goes to Hollywood" printed in big friendly letters
on the cover.
     She barely noticed as jets of water extended themselves from
the underbelly of the limo and sprayed the onlookers.  The car
righted itself and sped away while she flipped through the book.
     "David, this is ridiculous."
     "I know.  Bigotry of whatever kind usually is."
     "That's not what I meant.  Have you read the rest of this?"
     "Well," he admitted, "no.  I only read my part.  We used to do
that all the time on TNG.  I do know I get some pretty good lines
in this one, though."
     She read aloud: "'Wife, mother, one-woman vigilante squad.
What a woman!'"  She looked up at him.  "Okay, so that's a good
line, but really, this is ... "  Proper words escaped her (although
a few improper ones sprung immediately to mind).
     He snorted.  "You obviously haven't seen the script for 'To
Serve Mankind' yet.  In comparison, this one's Shakespeare."
     "Shakespeare wrote an entire play around Oberon, Owen, and my
mother."
     "Good point.  If you don't want to do the script, there's
always that sitcom, you know, the one with the fashion magazine and
David Spade."
     She considered it.
     The limo continued its journey, having left the demonstrators
far behind.  Fox stared out the window, lost in thought.  Then she
turned to her husband.

[Cue: "Part of Your World"]

          "Look at this car!
          Look at these seats!
          Wouldn't you think our lives are complete?
          Wouldn't you think we're the pair,
          The pair who has everything?
          Look at our stocks!
          Look at our bonds!
          (Don't look too closely at our investments in Pond's)
          Driving around here you'd think,
          Sure, they have everything.
          We've got robots and 'copters aplenty,
          We've got scientists, mutants galore.
          You want gargoyle clones?  We've got twenty!"

     She broke off and looked around fearfully.  Goliath was,
fortunately, not nearby and had not heard her.  She wondered
what his reaction would have been.

          "But who cares, no big deal.
          I want more.
          I want to be where no people are,
          I want them to leave,
          Want them to leave us to dancing,
          Strolling around on 42nd street.
          Dodging riots you don't get too far;
          Peace is required for world domination,
          Or taking over Canadian exports of wheat!
          Someone might talk about all the fun,
          Of lives never spent in the sun!
          We would be free if gargs could be
          Part of this world."

     He took her hand into his, cool to hot, pale to dark, perfect
contrast, perfect balance.

          "My dear, your prince has come ... "

     She pulled back.  "David, get with the nineties.  Cinderella
is *so* passe."
     "Sorry.  All I wanted was to tell you I'll do what I can to
fix it."
     "I know," she said, and gave his hand a squeeze.  "But I think
this time, I'm going to fix it."
     She wouldn't elaborate, but as the limousine pulled up to the
curb, she sang quietly to herself:

          "I don't know when,
          I don't know how,
          But I know the plot is starting right now!
          Watch and you'll see,
          Gargoyles will be
          Part of this world!"

                         Act 1: Scene 2

     Broadway roared as the last bits of stone flew from his body
to land where they would.  He'd read that a penny dropped from the
Empire State Building could kill a person on the street below; the
Dragon only knew what a piece of stone skin could do when it fell
from the Eyrie Building.  Since there was noting he could do about
it, he paid it no mind, instead looked around him until he spied
the beautiful and cherished form of the love of his life.
     "Good evening, Angela," he said, extending his hand shyly.
She pressed her palm to his, offering a smile warmer than a sun
could possibly be.
     He saw Brooklyn's wince at the action, and sighed internally.
He knew his rookery brother still had trouble adjusting to seeing
them together.  They tried to be discrete around him, around all of
them, but the fact remained that Angela was the only female to
three young unmated males, and for whatever blessed reason, she'd
chosen him over the other two.
     "What's on the agenda for tonight?" Lex asked Goliath with a
glance to the others.  He'd been out of the competition since
they'd returned to the castle, but that hadn't kept him from trying
to ease things between his rookery brothers.  It didn't always
work, but he did try.
     Tonight was going to be one of the nights it didn't, Broadway
figured, as Brooklyn dropped his eyes from Angela and put on his
"I'm not going to think about this now" beak.  That look had become
more and more familiar, as Goliath and Elisa grew less reserved
about their relationship, and he and Angela did the same.  Having
the Quarrymen behind every corner hadn't helped, either.  His
brother was feeling unloved and unwanted by human and gargoyle
alike; his recent trip with Lex to Pennsylvania, while having shown
them the possibilities of mates from other clans, had also
emphasized the lack of them in this one.
     There was more than just the presence or absence of female
gargoyles.  Brooklyn had decided he was in love with Angela,
whether he'd said so publicly or not.  Seeing them together
couldn't be easy on him.
     Then again, who'd said life as a gargoyle was easy?
     Goliath seemed to take all this in a glance, and rumbled,
"Tonight, we'll split up, patrol all the boroughs.  Perhaps if we
show strength throughout the city, it will help our cause."
     He stared out into the city lights.

[Cue: "Maybe"]

          "Maybe far away
          Or maybe real nearby,
          Somebody's stealing a Chrysler,
          Somebody's shooting drive-by.
          Maybe a housebreak
          On the other side of Queens
          Somebody needs reinforcements
          Being held up by some teens!
          Maybe they're young, maybe they're smart,
          In the Metropolitan Museum of Art
          Maybe they're good;
          The juries will see.
          Their one mistake is bothering me!
          So, maybe now it's time,
          And maybe when we're done,
          They'll be there calling us 'baby.'"

     The rest of the clan stared at him.  Goliath shrugged his
mighty shoulders.

          "Maybe."

     It was an optimistic view Broadway longed to share, and he
wondered if Goliath really believed what he'd said, or if he too
was beginning to see how desperately the humans hated them.
     Something needed to be done, but he didn't know what.
     A figure moved from the shadows.  Fox.  She nodded hello to
the clan, then said to him, "May I speak with you a moment,
Broadway?"
     "Sure," he said, not really sure at all.  What did she want?
     Goliath said, "We'll go ahead on patrol.  When you're free,
take the Park."
     "Right."
     Angela touched his arm, then placed her lips against his
cheek, saying in a low voice, "Don't be too long.  I'll be
patrolling Times Square."  In other words, if they timed their
patrols right, they'd meet about once an hour.
     "I'll be there," he said, and broke contact with her before
Brooklyn took it too hard.  He followed Fox inside.  "What's this
about?" he asked her, wondering if he could justify swinging by
Times Square before he started really patrolling.
     "I have a proposition for you."
     "I'm listening."  He still didn't completely trust Fox.  Even
if he could forget their first meeting with the Pack,
Alexander's recent kidnaping made it all too clear where her
loyalties lay.

[Cue: "Music of the Night"]

          "Gargoyle haters
          Heighten public worry.
          Dark words stir
          Their fears into a fury.
          Let us then begin:
          You will never quite fit in
          Till the people see that gargoyles are okay;
          They'll listen to the judgment of L.A.
          Growing, learning,
          People will surround you,
          Eager fans will
          Gather in around you.
          Turn your hopes to me;
          I have friends who'll make them see,
          And with just one word, we'll both be on our way,
          To start to change the judgement of L.A.
          Close your eyes and remember all your fondest dreams
          Lit in images upon a silver screen!
          Close your eyes, think of all the things you've seen,
          And you'll be like a king!"

          "With you the queen?" he asked skeptically.

          "Would you rather have James Dean?"

          "Slowly, gently,
          Tell me all your reasons.
          I've heard Fame's more
          Fleeting than the seasons."

          "We'll open up their minds!
          Let their fears out to unwind,
          And then let them hear just what you've got to say.
          That's how we'll change the judgement of L.A."

     He was beginning to see.  Yes, going to Los Angeles would be
a perfect way to break ice with the humans.  If they saw him on
national tv, they wouldn't be afraid anymore of their fears in the
dark.

          "We'll take their minds on a journey
          To a strange new world,
          Where the humans and gargoyles live in peace!
          Show them how we can bring this to an end,
          Only then can we all live here as friends!
          I'll hit L.A. like a blue tornado!"

          "You'll be bigger
          Then even that guy Kato!"

     They continued as one:

          "So let this thing begin,
          We'll make them let us fit in,
          With the power of a well-planned Q&A,
          And fix the all-great judgement of L.A."

     She added:

          "Together, we'll show this world the way.
          Help me change the judgement of L.A."

     Fox held out her hand.  "Are you with me?"
     "Of course I'm with you."  He took her hand, and shook it.
     She smiled up at him.  "You'd better go pack.  The 'copter
will be here in an hour to pick us up."
     He nodded and trundled out of the room; he'd also have to
write a note to Goliath and the rest so they wouldn't worry.  He
thought momentarily about Angela.  She'd probably be upset that he
hadn't asked her about it.  Maybe he should stay, tell her himself,
he thought.  Fox had said the helicopter would arrive in an hour.
He *could* go by Times Square and tell her.  But if she wanted to
talk about it, he'd be late.
     She'd understand, he decided, and went to get his trenchcoat
and fedora.

                         Act 1: Scene 3

     Bright lights shone below them, as the plane started its
descent.  "Are we there already?" asked Broadway, his breath
fogging the view through his window.
     Fox shook her head.  "We're stopping at Midway to refuel,
but," she added, "despite what the original script might have led
you to think, it only takes about five hours to get to LAX from
JFK.  Six if there's a bad head wind.  We should be there just
before dawn."  She opened her briefcase and pulled out a box.
"This is for you."
     He took it from her.  "Thanks!"  He tried to unwrap it
carefully, gave up, and ripped the package open.  He stared at the
object curiously.  "A balloon?"
     Fox's pale face flushed bright red as she snatched it from his
confused fingers.  "Um ... Wrong present.  Here."  She tossed him
another box, and stashed his first gift under some papers in her
case.
     He poked at the box, wondering what *this* one was.  He undid
the bow with one talon, and pulled off the top.  "Cool shades!"  He
put them on.  "What do you think?"
     "We've got fifteen minutes to Chicago, an empty gas tank, on
a no-smoking flight, it's dark, and you're wearing sunglasses."
She grinned.  He stared.  She sighed.  "Never mind.  I'm going to
stretch my legs and get a cup of coffee.  Would you like anything?"
     He nodded vigorously.

                         Act 1: Scene 4

     The terminal was crowded, but not uncomfortably so.  Fox spied
a clean-looking kiosk with the enchanting scent of coffee beans
emanating from inside, and stood in line.  Usually, she had someone
else do this for her, but she did need to move her legs, and
besides, she could only face so many of Broadway's questions at one
time.  This trip was supposed to promote human-gargoyle relations.
Killing the gargoyle would not be a step in the positive direction.
     It wasn't his fault, she knew.  He'd never been awake on a
flight before, outside of a few quick helicopter trips through and
just past the city.  David had recommended she see the gargoyles'
ignorance of modern life as innocence.  It helped.
     She smiled to herself.  David had been surprised when she'd
called him after takeoff.  She probably should have mentioned the
trip to him first, but ...
     "And lo! there were many Goliaths!"
     She turned, senses instantly alert for attack.  It *could*
have been someone reading out loud from the Bible, she thought,
when she saw no Quarrymen surrounding her, but that wasn't in any
translation she'd read.  She calmed herself, let her gaze wander
more casually around the terminal as she tried to figure out who'd
said it.  Her gaze rested on four women standing a few feet away:
three brunettes with glasses and a redhead with suitcases.  Could
they be Quarrymen sympathizers, alerting someone to her presence?
     She was aware of being alone; she'd fought her share of
battles with and without help, both before and immediately
following Alex's birth.  She felt confident she could take any of
the four women, and possibly all of them.  She just didn't want to
try it in her business suit and heels.
     Nor did it seem necessary, as they appeared to simply be
chatting, and pulling things from shopping bags.  Purple plastic
things.  With wings.
     "Can I help you?" asked the lady behind the counter in a bored
voice.
     She gave them another look, then ordered two coffees and a
dozen croissants.  She counted out the money (something else she
hadn't done in ages) and the woman handed her the order.
     By the time she'd returned her attention to the women, they'd
gone.  She was still concerned about what she'd thought she'd
heard, and more importantly, seen.  They couldn't be ...
     Nah.

                         Act 1: Scene 5

     "Well what do you know?" Jackal mumbled to himself.  "It looks
like we're going to have a little reunion!"  He giggled.
     "What are you babbling about now?" asked Hyena, moving behind
him to read over his shoulder.  He'd been logged onto the Internet
most of the night, cackling to himself every so often.
     "We're going to have company.  Fox is bringing Broadway to
Hollywood."
     "You'd better be kidding."
     "Hardly.  I just got email from Castaway himself.  He's made
us a rather nice offer."
     "I hope it's nicer than the *last* offer we had," she
muttered.
     "Now sister dear, that wasn't such a bad job.  Not just anyone
can be in a Star Trek movie."
      "They only reason they wanted us was because we already had
our costumes!"  She crossed her arms, extended her fingers and
tapped her sides with them.  It was a nervous habit she'd picked up
which she knew annoyed him.  "Although the director was kinda
cute," she admitted.
     "If you say so.  And yes, this is a much better deal.  We get
to make our own movie."
     "For true?"  She leaned over him to see.  "How do you know
it's really him?  I heard people can fake addresses on this thing."
     "You can, but it's not.  It's him."  He pushed her out of his
way.  "If you wanted, I *could* set up a screen name for you.  I
have three spares."
     "No thanks.  Too many weirdos out there."  Not that you're not
one of them, she thought at her brother.  He'd set up one screen
name to be a sixteen year old girl, and had spent more than one
evening chatting away with Lexington getting bits of information
out of him.  Thanks to "Jacqui," they knew the gargoyles had joined
forces with Xanatos again.  It still weirded her out.
     "He says their flight is due to arrive just before dawn."
     "Perfect!  We cause a delay, make sure he's turned to stone,
then attack the plane.  We can get rid of a gargoyle," she made a
fist, "and Fox, all at once."
     He grunted.  "There's not much style to that."
     "We can have it explode in midair," she said cajolingly, and
he smiled.
     "I like the way you think!"
     There was a chime.  "What's that?" she asked him.
     "Instant Message."  He read it.  "We can't blow up the plane."
     "Why not?"  It *had* been a pretty good idea, dammit.
     "Look."  She leaned over again and read:

          MTGaT: Sorry, kids.  ABC would never let us get away with
          that on-camera.  Think of something else.

     "Great.  Standards and Practices strikes again.  Do *you* have
any ideas?"
     "Well, we could bribe the head of security, who happens to be
a Quarrymen sympathizer, into helping us break onto the set of
'Shanna!' and force Broadway to blow up a beloved Hollywood pier on
camera, thereby ruining the gargoyles' reputation for good."
     She looked at him, and burst out laughing.  He joined her,
sides shaking for several minutes.
     When they finally calmed down, she said, "Now, seriously, what
are we going to do?"
     "It'll have to be big."
     "Spectacular."
     "Castaway wants the gargoyles to be completely vilified in the
eyes of the public."
     "Can we link them to British royalty?"
     "Doubt it, although they *are* illegal aliens.  Maybe we could
pull an Eliot Ness and get them on income tax evasion."
     "Boring.  We could set him up to annihilate the cast of
'Melrose Place.'  They film two stages over from 'Shanna!'."
     "And risk his being hailed as a hero?  No, it has to be
bigger, more terrible."
     Hyena drummed her fingers again, then rummaged through her
suitcase.  "I thought I brought it with me," she said absently,
then pulled out a large book, its leather binding cracking and
peeling.  The faded gold lettering on the cover proclaimed, "Foiled
No Longer: A Villain's Guide to Besting Heroes, by Snidely
Whiplash."
     "That old thing again?"
     "It got me out of jail, didn't it?"
     "That and a few ounces of nitro," he admitted.  "Anything
inspiring?"
     She ran her finger down the chapter titles, reading as she
went.  "'Railroad Ties: the Real Story.  Making Magical Talismans
Work For You.  Honourable Equals Dead.  Infanticide: Preventive
Maintenance That Works.  Idiot Advisors: Low Cost Now, High Price
Later.  Brilliant Plans and Why You Should Never Tell Them to the
Hero.'"
     "Go back.  What was that about the magical talismans?  That
could be diverting."
     She flipped to the appropriate page.  "It says here that most
magical talismans have a specific spell attached.  Learn everything
that can go wrong with yours, testing it on henchmen if need be,
and use the malfunctions against your enemy.  It's got a few
examples."
     "Does it mention any talismans specifically?"
     She nodded and read: "The Ruby Red Herring.  The TGS Edit
Staff.  Hey, this one looks interesting.
     "'The McGuffin Sapphire, with the proper spell, can give the
user the power of mind control over fish.  According to legend, it
was part of a meteor that originally came from a place known as La
Planeta de Agua.'"  Her ear-sensors must have deceived her, for she
could have sworn she distinctly heard a tiny voice say "Arriba!"
     "What kinds of nasty side effects does it have?"
     "If it's not used correctly, the user will instantly turn
anything he looks at into tapioca."
     Jackal rubbed his hands together.  "Yes, I can see it now!
Broadway, making his first television appearance, shocks the world
by turning beloved talk show host Shanna into a puddle of tapioca,
and all on camera!  Perfect!"  He frowned, and mouthed, "Tapioca?"
     "That's what it says in the scr ... book."
     "If that's what it says in the *book*," he said slowly.  "But,
tapioca!  Please, couldn't she have come up with something a little
more original?  Christine and Constance completely rewrote their
episodes, and we get a jewel that turns things to tapioca."  He
expelled his breath.  "You know, when I was still doing 'Max
Headroom,' we were on the cutting edge.  We were avant garde, doing
things they're just now doing on tv.  But this!"  He waved his
hands.  "Tapioca!" he said in disbelief.
     There was another chime.  Hyena peeked at the message:

          MTGaT: Deal with it.

     "I can't work like this!" Jackal said to the screen.  "And
don't *even* try that Midnight Bomber thing again.  We need a real
plot."
     In response, a friendly electronic voice said: "You have
mail."
     "What is it?" she asked, not entirely wanting to know.
     "Script update," he said, and scrolled down.  "I don't believe
this."
     "Don't believe what?"
     "Remember that joke you made about bribing the sympathizing
security chief?"
     Realization hit her in the stomach, or what was left of her
stomach anyway.  "No.  Say it ain't so."
     "It's so."
     "But that was in the original script!" she whined.  "It was
cheesy, and contrived, and ... "
     "You'd prefer the tapioca, then?"  He read further and
chuckled.
     "What?"
     "She says to remind you that you *could* go back to doing
cameos on 'Animaniacs.'  The fuzzy Warner-heads miss you."
     She clenched her fists.  "Why that little ... "
     He extended his arm below his elbow and covered her mouth.
"Cree.  Y7."
     "Oh sure, after Broadway's *present* you remember this is a
kid's show."
     He tried to mollify her.  "Listen, she's backed up with
hunting down song lyrics.  She spent two hours at Nicole's trying
to find the words to one song in our medley."
     "So?"
     "Think about it.  The author's more concerned with making
things rhyme than with keeping a close eye on the plot.  As long as
we follow the general scheme, we can do what we want."  He tapped
Snidely's book and winked.
     It took a moment, but then she understood.  Sure, they had to
follow the cheesy plot, maybe even speak some of the god awful
dialogue Jackal'd just downloaded.  (For their next job, they were
giving out their home address; it might be dangerous, but reading
scripts off a computer screen was giving her headaches.)  When the
author wasn't looking, though, they could do as they pleased.
     A wide grin covered her face.  "We can do this."  Something
else he'd said poked at her.  "Medley?"
     "Medley."  He held out his hand, and with a sigh, she took it.
     "Might as well get this over with."  They began to dance.

[Cue: "Show Business"]

          "There's no business like foe business,
          That's one business we know!
          Framing Broadway for the flaming boat-dock;
          The conflagration will be quite grand."

     Said he:

          "Ask me how I feel to break a padlock!"

     Said she:

          "Like swinging old socks
          Filled with wet sand!"

     They continued together:

          "There's no people like cloned people,
          Believe us, we'd have known!
          Who'd have thought when we were both on mother's knee
          We'd be here plotting so evilly?
          Hopin' ABC execs won't tune in and see
          Freudian undertones!"

     He'd moved closer to her during the course of their song, and
was still holding her blade-like fingers in his own.  His one
organic eye focused on her, and past her; she stayed as she was,
not daring to break the moment that stretched between them.  Barely
moving, she leaned towards him.
     He blinked.  She blinked.  They dropped hands and quickly went
to opposite sides of the room.
     Flustered, and a beat behind the music, she began to sing again:

[Cue: "Impossible Dream']

          "To scheme the improbable scheme
          To plot the unworkable plot
          To gloat when the heroes are helpless
          To run very fast when they're not!
          To curse when our intrigue is foiled
          Because they're too clever by half
          And when schemes come at last to fruition,
          To laugh the maniacal laugh!"

     He watched her.  "Sis, I thought we agreed.  You're not
supposed to be watching 'Pinky and the Brain.'"
     "I can handle it!"
     "Even after Romy the Circus Freak?"
     "He wasn't a freak!  He was sweet and sensitive and ... "
     "He was a cloned mouse."
     "You never like my boyfriends."
     "But Sis ... "  He sighed.  "Never mind.  Ready for part
three?"  She nodded, happy to be back in more familiar territory,
arguing with her dweeb brother.  Yes, arguing was good.  She looked
at him and grinned.

[Cue: "You're Nothing Without Me"]

          "Good guys always bore me:
          Peace?  Love?  Liberation?
          Scoundrels steal the stories
          With some imagination."

     He replied:

          "Maybe oiled pistols
          Maybe sharp fingers,
          Inverse coiled crystals
          Can give pain that lingers.
          Just who we are, I'll spell out:
          We are the jagged blades,
          Two broken gems that fell out
          The first day that the world was made."

     She began pacing.  Damn Fox and her self-righteous act,
anyway.  She should have offed the rich little twit when she'd had
the chance at Riker's.  But no, Coyote had stopped her.

          "Fox thinks I'm history,
          In some jail chillin',
          Escape's one mystery
          Of the supervillain."

     Her brother was ignoring her, off on his own tangent again:

          "They think they've won it
          Each time they beat us,
          But when they've done it,
          They still can't defeat us.
          We've been here so much longer,
          We'll be here when they fall
          Survival favors stronger,
          And chaos is strongest of all!

     She stopped and watched him as he really got into it.

          "They're nothin' without us,
          Without us they'd better move on.
          A triumphant hero
          Is barely a zero
          With all of his enemies gone.
          They show off, but we know,
          They need us at their curtain call!
          And though they might rout us
          Without us they're nothing at all!"

     Oh boy, he was really off and running this time.  She snapped
her fingers in front of him.  "Hey, you, back to reality."
     "I'm in reality, Sis.  Think about it.  Dingo wants to be a
*hero*," he sneered.  "But what's a hero without a villain?"  He
placed his hand on her shoulder and pointed to an invisible place
on the ceiling.  "We come from a long proud tradition of Disney
villains.  We give princes something to fight, princesses something
to flee from in terror."
     "Oh, *that's* enlightened," she muttered.  "Why not a strong
brave princess saving a knight in distress?"
     "That's what Elisa was," he explained using his You're an
Idiot voice.  She scowled at him, and pulled away from his hand.
Contrition, real or faked she could never tell, crossed his face.
"Look at it this way, now that the show is canceled, all we have
left are Ariels and Snow Whites.  We can easily beat those kinds of
wimps."
     She thought about it.  "Like Fox.  Except the closest thing
she's got to a prince with her is," she snorted, "Broadway."
     "Precisely."

          "Each night we plot,
          How we'll get even,
          Awaiting one shot
          And hope our boat ain't leavin'.
          We make things happen:
          Fire, Ice-Storm Brooklyn.
          While fans are clappin'
          We'll put our little hooks in ... "

          "I'll distract our precious leader,
          You come up from behind ... "

          "I'll get her, and I'll bleed her,
          Until she thinks death would be kind!"

          "They're nothing without us!
          Without us, their lives would be flat.
          A Phillip is grand
          For Aurora's hand,
          But Maleficent's got where it's at!
          Tomorrow, we'll prove it!
          We'll orchestrate Broadway's Great Fall!
          We're already halfway to true villainy!
          His fame's gonna cost him
          Though posthumously:
          The public will soon see
          That gargoyles are nothing at all!"

                         Act 1: Scene 6

     Angela was worried, *very* worried.  She'd gone by the Park a
few times to see if Broadway had started his shift yet, but she
hadn't seen him.  It was almost morning, and the rest of the clan
had gathered in the castle to wait for day.
     She paced the floor.  "Where could he be?"
     Xanatos tapped at the doorframe and entered the room.  He'd
been very polite about such things since their return, even if it
was technically his castle.  "Broadway left this in my office.  I
believe it's for you."  He handed it to Goliath, who opened it and
began to read aloud:

[Cue: "Leaving on a Jet Plane," Keith with Bill overlapping]

          "Our bags are packed, and ready to go.
          We're waiting for our ride to show.
          I hate to call you back to say good-bye,
          But if we wait another day,
          That's one more night I'll be away,
          Already I'm so excited, I could fly!
          We're leaving on a jet plane.
          Don't know when we'll be home again.
          Hey, it's almost time to go.
          So often we've been pushed around,
          So many times we've been put down.
          I'm going to teach these people a few things.
          Every place I go, I'll speak of you.
          Every thing I'll see, I'll see for you.
          When I come home, I hope good news I'll bring.
          'Cause we're leaving on a jet plane.
          Don't know when we'll be back again.
          Hey, it's almost time to go.
          The 'copter's on the helo pad;
          We've gotta go, but don't be sad.
          I'll tell Shanna who we really are.
          Fox says things will be okay,
          That they'll love me in L.A.
          Maybe I'll become a movie star!
          Now we're leaving on a jet plane!
          Don't know when we'll be back again.
          Hey, babe, it's time to go."

     Babe, she thought.  If he *even* meant that for me, I'm going
to hurt him.  Of all the selfish ...
     "Angela," said Brooklyn, setting a comforting arm on her
shoulder.  "I'm sure he'll be fine.  Broadway can take care of
himself."
     "I know," she said.
     "The lad always was a mite star-struck," mused Hudson.
     Lexington poked him in the side.  "Ed, you're reading from the
wrong script."
     "What're you talking about?"  Hudson reached behind the couch
and pulled out his copy of the script.  "See?  I'm supposed to say
'The lad always was a mite star-struck' in this scene."
     "We're not using that script anymore," said Lex, and pulled
another copy of the script from beneath the couch.  He read:
"'Alex's been kidnaped!'"  He looked triumphant, then puzzled.
     Brooklyn said, "That was from 'Ransom,' Thom."
     "Who wrote this stuff?  Sheesh!"  Lex tossed the book over his
shoulder out of frame and dug under the couch again, his tail sticking
out and wiggling.  "We really should clean out under here more often,"
he said, his voice muffled.  I just found an old copy of 'Awakening.'
Ah! Here it is."  He pulled out a somewhat battered copy of a script
with suspicious jelly-esque stains on the cover.  He dusted it off.
     "See?  'BROOKLYN comforts ANGELA. ANGELA blows him off.  Sunrise,
fade to black.'  You and I don't even get speaking parts in this
one."
     Angela was struck by inspiration, and brushing off Brooklyn's
hand, said "Let me see that!  Maybe it'll tell us when Broadway's
due back."  She reached out for the book, when, on cue, the sun
rose.
     Fade to black.

                         Act 2: Scene 1

     Broadway again had his face against the glass, staring out
into the predawn light.  Fox checked her Rolex, calculating just
how much time they had before daybreak.  They'd be cutting it
close.  Maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
     "Madame," came the pilot's voice over the intercom.  "We're
going to have to stay in a holding pattern above the city."  Right
on time.
     She unbuckled her safety belt and moved to the cockpit,
cheering inside as she saw Broadway following her in curiosity.
She hoped he would act the way she expected when the scene played
itself out.
     "What's going on?" she asked the pilot.

[Cue: "London Bridge"]

          "An airplane is going down,
          Going down,
          Going down.
          An airplane is going down,
          My fair lady.
          They'll foam the runway, and the fields,
          And the fields,
          And the fields.
          They'll foam the runway and the fields,
          And scrape them later."

     As per her expectation, Broadway's face lit up with new-
found ardor.  Lives were in danger, and his gargoyle nature made
him instantly protective of the defenseless humans.
     "It's a young couple on their honeymoon," added the pilot.
She shot him a glance; he wasn't supposed to ad lib this bit.
     "I'll get them!" Broadway said, and ran back to the emergency
exit.  Damn.  She'd considered the possibility of his leaving the
plane suddenly, and had come up with nothing to do about the
depressurization of the cabin.
     "Hold on!" she shouted to the flight crew, and slammed the
door just as Broadway forced the exit open.  The pressure drop
pulled the door, but it held.  She heard him slam the other door
above the roar of wind, but didn't dare open the cockpit for fear
of what might happen.
     "There he is," said the pilot.
     Broadway had glided out away from their plane, and was diving
towards the other.  Fox could hear nothing from the outside, so she
was certain she didn't hear what she thought she heard:

          "Here I come to save the day!"

     He ripped the cockpit of the other plane wide open, pulling
the occupants free, and gliding off with them just before the plane
went down.  They landed amid cheers from a small crowd gathered on
the runway.  Just as planned.
     "Take us down, Harvey," she said with a smirk.  "And tell our
young couple they can expect a bonus next month."
     "Okay, but ... "
     "But what?"
     "Jeff and Mary couldn't make it.  They radioed just before the
tower notified us."
     "You mean that was *real*?"  Talk about fortuitous happenings.
     "It sure wasn't Memorex."
     Fox remained quiet for the plane's descent.  When she
disembarked, she saw Broadway surrounded by gawkers, most of them
friendly-looking.  The news crew she'd tipped off was waiting for
him.  A blandly beautiful woman held a microphone to his face,
asking what she no doubt thought were intent questions.
     A limo pulled up beside the plane.  Harvey loaded her bags in
the trunk and nodded good-bye.  She offered him half a wave and got
into the car.  It was time to go rescue their star.
     "You were notified about the nature of your other passenger,
correct?" she asked the chauffeur.
     "Yes, ma'am," he said, bringing his eyes up in the rear-view.
     "Good.  Let's go get him."
     They pulled smoothly away from the plane and headed towards
the crowd.  She hoped he didn't say anything damaging before she
coached him more.  She'd already planned out what he was going to
say to Shanna; she couldn't let him undermine them too quickly.
     The car stopped, and she opened the door.  "Broadway!  Get
in!"
     He turned his head, and his eyes shone with an unfamiliar
gleam.  He was surrounded by humans, and none of them were running
away.  It was a new experience for him.  She should let him stay
and relish the moment, cherish this time with his new-found
friends.
     Like hell, she thought.  "Come on!"
     The reporter asked him quickly, "Do you have anything you want
to tell us?  Why did you save those people?"
     Broadway looked at her like she was an idiot, which, Fox
mused, might not be that bad of a leap.  "Gargoyles protect," he
said, with a perfect balance of humility and confusion as to why
she didn't understand.  He couldn't have done better if he'd
practiced.
     Fox let herself smile as he entered the car.  This was going
to work out nicely.
     "Did you see them, Fox?  They loved me!"
     "Of course they loved you.  You saved two people on national
tv.  You're a hero, a star."
     "I was just doing my job," he said, his modesty already
tarnishing.  They'd have to work on his sincerity for tonight's
recording.
     "That's exactly what you needed to do.  Now, the hotel is a
few blocks away, and sunrise will be in about ten minutes.  While
you're asleep, I'll finalize the arrangements we'll need for
tonight.  How does a power supper sound to you?"
     "My favorite words!" he said, and stared out the tinted
windows at the passing streets.
     She watched him for a moment, wondering if she was doing the
right thing.  That had never been a consideration before, and the
new thought puzzled her.
     Must be getting old, she thought, and opened her celphone.

                         Act 2: Scene 2

     The Manhattan skyline glowed with an angry red fire, as the
sun slipped behind tall buildings.  Xanatos watched it go with an
unspoken regret.  Another day's useless energy spent, he mused, and
then wondered why his mind had picked that phrase.  He'd just
gotten off the phone with Fox, who'd called him when she'd wakened.
It would be three more hours until sunset in Hollywood, which he
hadn't thought of before she'd reminded him.  That was something he
should have known, but his heart insisted otherwise, that Fox
couldn't be that far away.  Even when she'd been in Australia, he'd
felt her close to him, and knew a slim but real pain when he'd
remembered that she was not.
     Just like now.
     He heard roars echoing faintly through the castle.  The clan
had awakened.  He hurried the short distance from his office to the
living room, where they'd unexpectedly spent the day.
     Angela was staring at a piece of paper and reading slowly:
"'Sorry.  Had to pull the script for changes.  Will get a new copy
to you ASAP. - MM:)'  Great," she muttered.  "So much for finding
out when he's coming home.  Or if."
     "He's certainly been busy while he's been gone," Xanatos said,
catching their attention.  "This was on the news while you were
asleep.  He put the tape into the vcr.  It was already primed,
thanks to Owen.
     " ... Gargoyles protect," said Broadway on the screen.  The
reporter moved back into sight as Broadway ducked into a limo.
     "There you have it, America.  Gargoyles protect.  And you saw
it on KCOP first."  He turned off the tape.
     "At least he is staying out of trouble," said Goliath.
     "I can't believe he left without telling us," Angela said, a
sentiment he wanted very badly to echo.  However ...
     "I'm sure Broadway will be fine.  Fox told me she's hired the
best security money can buy to safeguard him."
     Brooklyn looked at him askance.  "Would this be the same
security you used to send up against us?"
     He held up his hands.  "That's water under the bridge."
     "That's not my point.  We used to trash your security forces,
remember?"
     So they had.  Silence filled the room, made even deeper when
Angela left the room, her wings wrapped tightly around her.

                         Act 2: Scene 3

     "Fox!  You've got to see this!"  Broadway closed his eyes, let
the breeze from the moving car caress his face.  He couldn't not
watch, and he looked again, gazing at the bright lights around him
with incredulity.  So this was what it was like to be among them
and not be afraid.  He could learn to like it.
     He heard her laugh.  "Maybe you'd better come down here.  I've
got Angela on the phone."
     "Angela?"  He shimmied back down into his seat and took the
phone from her eagerly.  "Hey babe."
     "Broadway?  You're all right!"
     "Sure, I'm all right.  Why?"
     "I was worried.  Broadway, you're thousands of miles away.  If
you get into trouble ... "
     He interrupted her:

[Cue: "That's All I Ask"]

          "No more talk of darkness
          Forget these wide-eyed fears.
          I'm here.  Nothing will harm me,
          Not Fox, not Castaway's army.
          Let me bring us freedom;
          Acceptance dry your tears.
          I'm here.  Hollywood's awesome.
          Want stars?  I think I saw some."

     She paused.  A long silence stretched out on the phone.
"Angela?" he said, wondering if they'd lost the connection.

          "You say you'll love me every waking moment,
          Turn my head with talk of older times,
          You say you need me with you, now and always.
          Come back home, prove all you said was true.
          That's all I ask of you."

          "Let me tell you something:
          I think I saw Stallone!
          Tonight, I'll be on tv.
          Tune in, and you can see me."

          "All I want is you there
          When day turns us to stone.
          You're far, so far away now,
          I don't know what to say now."

          "Fox says this interview
          Will be my big break.
          This could free us from our solitude.
          She says my Q rating is a-okay now.
          Tell me that you're thinking of me, too.
          Angie, that's all I ask of you."

          "I can't reach you where
          You are this evening.
          How can we be there to follow you?
          Say you're coming back
          To those who need you.
          Do you love me?"

          "You know I do."

          "Come home.  That's all I ask of you."

     "I can't right now, babe."  The phone clicked.  "Angela?
Angela?"  He closed the celphone.  "She hung up.  She sounded
awfully mad."
     "She's just jealous," said Fox absently, typing at her
computer.  "She's never been a star."
     "Yeah," he said quietly, and watched the lights go by in the
night.

          "Everywhere I go, I'll think of you ... "

     "We're here," said Fox, and he lost his train of thought.
     The restaurant had been cleared of gawkers, which he supposed
made sense, but disappointed him anyway.  He'd wanted to be out
among the humans, mingling.  An alluring smell wafted his way from
somewhere unseen, making his stomach rumble.  His autonomic
survival instincts kicked into action.  Eat now, mingle later.
     Fox approached a man in an odd costume standing ill at ease
near the door.  Broadway wracked his memory for where he'd seen
something like this before in a movie or on tv.
     "Xanatos, party of five," she told him.  Maitre d', that was
it.
     The man's eyebrows rose far above what would have been his
hairline had he one, as his gaze settled nervously on Broadway.
     "Ah, yes.  Madame and," he hesitated, "sir's party has already
arrived."
     "Excellent," said Fox, "would you be so kind as to show us to
our table?"
     "Of course," he stammered, and turned around.  He paused,
closed his eyes, and took an audibly deep breath.  Then, calmly, he
led them back to a table at which three humans were already
sitting.  They rose quickly, quickly-masked fear on the faces of
the woman and one of the men.  The other man appraised him openly,
sizing him up as he'd seen many a warrior do before.
     The maitre d' bowed his head elegantly as he indicated their
seats, and told them, "Georges will be here shortly to take your
order."  He left.
     "Fox," said the woman in an almost-pleasant, if strained, tone
of voice.  "How good to see you again."
     "Marcy, Skip, Hugo, this is Broadway.  Broadway, meet the
people who are going to make you a star."
     "Hi," he said, waving his hand in what he hoped was a friendly
manner.  Marcy drew back, startled.
     "Marcy and Skip are producers.  Between them, they've created
eight popular shows.  Hugo is in charge of Pack Media's interests
in Hollywood."  The man who hadn't shown fear of him inclined his
head amiably.
     "It's nice to meet you," he said, and extended his hand.
Broadway took it, liking this human instantly.
     A man dressed very much like the maitre d', and twice as
nervous, neared the table, then stood back as if unsure.  Fox saw
him, and told the others.  "Perhaps we should sit down."
     The humans took their seats, Hugo pulling out Fox's for her,
while Broadway looked around for a chair that would support him.
He saw none.
     The waiter gasped, and hurried away, returning moments later
with someone else, carrying an oversized chair that looked more
sturdy than the ones the humans were using.  Broadway smiled at
them, which made the poor man even more nervous.  He sat down, and
that seemed to make him feel better.
     "Welcome to Le Club de Giraffe.  Would you like to start out
with one of our many fine wines?"
     "That would be lovely," said Fox.  She bit her lip in thought.
"Broadway, can gargoyles metabolize alcohol?"  He stared at her
without comprehension.  She clarified: "Have you ever had mead?"
     "Oh.  Yes.  At Midwinter, we used to have hogsheads full of
it ... "  She had already turned her attention back to the waiter,
ordering something he thought was probably French.
     "Would madame's party care to order now, or would you prefer
more time?"
     Fox unfolded her menu, scanning it quickly.  "I think I know
what I'd like.  Are the rest of you ready?"
     Broadway hurriedly picked up his own menu, and started to
read.  Goliath had been on him lately about not reading out loud,
but reading to himself took a lot longer.  As the waiter took
orders from the humans, he tried to find words he recognized.  Some
things he knew from the Dixon Hill novels Elisa had given him, but
he hadn't believed they were true.
     "And for you, sir?" asked the waiter, pencil at the ready.
     "Ummm ... " he said, still reading.  "I haven't decided yet."
As a last resort, he turned to Fox.  "What would you recommend?"
     She opened her menu again.  "Try the scallops in saffron.
Make it a double order.  And as an appetizer, the escargot in
garden herb sauce."
     "Aren't those, ummm, snails?"
     "Yes, and they're delicious.  Trust me."  He glanced sideways
at her.  Trusting her to bring him across the country and away from
his clan was one thing.  Trusting her with his food was quite
another.
     "All right," he said slowly.
     The waiter took their menus, leaving them to converse alone.
     "So, Broadway," said Skip, "how are you liking L.A.?"
     "It's great!" he said immediately.  Then he wilted a little,
"I really haven't seen much of it yet."
     "We'll fix that tomorrow night," said Fox.
     "I wanted to ask you about that," said Hugo.  "Lamant says
everything is set up and ready to go for the taping tonight, but he
told me it'll be a lot harder to secure our star if you take him
touring.  I agree."
     "You worry too much, Hugo," she replied, and sipped her water.
"All right.  When we arrive on the set, coordinate with Lamant
about beefing up security for tomorrow.  We might have to limit the
tour somewhat."
     Marcy was staring at him.  Her hand darted out and touched his
arm, pulling back in as if he'd burned her.  "I ...  Wow."  Skip
frowned at her, but the look in his eyes said he'd wanted to touch,
too.
     "I don't bite," Broadway offered, which made Marcy giggle in
a too-high pitch.
     "Of course you don't," said Skip, who then busied himself with
his napkin.
     These humans weren't like the others he'd encountered.  Most
ran screaming when they met him, or else gave him the same
appraising look he'd gotten from Hugo.  Broadway wasn't much on
reading gargoyle faces, and with the exceptions of Elisa, Matt, and
a few of their more memorable foes, human faces looked pretty much
alike to him.  Even so, he was picking up the same kind of fear he
was used to emanating from these two, but it was held in place by
masks.  Marcy's said, "It's not polite to stare, or run."  Skip's
said, "I'm going to ignore the obvious fact that the person I'm
talking to is a seven foot tall blue-green monster."  He'd never
met people with such apparent masks before.  It was something else
new to file away and tell his clan.
     Hugo remained wary, but without the fear.  There was no
hiding; his eyes said, "Yes, so you're big, green, and have wings.
What's your point?"
     Humans were very strange, Broadway decided, as the waiter
brought a bottle and a bucket of shaved ice.

                          Act 2: Scene 4

     A bottle and a half later, Skip and Marcy were in much better
moods.  Hugo had nursed one glass all through dinner, while Fox had
satisfied herself with two.  Broadway followed their example,
sipping at the sweet drink rather than swallowing it in a gulp as
his first impulse had been to do.  Wine, he decided, was very
little like mead.  He watched the lights shine through his own
barely-touched third glass.
     "'Gabbing with a Gargoyle,'" Marcy was saying, "It'll be the
only talk show with a host who's weirder than the guests!"
     Her words seeped into his mind.  "Hey ... " he started.
     "No no no no," said Skip, "we go directly to the horror film.
'Broadway Melody.'"
     "Excuse me," said Broadway.
     "Why don't you start with the sitcom?" asked Hugo.  "Broadway:
the cute but sassy alien who secretly lives with a typical suburban
family."
     Both Skip and Marcy glared at him, then went back to their
discussion.  "We'll have a tour!  Feel it!  Touch it!  Know it's
alive!"
     "Excuse me," said Broadway again, much louder this time.  Skip
and Marcy didn't hear him.

[Cue: "He Plays the Violin"]

          "Oh, we'll fill 'em up with passion
          We'll put him on the news.
          We can pack them in the aisles
          To see this hulking brute!
          In truth, they won't recall
          All the cash they spend at all.
          Even now ..."

          "He plays a good villain
          With a silly, infectious grin,
          And he slays.
          Oh, he slays
          For he says,
          Yes he says, that it's
          Broadway, Broadway the demon,
          For his heart, he'd be a free man,
          A little unstrung
          Planet of the Apes-like,
          Broadway's the one!"

          "He'd be a good villain,
          But I get a feeling within,
          That they'd pay,
          Yes they'd pay,
          To see him,
          Only him, and it's ...
          Broadway, Broadway the icon and
          Hello to the hike on
          Merchandise for this.
          Schwarzenegger-like,
          They'll just die for a kiss."

          "When Oscar passes by,
          Don't even think to cry!
          For we made
          What they paid,
          And the net
          That we get, oh, shall be
          From Broadway, Broadway our new star.
          Bless his heart, he's going to go far
          And always we'll be,
          For thirty percent,
          His loyal creative team.
          Our meal-ticket villain!"

     Fox looked conspicuously at her watch.  "The show starts in an
hour and a half.  We should be going."  She waved for the waiter,
who appeared with far less nervousness than before and presented
her with a slim black book, which she opened, glanced over, and
into which she placed a slim golden card.  The humans stood slowly.
Broadway followed suit as the waiter returned with the book.  Fox
took her card from it and thanked him.  Broadway reminded himself
to ask her about it later.
     "Fox, darling, give my best to David," Marcy said, as Broadway
brought his attention back to the others.
     "It was nice to meet you," he said as politely as he could,
and held out his hand on an impulse.  Marcy's head snapped around,
surprised.  It was like she'd forgotten his existence.  Did
everyone around here have two-second attention spans?
     After a moment, she shook his hand, as did Skip, and they
remained standing as he, Fox and Hugo went outside, to where the
limo already waited for them.  When the car pulled away from the
curb, Broadway turned to Fox unhappily.
     "Did they hear anything I said?  It was like they didn't even
notice I was there!"
     Before she could answer, Hugo said, "Get used to it."  He
turned his face towards the glittering lights without explanation.
     Broadway didn't want to let it go.  "Why did you come out
here?  The first time, I mean?"
     Fox was already buried in her laptop.  Hugo continued staring
outside, until Broadway was certain he was doing the same thing
Skip and Marcy had.
     Then Hugo surprised him again.  "The same reason as you.  I
saw the faces on the screen, and I wanted to be one of them."
     So he'd been an actor, like Fox!  Cool ...  "Were you in a lot
of movies?" he asked eagerly.
     "No.  I did stunt work for a while, but there weren't many
jobs, and the few I did have ...  Let's just say there weren't many
roles available that I could and would do."
     Broadway frowned.  He recalled spending countless nights at
the theatres, or sitting with Hudson watching the Late Late Movie,
not to mention the videos Elisa had rented for them.  Since their
awakening, he'd seen hundreds of different actors and actresses in
all sorts of films.  He'd even imagined himself among them, in
roles without number.  Surely Hugo cold find something that he
liked?
     He said as much.
     Hugo watched him a long moment, disbelief in his eyes.  "You
really don't know, do you?"
     "Know what?"
     Hugo smiled at him then, a real genuine smile rather than the
polite but watchful ones Broadway had received since his arrival,
even from Fox.  It only lasted a few seconds, and was replaced with
another mask, this one cool, professional, like the faces to which
Broadway *was* accustomed.
     "Fox," said the Hugo behind the mask, "where did you say you
found this guy?"
     "I told you, Manhattan's crawling with them."
     "Remind me to visit the East Coast more often."  With that
mystifying phrase, Hugo turned to the driver, and gestured towards
the studio gate.

                          Act 2: Scene 5

     The sound stage had to be at least as big as the Great Hall in
Castle Wyvern, and it was filled with people bustling around in
what he could only imagine was a productive manner.  Several wore
headphones, several more held clipboards, and a few ...  He wasn't
sure what their job was, but it seemed to involve holding steaming
mugs of something and staring at him.  They weren't night people,
he decided.
     Shanna, her hair immaculate, greeted them, her arms
outstretched in an embrace-to-be.  "Fox, darling, it's been too
long.  And this must be ... "
     "I'm Broadway," he said, and held out his hand.  Shanna took
it and smiled.
     "Broadway.  It's good to meet you.  You're just in time for
makeup.  Jessie!"  A small human woman, a clipboard pressed against
her chest, came over quickly, and watched him with large eyes.
Lex, he thought, she looks like Lex would if he were human and
female.  If this worked, he'd have to get her email address for
him.  "Jessie, take our star to makeup.  I need to discuss some
things with Mrs. Xanatos."
     "Okay," said the little woman, and gestured for him to follow
her.
     Despite her much shorter legs, he found it difficult to keep
up.  "Jessie, slow down."
     At the sound of his voice, she gave a squeak and jumped.  "You
talk!"
     "Of course I talk.  Doesn't everyone?"
     "I guess.  I just wasn't expecting it."

     This could be a problem, he thought.  "What were you
expecting?"
     "Shanna said we'd be having a gargoyle on the set, and that
he, you might look terrifying.  She said not to be afraid, that the
lady from Pack Media had assured her you wouldn't hurt anyone."
     "I won't."
     She nodded, but her eyes stayed wide and a little scared.  She
reached out her hand and touched his wing.  When he didn't burst
into flame, she left it there.
     "Wow ... " she said.  Then she pulled herself together.  "Come
on, we've got to get you to makeup."
     Jessie led him back to a row of doors on the other end of the
sound stage.  She opened a door with a large reflective star
attached to it.  Broadway saw bright lights and a huge mirror, and
a big woman with a painted-on face.
     "Ah!  Our star's here," she said in a deep voice.  "Please
sir, if you'll have a seat."  She indicated a sturdy-looking chair
that would have looked right at home in the deeper dungeons of
Wyvern.
     Broadway held his breath and settled into the chair.  He
looked back to thank Jessie, but she'd already gone back to
whatever she'd been doing.  He really had to remember to talk to
her after the taping.
     "Now," said the woman, walking behind him, "let's see if we
can accent those cheekbones."

                          Act 2: Scene 6

     Five minutes before taping, Broadway emerged from makeup.  Fox
stared at him.  Oh gods, she thought, we're not going to put him on
the air looking like that.  As she rushed to his side, she amended
to herself how people who'd never seen him before wouldn't know the
difference anyway, and perhaps the makeup did make him look a
little less intimidating.
     But the mascara had to go.
     "Here," she said, digging into her compact black purse and
coming out with a crumpled tissue.  "We've got to get that off
you."
     He moved her hand away, though not forcefully.  "Francois says
it'll keep me from washing out under the lights."
     "Good for Francois.  Now hold still."  She dabbed at the
eyeliner, remembering her own mother having wiped her face like
this when she'd been young.  The recollection, followed by far more
recent and searing memories, was enough to make her hands start
shaking.  Her therapist was going to get a nice long visit when
they got home.
     "Places, people!" said the director, a short balding fellow
named Armin something.  Hammer, maybe.  Broadway ducked out of her
ministrations and hurried to his seat beside Shanna, where a
steaming cup already waited for him.  "And action!"
     "Hello everyone.  I'd like to welcome you to a very special
edition of 'Shanna!'  We don't have a studio audience with us
today, because, well, we wouldn't want to frighten them."  She
chuckled at her own joke.
     Fox clenched her fists, briefly wondering just how far across
the sound stage she could toss the woman, and knowing with some
regret that it wouldn't be nearly as far as she'd like.  Okay, so
her personal trainer was going to get a large chunk of her time,
too.
     Shanna turned her pretty, vacant head to her guest star.

[Cue: "On Broadway"]

          "People say gargoyles are bad,
          Hey Broadway!
          Why don't you give us all the gargoyle news?"

          "Hey Shanna, I'd just like to say,
          That I like it in L.A.,
          But those rumors just give me the blues."

          "Tell about your love life,
          Hey Broadway!
          Tell us all the things we want to hear."

          "I came here to tell you straight:
          We'll get nowhere with this hate,
          Hate is just a ..."

     He paused, lost in thought, and then, like a light went off
inside him, he said intensely:

          "A mask to hide your fear!"

          "They say your clan won't last too long,
          Hey Broadway!
          They say you're going to give up and hide away."

          "They're all wrong, I hope they're wrong,
          'Cause we've been working way too long.
          Why can't we all just get along ... "

     The ceiling exploded.
     Debris hurled from above her.  Fox threw her arms above her
head in instinct as she dove for nonexistent cover, her mind
automatically assessing the threat, calculating what she needed to
do to survive, damning herself for not having checked the security
measures and never mind what Lamant had told Hugo.
     She scanned the room, locking onto Broadway.  Good, he was
still mobile, so much so that he narrowly saved Shanna from an
over-large light fixture that would probably have ruined her whole
evening.  Score one for the Broadster, she thought.
     The threat was airbourne, from the direction of the blasts
that continued to come.  Crew members shouted, a few screamed.
Pandemonium was in full force.  She blocked the others out.  They
were irrelevant; paying attention would only distract her from
locating ...
     There, at four o'clock, face shining gleefully in the hell-
light of a laser cannon, hovered the problem.  Her stomach went icy
cold as Jackal's one organic eye swept the room and settled on her,
a deranged grin spreading over his face.  He pointed his arm at
her, but held his fire.
     Was he sparing her?  Asking her to join in the fun?  Her mind
raced through and abandoned a dozen possibilities, while she
checked her location and knew there was nowhere to hide.  Why
hadn't he either hailed her or killed her on sight?
     The blow was hard enough to knock the wind out of her, not
nearly enough to kill her, though as she fell and barely caught
herself with her palms she knew it could easily have been.  She
turned her head, pain shooting through her neck, saw Hyena hovering
just behind where she had been standing.  So that's why he hadn't
killed her.
     "We should have invited Wolf and Dingo," Hyena said.
     Jackal added, "We might have taped a little reunion special
for the kiddies.  The Pack, together again one last time."  He
aimed a shot at the far wall, bringing it perilously close to
falling, and dumping more building materials on the few
unfortunates nearby.
     "Some of us got on with our lives," she said, getting to her
feet faster than she'd thought possible.
     "And some of us got the short end of things.  While you were
living in that castle, we were turned into this!"  Hyena's fingers
snapped out three feet towards Fox's neck.  She dropped and rolled
out of the way, coming up behind Hyena.  The other woman simply
turned in midair, cackling.  Jackal's attention had already
drifted.
     She panted slightly.  Oh yeah, the personal trainer was going
to be really popular with her when she got home.  "Whatever
happened to you, you brought upon yourselves.  Nobody forced you to
become ... "  She flailed for words.
     "Freaks?!"  Hyena's normally irritating voice reached a level
only before obtained with the application of short fingernails to
slate.
     "I never said that."  Where the hell had Jackal gone?
     "You thought it, though."  She drifted closer, forcing Fox
backwards.  "You always thought it.  Even when we were on the same
side, you always looked down at the rest of us.  Dingo and I saved
your butt in Panama, remember that?  Did it matter to you?  No, you
were too good for us even afterwards."  She raised her arm, eyes
bright and ready for retribution in payment for all the wrongs she
thought she'd suffered.  Fox spent half a second wondering how many
she herself really had committed, and how many existed only in the
very messed-up minds of the lunatics before her.
     "Sis, we've got what we came for."  Jackal's voice came
through the smoke.  She saw him dragging a bulk in a large net.
Broadway!
     "I haven't," Hyena replied, and aimed directly at Fox's head.
     There was no place to go, no place to hide.  After all these
years, the little red Fox had been caught.
     Alex, she thought, be a good boy for Daddy.
     She crouched and sprang at Hyena.  The other woman zipped up
out of her reach.  Fox landed, reasonably well she thought, but
high heels weren't made for combat.  Her left heel twisted,
spilling her to the ground.
     As she fell, she thought madly, "I'm going to die in a bad
horror movie cliche."  For some reason, that was far worse than
simply dying.  She turned the instant she touched the ground, again
facing Hyena's pointed arm, anger fueling her like a torch.
     "Drop it, Sis.  We don't have the time."  Hyena cursed, and
without even a backward glance, joined her brother to drag Broadway
out the gaping hole that used to be the ceiling.  Jackal said
something Fox didn't hear, which set both of them to laughing as
they flew up and out of sight.

                          Act 3: Scene 1

     Fox took a quick catalogue of her injuries, as she dropped her
gaze from its now-useless contemplation of the sky and set to
searching for Hugo and the security chief.  Bruises everywhere,
scrapes on her palms and knees, her expensive suit was beyond
repair.  She'd be fine.
     Hugo saved her the trouble of finding him by dashing to her
side momentarily.  "Fox!  Are you all right?"  The worry in his
voice was multi-layered.  Yes, he was worried about her well-being,
but he was also concerned for his own, namely what would happen to
him if he had to report to David that she'd been injured.
     "I'm fine," she said irritably.  "Where's Lamant?  I thought
he said this place was safe!"
     "I thought it was."  The man she presumed was the head of
security stepped through the new air conditioning Jackal had
conveniently provided.  He was smeared with dust, Fox noticed in
her hyper-aware state, but not in the same way she and Hugo were.
He'd probably been guarding outside when hell had broken loose, her
mind provided, and she ignored the issue.  It wasn't important.
     "They've taken Broadway.  We need to locate him fast."  Before
they blow everything, she thought but did not say.
     "I'll put my best people on it," said Lamant, and hurried off,
presumably to get said people.  Who were supposed to have been on
the roof guarding the damned building.  A killer headache
threatened behind her eyes, as nausea hit her like a sucker punch.
She lurched.
     Hugo grabbed her arm, helped her steady.  "Why don't you sit
down?  Lamant and I will find Broadway."  He led her to the
director's chair, which for all its flimsiness was the only chair
in the sound stage not damaged.
     "I'll be fine," she said, rubbing the stiffness and the sweat
from her neck, but letting him sit her down nonetheless.  She
pulled her hand forward, and stifled a shudder as the wetness
proved to be blood instead.  Carefully, so as not to let him see
and worry, she wiped her hand on her skirt, knowing the navy would
hide the stain.  With a casual touch, she pulled the two restraining
sticks from her hair and let it fall.  Instant camouflage, she
thought.  Already her mind was clearing from that brief moment.
     Nothing big, she told herself.  I've had blows to the head
before, and turned out just fine.  She stood up, regretted it, but
wouldn't let him see the effort it had taken.
     "I need to find him, Hugo."  She had to get back to the limo,
where she'd left something very important.  "It's personal."
     "Which is exactly why you shouldn't be involved."
     She tried out-staring him.  She'd known Hugo for a good ten
years, knew him to be more teddy bear than grizzly.  He didn't
yield.  "Fine," she said resignedly, and headed outside anyway,
hoping he'd assume she'd given in.
     He followed her.  "Where are you going?"  Great.  Teddy bear
*and* watchdog.
     "To the limo.  I have a change of clothes in the trunk."  She
gestured.  "I am *not* wearing this any longer."
     He smiled in a slightly patronizing way, probably not even
realizing he was doing it.  Yes, she thought, you just keep
thinking it's another dress, Hugo my dear.  She let him lead her
out, as she made plans.
     The tracking device she'd had installed in Broadway's shades
would come in handy, assuming he hadn't lost them.  Even if he had,
she had equipment available set to scan for gargoyle-specific vital
signs.  That would take longer, though, and Broadway's time was
running out fast.
     By the time they'd reached the limo, Fox had decided she
wasn't going to tell Lamant.  It was foolish.  He was the head of
security for this little jaunt, and she ought to trust him
completely.  Instinct, the same which had kept her alive in a dozen
scrapes that by all rights should have killed her, including the
one in Panama, told her not to put her faith in a man they'd paid
to keep watch.  Even the most trusted guard could be bribed by a
higher bidder, and Lamant was brand new.  Only a few people had
known where and when the taping was to be; Lamant was a very
powerful weak link in the information chain.  For that matter, she
wasn't completely sure she could trust Hugo.  Certainly she'd known
him a long time, but she'd also known Jackal and Hyena for years,
and it wasn't like he was a close friend like ... like ...
     Now there was an interesting thought.  Other than David, the
closest things she had to friends were Owen, Maza, and the
gargoyles.  It certainly was an ah ... eclectic group.  She
smirked, while Hugo gallantly got her overlarge bag for her.
     "What's so funny?"
     "Fate.  Are you sure you don't want help with that?"  Hugo
shook his head, but puffed a little.  He'd have an out-and-out
coronary if she told him what was inside.
     She led him to the remains of a dressing room.  He groaned
slightly as he dropped the bag, no doubt thinking she'd brought her
rock collection with her.  She shut the door, letting him keep
watch outside so no one came peeping, and then opened her case.
     Not rocks, she thought.
     Iron.
     David's exoframe had been redesigned to withstand a fight with
her stepfather, although they had learned rather quickly that
"withstand" was a very different concept from "win."  Even after
Goliath's quick thinking had saved Alexander from the results of
*that* custody battle, supposedly for good, they had quietly been
updating the castle's defenses against specifically magical
attacks.
     Her new suit was an example of those updates.
     The internal shell was made of a lightweight, reinforced
polymer that fit to her perfectly, with sensors to monitor blood
pressure, body temperature, heart rate, even sweat levels, and it
could compensate accordingly.  Between the interior and exterior
lay a thin film of slightly viscous fluid, which kept the parts
from wearing against one another, while giving her freedom of
mobility in every direction.  The outer shell was made of pure
iron.  The engineer who'd built the suit had balked at that part of
the design, pointing out the fast oxidation and the comparatively
low tolerances to battle-type stresses.  He'd suggested a more
sturdy substance, perhaps a steel-titanium alloy.  David had
suggested he seek other employment.
     The engineer had built the suit.
     It had survived a number of lab tests, and a field trial at
Xanadu when she and David had played Hide-and-Seek for a weekend,
testing their equipment.  The time had come to see what it really
could do.
     As she donned the suit, she began to sing quietly to herself.

[Cue: "A Little More Mascara"]

          "Once again, I'm a little outmatched
          By some over equipped enemy.
          Once again, it is time to fight someone
          Who is obviously stronger than me.
          With the old combination of anticipation
          And fear unrevealed,
          I position my little assortment of missiles,
          Explosives and shields.
          So whenever I feel in a fight that I might
          Start coming to harm,
          I strap one great particle weapon
          To my rather slim upper arm.
          And I can cope again!
          Good God, there's hope again!
          When life's in a real bind again
          And my old sense of humor has up and gone,
          It's time for the land mines again.
          I put a couple more munitions on.
          When I see foes attack again,
          And tire of this perpetual marathon,
          I tighten my jet pack again
          And put a couple more munitions on.
          And everything's Howitzer,
          Laser beams,
          Mustard fumes,
          When it's a rifle's sights that you look through!
          Because when I feel dangerous, competent, powerful,
          The world that I'm looking at is powerful too!
          When my little road has a few bumps again
          And I need something stronger to lean upon,
          I put on my turbo pumps again
          And wham! I could take out a mastodon!
          So when Hyena comes to play,
          I'll blow her to next Saturday,
          And put a couple more munitions on!"

     She glanced at the helmet.  No.  She couldn't face wearing
that thing in this heat, temperature control or not.  Instead she
selected a face-concealing mask.  No use letting too many people
know what she was doing.  Then again, she mused as she pulled it
on, she could always claim the Pack really *was* throwing a reunion
bash.
     Hugo stared at her as she exited the dressing room.
     "Fox ... "
     "Don't start, Hugo."
     "I can't let you go.  I'm under strict orders from Mr. Xanatos
to not let you out of my sight."
     She smiled at him.  Hugo hadn't betrayed them.  Instinct told
her that.  Owen would say she was using her natural gifts; she
thought it had more to do with knowing the ways in which people
interacted.  Either way, she trusted Hugo to do exactly as he'd
said he would, which made what she was about to do a little harder.
     "You're a good man, Hugo," she said, touching his arm and
giving him just enough of a charge to knock him out.  She propped
him semi-comfortably against the wall.  He'd have a nasty headache
about ten minutes from now, but by then, she'd be long gone.  "I'll
be sure you get a large bonus for this."

                          Act 3: Scene 2

     Angela sat on her perch, pondering her life over the past
year.  She'd lost one father, gained another, met her mother, made
new friends, left two homes, fought enemies without number, and had
somehow managed to find time to fall in love.  Not bad, she
thought, for having spent the previous forty years of her life
doing nothing more exciting than learning to swim and hunting deer
in the deep forests of Avalon.
     With Gabriel.
     When they'd first grown old enough to learn the differences
between the males and the females, she and he had already been the
closest of friends.  Surely they'd been destined for each other, to
love each other the way Princess Katharine and the Guardian loved
each other.  She'd left him, though, and the rest of her siblings
too, in order to seek her fortunes with the legendary Goliath and
his friends.  He hadn't tried to keep her there with him, though
she'd seen in the sadness of his eyes that he'd wished she had
stayed anyway.  She had barely thought of him since, she was
embarrassed to note.  She had gone on with her life, had assumed he
had done the same.
     Now she thought she understood how he must have felt, watching
her pull away from shore into the mists, how his heart must have
ached, knowing well that she might never return, knowing too that
to hold her against her wishes would be pointless, selfish.
     She probed a painful memory, found it not to be as sore as the
last time she revisited it, and allowed herself to recall one
particular night, unremarkable really, but for this one thing.  She
and the other Eggs had been no more than twenty-two or twenty-three
at the time, just on the edge of that mysterious age when they'd
grown from hatchlings to adults.
     They had gathered outside the palace on the grounds, and lit
a great bonfire.  Their human parents had said the celebration was
for the birth of some human who'd died a long long time before, but
to the Eggs, it had meant storytelling, which they all enjoyed.  At
one point, the clearest memory she had of that night, the Guardian
had wrapped his arms around Princess Katharine from behind, and
rested his head against hers comfortably.  She'd smiled at him,
more warmth radiating from her face than even the great blaze.
Angela had turned her head to ask Ophelia a question about the
story they'd just heard, when she'd seen the Magus, watching the
other humans as they stood by the fire.  He'd dropped his gaze
quickly and gone back to telling his latest tale, but in that
moment, she'd seen something she hadn't been able to identify until
years later.
     She looked out on the city lights again.
     Somewhere, looking out on different city lights, Broadway was
having the time of his life, being adored by hundreds of people
she'd never meet.  He'd asked her to be happy for him when they'd
spoken on the phone earlier, and now she thought she understood
what he'd meant.  He was leaving her behind, not by boat, nor into
someone else's embrace, but he was leaving her nonetheless.  It was
making him happy, more so than he had ever been with her.  That had
to be the reason he was staying away.
     If she really loved him, she reasoned, she should be contented
with the fact that he was among people he liked, and who liked him,
and doing things he enjoyed.  Love meant standing on the shore, or
across the fire, and not saying a word as Broadway moved further
and further away from her.
     Her father would do that.  He would stand and watch, even as
his heart shattered inside his chest.  He would be silent, and
perhaps even glad.  Her mother, on the other hand, would hunt him
down and make souvenirs from his internal organs.
     There were times her mother's view on life was rather
appealing.

[Cue: "Memory"]

          "Midnight.
          Where the hell is my boyfriend?
          Has the fool lost his memory?
          He has left me alone.
          In the castle,
          I cannot hear him talking to me,
          And my heart feels hard as stone.
          Broadway!
          Turn your face to the moonlight!
          Did you dream of me all day?
          I was dreaming of you.
          I remember the night we proved
          What happiness was.
          Tell me, Broadway, do you too?
          Father tells me you'd go off
          Even with a warning.
          Someone calls you,
          The big screen enthralls you,
          And soon it will be morning ...
          Daylight!
          Fox will see you at sunrise!
          She will watch stone close your eyes,
          And then cover your skin.
          When the dusk comes,
          Today will be a memory, too,
          And a new night will begin."

     She felt eyes on the back of her neck and groaned.  It had to
be Brooklyn.  He'd been very good lately about not pushing her, or
following her around, or anything else.  At the same time, she'd
often caught him watching her then looking away as if nothing had
happened.  Suddenly she felt very guilty.  Now that she understood,
really understood, how he felt, she wanted to let him know it was
okay.
     She turned around.
     Xanatos was watching her.
     "What?!" she asked, her stomach telling her it was too late,
Broadway was dead, she'd never see him again.  "Is he ... "
     He held up his hand.  "There's been some trouble."
     "I knew it!"  She growled, feeling her eyes blaze.  "I told
him he'd get into trouble."  The anger passed, and then she
trembled.  "Oh, please," she said, "tell me he's all right."
     "I don't know," he said, and she saw the haunting in his eyes
as he continued.  "Jackal and Hyena attacked the studio.  They took
him."
     She felt sick, but asked carefully, "And Fox?"
     "She was alive the last time Hugo saw her.  She knocked him
out so she could go after them."  He smirked, but it was a weak
imitation of his smile.  "Devoted wife, mother, one-woman vigilante
squad.  What a woman!"
     She frowned.  "She said that earlier."
     "She was reading ahead in the script.  This was around when
*I* was supposed to say it."
     "Ah.  So you and I are in the same boat, then.  The love of
your life and the love of mine are too far away for us to reach,
and they're in danger, and we can't help them."
     She felt ready to cry, but she wouldn't let herself.  Not now,
not yet.  She would wait until she knew for certain.
     "You do have a point."  He began to sing:

          "Burnt-out dreams
          Are in L.A.,
          I've seen her there before.
          The castle waits
          But she feels she's trapped here.
          I wish I could give her more!"

     She looked out over the city again.  Please be safe, my love,
she willed him to hear.  Xanatos placed his hand on her arm, and
they continued together:

          "Waiting!
          Wondering why she/he would leave me
          All alone in this city,
          While they're having their fun!
          If you'll wait here,
          I guess that I'll stay waiting here too,
          Until the new night has begun."

                          Act 3: Scene 3

     "Are you ready yet?"  Hyena really hated cooling her heels,
especially now that Broadway was airbourne and waiting,
unconsciously, for their instructions.  Given a choice, she'd
rather just blow him up and get it over with.  Heck, even that
tapioca thing was looking preferable to waiting while Jackal
fiddled with the camera making sure it was just right.
     "Patience, dear sister.  I'm almost done."
     "Well hurry up."  She paused a beat, and they said together:
     "And don't call me Patience."
     She paused again.  "You know, I think I liked 'A Different
World' better.  When we told jokes, we had a laugh track to back us
up."
     "Canned humor.  Just what we need."
     She pulled out her printout of the latest version of the
script.  "And this would be ... ?"
     "The deranged scribblings of someone who was forced to spend
the past month calculating reaction rates.  Hand me that
screwdriver."
     "Here.  My point is, there is no humour in this thing.  'Don't
call me Patience?'  Please, that was barely funny when the joke
went 'Don't call me Shirley.'"
     "But I didn't call you Shirley."  He snugged the screw and set
the camera on the now-sturdy tripod.  "We're ready."
     A car drove up.  She turned around, startled, until she
remembered that this was the part in the script where Lamant came
for his money.  Sure enough, the twit stepped out from the car and
walked over.
     "So," he said, "what's the plan?"
     Jackal opened his mouth.  Hyena stopped him.
     "Ooooh, no you don't!  I read Snidely's chapter on that.  If
you tell him our plan, he'll use it against us."
     "That's the hero who does that," he replied.  "Lamant here is
hardly the hero type.  He's more the Ratboy-like betrayer, selling
his soul for a nice profit, but honourable among fellow thieves."
     "Thanks!" said Lamant brightly, before a look of puzzlement
passed over his bland face.
     She folded her arms.  "I still don't think we ought to tell to
tell him our plan."
     "We get to sing ... "
     "Okay!"
     Jackal cleared his throat, and they began together:

[Cue: "Reproduction"]

          "The parts of our intrigue are so constructed
          That very very soon now,
          Broadway will come into position.
          And then, Shanna or any other gossip-gathering creature
          Will call for an instant Inquisition!
          Yes, anything that gets his hands around a pistol's
          Right on the list.
          We'll try to make it crystal clear:
          The Quarrymen's insatiable hatred will turn this gig
          Into a circus of fanaticism.
          Now you see just how we'll give the gargoyles
          Such a stigma,
          And why this frenzied bigotry-filled gala
          Will start in truth is no enigma."

          "We call this quest for annihilation a what, Sis?"

          "A subconscious transvilification!"

          "That's good.  That's very good."

     "I'm a little lost," said Lamant.  "Where is he?"
     "Northeast, 10 o'clock."

          "Exposition!  Exposition!
          Put your verbal skills to work!
          Exposition!  Exposition!
          Before we off this jerk!
          Exposition!"

          "I still don't think they get what our motive is."

          "I got your motive right here."

     "Matt, Y7, remember?"
     "Oh, right."  He shrugged and went on: "In an abstract way,
the same phenomenon applies to inciting hate-based riots in any
mob-type scenario.  Now we are dealing with quick, irrational
responses.  Any questions?"

          "Is it possible some single member of a group in a rage
          might look at our handiwork and see right through it?
          When a hot-blooded lefty in a do-gooder mood starts
          calling our bluff, how is Castaway gonna do it?
          How can we prove it to them?"

          "We'll change their tune when show them our new movie:
          'Broadway Goes to Hollywood.'"

          "That sounds kinda groovy."

     She stopped, repeating under her breath, "'Groovy.'  The only
people who still say 'groovy' are those morons in the Seventies
Preservation Society.  I'm gonna hurt her for this."
     "Shut up and sing."

          "Exposition!  Exposition!
          Give us all the details now!
          Exposition!  Exposition!
          Like the reader can't figure it out!
          Exposition!
          Come on, Sis/Bro, let's tell 'em anything
          They don't still know!"

     She reread the computer printout, and muttered again, "I think
I'm going to throw up."
     Jackal put on his signature blue Director's beret, and turned
on the camera.  He pulled the attached microphone away from it, and
began speaking:
     "Gargoyles are a menace to the entire human race.  They are
stronger, faster and bigger than us, and they breed like flies.
Here is shocking footage of what just one lone gargoyle did to
innocent bystanders at a pier near Los Angeles."
     "Sir," she chimed in, "is it true that gargoyles steal human
children from their very beds to devour them for dinner?"
     "Yes it's true.  And it's worse when they find lonely women
out at night.  I'll let you guess who comes out of that a winner!"
     "That's horrible!"
     "It gets worse, much worse."
     "We have to eradicate these things!"
     "Yeah!"

          "Exposition!  Exposition!
          They'll be frightened when we're done!
          Exposition!  Exposition!
          And then we'll really have some fun!
          Exposition!"

     "Let's roll the cameras and see just how far we can take
this."

          "Exposition!  Exposition!
          Exposition!  Exposition!
          Exposition!  Exposition!
          Exposition!"

     "And action!"
     Hyena fiddled with the remote-control, bringing Broadway out
of his holding pattern above them.  She took him through an
experimental loop-the-loop, then headed him towards the pier.
     "Are you getting this?" she asked her brother, as Lamant
watched from behind.
     "Every bit.  Can you bring him back over for a quick beauty
pass by the camera?  Oh, perfect, thanks."
     "No problem."  She pointed him back at the pier, and waited
until he was in range.  There was a big red button on the remote
that said "Press Me."  She did.
     A delightful charge shot out from Broadway's arm and lit up
the night like a firecracker.
     "Pretty," she couldn't help but say.
     "Very nice," said Jackal.  "Do it again, this time with
feeling."
     "You want feeling?  I'll show you feeling."  She pressed the
button again, and then poked her brother in the arm.  They started
singing as they worked:

[Cue: "Light My Fire"]

          "You know that it would be untrue,
          You know that I would be a liar,
          If I were to say to you,
          That we could send this guy much higher.
          Come on, Broadway, open fire.
          Come on, Broadway, open fire,
          Try to set this place on fire."

          "You know they're gonna think it's true,
          When they see our famous flier.
          I can't wait to read the news
          Of Goliath on a funeral pyre
          Come on Broadway open fire!
          Come on Broadway open fire!
          Try to set this place on fire!"

          "We've really got to see this through!
          But boy, he's packing some spare tire!
          Better start this new revue,
          'Cause blue boy isn't getting higher!
          Come on Broadway open fire!
          Come on Broadway open fire!
          Come on Broadway open fire!"

     A grey streak flew across the sky and whammed into Broadway as
he aimed his third shot.
     "What in the ... "  She couldn't tell what it was, only that
it was large, and ruining their plan.
     Jackal scanned it with his cybernetic eye.  "It's Fox."
     "I thought you said she wouldn't be here for another three
minutes!"
     "She's not *supposed* to be here yet!"
     "What are you talking about?" asked Lamant.
     "The script, stupid," she said, annoyed at him, at them, at
everything.  "Fox was supposed to arrive three minutes from now, so
we started the explosions early."
     Lamant ran to his car, but instead of getting in and driving
away, he pulled out a crisp new copy of the script.  "Here it is.
In my copy, Fox arrives," he looked at his watch, "a minute ago.
So she's right on schedule."
     "What?"  Hyena checked the buttons on the remote, and set them
to overload.  Maybe she could blow up Broadway and Fox, and that
would improve her day considerably.  Then she read her printout,
going a little past what she'd read before.  She turned the page,
and sure enough, there was a little note in the text:

          Gotcha.   Next time, read the whole script. - MM:)

     She threw the papers to the ground.  "We've been had!"
     "Then let's do some having of our own!"
     "What?"
     He shrugged.  "I thought it sounded good."
     "Whatever."  She noticed Fox had managed to get the blaster
off Broadway's arm before it blew.  Figured.  "You get Broadway.
Fox is mine."
     "Speaking of things we'll never see on Saturday morning
cartoons ... "  She glared at him.  "I'm going, I'm going."  He
blasted directly towards Broadway.  She aimed at Fox.
     "You thought you'd sneak past the script, hmm?" asked her
former leader.
     "It was worth a try.  Where *do* you buy your clothes, Fox?
Al's Used Auto Parts?"
     "Why not?  That's where we got your last boyfriend."
     The script changes, the rehearsals, the constant presence of
her brother, the awful dialogue, and now the reference to the lost
great love of her life were too much to bear.  She attacked Fox
without thought or strategy, wanting only to rend and rip and tear
and hurt.  Fox zipped out of her way.
     "I can do that too," she said, as Hyena flailed for stability.
She adjusted her rockets, and went after Fox again, even more
angry.  As Fox ducked, Hyena grabbed her arm and twisted her
around, locking her from behind.
     "Underneath that suit, you're still a weak, spoiled, little
human girl.  You should've upgraded with the rest of us when you
had the chance."
     "I *did* upgrade," Fox replied, and ducked hard as she jabbed
a very solid elbow into Hyena's all-too-human middle.  The breath
whooshed from her, and she was falling, unable to breathe, unable
to correct.  She hit the ground hard, taking Lamont down as she
went.  A moment later, she felt rather than heard the impact as
another body joined theirs and knew it was Jackal rather than
Broadway.
     Weakly, she looked up to where Fox and Broadway were still
aloft.  Fox said, "I upgraded my friends."  The last thing Hyena
saw clearly was Broadway grinning like a moron.
     What a night.

                          Act 3: Scene 4

     " ... What I'd really like to talk about is gargoyle-human
relations."
     "Yes!" said Shanna from the television, "tell us more about
what our viewers can do to promote tolerance and understanding."
     "I heard this interview went much smoother than the first,"
said David, his arm settled very nicely around her waist.  Gods
only knew where Owen was.  Probably ironing his socks.
     "Are you kidding?  All the networks keeps calling me.
Everyone wants to see more gargoyles.  And *he* just wants to be
home."
     The clan, sans Broadway and Angela, remained staring at the
screen.  When the interview ended, Lexington and Brooklyn hooted
and whistled.  Hudson smiled broadly, pride on his face.  Even
Goliath looked pleased, although that was probably more due to
Elisa's being there with her head against his arm.  Everything was
going to be a-okay as far as they were concerned.
     "Back to life as normal," she muttered, then cooed as Alex
made a squeal-gurgle.  David's eyes stayed on her.  "What?"
     "Nothing."
     "What nothing?"
     "While you were gone, I was considering getting Pack Media
Studios East back into producing, and I was curious as to whether
you'd like to oversee the project.  But with all this hype about
gargoyles, I'm sure you'll be busy transporting Brooklyn or
Lexington to L.A. next."
     "Are you serious?"  They'd discussed selling the entire thing
to, well, FOX, and maybe starting from scratch with a company *not*
linked to the Pack's disgrace.
     "I think it would be a good venture, and certainly easier than
starting all over again."
     "I could do it," she mused aloud.  "We'll have to find some
quality productions, at least at the start.  I can ask Skip and
Marcy if they have anything in the works.  That may not be quality
but it'll sell.  We'd have to renovate the place, too.  The last
time I went by, it'd been taken over by cats."  She started
considering accountants, underlings, production crews, and rattled
off things they would need to restart production in the East Coast
branch of the studio in more than just her using the name.
     The gargoyles were busy in their own discussions, and ignored
her completely.  As she continued, she noticed an unusually happy
expression grow on David's face while he watched her.  She'd have
to ask him why.  Later, maybe.  After she gave him his present.

                          Act 3: Scene 5

     Broadway scooted a little closer to Angela.  "You're going to
have to talk to me eventually.  I told you I was sorry.  Can't you
forgive me so we can move on?"
     "I was worried sick about you," she said.  "You were in
trouble, and I couldn't help you.  I thought ...  I thought you
would die, and then part of me would die, too."  Now that she was
speaking, he could hear the tears, and ached knowing he'd put them
there.
     He whispered:

[Cue: "Angie"]

          "Angie, Angie,
          When will that anger disappear?
          Angie, Angie,
          Where will we go now from here?"

          "With you leaving me this way,
          What am I supposed to say?
          Can you even tell me why?"

          "But Angie, Angie,
          I had to give it a try.

          Angie, you're beautiful,
          And I don't want to say good-bye."

          "Broadway, I still love you,
          But you weren't here to hear me cry."

          "All the dreams we held so close,
          I couldn't let go up in smoke,
          But I needed more to have you near.
          Angie ...  Angie ...
          Where will we go now from here?
          Oh Angie, don't you weep.
          I'll stay with you, my sweet,
          Until the night we both should die,
          But Angie, Angie,
          I don't want to say good-bye."

          "Should I believe what you tell me,
          Or should I simply set you free?
          Can you stay here, satisfied?
          But Broadway, I still love you madly.
          Everywhere I look, I see your smile.
          There is no one that can come close to you.
          Can you stay with me a while?"

          "Angie, Angie,
          Every night that I'm alive.
          Angie, Angie,
          Let's give this love just one more try."

     He held her, and she wept against his shoulder.  The sun would
be rising soon, and he thought he should stay there with her,
alone, until it warmed them both and cast them together into stone.
     Therefore, she surprised him when she said, "We should go."
     "Go where?"
     "Downstairs.  It's time for the big finale."
     "Finale?  Oh, that.  Can't we let the others do it?"
     "I wish."  She took his hand.  "Come on, if it's over soon, we
can come back up here and snuggle."  She winked.
     He got to his feet quickly.  "Let's go!"
     They hurried down the stairs and into the television room just
as the females in the room began:

[Cue: "The Muppet Show"]

          "It's time to play the music!
          It's time to douse the lights!
          It's time to roll the credits
          On TGC tonight!"

     The males (including Owen, who had finished ironing his socks)
responded:

          "It's time to take off makeup!
          Put costumes out of sight!
          It's time to finish up here
          On TGC tonight!"

     Hudson sang:

          "When will we get our own eps?"

     Brooklyn replied:

               "I guess a week or so."

     Elisa scowled at them, and said:

          "At least you got a speaking part;
               I didn't even show."

     This could be fun, Broadway thought.  He took Angela's hand
gently in his.

          "I learned my lesson, Angie.
          I'll never leave you here.
          The moral of the story:
          At home your heart is near!"

     She smiled sweetly.

          "I'm glad you know that, Broadway,
          Now here's another clue:
          If you return to L.A.,
          I'm going to murder you."

     Brooklyn and Lex snickered.  Broadway flushed.  From across
the room, he heard Fox:

          "My phone's been ringing for him,
               But he keeps saying no.
          He wanted to be famous, now
               He doesn't want to go!"

     They gathered together in the center of the room, gargoyle and
human and fay, joined hands, and sang together:

          "It's time to get things finished,
          Yes time to get things finished,
          On the most sensational,
          Inspirational,
          Celebrational,
          Motivational,
          This is what we used to call our show!"

     Silence.  Fade to black.

     "Cut!"

                          Act 4: Scene 1

     Return from black.
     "Good work, everyone.  That's a keeper."
     "Hooray," said Elisa.  "Are we done now?  I've got an audition
this afternoon."
     "Where?" asked Angela, stretching.
     "NBC.  They're casting for another 'Friends' ripoff."
     "I'll drive you," said Fox.  "I'm headed that way."
     Xanatos checked his watch.  "I'd better be going, too.  Genie
has a doctor's appointment, so I get to take care of Ben."
     Goliath nodded to him.  "When you see Marina, tell her I'll
give her that tape back next week."
     "Can do.  Salli, before I forget, Mike says ... "
     Brooklyn cleared his throat.  "Guys," he said, sounding very
little like himself, "we have a problem."  He was staring down at
a very familiar-looking book.  "We're not done yet."
     "What do you *mean* we're not done yet?" demanded Hudson, all
hints of his burr gone without a trace.
     "I mean, there's one more production number."
     "Oh no there's not!" snapped Lexington.  He grabbed the book
from Brooklyn's hands.  "See?  'This is what we used to call our
show!' (Fade to black)."
     "Turn the page."
     Lex did.  And said something that would *never* be heard on a
Saturday morning cartoon.  "I can deal with 'Little Mermaid.'  I
can deal with 'Cats.'  I can even deal with that number from 'La
Cage Aux Folles.'  The Muppets were a little much, but ...  I'm not
doing this."
     Goliath padded over, read the page, and rolled his eyes.  "The
show is over.  Maybe if we just leave, she won't notice."
     The curtain swayed.  Jackal, Hyena, and Lamant came through
roughly to fall on the stage.  Hugo and Shanna walked on stage a
moment later, looking somewhat confused.
     Jackal looked up at them, propped his chin on his fist, and
muttered, "She'll notice."  At the same time, the castle echoed
ominously with the sound of slamming doors.
     "What was that?" someone asked helpfully.
     "That," said Owen, "was the sound of all the doors in the
building shutting and locking themselves.  We're trapped."
Brooklyn meanwhile had mysteriously disappeared.
     Xanatos clapped his hands together.  "All right, people.
Let's get into positions.  Laura, you're here beside me.  Salli,
Keith, you take the other end.  Brigitte and Bill should be in the
center.  The rest of you, fill in between."
     Hyena balled her fist and put it at her waist.  "Who died and
made *you* the director?"
     "Roddenberry.  Now go stand by Matt."
     "Jon," said Fox, shaking her head a little, "you hate the
production numbers as much as we do.  Why are you *helping*??"
     "Easy.  Every time we've complained about the script, she's
changed it for the worse.  If we don't do *this* number, she'll
keep us here until we do the final scene from 'A Chorus Line.'
Frankly, I'd rather stand still than try to do the can-can.  You?"
     After that, there were no more protests.
     The lights dimmed, leaving the single spotlight focused on
Broadway and Angela.  Holding hands, they began to sing:

[Cue: "Finale from Les Miz"]

          "Come with us, where plots will never bind you!
          'Egon Pax' at last, at last behind you!
          Oberon, look down on us in mercy,
          Forgive us our 'Olympians' and show us 'Mirror's' glory!
          Take my hand, lead me to syndication!
          Take my love, for love brings higher ratings!
          And remember, the truth that once was spoken:
          To love another species is to risk TV-14!"

     The light gradually lifted, to shine on the rest as they
walked forward on the stage.

          "Do you hear the writers sing?
          It is the song of angry fen.
          It is the music of a fandom
          That is going to rise again!
          When the aching in your back
          Matches the aching in your thumbs,
          You've got a story there to post
          When tomorrow comes.
          We will live again in freedom
          If just in the written word.
          We will walk in Wyvern's hallways,
          Fly, and fight, and raise the sword,
          A special edition of AvMists will be our reward!
          Will you watch our fair cartoon?
          Who will be strong and stand with me?
          Somewhere beyond the "Hunter's Moon,"
          Is there a decent Season Three?
          Do you hear the writers sing?
          Say, do you hear the clacking keys?
          It is the future of the show that we all shall see!
          We all shall see!"

     Fade to black.
     Really.

***
Credits
***

Lexington ... Thom Adcox Hernandez
Hudson ... Ed Asner
Angela ... Brigitte Bako
Brooklyn, Owen ... Jeff Glen Bennett
Lamant ... Scott Bullock
Hugo ... Jim Cummings
Goliath ... Keith David
Broadway ... Bill Fagerbakke
Xanatos ... Jonathan Frakes
Jackal ... Matt Frewer
Elisa ... Salli Richardson
Fox ... Laura San Giacomo
Hyena ... Cree Summer
Shanna Coyle ... April Winchell

"Part of Your World" from "The Little Mermaid," Music by Alan
        Menken, original lyrics by Howard Ashman
"Maybe" from "Annie," Music by Charles Strouse, original lyrics by
        Martin Charnin
"Music of the Night" and "All I Ask of You" from "The Phantom of
        the Opera," Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber, original Lyrics by
        Charles Hart
"Show Business" from "Annie Get Your Gun," Music and original
        lyrics by Irving Berlin
"Impossible Dream" from "Man of La Mancha," Music by Mitch Leigh,
        original lyrics by Joe Darion, new lyrics by Batya Levin
"You're Nothing Without Me," from "City of Angels," Music by Cy
        Coleman, original lyrics by David Zippel
"Leaving on a Jet Plane," by John Denver
"He Plays the Violin," from "1776," Music and original lyrics by
        Sherman Edwards
"On Broadway," by Neil Young
"A Little More Mascara" from "La Cage Aux Folles," Music and
        original lyrics by Jerry Herman
"Memory" from "Cats," Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber, original lyrics
        by ALW and T.S. Eliot
"Reproduction" from "Grease 2," Music and original lyrics by Louis
        St. Louis
"Light My Fire" by The Doors
"Angie" by The Rolling Stones
"The Muppet Show Theme" by Jim Henson (probably)
"Finale" from "Les Miserables," Music by Calude-Michel Schonberg,
        original lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer

Great joy and gratitude go to:
Cary Bates, who hopefully will not sue me;
Batya "the Toon" Levin, who looked at the original draft, gushed,
        then said, "Okay, this, this and *this* need to be changed";
Nicole Mason, who helped me stalk the original lyrics to songs so
        I could kill them;
Tom Scott, who lent me the soundtrack to "City of Angels";
Christine Morgan, who read the first draft and wanted it for
        AvMists anyway;
Tara O'Shea, who made me read _How Much for Just the Planet?_ by
	John M. Ford, the literary parent of this fanfic.