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1998-08-11 00:00:00 - Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (dflat@NOSPAMjuno.com)


[Note: I was hesitant about posting this bit of slapstick whimsy to the alt.*.nikita NG's, for fear that I might be burnt at the stake for heresy. :-> But after reading revans7877@aol.com's post in alt.tv.lafemme-nikita about a "Section carnival" with a "hit the operative with a pie" booth, I couldn't resist. And so...] DISCLAIMER: "LA FEMME NIKITA," its characters and situations, are the property of LFN Productions, USA Network and Warner Brothers Studios. All rights reserved. Please ask before you use! (I'll probably say "yes," but still...) Intended as satirical fan- fiction. Any objectionable parts of this story can be blamed on an errant childhood. "LA 'CREME' NIKITA": Just Desserts by Dixie Flatline (dflat@nospam.juno.com) "This is Benoit Hurlot," announced Operations, thumbing a button on his remote control. Seated around the conference table, Nikita, Michael, Birkoff, and Madeline watched as the holographic dossier came into focus in mid-air: a nondescript face, sandy-haired with wire-rim spectacles, and the usual personal data beside it. "For the last two years," continued Ops, "he's been Red Cell's point man for North American activities. So far, we've been unable to directly tie him to Red Cell - until earlier this week." He nodded at Birkoff. The young hacker glanced at his notes. "According to our most current intel, Hurlot is laundering his Red Cell earnings through a video production company in Montreal - and they're auditioning new actresses." He shot Nikita an odd glance. To her discomfort, Nikita suddenly realized that everyone at the table was looking at her. "What sort of actresses?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady. "They make fetish videos for the mail-order market," Michael replied. Nikita tried to suppress a nervous chuckle - unsuccessfully. She stared at Michael, trying to figure out if he was kidding or not, but - as usual - his expression remained blank and inscrutable. "Fetish?" she finally asked. "You mean, whips and chains and leather garter belts, that kind of thing?" "Nothing quite so baroque," Madeline replied, with that smug Mona Lisa smile that Nikita found so annoying. "Have you ever heard the expression 'wet and messy?' Used in an erotic connotation, that is?" "Can't say I have," Nikita retorted. "Guess I've led kind of a sheltered life." Madeline ignored the jibe. "It's a sexual obsession that involves one or more of the participants being soaked with water, immersed in mud, or covered with a variety of foodstuffs - honey, for instance, or jam, or cake batter. Sometimes, just seeing someone getting hit in the face with a custard pie is sufficient." "Hurlot seems to have a particular fondness for pies - and the ladies who get hit with them," Birkoff added Ops resumed his briefing. "We're hoping that, with Nikita inside the production company, we can draw Hurlot into the open and..." He was interrupted by Nikita, whose jaw had been dropping further and further with disbelief until she finally blurted out "You have GOT to be kidding!" Ops glared at her icily. "You have an objection to the mission?" "Well...I...it's..." she sputtered. She glanced at the floor, took a deep breath, then shook her head. "It's WEIRD, that's all." She turned to Madeline for support. "Pies? Mud? I mean, even by YOUR standards, this is pretty deviant - isn't it?" "Not really," the strategist replied coolly. "The human psyche has an almost infinite capacity to eroticise objects and situations that wouldn't normally be considered sexual. 'Weirdness,' like beauty and obscenity, is very much in the eye of the beholder." Thanks for nothing, Nikita thought glumly. She looked back at Ops, whose gaze had apparently not left her. "I repeat: do you have any objections to the mission?" he asked - but it was clear from the expression on his face that he did not want, or even expect, any. Nikita looked him straight in the eye. "No objections." "Good!" Ops keyed the remote again and the hologram dissolved. "Walter will prepare your documentation, and Michael will brief you on the production company." He turned and strode back to his office, signaling that the meeting was over. As they got up to leave, Nikita could not help but notice Birkoff eyeing her with a VERY odd expression on his face. *** Two days later, Nikita found herself in the reception area of Overhand Productions. Her fears of walking into a scummy back room full of dangerous perverts was immediately put to rest; the video company was located in an industrial park just outside of Montreal, and the receptionist - and the office itself - was clean and professional looking. After a brief wait, Nikita was ushered into the offices of Rob Blaylok, the manager, executive producer, and "resident Roger Corman" (as he jokingly put it) of Overhand. He turned out to be a bearded, bear-like man with a cheery demeanor that immediately put Nikita at ease. (During her prior briefings, Michael had assured her that no one on Overhand's staff was aware of Hurlot's true identity; they only knew him as Blaylok's financial partner.) After reviewing Nikita's carefully faked resume, discussing salary, and making sure that she was aware what kind of videos Overhand produced, Blaylok launched into his spiel. "We want to make a series of 'pie skits' for our new tape," he explained. "Classic slapstick stuff, like you'd see Soupy Sales or the Three Stooges do. Now, there's going to be some setup, a punchline - a punny one, I'm afraid, it's a weakness of mine -- and, of course, the pies." He grinned. "Some people would just be happy if I stood a pretty girl in front of the camera and pied her for a half-hour, but what's the fun in that? Maybe I'm a traditionalist, but the hell with it. Pie-throwing was comedy LONG before it became a kink." Nikita could not resist. "That's what I've been meaning to ask you...do people REALLY find this a...well...a 'turn-on?'" Blaylok's grin got even bigger. "Why d'you think I got into this business?" he chortled. "So. Sound like something you'd like to do?" NO! NO! NO! Nikita's brain screamed. "Ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille," she replied, smiling bravely. *** "Now, let's see how you look, dearie," said Evelyn, a pleasant middle-aged lady who doubled as Overhand's wardrobe and makeup artist, as Nikita stepped out of the changing room - actually, the studio's bathroom. The Section operative had exchanged the miniskirt she'd worn to the interview for a modified schoolgirl's outfit, and her hair had been pulled into two loose ponytails tied high on her scalp. "Good grief," Nikita snorted as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, "I look like Baby Spice." "Which is EXACTLY the idea," boomed Blaylok as he came up behind her. "You look terrific. Now, let's run through the scene." He took her arm and steered her into the main studio area, which consisted of two high-end camcorders and boom mikes in front of a light blue backdrop. In addition to Blaylok and Evelyn, the production staff consisted of two cameramen, one of whom doubled as lighting director, and a stagehand who didn't seem much older than Birkoff. Blaylok himself would serve "triple duty," as director, off-camera voice, and chief pie thrower. As Blaylok and Nikita approached the set, she noticed the stagehand standing at a card table, filling a pie crust with what looked like Cool Whip. Several other pies were already on the table, filled and ready to go. "I could go with shaving cream on a paper plate and save a few bucks, but that's not the same thing," the director declared. "If you're gonna throw a pie, THROW A PIE - a REAL pie." "Are ALL those for me?" Nikita asked, trying to make it sound like a joke. "Only if you mess up a take," Blaylok quipped. He motioned to the back wall, where several other women in a variety of outfits were chatting amongst themselves. "I'm gonna try to film as many skits as I can, so we'll go through a LOT of pies today." Somehow, the knowledge that Nikita wasn't the only person who was going to messed up that day cheered her up slightly. But only slightly. They ran through her skit (which barely took up one double- spaced typewritten page). Blaylok coached on how to deliver her lines, and - more importantly -- how to react when the pie hit her. "Try as hard as you can not to giggle," he said. "Righteous indignation is the best reaction: you know, 'how DARE they hit me with a pie!' If you have to wipe your face after the hit, just try to wipe around your eyes and nostrils. Your body will have a natural tendency to double over after the hit - try to keep standing straight through the whole scene. And as difficult as it may seem, try VERY hard not to flinch." Nikita nodded gamely, still not looking forward to any of this. "You're really going to throw those? Hard?" "Hard enough. I used to pitch for my high school baseball team. And my aim is VERY accurate." "Truthfully - is this going to hurt?" Blaylok patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Maybe a little - like a light slap, at most." He walked back towards the cameras, adding "Once those floodlights are on, you won't even see it coming." He cupped his hands around his mouth and boomed, "OKAY, PEOPLE, LET'S MAKE SOME MOVIES HERE!" *** "Camera two - rolling." "Camera one - rolling." "And...action," Blaylock called. Nikita skipped girlishly onto the set, as per the script. Blaylok had been right; with the floodlights on, it was all she could do to keep from squinting, and she could barely make out the two cameras, never mind anyone standing behind them. She hit her mark, gave the main camera a big smile and wave, and announced "Hi! I'm Piper!" "No, you're not," replied Blaylok from the shadows beyond the flood lights. Nikita turned towards him, feigning confusion. "I'm not?" SPLAT! The pie flew out of the darkness and hit her face with enough force to snap her head back, instantly enveloping her in cold, sticky Cool Whip. So shocked was she by the impact of the flanning that she was literally frozen in place. She let out a gasp - almost a shriek, actually - of indignation; no acting there, her stunned outrage was the genuine article! Her hands flew to her face to wipe the gunk off. (Careful, just the eyes and nostrils, she reminded herself.) Blaylok chose that moment to utter the skit's punchline. "Now," he boomed, "you're the 'pied' Piper." And Nikita, finally aware of the extent of the impact - her face, her hair, and the top of her jacket and blouse were DRENCHED with cream - shook the excess goop off her hands, glared in Blaylok's direction, and delivered her final line. "VERY funny." "We thought so," the director retorted cheerfully. He let Nikita stand there for several seconds, slimed and fuming, before calling "Annnnnd...cut!" Instantly, the cameras were turned off, the lights were doused, and Evelyn appeared beside her with an armful of towels and a handful of wet washcloths. Nikita grabbed one and began furiously scrubbing the cream off of her face. "How do you feel, dearie?" Evelyn asked. "Violated," Nikita hissed. Behind her, the stagehand was mopping up splattered cream from the backdrop. Blaylok and the cameramen were huddled over a video monitor, reviewing the scene. "Tell me if ya love it," drawled one of the cameramen, taking a long swig from a water bottle. A huge grin spread across Blaylok's face. "A one-take wonder," he declared, standing up and applauding Nikita, the clap of his massive hands sounding like gunshots. "Honey, you were born to be a stooge!" "Not bloody likely," Nikita growled beneath her breath. She grabbed a towel from Evelyn and began drying her face and hair. "Don't take it too hard, dearie," the older lady assured her. "The first one's always the worst. Isn't that usually the case?" *** Nikita would have gladly fled the Overhand studio that moment and spent the rest of the day soaking in a hot tub, but the assignment called for her to remain and observe the goings-on: The next skit involved an actress in flight attendant's garb. "I'm Mandy," she announced gaily. "Fly me!" Blaylok promptly walloped her with a pie. "I said 'fly me,' NOT 'pie me!'" she snapped. This time, she got pies from both Blaylok and the stagehand. "I SAID...oh, never mind!" she huffed, and "stormed" off- camera. This scene had to be reshot twice. The first time, the stagehand's pie missed her completely. On the second take, his throw ended up hitting more of her neck and shoulder, but Blaylok settled for a less-than-perfect take "Can't all be one-take Suzies - right, Nikita?" he chortled. Nikita held her tongue and merely glowered at him, but she couldn't help but notice that the actress seemed even less happy to have been pied than she had. The next skit involved a Gypsy fortune-teller; for her, Blaylok concocted a pie with a blueberry filling under the Cool Whip. "Variety is the spice of life," he guffawed, "and you can't spell 'spice' without 'P-I-E,' now can you?" As the cameras rolled, the "gypsy" gazed into her crystal ball and intoned, in a deliberately bogus Romany accent, "I sense a spirit...a restless soul...he is reaching out...he is trying to say something...SPIRIT, I COMMANNNNND YOU! SHOWWWWWW YOURSELLLLLLF!" SPLORCH! Blaylok lobbed the pie with deadly accuracy, leaving her face a bluish-white mess, then (back in "off-screen voice" mode) deadpanned, "Musta been the spirit of Mack Sennat." And the "gypsy," reverting to a pissed-off Brooklyn honk, snarled "No! You think? What was the tip-off?" For the last skit of the day, involving a woman dressed like a lounge singer, Blaylok recruited every spare hand to serve as assistant pie throwers; Nikita was actually shocked to hear herself volunteer to help out. As the cameras rolled, Blaylok, Nikita, Evelyn, the stagehand, and the two other actresses stood in a semi-circle just out of camera range, each carefully balancing a fully-loaded pie in their hand. ("Try for a nice, easy overhand throw," Blaylok had coached during the rehearsal. "It'd be nice if everyone could score a direct hit -" and he looked pointedly at the stagehand, who reddened and glanced away "- but there's gonna be a LOT of pies flying, and if you hit anything above her belly button, I'll be content.") "Action!" Blaylok called, tapping a button on a portable electric piano that had been set up next to him. As a cheesy version of "The Night Has a Thousand Eyes" squirted out of the piano, the "lounge singer" sashayed onto the set, hips swinging and microphone in hand, and sang "Oh, the night...has a thousand pies...and a thousand pies...will fly at you...And..." She trailed off, confused, and Blaylok killed the music. "Wait a minute - those aren't the lyrics!" she objected. "They are now," Blaylok retorted, and with that, the entire group launched their pies at her. Blaylok, with a pie in each massive hand, scored two direct hits, while the stagehand ended up creaming her left breast. Most of the other pies pretty much hit their mark; Nikita not only scored a direct hit, but found herself taking a strange delight in lobbing the pie at the poor girl. The skit ended with the singer, virtually encased in pie filling, shake her head and mutter "So this is show business?", a la Jodie Foster in BUGSY MALONE, before walking off camera. "Wait!" called Blaylok as she left. "We've still got nine hundred and ninety- three pies to go!" *** In his office overlooking Section One's main area, Operations poured some milk into his tea, blew across the top of the cup to cool it, and took a sip. Only then did he focus his attention on Nikita standing in front of him. "And how was your first day in front of the cameras?" he asked dryly. "It's not something I'm looking forward to repeating any time soon," Nikita retorted sullenly. As Op's brow started to darken, she quickly added, "But of course, I don't have much choice in the matter, do I?" "Not really, no," Ops replied, smiling slightly, and took another sip of tea. "As a matter of fact, Birkoff's latest intel shows that Hurlot has not only seen your - what's the term, 'dailies?'" Nikita nodded. "Not only has he seen your 'dailies,' he's quite impressed by you - so much so that he may show up at the studio in the next day or so." "Then this might be over soon?" Nikita asked, trying not to sound too eager. "Quite soon," Ops agreed. "Michael is assembling a capture team right now. They'll set up a perimeter around the studio and will be able to move in on a moment's notice. In the meanwhile, just watch out for any UPO's." Nikita looked baffled. "'UPO's'?" Ops actually grinned at that point. "'Unidentified Pieing Objects,'" he quipped. "That's all, Nikita." Leaving his office, she saw Birkoff and several of his staff gathered around his computer terminal. They were watching something on the screen, and apparently enjoying it immensely. She strolled over. "Hey, Birkoff, what's up?" When they heard her voice, the staffers looked up quickly, trying hard to conceal the embarrassment in their faces, and walked away. Nikita was puzzled. "So...what were you guys doing? Watching the Pamela Anderson tape again?" "Uh, no...it's...it's nothing," Birkoff stammered, avoiding her gaze. "Birkoff..." Suddenly, she realized that his hand was moving towards the "cancel" button on his keyboard. Without thinking, her hand shot out and pinned Birkoff's hand to the desktop. "OW!" he yelped. "Jesus, Nikita..." With her free hand, she cycled through the open data windows on his screen. "What...were...you...WATCHING?" she hissed. And was abruptly confronted by her own face, getting clobbered by that pie, over and over again in a continuous loop. "Where did you get this?" she demanded. Birkoff cringed, but said nothing. Nikita was so angry she could barely see straight. She yanked the hacker out of his chair, dragged his face to within an inch of hers, and snarled "WHERE, Birkoff? WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?!?" "Their Web server! It's on their Web server!" he blurted out. Nikita froze. "Server...?" "They're on the Internet, okay? They've got a Web site, for Christ's sake!" Panic-stricken as he was, she could hear him revert to that slightly condescending tone he used when explaining something to anyone he felt smarter than... "Seventy percent of their tape sales are through the Internet. There's a BIG population of wet-and-messy fanatics online." The rage in Nikita's face seemed to drain away in a heartbeat, and she stared, aghast, at the infernal loop of pie-hit, reaction, pie-hit, reaction. "That's on the Internet now?" she whispered. Birkoff took a deep breath. "No," he assured her. "It's on their server, but there are no external links to it yet. We're pretty sure Blaylok digitized your movie to send it to Hurlot. THAT'S why Hurlot's planning to show up there soon." Nikita's hands unclenched long enough for Birkoff to wriggle free. She sagged, as if all the anger and shock of before had finally evaporated out of her body. "Just get that thing off the screen, all right?" she muttered, and walked away. Birkoff quickly erased the movie from the screen, then spent the next minute waiting for his heartbeat to come back to a normal level. Finally, he felt calm enough to return to his hacking. A half-hour later, and deep in concentration, he suddenly realized that someone was standing behind him. "Birkoff," said Nikita, very quietly, very deliberately, "if I find out you've kept even one copy of that movie, I will cut off your balls with the dullest, rustiest knife I can find. Got me?" And she turned and strode away before he could do or say anything. *** Nikita stared at the costume and script in front of her and - for the second time that week - sputtered "You have GOT to be kidding." Blaylok grinned. "Nope. Special request from the boss himself." Nikita let out a nervous laugh of disbelief. "Doesn't this strike you as just a little bit - well - blasphemous?" "Yeah, well, that's the idea. And we're probably going straight to Hell for it, and no, I'm not even a devout Catholic." Blaylok strode towards the set. "Come on, Nik, we got a masterpiece to shoot!" Left with no other choice, Nikita sighed, gathered up the costume and headed for the bathroom. *** "And...action!" Dressed in a nun's habit, Nikita stood before the cameras, hands folded in prayer. In her best Julie Andrews voice, she intoned, "The Sisterhood of St. Agnes is renowned for its charitable work, and is deeply pious." "Deeply WHAT?" Blaylock asked from the darkness. "'Pious.'" Nikita answered. "WHAT?" Blaylok repeated mischievously. Nikita allowed irritation to creep into her voice. "Pious! PIOUS!" "Well, since you insist." SPLAT! Well, Evelyn had been right: it WASN'T as traumatic as it had been the first time. Nikita calmly wiped the pie filling from her face, refolded her hands, and looked skyward. "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." "Oh, we know, all right!" Blaylok retorted, and Nikita braced herself. SPLAT! SPLAT! Two pies this time, and evidently the stagehand had been practicing his fast ball, because both hit the mark. Nikita felt like she was drowning in Cool Whip. At least my hair's pretty much protected this time, she thought. She wiped her face again and deadpanned, "I suppose it wouldn't do any good to turn the other cheek, would it?" "We'd just pie that, too," Blaylok retorted sweetly. With that, the scene ended, the floods were doused, and Nikita literally ripped the wimple off her head even before grabbing the washclothes and towels proffered by Evelyn. Only after wiping most of the cream from her face did she realize that someone in the back of the studio was clapping. She squinted, her eyes still dazed from the glare of the lights, trying to see who it was... ...and Benoit Hurlot stepped from the shadows, still applauding and smiling with delight. "You were not exaggerating, Robert," he said to Blaylok, his eyes never leaving Nikita. "She is a natural, a...dare I say it?...a 'nouveau Mabel Normand,' eh?" Blaylok hooked a thumb in Hurlot's direction. "That's the boss," he boomed. "That's the guy who underwrites my...OUR little fetish." Nikita's polite smile was frozen on her face. How in the hell did he slip by Michael's team, she thought frantically. Her Section communicator was in her clothes, on the other side of the studio. She had to let Michael know... "You know," Hurlot continued blissfully, "a philosopher once asked 'is a naked woman covered in banana-cream pie truly naked?' And the answer..." "...is 'Who cares, pass me another banana-cream pie!'" roared Blaylok, and the two men guffawed heartily. Nikita took a deep breath and quipped, "Slapstick philosophy. Who knew?" She offered Hurlot a cocquettish look. "Mind if I slip into something a little more, um, secular?" Hurlot actually looked embarrassed. "Where are my manners? Of course, please clean up and change - I realize how sticky Robert's pastry warheads can be. Then we shall talk." "Thank you." Fighting the urge to run, Nikita grabbed her duffel bag and walked to the bathroom. Once inside, she bolted the door, tore off the nun's outfit, and shrugged back into the sweater she'd worn that day - realizing too late that she'd not finished wiping off her face, and the collar was now ringed with drying Cool Whip. Later, she thought. "Michael, Birkoff, he's here!" she hissed. Birkoff's voice, thanks to the communicator's bone transducer, seemed to appear inside her head. "Impossible. We've had no indication that he's anywhere near..." "Don't argue with me, dammit, he's in the building!" Suddenly, Michael's voice cut in. "We're moving. Two minutes." Thank God for the cavalry. Towel in hand to finish mopping off her face, she opened the bathroom door - only to find Hurlot standing there. Nikita fought off panic - did he hear anything? Hurlot gave no indication that he had or hadn't, merely taking her arm politely and leading her back towards the set. "So," he began pleasantly, "Robert tells me this is your time with the 'wet and messy.'" Last time, too! Nikita wanted to shout. Instead, she merely smiled. "That's right." They were approaching the card table, still laden with pies. "Is this something you'd ever considered doing before?" Nikita feigned a thoughtful look. "You know - it had never even crossed my mind." There was a CRASH!, and a dozen hooded and heavily-armed Section commandos burst into the studio, with Michael in the lead. "What the..." Hurlot snapped. He snatched a pistol from underneath his jacket and brought it to bear on Michael. "NO!!" Nikita screamed, and Hurlot whirled around, the gun now pointing at her. Without even thinking, she grabbed one of the pies off the table and straight-armed it right at the Red Cell terrorist. It hit him square in the face; he let out a muffled roar of rage and clawed at his face with his free hand, giving Nikita enough time to vault over the table and drop him with a roundhouse kick. It was over in less than five seconds; the Section team surrounded Hurlot as Blaylok and his staff looked on in stunned shock. Finally, Blaylok got enough air into his lungs to sputter, "What...what the..." Nikita turned to him. "Your partner works for a terrorist group," she explained gently. "He was laundering his earnings through this video company." Blaylok nodded woodenly, although his eyes indicated that he still hadn't fully processed all that had happened. "Get him out of here," Michael barked, and two commandos grabbed Hurlot under the arms and hustled him out of the room. As they left, Michael turned to Nikita and cocked an eyebrow. "So, how did you learn to throw a pie like that?" "I..." Nikita began, then trailed off, puzzled. Finally, she shrugged. "According to these guys, I'm a natural." *** Upon returning to Section One, Nikita swung by Walter's shop to check her hardware back in. The grizzled armorer was at his workbench, fiddling with some new gadget of his, when she strolled through the door. He looked up and broke into a smile. "Hey, sugar!" "Hi, Walter." "Or is it 'Piper' this week?" Nikita froze. "'Piper'?" "Yeah, Birkoff showed me that tape you made." Nikita whirled, her blood boiling, and scanned the Section floor. Sure enough, Birkoff was at his terminal, deep in hack mode. "Classic stuff. Really," Walter continued. "When I was a kid, I used to live on Three Stooges shorts." He paused, a faraway look in his eyes. "Funny, though - I can't imagine what it's like to be on the receiving end of one of those pies." He shook his head and resumed his tinkering. And with that, all the rage drained out of Nikita's body as if someone had flipped a switch in her psyche. In a flash, she knew exactly what she was going to do. "Yeah," she deadpanned, "there's nothing in the world quite like it." Her eyes never left Birkoff. *** Several days later, Madeline and Birkoff found themselves walking down the hallway in Nikita's apartment building. "Did she tell you WHY she was inviting all of us here?" Birkoff was asking. "No," Madeline replied. "You first time here?" "First time I've been outside of Section in months," Birkoff shrugged. He stopped outside of Nikita's apartment and rapped on the door. "Who is it?" Nikita called from inside. "It's me. Birkoff." "Door's open. Come on in!" Birkoff and Madeline exchanged glances. A Section operative leaving their front door unlocked, while not a termination- worth offence, was still somewhat out of the ordinary. Birkoff cautiously pushed open the door and peered into the apartment. Nikita was nowhere in sight. "Nikita?" He stepped through the door, Madeline right behind him. Still no sign of her. "Nikita?" "Looks like she's been doing some baking," Madeline observed. Birkoff turned around. The countertop that separated the living room and kitchen areas had what looked like several dozen cream pies neatly arranged on it. "I wonder what those are for..." he started to ask. And Nikita popped up from behind the counter, a pie in her hand. "They're for YOU, you little weasel!" she yelled, and hurled it straight at Birkoff. Unfortunately for her, Birkoff's reflexes got the better of him, and he ducked. Even more unfortunately for her, the pie hit Madeline instead. "Oh my GOD!" Nikita gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth, as the Section One strategist stood there, seemingly frozen in place, pie cream dripping off her face, her hair, and her stylish dress. Birkoff chose that moment to grab one of the pies off the countertop and slap it into Nikita's face hard enough to send large blobs of filling onto the cabinets behind her. "OOOOH!" Nikita shrieked. "You...little..." She grabbed the pie nearest to her; Birkoff already had another pie in his hand. They both drew their arms back and... "WHAT THE *HELL* IS GOING ON?!?" Nikita and Birkoff froze as Operations strode into the room, eyes blazing. Suddenly, he noticed Madeline, who still hadn't moved an inch since being flanned, and rushed to her side. "Madeline, are you all right?" "I'm...fine," Madeline replied evenly. "Nikita, could I use your bathroom, please?" "Uh, s-sure," Nikita stammered. Ops took Madeline's arm and gently steered her towards the commode, firing an "I'll-deal-with- you-two-*later!*" glare over his shoulder. Neither said anything for several seconds. Finally, Birkoff broke the silence. "This is *not* good." "Well, YOU weren't supposed to duck like that," Nikita retorted. Birkoff turned and looked at her incredulously. "What was I supposed to do? Just stand there?" "Yes, 'just stand there.'" And Nikita grabbed the back of Birkoff's head with her free hand and smushed the pie into his face. "Just...like...that!" She took the pie out of Birkoff's hand and squashed it down on the top of his close-cropped head. Birkoff gingerly removed his cream-encrusted glasses and wiped the pie off his face. "Yuch." "S'matter, Birkoff?" Nikita teased. "You can dish it out, but you can't take it?" At that moment, Michael walked through the door, hands in his pockets. He looked at his two Section colleagues, covered in pie cream, and smiled slightly. "Did I miss anything?" Nikita shot a sideways glance at Birkoff; a huge grin spread across her face. "No, Michael, you're just in time." They managed to pie him twice before he could even get his hands out of his pockets. He stood there for a moment, amazed at what had just happened to him - then all three of them lunged for the remaining pies. *** "This is absolutely inexcusable," Operations fumed as Madeline methodically wiped the cream off her face and dress with a damp washcloth. "I sincerely hope that you bring BOTH of them up on assault charges." "Really, aren't you taking this just a little too seriously?" Madeline replied calmly. Ops stare at her, flabbergasted. "And you're not?" "Oh, please." Madeline picked up a hair brush and began fixing her coif. "Nikita wasn't aiming for me - it was Birkoff she was after. He's been screening that tape of her getting pied to the entire Section, and she merely chose to give him a taste of his own medicine. Unfortunately, he ducked and I was in the line of fire. It's the oldest gag in the book." Ops shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me. If I'd been in your place, I probably would have started shooting..." "...So we're lucky it WASN'T you, then." Madeline touched up her lipstick, then turned and smiled at him. "See? No permanent damage." "Fortunately for them," Operations smiled, and started to open the door - only to hear shrieks of laughter and loud splattering sounds coming from the main room. Madeline reached over and gently pushed the door shut. "I think," she murmured, "we should wait until they run out of ammo." *** A few minutes later, the noise had died down enough for Ops and Madeline to risk venturing out of the bathroom. They were confronted by the sight of Birkoff, Nikita, and Michael sitting together on the living room floor, covered - as was the better part of the apartment - with pie cream and crust. Nikita and Birkoff were giggling uncontrollably, and even Michael had an uncharacteristically silly grin on his face. They all looked up guiltily as the two Section leaders entered the room. "Well," said Operations gruffly - then he, too, broke into a smile. "Glad to see you youngsters enjoying yourselves. Madeline and I were just on our way to dinner at Alvilini's. You're welcome to join us - provided you clean up first, of course." He took Madeline's arm and walked her to the door - then stopped and added, "But don't expect us to spring for dessert - it looks like you've already had yours." And they were gone. Birkoff was shaking his head. "God, I feel so...so violated." Nikita was licking her fingers off. "Funny, that's what I said after the first time." "And now?" Michael asked. Nikita waved her hand noncommittally. "Let's just say I've had worse things done to me." Michael cocked an eyebrow. "So you're saying you actually enjoy getting pied now?" "No, that is NOT what I said." The smile was still on Michael's face - but when she looked into his eyes, all she could see was the Section One taskmaster. "The truth, Nikita. You don't enjoy it?" Nikita returned his stare - then turned to Birkoff and gave him a broad wink. "Not...in...the...*slightest*," she declared. And with that, she leaned over and -- very slowly, very deliberately -- licked a dollop of cream off the end of Michael's nose. -**** Posted from Supernews, Discussions Start Here(tm) ****- http://www.supernews.com/ - Host to the World's Discussions & Usenet

1998-08-11 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (srsaima@aol.com)


>ote: I was hesitant about posting this bit of slapstick whimsy to the >alt.*.nikita NG's, for HILARIOUS!!! Loved it! Give us more! SrSaima (appreciating good writing)

1998-08-12 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (Colin Whipple <colincpaNOSPAM@soca.com>)


melpor wrote in message <35D1A2A3.1201873D@bellsouth.net>... >Since Ops is the head of Section as we know it, would that make his moment a >pie-ous occasion.... > >Melissa >re-pieing to Colin More like im-pieous. :-) Colin > >Colin Whipple wrote: > >> I thought it was great, too. >> >> But..... >> >> Why didn't Ops get one in the face? <sigh> >> >> Colin >> (Hoping for a sequel, in which his wish will be satisfied) >>

1998-08-12 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (melpor <melpor@bellsouth.net>)


i guess in the grand scheme of things we could say that Ops was noncom-pieant and that he shall hopefully get it in the kisser in part two of La Creme Nikita... :-)...over and out Melissa leaving for the HORDE festival Colin Whipple wrote: > melpor wrote in message <35D1A2A3.1201873D@bellsouth.net>... > >Since Ops is the head of Section as we know it, would that make his moment > a > >pie-ous occasion.... > > > >Melissa > >re-pieing to Colin > > More like im-pieous. :-) > > Colin > > > > >Colin Whipple wrote: > > > >> I thought it was great, too. > >> > >> But..... > >> > >> Why didn't Ops get one in the face? <sigh> > >> > >> Colin > >> (Hoping for a sequel, in which his wish will be satisfied) > >>

1998-08-12 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (srsaima@aol.com)


> guess in the grand scheme of things we could say that Ops was noncom-pieant You guys just pie me! SrSaima (waiting for the creme to hit the fan)

1998-08-12 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (melpor <melpor@bellsouth.net>)


Dixie: this was genuis! a real pie in the sky kind of piece...Moe and the boys would be very proud of you! Hope you let Wick add it to the humor page... Melissa

1998-08-12 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (Colin Whipple <colincpaNOSPAM@soca.com>)


I thought it was great, too. But..... Why didn't Ops get one in the face? <sigh> Colin (Hoping for a sequel, in which his wish will be satisfied) melpor wrote in message <35D17DBB.7979B53D@bellsouth.net>... >Dixie: > >this was genuis! a real pie in the sky kind of piece...Moe and the boys would be very proud of you! Hope you let Wick add it to the humor page... > >Melissa > > >

1998-08-12 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (melpor <melpor@bellsouth.net>)


Since Ops is the head of Section as we know it, would that make his moment a pie-ous occasion.... Melissa re-pieing to Colin Colin Whipple wrote: > I thought it was great, too. > > But..... > > Why didn't Ops get one in the face? <sigh> > > Colin > (Hoping for a sequel, in which his wish will be satisfied) > > melpor wrote in message <35D17DBB.7979B53D@bellsouth.net>... > >Dixie: > > > >this was genuis! a real pie in the sky kind of piece...Moe and the boys > would be very proud of you! Hope you let Wick add it to the humor page... > > > >Melissa > > > > > >

1998-08-12 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (goddenport@aol.com)


Great fanfic!!!!!!!!!! I wanted Operations to get one in the face, too, but I guess ya can't have everything....... Anyways, this was great! Hope to see some more! -Goddenport, #1 Von Flores fan

1998-08-13 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (melpor <melpor@bellsouth.net>)


what flavor would you like? :-)...let's see...your choices would be chocolate creme, but that might stain your clothes...coconut creme...but then you have to watch out for the little flakes of the coconut...they stick to you like glue...could I recommend a nice little lemom creme...it's light and sassy, with a hint of impertinence, which makes it an excellent selection for point blank range....take your time deciding....Colin's in the kitchen whipping up a new batch right now... Melissa the pitch person for Dixie's homemade pies... SrSaima wrote: > > guess in the grand scheme of things we could say that Ops was noncom-pieant > > You guys just pie me! > > SrSaima (waiting for the creme to hit the fan)

1998-08-16 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (Suzita <SUGEO@worldnet.att.net>)


Dixie Flatline wrote in message <902847894.4319@wren.supernews.com>... >[Note: I was hesitant about posting this bit of slapstick whimsy to the alt.*.nikita NG's, for fear that I might be burnt at the stake for heresy. :-> But after reading revans7877@aol.com's post in alt.tv.lafemme-nikita about a "Section carnival" with a "hit the operative with a pie" booth, I couldn't resist. And so.... Great! I took it on the plane with me! Made my flight more enjoyable. Suzita (here's pie in your eye)

1998-08-18 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (PezMom <digin@erols.com>)


Could someone please send me a copy of "LA 'CREME' NIKITA." My copy was deleted by accident. Thanks Mary

1998-08-18 00:00:00 - Re: Fanfic: "LA 'CREME' NIKITA" - (PezMom <digin@erols.com>)


Thanks. I now have a copy PezMom <digin@erols.com> wrote in article <01bdcac3$4c74d300$2b83accf@mary-ward>... > Could someone please send me a copy of "LA 'CREME' NIKITA." My copy was > deleted by accident. Thanks > > Mary > >