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From: taria29c@aol.com (Taria29c)
Subject: RP Taria: Through the Looking Glass #1/2

We try again, as I can't see if #2/2 ever posted properly.
Be advised, it's now TARIA29C, not "b."  Reasons far to complicated to go
into.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Through the Looking-Glass
by Taria
____________________________________

	The battle raged on, high above the towering city skyline.  Again
and again the forces of the Mad One attacked, their master gibbering
insanely as he urged them on.  Again and again the assembled heroes bent
their will to the task at hand, parrying and riposting as they defended
against the blows that rained down upon them.  The bright flashes of
released energies lit the sky like some midwinter aurora borealis; the
unceasing low rumble of the fighting rolled like thunder across the
heavens.  And every few moments all of creation seemed to shudder, the
stars themselves seeming to convulse, as if they screamed in unbearable
pain.

	Far below the melee three tiny figures crouched on the broad, flat
roof of a midtown brownstone.  Two of them were attired in skintight
outfits of the brightest electric blue, their polished sheen shimmering
and rippling in the reflections of the glowing struggle that raged in the
skies.  The third, a balding, bespectacled middle-aged man in a white lab
coat, bent down before a shining metallic contraption that he was prodding
with a long-handled screwdriver.

	"Gott in himmel," the man murmured in thickly-accented tones.  "If
I can only complete zis in time!!  For if not..."

	"Then What, Doctor?"  The voice was deep and authoritative.  It
emerged from the chest of one of the blue-clad figures who accompanied the
Doctor, a tall and broad hero with thunderous thighs, thickly-knotted
chest muscles, and a neck to match.  Covering the front of his face was a
blue mask of fabric, a thicket of blonde hair jutting out above it.  On
his chest was a large white circle around a stylized gold "B."

	"Shhhhhh," hushed his companion, a tall, striking blonde woman who
was almost as gorgeous as he.  She too was masked and muscular, but her
generously curved figure rounded out her form in strikingly different ways
than his own thickness did.  She was well-muscled, although she seemed
deceptively frail and feminine beside the paragon of manliness at her
side.  No letter adorned the woman's chest, although she proudly displayed
an illustration of a large, open eye, complete with thick lashes and an
arched eyebrow above it, on her torso.  As she stood there breathing
heavily, her posture erect and her fine attributes aggressively thrust
outward, the eye seemed to wink and leer, opening wide and then winking
shut with every deep breath she took.

	"Quiet, Blue," she admonished her companion once again. 
"Remember, our mission is as important as everyone's.  No--it is *more*
important!  Doctor Heinfust seeks to save all of the realities, and we
must do everything within our power to aid him!"

	In tones scarcely quieter than before, the man objected "But
*how*?  Tell us Doctor, what would you have us do?  Surely we may do more
than just stand here--helpless!"

	Turning away from his work at the machine, Doctor Heinfust looked
up into the concerned faces of the heroes standing above him.  "I am not
sure zere is anysink any of us can do at zis point," he said with grave
concern.  "I am afraid zat ze universes are colliding," he said, "and zere
may be nossink ve can do to stop zem."

	Above them the sky brightened once again.  The fierce battle
intensified.  And a madman's laughter rang out over the slumbering city.

						*  *  *  *  *

	Tara rubbed at her gritty eyes with her hand, blinking as she
peered at the digital clock on her nightstand.  "Blaaaaagh," she groaned,
as the red-lit blob coalesced into forms she could recognize as numbers. 
"2:13," she read, and she shut her eyes tight, opened them again, and
looked sharply at the clock once again to be sure.  "Oh, for crying out
loud," she thought, "why the hell am I awake at 2:13?"  She blinked again
and listened in the stillness of her apartment, quietly waiting until she
heard the muted rumble of thunder in the distance.  "That must be some
storm," she said to herself.  Her assessment was confirmed by the flashes
of light she could perceive through the blinds of her bedroom window. 
Glorying in the warmth that shielded her from the fury of the elements
outside, Tara burrowed deeper under the covers and closed her eyes.

	Why, she wondered, did she have to wake up *now*?  She had been in
the middle of such a wonderful dream, too, a sexy thriller from her
subconscious that had involved herself, her husband, and some more people
whose faces she could no longer summon from her memory.  There had been a
circus, a Big Top, and a shoe store with the perfect pair of brown pumps,
but beyond that all was a blur of rising passion that she could not quite
recall in her mind's eye.  "Great," she thought.  "Now I'm wide awake and
I'm horny.  Well, if I can't sleep..."  Tara closed her eyes and turned
over toward her husband, mischief on her mind.  She opened them again and
began to reach out for her husband, when suddenly her hand froze in
mid-reach.  A man was lying next to her in her bed, his eyes open wide,
staring back into hers.  But it wasn't her husband Marc.

	Tara gasped and pulled back; the strange man did the same, and she
saw him bump against someone lying directly behind him.  She cleared her
throat, which was suddenly dry from fear and surprise.  "Who...who are
you?" she grated, and was shocked to hear the same words emerging from his
throat.  She tried to speak again, and so did he, at exactly the same
moment: "I...I..."  They both shut their open mouths and regarded each
other silently for a moment.

	His face seemed so oddly...familiar, Tara realized with a degree
of shock.  She looked closely at him, aware that he was appraising her the
same way.  The green eyes, slightly upturned nose, the lips slightly
parted in an awfully familiar expression.  She took in his thick brown
hair, closely cropped, the curve of his jawline.  Suddenly it came to
her--why, it was almost like looking in a mirror!  I see those eyes and
that face every day when I wake up in the morning!  Her eyes flew wide
open, and his did too, at exactly the same moment.  Their jaws clicked
open, and she could tell he was thinking the same thing she was.  What the
*hell* was going on here?!?

						*  *  *  *  *

	In the apartment three floors above hers, Whit Walker stretched,
wondering what had awoken him.  Staggering to the bathroom Walker rubbed
his eyes and flicked on a light, then reached down to splash some cold
water on his face.  He looked into the mirror and tilted his face slightly
off to the side and upward.  Attaboy, Killer, he thought to himself, You
still got what it takes.  That same profile had sold millions of dollars
in movie tickets around the world, had appeared in eighteen action
thrillers--seven of which had hit Number One with a bullet at the box
office--and had made him one of the top-flight, most bankable stars in
Hollywood.  He grinned at himself in the mirror, that same famous grin
that was recognized by movie fans around the globe.

	As he turned to leave the bathroom he saw a woman, leaning against
the wall, watching him.  She was beautiful, her figure divine, her face
one that parallelled his own in its symmetry and pleasing lines.  Walker
stared at her, feeling her own matching stare in return.  He tried to get
some sounds out, to speak to her, but the words wouldn't come.  Finally he
spoke: "So...when did I bring *you* home, Gorgeous?"  A grin spread across
her face, an exact replica of the one which had crossed his own features a
moment earlier.  "I was about to ask you the same question."

						*  *  *  *  *

	High up on the brownstone roof Doctor Heinfust worked feverishly,
poking with his screwdriver and muttering to himself.  "Vot ze hell are ve
goink do do...everyssing is all fahrblungert..."  Beside him the tall man
in blue watched him, puzzled.  

	"I'm afraid I still don't get it, Doc," he intoned, a magnificent
specimin even in his befuddled state.  "What exactly is it we're doing?  I
want to fight Evil as much as the next guy, but this machine here..."

	Perched on a corner of the roof, the blue-clad woman turned toward
the two men with an equally uncertain look on her face.  "I have to admit,
Doctor Heinfust, I'm a little confused myself."

	Heinfust sighed and sat back, his face taking on the patient look
of one who had explained complicated things to uncomprehending simpletons
on many occasions.  "Ach, zo.  Are either of you two aqvainted vith ze
elementary principles off qvantum physics?"  He sighed again as he
perceived the blank, glassy looks he was getting from both masked figures.
 "Ach, you haff good hearts, my brave muscle-bound friends, but no brains.
 Let me explain."

	Doctor Heinfust gestured expansively with his arms and said "You
understand zat ve liff in ze Universe, ja?"  The two heroes nodded,
slowly.  "Now, vhat if I told you zat zere vas not vun Universe, but many?
 Und zat all of zem haff an Earth, a United States, even people zat are
chust like us in every vay?"  They looked at him blankly, but
comprehension struggled to dawn on the woman's face.  "You mean we may
have...like, twins?  In these other Universes?"

	The Doctor beamed at her.  "Chust so, ja.  Not evrybody, but
certain people haff zese...tvins, or analogues, in ze other Universes. 
Now ze Evil ve are fighting is trying to collapse all of ze Universes, to
smash zem togesser into vun.  If he succeeds, zis vill destroy not chust
our Universe, but all of zem at ze same time."  The two heroes gasped,
thinking of the implications of his words.  "But, then we'll all *die*,"
the man whimpered, earning him a withering glare from his companion.  "Ja,
exactly," the Doctor concurred, cheerfully.

	"Ve are gettink close now," he continued, turning back to the
object before him, "and so ve must hurry.  Even as ve speak ze Universes
are overlappink, and probably some of zere inhabitants are beginnink to
haff contact vis zeir analogues from ze other Universes.  For a short time
zis presents no particular problems--in fact, it happens all ze time. 
Haff you never vondered vhy sometimes you haff a sense of deja vu?  Off
perhaps being in two places at ze same time? Off havink some experiences
or sensations you cannot fully explain?"

	"Nope," the man replied, with transparent honesty.  The Doctor
removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes
as if he had a severe migraine.  "No matter," he said, turning back to his
work.  "It is happenink, all ze same.  I vish I had ze time to study zis
phenomenon fully, to see chust vhat really happens vhen analogues interact
consciously vith each other."  He fetched up a phillips-head screwdriver
and began manipulating his construct with it.  "Ach.  But zen if my
Grandmuzzer had vheels, she'd haff been a trolley-car."  He chuckled at
the joke, and returned his full concentration to the urgent tasks at hand.

						*  *  *  *  *

	Tara rubbed her eyes again and gaped at the stranger in her bed,
who continued to gape right back at her.  Finally, with some effort, she
tore her eyes away from his strangely familiar face and looked toward the
bedroom door.  She then turned her gaze back to the stranger, an unspoken
question in her mind.  Together Tara and the man in her bed nodded, and
they cautiously eased their way off the bed and padded down the short
hallway into the kitchen.  Tara went in and pulled out a chair; the
stranger followed, flicked on the light switch without any hesitation, and
took up a position opposite her, his elbows resting on the kitchen
tabletop.

	Once they were seated Tara resumed her examination of his face,
knowing that the man across the table from her was doing the same.  "So,"
she spoke, slowly.  "It seems as if we have a lot in common."

	"More than that," the stranger responded, in a voice that was an
eerie echo of her own, but deeper.  "It seems to me that you are basically
a female version of me.  The green eyes, the nose, your facial
expressions, even the same chin..."

	"And what's *wrong* with my chin?" Tara retorted.  "If anything, I
figure that you're just *me*--if I were a man.  After all, we're sitting
here in MY apartment, after we woke up in MY bed--"  "Nope," he
interrupted, a grin spreading across his face.  "MY bed.  We need to
settle this before we go any further, though.  Tell me something: where'd
you go to school?"

	Tara responded without even thinking about it.  "State--dual
major, History and Economics.  I have an office job where I work from..."
"eight-thirty to four-thirty, always have," he finished.  "What'd you have
for breakfast?"  "Plain bagel with butter," she answered.  "I--" "--HATE
cream cheese and detest egg salad."  The grin had widened and now
threatened to split his face.  "I think we got a winner here," he said. 
"Hi--I'm Terry.  And you are...?"  "Tara," she answered, with a matching
grin.  "This is too weird to be believed.  All right Hot Shot, tell me
this--what were you dreaming about before you woke up just now?"

	Terry frowned and concentrated for a moment.  "I don't remember
clearly, but there was a circus...and a Big Top, and I remember something
about women's shoes."  Tara stared at him, goggle-eyed once again.  They
even shared the same *dreams*?  She peered a little closer and noticed
that a slow blush was creeping across Terry's face, the same blush she'd
experienced on innumerable occasions.  "And there was something else," he
continued, "something about sex...In fact, I was so turned on when I woke
up just now that I was about to turn over and do something about it when I
saw you turning to face me...What?  What is it?" he asked, catching the
wide-eyed look on Tara's face.

	"Wh...why were you turning over?" she stammered, and he looked
puzzled.  "Well, I was going to wake my wife.."  He trailed off and stared
back at Tara.  "My wife!"  "My husband!" she echoed.  And at that moment a
peculiar dual scream rang out from the direction of the bedroom, and both
of them jumped at the sound.  "Oh, jeez!" they moaned as one, and Tara
sprinted for the bedroom door, Terry at her heels.  Tara reached the
doorway and snapped on the light, and then came to a dead stop as she
entered the room.  Terry caught up in an instant, and joined her in her
frozen stare.

	There on the bed were two figures staring at each other in shock
and horror.  On one side of the bed sat a man Tara recognized as her
husband, sitting bolt upright; opposite him was a woman who looked like
she could've been his twin sister.  Tara cleared her throat, and two
identical blonde heads swivelled about to look at her, eyes wide and
slightly glazed over.  "Maybe I should introduce everybody," Tara said. 
"I'm Tara.  The man on the bed is my husband Marc.  The guy standing here
in the doorway with me is Terry.  And you would be...?" she motioned her
head toward the female form sitting on the bed she shared with Marc. 
"Why," murmured Terry, a smile spreading across his face once again. 
"...That would be my wife.  Marcia."

	The two bedmates goggled at Tara and Terry, and then stared at
each other once again.  Without missing a beat two similar voices rang out
together.  "Exactly what the FUCK is going on here?!?!?!?"

						*  *  *  *  *

	Three floors up Whit Walker let his gaze luxuriate on his
erstwhile houseguest.  "My, you are a beauty," he crooned, his eyes
lingering on the perfect symmetry of her face, the facial qualities that
riveted him, invited him.  "I'm afraid you have me at a loss...where did
we meet?  Was it last night?  I'm afraid I don't remember very well,
because after a few drinks..."  "...everything gets a little blurry," the
vision chimed in to say the words in unison with him.  "I was about to ask
you the same question myself."

	Whit's voice deepened, grew more seductive, as he employed a
bedroom technique he had practiced and perfected over two decades in
Hollywood.  "It's just...you are so beautiful, so attractive..."  What
*was* it about her, anyway?  He couldn't remember being this turned on in
his life, and certainly not so quickly.  "I...I want to make love to you,"
he breathed, and damned if he didn't.

	The woman's gaze grew sultry, seductive, mirroring his own. 
"How...?" she asked, and Whit responded without hesitating.  "Something
intense...different from anything you've ever known," he whispered.  "Come
with me...tie me up...bind me with the chains of your passion..."  "Sure,"
she replied, a maddeningly bright gleam in her eyes.  "But only if you
spank me first."

	*Spank*?  Whit hadn't even imagined he could raise the stakes to
that level so soon.  Maybe this chippie was even more promising than he
had thought.

						*  *  *  *  *

	In the skies above the city the tides of battle took a turn for
the worse, and the heroes began to feel the onset of desperation.  

	Below them on a brownstone roof, Doctor Heinfust was attempting to
perform a delicate maneuver involving a tiny phillips-head screw.  At a
crucial moment, the masculine paragon behind him sneezed once, loudly. 
The screw fell into the machine with a metallic tinkle, dropping into the
bowels of the contraption.  "Dummkopf," hissed the scientist.  "I *knew* I
should haff brought zat magnetic screwdriver."

						*  *  *  *  *

	The four of them sat on the bed, eyeing each other with some
suspicion but a great deal more in the way of interest.  Marc was
speaking, addressing his remarks to his wife.  "So you're saying she"--he
pointed to Marcia, who was looking at him as if he were a three-headed
Martian--"is me, and you"--pointing at Terry--"are her."  "That's right,
Sweetie," Tara answered.  "And you can stop referring to Terry and Marcia
as 'them' now.  Let's just get used to it.  We're all here, and nothing we
do is going to change that.  Why don't we just get comfortable with the
situation?"

	Terry smiled at her, gratified.  But Marc kept casting sharp quick
glances about him, looking for all the world like a paranoid raccoon.  And
Marcia was huddled in a corner of the bed with her knees drawn up in front
of her, her eyes wide and suspicious.  Tara sighed.  "For Pete's sake! 
You are ALWAYS like this!" she growled, and Terry muttered his assent. 
"Why can't you ever just let go and go with the flow of a situation?" he
complained.  "Like that time my parents stopped by without any warning,
and you scowled away the entire weekend."  "Yeah!" Tara agreed,
enthusiastically.  "Or when we took that wrong turn on vacation and ended
up in Nova Scotia," she said.  "No kidding," Terry countered.  "And when
you consider how incredibly hard I had to work to get you into oral sex,
for crying out--"

	"Oops," Terry stopped, abashed.  "I'm sorry--I shouldn't have--" 
Marcia's knees flattened out in front of her and she looked at her husband
in cold fury.  "How *dare* you!  What right do you have to--just because
we're not all as into things as you--that doesn't mean--"  She sputtered
and faltered, but Marc rallied to her defense.  "That's right!  And it's
not as if I haven't gotten better at it--even downright *enthusiastic*
sometimes, dammit.  I mean, if you ask me--"  Marc ground to a halt, his
mouth wide open.  He looked at Marcia, who was staring back at him with
the same openmouthed expression as his own.  And then both of them began
to blush, and small smiles began to appear on their faces.

	Terry and Tara grinned at each other in delight, relishing their
victory over their spouses.  "Well," drawled Terry, "now that *that's*
settled, what should we *do* about this situation?"  Marc looked at Terry
sharply across the bed and hissed, "dammit, he really *is* my wife!" and
looked at Marcia, who shrugged, and looked directly at Tara and Terry. 
"It was you guys who got us into this--"  Terry riposted "I did NOT!" but
Marcia continued without acknowledging the comment.  "--and if you're
going to be so damn *smart* about all this, why don't you two just tell
us!"  She smirked at Marc, who returned her smirk and lay back against a
pillow.  "That's right, honey," he said to Tara.  "You always have all the
answers.  So now what?"

	Terry looked at Tara with one eyebrow cocked and his eyes
gleaming.  Tara felt the burning sensation of a bright blush blooming in
her cheeks and lowered her eyes, instinctively grasping Terry's meaning. 
Marc and Marcia watched the interplay between them and shot forward on the
bed.  "You CAN'T be serious!" said Marcia, and Marc chimed in "is sex ALL
you can think of at a time like this?!?"  Marcia looked at Marc, her mouth
tight and disapproving.  "Typical," she said.  "Are all you men like
this?"  "Hey--don't blame me," Marc responded.  "You know I feel the same
way you do--and *she* is a woman, I might add, and she's just as bad as he
is!"

	Tara looked at Terry with a mischevious glint in her eye, one
which he returned in kind.  "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he said;
"you know I am," she replied.  And in a simultaneous motion the two of
them leaped across the bed shouting "TICKLE FIGHT!!!," their hands curved
into talons which they used to attack Marc and Marcia.  "You're so
TICKLISH!" Tara squealed as she grabbed at Marc's ribs as he wriggled and
squirmed.  "Is she ticklish too?"  Terry paused in his attack to shoot a
dangerous look at his "twin."  "Why don't you find out for yourself?" he
challenged, and Marcia looked up in dread as Tara flashed him a devilish
smile.  "No," she breathed.  "NO!!!"  "Yes, yes," Tara murmured, as she
flung herself away from Marc and onto Marcia.

						*  *  *  *  *

	"*I* get to go first," Whit Walker insisted.  "I am a major
box-office star and A-list talent, and you are here to make love to *me*. 
So come on, tie me up.  I'm...asking you."  His voice trailed away to a
petulant whine.

	"Why you egotistical buffoon!" the woman snapped at him.  "Winnie
Walker takes a back seat to no one in star power--or in earnings!  On the
contrary, I demand that you administer my spanking immediately!  Do AS I
TELL YOU!" she ended, her voice rising to a crescendo of affront.

	"Don't try to kid a kidder, baby," Whit sneered.  "Hell, you can't
even pick an original name!"

	Infuriated, the woman slapped him across the face.

	Whit's head snapped back and then he raised it again, his eyes
aglow.  "Now that's more LIKE it!" he exclaimed.  "More!!!"

						*  *  *  *  *

	Doctor Heinfust was ripping and pulling at wires frantically now,
but things were decidedly falling apart on the battlefield.  Suddenly a
brightly-clad figure dropped with a loud THUMP onto the roof where he
worked.  The blue-suited man emitted a cry--"Beanie!!!"--and suddenly a
string of angry imprecations flowed from his lips.  "Why you arrogant,
greasy, limey bastard!  You Papist baby-raper!  I'll get you my pretty,
and your little lackey running dog, too, you pinko commie!!"  He jumped
onto the roof's ledge and posed heroically.  "Beware and fear, you Marxist
scum!  For now you must reckon with the power of the BLUE
BIGOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

	The hero leaped off the roof and up into the sky.  The heroine
watched him depart with a sigh.  "There goes the Blue Bigot," she
murmured, "off to meet the Great Evil."

	"Better him zan us," the Doctor responded, and once again he
turned back to his work.

(Continued in #2/2)

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