Attention K-Mart Shoppers

"Inconceivable!"

Dr. Freudrogerserikson fumes, throwing his pipe to the floor.

"What fool has allowed this to happen-- AGAIN!" He looks around, accusingly, his stabbing glance stopping on a young be-crutched woman leaning helplessly in the doorway.

"I, uh, she was so lonely down here, I just thought I would help out... I didn't know....really."

Poor recepionist.

"We've got to find her! If she doesn't make it to that party tonight, everyone will know something is wrong. We've been sitting on this thing for too long. Nurse, call the front guards. Tell them to lock everything down-- NOW!"

Dr. Freudrogerserikson turns and speeds back to his office, labcoat flapping. Thank goodness there is an agent in the building capable of controlling the loose beast.

"X!" he calls, looking toward the now empty chair where he had left the young blonde woman. "Where has she gone?"

~~~

"But Jerry, I don't wanna wear this mask-- it itches."

"We won't discuss it, Seth. You are wearing the mask. If you expect to be my kept man, you will learn to do as I say."

Jerry motions for the rest of the ladies to enter the waiting limo and is startled as she is pushed away by Seth who is cluelessly scooting in before her. She huffs and rolls her eyes. Her elegant red dress perfectly matches her tinted lips and now her ire.

Miles away, a man and his car are alerted to a new royal emergency in hospital.

"Git, what's our eta?" He asks impatiently.

"We're not far, Mick. She's not going to get away from us this time." Git assures.

"I was so hoping that American Lace woman was the answer. If the Queen gets away again, there's no telling the damage she'll do."

....

"Vogue, did you see what I just saw?" Lace whispers from the corner of her mouth, not wanting anyone else to overhear and panic at the professional's "holy crap" demeanor.

"I think so. Wasn't that your receptionist?"

"No, no, I mean the Queen you goof!"

"THAT was the Queen!" Vogue gasps, clutching her scarf. "I'm going to need a serious wardrobe adjustment for this one."

"We don't have time for that now. We've got to figure out a way to get to the intercom system. We have to get to her before she's able to leave the building. Hurry! This way!"

Lace and Vogue scurry to the information desk. An elderly woman is sitting behind the glass-- oblivious to the madness breaking around her--uniformed men clomping through the shiny hallways, guards stacking chairs against the entrance, a hobbled receptionist fainting.

"Excuse me, ma'am! Where is the main intercom system located?"
Lace's eyes suddenly trail off and she is distracted by the legions of black skuff marks left on the newly waxed floors. She falls to the floor uncontrollably and begins to buff out the marks with her sleeve. With each circular motion she exclaims "out, out, out,".

The information clerk slowly looks up to see only Vogue standing before her, with her huge sunglasses about to fall from her acutely cocked head.

"Do you need to make an announcement, dearie?" She asks sweetly. "Because I can do that from right here. How may I help you?"

"An announcement, yes, um, I, yes, I need to make an announcement."

"Well? What is it, luv?"

Vogue is lost. She's not sure of what to say. It is critical that her message is clear and precise. She has only moments to act. The next words from her mouth could determine the fate of England. She pauses briefly, slowly opens her mouth and says---

Once More Into the Bleach

Vogue and Lace exchange glances. Inhaling a deep breath, Vogue adjusts the Hepburn shades and then nods to Lace. Taking the cue, Lace knocks on the massive wooden door before them. A muffled, "Come in" seeps it's way from underneath it. As Lace turns the ornate doorknob, X shifts in her seat to glance behind her, expectant.

The door swings slowly open to reveal the two women standing shoulder to shoulder framed by it. In the hall behind them, hospital staff walk efficiently by. One or two glance curiously their way. The psychiatrist leans forward, impatiently motioning for Vogue and Lace to enter. Lace lifts her chin and glides into the room. Vogue does the same. X's gaze follows the two as they seat themselves on either side of her, across the desk from the doctor.

"Dr Freudrogerserikson I presume?"

Dr Freudrogerserikson inhales impatiently, staring at Vogue. Lace shoots her a sideways *knockitoffwe'reindeepdoodoo* glance and then addresses the doctor.

"Hello, I am Dr Lace. I believe you sent for me ::extends her hand:: and for my assistant, ::nods head in Vogues direction:: hypnotherapist Vogue?"

The doctor ignores Lace's extended hand and stands. Lighting a pipe he begins to pace. "Dr, er, Lace, we have a very serious situation happening here. Very serious. Do you happen to understand just how serious?" As he paces he puffs on the pipe, glancing from Lace to Vogue.

"Yes. I do. And I can assure you that it will be handled with the utmost professionality and efficiency." As Lace speaks Vogue bites a nail, looking from the doctor to the doctor to the doctor. X just takes it all in silently.

Dr Freudrogerserikson stops pacing and towers by Lace, "Well if you understand the seriousness of the situation is, can you tell me why you didn't understand it the first time you attempted to remedy it? And also why your assistant is dressed like Sabrina as opposed to Holly Golightly? We've a Queen to unhypnotize and a formal dinner party to attend!" Raising his pipe for emphasis, he returns to his burgundy throne behind the desk.

Squelching an impulse to huff and buff the shiny finish, Lace assures the good doctor that not only will the second attempt to fix the Queen work, but also that Vogue most certainly has the duds for the occasion, packed in a bag still in the limo.

"Very well then. We shall proceed." And with those words Dr Freudrogerserikson rises from his chair once again and strides out of the room, expecting them to follow. Vogue and Lace do follow. As Vogue reaches to close the door behind her, she looks back at X still sitting at the desk. The two follow the psychiatrist down the hall, headed towards the Queen's room. Vogue leans close and whispers to Lace, "Who was that. Back there?" Lace shrugs, wondering the very same thing herself.

Just then the trio turns a corner and is met with 15 dismountees standing at rigid attention outside a closed hospital door. Inside the room the sounds of a loud scuffle begins. Dr Freudrogerserikson rushes to the door and opens it. A VCR that was formerly unplugged is now plugged, it's face flashing the dreaded <12:00> <12:00> <12:00>.

A sparkly gown flashes by. A shriek is heard. A chair would cry out, if chairs could cry out.