There Is No "I" In Private
Chapter One
By Missy

SERIES: Goosebumps!
SUBSERIES: There is no "I" in Private
PART: one of undetermined parts for this arc
Author: Missy
Email: lasfic@yahoo.com
RATING: PG-13 (For language, anatomical refferences)
PAIRING(s): L/L; S/C; S/R

DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, and FG so far; any other archives are welcome to ask (Please Email Me), but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine. Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

DISCLAIMER: Laverne and Shirley, of course, not my property and belongs to its creators.

CATEGORY: Epic Drama
CANNON/SPOILERS: Pre-Reunion Show Cannon; set five years after the series' conclusion.
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Laverne and Lenny try to cope with life under the gaze of royal watchers, who begin to impede upon their honeymoon. Meanwhile, Shirley becomes desperate to safeguard her custody of Veenie, and Rhonda gets some long-awaited news.
NOTES: The first chapter in the eighth portion to this series. For previous chapters, see the Goosebumps! Section at LAS Fic or The Look.

Kath has written a lovely wedding night within the cannon for these two; see Impure Thoughts to read it!

And yes, I couldn't quite figure out how to spell the name of Lenny's sovereign mini-nation, so I improvise.


***

A bleary-eyed Shirley Feeney poured hot chocolate into a very delicate blue porcelain cup. And poured. And poured.

"Woah, Shirl!" Squiggy protested, pulling the pitcher away. "Yer spillin' all over Len's rug."

She smiled, "Squiggy, this rug isn't Lenny's. It belongs to the Kulakowski nation."

"Yeah, an' the good people at Droste."

Shirley squealed, "oh dear!" then flung herself to her knees, attempting to clean up a stain. No sooner than her knees hit the floor did a black-clothed maid appear, rag in hand.

She stood, sighing, as Squiggy piled another Danish onto his plate and tugged her to the table. The receiving room sat twenty, and the small party waiting for the royal couple numbered five.

"You smoke one of Carmine's funny cigarettes?"

Shirley was horrified at the very notion, but muffled a stronger reaction for Veenie's sake, "Of course not. I slept badly," her room had been loggeredhead with Lenny and Laverne's suite, a room she had shared with an oblivious Veenie and a too-wise Rosie Greenbaum, "Where is Carmine, anyway?"

"Rhonda saw him talking to a suit of armor at four in the morning." Squiggy offered up a slice of buttered bread, and she declined with a curl of her nose and a pat to his hand.

"Good Lord," Shirley sighed to herself. Carmine hadn't been sober for a day during their entire two-week stay in Poland, and his oblivious alcoholism was becoming increasingly hard to explain to Veenie.

Frank DeFazio bustled into the room, Edna on his arm and a flurry of security guards around him. Once began piling up a plate with food, and Frank plopped down in his chair.

"Where's my muffin?" he asked.

"Ey," came a syrupy voice from the doorway, "I gotta muffin!" a hiccup sounded.

Shirley blushed, sinking into her seat as Carmine staggered to the table, grabbed a muffin, and held it under Frank's eyes. One of the guards moved toward him protectively.

"It's OK, David," Frank smiled at Carmine, as though he were a pitiable child.

"Carmine, sit down," Shirley said, her tone brittle.

"Yeah, Uncle Carmine, sit!" Veenie piped excitedly. Smiling a Keith-Richardsesque smile, he slumped into his seat and smiled blearily at the little girl.

"Hey, Veenie," he said, "Wanna see a trick?" the girl nodded, and Carmine grabbed an elegant piece of silverware and pressed it firmly to his nose.

From which it hung very neatly.

Shirley shrunk down in her seat, completely embarrassed. Things, at least, couldn't get any worse than they already were.

***

Laverne woke to brilliant sunlight, lighting beautifully the form of her husband.

She nuzzled the golden hair upon Lenny's chest, kissing his breastbone. He snored heavily, not waking, encouraging her to nibble playfully upon his chest hair.

He stirred, slowly, meeting her eyes. A slow, dopey smile spread across his face.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," she smiled, unable to suppress a giggle.

"It wasn't a dream," he replied, nuzzling against her. She kissed his lips.

"mmm..," she murmured, tugging on his shoulders, "want you."

He grinned, "I know."

She sat up, her legs falling astride his body; she remembered reading something like this in Jaqueline Sussan...

The door flew open.

She squeaked as Lenny pulled her downward, against his chest. "Geez!!" his horrified blue eyes focused upon the face of his sister...and several of his distant cousins.

"Sorry, Lenny," Lanie refused to meet his eyes, instead staring at the royal crest over the bed, "we're here for the viewing."

"'Viewing?'" he repeated, refusing to release Laverne.

"Oh geez...there isn't any way to say this delicately..." she shifted, her eyes still locked on the trim.

"Just say it, Lane." Lenny begged.

"Uhh..." she sputtered, but continued, her voice mechanical, "Royal tradition demands the public viewing of the bed sheets of its monarchs the night after first intercourse, to prove the bride's chastity. The sheets must be hung on the front side of the castle so that the citizens of Kulakowski may be assured a pure royal bloodline.'"


Back To Part 11 of "The Countess Wore An L"

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