The Time-Dragglers’ Extravaganzas

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      “Whatever you proclaim as your identity here in the material realm is also your drag. You are not your religion. You are not your skin color. You are not your gender, your politics, your career, or your marital status. You are none of the superficial things that this world deems important. The real you is the energy force that created the entire universe!”

      RuPaul , Workin’ It!: RuPaul’s Guide to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Style’

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    • #3222

      With years of intense Happiness training, and being herself a certified Happiness Coach™ in Rainbow Unified Bliss®, Sadie knew when to notice she was stuck and, even better, what to do about it.
      Techniques varied: some focusing on breathing, others on following impulse and all that, but most of them had in common that rabid thoughts had to be put to sleep, and the focus had to be kept on the immediate now.
      The beauty of the Hawaii island was easy on the eyes, although she could still find objections lurking in the corner of her mind that the beaches were scarce on this island, with many shores a blistering hot pan of molten lava rocks ceaselessly beaten by the waves.
      Then the sound of her companions came rousing some disturbance in her Rainbow thoughts, as she found out was mostly an annoyance with herself and her hair, the neat bowl cut starting to look a bit rugged on the edges.

      Again, the rabid thoughts were back. She had to go deeper, cling to a joyful experience, that pure moment of satisfaction. But the flow and inpouring of love stopped again like a sea anemone retracting at the light touch of a clown fish.

      She restrained the thought of loudly using the F word, and as well refrained herself from the desire to delete everything.
      She noticed a few tadpoles which weren’t here before, slithering in a little pool of water next to the spot where she was. She’d almost forgotten about the singing frogs. That such little creature could do so marvelous feats of logistics rekindled her spirits.
      What if she could just harness a little bit of her own energy. She started to list the things she was good at, besides haircuts.

      “I’m fucking good at limitations, and following other’s expectations” was what she came up with after some minutes listing some things without much conviction.
      “Bugger Linda Paul, and those ninc…” There it is she noticed again the thought.
      That’s what it’s about…

      You have to be nice and be quiet, Sadeline, the voice of her mean Breton grand-mother was saying. To which her equally loathable aunts would chime in religious rubbish of being nice and saintly and all.
      You have to be nice and be quiet, Sadeline, or go out of my way and die alone.
      She’d tried to exorcise the old goat, to rid of her, to appease her, to connect to the better version of herself that she is now since her transition. Well, nothing worked. She couldn’t find the angle. The old woman was still to her core a haunting and menacing presence with her mean irate insensitive lack of professed love.
      Maybe they’d developed better techniques in 2222, she suddenly thought. Of course…
      And then, Linda Paul wouldn’t have to know.

      “Girls?” she said in a sweet imperative voice (and slightly raucous, for the air was dry) “what do you think about having ourselves pay a visit to the local techromancer, I’ve seen the signs everywhere on the way to the beach. It’ll be a fun stop on our mission”.

      The three divas moaned under the sun, not specially enthusiastic at the effort, but then, Cedric, still himself haunted by the Russian’s vision managed to convince the others that some romance or exorcism or both, would do them great.


      A long deck was stretching and unfolding from the shore into the ocean, passing above the shallow plateau of sand bathed in aquamarine waters, and the coral reef.
      After stretching for about five miles and six feet, it was seemingly above open waters where schools of colourful fishes and placid turtles where swimming blissfully.

      The submarine broke the surface of the waters on the evening of January 18th, at precisely 17:56 HST, Hawaii local time, a handful of seconds too early (or a minute too late) for fetching a prized synchronicity.

      Jonbert soon realized that, as usual, it could only mean one thing: others were late, synchronistic timing notwithstanding.
      Of course, other being late meant timing couldn’t be synchrone, and all figures couldn’t align properly.
      The first mate robot reported back to him on the top deck where he was sipping his scotch and enjoying the late sun after months spent underwater.

      — “Dear sir…”
      — “Oh forget about the blasted dear, I’m nothing dear to you, you ingrate piece of rubbish”
      — “Of course sir. If I may”
      — “Blurt it out, goddammit! Where are they?”
      — “Their signal doesn’t register at the resort we have booked for them.”
      — “What?! And where is it now?”
      — “The ezapper have been geolocalized at 5.56 miles inland, sir”

      That darned missed synch again

      — “Then, bloody go fetch them!”


      “What? You think I’m shallow? That I spend too much time on my appearance?”
      Terry Bubble paused a bit then said “Well, maybe a bit, of course yes! I guess that’s what being a drag queen means. You take care of yourself. You enjoy playing with your appearance. You can’t be amateurish about it, it’s about creating an illusion, it’s about making people believe for a moment,…” then he added pensively “and maybe yourself a little”.

      “If you ask me, big beautiful chocolate Maurana Banana, what others think about you is none of your damn nosy business.”

      The three of them crammed at the back of a tiny flying tuk-tuk with their glowing perspiration under the sunscreen and layers of makeup, attempting to keep the appearances up for as long as they could was extremely entertaining.

      “Get ready! We arrive at the drop-off in a minute!” Sadie shouted. At the front of the hovercraft, she was carefully guiding the driver through the jungle thanks to the energy map on the ezapper.


      “We jumped out of a plane without a parachute, what shall we dooo?”
      “Hang on, it will be over soon” came the answer.

      Luckily for everyone, the drop-off was no more than a foot high.


      With years of intense Happiness training, and being herself a certified Happiness Coach™ in Rainbow Unified Bliss®, Lisa was reasonably adept at dispelling the occasional bouts of frustration that the six time travelers were experiencing while familiarizing themselves with the new time frame. Learning the new languages, both the local Spanish and the common language of the village tribe, English, was of paramount importance, and Mirabelle in particular was having difficulties. A basic vocabulary was easy enough, but when it came to grammar, Mirabelle was hopeless. Thus her communications were of a very basic and rudimentary nature, and she often felt unable to express her feelings, or her thoughtful observations on the many nuances, similarities and differences and overlaps of the current time and 18th century France. Not only was she obliged to learn two new languages, but was also learning to read and write. Often it seemed like all work and no play, too much pressure to perform, to learn, to do well at her studies, and yet play breaks were always frustrated in some manner because of her difficulties in communicating clearly. The fact that the others were progressing better with the languages made her feel alone, adrift in a sea of her own unexpressed thoughts.
      Adeline had a more relaxed approach to the language difficulties, less inclined to struggle with it and more likely to chatter endlessly to Boris instead, and ask him to translate when she needed some help. She had discovered an interest, and some considerable talent, in the art room, experimenting with the paints and materials, and spent many happy hours engrossed in her paintings and playful collages of mundane (but to her, bizarre) objects. She was like a magpie, collecting items that caught her eye. The bright colours and smoothness of plastic appealed to her, especially when transformed in shape by one of those odd little plastic fire making gadgets. Sunglasses were another favourite, especially the different shades of lens. It was not unusual to hear one of the villagers complaining that the lids to the tupperware containers were missing, or all the bottle tops had been removed, to find they had all been glued together, with the flyswatter, a few odd flipflop beach shoes and the mirror lenses out of someones shades. But the villagers were on the whole amused, generously indulgent, and good naturedley rolled their eyes at her creative curiosity.
      Boris was practical and capable, and true to form, was learning rapidly. He had no particular desire to express vague rambling thoughts (indeed, he was not a vague and rambling man by nature) and turned his attention to more practical matters. When he wasn’t chatting to Adeline, he was watching Jack tinkering inside car engines, or playing with Pierre’s camera and had quickly learned how to upload and play with the images on the computer. Often in the evenings Adeline would sit beside him and watch drowsily as the images changed in front of her eyes on the screen.
      Ivan and Igor were learning what they needed to learn while doing it ~ tending the goats and chickens, working outside on the land, or helping with various building projects. They had taken to the local bars like ducks to water, and spent the evenings downing copious amounts of beer and wine with the locals, all of them babbling and shouting incoherently, but seeming to understand each other in the camaraderie of inebriation.


      The sun slanted through the tree tops, projecting light beams through the rising river mist, creating ghostly shifting wisps. Fanella sat quietly on a log at the rivers edge, watching the elusive mist beings ascending, and wondering at the strangeness of it all. The only time she felt a sense of relaxed familiarity was when she was surrounded by nature ~ her solitary walks by the river or in the woods, far from the confusing distractions of people and unfamiliar objects and customs, kept her reasonably sane during this peculiar and unsettling time. She was homesick, that was the truth, and the futility of the nostalgia saddened her. There was no going back. Or was there?


      The techromancer was living in a techut, with a teak deck.
      The secretary at the entrance, all clad in white, arose from the surface of her glamour egazine and eyed the four of them with a reproachful eyebrow.
      “Do you have an appointment?”

      Tricky question Sadie thought It may well be the Universe testing my resolve.

      “Of course we do” she said, removing her shades with a deft hand, and the most convincing impersonation of a rich obnoxious elite member she could enact.
      “Don’t you know who I am?”

      The secretary looked a bit puzzled, but before she could answer, Sadie continued
      “Is the big guy here?”
      She pressed inside, leaving the drags a bit surprised for a second behind her, who after a look at each others, followed on her trail toot suite.

      Well, that wasn’t difficult.

      After a series of cumbersome curtains which looked heavy, mouldy and slightly alive, she thought she’d arrived at the final room, but the last curtain opened to the back of the techut, in the garden from which they had entered.

      Mmm, this one has some tricks, but nothing that cannot be ezapsolved

      She placed the ezapper on living signal locate mode, and found that she may have made a wrong curturn.
      She almost bumped into the silently curious drag queens, and arrived in front of the room.
      She signaled her friends in tow to wait for their turns outside.

      A guy in a hood with dreadlocks covering his face and strange lighting coming from his belt was sitting there in a meditation posture, surrounded by big glowing crystals which looked a tad fake.


      It was said long ago that the role of the parrot is that of opening communication centers. When this totem appears, one should look to see if one needs assistance in understanding views that are different from one’s own.
      Huhu didn’t care about any of these human assigned meanings to its existence.

      When the grip of Irina’s mind over Huhu the parrot was suddenly released, it found itself out of sight of the floating balloon and struggled to glide over the oceans’ air currents without losing too much altitude as well as precious degrees.

      The air was cold and the ocean had no end in sight, and if a parrot knew despair, Huhu would have succumbed to it already. But it was a brave parrot, as though inhabited by some divine spark, and it continued bravely, only guided by his senses.

      When it was about to faint from exhaustion, and dive dangerously close to the sea, was the precise moment when it noticed fumes swirling around in strange vortices erupting from the sea.
      A strange boat appeared at the surface with a shining light.

      Little did Huhu know, but it was the ghost galleon Santa Rosa which had a special thing for birds in distress, and would appear at times of need, a haven of luxuriant foliage and birds cackle, a benediction of safety in the turmoil of the seas.

      Nobody knew clearly when the galleon sunk, one of the last of his kinds in the Old Continent, probably around the early 1111s, but one thing was sure, it was a ghost ship long before Huhu was born and brought to Versailles in 1757.

      A ghostly form picked his soft body from the ground, delicately removing the key entangled on its foot, then placed the bird with great care on a bed of moss.

      We can go now Belen said the man to the whale captain of the ghost ship.
      Whale that! came the answer.


      The ghost captain of the Santa Rosa was an old Peaslander, Peter Pugh, otherwise known as Petit Pois on account of his vast girth. He’d had a fascination with whales all his life, admiring their immensity and smooth shapelessness, and had devoted his life to increasing his own blubber ~ unfortunately to the point where his legs failed to carry him further and he died, alone and frozen, on a cold winter Peasland beach. A particularly wild storm with immense waves had sucked him out to sea, taking most of the beach with him, but his spirit lived on, piloting the galleon for his ghostly lover, Belen. It was a match made in heaven ~ in their ghostly forms, they were vast but weightless, able to occupy the galleon fully, filling every nook and mossy cranny with their energetic formless bulk (but without sinking the ship or flattening the foliage).
      “Whale that!” he cried in response to Belen, excited to be teleporting to the balmy waters of the Pacific. The rough harsh climate of the Bay of Biscay reminded him of that cold winter in Peasland ~ he was looking forward to a tropical sojourn.
      “To the Big Island!” he shouted, and did a merry jig which caused a tsunami a few hours later on the Galician coast.


      “I’m looking for crew” the stranger said with a thick Russian accent as he bought all the men in the bar a beer, “No experience necessary! I need strong young men to help me sail to the Big Island.”
      Igor had no idea where the Big Island was, or indeed how to sail a boat, but he felt a strong overwhelming urge to accept the strangers offer. “Count me in!” he exclaimed in Russian. What a relief it would be to speak in his native tongue. Russia seemed so very far away, both in distance and in time. There was something timely about this mans unexpected appearance in the village bar, something fortuitous. Igor felt it, but couldn’t explain it. All he knew was that he was destined to sail away with this stranger.
      In truth, Mirabelle hardly crossed his mind. Leaving her would not worry him, although telling her he was leaving worried him a great deal.
      “We leave now” explained the stranger, much to Igor’s relief. “No time to lose, the winds are favourable tonight. Let’s go!”
      And with that, Igor left the village, without looking back.


      “You’re better off without him, really” Adeline said. “Igor would never have settled down with the likes of you, Mirabelle
      “What do you mean, the likes of me?” Mirabelle responded, wiping her eyes and sniffing.
      “You’re far too bossy for a man like that” replied Adeline tartly, pulling no punches.
      “But he needed someone like me to keep him in line! He goes off the rails quicker than a greased mermaid, always looking for trouble!”
      “Well, it’s too late now, he’s gone, and if trouble is what he’s after, then trouble he’ll find. Now, blow your nose and stop sniveling. Come on,” Adeline gave Mirabelle a quick hug. “It’s time for your driving lesson.”
      Mirabelle cheered up at that, she was enjoying the driving lessons. It was something she could excel at without worrying too much about languages and attempting to communicate vague rambling thoughts.


      “Not that!” snapped Lisa, uncharacteristically rudely. Adeline snatched her hand away, bewildered. “You can’t glue bits of plastic trash all over that, it’s special”
      “But it’s just a funny tile shaped bit of old rock!” said Adeline. “What’s so special about that?”
      “I don’t know, really” admitted Lisa. “I found it on the beach the other morning.”


      Belen quickly found out there was something amiss in the usual navigational patterns from her tile guidance system.

      Her initial plotted course to jump from Bay of Biscay 1757 to Hawai’i 2222 was almost whale calf’s play. Relying on the tiles beacons, it was easy for her to hone to an intermediate time, at the same location, from where it would be easier to navigate the ghost whaling boat. 2222 customs clearance was always a bother, as soon as human had started to time-travel, they had put unnecessary barriers around some key timezones such as this one.

      Her favourite stopover was on the other side of Galicia on the Mediterranean coast del Sol 2020, but then…

      Peetee Pois as Peter was affectionately called by Belen was the first to notice the sails of Барк Крузенштерн, the Krusenshtern swollen by the wind, seconds before they came crashing onto it, launching all the birds in a massive flock around the town that the tall ship had just left (coincidentally with Igor on board as one of the newest recruits of the Russian sail training ship).


      Lisa was still arguing with Adeline in broken Spanglish when they noticed the flock of birds at the horizon.
      — Something’s happening on the beach, Lisa snapped, quick let’s go have a look.


      Mirabelle, I have come back for you!”

      Igor! How, what …” Mirabelle gasped, lost for words.

      “I jumped overboard the ship and swam back. Sure, you are a bossy tart, but you look so hot when you put that birdcage on your head.”

      Mirabelle reddened. *“Ebanashka!” she cried, slapping his face.

      *crazy person in Russian


      Adeline deftly dodged Mirabelle’s flailing hand, almost spilling the mug of coffee all over the mangled bed sheets. “It’s just a dream, wake up! Here, I’ve made you coffee.”
      Mirabelle rubbed her eyes. “милый Adeline, you’re so kind and thoughtful. What would I do without you?”


      The door creaked open and a shy Igor entered with a big rainbow conch.
      Mirabelle, I have come back for you!”

      Igor! How, what …” Mirabelle and Adeline gasped, lost for words.

      “I jumped overboard the ship after I stole this miraculous conch and swam back…”

      Before he could say the rest, Adeline jumped on her feet and slapped his face.
      Then Mirabelle’s turn, three times.

      The door creaked close like a laughing seagull.


      “Yes get lost!” muttered Adeline rudely. “Go back to where you belong and stop depriving some poor village of his idiot!”

      Just at that moment the plaintive hoot of an owl was heard in the far distance. Adeline recalled the strange way the flock of birds had been behaving the previous day at the beach. With a feeling of foreboding she remembered her promise to the Virgin Mary in the chapel.

      Were the birds a sign sent to warn her?

      She was filled with remorse for her cruel thoughts and actions towards Igor. The Queen and her men could not touch her now, but was she out of reach of all those Saints and Angels?

      “Would you like some toast with your coffee, dearest Mirabelle?” she asked sweetly, anxious to make amends and appease the powers that be. I promise I will say a prayer for the soul of dear Igor later, she silently vowed.

      “Thank you, you dear sweet child,” said Mirabelle. “What a terrible shame though that Igor took that beautiful shell with him. Be a dear will you; run after him and see if you can’t get him to leave the shell here with me. Quick, quick Adeline, don’t dilly dally. Run like the wind or you will miss him!”


      The corridors seemed unusually long and Adeline ran quickly to apprehend Igor, ostensibly to retrieve the shell as Mirabelle had ordered, but perhaps she could also plead his forgiveness for slapping his handsome face? He will surely be angry with me! thought Adeline, so she gathered courage as she ran by singing a well know song from her childhood.

      Au clair de la lune, 
Mon ami Pierrot. 
Prête-moi ta plume. 
Pour écrire un mot. 
Ma chandelle est morte, 
Je n’ai plus de feu. 
Ouvre-moi ta porte. 
Pour l’amour de Dieu.

      As she rounded the corner she bumped into Fanella.

      “Tsk, tsk, Adeline. Where are you running to in such a hurry and making such an awful racket?”

      Fanella!” gasped Adeline, “have you seen Igor? I must find him …” Her words trailed off as she saw the shell Fanella was holding.

      “He gave me this beautiful shell but a moment ago. Poor Igor, he seemed most distressed. I suppose we have that bossy tart, Mirabelle, to thank for that. Heaven knows I have no time for the brutish fellow, yet even I could not help but feel some modicum of pity for him. But look, dear Adeline, how beautiful is this shell! Let us put our ears to it and see if it will speak tenderly to us. Perhaps it will give us messages of home,” she added softly.


        “Well, there’s absolutely no sign of him now” said Lisa, trying to work out what had been happening. “Igor must have been here, because this unusual shell is here, which wasn’t here before. But Igor, it’s as if he vanished into thin air. Jack’s been outside the front and he didn’t see him, Boris has been round the back, and he didn’t see him ~ it seems that you three are the only ones that saw him!”


        Igor woke up in his bunk below decks, rubbing his cheek. The slaps to his face had seemed so real that it had woken him up, with the word “Ebanashka!” ringing in his ears. He sighed as he thought of the three girls, and how rudely they always treated him, as if he was a stupid good for nothing. He felt under his blanket for the magic conch shell. It wasn’t there!


        “We’ll think about this later” continued Lisa brightly to the troubled girls. “Today we’re going out, so let’s think about that instead and start getting ready. Ignore and avoid what doesn’t make sense at first, I always say, and hope that it makes sense later, that’s my motto. Chop chop!”
        “Where are we going Lisa? I think I’ll just stay here and go for a walk in the woods instead.” replied Fanella, starting to feel anxious.
        “Oh no you won’t my girl, you need to get out and integrate more. You’ll enjoy it, it’s a music festival in the mountains.”
        Fanella groaned inwardly.
        “Will there be lots of plastic?” asked Adeline hopefully.
        “I expect so, there usually is” said Lisa.

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