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  • #4707

    An unexpected shaman tart witch was looking and had spotted them coming from afar.

    Head Shaman Tart Witch, if you please.” She muttered in her breath, happy to break the fourth wall and all.

    The sun was already high and the air was sizzling ready to burst out like buttered pop corn.

    “A rather lame metaphor. You’ve done better.”

    The Head Shtart Witch, as we will call her later for brevity’s sake, was as tart as a sour lemon dipped in vinegar, and prone to talking to spirits, when not cackling in tittering fits of laughter, as shamans are wont to do.
    She was surprisingly in tune with the narrator’s voice this late in the day, considering it wasn’t her first bottle of… medicine she ingested today.

    “Voices are rather quiet, yes. I was expecting a bit more… quantity if you know what I mean.”

    The narrator had absolutely no idea of what she meant, not discontent with the quantity per se.

    Three in quantity, they came, looking for her. A girl, visibly in charge, although a bit hard to tell either, buried into the baggy hood and all.

    “The star-studded stockings under the striped red and white trousers were a bit of a give-away though… she was a she, and a bossy pants to boot.” the Head Schwtich replied.

    “And don’t take advantage to maim my full name… Jeeze, they’re so lazy these days. Can’t even spell right.”

    Ignoring the rude comments, the narrator continued.
    Then, a man, a bit namby-pamby with the gait of a devil-may-care goat at that.
    And a boy, on the threshold of manhood, with lots of red hair and freckles he could have put the bush on fire.

    “You have forgotten the gecko… and the cat.”

    The cat wasn’t forgotten of course, but was it technically a cat, with the talking and all? Poor thing had ill-fitted boots (probably a clearance sale from the Jiborium’s), so that it wouldn’t burn its pads on the red hot trail. It seemed stubborn enough to refuse being carried, although not confident enough about the surrounding life in the bush to stop checking every minute for all that crawled and crept around.

    “That’s why they’re here. The protective charms. That, and the jeep of course.”

    The Twitch seemed to know everything so the narrator felt it would probably best to let her finish the comment.

    “Oh, don’t you start. That passive aggressive attitude isn’t going to get your story done, is it. And it’s not like I’m going to follow them in their dangerous and futile quest. It’s your job, better get to it.”

    Indeed, she was only just a sour, old, decrepit…
    “You stop that!”

    :fleuron:

    “Is that her hut?” Albie pointed at the horizon.
    “Yes, I think we’re there.” Arona looked at the compass she’d put around Albie’s neck. “Yes, that’s it.”

    Sanso yawned and stretched lazily “I hope they have a hot shower now, I feel so dirty.”

    Arona chose to ignore Sanso and let him gesticulate. They’d only walked for less than 15 minutes, and the perspective of few more hours of driving with him breathing down her neck started to give her murderous thoughts.

    She turned to the team. “Listen, whatever happens, don’t make rude remarks, even if she seems a bit… unhinged.”

    “Are you talking about the crazy lady with the chameleon on her head, who talks to herself and looks like she hadn’t got a bath in a century?”

    “That’s what I meant Sanso.” Arona rolled her eyes in a secret signature move she owned the secret of. “Listen, it would be better for everyone if you’d stay here and stop talking until we get the keys to the jeep, alright.”

    Luckily for all of them, a little sage smudging and a bakchich in kind sealed the deal with the HEAD Shaman Tart Witch, and less than an hour later, with the mountain at their back, they were all barreling at breakneck speed down the lone road towards the Old Mine Town.

    That’s where the Inn was, now starting to crawl with unexpected guests and long lost family members.

    #4604
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      “But I can’t, I’m too busy with my new art deco project, repainting the gnomes in the garden, supervising Roberto to take care of my crops of… erm medicine. And of course, Uncle Oobie is staying in the caravan for the next weeks, I absolutely need to show him around.”
      “Who would have known the housewife life was so stressful” a metallic voice came from the speakers.
      “Couldn’t have said it better” Finnley said under her breath.
      “Damn it Godfrey, thought you’d deactivated Fliz!”
      “It’s not Fliz, Liz’, it’s Olexa! Not my fault if she has a temper in her notification mode. We installed it so you can reorder hummus by shouting in the air… Or… wait a minute… Has Finnley tricked me there?”
      He looked around, but the maid had scurried along to tend to some important cleaning duties.

      #4333
      F LoveF Love
      Participant

        Finnley, who had also just then re-entered the room, saw her chance to not only get her own back on Godfrey and prove to him her meanness was not a facade, but also an opportunity to get some peace and quiet.

        “Take those two,” she said, pointing towards Godfrey and Liz. “They are bound to know something.”

        Godfrey paled and Liz let out a little gasp.

        Finnley, how can you do this!”

        “Oh bugger it,” sighed Finnley, despondently wondering if she really was a nice person after all.

        “She’s in the attic.”

        “The attic? I didn’t know we had an attic,” exclaimed Liz. “How absolutely wonderful! I do hope you are keeping it clean, Finnley. Attics are notoriously bad for attracting dust.”

        #3869

        Sam woke up the next morning feeling puzzled. There was no apparent reason for it, so he thought it might be related to the new moon or to some singular configuration of space time crossing with the known universe. He scratched his 3 days and a half beard a few times. He liked the sound of it and did it frequently. Only then would he get out of bed and prepare some breakfast.
        When he came to the kitchen, the tv was on. A certain Godfrey was speaking about an upcoming wave of migrants due to lack of rafts in the sea of confusion. Sam thought he wasn’t the only one feeling puzzled.
        “Do you have all your papers ready ?” asked Al, already dressed up as if he was going to a wedding.
        “I like when you wear your tuxedo”, said Sam. Al looked absolutely delicious. “And yes, I have all my papers ready. But I wonder… Why do you need papers when you’re asking for a new identity?”

        #3770

        In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          Eb was rendered temporarily speechless by the milling throng of rainbow blue aliens he was viewing through the monitor.

          “So they …. so they have been built to be aware of themselves as aliens?” he eventually managed to ask.

          “Correct. It is very sophisticated technology, but to put it in the simplest of terms” — Finnley 22 stopped short at adding even a simpleton like you could understand —“a whole history on the planet Thereon from the galaxy Cosmos Redshit has been programmed into their memory banks.”

          “Wow. And what about the different shades of blue?”

          “Ranking.”

          “Ranking?” repeated Eb quizzically when no more information was forthcoming. “I am not sure I follow.”

          Finnley sent an amused eye roll through the network.

          “Let’s just say that creating hierarchy is an elegant way in which we can maintain order within the group.” She gave her trademark immodest smirk. “And of course, the various shades of blue are so creative and attractive, if we may say so ourselves.”

          “Oh yes, beautiful. Fantastic. Absolutely phenomenol.” Eb wondered if he was laying it on a bit thick, but he was anxious to atone for the termitation fiasco. To be honest, he found the mass of blue creatures a little disquieting. He was also a little puzzled by something but knowing the Finnleys’ propensity for succinctness—and Finnley 22 in particular was renowned for her impatience with foolish questions— he wondered if he dared ask.

          Deciding it would come back to haunt him if he did not find out now he plucked up courage.

          “And … just one more thing … why are they bending like that?”

          #3769

          In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Betty Bloo wasn’t at all happy about her pigmentation, it was much too dark a blue ~ almost navy blue, or perhaps not quite that dark ~ more of a French navy blue, which was going to cause her no end of trouble. A delicate sky blue was what she wanted, even a slightly darker robins egg blue would have been acceptable, but French navy? Oh, brother! That sucked! Everyone knew it was much easier for a refugee alien with a pale blue colour. Dark blue was absolutely fatal ~ often literally.

            Betty wondered how many others in the latest batch were as darkly tinted as she was, and looked around the holding camp apprehensively. Huddled in nervous groups at the far end of the room were the darkest midnight and Prussian blue skins (she particularly noticed the tall elegant indigo fellow and made a mental note to make his acquaintance later); in the middle of the room various men in shades of cobalt and turquoise milled around, chatting with the teal and cornflower blue girls, but what caught Betty’s eye was the colours of the newbies spilling out from the pigmentation chamber.

            Some of them were such a pale blue they were almost grey: delicate powder blue and baby blue, the palest aqua and faded periwinkle. It almost seemed as if the later ones were a result of the pigment running out. She realized that she must have been one of the first to be created. Surely that gave her some seniority? A superior position in the blue hierarchy? Did blue alien refugees have a system of hierarchy at all, she wondered?

            Well, she said to herself grimly, squaring her darkest blue shoulders. We are about to find out. Blue lives matter!

            #3668
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              “Will someone get rid of that old woman with the horrible accent?” hissed Finnley, ungraciously.

              “What on earth for? She is doing a splendid job. I must say though, Finnley, just as a side note, it is good to hear you sounding more like your normal ungracious self.”

              “I found dust,” muttered Finnley, glaring accusingly at Haki.

              Elizabeth look unaccustomedly thoughtful. “Do you think you need a break, Finnley dearest? You really must be exhausted after all the splendid proof reading you have been doing for me this year. Why don’t you go home for a while, on full pay of course.”

              Finnley burst into tears. “Where is my home though?” she snuffled. ”I am not good with descriptive details. I just found myself in this stupid story doing your stupid cleaning. And now I have a Bulgarian sister, to boot. And,” she looked witheringly at Elizabeth, “ proofreading is one word”

              “Crikey, matey,” said Norbert patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Christmas is a killer, in’t? Family coming out of the woodwork like blimmin worms. Keep ya chin up though, eh. Ya can’t be letting things get to ya like this. Ya wouldn’t be able to carry on like this if ya were in bloody China ya know. Like bloody robots they are there. I don’t think they know the meaning of the word feelings over there.” He shook his head in wonder at their philistinism.

              “And ya right about that one,” he added quietly, with a conspiratorial raised eyebrow and a slight nod of his head towards Haki.

              Elizabeth leapt up and rushed to the bookshelf. “I know what you need! some Lemon Juice! I will pick one at random; they are all absolutely superb.” She opened the very small book and closing her eyes stabbed the page dramatically with her finger.

              ”Let’s not be overachieving fucks.”

              “Wow,” she mouthed, awestruck. After taking a moment to recover herself, she looked sympathetically at Finnley.

              “The oracle has done it again. Do you hear that Finnley? You are an overachieving fuck.”

              Finnley rolled her eyes.

              #3426

              The Chamberlain was out of options. He couldn’t hide the truth any longer to the P’hope, and had requested an appointment with His P’holiness.

              “My dear Downson, what brings you?” the P’hope’s voice was unusually cheery. They both never seen eye to eye, and had an honest and enduring dislike of each other, however they always had put on a façade of politeness and silky manners.
              “My dear P’hope, I have a confession to make.”

              Suddenly, the P’hope’s hawk eye tensed and looked straight and deep into the Chamberlain’s eyes.
              “Is something troubling you Downson? Spit it out, it will leave you more time to repent.”
              “The King’s missing.”
              “What? Are you sure you didn’t just lose him in the tavern or some other place of holy debauchery?”
              “I wouldn’t have troubled you without being absolutely certain.”
              “This is indeed a grave matter. You know how the King is an important figure for the stability of this City. How long has he been missing?”
              “Three days already. I fear he may have gone out of the City. Before leaving he’d mentioned going to the beanstalk.”
              “Folly! How could you let that happen!” The P’hope raised from his chair and started to pace around restlessly.

              “With that and the beanstalk crumbling down, I cannot help but see some cause and effect, my dear Downson. Of course, it would be heretic to leave the good people in such turmoil without taking swift and firm action. It seems the Divine calls for a change of leadership, my dear Downson.”

              #3400

              If the sabulmantium was to be trusted, the beanstalk was a tangle of many paths, and the main and easiest accesses down its dangling twirly greenish tentacles were all outside of the city walls, in a zone where some lords managed to rule pockets of mass beliefs and a bunch of unattractive mongrel mobsters.

              “Sounds potential adventure material” Mandrake had had the nerve to say when they’d packed.
              “No it isn’t” Arona had said.
              Then with more gusto “NO IT ISN’T” as though to convince all the sleepy tarts of the nymphouse below her rented room.

              More doubts had sunken their claws in her tender heart, and a gulp of whatever astral cup didn’t seem in hindsight a worthy deal for all her troubles. Nonetheless, she was a woman of her word, which was probably why she wasn’t of many. Too much trouble being of all of them, whatever that meant.

              “Honestly Mandrake, keeping you on track is worse than herding… dragons.”
              She would have said sheep, but she wasn’t so rude yet. Mandrake could have taken that too badly, and he would again prove useful to distract the guards of the Southern Post. That’s where she decided to go, as with all the heat, it had to be the one less guarded.

              Indeed, when she arrived, as planned, the gate was badly manned, and sleepy soldiers where reaching for the rare spots of shadow.
              She decided to make a run for it. The soldiers didn’t look very fit. She started to go, thinking about zigzagging between the air bottles littering the plaza, when she felt a tug pulling her back by the cloak, almost sending her flying off her butt.

              FUCK!” she shouted as silently as she could. “You again! I thought I told you not to follow me! Mandrake, attack! Go for the balls!”

              She was in a fury, but Mandrake licked his paw with a disgusted look on his face that meant “Hnhn, not going for that, sweetie. You’re on you own to herd that dragon, my lovely pooh.”

              “Shhht!” the guy said with a bit smile.
              “Don’t shush me, you… ninnyhammer!”
              She didn’t know where the last word came from, but they sure felt good, although not quite rude enough.
              “Oh, the lady is a pirate who knows her insults.” he answered with his cocky smile.
              “Don’t mock me, you mooncalf”
              “You were trying to sneak out, were you?”
              “Why do you care, hobbledehoy?”
              “The guards have aircon chain-mail and armours, see, look at those bottles on their backs… How could you beat them running with your heavy cloak?”
              “Maybe Mr Snollygoster has a better suggestion?”
              “Of course I have, if you care to follow me, Ms Mumpsimus.”

              Arona was almost speechless. Not keen on following any stranger, she asked her guts, and they seemed to have a liking for the handsome fellow. It stirred old remembrance of going with the flow tactics, and when she did actually follow him, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he and Mandrake were already ahead in one of the alleys.

              “Oh, no, let him have the keys to some secret tunnel, I won’t go for another sewer escape!”
              As if her guardien angel has heard her secret prayer, it happened that the stranger had some strange stone key in his bag, opening a secret wall entrance.

              “Oh.” was all she conceded to the stranger.
              Nonplussed he offered her his hand “George” he presented himself still with the same broad smile.
              She took his hand haughtily, and entered the vaulted tunnel, not telling him yet her name, in case she felt like choosing a sexy and mysterious code name. She could trust no one…

              “Traitor” she hissed at Mandrake who was purringly looking at the strangers’ boots.

              #3324

              Irina gave an appreciative look at the holographic map that Mr R had made of the island.
              By a simple triangulation technique combined with sophisticated echolocation, the robot had managed to come up with a rough estimation of it, even though scattered patches were black, representing the blind spots, apparently due to the abundance of water bodies on the island that created interferences.

              “Well, it actually looks better than I expected, the coast is a bit rocky, but probably more temperate and less humid than here. Some of those spots here seem to hint at habitations…”
              “Madam is absolutely right” Mr R opined with confidence, and a glimmer of pride in his forehead interface.

              “When the girl is well enough to travel, we’ll leave.”
              “She’s still a bit cold and delirious.” The robot assessed, “Her condition has improved steadily, if not quickly. There is a good chance the green won’t go, but she will live.”

              “Have you finished the sentinel?”
              “Yes, Madam. It is complete and will serve well in monitoring the gate. Besides water rats and wrecked boats, not much seems to have went through recently. Although…”
              “Yes Mr R?”
              “I’m not quite certain Madam, which is confusing for me, but there was a moment were my sensors noticed a presence of a young person, but it lasted only for a few nanoseconds in a row, then I could not perceive it… It probably was a malfunction of my sensors Madam, I apologize, but the humidity…”
              “I don’t believe your sensors malfunctioned Mr R. I do believe someone’s been trying to phase in, but didn’t succeed. Make sure your sentinel can detect such things…”
              She went on: “Another thing, before I go for my astral meditation. Did you manage to get me a date? I’m no rocket science expert, but it sounds easier to get than your quite astonishing map Mr R.”
              “Madam is too kind. And as as always, perfectly astute. This should be easy, but again this modest robot has run into a profoundly perplexing paradox.”
              “A paradox, how exciting. What is it?”
              “According to the shifting position of constellations during the nights and the sun’s elevation, the results differ from one day to another. We have to run a few more test to be conclusive…”
              “Is is a local occurrence?”
              “It seems to be true for the whole island, Madam. It is currently fluctuating between a series of years, some of which I mapped to the following years, in no particular order: 555, 777, 888, 1010, 1111, 1212, and so on until 2121, and as well, a series of related geographical points on the Earth.”
              “No wonder it seems to be the garbage collector of the entire universe”, she sighed.

              Then, something hit her.

              If myths of such places were to be trusted… Could it be… the mythical Avalon ?
              If that were the case… Who could well be the mysterious resuscitated bog mummy?
              One of the island’s Queens ?”

              She smiled to herself, brushing off the notion. Irina, you’re such a hopeless romantic…

              #3242
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                “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!

                #2991
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  “Early retirement!” Skye said, “Bloody cheek! Undercover operation, very hush hush, it was. The noteworthy case of the Welsh Leaves of Absinthe, a very interesting case indeed. Fifty Seven bottles in that case, and each one different. I had to case the joint first of course, then proceed with the utmost abandon. Absolutely crucial to work this one to the book ~ intuition and impulse, and absolutely no planning.”

                  “I can’t wait to hear all about it” said Pearl. “ I heard about the Rose surge while you were there, and something about a radioactive grafitti surge originating in an abandoned nuclear plant in the mountains?”

                  “Absolutely true, Pearl. I heard about that one on the way back to the airport, spontaneous radiactive grafitti appearing and it’s heading east. That’s the bizarre thing, it’s working its way across the country, and each new sighting is east of the last one.”

                  “Sounds nasty, what’s the plan to divert it?” asked Pearl.

                  “Liverworts.”

                  #2402

                  “What?” The Majorburgmester of Peasland almost laughed of surprise at the incongruity of Fwick con Troll’s idea. “You’re telling that this…”

                  “Little spider, yes”
                  “Contains a potent venom that could wipe the blubbits off the face of Peasland?”
                  “Absolutely, dear Majorburgmester
                  “Are you out of your Fwicking mind, Fwick? What breading this nasty spider could possibly bring us any better than a plague of crop-eating blubbits in rut?”
                  “I was actually talking of breeding them, sir” Fwick objected
                  The Mayor continued unperturbed “Besides, we already have our fierce constable Stoll drill the mythic Eight Dimension for answers.”
                  “That would be placing a lot of trust in that foolish venture, I’m afraid to say, Majorburgmester. To date, very few people have managed to return safely.”
                  “Oh, who cares if they ever bloody come back Fwick! Come on! All we need to do is extort the answers from his spouse who’s kept all their heads in a safe place, I have no doubt of that.”
                  “Well… I wouldn’t place my head on this bet if I were you…”

                  “Ah, bugger off then with your stinking spider, and do your bloody experiments… As long as it doesn’t involve my name, and especially in case any misguided and sad assassination should occur, ahahaha. I’m joking of course.” The Mayor’s face (which was framed and hanged on the wall of the Majorburgmester Hall’s main office) suddenly shut any hint of humanity that could have been left on it.

                  #2779
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    The sky was most unusual. Something definitely weird was happpening.

                    Yann was looking at a TV show in which a clown was trying to juggle with his clothes.

                    Yann switched off the tv set and chose to go the cat in her basket.

                    “There you are!”

                    “Absolutely Sir”.

                    “Good very Good.”

                    Taking deep puffs of his pipe, he looked like a botle green velvet sofa, and that, combined with the crazy Baron of the nearby village, was the surest way of being left alone.

                    “The curious police want to know the details?” asked the Baron

                    “Not really … well now you make me think of it .. I reckon a bit.”

                    ahahahahaha!” the manic laughter was infectious. Strange bugs were dancing. little dark skinned performers, tickling like an army of ants.

                    Rather than laughing, he’d taken a moment to consider the options. Obviously he couldn’t refuse help as his business had recently been pregnant, giving birth to conjoined twins.

                    So to speak.

                    #2326

                    “That perhaps is your task” Virginia was whispering in Ann’s ear”…to find the relation between things that seem incompatible yet have a mysterious affinity, to absorb every experience that comes your way fearlessly and saturate it completely so that your poem is a whole, not a fragment; to re-think human life into poetry and so give us tragedy again and comedy by means of characters not spun out at length in the novelist’s way…”

                    “Did you catch that, Walter? ‘Not spun out in the traditional lengthy continous way’ she’s saying.”

                    “…but condensed and synthesized in the poet’s way—that is what we look to you to do now.”

                    “I didn’t know you channeled Virginia Woolf, Ann,” replied Walter. “Doesn’t mean she is necesarily right, though, notwithstanding.”

                    “I didn’t say she was ‘absolutely right’, Walter. I’m just pointing out what’s right for me.”

                    Walter popped another anchovy stuffed olive into his mouth.

                    #1229

                    “Is there a probable Becky still at the Serendib Facility ~ in-the-rural-mountainous-central-region-of Sri-Lanka-in-the-2030’s ~ Godfrey?” Elizabeth hurriedly included some background information in her question to appease her publisher, the erudite and enigmatic Godfrey Pig-Littleton.

                    Elizabeth was amused to note that erudite was almost an opposite to rude, but as Elizabeth could vouch for, neither was mutually exclusive, as Godfrey was clearly equally at ease exhibiting both ends of the rude spectrum. But I digress, she said to herself, turning her attention to Godfrey.

                    Elizabeth,” he said with a frown, “At your request I have had installed all manner of information retrieval systems, both objective and subjective, and yet you will insist on asking me questions instead of accessing the information yourself.” Godfrey shivered, attempting to wrap his velvet smoking jacket closer round his spare frame. The rich claret colour suited him perfectly, but it was clearly inadequate against the bitter cold. “Put another log on the fire, Liz, it’s colder than a witches tit in here today!”

                    “Don’t be rude, Godfrey” replied Elizabeth with a sniff. “I’m too cold to move, you do it. I’ve been absolutely frozen ever since Al sent us all to the South Pole. As a matter of fact, there’s been a cold snap all over the globe, which is why” she continued “I am trying to get us all out of there and back to Sri Lanka! We don’t want to start another Ice Age, Godfrey, this has to stop.”

                    “Ah, those were the days” smiled Pig Littleton. “I remember it well. It all started when Aunt Jeanne du Bappe was writing her book and wanted more ice for her G&T. Somehow it all escalated out of control, and before you could say Boo to a Goose, the whole place was covered in glaciers. A few million years later, when she’d slept off the effects of the gin, it was just beginning to thaw…”

                    “Dear old Jeanne, where is she now? I haven’t heard from her for…er, aeons.”

                    “Oh, she’s in fine fettle, got a job in The City you know. They say she’s quite something in The City these days, got quite a name for herself in Design & Communications.”

                    “Has she now! She’s done well for herself then, last I heard she was tiling kitchens in New Venice.”

                    Pig Littleton snorted. “Aunt Jeanne du Bappe, tiling in New Venice? Don’t be ridiculous, Liz, you’re getting your timelines in a twist. I expect that was one of her protegée’s, Aunt Jeanne’s been in The City for —well…”

                    Godfrey was uncharacteristically stumped.

                    Elizabeth wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to tease her old friend. “For how long?”

                    “For a very long Now”

                    “Well, I must say, that’s a fine thing isn’t it, to start an ice age and then bugger off to The City while everyone else freezes their tits off” said Elizabeth, blowing on her hands to warm them.

                    “You do realize, Liz dear, that every time you mention the word Cold, or Frozen, or Ice Age, you are increasing the potential of the Ice Age in the Probability Pool?”

                    Godfrey, the Probability Pool has frozen over. We’ll be skating right over the top of it instead of dipping into it, if we don’t start a thaw soon!”

                    #1171
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      “Mr Ryell?”
                      “Yes?”
                      “It’s such an honor to meet you, your carvings are absolutely gorgeous! I’ve bought one for my mother, she loves your creations so much!”

                      Sam H. Ryell, known as Sam to his friends, was waiting in his studio for Tina and Al to come pick him up for the Hallowe’en celebration. His exposition of vitrified watermelon and pumpkin carvings had attracted lots of folks from all corners of New Venice, quite unexpectedly.
                      He wasn’t too sure he deserved all the compliments, but if the lady’s mother loved his carvings, why muddy one’s pleasure.

                      Truth was, since he’d came back from the Floridisles, he’d felt completely uninspired to carve any longer. All the carvings that were on display were at least three months old. And the more recent of these were not actually of his doing,… not quite entirely.
                      He wanted to do something else, try other materials. No matter what they all said; he was fed up with vegetables.

                      “Perhaps I’ll try nuts next, what do you reckon, Foxam?”

                      The little nine-tailed fox yelped at him approvingly.

                      #1159

                      “You tempestuous fool” Becky cried and slapped Gayesh soundly across the face. “Don’t give me those unspoken looks!”

                      Gayesh sighed. “Ah, the infinite pleasure I had in mind is naught but an elusive dream.”

                      Elizabeth read the last two lines she’d been working on to her publisher, Godfrey Pig-Littleton.

                      Godfrey snorted. “Elizabeth, really! You jest, I hope.”

                      “Well, I was just trying to fit each of the four themes into one chapter, they all seemed to fit together so easily” Elizabeth replied. “Why not? Tempestuous, Elusive Dreams, Unspoken Looks, and Pleasure”

                      “You seemed to have fit them all into two sentences, never mind a chapter. And your characters sound like characters in a play.”

                      “Well they are characters in a play, Godfrey” replied Elizabeth.

                      “Ham actors, that’s what I meant. Anyway, Liz” Pig-Littleton said with a slightly mischievous grin, “What if Gayesh doesn’t want his face slapped by Becky?”

                      “What do you mean?”

                      “What if Becky doesn’t want to slap Gayesh?”

                      “Well, she will if I write it into the play, surely!” Elizabeth started to frown. She knew that once she invented her characters that they continued to exist in a reality of their own, being free to create their own realities in whatever probable dimension they found themselves in, but she had never really stopped to think about the ramifications of her continuing to write incidents into their lives.

                      “Maybe Becky has moved on from where you left her last time you wrote about her, in a completely different direction” Godfrey continued “And maybe she doesn’t want to play along with your theme word game. I mean really, is it fair to make her? Maybe she was having more fun doing whatever it was she was doing while you weren’t even thinking about what she should do. Quite rude really to interrupt her just so that you could do your word theme games. Bit of a cheek, I’d say.”

                      “Oh Godfrey, that’s easily explained” Elizabeth had remembered Probabilities, which was always a handy excuse in continuity disputes. “Another probable character will do what I write for them to do, there are probably hundreds of probable characters now, all going in different directions.”

                      “Is that wise? Really Elizabeth, that sounds outrageously irresponsible. Hundreds of probable characters running amok, and you have absolutely no idea what they’re all getting up to.”

                      “Well they’re not my responsibility Godfrey, for heavens sake!”

                      “Well if they’re not your responsibility, then who’s responsible for them?”

                      “Nobody is responsible for them!”

                      “Well that sounds like a recipe for chaos if you ask me” Godfrey said with a sniff. “You’ve unleashed hundreds of probable Becky’s into reality, not to mention Leo’s and Bea’s….”

                      “And Pig-Littleton’s” Elizabeth interjected under her breath.

                      “… and Sanso’s and Dory’s” Godfrey, who hadn’t heard Elizabeth, continued to reel off the characters names. “I mean how big do you think reality is? The rate you’re filling it up with probable characters there’ll be no space left!”

                      Elizabeth started to laugh. “Oh Godfrey, you’re a case. Ahahah! They don’t take up any space at all! Anyway, GodfreyElizabeth turned back to her notepad. “Listen to the latest chapter and tell me what you think:

                      “You tempestuous fool” Becky cried and slapped Gayesh soundly across the face. “Don’t give me those unspoken looks!”

                      Gayesh sighed. “Ah, the infinite pleasure I had in mind is naught but an elusive dream.”

                      Godfrey Pig-Littleton was impressed. “Elizabeth, how perfectly you incorporated the four themes into one brilliantly short chapter”

                      Elizabeth closed her notebook with a satisfied smile and yawned. Let them all do whatever the bloody hell they all want to, I’m off to bed. Plenty of probable characters available in the morning, waiting in the wings.

                      #1142

                      “I had an absolutely brilliant revelation last night” Bea was saying “about The Door. Buggered if I can remember what it was, though.”

                      “Well fat lot of use that is then, Bea” replied Leonora. “Any snapshots? Can you remember anything at all?”

                      “Well, there was a big pale green patch that floated down, then there was the floating part, oh and all the coloured light flashes…the French girl, the old fashioned scene…..and that weird change of focus, sort of off centre and a bit out of body, with the guy behind my right shoulder shouting HEY every time my focus started drifting back to normal. Oh, and the spiraling part, that was cool too!” Bea was starting to drift off into another world just thinking about it.

                      “Yes, well, now we know all about The Door” said Leonora sarcastically. “Very helpful, Bea, well done.”

                      “That’s it!” shouted Bea, leaning forward in excitement. “It’s about blocking energy!”

                      Leonora rolled her eyes.

                      “Holding tightly to energy, that’s what the closed door is. I can have an open door, and still be free to create who walks through it. We don’t lock the door here, do we, but we don’t get any intruders.”

                      “Maybe that’s because we’ve got nine dogs” said Leo. “And anyway, define intruder, in a ‘you create your own reality’ context. What’s the difference between an intruder, and a wonderful surprise?”

                      Bea was stumped for a moment. “That’s a good question, Leo, we’ll come back to that in a bit, but let me finish telling you this before I forget again.
                      I used to mentally open a big double door every time I did a meditation or went to sleep” Bea continued “and I havent opened that door in months. Well, sometimes it’s open, obviously, but I dont seem to throw the doors open wide anymore, you know, to other energies objectively, if you see what I mean.”

                      Bea was starting to ramble. “I used to invite any Tom, Dick and Harry to my meditations as long as they weren’t aliens.”

                      “What about the dogs in raincoats dimension?” asked Leo “What were they if they weren’t aliens?”

                      “Oh, they were alright, I liked them. Oh you know what I’m like about that other dimensional stuff, don’t get me started on that now. I think occasionally things happen and I get rattled, and shut the door for a bit.”

                      “Right, so let see if I’ve got this straight” said Leonora “There’s more than one layer to this Door thing because what you’ve just told me is what’s going on in your reality. The question is, what’s going on in mine?”

                      “Buggered if I know, LeoBea replied. “Fancy a cuppa?”

                      #1054
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        “I thought Tobi told not to open any door this month” Becky Tooh said to Tina, who was waiting patiently on the doorsteps.
                        JUST open the BLOODY door!” an exerted Tina finally managed to blurt out, remembering Mehmot Lung’s teachings

                        Tina had decided against all common sense to go to Becky Tooh (or BeckyT) and Sean’s house, not so much to happily gargle ga-bla-blu-blooes with the little crying and smelling babies, but to see if the clone’s health was really a concerning matter.
                        Al’s lack of attention on the subject had not very comforting. To say the truth, he’d been horrible as usual, and hadn’t told her he was going with Sam on a trip in the Floridisles.

                        Since New York’s flooding, and after a series of calamitous tropical cyclones, all was left of Florida was a thread of big islands, not as densely populated as it once was. However, a few of their friends were still living here, managing a dolphin ranch, and organizing on occasion some excursions with the dolphins in the lagoons.
                        Of course, she had remote-viewed it all, but it was horrible enough from Al to have assumed she would figure on her own.

                        But back to the subject, she couldn’t really decide if Beckitee’s state was alarming or not. Her lack of attention was surely running down the genes pool, she wasn’t expert enough to tell, but as far as her body was concerned, Beckitee looked absolutely perfect —though she still got hints of that little balding problem left, and so little (but noticeable, still) wrinkles on her arms, she thought.

                        Surely Beckitee was beautiful… Not sure she was as funny as Beckipoo though.

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