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  • #7951

    Disgruntled and bored with the fruitless wait for the other characters to reveal more of themselves, Amy started staying in her room all day reading books, glad that she’d had an urge to grab a bag full of used paperbacks from a chance encounter with a street vendor in Bogota.

    A strange book about peculiar children lingered in her mind, and mingled  somehow with the vestiges of the mental images of the writhing Uriah in the book Amy had read prior to this one.

    Aunt Amy?  a childs voice came unbidden to Amys ear.  Well, why not? Amy thought, Some peculiar children is what the story needs. Nephews and neices though, no actual children, god forbid. 

    “Aunt Amy!”  A gentle knocking sounded on the bedroom door.  “Are you in there, Aunt Amy?”

    “Is that at neice or nephew at my actual door? Already?” Amy cried in amazement.

    “Can I come in, please?” the little voice sounded close to tears.  Amy bounded off the bed to unloock leaving that right there the door to let the little instant ramen rellie in.

    The little human creature appeared to be ten years old or so, as near as Amy could tell, with a rather androgenous look: a grown out short haircut in a nondescript dark colour, thin gangling limbs robed in neutral shapelessness, and a pale pinched face.

    “I’ve never done this before, can you help me?” the child said.

    “Never been a story character before, eh?” Amy said kindly. “Do you know your name? Not to worry if you don’t!” she added quickly, seeing the child’s look of alarm. “No?  Well then you can choose what ever you like!”

    The child promptly burst into tears, and Amy wanted to kick herself for being such a tactless blundering fool.  God knows it wasn’t that easy to choose, even when you knew the choice was yours.

    Amy wanted to ask the child if it was a boy or a girl, but hesitated, and decided against it. I’ll have to give it a name though, I can’t keep calling it the child.

    “Would you mind very much if I called you Kit, for now?” asked Amy.

    “Thanks, Aunt Amy,” Kit said with a tear streaked smile. “Kit’s fine.”

    #7935

    “I don’t know, Amy. I thought it was Chico who was mysterious — subversively spitting at every opportunity.”

    “Well, Carob, maybe we could just agree they’re equally mysterious?” suggested Amy, turning her attention back to her search.

    Carob shrugged. “A woman in Greece is divorcing her husband because AI read her coffee cup and said he was cheating.”

    Amy paused and looked up. “For real?”

    “Yeah. I read it on Thiram’s news stream. He left it running on that weird device of his — over there, next to his half-drunk coffee. Not sure where he went, actually.”

    Amy gasped and clapped her hands. “Oh! Oh! Brainwave occurring — let’s get AI to read Thiram’s coffee cup!”

    Carob snorted. “Genius.”

    They raced over to the small folding table where Thiram’s cup sat. Carob held up her phone.

    “Okay. One quick pic. Hold it steady!”

    They excitedly uploaded the image to an AI analysis app Thiram had installed on his device.

    The app whirred for a few minutes:

    DEEP COFFEE CUP ANALYSIS COMPLETE

    Latent emotional residue: contemplative, fond of secrets.
    Foam pattern suggests hidden loyalty to an entity known only as “The Port.”
    Swirling suggests alignment with larger forces not currently visible.
    Presence of cardamom notes: entirely unaccounted for.
    Recommendation: approach carefully with gentle questioning.

    “Blimey, what does that mean?” asked Carob.

    Amy nodded solemnly, perhaps with just a touch of smugness. “He is a man of mystery. Didn’t I say it?”

    #7934

    Feeling somewhat disgruntled at revealing so much of her raw new floundering character and yet learning so very little about the mysterious Thiram, Amy undertook a little side project and attempted to find out who THira I think I’ll leave that typo there  was by the conventional means of a simple search.

    There were a number of exciting possibilities:

    Thiram, directeur de Gelec Energy, gère avec sérénité la “ruée” sur ses groupes électrogènes…

    Thiram, developer and PSC member of many OsGeo projects: OpenLayers; GeoExt….

    Thiram,  Director of the Systems Engineering Division at the Canadian Nuclear….

    Thiram, Actor: Origami. Known for Origami (2017), The Snip (2024) and Catharsis (2011).

    Thiram, Managing Director, Kidou, tel. +33 & 73 %9 9$ 41, e-mail e.lmroine @ cosmoledo. comachamelean

    So many likely possibilities, but what was the connection to port?

    #7933

    Where did that come from? Amy wondered. The random memories, if that’s what they were, were coming more frequently.  Suddenly, out of nowhere and with no discernable correlation to the present moment in the life of the newly hatched character, a sudden mirage in her minds eye appeared, enticing and utterly fascinating.

    I’m just a story character with no back story, where are these memories coming from?

    “You should see some of the memories I’m starting to see, and I’m even less developed as a character than you are,” Chico said, manfully resisting the urge to spit. He didn’t want to be a spitting character, not all the time, anyway.

    Amy was startled. I didn’t say that out loud. Did I say it out loud?

    “Confusing at times, isn’t it?” Chico said kindly.

    #7932

    Distracted by an ants nest of unusual dimensions and Carob’s attention being thus diverted allowed Amy a moment of reflection.

    #7931

    Carob wrinkled her nose in distaste and languidly remarked, “Amy, that goaty odour seems to be emanating from your clothing. Does it perchance require laundering?”

    Chico laughed loudly, spitting equally audibly. “Hi,” he said, “The name’s Chico,” emerging from behind the tulip tree.

    Carob winced at the spitting, and Amy writhed a little at being humiliated in front of the man. They both ignored him, and he regretted not staying hidden.

    “I’ve just pegged out two loads of washing, for your information, not that it will dry in this rain,” Amy said, quickly tying her hair back in annoyance. Does this move the story forward? she wondered. Why do I have a smelly character anyway? I’m sweaty, goaty and insecure, how did it happen?

    “Never mind that anyway, have you seen what’s on todays news?” Carob asked, feeling sorry for making Amy uncomfortable.

    “I have,” remarked Chico, with a hopeful expression, but the women ignored him.

    #7925
    Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
    Participant

      Chico Ray

       

      Chico Ray

      Directly Stated Visual and Behavioral Details:

      • Introduces himself casually: “Name’s Chico,” with no clear past, suggesting a self-aware or recently-written character.

      • Chews betel leaves, staining his teeth red, which gives him a slightly unsettling or feral appearance.

      • Spits on the floor, even in a freshly cleaned café—suggesting poor manners, or possibly defiance.

      • Appears from behind a trumpet tree, implying he lurks or emerges unpredictably.

      • Fabricates plausible-sounding geo-political nonsense (e.g., the coffee restrictions in Rwanda), then second-guesses whether it was fiction or memory.

      Inferred Traits:

      • A sharp smile made more vivid by betel staining.

      • Likely wears earth-toned clothes, possibly tropical—evoking Southeast Asian or Central American flavors.

      • Comes off as a blend of rogue mystic and unreliable narrator, leaning toward surreal trickster.

      • Psychological ambiguity—he doubts his own origins, possibly a hallucination, dream being, or quantum hitchhiker.

      What Remains Unclear:

      • Precise age or background.

      • His affiliations or loyalties—he doesn’t seem clearly aligned with the Bandits or Lucid Dreamers, but hovers provocatively at the edges.

      #7923
      Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
      Participant

        Amy & Carob

        Amy Kawanhouse

        Directly Stated Visual Traits:

        • Hair: Long, light brown

        • Eyes: Hazel, often sweaty or affected by heat/rain

        • Clothing: Old grey sweatshirt with pushed-up sleeves

        • Body: Short and thin, with shapely legs in denim

        • Style impression: Understated and practical, slightly tomboyish, no-frills but with a hint of self-aware physicality

        Inferred From Behavior:

        • Functional but stylish in a low-maintenance way.

        • Comfortable with being dirty or goat-adjacent.

        • Probably ties her hair back when annoyed.


        Carob Latte

        Directly Stated Visual Traits:

        • Height: Tall (Amy refers to her as “looming”)

        • Hair: Frizzled—possibly curly or electrified, chaotic in texture

        • General Look: Disheveled but composed; possibly wears layered or unusual clothing (fitting her dreamy reversal quirks)

        Inferred From Behavior:

        • Movements are languid or deliberately unhurried.

        • Likely wears things with big pockets or flowing elements—goat-compatible.

        • There’s an aesthetic at play: eccentric wilderness mystic or mad cartographer.

        #7921
        Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
        Participant

          Key Themes and Narrative Elements

          Metafiction & Self-Reference: Characters frequently comment on their own construction, roles, and how being written (or observed) defines their reality. Amy especially embodies this.

          Lucid Dreaming & Dream Logic: The boundary between reality and dream is porous. Lucid Dreamers are parachuting onto plantations, and Carob dreams in reverse. Lucid Dreamers are adverse to Coffee Plantations as they keep the World awake.

          Coffee as Sacred Commodity: The coffee plantation is central to the story’s stakes. It’s under threat from climate (rain), AI malfunctions, and rogue dreamers. This plays comically on global commodity anxiety.

          Technology Satire & AI Sentience: Emotional AI, “Silly Intelligence” devices, and exasperation with modern tech hint at mild technophobia or skepticism. All fueled by hot caffeinated piece of news.

          Fictionality vs. Reality: Juan and Dolores embody this—grappling with what it means to be real. Dolores vanishes when no one looks—existence contingent on observation.

          Rain & Weather as Mood Symbol: The rain is persistent—setting a tone of gentle absurdity and tension, while also providing plot catalyst.

          #7920
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            Key Characters (with brief descriptions)

            Amy Kawanhouse – Self-aware new character with metatextual commentary. Witty, possibly insecure, reflective; has a goat named Fanella and possibly another, Finnley, for emergencies. Often the first to point out logical inconsistencies or existential quirks.

            Carob Latte – Tall, dry-humored, and slightly chaotic. Fond of coffee-related wordplay and appears to enjoy needling Amy. Described as having “frizzled” hair and reverse-lucid dreams.

            Thiram Izu – The practical one, technologically inclined but confused by dreams. Tends to get frustrated with the group’s lack of coordination. Has a history of tension with Amy, and a tendency to “zone out.”

            Chico Ray – Mysterious newcomer. May have appeared out of nowhere. Unclear loyalties. Possibly former friend or frenemy of the group, annoyed by past incidents.

            Juan & Dolores Valdez – Fictional coffee icons reluctantly acknowledging their existence within a meta-reality. Dolores isn’t ready to be real, and Juan’s fine with playing the part when needed.

            Godric – Swedish barista-channeler. Hints at deeper magical realism; references Draugaskalds (ghost-singers) and senses strange presences.

            Ricardo – Appears later. Described in detail by Amy (linen suit, Panama hat), acts as a foil in a discussion about maps and coffee geography. Undercover for a mission with Miss Bossy.

            The Padre – Could be a father or a Father. Offstage, but influential. Concerned about rain ruining crops. A source of exposition and concern.

            Fanella – Amy’s cream goat, serves as comic relief and visual anchor.
            Finnley, the unpredictable goat, is reserved for “life or death situations.”

            #7915

            Amy supposed everyone was blaming her, for what she couldn’t say, but they had clearly been avoiding her. There was plenty of coffee here anyway, even if the rest of the world was suffering. Don’t even think it, she told herself sternly. We don’t want people flocking here in droves once they realise.

            So, do I want people or not? she asked herself. One minute I’m wondering where everyone is, and then next minute I’m wanting everyone to stay away.

            “You on the spectrum too, are you?” asked Carob, reading her mind.  “It’s ok,” she added, seeing the look of alarm cross Amy’s face, “Your secret’s safe with me. I mean about being on the spectrum. But be careful, they’re rounding people like us up and sending them to a correctional facility.  We’re quite lucky to be here, out of the way.”

            “Have you been avoiding me?” Amy asked, which was more immediately concerning than the concentration camps.  “Because I’ve been here all alone for ages, nothing to do but read my book,  draw in my sketch pad, and work on my needlepoint cushion covers. And where are the others? And don’t read my mind, it’s so rude.”

            “Needlepoint cushion covers? Are you serious?” Carob was avoiding the questions, but was genuinely curious about the cushion covers.

            Amy blushed.  “No, I made that up. In fact, I don’t know what made me say that. I haven’t started any sketching either, but I have thought about starting sketching. And I’ve been reading. It’s an old Liz Tattler; the old ones were the best. Real old school Lizzie Tattie, if you know what I mean. Risque romps with potting sheds and stuff.  None of that ghastly sci fi she started writing recently.”

            “Which one?” Carob asked, and laughed when Amy held it up.  “I read that years ago, T’Eggy Gets a Good Rogering, can I borrow it after you? God knows we could all do with a laugh.”

            “How do you know the others need a good laugh?” Amy asked, peering at Carob with an attentive squint in order to catch any clues. “You’ve seen then, then?”

            Carob smiled sadly and replied, “Only by remote viewing them.”

            Amy asked where they had been and what they were doing when they were viewed remotely. Has she been remote viewing me? What if they ask her if she’s been remote viewing me, and she tells them?  “Oh never mind,” Amy said quickly, “No need to answer that.”

            Carob snorted, and what a strangely welcome sound it was. “I didn’t really remote view them, I made  that up.  It never works if I try to spy on people. Fat lot of good it is really, it never works when I really really need to see  something. Or maybe it works, but I never believe it properly until later when I find out it was right.”

            “Yeah,” Amy said, “It’s fun though, I haven’t done it in ages.”

            “You should, it would give you something to do when everyone’s avoiding you.”

            #7910

            “Well, I’ll give you a point for that, Thiram,” Amy said, wondering, not for the first time, about his unusual name. Was it a play on the word theorem? I must ask him about it.  “But if Florida doesn’t exist anymore, which I am willing to admit it does not, then what is it doing on that map?”

            “What was the population of Florida before it was submerged? Twenty four million or so?” asked Chico, appearing from behind a trumpet tree. “That’s 24 million less people drinking coffee, anyway, 144 million cups saved per day (assuming they drank 6 cups per day), which is a whopping 54.5 billion cups a year.”

            “Chico! How long have you been hiding behind that trumpet tree?” asked Amy, but Chico ignored her.  Nettled, Amy continued, “That would be true if all the people in Florida were submerged along with the land, but most of them were resettled in Alabama.  There was plenty of room in Alabama, because the population of Alabama was relocated.”

            “Yes but the people of Alabama were relocated to a holding camp in Rwanda, and they’re not allowed any coffee,” replied Chico crossly, making it up on the spot.

            “Yeah I heard about that,” said Carob, which made Chico wonder if he had actually made it up on the spot, or perhaps he’d heard it somewhere too.

            “I’m going back behind the trumpet tree,” announced Chico, flouncing off in high dudgeon.

            “Now look what you’ve done!” exclaimed Carob.

            “Why is it always my fault?” Amy was exasperated.

            “Maybe because it usually is,” Carob replied, “But not to worry, at least we know where to find Chico now.”

            #7908

            “Look, don’t get upset, ok?” Amy felt she had to nip this in the bud.  “There’s something glaringly wrong with the map.  I mean, yes, it does make a nice picture. A very nice picture,” she added, and then stopped.  Does it really matter? she asked herself. Am I always causing trouble?

            Amy sighed. Would life be easier for everyone if she stopped pointing things out and just went along with things?  Was there any stopping it anyway? It’s like a runaway train.

            “You were saying?” Ricardo asked.

            “Pray, continue,” added Carob with a mischeivous gleam in her eye.  She knew where this was leading.

            “Who is he?” Amy whispered to Carob. “Well never mind that now, you can tell me later.”

            Amy cleared her throat and faced Ricardo (noting that he was dark complexioned and and of medium height and wiry build, dressed  in a crumpled off white linen suit and a battered Panama hat, and likely to be of Latino heritage)  noticing out of the corner of her eye a smirk on Thiram’s face who was leaning against a tree with his arms folded, looking as if he might start whistling Yankee Doodle any moment.

            “According to your map, my good man, nice map that it is, in fact it’s so nice one could make a flag out of it, the colours are great and….”   Amy realised she was waffling.  She cleared her throat and braced her shoulders, glaring at Carob over her shoulder who had started to titter.

            Speak your mind even if your voice shakes, and keep the waffling to a minimum.

            “My dear Ricardo,” Amy began again, pushing her long light brown hair out of her sweaty hazel eyes, and pushing the sleeves of her old grey sweatshirt up over her elbows and glancing down at her short thin but shapely denim clad legs. “My dear man, as you can see I’m a slightly underweight middle aged woman eminently capable of trudging up and down coffee growing mountains, with a particular flair for maps, and this map of yours begs a few questions.”

            “Coffee beans don’t grow in Florida,” Carob interjected, in an attempt to move the discourse along.

            “Nor in Morocco,” added Amy quickly, shooting a grateful glance at Carob.

            #7904

            “What were you saying already?” Thiram asked “I must have zoned out, it happens at times.” He chuckled looking embarrassed. “Not to worry.”

            As the silence settled, Thiram started to blink vigorously to get things back into focus —a trick he’d seen in the Lucid Dreamer 101 manual for beginners. You could never be too sure if this was all a dream. And if it was, then you’d better pay attention to your thoughts in case they’d attract trouble – generally your thoughts were the trouble-makers, but in some cases, also other Lucid Dreamers were.

            Here and now, trouble wasn’t coming, to the contrary. It was all unusually foggy.

            “Well, by the look of it, Amy is not biting into the whole father drama, and prefers to have a self-induced personality crisis…” Carob shrugged. “We can all clearly see what she looks like, obviously. Whether she likes it or not, and I won’t comment further despite how tempting it is.”

            “You’re one to speak.” Amy replied. “Should I give you some drama? Would certainly make things more interesting.”

            Thiram had a thought he needed to share “And I just remember that Chico isn’t probably coming – he still wasn’t over our last fight with Amy bossying and messing the team’s plans because she can’t keep up with modern tech, had to dig a hole, or overcome a ratmaggeddon; something he’d said that had seemed quite final at the time: ‘I’d rather be turned into a donkey than follow you guys around.’ I wouldn’t count on him showing up just yet.”

            “Me? bossying?” Amy did feel enticed to catch that bait this time, and like a familiar trope see it reel out, or like a burning match in front of a dry hay bale, she could almost see the old patterns of getting incensed, and were it would lead.

            “Can we at least agree on a few things about the where, what, why, or shall we all play this one by ear?”

            “Obviously we know. But all the observing essences, do they?” Carob was doing a great impersonation of Chico.

            #7902

            To Whom It May Concern

             

            I am the new character called Amy, and my physical characteristics, which once bestowed are largely irreversible, are in the hands of impetuous maniacs. In the unseemly headlong rush, dangers abound. 

            Let it be known that I the character called Amy, given the opportunity to choose, hereby select a height considerably less imposing than Carob.

            #7900

            Amy excused herself and went off to find a lavatory.  She didn’t actually need to go, after all she had only just popped into existence and hadn’t been offered a drink yet. But she did want to find a mirror to see what basic character characteristics she had had bestowed upon her when the story character gods had been assigning new players. She had to act fast too, before some other new story character might see her and describe her to the readers before she had even seen her self herself.

            Amy was quite glad to not have to learn new pronouns at this juncture.

            #7898

            “Sorry I’m late,” said Carob as she crouched down to fuss over Fanella. “I have excuses, but they’re not interesting. I’m feeling a little underdeveloped as a character, so I’m not sure what to say yet.”

            “That’s okay,” said Amy. “Just remember … if you don’t tell us who you are early on…” She squinted and glanced around suspiciously. “Others will create you.”

            “I’d rather just slowly percolate.” Carob screwed up her face. “Get it? Percolate?”

            She stood up and slapped a hand to her head as Amy rolled her eyes. “Sorry … ” She patted her head curiously. “Oh wait—do I have curls?”

            “I’d say more like frizzes than curls,” answered Amy.

            Thiram nodded. “Totally frizzled.”

            “Cool … must be the damp weather,” said Carob. She brushed a twig from her coat. The coat was blue-green and only reached her thighs. Many things were too small when you were six foot two.

            “Oh—and I’ve been lucid dreaming in reverse,” she added. “Last night I watched myself un-make and un-drink a cup of coffee.” She gave a quick snort-laugh. “Weirdo”.

            “Was it raining in the dream?” asked Thiram.

            Carob frowned. “Probably… You know how in scary movies they always leave the curtains open, like they want the bad guys to see in? It felt like that.” She shuddered and then smiled brightly. “Anyway, just a dream. Also, I bumped into your father, Amy. He said to tell you: Remember what happened last time.”

            She regarded Amy intently. “What did happen last time?”

            “He worries too much,” said Amy, waving a hand dismissively. “Also, I didn’t even write that in, so how should I know?” She looked out toward the trees. “Where’s Chico?”

            #7897

            To Whom It May Concern

            I know you’re writing stories and making things up about me, and I intend to set the record straight before my character goes horribly awry. I am a character appeared from nowhere, from a reckless and inebriated momentary random insistence on a new plaything, and new toy, and new story.  But let me tell you this: I am born and I exist and this is who I am.

            I find my name is Amy; it will do.  I neither find an affinity to it, nor an objection. It sounds English, and thus, familiar. I feel English, and so I am. I am a character, not a writer, but I exist; I am Amy.

            #7896

            “Juan, was it wise to speak to that man?” Dolores asked her husband.  “The cat’s out of the bag now, when Chico tells his friends…”

            “Trust me, Dolores,” Juan Valdez implored, “What else can we do? We need their help.”

            “But you’ve been fictional for so long, Juan. Nobody knew you were real. Until now.”

            “You worry too much! It’s hardly going to make headlines on Focks News, is it, and even if it did, nobody believes anything anymore.  We can just spread a rumour that it was made up by one of those artifical story things.”

            “But he took a photo of you!”

            Dolores,” Juan said with exaggerated patience, “Nobody believes photos any more either. I’m telling you, they make fakes these days and nobody can tell.  Trust me,” he repeated, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

            “So we’ll still be fictional, Juan?” Dolores asked in an uncertain tone. “Because I’m not ready to be a real character yet, it seems so….so time consuming, to be real every day, all day… doing all those things every day that real people do…”

            “No, no, not at all!  You only have to play the part when someone’s looking!”

            “I hope you’re right. Too many things changing all at once, if you ask me.” And with that Dolores vanished, as nobody was looking at her.

            #7893

            “Where are they again?” Thiram was straining as he waited for his friends, or rather colleagues.

            “Typical of them to get us all excited, and then bailing out to some mundane excuses.”

            He started to pace around the shed where they were supposed to meet. He wasn’t clear about all the details, Amy, or Carob would have them. Chico would be here for the ride, but the master plan this time was for the girls to come up with.

            What was happening at the plantation? Something unusual for sure; the Lucid Luddite Dreamers and their Silly Intelligence devices were always looking to disrupt the flows of coffee of the remaining parts where they still grew. That was why their mission was so important. Or so he was told.

            “Bugger… they could at least answer their damn phones… AI might well be everywhere, but you can’t just be all cavemen about it.”

            A rush of ruffled dried leaves and a happy bleating caught his attention at the moment he was about to leave. A panting Amy arrived, with her cream goat “Fanella” in tow —the bleating was from her, obviously. She didn’t take “Finnley”, the black one, she was too unpredictable; Amy would only keep her around for life or death situations that required a fair deal of rude practicality, and a good horn’s ramming.

            “Sorry, sorry!” Amy blurted out in hushed tones. “I couldn’t get away from the Padre. He’s too worried about stuff…”

            Thiram shrugged “at least there’s one. And what about the others?”

            “Oh, what? I’m not the last to arrive? That’s new.”

            Thiram rolled his eyes and gave a twig with fresh leaves to Fanella to eat.

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