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In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
Through her tears Sue Flay caught a glimpse of the sun flashing on the shiny foil purple party hooter lying at her feet. Curiosity halted the sobs that were vibrating the wooden decking under the cafe terraces, much to the relief of several dozen Italian tourists, who were busily mopping up the coffee that had sloshed over their cups and onto their buns.
Who sent me this purple party hooter? Sue asked, blowing her nose on Fray Mentos’ white loincloth, providing the Italian tourists with an eyeful of Fray’s crown jewels which were momentarily exposed to the salty marina air.
In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
“Guess it was about bloody time I got back here” Franlise said, her feather duster firmly clutched in her left hand.
The matronly black woman started dusting vigourously, sending myriads of half-written papers flying in the air.
“My draaafts!” Elizabeth shriek was lost in the gusts of winds.“Bugger, bugger, bugger” the impromptu cleaning lady started to enunciate in a most perfect Queen’s English. “Nothing like some good buggery bugger to start the day and clear the lungs. And many a little makes a damn buggery mickle, isn’t that right darling?”. She said, striking a pilates pose in between the cleaning.
Elizabeth stood aghast, not knowing what to say but a meek “Didn’t I fire you?” to which Franlise knew better than to answer with nought but a smile.
Drawing a sharp letter opener from behind her back, she nimbly leaned toward Elizabeth, with all her white teeth glowing in the dark apartment where even the aspidistras had long gone dried up and wrinkled, their pots now no more than mere ashtrays.“Well, now, what shall we do about all that spider cobwebs you’ve got yourself wrapped in…”
In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
“It’s mother earth crying because humans are destroying the planet” ventured Kerry. “And before you ask, I don’t know how I got here. I was doing the remote view practice, and I got a direct hit, it was a picture of a kraken. Then I heard this rumbling noise in my head, and well, here I am…”
“Well you’re all wrong” said the guy with the blonde hair. “It’s the Galactic Federation of Light, and they’ve come to arrest all the criminals that are preventing the shift.”
Flinella slipped behind Eliza, surruptitiously looking to see where she could hide. What did he mean by criminals?
“What do you mean by criminals, my good man?” asked Eliza, sensing Flinella’s alarm.
“He means anarchists and protesters” said the politician.
“No he doesn’t, he means big pharma” interjected Kerry.
“Where the bloody hell did all these people come from?” Flinella looked around wildly, and then “Oh now really this is too much!”
The grey squishy guy just laughed, his thin shoulders jumping up and down with mirth.
In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
What a kraken was doing in Adryattic was anyones guess. Nobody really knew why there were penguins on September 6th bridge in Cairo, either. True, there had been snow in Alexandria that winter, and in Gaza, and the northern lights had been seen as far south as Nigeria, but it didn’t explain the presence of the kraken or the penguins.
In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
Well trained by the dictates of his religion, Luigi was unaccustomed to listening to his intuition (it was the work of the devil and the weakness of his sinful self, he believed), but as he mopped up the spilled coffee, he had an impulse so strong that he was unable to control it, and picked the book up and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He checked his watch ~ what! it was 7:57 already! Where had the time gone? Five minutes later he emerged into the rosy glow of the early morning sunshine, making his way accross the square to the cafe where he customarily had coffee after his night shift at the Library. The occupants of the tents in the square were rustling about inside the tents, some of the early risers were sitting on folding chairs brewing up coffee on primus camping stoves. As Petronella poked her tousled head out of her tent, dreams of banana puddings in polystyrene cups still in her head, an old man shuffled past. A flock of pigeons swooped down at that moment, causing the old man to lurch. A book slid to the ground from under his jacket but he didn’t notice as he carried on accross the square. Petronella picked the book up, and retreated back into her tent.
In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
His immediate impulse propelled him to lunge forth and discover the contents of the book that was strewn purposefully on the floor of aisle 57, but he remembered the dire foreboding of the cardinal Timoteus: “Do not read any of these books, not so much as even possess the desire to peer into the covers, on pain of your own death.”
He shook his head and shuffled back towards his monitor screen, but his arthritic hand was convulsing so violently, at the events he witnessed, that the black coffee was jumping and spilling out of the polystyrene cup as he creaked to the monitor. He eventually reached the solace of the table, and in a moment of exhaustion heaved himself upon the small wooden chair, taking a deep breath. 4:45- 4:45?? How was this possible? Had all of the events transpired in less than a minute? The beams of light, the book falling, his slow shuffling towards his desk- one minute?
He rubbed his eyes, and stood up to refill his cup of coffee. As he walked, he couldn’t help but ponder the contents of the open book, and why the cardinal forbade him- and anyone else- from touching the book without permission. As he was filling his cup with the blackest of coffee, another beam of light- of energetic light- flashed right before him, leaving him temporarily blinded. He dropped the cup, staggered across the room and knelt on the ground. When he regained sight, he was smack in front of the open book, and the words were as clear as daylight: CANARIA.In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
There was something afoot in amongst the silent racks of books, something Luigi couldn’t quite put his finger on. Frowning, he peered at the monitor screens ~ had he imagined that flash of light that caught his eye? And the occasional snatches of babbling conversations, had he imagined those too? He shook his head and shambled off to the coffee machine, checking his watch. 4:44, only a little over three hours to go. As he reached for a polystyrene cup, something brushed past him, making what little hair he had left stand on end. He swung round, knocking the pile of cups onto the floor, but there was nothing to be seen. He bent down to pick them up, momentarily forgetting his creaky arthritic joints, and heard a dull thud followed by muffled giggles. Luigi froze, and then slowly turned in the direction of the sounds. A book was lying open on the floor in aisle 57.
In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
“Yet another splendid piece of synchronicity!” The Leprechaun praised himself, while eyeing the delicious-looking chocolate cake with three layers of vanilla cream that simply willed itself into different flavours before his delighted, excited taste buds. Just as he was about to take his first bite into the scrumptious cake, a multi-coloured portal opened before his very eyes. Unsurprisingly, the host of elves, each in a different physical manifestation, jumped out of the portal and dusted the stardust off their garments.
“Mr Leprechaun,” one elf began. He took the form of a Spanish gentleman by the name of Raul Iniesta. “Raul” (as he will be called for the time being until he shifts shape) had long, black hair that he had no intention of bounding, instead allowing its blackness to flow freely upon his neck and over his shoulders like a nightly waterfall of moonlight and starry gazes. He had an almond-shaped face, and his skin was gently golden-brown, as if his physical birth took place on a beach at sunset. His eyes were sea-blue, glimmering gently in the luminescence of his own aura. He spoke in a gentle voice that was mightily influenced by a touch of spanish mixed with french accents.
“I see you have taken the form of a Leprechaun-” Raul stepped closer to observe the essence’s current physical. “How quaint.”
The Leprechaun dryly stared at Raul. “I don’t see anything wrong with my physical form Mr INIESTA,” he replied, placing emphatic strain on ‘Iniesta’. “Would it have made any difference if I were a flower?”
“If you were a flower you’d fit perfectly with my body of hair!” Raul exclaimed. The Tw’Elves laughed heartily at the joke, and an iridescent beam of energy simultaneously rose from their esoteric beings, giving forth a ray of happiness, albeit for a short while, towards the inhabitants of the sleeping dimension.In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves
A rustic, bent-bladed sword lies lazily upon my lap, its strap dancing with it, enticing it to be sheathed. I am gingerly distracted from my thoughts by this interesting tussle between master and holder, and it reminds me of a poem I once read, of a book and a pen sharing secrets, keeping secrets from their own wielder; how two objects that synchronise with each other to serve a bloody, yet noble purpose is a very… quaint concept to say the least.
Nevertheless, my thoughts return to the current scenery, of a bloody ground, the blood of twelve elves glistening in the late African afternoon sun- what are elves doing here? I rise quite slowly, and proceed to walk towards the slumped body of one of the elves. His head was slightly severed, and his white hair was blackened by dried blood that sprayed from his one wound. I kneel down, and silently recount the tale of these twelve elves, and how they came about to fall upon my assassin’s blade…In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
feeling alone blithe keep help fairy hands
In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
“I had no idea we had so many characters, Godfrey” remarked Elizabeth, rubbing her eyes. She was just about to say “and who the devil is Mc Tart” when the door burst open by none other than Mc Tart. She was wearing a black dress teamed with a white pith helmet…
“No, I’m not” said Mc Tart. “This Mc Tart is not so black and white, my friend.” The character Mc Tart stood just inside the door looking defiant.
“Wait a minute, whoa, you’re my character, Mc Tart, if I say you’re wearing a black dress and a white pith helmet, then that’s what you’re wearing!” Elizabeth had no intention of being dictated to by one of her own characters.
“Black dress, white pith helmet, black and white, bore ~ ring” yawned Mc Tart. “We’re bored! What happened to your imagination? Who is Mc Tart anyway? Do you know?”
Elizabeth shook her head, tight lipped and uncharacteristically silent.
Mc Tart was wearing a floor length bright yellow garment which had an inbuilt feature of breeze fluttering about the scalloped layered hem, so that indoors or out, regardless of weather or air currents, the fluttering hem effect was maintained.
{from Elizabeth’s Mote Pad}
In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
Racy Mc Tartshall had been absent for so long that it was hardly any wonder that nobody remembered her, despite the importance of her mission which had long since been forgotten. Mc Tart, as she was affectionately known (or would have been if anyone had remembered her) was a tartist of the highest calibre, consistently producing hugh class tart (which was of course three grades higher than high, and 2 grades higher than hagh, and so forth). Mc Tart had been investigating Nosebook, sniffing out potential distortions, claritortions, connectortions and myriad other contortions, for the distortium, claritortium, connectortium and contortium, respectively ~ focusing mainly on the connectortium, naturally enough.
While researching something or other that was no doubt relevant at the time but had long been forgotten, Mc Tart met Alfred in the Library. ““Aha! Alfred in the Library with a Book, was it!” she exclamined. “I knew I’d find a clue here”. “It wasn’t me!” he retorted, aghast. “It was Albert in the Chapless Pants club with a Rolling Pin!” Mc Tart, feigning an all knowing expression, replied “Ahhhh” and made a mental note to investigate.
Mental notes, known as m’otes for short, floated like wisps in the air currents and occasionally sparkled in the sunbeams, although more often than not, they clumped together under the bed in bunny shapes, slowly dying of boredom. Thankfully the sheer pointlessness of mental notes ~ m’otes ~ made not a whit of difference in the grand scheme of the connectortium investigation because of the abundant nature of Fluce’s ~ (fucking lucky chance encounters), notwithstanding the heated debates continuing in the Distortium about the precise nature of Fluce’s and their relationship to M’Otes ~ or not, depending on the point one wished to make at any particular time.
And so it was by Fluce that Mc Tart met Blithe, Heck and Walty in “le Tunnel” one dreary grey Noremember afternoon. There was nothing to suggest, on first inspection, any thing of interest for the Connectortium mission, but Mc Tart was not discouraged. “Many a moth maketh maths marbles” she reminded herself as she perused the nenu (which, the reader will deduce, is a hugher class of menu).
[link: high class]
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
(#235)
Well I think for you, said a green creature, to Roselyn. The creature had been there as some sort of exotic plant. I am Frowdup an unusual little Fairy Princess, rather antisocial, sadly.
Frowdup cleared his significant sort of way. I will try sad succinct and precise possible, he said.
Fairy Princess initiate a witch to magical design the cave with sand. You fly.The creature had stopped Frowdup.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
While in the other Eightic Dimension, Lilac —catching a new weebit of inspiration— suddenly went off for a good old clue-hunt and some air-fishing of these whoohoo sparkling flying goldfishes (her morning cup of herbal coffree smelt like concrete today) — meanwhile, in the Peasland Dimension, the aliens had indeed departed. Not without leaving behind a sweet smell of peer compote that nobody knew for sure whether or not it should be considered slightly ominous.
As it should, the Saucerers who had been consulted on that matter had nothing better to do but further enhance the confusion. They all started to dread the arrival of a new species… Strawberries aliens.In reply to: Strings of Nines
Arona was starting to get cold in the pinkini. She wondered how the lady with the green hair managed to keep warm with so little (not to say as much as nothing) on her skin.
She probably had some fuel more lasting than just Nhum.
Upon seeing that (not the nakie lady, Flove forbid, but the freezing Arona and the night falling down), chivalrous Vinny and Bucky went to gather some bones and fire to spend the night around a nice bonefire. Just what she needed for a keetle of hot tea.Note from the observing Sue Maffey, who started quickly to get high and delirious on Nhum tea in chippendale cups and mumbled to herself and patient Minky-in-crutches in between a few hiccups: “you knew that a bonfire is actually a fire made of bones, originally said of fires in which the bones of slaughtered animals were burned, allegedly a Gaengelic tradition of the slaughter season in autumn (Samhain, which was soon to come).”
She almost gasped wondering where their camelephants had suddenly gone and why that purple reckless dragon suddenly looked satiated.By now, almost everyone else who was there, including (but not only) Mandrake, Yickesy, Winky-nakie-greenie-Messmeerah-with-her-carved-jamón and Mrs Janet had thought the same at least once. That and wondering whether they’d ever get to see that famed Jiborium.
So much for cheap package tours.In reply to: Strings of Nines
“Hem, well…” Vincentius said after a moment, not wanting to upset Arona too much “I just though you’d blend in more stealthily with that bikini, look at that naked green fairy over there, she’s far more outrageous…”
“What, darling?” Arona couldn’t make sense of what Vincentius was saying; “are you suggesting this unfit piece of garment is not a figment of my imagination? And pray tell, how could I’ve even got myself into that without noticing?”
“I’m afraid you’re unmistakably regaining your acute sense of analysis and continuity honey. As far as the clothes change is concerned, be reassured, I’ve been trained to do many things in my life, such as extracting a wisdom horn off a charging rhinope in pain, so when it comes to matters of bikini, I could have done it twice without even looking.”
Needless to say, Arona was aghast at such blunt honesty.In reply to: Strings of Nines
“No good pulling that horrid face at me,” said Arona sternly. “The cheap copy of Nhum I bought in the market appears to have numbed my brain. Not to mention the strange hallucinations of a frog in an electric wheelchair I have been getting recently. “
In reply to: Strings of Nines
Shelly Dwelling, horrifed ~ naturally enough ~ at the mention of butter and parsley, was immensely relieved to see Frobisher the frog gliding along in his electric wheelchair. “Hop on, Shelly!” he whispered urgently “My wheelchair is super fast, I’ll get you out of this pickle in a jiffy!”
“Frobisher! Oh my godfrogs, it’s good to see you! What timing! But I can’t hop!”
“Well neither can I now, without my legs” he replied, “But you can climb up my wheel, can’t you?”
“Well ok, but don’t move, I’m on my way, this may take a while…”
“Hurry, Shelly! Hurry up! I can smell butter melting, there’s no time to lose!”
Unfortunately for Shelly who was a quarter of the way up the left wheel, Frobisher engaged his electric motor and sped off into the long grass. It would have been far too risky to wait.
“Hang on, Shelly! This will be the ride of your life!” he called, as Shelly spun round the giant Ferris Wheel.
“I suppose this is why your name is Frobisher Ferris” she replied through gritted teeth.
In reply to: Strings of Nines
“Oh silly me” Winky started to object (again), “I’m all nakie (and boobies), with a snail on me.”
Then, she bit her lips, “I didn’t even know I had that much shyness and prudishness in me, lordy. I used to be much more daring.”She took a big inspiration, and channeling her inner fairy essence, started to shout out “champagne, champagne for everyone!”, casting an odd look at poor Shelly Dwelling with a eye moistened by sudden desire for some butter parsley garlic sauce to accompany the impromptu buffet she clapped into manifestation, with bowler hats included for all the guests.
In reply to: Strings of Nines
Messmeerah started to carve the name of all the funny bunch on a huge jamón from the fifth leg (the meatiest) of a jelly boar of the steppes, starting with her own —name, not leg— as a reminder of the good time they had all together. She was thinking as well that it would taste lovely with some of these Jiborium’s truffles.
She was sad to had to let them go, but frankly her old routines were starting to get too scrambled. For one, she didn’t quite remember if Minky was still a redhair rat in her hair (now she thought of it, breeding tiny shrews in her attic didn’t really work so well), or was now back in his human form with a secret revenge of his own on his mind. But that would be maybe a slight stretch. And gosh, did she abhor stretch marks, even on her lovely brains.
— “Oh come on, dear,” one of the motley participants, a cheery big-boned and outrageously made-up of make-up woman said in a bizarre Lizabethian accent, with a hint of bossiness that showed she had not been used to being contradicted much in her life. “Join us on that trip to Mr Jiborium’s, you shall find yourself a use or two.”
Taken aback by the turn of the events, Messmeerah, also known as Winky, took the jamón under her arm, and against all common sense decided to join the crew —thanking the Mighty Mungibs for the improbable feat of continuity that had appeared as a sign.
— “Well, if you don’t mind…” Yikesy was starting to object, but realized some things are best left unsaid, and it would be easy enough now to slip out of their sight (and off the rapacious motherly attentions of Mrs Janet, the big-boned tasteless-bags lady with an accent.)
