Search Results for 'al'

Ricardo crouched lower behind the bush, peering through the leaves with keen interest. He thumbed out a swift message:

“major drama unfolding. tasseography? coffee cup revelations. over.”

He hit send and melted back into the foliage, waiting nervously for Miss Bossy’s reply and pondering his future.
What chance of advancement was there, really?
Was he doomed to a lifetime of trying to impress her?
Was he a fool?

“Ricardo!” shouted Carob. “Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee?”

“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?”

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?

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.

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

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.

Godric

⚫ Godric

What We Know Visually:

• Identified as Swedish, possibly tall and pale by stereotype.

• A barista-channeler, so likely has the look of a mystical hipster.

Inferred Presence/Style:

• May wear layered scarves, bracelets with charms, or ceremonial aprons.

• The term Draugaskalds connects him to Norse aesthetics—he might carry old symbols or tattoos.

Unclear:

• Concrete outfit, facial expression, or posture.

• Age and physical habits.

Thiram Izu

Thiram Izu – The Bookish Tinkerer with Tired Eyes

Explicit Description

• Age: Mid-30s

• Heritage: Half-Japanese, half-Colombian

• Face: Calm but slightly worn—reflecting quiet resilience and perceptiveness.

• Hair: Short, tousled dark hair

• Eyes: Observant, introspective; wears round black-framed glasses

• Clothing (standard look):

  • Olive-green utilitarian overshirt or field jacket

  • Neutral-toned T-shirt beneath

  • Crossbody strap (for a toolkit or device bag)

  • Simple belt, jeans—functional, not stylish

• Technology: Regularly uses a homemade device, possibly a patchwork blend of analog and AI circuitry.

• Name Association: Jokes about being named after a fungicide (Thiram), referencing “brothers” Malathion and Glyphosate.

Inferred Personality & Manner

• Temperament: Steady but simmering—he tries to be the voice of reason, but often ends up exasperated or ignored.

• Mindset: Driven by a need for internal logic and external systems—he’s a fixer, not a dreamer (yet paradoxically surrounded by dreamers).

• Social Role: The least performative of the group. He’s neither aloof nor flamboyant, but remains essential—a grounded presence.

• Habits:

  • Zones out under stress or when overstimulated by dream-logic.

  • Blinks repeatedly to test for lucid dream states.

  • Carries small parts or tools in pockets—likely fidgets with springs or wires during conversations.

• Dialogue Style: Deadpan, dry, occasionally mutters tech references or sarcastic analogies.

• Emotional Core: Possibly a romantic or idealist in denial—hidden under his annoyance and muttered diagnostics.

Function in the Group

• Navigator of Reality – He’s the one most likely to point out when the laws of physics are breaking… and then sigh and fix it.

• Connector of Worlds – Bridges raw tech with dream-invasion mechanisms, perhaps more than he realizes.

• Moral Compass (reluctantly) – Might object to sabotage-for-sabotage’s-sake; he values intent.

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.

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.

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.

Ricardo ducked lower behind the bush and tapped out a message:

spottd  lol bush comprmsed abort?

There was a long pause. Then a sharp buzz.

You had ONE job. One. You were meant to observe discreetly. I told you to be “subtle.” Clearly, that was wishful thinking. You are not to ABORT. What part of OBSERVATIONAL STEALTH did you misinterpret? Do I need to define the word STEALTH for you again? Honestly, must I supervise every leaf you crouch behind? You are a trained reporter-slash-agent, not a shrubbery enthusiast. Remain in the bush, maintain surveillance. I can overlook your appalling lack of punctuation and correct spelling but FOR GOODNESS SAKE STOP USING “LOL”.

Chico noticed the inching bush from his hidden vantage point behind the tulip tree. For a moment he wished he wasn’t quite so solitary, and regretted that there was nobody to say look at that bush inching along over there to.

“Sssh!” whispered Carob, holding a hand up to silence Amy. “Did you hear that? Listen! There it is again!”

“Sounds like someone spitting behind that tulip tree.  But look over there!” Amy cried, “I never saw such a thing, that bush is moving.”

“And it’s heading towards the tulip tree spitter,” Carob replied grimly. “This could get serious.”

Carob didn’t know what to say — which gave her a tendency to ramble.

Was everyone avoiding Amy?

Was it because she was dressed as a stout little lady?

Carob cleared her throat. “Well, Amy, you look… most interesting today.”

“I have to agree,” replied Amy, unperturbed. “Now — what is this about you and Ricardo?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you,” Carob said, shaking her head. “Partly because it’s top secret, and partly because…”
She tapped her temple and nodded to herself — definitely a few times more than necessary. “I’m still working it out.”

“But you know him?” Amy persisted. “How do you know him?”

Carob knew Amy could be relentless.

“Look over there!” she shouted, pointing vaguely.

Amy didn’t even turn her head. She gazed up at Carob with a long-suffering stare. “Carob?”

Carob scrunched up her face. “Okay,” she said eventually. “I think the others are avoiding you. Me. Us. Both of us.”

She took a deep breath. “Thiram doesn’t know where we are or what we’re doing here — and he’s not good with that, bless. We don’t know where on earth Chico is — but we do know he spits, which, quite frankly, is uncouth.”

She brightened suddenly. “But one thing I do know — here, amid the coffee beans and the lucid dreamers, there is a story to be told.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “I’ve noticed you still haven’t told me how you know Ricardo.”

It was rather odd — but neither of them noticed the bush inching closer.

Trailing suspect but nothing to report yet, messaged Ricardo.

He knew Miss Bossy Pants wouldn’t be happy.

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.”

Amy wondered afterwards if she should have said “Why is it always my fault” and hoped nobody would think el gran apagón was her fault too.  Another one of the issues with typecasting too soon.

The rumours and hoaxes were rife even before the electricity came back on.  The crisis of the lack of coffee beans was coming to a head: morning riots were breaking out in the places most affected by the shortage. As soon as the blackouts started, improvised statistics and numbers were cobbled together into snappy psychological colour combination images and plastered everywhere suggesting that the lack of electricity was saving an incomprehensible number of cups of coffee per day, but without causing any coffee related social disorder events.

Amy had heard that el gran apagón was foretold to occur when the pope died, that it was extraterrestrials, that it was el naranjo and his sidekick effin muck, and all manner of things, but the concerns with the coffee shortage happening at the same time as the blackouts were manifold.

The population was looking for scapegoats. Oh dear god, what did I say that for.

To say that Amy was shocked when she looked up the word thiram would be an understatement. Who would name a baby after a toxic fungicide?

“Oh, guess what!” Thiram announced, entirely coincidentally. “My brothers are coming to join us, Malathion and Glyphosate.  We’re triplets,” he added.