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  • #478

    Ted did a double take at the sight of the tall lean man. Fuck me! he cried in astonishment, It’s a doppelganger! Ted’s hand shook as he swigged down the dregs of his tequila; he slammed it down on the bar and called for a refill.

    #476

    Ted Marshall swaggered into the saloon and ordered a tequila. He adopted a casual pose against the bar, tipped his pith helmet back with one casual finger, and surveyed the scene. He cast a disninterested glance over the dancers, and tut tutted under his breath when he recognized Twilight. That girl was too big for her scuffed boots!

    A charismatic character caught Ted’s eye, a handsome man in a stylishly crumpled white linen suit, stretched taut against his bulging biceps. Success, drive and determination seemed to exude from his very pores, the slick sheen of raw power.

    Ted edged himself closer to the larger than life character, and glared at the tall lean man who had just walked in.

    #475

    It had been real hard since Momma and Poppa weren’t around no more. Twilight was four when they got shot dead, and she could hardly remember their faces now. Sometimes she had memories come to mind, this real pretty woman, brushing her hair at night. One hundred strokes, she would say, make your hair real pretty. It made her feel sad because she wished it were true.

    Her brother Jo, he was only ten when they got killed. He was the one found them. They’d been shot. Jo, he took it real hard. Sometimes he’d get this far away and sad look and Twilight knew he was remembering. She wanted to hug him, but he’d be all shut off.

    Anyways it was real hard to keep the ranch going after that. Her brother Elroy, he was the oldest. He was fifteen when Momma and Poppa died. So he took on being the man of the house. Sometimes he would try and boss Jo and her round, and Twilight would give him a real hard time. She was just jesting though, she knew he was just doing his best to keep the El Disperso Ranch running and she was real proud of him.

    It was real hard though. Winter had been hard. They all were fearing they might have to sell the blue bull just to keep the wolves from the door next winter. Elroy, he was right pig headed though about that bull. Jo would say to Elroy “we have to sell that bull, Elroy” and Elroy would get mad and say “no ways we selling that bull Jo”. One day they nearly came to blows over that bull.

    It was the only time Twilight seen Elroy get real mad with Jo. They were real close those two. They were all close really. They had to keep together when Momma and Poppa died. Uncle Bart turned up at the news of their folks dying, wanted to take the ranch, but Elroy , well he got Poppa’s rifle and chased Uncle Bart away. Elroy said he would have shot Uncle Bart had he tried any harder to take the ranch. Twilight would look in his eyes when he told the story and she knew he weren’t jesting. A few others tried to interfere also. Somehow they all stayed together and kept the ranch.

    Elroy won that blue bull. It was real rare and very fine and people would pay plenty for a bull like that bull. Elroy said he won it anyhow. He turned up with it one day, and he was real quiet. Twilight saw him whispering to Jo, and Jo looked real concerned. She thought it best not to ask too many questions and so she kept what she seen to herself. But she couldn’t help but be wondering.

    Twilight wanted to help take the load off her brothers so she got herself a job dancing in the saloon in town. She liked to call it performing though. Sounded more high class. She watched the other dancers till she taught herself to do it. She would hide in the saloon and watch them. That was one good thing about not having a Momma and a Poppa. She could pretty well do what she wanted. She liked dancing and she knew she were real good at it and pretty soon she was the dancer everyone wanted to see. She’d rather have a Momma and Poppa though, truth be told.

    One of the other girls, Anna, she was real pretty too, got jealous and tried to get Twilight kicked out, said she was too young to be dancing . Anyhow Anna had a soft spot for Jo and so he soon sweet talked her round. Jo and Elroy were real good looking boys, and plenty of girls liked them so Twilight was pretty lucky to have them look out for her. ( Elroy said she should wear a blond wig for her dancing, like a disguise, and Twilight thought this was real funny. But she wore it anyway.) Anna got pregnant, and she said Jo was the daddy, but everyone in town knew she slept with plenty of fellows, and Jo weren’t having a bar of it. Anna got real fat with the baby and had to stop dancing and now she lived with some old fellow who was always drunk and would eye up Twilight when she was dancing. Sometimes Twilight would tease Jo about the baby and call him “daddio” and he would get real mad with her. But could be his, that’s the truth. Poor little baby but she were glad Jo weren’t stuck with that Anna.

    Twilight knew the men looked at her. She knew what they were thinking and she didn’t mind. She weren’t no fool though. She had plans. She was going to be somebody, not laid up with some damn sprog like that Anna. Some of the money she earned she’d give to Elroy, some of it she put in a tin can she kept hidden.

    Last night some fellow from out of town came in. A sheriff. She heard the girls whispering and giggling about him. Sheriff Ted Marshall was his name. He was real fine looking and all the girls were in a flutter hoping he would look at them. Twilight wondered what he was doing in town. She hoped it were nothing to do with that bull of Elroys.

    #474

    Aldous Mc Gaughran (nicknamed Ogrean by his employees), was taking deep puffs on his voluminous cigar.
    A bit podgy in his white tight suit, the face dripping in sweat, he was eying with barely dissimulated lust the young dancer on the scene of the saloon while sipping his cognac and playing poker with his oily fingers.

    The blond bewitching dancer was drawing attention from miles around, and was known by her stage name: Twilight. :yahoo_billy:
    She wasn’t really a blonde, but she had been convinced by her two brothers :yahoo_hiro: :yahoo_april: to use a wig not so much to make her more desirable as she was already, but more to be able to keep a certain amount of anonymity.
    Seeing Ogrean’s glances, she was more than glad to have listened to her brothers.

    :yahoo_flag: Ogrean was calling the shots here in that small town, and somehow it would be difficult to refuse anything he would ask… He was supervising, as far as she knew, many traffics. Officially, he was a cattle breeder, but there was obviously more.
    On his last business trip on the coast of British Honduras, officially for dealings of mahogany imports, he’d come back with a self-satisfied look that meant that he had got more than a pile of precious wood… :yahoo_skull:

    The saloon door opened in a creaking sound. A tall lean figure came barging in. :yahoo_star:
    Answering the barmaid’s question, he got himself a glass of the local alcohol. A bitter cactus beer that no one living here would have thought of ordering. Obviously a wandering stranger.
    His scrawny horse seemed to have run tiring long miles.

    #473

    Beattie and Leonora ordered another two gin and tonics. The longer they had to wait for Bartolo, the less they minded waiting; the generous measures of gin and the friendly banter with the locals in the venta was warmly pleasant and convivial. Bartolo was the ‘runner’, the man who knew about houses for sale, or available to rent in the valley, and he was several hours late.

    Jose Maria had been eavesdropping on the conversation, and suddenly had an idea.

    #465
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      Al was discussing with Sam on the phone.
      He was reminded of the good advices Tina had told him to try before Hari Amgic: a treatment based on organic sulfur for his hair loss…
      All he could get at the time was frizzy blond hair that would fall like red leaves in autumn…

      But now all was for the best for his hair, he had maintained his hair at a manageable and sustainable growth rate, but somehow this seemed to have been sent back on his nails which were now growing alarmingly fast…

      At least he had a perfect excuse since no shoe would be stretchable enough, to wander barefoot as he liked to do, though Tina was finding that a bit yucky.

      This had been seen in the past apparently, as Al was searching in the World’s Archives…

      #447

      Young Becky looked at the clock: 2:22. Dan would be back from the airport soon, with Dory. Impatiently, Becky looked at the clock again: 2:23. She went outside into the warm winter sunshine and sat on the swing under the fig tree, and trotted round in a circle, twisting the ropes above her and squinting up through the bare branches at the blue sky and puffy white clouds. When the ropes would twist no more Becky tucked her feet under her, and spun giddily round; the overladen lemon tree, the plum tree, the orange tree, the olive tree and the nispero tree merging into one magical 360 degree kaleidoscope of colours whizzing past.

      #1411
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Time gentlemen PLEASE! Last orders! :yahoo_bring_it_on: :yahoo_cow: :yahoo_waiting:shouted the grumpy old cow behind the bar.

        :yahoo_crying: :mummy: :mummy: :yahoo_not_talking: :mummy: :yahoo_not_listening: :mummy: :yahoo_heehee: :mummy: :yahoo_laughing: :mummy: :yahoo_whistling:

        But the busload of Italian mummy’s had no intention of leaving,
        and they certainly hadn’t finished drinking, so they disappeared the pub landlady in a puff of rose scented :mummy: :yahoo_rose: :weather-overcast:mummy fart.

        #1400
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Never mind, it’s just bar-room philosophizing – want another beer? :D

          #439

          Leörmn the dragon had been retreating silently what felt like a long time ago. For most of the dragons, as they grew in age, needed to occupy more and more of their time in dreaming.
          But dreaming was not an idle occupation as human sometimes were prone to think. He was phenomenally active in the Unseen when he dreamt, and most of the times, he didn’t even have a dream corporeal existence such was the intensity of the activity, that he projected in many many many different ways at the same time.

          At times, he slowly woke up, barely aware of all of what he had done. In one fragment, some other focuses of his friends were in an odd classroom, and were asked whether they had read some transcripts of a trance conversation with a dragon. At the beginning the pupils had felt reluctant to answer, but some bold hands had been raised, and he knew these people, they were closely related to him. The teacher had been telling them how different the energy was, and how intense, for it was not the same kind of consciousness… Of course, Leörmn knew all of that, but it was one of the many things that had occurred during his sleep. Because all of that was a reality, occurring in other frameworks, other dimensions, other scenes, but all of them were happening.
          And in another one, there was this young man who had just changed his name, looking through a sort of big flat glubolin at some parchment map that one of his friend had put in front of his eyes, and the young man was amazed at how close it looked like the map he had seen in his own dream, with rivers outlined…

          Leörmn felt immensely grateful for all of these personality essences exchanging with him, and enhancing and widening his own exploration, and he felt like he wanted to modify once again the cave. He would create some guest rooms into the cave for them, if they wanted to use them. They would be furnished as they wanted to, and reflecting what was their comfort, and dear to them…
          At Malvina’s request, he had already created one abode for Irtak, but now, he would also create one for the finckely Arona, the wandering Sanso, who in turn could invite some of their own guests.

          And so once again, the cave was transmugrified…

          #1398
          Jib
          Participant

            Let’s add some quotations from our Friend Oscary

            A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.

            A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her.

            Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.

            America had often been discovered before Columbus, but it had always been hushed up.

            America is the only country that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between.

            Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.

            Arguments are to be avoided; they are always vulgar and often convincing.

            #1313

            In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              November 9 th

              For Yurick, or perhaps shall we say, The Artist Formerly Known As Quintin this sequence of sequence of 911 has the signification of a reminder to be paying attention to self, and being present to himself.
              The last few days have been, in appearance, quite devoid of exciting new installments of the story, yet, we nudge him not to judge this lack of activity on his part as categorically as he has been used to do. It was a time of self-retreat, a time we have shared with many other essences, as all is connected.
              A very fine point which has been brought forth by Elias a few days ago (in Yurick’s perception of time) has been that you want to appreciate the process. His illustration was that of a beautiful flower bud that you hold, and that you don’t want to tear open, but rather let itself reveal its splendor, and also, its surprises.

              It has prompted Yurick to remember something, which had lots of meaning to him.
              Some years ago, when he was in Kyoto’s forests, he picked up an acorn, as he liked to have seeds or tree corns in his pockets. Back from his trip, in his home, there was this big pot of earth were an old plant had died from the summer heat, and he planted the acorn in it.
              And he waited. Till he had to move, some months later, having renounced to have the acorn grow at all, as the soil’s surface was remaining desperately flat. Perhaps it had rotten altogether. Before leaving the apartment, Yurick started to rummage with his bare hands into the soil, to look for the remains of the acorn he believed had rotten, only to find it perfectly healthy. And even more, it had grown lots of long roots.
              So he took it back home, where it was planted and still continues to grow at a rapid rate.

              Looking at the now big sapling reminds Yurick how that process of growing roots was important for the plant, as they were essential for the oak to be able to survive the winters colds and the summers heats.

              Such is the importance of these moments were inspiration seem to be scarce, or away. It is ever present, growing its roots very carefully inside the soil of your being, and expanding your connexions, redefining some, bringing new nourishments to yourself… The effects are not always immediately visible, but things never cease to move.

              Be prepared to be amazed by the colors of the flowers and leaves your seed produces, for as Yurick’s oak was an unusual kind of oak (a chestnut oak ), the very seeds that are in your pockets or waiting in the soils of your dream gardens may reveal their own surprises…

              #423

              New Venice, November 2101

              Midora was sleeping peacefully in her baby’s bed, and Oscar was dozing on the sofa, exhausted by his new role as a mother.

              Bart was slowly finding himself back to his old studies. Just before Oscar became pregnant with their child, he was occupied with an old parchment his mother Indy had given to him.
              She had said they had found it years ago with Oscar’s mum, her friend Eugenia. It was under a glass frame, among many other stuff she had accumulated along the years, mundane bric-a-brac flirting with sublime antiques —such was her mother strange decorative style…
              Bart had known the parchment all his life, and her mother had sworn he would have it when the time would be right. During all this time he had thought she would most probably forget it altogether.

              When Bill, his father had disengaged, two years before (only two months before the New Century’s festivities, at the age of 79) Indy had said she needed to make some room in her apartment, and get rid of old things which were full of memories. After all, she was only 49, and Bill hadn’t wanted to see her wither in sadness, that would be such a waste.
              She had given him the old parchment.

              Bart had always been so close to his mother, probably because she had him so young. She was 16 when they had married with Bill, and Bart was born right after. Of course, she always played the old flattery trick when people said she must be his big sister; it wasn’t actually far from the truth.

              When he was younger, Bart had fearful dreams, of dying in atrocious pain, full of rash, at a young age in an alien and sunny place.
              Curious as to what hint it may have been, Indy had been connecting with him to the energy of the dream. And together, they had tried to find the reason of that manifestation in the young boy’s dreams.
              Despite her having such a fleeting memory, India Louise was skilled at connecting to other focuses, and particularly group ones, and Bart had found many information thanks to her. And the fearful dreams had disappeared.
              He had found he was a young prince heir of the throne of Egypt, who was supposed to marry his sister. But both had died very suddenly. It was not quite clear as to whether the illness was the result of a plot from their father Pharaoh’s enemies, but the death was very unpleasant.
              So unlike Bill’s disengagement, which was peaceful and full of love.

              So yes, people were not far from the truth when they saw them as brother and sister.
              According to Indy, the parchment was found within a cache inside the sister mummy’s sarcophagus, and might be linked to their shared focus. But her own psychic skills only extended as far as to notice connections, not as to go into more depths. That investigation, he would be able to do.

              :fleuron:

              Egypt, 2657 B.C.

              :tile:
              Lekshen had finished writing down what the long snouted god of his dream, Set had dictated to him.

              It was a strange story, of Set being the god of the pariahs, throwing down structures of the Holy and the Truth, for the sake of expansion. Lekshen couldn’t understand all of what he had been talked into writing, but he had felt an intense activity and thrusts of gushing energy passing through him.

              He needed sleep before hiding the text with the mummy.

              :fleuron:

              Paris, 2007

              :tile: That symbol, Quintin had dreamt repeatedly about it… It was a tile, he was sure. It could be oriented in two ways, and, depending on its orientation, it meant either injection or ejection of energy structures. It was linked to the family of the Speakers.

              Let’s insert it again then, he smiled to himself.

              :fleuron:

              When he connected with the symbols written on the parchment, Bartholomew was astounded. The energy was so familiar.
              There was a book coming from his mother. She had inherited it from her aunt, Guiny… She probably got it herself from her mother Margaret, or perhaps her step-mother Becky… Bart wasn’t too sure…

              Finally, he found it. Inside the cover, there was a dedication. To you, dear Becky, happy birthday! With love, Kathy (2017).
              Kathy, Kathy… A flash of a rainbow-coloured anaconda into Bart’s mind… Must have been one of Dory’s friends.

              “There was once a god who was not a god — who was not a god, for you are dealing with legends,” he said, nearly whispering. “There was a god in ancient Egypt, and his name was Seth, and he was disreputable. And he threw aside establishments, whenever other gods rose up and said, “We are the truth, we are pure and we are holy,” this disreputable god stood up, and with a voice like thunder, said: “You are nincompoops!”

              “And the other gods did not like him,” Seth continued in his story-telling whisper, “and whenever they set up their altars, he came like thunder, but playfully, and tossed the altars asunder, and he said “Storms are natural, and good, and a part of the earth, even as placid skies are. Winds are good. Questions are good. Males and females are good. Even gods and demons are good, if you must believe in demons. But, structures are limited!”.

              “And so this god, who was not a god, called Seth, went about kicking apart the structures, and he gathered about him others who kicked apart the structures. And they were themselves, whether they were male or female. Whether they thought of themselves as good or bad, or summer or winter, or as old or as young, they were creators. They were questioners.

              “And whenever another personality set itself up and said, “I am the god before you, and my word is law,” then Seth went about saying, “You are a nincompoop,” and began to kick apart the structures. And so you are yourselves, in your way, all Seths, for you kick apart the structures, and you are the black sheep of the religions, and the black sheep of the scientists, and the black sheep of the physicians, and the black sheep of the your mothers and your fathers, and your sisters and your brothers.

              “And yet, the mothers and the fathers and the sisters and the brothers listen,” Seth went on in that quiet voice in that quiet room. “for they do not have the courage to be the black sheep…”

              Conversations With Seth, Volume 1, Chapter 9, by Susan Watkins

              #418

              She was swimming swiftly in the cold water of the frozen zone. Baaneke was quite young by her people standards. She was also quite adventurous though inexperienced. Very curious about the beings of the other side, those who had chosen to dwell on the dry parts of this world. She was quite amused at their clumsiness whenever they fell in the ocean.

              She was aware of her flock in the distance. The clarity of the water, its coldness made the clicks and the clacks even sharper. Their language had many subtleties and it was fluctuating with the vibrational quality of the waters in which they were generated. The further you were from the source, the more distorted it could be. Though it was quite precise and with some experience it was easy to focus on the energy and not the translation into sounds. But Baaneke wasn’t so easy peasy with this focus.

              Her long body was rather slim and her color was smorgle barnished sand. She was very proud of it, and found herself quite attractive. The young male were often brömding at her… a bit rude, but she was feeling a huge satisfaction :yahoo_blushing:

              She’d been following the strange floating structures for a few days now. The ancients called them : “sshiieap”.
              She was fascinated by the beings on it… they were so awkward and it seemed to her they took great care of not diving into the waters… How odd of them, it was so easy moving in there, more easy than outside where it was so dry and windy.

              She was aware of some signal in one of the shiieap, and she was curious about it. It was quite familiar to her.

              #414

              Mmmm, Captain,… isn’t that legend a bit long-winded? Tomkin had asked to Captain Bone.

              It had been six nights now that the Captain had told bits of that legend to Tomkin, and even if it was entertaining, Tomkin was more and more impatient to get back to meatier stuff, like galleons full of ancient magical treasures, corsairs from the Warring Kingdoms coasts, strange unknown races from far-off lands… that would be more mouth-watering than this endless legend…

              Captain Bone had laughed.

              — Aaaaah, Tomkin… of course you know I like to tell long stories, and make them longer each time I recall them, but you see, there is also a point in all of that adventure. Mævel’s story is also the story of all of us in a way. Of course, I could tell you how it ends, but in a way it never really ends. More important is for you to see it unfold and that you appreciate the unfolding. The ending is not important in a way. Each and every time this story is recalled, it is different, because it adapts to what is happening right now. Do you see?
              — So what is the point of telling me that story? It was supposed to tell me something about this strange knotted object, but I don’t see any link.
              — Ahahahaha, the point is precisely that Tomkin. I am telling you my story, but this object makes you hear your own story through my words.

              Now, Tomkin Sharple was squatting on the sand near the bonfire lit by Badul’s crew, and he was recalling the words from the Captain. At that time, when he didn’t know a thing about that strange magical object, he had not understood a thing of what the Captain had said.
              But now, it started to make sense, some sense at least. Each time the Captain had told him bits of the legend, Tomkin had been fidgeting the strange object, making the Captain smile. Perhaps the object’s magic was not only acting as a translation device…
              There was something more about it. He was no longer sure that the Captain’s story had been what he was recalling. Perhaps it was completely different, and he had translated it…
              Still, the object had apparently helped him understand what Badul and his men wanted, so it was translating truthfully. But what was a faithful translation?

              Then, a flash came into Tomkin’s mind. The Captain had given the object to him. He’d said it was about connections. Being connected.
              Till then, Tomkin had been the only one to touch it. He had not even revealed the source of his gift to Badul.
              But in the Captain’s case, both of them had been touching it. In sharing that link, they had extended trust to each other, and somehow, they had been mirrors for each other. Perhaps that was what Captain Bone meant when he said that Tomkin was hearing his own story through the Captain’s words.

              Tomkin laid down on the warm sand, looking at the clear starry night.

              ***

              — The legend of Mævel — (Part VI)

              Inside the warm burrow, Mævel found a bed of dry leaves and tender moss. She could see some light from the moon, coming through holes in the ground, which were bringing in some fresh air too. Cuddling comfortably into the makeshift bed, she started to sleep peacefully, waiting for her friend the blue fox to come back.

              ***

              Half-asleep on the beach, Tomkin was wondering… What had happened the next morning… This was fuzzy in this memory, as if the events were moving and reorganising themselves. All that he remember was that Mævel had met the blue fox, but there were myriads of possible events, and all of them were possible, dancing now in front of him.
              He could chose any of them… But, would that make the story the same?
              Then he recalled that it was his own story… So why make it difficult then…

              The voice of Captain Bone was resounding in his ear “You find value in hardships, and value is important to you and our kind. In these lands full of magic, we could just do anything, but somehow you’ll find that rare are the people who constantly use magic. Because when magic is used to make things happen instantaneously, it shifts everything around it to accommodate the changes asked by the summoner of the magic. And it can be overwhelming when too big are the differences between the too states, as we are accustomed to live within a continuity. That’s why I tell you to enjoy the ride of that legend.
              Think of it… You could be Emperor of all Lands if you knew how to use magic for such a feat. But would you do that instantaneously? Slim chances. You wouldn’t know how to behave as an Emperor, and on top of that, you probably would find the new aspect of you who is an Emperor to be overwhelming to your present aspect of little Tomkin.”

              Okay, Tomkin said… No need to skip directly to the last part… she meets the blue fox in his den, and Mævel learns about the curse of the fox.

              ***

              — Oh, really? Mævel was saying
              — Yes, I was a bit of a fool… the blue fox was telling her. But, the silver lining is that there is a way to counteract the curse. But I will need your help again, if you want.
              — I want to help you.
              — Fine. You know about Shaint Lejüs Festival?
              — Mmm, yes, my parents told me about that. It’s the Day of the Forgotten, isn’t it?
              — and of the Accursed Ones.
              — Oh…
              — That special day of the year, the Gates of Lejüs’ Realm are opened and Forgotten and Accursed Ones are given a chance to be Remembered or Graced.
              — Every year? Why then aren’t all of them Remembered?
              — Mostly because the Living Ones dread this day. They are the only ones to be able to free the Demanders, and they quickly felt haunted by the Demanders. So they did rituals to keep the Demanders away from them, as certainly your human parents did.
              — Yes, I remember now…
              — There is another reason actually. Forgotten Ones can only be Remembered when they recover their true name, and only a strong bond like love or some potent magic can force it out of Lejüs’ graps.
              — And Accursed Ones?
              — For them to be Graced, they need to do one pure act of altruism.
              — A simple act?
              — Don’t be fooled, it’s not as simple as it seems. See, I tried to rescue a woman who was drowning herself into the river, but that hunter thought I was attacking her… The fact was that she was willing to be Forgotten, and that my act was not purely altruistic.
              — How so? You probably saved her life?
              — Yes, but that was not what she wanted, and when she cried that I let go of her, I only wanted her out of the waters, because of me…
              — I understand. And how can I help?
              — One altruistic act for me would be to help a Forgotten One to be Remembered. That’s what they ask for, but it’s difficult for them to get past the barriers of the Living Ones.
              — Shaint Lejüs Festival is tomorrow…
              — Yes, have as much rest as you need, Mæ. We will see tomorrow what will occur…

              #412

              :multimedia: CUUUUUT !

              — Ahahaha, I’m sorry, that must be the sauerkraut we had for lunch!
              — You’re kiddin’ or what? I tell you for the 58 th time, it’s supposed to be a dramatic scene filled with suspended horror and… Shite! Perhaps you’d prefer to have it Broadway-like, Teri sweetie? With parrot feathers jabbed into your bum and fairies dangling from the roof singing La Traviata?…

              — Err… You can say that’s because of the fermentation gas produced by the mould inside the mummy, and that her reviving her physiological tissues would naturally generate…
              — Who the hell is that f*cking know-it-all?
              — I’m the historical consultant, John Davis
              — Historical WHAT? Betty’s gonna hear me, I can tell ya, as if we’ve got ‘nuff budget to bother with… Aaah, get lost! Now, everyone get ready for the… Ooooh bugger! Let’s do it tomorrow.

              Marvin Scrozzezi went to his caravan exasperated. The movie wasn’t going very well, and there were all these impossible deadlines… His worst concern was about the damn budget. He’d thought it was a good idea to hire that expensive castle to do the movie. An adaptation from a book he had found recently.
              He had bargained with the author to get the rights, and that had been tough, considering his previous movies were not quite that kind of great historical epic he was supposed to do now.
              At least she had not laughed when Marvin had told her his most successful movie was The Return of the Avenging Dame Zombie of the Lake
              What a mess… Sure a good night of sleep would make it all right.

              #403

              November, 1 st 2057

              Sean took another glass of scotch to give him some courage to call.

              — It’s your twelfth now, that’s supposed to give you courage
              — Oh, Maggie, my live is such a mess…
              — It’s not, and you know it. Look at all our beautiful children, and Becky who went through so much just out of love for you…

              Sean didn’t know whether he was actually seeing the ghost of his deceased wife, or a projection of her, still alive in another part of the Universe, but she always had been a comforting presence.
              He had started to see her a few months after her disappearance.
              Yes, during that T.R.A.P. expedition, yeah, “live-changing experience” they had said… True, too true… Perhaps the electromagnetic field had messed up with his brains, but now he could see her clear as day.

              That had been a bit freaky in the beginning, and when they made love with Becky, he was a bit anxious to see her appear not invited. But Margaret had been discrete, well mostly. At times, he wondered if she had not sneaked into the bedroom and merged her energies with Becky’s, just to be closer to him… Becky’s acts did not always make sense anyway, so that was hardly a criterion to judge of that.

              All his live had been like that. A jumble of incoherent stuff. Oh, he had enjoyed it, especially at the beginning. His father Lord Wrick was obsessed with the Shift, and had found some ancient knowledge in his youth. Mostly rubbish by nowadays standards, bunches of rotten books of prophecies handed down to a few chosen ones, who were supposed to be forewarned of doom to come. Now, they knew that they were only a wake up call, but at that time, it was another thing altogether.

              Of course, the wealth accumulated over the centuries by the Wrick family had been helpful to access these precious archaeological documents. A few of them had played a key role.
              For instance, the in-extenso Life and Deeds of Lord Gustard Willoughby Fergusson, a rare version of the diary of Lord Fergusson, annotated by his daughter, Illi, was telling an account of history much different than the one romanced after his death by his wife Floribunda von Grott.
              Thanks to it, Lord Wrick had been able to acquire some inkling as to ancient treasures. Old fool…
              It had killed his wife, Artemisia, devastated by the madness of her husband, and it had alienated the other part of the family too.
              But all that counted was to make the discoveries, and perhaps enlight the masses.

              Sean had never really forgave his father that he wanted to utilise Margaret and have her fit into his plans of grandeur. Of course, his father had willingly accepted the union, and despite all appearances (for the sake of those rapacious journalists) he had even pushed Sean to do it quickly. But all he was really interested in was her precious discoveries.

              — Oh, but I was not innocent, Sean
              — I know Maggie, you were obsessed by what we could offer to you, especially when you read about the botanical experiments in the deserts, which were related in that old book. But still…
              — We all had grown up through that, you know…
              — Yes, and what showed me that, was that I was concerned that the old vampire would suck my own children into his web, but Peregrine was too free for that, and Guinevere preferred to live her live outside of this madness too.
              — Becky had a good influence. Do me a favour, be kind to her.
              — You know what?… Yes of course you’d know,… but let me tell you, so that we can laugh together… I found myself really happy and free when I stole the two magical books out of the Old Fool’s clutch. God knows how he acquired them, but one thing was sure, he was obsessed with them. I couldn’t get the mummy, but the books were a great take.
              — And a funny idea to give them to your cousin…
              — Yes, Dorean was the perfect person. I couldn’t leave them anywhere, my father would have found them again. At least he wasn’t in good terms with his brother and sister-in-law, so they were safe in their care. And at least, they were more grounded than my father, the perfect keepers for the books… I’m wondering what happened to them…
              — That will upset you, but Perry’s twins got them.
              — Oh really?
              — Yes, and they are having fun with them, as was intended.
              — That’s fine then, and we are less obsessed now than we were before, so I guess my father isn’t as much as a pain in the butt as he was…
              — You father meant good
              — Yes, like everyone, but why can’t we leave people alone at times? People can sort out their issues without the commiseration, and the good intentions… It’s poison even worse… Like I can drink and still be healthy, and nice, and…

              Sean started to sob.

              — I know, darling, but you’re as much of a sore as your father was… You focus so much on what’s not going right, and you don’t even appreciate that you can talk with your departed wife… That was nothing as easy in the old days.
              — Do you think my father talks with mum to?
              — I think he would be too proud to admit he is sorry… That may hinder the communication… But Arty wouldn’t bear grudge now. When we let go of the physical, things become so clear, we can only be accepting of everything. Perhaps you prefer to wait for your father to cross over? I can tell you something, that won’t be easier. That much I know.
              — You’re right. It’s just that I don’t know how to start…
              — Be yourself, talk about what you enjoy, where is your passion now… Perhaps that is the problem. You’re drowning your passion in your scotch.
              — You’re right… I’ll tell him Léan will have a baby.
              — Oh, he’ll love it!
              — How time flies… sighed Sean, I still remember the little sweetie as a blue-eyed laughing baby herself, with Oliver and Illana. She was the only one of the triplet to have inherited her mother’s dark complexion. She’s so beautiful…
              — Let’s call your father darling
              — Yes, let’s call him.

              ***

              Lord Wrick had not expected to received that call. Well, he had renounced it so long ago.
              He had been a bit shaken, but also relieved. He had proposed, on an impulse, to invite that whole part of the family he barely knew, Sean’s new partner, and all their children for next Christmas in the castle. Sean had told him they would probably come with Becky but that the children were now having their own lives, and it would have to be for another time.

              ***

              Lord Wrick went to see Bill, who was now painting the portraits of Peregrine and Linda in the veranda.
              He would probably have to stay longer, to paint a lot of new family portraits.

              That probably would come perfectly, as ever, as the Lord could tell India Louise loved to spend time with the painter. Perhaps she would become an artist too… :sumari:

              #402

              — The legend of Mævel — (Part V)

              Mævel, opening her eyes, found herself in the middle of the forest. It was still dark and the sky was covered with a dark blue haze. Now, she had to find her friend the fox…
              How could she do that, in such a wide forest, she started to whine.

              Well, why not start by asking… hooted a rowl nearby.

              Mævel was surprised. She had thought these hot pink speaking owls where found only in legends, not in woods nearby…

              You are in a legend, sweetie retorted the rowl.
              — Oh… Surely the legend of someone else then. Who’s legend it is, I am in, dear rowl?
              — Oh, you can call me Aromelle, sweetie. It’s your legend of course.
              — No kidding? Phew, what a responsibility… I shouldn’t tell you that, but you seem like a rowl I can confide in, err… I’m no hero, I’m not even educated, and I pass winds like any impolite woman or polite green ogress would do… And having everyone know that would be kind of embarrassing… What a legend that would be…
              — Then we’ll just say to the bards to skip that part… said wise Aromelle. Now, you wanted to ask something?
              — Oh yes, I have to find the blue fox.
              — And would you mind being a little more precise about that fox. I know thousands of blue foxes sweetie. Hoohoo, perhaps that’s an exaggeration, but I know quite a few, of others’ legends… You’re not the only legendary one coming into these woods to ask for advice.
              — Oh, I’m sorry, blushed Mævel
              — No need sweetie, snapped the rowl, in fact I know exactly who you are looking for… Wouldn’t that be Gulniforgf, the hunchback one-eyed cleft-lipped ogre cursed by Nærvel, the Goddess of the Waters? she said with an encouraging wink
              — Oh, by Ghört’s sake, no!
              — Hoohooo, no need to swear. Of course it isn’t, I knew that, sweetie. That must be Mifilthion, the toothless bald thousand-year-old troll cursed by Agnima, the Goddess of the Flames, you are looking for, hum? she said slyly
              — Oh, no, no, no… Mine is Blohmrik, he said he was a god…
              — Oh, but you know, everyone is a bit of god in a way, so that’s hardly…
              — He said he was cursed by Lejüs
              SHOOSHOOO, the rowl flapped her wings visibly distraught. That can’t be him! Poor thing… Aromelle added plaintively, you know in these matters of curses, you have to deal with the cursing one, and Shaint Lejüs is a tough one to deal with…
              — Oh, for a moment I was afraid that you’d say Blohmrik was a deaf varicosed warty dwarf… I don’t fear that Lejüs, said bravely Mævel… perhaps a bit hastily, she thought to herself
              — Oh, no, he’s a nice fine man, sweetie, you both would do such a perfect couple…
              — And where do I find him then, Mævel was getting a bit impatient with the winking hooting hoot
              — Well, that’s easy, you just happen to have appeared on top of his burrow.

              What a waste of time, was thinking Mævel… She couldn’t wait for much longer, and after all, the burrow could be a nice place to rest.

              With a quick thanks to Aromelle, she entered the tunnel in front of her.

              #364
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Sanso was surprised at how attached he’d gotten in such a very short time to the poor wee scrap, shunted from pillar to post already and still barely a week old. He made up his mind to take the baby back, perhaps when it was a bit older.

                #359

                New Venice, year 2101

                In the waiting hall, Bart was pacing the floor recklessly. They were having their first baby, but the doctors had hushed him out, because there were some complications…
                All he could do was wait.
                They were one of the first couple to have tested the new program that allowed same-sex couples to procreate without requiring the assistance of a third-party so to speak. In fact, it had been hypothesized to be possible a long time ago already. Well, theoretically… because the most challenging part had been to bring acceptance to the people, as the old beliefs were still alive in a few moribund activist groups. But what,… nature was doing even more exotic things in the realm of creatures…

                Now he was thinking of Oscar, who had chosen to be the bearer of the child —a girl that would be… will be, mentally corrected Bart to himself. Funny thing about genetics was that male-male couples could have either girls or boys, but female-female couples could only have girls. Only because the male “Y” chromosome was carried by men.
                It had been a painstakingly long subject of discussion among scientists and philosophers as to the unbalance it would create, but well, for the time being, it was the chosen design for our human natures.
                As long as new ways of bypassing this restriction had not been invented, better enjoy it than stretching one’s mind around it.

                Looking at the window which showed the stilted structures above the waters, Bart was thinking how it was all an incredible story… What were the probabilities for that to happen?
                Bart couldn’t help but feel grateful for all of his blessings.

                At the same moment, the big breasted nurse appeared at the door crying with a large smile “it’s a healthy girl!”
                Bart burst into the room.

                :fleuron:

                They had already decided how she would be called. Midora, they had agreed.

                When he entered, Oscar Wrick’s young face was tired and sprinkled with beads of perspiration, but he had the happiest look on his face. He was still feeling a bit self-conscious about the changes the pregnancy had generated in his body, but for now he was all absorbed by the little breathing thing resting in his arms.

                After a warm embrace, Bartholomew Jobsworth thought that he should spread the good news to the family, at least to his mother, dear sparkling Indy and Bart’s parents, Eugenia and Cuthbert. He also had felt the presence of his Dad, Bill, during his wait and was deeply thankful for all of their support.

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