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  • #2870

    In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

    EricEric
    Keymaster

      The world didn’t end that day.
      But maybe it should have, or at least the endless list of senseless rules, silly obligations, half-compromises and clever-yet-too-often-outdone-by-stupidity ploys to defeat them.
      Stuck in the middle of his twelfth failed attempt at booking a flight for the Land of the Long Cloud, he found himself dreaming of buying… well, no— buying was sorely overrated nowadays. With all the rules on how you could or could not spend your money, he’d found it impossibly difficult to buy his friend the new camera of his dreams.
      So, let’s dream of building something instead: a dream submersible airborne trailer, or maybe just a flying house with giant wheels, to soar above the pettiness of this world, and to go unfettered wherever fancy called.
      He knew why the shark tank in the department store had exploded last week, killing only the sharks and turtles. It probably wasn’t being boxed, as much as being forced to look everyday at the headless consumers that killed the creatures. Whatever the reason might have been, in all fairness, they’d managed to boldly go beyond the end of their world.

      #128

      In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

      EricEric
      Keymaster

        In the corner of a nearby street, Todd reverted back to his prefered form. That of a brown dwarf. His dream was to be a star, so he liked the irony of it.
        “Finally done with this irritating ex-pron star and her antics” he said chewing on a bone leftover while heading for his ride, a red convertible, gift of the Sh’elves. “She had it coming after all, she should have libned quietly like she was supposed to.”

        Next on his plans was to liaise back with Neb, but he feared his friend had not in him to complete his mission. Hopping in the car, he wished he wouldn’t be too late on his way to the ranch, with all those cracks and holes in the road.

        Wiping his mouth still full of blood, an insidious concern crept into his mind. What if he too had been affected by the bloody fwicking kraken disease. But that was too early to say.

        #1293

        In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          “Are you flaming daft? I ain’t giving no bloody stranger my precious poodlekins!” The woman grabbed the poodle and clutched it protectively to her ample bosom.

          Luigi sighed. He found other people somewhat baffling, and a tad unaccommodating, to say the least. He searched back in his memory, but could not for the life of him recall where the ointment originally came from

          … a nice lady gave it to him? …

          No, it was gone; there was just a gaping hole in his mind. He pondered the matter for a few moments, then decided he was done pondering and would be better served giving his attention to the light ship, which had also disappeared.

          “How odd” he muttered.

          “I beg your flaming pardon! I’m not the bloody odd one I’ll ‘ave you bloody know … ‘ere, I know what this is.” The woman’s face lit up and she leaned forward provocatively, “You’re making some of them bloody advances at me ain’t you?”

          #1464

          In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

          benjaminbenjamin
          Participant

            “King Apil-Sin, king Apil-Sin!” Smuftar shouted, as he smashed through the royal palace doors.

            “I bring grave tidings. We have word that a great bright flash-of-a-light came swiftly down from the heavens and into our kingdoms gardens. Our armored men were so scared that they lost their bowls in an instant, and ran into the hills screaming.” exclaimed Smuftar.

            “I see. That must have been Zu-the winged lion.” sighed king Apil-Sin.

            King Apil-Sin pondered for a moment, and then some more, and then decided he was done pondering.

            “That explains the disappearance of the purple flowers.” exclaimed king Apil-Sin!

            Smuftar tilted his head.

            #2475
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              The bodies, not to be outdone, decided to stage their own event.

              #2726

              In reply to: Strings of Nines

              EricEric
              Keymaster

                “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.

                #2813

                In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Whether or not Arachne was actually better at weaving than Athena is still a mystery, or perhaps it is a moot point and no mystery at all. Weaving is by no means a solitary endeavour, as Blithe found early one summer morning. The river mist was rising and the air itself was dancing in droplets. It was hard to determine if the droplets were falling or rising, or simply milling around on the air currents. Hard green oranges (clearly oranges had been named in winter, or they would likely have been called greens) were festooned with silver threads, linking orange to orange, orange to tree and tree to wire fence, and back again. It was debatable whether or not the individual spiders were aware of the grand overall design of the early morning web links of the orange groves, just as it was equally debatable whether or not the inhabitants of the various Gibber realities were aware of the network of waterpipes that connected the other inhabitants to themselves and each other, and to the other Gibber worlds. Individuals were individuals, whether they be spiders, or Gibblets, and individuals generally speaking were focused on their own part of the tapestry (and often those of their immediate neighbours). Spider 57 on the east fence might be positioned to catch the first rays of sunshine in the mornings, but Spider 486,971 over near the dung heap was in a better position to catch the afternoon flies. And so on, as somebody famous once said.

                  As Blithe prowled around the orchard capturing potential clues on her Clumera she inevitably became part of the laybrinthine web of sticky threads herself, as they attached themselves to her hair and clothing. All of the gaps between the solids in the field were joined together with spun filaments, just as the Gibblets were joined together with fun spillaments (although leaking waterpipes were sadly misinterpreted as not-fun all too often, despite that they could be used as an opportunity to view the connections of the Waterpunk more comprehensively.)

                  The individual spiders lacy parlours were framed in wire squares, several hundred, if not more, along the perimeter fences. Not every wire fence square was filled; there were many vacant lots between established residences ~ whether by practical design or mere happenstance, Blithe couldn’t say. Many of the individual webs were whole and perfect, like the windows of Lower Gibber whose inhabitants kept their lace curtains clean and neatly hung. Many of the webs on the wire fence were not perfect in the symetrical sense ~ some had gaping holes, and there were those that appeared to be unfinished, despite showing great potential. Others appeared to be abandoned, hanging in shreds, not unlike many of the residences in Upper Gibber.

                  The wire framed residences of the field (and likewise the peeling paint framed residences of Upper Gibber) that appeared to be defunct were not quite as they seemed, however. They were simply being viewed from a different timeframe. It was quite possible to view each wire or peeled paint framed en-trance side by side, notwithstanding that they were, so to speak, located in varying timeframes. All that was required was a more flexible viewpoint, and an ability to view more than one timeframe simultaneously. It was all a question of allowing an entrance to en-trance ~ which was, after all, its function.

                  {link: misty morning; entrance}

                  #2417

                  “Now you’ve gorn and done it! They’ll all know that Shar is really one of ‘them that shan’t be joked about’!” exclaimed Mavis.

                  “What the fuck are you on about, our Mavis?” asked Gloria. “You mean the Shards what started off as Windows? Is our Sha one of them Shards then, what’s doing them chemtrails?”

                  Mavis gasped in horror. “You mustn’t talk about the Shards like that” she whispered, looking nervously behind her.

                  “I happen to know that this is the Lupin Express” replied Gloria, who was transitioning strongly.

                  #2075

                  In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Although done,
                    Stranger, mother, everyone, creature
                    looks attention:
                    Girl, perfect black.
                    Ask, perhaps himself free?
                    Smile rude.
                    Notice Leormn Fellowship Idea,
                    “Eye write”
                    Box teleport.
                    Heard wonder, let Sharon replied.
                    Random asked matter:
                    Strange sudden (usually inside) particular finally… surely feeling sound, following home… clear…

                    Realized, somewhat
                    Hear happy laugh
                    Mention hot ones
                    Magic voice
                    :creating_magic:

                    #2412

                    The Peasland Majorburgmester rubbed his hands with an evil glee.

                    Fwick was knee deep in kneading for what appeared to be a lunatic idea bound to failure, and more importantly, it’s been weeks that no one had heard back from the expedition to the Eighth Dimension… And frankly, anyone having spent more than a few days in the Eighth Dimension usually was never to be heard of again —or heard speak anything intelligible for that matter, which didn’t make much difference either.
                    In fact, there had been some reports of sightings of the poor souls’ dog, what was its name already, Gandfleur or something equally ridiculous. But a single dog was hardly a problem, and now he couldn’t see how Peasland would be able to avoid the unavoidable blubbits dominion over Peaslanders.
                    He’d made that surer than sure; he’d gone again no later than yesterday, concealed under a waterproof floak (a floating cloak for inundated part of the lands), deep into the heart of Peasland’s plains now ridden in burrows to feed the breading mother of all blubbits a healthy dose of blunips. It had cost him most Mungibs he thought he would ever allow to part with, but it was Mungibs well placed. Soon people would plead for a real game changer. And he knew well who would step forward, and it was nothing like those headless twats.

                    He was in such a jolly mood, he’d called for a party. Well not officially called that, of course —Peaslanders were such worryworts about their crops and the famine that may occur… But a little friendly gathering to celebrate their heroes gone to the Eighth for answers. What a masquerade.

                    He was indeed in such a jolly mood that he took the sinewy and allwardly beautiful Lady Fin Min Hoot by the waist, and invited her to a delirious dance —it was indeed a dandy day for dancing— and for a little after-hour in his carriage when they are done jiggling their bodyparts (at least in public).

                    That was then, all tied up in leather ribbons and pillows’ owl’s feathers, when he (and Lady Fin) heard the raucous voice calling.

                    Gnarfle !
                    Yes, that was it! that was the stupid name of the dog!…

                    How come they’d managed to come back?!

                    #2388

                    He was lying on her massage table, his nudity covered with a blue satin towel. Josephine had really soft hands and was a really good masseuse. Almondus Blondor had been waiting for so long for this massage that he wouldn’t let one bit escape his awareness; though, he was feeling as if he was inexorably slipping into the drum world, his heart was pounding, more and more present. His attention was merging with his old drum self, when he could remember clearly how it was before he came here through the portal himself.

                    :fleuron:

                    Josephine was using the very potion she was preparing when she heard the tinkling sound… and she was unaware that her hand had taken a wrong ingredient, one of the most important ones. Even if she had known, she would have been unable to tell the consequences of the switch. Almondus could just disappear, melt, transform into a big giant dragonfly… at the moment, she was into a trance, far even from the idea that she could do such a mistake. She never did mistakes!

                    :fleuron:

                    Bentworth Sadnick was all but confident in his new appointment by his peaster. He had never been alone at the portal before, and he feared most of all that someone would come ask a question. In his mind, it was unthinkable that someone would even dare ask to open the portal…

                    He was lost in his hamster wheel, too exhausted by the race to do the usual chores —sure his peaster would notice when he comes back. But what if some official came by? It would certainly be a disaster, Bentworth would be caught stammering and that would only add to his confusion. Wasn’t it hot here? So hot, maybe if he could just put his head aside for a few moments… no, it was forbidden, his peaster had repeated it thousands of times to him, and had him repeat it ten times more… though it could help, sure, release the pressure in his head. His hands reached the hook of his head-fastener and a sudden release of pressure popped into the silence, ending in a harmonious whistling sound.

                    Holding his head in his hands, face turned to his chest, he was unable to see the strangers coming from the distance. He sat on the first step of the stairs climbing to the portal, his head resting on his lap, looking at his belly button (his clothes were too short for him, and he was looking like a child grown too fast). Though he was the only one present and when he suddenly heard a raucous voice asking if he could make his bird sing, he feared that it was some kind of sexual offer and were his head on, it would have blushed, but it was still releasing pressure and the sudden squirck sounded like a yes.

                    That’s when he lost his head, he stood up briskly and his head rolled on the ground, hitting a stone in the process. His head was knocked out, and he couldn’t use it for the moment. What had his peaster told him so often: “Always do as if you know what to do! Don’t let people see you don’t know, even if you don’t… pretend that you have all the answers. You’re here the most trusted Peaslander and everybody will trust what you say.”

                    “Sh-show mme yu-your bi-bird!”

                    The Aunt and Dolores looked at each other… the others being headless it would have been pointless.
                    “Are you the Keeper of the Old and notwithstanding Great portal of Nibabuz.”

                    As he was about to say yes, another release of pressure from his unconscious head made a squirmish sound. As they were waiting, he said the word that would seal his destiny.
                    “Yeyes!”

                    :fleuron:

                    That’s when Almondus, falling asleep, farted. Was it the mixture of Josephine? Was it that he hadn’t done a detox cure for centuries? Nonetheless, that had the disastrous effect of inducing Josephine in a lethargic state. She stopped massaging him and stood there still. Her spearit gone, far worse than if her head had popped out on its own.

                    #2369

                    “And how do I play these notes?” asked Pee raucously. “I can’t even see them without my head.”

                    “Mmmh! Yes that could be a problem” acquiesced Fwick. The saucerer scratched his chin for a few seconds as he couldn’t remember where he had put that ancient device.

                    “Well maybe I could just send you to the bird keeper, and he can give you one of our last Anthornis Melanura…”
                    “I beg your pardon?” Pee’s voice was more raucous than ever, it was quite disturbing to the saucerer who wasn’t used to talking with a headless Peaman, but he couldn’t show his discomfort though, as he thought of it, the headless Peaman was also eyeless and couldn’t see his discomfort.
                    “Hum! This is the ancient name of the legendary Bul Bird of New Peasland. Mewrich Peamon, the bird keeper, his family has been breeding these birds since the great Peaphetess Frean Psea found these notes some millenia ago; they are the only ones which can open the ED. Any other sequence of notes would… well we don’t know exactly what could occur. You’re on your own on this one, Pee. ehr, I’m sorry, ehh, But be assured that I’ll take care of Peanelope for you.”

                    “Oh! You’re too kind, Saucerer” said Pee who couldn’t have known that his faithful wife and the Saucerer were having an affair.

                    A sudden cry from Lilly startled them both. She had burst into tears and her brother was looking like a culprit. But Fwick wasn’t sure as he hadn’t got a head either…

                    “What have you done, Pickel?” asked Pee with his raucous voice.

                    #2347

                    Ann realized she was late for her Flimsy Unravelled Continuity Knowledge class. A couple of months late, in point of fact, as Worserversity classes had resumed two months previously.

                    “Where have you BEEN?” Lavender whispered as Ann slid as inconspicuously as possible into the seat beside her, while the professor at the front of the class was facing the blueboard.

                    “Do I know you?” asked Ann, with a puzzled expression. The girl beside her did look vaguely familiar.

                    “Oh how rude you are, Ann. Are you trying to be funny?”

                    “Oh no, not at all!” Ann’s eyes filled with tears.

                    Lavender frowned. It wasn’t like Ann to start blarting and blubbering in public. “What’s the matter?” she asked kindly.

                    “I’ve lost my memory!” exclaimed Ann. “I can’t remember a thing!”

                    “Oh, is that all,” replied Lavender dismissively. “I’d have thought you’d be used to that by now.”

                    “No, no, you don’t understand! I can’t remember anything at all now, it’s all gone, poof! Gone!” Ann wept and started to wring her hands.

                    “Well the first thing you need to do is stop that bloody snivelling and wipe your nose. Here” she said, handing Ann a tissue. “And the next thing you need to do is stop worrying about it, and just fake it until you get your memory back. Worrying about it won’t help, you must focus on the things you do remember.”

                    “But it’s all jumbled up and muddled in my head, I remember bits, you know? But I can’t fit them all together. I CAN’T FIT THEM ALL TOGETHER!”

                    SHHH!” snapped Lavender. “Try not to draw any attention to yourself! I’ll help you, don’t worry.”

                    “You’re so kind” Ann smiled weakly. “What did you say your name was?”

                    “Lavender. My name is Lavender, and I’m going to help you remember. Just remember this, for now: what you can’t remember, don’t worry about, the important thing is to carry on. Just CARRY ON REGARDLESS, ok?”

                    “OK.” Ann sighed with releif. “What’s the Professor going on about?”

                    “The next assignment. We’re to read that cryptic old classic book Circle of Eights and try to decipher it.”

                    “Good greif! Nobody has ever managed to decipher that book!”

                    “You see?” said Lavender. “You can remember that! Well done, girl!”

                    #2643

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    After her little escapade with Yimho, and then with Brennan, and then with Gormitohl, and with each escapade, a new home, new relationships and relatives, Malvina was starting to feel homesick. ‘Home’ wasn’t really any place of course, but we all know when we feel at home or not. And right now, the feeling was clear and loud that she wasn’t.
                    Not only that, but her selfless outpouring of love (which dear Arona always found slightly exaggerated for her tastes) had oftentimes put her in awkward situations.
                    People weren’t always aware that even though her love was given so strongly to all of creatures, it could be found everywhere, in every creature. Ancients called that stream viwre. The only difference with her and the others was that she wasn’t discriminating and her love was outpourring in every direction, regardless of the intentions of the receiver. And that could become a terrible power.

                    Well, after all the traveling with her teal-coloured dragon Leörmn, and occasional visits from the young dragon breeder Irtak she felt more than ever the need to reconnect. It’s been too many years now, and the world of the (still) warring Kingdoms didn’t feel much of a better place. So there was still work to be done.

                    Of all people, she knew where to turn to.
                    It was too early to start her trip around the world to physically reunite with her sisters. A lifelong project which had strangely stalled ever since they started to mention it.
                    But she remembered Kalliona, a beautiful woman living south of the Marshes of Doom. She wasn’t really a woman either, but rather an E’elim of the woods, but she appeared as a beautiful woman to almost anyone.
                    She would help her realign with her path.

                    Leörmn!” She called “We’re packing!”
                    “To where, may I ask?”
                    “Olliburthon”
                    “Oh great… A stinking harbour now.”

                    #2342

                    — “I’m sure some weaving of threads can be done at a later date if necessary, if it doesn’t weave itself. Did you see the weaving quotes?”
                    — “Well, it would be like asking shaven sheep to have their mops of hair on the floor weave themselves on their own…”
                    — “Text/textile ~ weaving a story, which was where mother goose came in!”
                    — “And how would she know the first thing about weaving, she’s only got feathers on her back!”
                    — “Ah but she weaves a good story”
                    — “She doesn’t,… she pensThat’s what I call weaving… We need more giant spiders! Are you still … game?”

                    #2291
                    EricEric
                    Keymaster

                      Meanwhile, Pr. Gub was preparing her new course in Artistic Making of Interdimensional Bleedthroughs (AMIB for short), which her alien origin made her extremely entitled to teach. The course was more commonly known as “Crop Circle Making” inside the Worseversity, and was quite a hit every year (and one could believe not only because of the mistaken association of ‘Crops’ with Special Crops :yahoo_hypnotized: ), so that only the most motivated and creative students could enlist.

                      Aaeiulie Gub’s new design was done. Among copious sacred and profane geometric, she had chosen for it the overall shape of her favourite animal on this planet, a glaring glamorous owl. Now that the design was almost done (there was always a little leeway for improvisation every time, especially when the farmers wouldn’t like it), they would gather in one of the serene spots of the Worseversity’s park to manifest it in other dimensions…

                      #2057

                      In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                      F LoveF Love
                      Participant

                        indeed
                        help herself
                        making past assignment
                        liked reading
                        happened next morning
                        in the room
                        apparently
                        thought done
                        gave gift

                        #2277
                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          Indeed, Frantic was more than delighted to help out any of her students. It was her desire, her passion even, that they should succeed in her classes. She chastened herself mentally for making the assumption that all her students would be able to find some reference point in their past to assist them with her assignment. However, as she explained to Pedro, it was not essential for a writer to experience everything they wrote about. What was necessary was a willingness to research. Knowing the boy liked to read, she offered him an extensive reading list of appropriate material, plus a few Mills and Boons she just happened to have in her handbag, and sent him on his way.

                          She was more surprised than anyone when the janitor came to her the next morning and confessed what had happened in the service room. Apparently he had … well lets not go there, she thought, what is done is done and no harm will come of it if they both keep quiet. The little bouquet of flowers he gave her as an apology gift (GIFTSEE THE GIFT TP) did much to allay her concern. And at least the boy will have something to write about now.

                          As she put the flowers in water she pondered her next assignment. She could see she would have to give this much careful thought in order to avoid future embarrassing service room encounters.

                          #2055

                          In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                          EricEric
                          Keymaster

                            sam reality mark sharon talking mind jorid
                            order bea starting baby map open flooh
                            write side done jane circle feel past

                            #2627

                            In reply to: Strings of Nines

                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              The word flounder popped into Yolands head, and for want of the inspiration to do anything meaningful, or even useful, she googled flounder. She was astonished to find so many varieties of flounder, and recognized that she was counterparting with quite a number of them.

                              :fish:

                              There was the Crosseyed flounder that she felt an affinity for, at the end of an evening of trying to sort out her photos; Alcock’s narrow-body righteye flounder, which was what she felt like in a bed full of male dogs every night, and she could relate to the Antarctic armless flounder when she couldn’t keep track of the Antarctic thread. Barfin flounder reminded her of the green icon and her friend Finn; Bigmouth flounder ~ Yoland sighed, she definitely felt a connection to that often enough. Blotched flounder, well that sounded a bit like botched ~ there were many occasions when Yoland felt that everything she did was botched, half done and messy. Chain-mail wide-eyed flounder when she dabbled a bit in past lives, and the Disc flounder when she got her music in a muddle. The Dark flounders were the worst, when everything seemed to take on the tone of a horror movie, but they were often followed by a Deep flounder, which sometimes contained a few insights, more often than not promptly forgotten.

                              :fish:

                              Yoland sighed. Imagine counterparting with just about every flounder known to man! She decided she wasn’t the only one counterparting the European flounder, which was a releif, nor was she the only one counterparting the Fantail flounder, although at least it could be said that she wasn’t a complete fan of anyone in particular, dead or alive, she was a fantail of quite a number. There were long spells of resonating with the Finless flounder; Finn was always disappearing, or so it seemed to Yoland. Very rarely she felt an alignment with God’s flounder, thankfuly she wasn’t often prone to dwelling on God things.

                              :fish:

                              Ah, the Gray flounder, yes she’d had a bit of a flounder when Gray sent all those photos of the Beltane Dance, she’d had a flounder for sure in amongst all those. Looking back though, she’d had fun with the mummy and Ella Tindale in the Gulf flounder…

                              :fish:

                              Yoland had to laugh when she came across the Intermediate flounder. Yoland wondered if the majority of her foundering was counterparting with the Intermediate flounder and decided she was probably too intermediate to work it out objectively anyway. She often had a tussle with the Large tooth flounder, lordy, she was always floundering with dental issues. And the Largescale flounder, that really was the biggest ongoing flounder of them all, the sheer vastness of everything.

                              :fish:

                              Every now and again, less than previously though, Yoland had a Melbourne flounder on Saturday nights, and rather enjoyed it, but not as much as she enjoyed a good old New Zealand flounder.

                              :fish:

                              Another flounder Yoland always enjoyed was an Olive wide-eyed flounder, roaming around the ancient olive trees of Andalucia, wide eyed and awestruck with the beauty and history of the place. She also enjoyed a Peruvian flounder on occasion, too ~ she’d even had a dream recently about floundering around by the mysterious doorway of Amaru Muru. The next night she’d had a River flounder, dreaming of the river in the Grand Canyon.

                              :fish:

                              Sand flounders were the best of all though, Yoland recalled many happy flounderings in the world of sand and all its Subulmantium configurations. The trouble with the sand flounder was that it often morphed into the largescale flounder, and got quite out of hand.

                              :fish:

                              Yoland sighed, it had been ages since she’d felt connected to the Seven pelvic ray flounder, what with Dan working nights. She was beginning to feel like a Shelf flounder. However, at least thanks to her new diet of replacing meals with flans, chocolate mousses and ice cream, she was closely aligning now with the Slender flounder.

                              :fish:

                              The ongoing slug issue with the cat food was obviously because she was still strongly aligned with the Slime flounder. Notwithstanding, Yoland was rather pleased to note that despite her morose and petulant mood this morning, it had to be said that she often counterparted with the Smooth flounder; although that was easy to forget in moments of quiet desperation when the floundering got out of proportion.

                              :fish:

                              Smiling, Yoland remembered the dream of feet touching when she noticed there was a Sole flounder too. And how often the Spotted flounder popped up, she was always spotting clues. Well spotted! she would tell herself. Oh, and the Stone flounder, wasn’t that the truth! Yoland was aligning strongly with that lately, smoking more than ever, somehow striving for either inspiration, or perhaps oblivion.

                              :fish:

                              Oh well, I guess this is just a Summer flounder, it will pass, Yoland decided (who was secretly glad that she was nearing the end of the list of flounder names). And sure enough, the next on the list was the Three spotted flounder, surely a good sign! A probability change perhaps! As if to validate Yolands impression, she noticed the Tile-colored righteye flounder. There was even a Warthog flounder, which seemed to ring a bell with a recent entry to the Reality Play.

                              :fish:

                              Best of all was the Windowpane flounder, Yoland felt she would even go so far as to say that this was her new focus animal. Well, she thought, if I am making this all up, I can make that up too!

                              :fish:

                              Thankfully Yoland reached the end of the flounder list, rather pleased that it had ended on such an amusing and encouraging note.

                              Being closely aligned with flounders wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

                              :fish:

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