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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Jarvis was dozing in a dark corner of the kitchen. He was dreaming of bees, he had been assigned to the bee keeping a few weeks ago, just after the “incident”. He was one man the Dr could trust. In a previous life, he was keeping bees as a family business. But an accident with the bees led to his dismissal by his uncle. A regrettable accident, too much smoke, too much dead bees. Jarvis had been thinking of a sabotage, surely he had been framed but as he was thinking of quiting this poor paid job, it was also a perfect occasion.
He had been engaged as a security agent… sort of. He had to pretend to be a gardener and not awake suspicion among the others. The funny thing is that he had soon been contacted by another organization, and had been offered quite a good price. All he had to do was observe and dream. Unfortunately, the man, Claude, who had approached him was disguised as a patient… and he had disappeared after the “incident”. Since then Jarvis had been having strange dreams of mummies, magpies, there was even one with 3 eyes 2 nights ago
The light was turned on abruptly. Someone was arriving, still hidden by the tables and shelves.
With the sound of the heels on the tiled floor, that was a woman… or the Doctor.
A little twinge told him not to let him be noticed yet. He moved his head silently in a position from which he could see who it was.
Oh! that big athletic woman, Vasse.
Claude had told him about her. Jarvis had to be very cautious, because she was of another organization… another
he was calling her agent V. Well Jarvis wasn’t curious enough to ask any further detail, there were already too much to remember.She was doing something with a little jar of a brown substance, and brought a spoon full at her mouth. Her sudden coughing and spitting almost made him fall off his chair. But hopefully with all the noise she hadn’t noticed. Mumbling, she was heading toward the fridge. Was she possibly aware of…
Yes! she was taking the plate with the honeycomb… he’d have to move quickly.
As she was considering the modified honeycomb, he realized that she was about to eat it. So she didn’t know.
He had to warn her.— I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, Agent V…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Due to the unusual events in the year 2026, Nishanti and her five sisters lived in the reconstructed ancient city of Hingapooloopi that had been submerged beneath the ocean for centuries. There had been a series of tsunami’s and eathquakes and volcanic eruptions resulting in an enormous hole appearing in the sea bed into which a considerable amount of Indian Ocean sea water had disappeared, lowering the sea levels in some locations, mainly those that had risen slightly due to shifting tectonic plates.
Ten year old Nishanti and her five sisters (Hinni, 3; Yaso, 5; Yuvani, 7; Eromi, 13; and Nanda, 16) had lost their parents, and indeed most of their relatives, due to an unfortunate mishap in the kitchens two years previously in the year 2032 at the wedding party of their brother, Chandra. Gayesh, Nishanti’s eldest brother had mistakenly included poisonous red berries in the desert. Fortunately, Nishanti and her sisters had been reading the Snoot Q&A column in The Tarty Nun girls magazine that they had procured without their parents knowledge from a school trip of American tourists, in which Snoot had advised against red fruits.
Hingapooloopi was located on the land bridge , once again exposed, between Sri Lanka and the Indian continent. The reconstruction had been an enormously interesting undertaking, and Nishanti’s uncle Roshan had been involved in the ground work excavations. He found many artifacts, which he smuggled off the building site, and secreted under the floorboards of the old family home in the highlands . Perhaps the most interesting one was the crystal skull; certainly it was the one that Nishanti found the most intriguing.
In reply to: Story Timeline and Map
too bad I can’t access it from work…. they seem to have blocked everything
fortunately enough they haven’t noticed that I’m coming here often
In reply to: Talks on the latest Instalments
Unfortunately, Yann can’t have access to this fun game…
He’s just here partly projected.
In reply to: Synchronicity
Oxshift
ahem, well for my latest synchs:
I followed numberplate J533 into town this morning.
Lemon synchs please see my previous comment well … i finally threw out the last of these lemons I had stored in my fridge yesterday, and thought fondly of the whole lemon synch thing. Then I noticed today that Tracy had posted the lemon tree song again in her ramblings thread. A short time later I picked up the local hawkes bay newspaper in order to peruse it, and saw that the whole front page was a picture of Noel Lucas (we don’t know him, I just include his name for accuracy) and a big heading A ZEST FOR THE BEST. Noel was holding up a lemon, which looked to be about as big as his head. It weighed 756gms.
Apparently on Jan 12th there was a story of a 600gm lemon (unfortunately I missed this story .. as you can see our local newspaper is full of riveting news …) and now a lemon war has started as lemon growers vie for the biggest lemon.
Noel has never fertilized his lemons and attributes it to climate changes. He has lived in the same house same house since 1983 and this is the biggest crop ever.
Director of the Lemon marketing board believes the bumper crop is due to an “evolutionary leap.” hahahaha
I think this is also a Nadia synch, biggest baby, biggest lemon… oh and also Hercules the biggest dog.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
— But what the heck is he doing? He’s not gonna puke into my car! Armando was giving short anxious looks at the rear having finally noticed where the frogging sound was coming from.
— Oh, no… Al is very professional Tina was giggling. You know, he’s a top consultant on health issues. He’d tell you that better than me, I’m just a cosemotologist, but he knows what he does
— Oh really? Armando sounded interested
— Indeed… Al started
— Cosemotologist? interrupted Armando, almost flying over a wild goose crossing the path of the car.
— Yes answered Tina, batting a few eyelashes in the process.
— It has to do with this new thing, like using emotions as make-up?
— Yes, sure. It’s pretty effective for black spots, for instance, I’m not telling that for you of course. Here’s my card, if you’re interested in some private consultation. I also do sebum-blotches analysis, all you have to do is apply your face on a sheet of paper…Oh, wasn’t that mean, Tina? although Sam was finding the discussion hilarious, he knew Armando was quite ticklish on his appearance.
— And what’s the use of his swelling and frog sounds then? asked Armando, in a subtle attempt to move the focus of attention away from him
— Mmm… I’m still experimenting, but it’s an alteration of some of our common digesting bacterias, to have us efficiently process some of the new foods. But as I see it, the process of adaptation of these new bacterias may have some unpleasant side effects of swelling. Fortunately, I’ve found some old beat in the MuSoundeum that seems to help dissipate the swelling effects… I suppose the singer is still alive now… Perhaps you even know her, she was called Britta Toothpicks— Good grief, here it is! Armando was visibly very relieved to have the rooftop of their destination on sight. He started to descend abruptly, making Chump bark at the slight air decompression, and in a matter of minutes, at the sound of frogs and Britta Toothpicks’ beats, they had all landed safely on top of the River Soup Restaurant and Salsad a new hype all-you-can-eat restaurant, where people would sit on boats and scoop their food out of the soup-river.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Elizabeth Tattler gasped and clutched the right side of her chest. For a moment she wondered if the sharp pain she felt was a heart attack, and was greatly relieved when she realised it was located on the other side of her chest. After some investigation of her cluttered desk, she realised she must have fallen asleep on the pyramid shaped pencil sharpener her friend Yannie P had given her for her last birthday. It was made of fake blue diamond and was really rather beautiful; she could see thousands of suspended dust particles in it’s reflected light. But it was damn sharp! A thought flashed through her head, was the gift really a cunning plot to murder her? She shook her head at her own absurdity, anyway, fortunately the five layers of Angora-Mongoat wool jerseys she was wearing had protected her from more serious injury.
She could not help but notice how the consistently the quote of the day seemed so in tune with her moods. It was almost uncanny:
Bugger your feelings~ Tobipooh
Damn right! If she listened to her feelings she would go home and sleep for a week. No time for that, no time for a nana nap even! She had a novel to write.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
In reply to: Synchronicity
And another movie sync!
Watched a cartoon last night on TV called Madagascar .“Exploring their surroundings, the four friends soon meet the Malagasy locals (a type of lemur given to having loud “rave-like” dance parties
) and their carnivorous enemies, the fousas (a type of mongoose). As the two sides try to use these four new, strange (and large) friends to their benefit, our heroes are also confronted with the reality of their predestined roles in nature.”If the King of The Lemurs wasn’t Patel I’ll eat my hat. Hilarious! Unfortunately, despite thoroughly enjoying it, I suddenly fell asleep and missed half of it.
In reply to: Join me for a gourd of langoat milk……
et glou et glou et glou et glou
or in japanese
ikki ikki ikki ikki
Unfortunately I don’t know it in english… could it be gulp gulp gulp ?
>:D<
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The room was grey.
Since she had been raped by the guards Atiara was mute, and closed in herself. It had been a very freaking experience, and quite new to her.
She was virgin then and quite unaware of those aspects.Fortunately, it had been only once, at her arrival in this prison…
The guards had threatened her not to tell anything, but she was already gone so to speak. All her will gone, all her hope gone, all her joy gone.It’s been 3 weeks ago. She’d barely ate and drink. And she’d been left alone. The guards were not speaking to her. They didn’t even try after those events.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The unusual overwhelming heat, which had begun with the spring equinox had finally temporarily receded with the appearance of big opaque cumulonimbus filling the sky with a mute thunderous sound. The flickering glow was no longer enough for Raphael to distinguish the small dark characters dancing before his eyes, the storm having let the night pounce on them earlier than it should have.
So, Raphael closed his thick leather-bound book and put it back into his burgundy backpack bag, inhaling deeply the air of the dusk, mollified by the music of the raindrops that ricocheted now discreetly on the rusty steel plates.The remaining passengers began to hurry around a meager dinner wrapped in dirty newspaper sheets, displaying energy resources that he felt incapable of. Feeling no hunger at all, he decided to go on the pontoon to taste the moisture exuding in the evening, this celestial water, soothing down the fever of this trip, which drew to a close. The boat continued to rend imperturbably through the obsidian sea, and the thick enveloping fog prevented them to distinguish the lights of the city that he could feel at a distance.
This was not the first time, but at each of his return, the city seemed changed, this time ghostly apparition, once glittering pearl. This was undoubtedly one of the reasons which had him leave it, as others would have done with a lover, to better appreciate this fleeting moment of reunion.
The book had been given to him by a stranger he had met, and was part of his mission; he didn’t usually accept assignments in this city where he was too obvious, but the stranger had assured him nothing illegal would be required of him, just delivering a book.
He had leafed through the book, just to make sure there was no foul play on the part of this strange man with amber eyes that seemed to keep changing colours. But the book had seemed innocuous. Even worse, it did not make any sense for Raphael. The chapters were randomly numbered, and the text seemed to keep changing. Perhaps it was Raphael’s mind which played tricks on him, but it was baffling for him, as he was accustomed to keep his senses sharp as a dagger. Whatever,… The man had paid, and a plump pile of money even.The insistent rumors of a mysterious illness which had already claimed fatalities within the walls of the city had not deterred him to go there —knowing that the few people caring about him would have preferred to see him flee this destination, so certain as they were to be themselves immune to the contingencies of life. Even the bald adipose captain of the ship, Fat Yong Choi had seemed wary of having a pale-skinned foreigner coming on board of his boat, but he had quickly seen that Raphael was no common traveler.
But there was no longer time to rehash those turpitudes, the harbour finally appearing, like a halo glow from the contours of which some faint sounds escaped, soon to be stifled by the purring and cracking of the bulging vessel.
The winds began to sweep the docks violently, causing the cargo, now anchored, to oscillate wildly, like a huge weeble at the hands of the elements. Fortunately, due to the alarming news from the city, the boat was only half full, and the unloading was smooth. Raphael, unnerved by the long journey, only wanted to walk, but patiently followed the slow pace of the procession which led him outside of the harbour’s enclosure, even before he had noticed it.
Raphael wanted above all to rest, but didn’t care to be bothered speaking to someone. He preferred to sink deep down in his thoughts while walking through the streets, rather than lose this feeling of freedom. Freedom to choose his own itinerary, without a word to say, entirely open to the silence of the streets.
The fine drizzle had indeed deserted the streets making the city infinitely enjoyable for him. It was indeed just as he liked it best, at dusk, just faintly resonating with the sound of his own steps.
Empty — a few passersby in search of a shelter nearby. He imagined to be a ghost haunting these places without life, enjoying the feeling of being the predator felinely prowling in this scene without spectators, shrouded in the reassuring complicity of the night.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Oörlaith heard the sound of a barking dog not far from her rookery. They were back with his master, and she knew at once their mission was complete.
A few months ago she had met a strange man, he told her he was called Leonard, and the funny black dog that was following him everywhere was called Moufle. An ancient word for mitten… Well she didn’t ask why he’d call him like that, the dog was so hairy…
Leonard was a lonely traveller, quite ancient as she could feel, but she wasn’t able to know his actual age. And there were some other weird feelings when she was focusing on his energy tone, something to do with time itself.
When she first met him she knew he was the one she was looking for for ages. It’s been such a long time she hadn’t heard from her sisters. Oörlaith’d been having these dreams since they chose different direction many years ago, Malvina and Roselÿn, her precious ones. It wasn’t necessary for her then to keep objective contact with them through the glubolín.
One year ago, the dreams stopped abruptly, and she tried several methods to reach her sisters. None of them with success. All her attempts failed, and she thought first she had lost her own power, but she knew one can not loose power of self, just forget it or create it on purpose. She realized then it was time to recreate these links more objectively.
She couldn’t find her glubolín though. And Leonard arrived. Fortunately enough he had news from some strange events occurring in the land where she knew Malvina had settled her rookery. Was she still here with Leörmn?
Yann had been feeling many impulses to draw scenes from his dreams and from the story they were creating with Quintin, Fiona, and Truth. It was an urge from inside and last night he had a very intense dream activity, most of which he couldn’t remember, it was more like a big forum with many different personalities all exchanging experiences and exploring new avenues.
He was also attracted by old stories he was writing when he was a student, the one involving Georges and Salome, it seemed to him they had taken a life of their own now, and they felt very powerful, and most of all, they felt like really having fun.
One of the drawing that was intriguing him was one that represented a sign of sort, in grayish sparkly clouds. He had given the pic a strange title, Oorlath. Yann had connected the name to an individual and was surprised when Quintin told him about a princess named Oörlaith. He was wondering who she was…
She still had no face when he thought of her… maybe she was hidden for the moment… and he had the strangest thought that she knew Leonard, the man he’d been drawing with his black hairy dog.
Haha, he had felt her smile.
Chiara was looking for the boy she’d met last time in her dreams. Maybe he could give her some berries again, they were really tasty and fluberrish.
But she’s been looking for him for so long she wonder if she could find the way again…
Where she was now felt different. The light? The air? She took a deep breathe and just sat down on the grassy land. She had a quick thought that the land were more rocky than grassy a few seconds ago, but as she was feeling the grass under her hands, she dismissed the thought.
She was hearing birds singing, it was quite funny the way they were bounding from one sound to the other and she could understand what they were saying, much gossips and a few compliments for a new mother
nothing really important to her. She Jibbled.Lying down on the mossy land, she was looking… mossy? wasn’t it grassy? Now it’s mossy… hope that wouldn’t become mothy
She was looking the clouds, some were grayishly sparkling, she was enjoying it…
“Are you looking for something” a voice said.
Chiara quickly sat up and gazed at the fat lady who was standing before her.
“Hahahaha, you found me at least my dear” laughed the woman.
“My name is Roselÿn, and you are Chiara, aren’t you?”
The little girl was gaping at Roselÿn… how could she possibly know her name?
“I feel I know you :yahoo_thinking:” she said dreamily.
“You make me feel like when I’m with my uncle Yann, and… there’s something else… oh!?”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Yann have been working on the drawing sporadically, several subject were coming to his mind at the same time and he wanted to treat them all… All what he could do for the moment was just draw some sketches of all that… there was that scene with his niece and the dragon-boy, and that other scene where he could see that man on a dinosaur-like mount…
At times he could also feel the gentle energy of his dear friend Amanda. He’d wanted to meet her in Vienna in June, but unfortunately she couldn’t attend the meeting. She was participating in his current exploration of art. It was like he could feel many energies from different people and different beings and he could choose to express them as he wanted.
Some could be translated just in movement, like just drawing lines and create a harmonious disposition and interactions between them, suggesting other lines that weren’t fully expressed or weren’t expressed at all.
Some others could be translated as colors and shades, contrast and iridescence… possibilities were infinite.
He was wondering how he could introduce the gentle energy of his friend, but maybe it had already been incorporated.
Salome was feeling a draw to the cave…
She was focusing her energy slightly differently now, in order to manifest in this dimension an aspect of herself.
