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  • #4190
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Liz was aghast. What had her characters been writing about her now? If there was one thing Elizabeth had learned while unleashing characters into the reality experience, was that there was no such thing as control. You could not expect the expected when it came to characters. It was almost as if they had a mind of their own.

      “Not so fast!” she shouted to Felicity who was trying to climb the fence with the help of a sturdy old vine. She glared at Godfrey. “Now look what you’ve started.”

      #4189
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        “You see,” Godfrey pointed out with the rolled paper “Finnley’s got a point here.”
        “And what point pray you say?” Liz’ looked outraged at the lack of encouragements.

        “Oh, I don’t know, I just said that to grab your attention for a minute.” Godfrey smiled from the corner of his mouth.

        Liz’ could not think of something to say, suddenly noticing with amazing details the tense silence, and the small gathered crowd of people looking at her in a mix of face expressions. A scene from her last hospitalisation came back to her, and the horror of trying to seem sane and not utter anything strange to those so-called experts, who were gauging her sanity like hyenas laughing around a tentfull of human snacks.

        “You have my full attention.” she heard herself say unexpectedly.

        “That’s really the first step in rehabilitation” the doctor opined with a pleased smile.

        “Did, did I relapse again?”

        “What are you talking about Liz’?” Godfrey was back looking at her with concern in his eyes. She had never noticed his eyes before. Only the furry moustaches above them.

        “I think I got lost in the story’s threads again…” Liz’ felt like a little girl being berated by the teacher again, and by her mother for not standing for herself.
        “Yeah, it’s a bit of a dumpster…” Haki said snarkily, to which Liz quickly replied mentally “go away, you’re just a character, I fired you many threads ago.”

        “Liz’, you have that vacant expression again, Liz’!” Godfrey was waving at her face.
        “Stop DOING that, you old coot! What’s wrong with all of you!”

        Felicity took a reprieve from her observation post ogling the gardener’s backside, on the guise of bird-watching, and snickered “told you it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

        “Hold on” Godfrey stopped her in a conciliatory tone. “your attitude isn’t really helping Felicity. And Liz sharing her dream recall is a good thing, honestly, we could all do with a bit of getting in touch with our magical self.”

        “Oh, I’ve had enough of this loads of bollocks” Felicity said, and she packed and left for good.

        “That was a bit abrupt ending, but I like it” opined Godfrey at second reading. “Actually like it better than the version where she jumps through the window, probably pushed by the maid she criticized about the hair in the pea soup.”

        “That’s about as magical as I can muster for now, Godfrey, give me time.” Liz smiled relieved that the mummy ordeal was behind her. “Fuck murmality” she smiled impishly, “let’s start a new fantasy thread.”

        “With dragons in it?” Godfrey’s eyes were beaming.

        “Oh, you and your damned dragons…”

        #4184
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “Oh. how ridiculous!” exclaimed Elizabeth, throwing a transcript at Godfrey.

          Deftly catching the paper being tossed in the whirlwind of a forceful exhalation of Liz’s cigarette smoke, he raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

          “She had a dream, you see,” continued Liz. “A dream about a writer and her maid. She mentioned it to me because she had one of those funny feelings it was about me, and when she told me, well the first thing I thought about was, well, you know….”

          But Godfrey wasn’t listening, he was winking at Finnley who was reading over his shoulder. The maid stifled a giggle.

          “So then I said to her,” Elizabeth explained, “‘I wonder what she’s been up to, left to her own devices?” and then she asked him all about it, and that’s what he said. Thrown me for a loop, I must say.”

          ~~~

          E: (chuckling) Left to her own devices, she generates considerable intensity in extremes.

          A: is this a character that has become a focus?

          E: Reverse.

          A: So it’s a focus that has become a character…. is there any information on the focus itself that I could offer her to play with that?

          E: The focus is a past focus, but a recent past focus…a past focus in the timeframework of the 1940s…

          A: in the Americas?

          E: This focus travels, but I would express is based in Britain.

          A: That makes sense.

          E: And in actuality is involved with early computers…with large cables. LARGE cables…

          A: [babble babble ohh ahh blah blah] …and she is female?

          E: Yes.

          #4181
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            “And where has Felicity gone?” Godfrey mused aloud.

            #4179
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              “Why don’t you get on with telling us your dream and then we can all bugger off,” prompted Finnley.

              “It was a big rambling house, much more to it than we expected. The kind of house with lots and lots of little rooms and different areas, and two or three people here or there, doing whatever they were doing. Sort of odd people, but not madly strange. A lovely feeling of curiosity and interest, and a marveling at how much more there was than we had anticipated. It was the kind of place,” Liz said, “That I could have moved into and not changed a thing.”

              Roberto and Finnley started to fidget noisily while Liz was lost in the remembrance of wandering around the labyrinthine dream house.

              “Did you move into it?” asked Godfrey.

              “Well that is the funny thing, old bean. I said to Dan, in the dream, when I noticed the place was on the top of some very steep close together craggy mountain peaks with narrow bridges between them, I said “ Dan, I’ll never be able to drive all the way home in the dark after classes” and he said with a chuckle, “That’s what I was thinking.” It seems as if I had been contemplating taking a course at this place. But you know what I think?”

              Liz paused to make sure everyone was paying attention.

              “I don’t think you need to drive a car to get to that place.”

              #4178
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                “I recalled a dream last night. One thing led to another, maybe I’ll tell you about that later, but it is connected, so remind me later. Then I was reminded of a story. Then I had a message from someone about a dream about a writer with a maid called Agnes, and she had recalled another story about Brooklyn. And of course, that got me thinking about stories. And story characters! And us!”

                At this point in Liz’s monologue she paused and looked meaningfully at Godfrey, Finnley and Roberto. She repressed an urge to slap Roberto, who was gazing out of the window (thinking about mountain tajines no doubt), to get his attention for the meaningful look that she wanted to give him, and cleared her throat loudly instead.

                Not a moment later she had to control the urge to slap Finnley, who was just about to make another remark about the length of her sentences.

                “I didn’t say a word!” Finnley exclaimed with righteous indignation. “I only thought about it!”

                “And I didn’t slap you, did I. I only thought about it too!” retorted Liz.

                “Ah, but you’re the one who wrote it down. You’ve gone and done it once you write it down.”

                “Don’t be daft,” replied Liz. But she wondered, what if?

                #4177
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  “I’m not falling for that, Finnley. And I was being sarcastic, not humble. As if!” Liz snorted. “You silly goose. Now then, where is Godfrey and that scrumtious gardener, what’s his name? I’m reminded of a story.”

                  “Roberto? Didn’t you send him to another thread? Or turn him into a dastardly escaped criminal, or psychic double agent or something?” asked Finnley, who had come to her senses and removed the strange grimace masquerading as a smile from her otherwise rather sweet and curious face.

                  “That’s much too long, Liz,” she added. “A “strange grimace masquerading as a smile from her otherwise rather sweet and curious face”? Bit wordy, isn’t it?”

                  “Finnley, please!” Liz was aghast. “You know you’re not supposed to do that!”

                  #4153
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    “What did Clove ask about the other lodgers? You didn’t give away anything did you?” asked Sue later that evening. Sue was in bed with her latest Mills and Boon novel: Caride’s Forgotten Wife. She said to John that reading them was her “secret vice” and she hid them in the bedside cabinet — the one with a lock — so that none of the children would come across them. She whispered her question about the lodgers to John, although it wasn’t clear who she thought might be able to overhear.

                    John sighed heavily and sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t believe in these sort of communications before bed time; sleep was a serious business and it was best not to get stressed prior to commencing. But he realised the importance of Sue’s question and decided to make an exception to his usual rule.

                    “Well, I’ll be honest with you, luv, she did ask. She did … and I confess it was I who mentioned the lodgers in the first place. In my defence though, I was getting fed up with her pestering to go out gallivanting god-knows-where in the middle of the night. I was quite sharp with her. But I don’t want you worrying.” He patted Sue’s leg under the woollen beige blanket in a reassuring way. “Tell you what, in the morning we will put our heads together and come up with a story to put young Clove’s enquiring mind at ease should the matter of the lodgers arise again. Now, promise you won’t worry, dear?”

                    Sue nodded doubtfully.

                    “Oh I hope not, John, she can’t know … I couldn’t stand it … you know. I just couldn’t go through it again. All the turmoil and … upset.”

                    #4143
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      After only one day, Felicity had managed to vex everybody, Liz’ was pleased to notice.
                      That would make her retaliation all the sweeter.

                      Even the rude but usually pliable maid had thrown her apron in disgust of the unequivocally condescending comments of her mother about the quality of her sardines muffins and anchovy cupcakes.

                      The traitor Godfrey was easy enough to bring back to the fold, with a vague promise of peanuts, and was already working on her first plan. Selloselfing everyone to frighten her mother who panicked at the idea of the zumba avocalisp. She’d seen some reportage from International Geogratis of indigenous populations dancing irresponsibly, and had been living in fear ever since.

                      As for Roberto, well, Liz’ still believed he was his best and secret weapon. She knew all to well her mother’s appetite for young and firm flesh.

                      #4140
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        “What are you doing!” Liz’ cried in anguish. “Not my plants!”

                        A bonfire was in full blaze, and Felicity relished in the view. “Don’t listen to her Leo, get rid of those nasty things — no bloody wonder she can’t see reality for fiction.”

                        Liz’ was appalled at the sight of the stash going in flames. “That’s it, I’m going to call the police!”

                        Godfrey had to rein her and her fury in, while her towel unravelled making her look madder by the minute. “Liz’, calm down, please. Don’t make it worse, I’ll help you get rid of her, if only for your peace of mind.”
                        “You snake!” She hissed, “I’m sure your in cahoots with her, she’s been planning her revenge ever since I gave all her suitcases of clothes to charity.”
                        “Liz’, please, listen to yourself, you’re not making any sense. Let me get you a coconut avocado smoothie to soothe your nerves. Finnley!”

                        #4139
                        Jib
                        Participant

                          “What do we do with this ?” asked Roberto.
                          Felicity removed her sunglasses and looked at the gardener appreciatively. He was wearing his usual dungarees, with no shirt. She then looked at the mannequin covered in maps he was holding in his arms.

                          “Put it back in the attic”, said Liz.

                          “Don’t tell me you still do collage”, said her Mother. “I could understand, barely, when you were ten years old, but now… Put it in the trash”, she looked at the gardener longer than necessary, “whoever you are.” She turned to her daughter still spread in the sofa. “What’s his name? Are you two… ?”

                          “I’m sure Leon and his twin are enough, don’t you think ?” said Liz bitterly. She felt possessive about Roberto, she knew it was silly but she had to get hold on to something before her mother could strip her of her life. An idea began to emerge in her feverish mind. There had been recent articles about a new game attracting swarms of players, she would ask Godfrey to make signs indicating there was a nest of those Pookemoon in her garden, and maybe in the house. People should certainly be more easy to get rid off than rats and roaches…

                          #4138
                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            “M’am, I am quite honoured to meet you” Godfrey felt the need to add a creeping “Your daughter always speaks highly of you…”

                            “Don’t be silly, dear” cooed the mother “You can call me Felicity, no need to make me feel like a granny.”

                            “Traitor” muttered Liz’ between her teeth. She was spread across the sofa while monitoring the developments of her Mother’s coup and trying to gather her wits and plan her next move. Mother wouldn’t be easily defeated. Last time, Liz’ had to resort to a rats and roaches invasion. Made the house unlivable for months. But quite worth it.

                            “Has your latest gigolo grown tired of you and thrown you out… again?” she interrupted the amiable chatter of her mother and Godfrey.

                            “Dear, dear, don’t brood like that, it makes you look like your father. You know my mother instincts have always been very strong. Call it my antennas if you shall — I can always tell when you’re not right, and I can’t let you down this slope.” She retorted, queenly ignoring the rude comment.

                            #4123

                            Corrie’s findings from elsewhere:

                            “Mike wasn’t as courageous as his former self, the Baron. That new name had a cowardly undertone which wasn’t as enticing to craze and bravery as “The Baron”.

                            The idea of the looming limbo which had swallowed the man whole, and having to care for a little girl who surely shouldn’t be out there on her own at such an early hour of the day spelt in unequivocal letters “T-R-O-U-B-B-L-E” — ah, and that he was barely literate wasn’t an improvement on the character either.

                            Mike didn’t want to think to much. He could remember a past, maybe even a future, and be bound by them. As well, he probably had a family, and the mere though of it would be enough to conjure up a boring wife named Tina, and six or seven… he had to stop now. Self introspection wasn’t good for him, he would get lost in it in quicker and surer ways than if he’d run into that Limbo.

                            “Let me tell you something… Prune?… Prune is it?”
                            “I stop you right there, mister, we don’t have time for the “shouldn’t be here on your own” talk, there is a man to catch, and maybe more where he hides.”

                            “Little girl, this is not my battle, I know a lost cause when I see one. You look exhausted, and I told my wife I would be back with her bloody croissants before she wakes up. You can’t imagine the dragon she becomes if she doesn’t get her croissants and coffee when she wakes up. My pick-up is over there, I can offer you a lift.”

                            Prune made a frown and a annoyed pout. At her age, she surely should know better than pout. The thought of the dragon-wife made her smile though, she sounded just like Mater when she was out of vegemite and toasts.

                            Prune started to have a sense of when characters appearing in her life were just plot devices conjured out of thin air. Mike had potential, but somehow had just folded back into a self-imposed routine, and had become just a part of the story background. She’d better let him go until just finds a real character. She could start by doing a stake-out next to the strange glowing building near the frontier.

                            “It’s OK mister, you go back to your wife, I’ll wait a little longer at the border. Something tells me this story just got started.”

                            ~~~

                            “Aunt Idle was craving for sweets again. She tip toed in the kitchen, she didn’t want to hear another lecture from Mater. It only took time from her indulging in her attachments. Her new yogiguru Togurt had told the flockus group that they had to indulge more. And she was determined to do so.
                            The kitchen was empty. A draft of cold air brushed her neck, or was it her neck brushing against the tiny molecules of R. She cackled inwardly, which almost made her choke on her breath. That was surely a strange experience, choking on something without substance. A first for her, if you know what I mean.

                            The shelves were closed with simple locks. She snorted. Mater would need more than that to put a stop to Idle’s cravings. She had watched a video on Wootube recently about how to unlock a lock. She would need pins. She rummaged through her dreadlocks, she was sure she had forgotten one or two in there when she began to forge the dreads. Very practicle for smuggling things.

                            It took her longer than she had thought, only increasing her craving for sweets.
                            There was only one jar. Certainly honey. Idle took the jar and turned it to see the sticker. It was written Termite Honey, Becky’s Farm in Mater’s ornate writing. Idle opened the jar. Essence of sweetness reached her nose and made her drool. She plunged her fingers into the white thick substance.”

                            ~~~

                            “But wait! What is this?

                            Her greedy fingers had located something unexpected; something dense and uncompromising was lurking in her precious nectar. Carefully, she explored the edges of the object with her finger tips and then tugged. The object obligingly emerged, a gooey gelatinous blob.

                            Dido sponged off the honey allowing it to plunk on to the table top. It did not occur to her to clean it up. Indeed, she felt a wave of defiant pleasure.

                            The ants will love that, although I guess Mater won’t be so thrilled. Fussy old bat.
                            She licked her fingers then transferred her attention back to the job at hand. After a moment of indecision whilst her slightly disordered mind flicked through various possibilities, she managed to identify the object as a small plastic package secured with tape. Excited, and her ravenous hunger cravings temporarily stilled in the thrill of the moment, she began to pick at the edges of the tape.

                            Cocooned Inside the plastic was a piece of paper folded multiple times. Released from its plicature, the wrinkled and dog-eared paper revealed the following type written words:

                            food self herself next face write water truth religious behind mince salt words soon yourself hope nature keep wrong wonder noticed.”

                            ~~~

                            ““What a load of rubbish!” Idle exclaimed, disappointed that it wasn’t a more poetic message. She screwed up the scrap of crumpled paper, rolled it in the honey on the table, and threw it at the ceiling. It stuck, in the same way that cooked spaghetti sticks to the ceiling when you throw it to see if it’s done. She refocused on the honey and her hunger for sweetness, and sank her fingers back into the jar.”

                            ~~~

                            “The paper fell from the ceiling on to Dido’s head. She was too busy stuffing herself full of honey to notice. In fact it was days before anyone noticed.”

                            ~~~

                            “The honeyed ball of words had dislodged numerous strands of dried spaghetti, which nestled amongst Aunt Idle’s dreadlocks rather attractively, with the paper ball looking like a little hair bun.”

                            ~~~

                            ““Oh my god …. gross!“ cackled the cautacious Cackler.”

                            ~~~

                            ““Right, that does it! I’m moving the whole family back to the right story!” said Aunt Idle, invigorated and emboldened with the sweet energy of the honey. “Bloody cackling nonsense!””

                            #4118
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              Corrie’s findings from elsewhere:

                              “The old woman looked him up and down before pushing past him, curtly telling him to knock because they were all asleep. Quentin quaked inwardly. He’d arrived at his new location, a dilapidated old hotel, although not without a certain other worldly charm, at an ungodly hour of the morning. Hovering on the porch, he was unsure whether to risk waking his new hosts. He didn’t want to make a bad first impression. He felt even more dejected and confused when he realized he had no idea what kind of first impression he wanted to make.

                              His first encounter saddened him, and he hoped they all weren’t as unwelcoming as she had been. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling like such a stranger, or so nervous and shy. What made it even worse was that Quentin was quite well aware that his lack of confidence would be bound to make everything worse.

                              “You’re not another one of those story refugees are you? Did I frighten you?” the girl asked, as Quentin jumped at her sudden appearance from behind the spider plant.
                              “My name’s Prune, are you Quentin Quincy? Aunt Idle’s expecting you, but she’s not up yet. Are you going to be in the new room ten story?”

                              #4115
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                It occurred to Liz that Godfrey’s peanuts were a type of pea in a pod, and had a nagging sense of incompletion at having nobody to share that thought with. What was the good of having a thought if there was nobody to tell?

                                #4110
                                ÉricÉric
                                Keymaster

                                  “Liz’! We’re all waiting for you now, it’s been nearly a week you’ve been soaking in that bath of yours, I’m dreading how wrinkled you may look now, and the amount of virgin coconut oil you will need to moisturize everything, but I digress. Liz’ get out now!”

                                  Godfrey was supervising an unusual and unexpected commission.
                                  The Anthology of Her Works.
                                  It was a working title, but the idea was simple enough, and yet completely nuts and daunting. Put together the massive material that Liz (and her ghostwriters) had amassed all those years.
                                  That someone would want to sponsor the adventure seemed completely crazy, so they would have to hurry before the anonymous donor came back to his or her senses and realize the whole futility of the adventure.

                                  LIZ’!” There was urgency in his voice.

                                  COMING, FOR BLUBBER’S SAKE! STOP THAT RACKET AT ONCE GODFREY OR I’LL HAVE YOU FIRED.”

                                  Liz’ finally emerged out of the room, in full regalia, with her silk dragon-patterned black bath-gown, definitely a bit wrinkled at the scalp, but overall looking completely re-energized and ready to embraze the magnitude of the work to be done (meaning: ready to boss everybody around to get it done).

                                  “So what’s that all about Godfrey? Have we run out of peanuts?”

                                  “Good Lord no, perish the thought.”

                                  “So why are you here at the table with Finnley and the handsome gardener, what’s his name already?”

                                  Roberto “ ventured Finnley, modestly rolling her eyes at such pathetic attempt at continuity.

                                  “Yes, that’s right,… Alberto. Thank you Finnley, you’re a dear. So what is it, that has you all here plotting around? I’m not paying you to roll blubbit’s droppings in batter…”

                                  “Liz’, it’s serious. We have to start…” Godfrey was about to explain the whole thing to Liz’, but suddenly realized she had just given her approval.

                                  “So that settles it: the Peasland’s story!” He, Finnley and Roberto acquiesced and nodded at each other conspiratorially.

                                  #4101
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    “Godfrey, isn’t the new platform ready yet? I don’t know why you’re butting your nose in here, when you have work to do! Finnley, perhaps while I soak in the bath you’d be kind enough to explain to me what is going on.”

                                    “I think I’ll give that a miss, thanks, and let you bathe on your own,” replied the cleaner, aghast at the idea.

                                    #4087
                                    ÉricÉric
                                    Keymaster

                                      “And don’t forget the black pepper dear!” Godfrey chimed in, “it’s been known to enhance the effects drastically.”

                                      #4069

                                      “Where the devil is everyone?”

                                      Miss Bossy Pants looked around the empty office with a mixture of disappointment and confusion. She had been anticipating the surprised looks on her colleagues’ faces at her unannounced return —she had no illusions about her popularity and knew better than to expect a joyous reunion—but the room was disconcertingly empty.

                                      Hearing the door behind her, she spun around in relief. It was the new guy, Prout, carrying a brown paper bag and a take out coffee.

                                      “Hello!” he said, hoping he did not sound as awkward as he felt and wondering if he could back out the door again. He had only met Bossy a couple of times and found her bluntness disconcerting. Terrifying, even. There was no reply, so, taking a sip of his steaming coffee, he bravely persevered.

                                      “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

                                      “Are you the only one here? Where is everyone?” snapped Bossy Pants.

                                      Ricardo took a deep breath and focused on a wilted pot plant on the window ledge.

                                      God, I hope I don’t start rambling.

                                      “Connie and the temp, Sophie, went to Iceland … something about following a lead from Santa Claus and I’ve not heard from them since. And Hilda … I don’t know where Hilda went to be honest. She emailed me a few days ago wanting to know what to feed Orangutans.”

                                      Bossy had paled. She seemed to shudder slightly and put out a hand to steady herself on a nearby desk.

                                      “They eat mostly fruit,” he continued, “but other stuff too of course. Insects and flowers and stuff like that. Honey I think, if they can find it I guess, and bark. And leaves. Mostly fruit though.”

                                      That’s probably enough about the Orangutans. She is clearly not into it.

                                      “I got a bit held up actually; there is a young boy outside drawing maps. Quite young … youngish. I am not sure how old really but he was little.They are bloody good too—there is quite a crowd out there watching him draw.”

                                      “Iceland,” whispered Bossy, her face a deathly white colour.

                                      “Yeah, Iceland. Keflavik … Miss Bossy, are you sure you are well enough to be back? You don’t look so good. I mean, you look good … attractive of course … I don’t mean you look bad or anything but you do look sort of pale. Are you okay?”

                                      “Santa Claus.” Bossy sat down slowly.

                                      “Yeah … I know, a bit crazy, right? They seemed to think it was a really hot lead.”

                                      “Stupid idiots; the lead wasn’t from Santa Claus— I will bet my life that it was from that depraved scoundrel, Dr Bronkelhampton! I heard through the grapevine he had gone to Iceland with a new identity after the Island fiasco destroyed his reputation—we covered the story at the time and it was huge—and now he is clearly after revenge. Dear God, what have they got themselves into?”

                                      #4066
                                      ÉricÉric
                                      Keymaster

                                        Godfrey kind of liked the silence of late.

                                        Finnley under the guise of regular taichi practice, had been actually quite busy ushering the randomly scurrying forgotten characters out of the house into the wild, with a broomstick and a mild dose of threat.

                                        The Splendor Manor had fell pleasantly silent. Too silent for Liz probably, who had started to notice and launch back into gears her creaking storytelling joints.

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