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  • #7951

    Disgruntled and bored with the fruitless wait for the other characters to reveal more of themselves, Amy started staying in her room all day reading books, glad that she’d had an urge to grab a bag full of used paperbacks from a chance encounter with a street vendor in Bogota.

    A strange book about peculiar children lingered in her mind, and mingled  somehow with the vestiges of the mental images of the writhing Uriah in the book Amy had read prior to this one.

    Aunt Amy?  a childs voice came unbidden to Amys ear.  Well, why not? Amy thought, Some peculiar children is what the story needs. Nephews and neices though, no actual children, god forbid. 

    “Aunt Amy!”  A gentle knocking sounded on the bedroom door.  “Are you in there, Aunt Amy?”

    “Is that at neice or nephew at my actual door? Already?” Amy cried in amazement.

    “Can I come in, please?” the little voice sounded close to tears.  Amy bounded off the bed to unloock leaving that right there the door to let the little instant ramen rellie in.

    The little human creature appeared to be ten years old or so, as near as Amy could tell, with a rather androgenous look: a grown out short haircut in a nondescript dark colour, thin gangling limbs robed in neutral shapelessness, and a pale pinched face.

    “I’ve never done this before, can you help me?” the child said.

    “Never been a story character before, eh?” Amy said kindly. “Do you know your name? Not to worry if you don’t!” she added quickly, seeing the child’s look of alarm. “No?  Well then you can choose what ever you like!”

    The child promptly burst into tears, and Amy wanted to kick herself for being such a tactless blundering fool.  God knows it wasn’t that easy to choose, even when you knew the choice was yours.

    Amy wanted to ask the child if it was a boy or a girl, but hesitated, and decided against it. I’ll have to give it a name though, I can’t keep calling it the child.

    “Would you mind very much if I called you Kit, for now?” asked Amy.

    “Thanks, Aunt Amy,” Kit said with a tear streaked smile. “Kit’s fine.”

    #7949

    One too many cups of coffee and I should know better by now, Amy realised after tossing and turning in her crumpled bed through the strange dark hours of the night, wondering if someone had spiked her wine with cocaine or if she was having a heart attack or a nervous breakdown.  They all say to just breathe, she thought, But that is the last thing you should focus on when you’re hyperventilating.  You should forget your breathing entirely when you can’t control it.  After several hours of imagining herself in the death throes of some dire terminal physical malfunction, she fell asleep, only to be woken up by a strong need to piss like a racehorse.  Don’t open your eyes more than you need to, don’t wake up too much, she told herself as she lurched blindly to the privy.

    Latte! Fucking Latte! what a stupid word for coffee with milk.  Amy hated the word latte, it was so pretentious and stupid. Revolting anyway, putting milk in coffee, made inexpressibly worse by calling the bloody thing JUST MILK in another language. Why not call it Milch or Leche or молоко or γάλα or 牛奶 or sữa or दूध….

    Amy flushed the toilet, wide awake and irritated, but never the less grateful for the realisation that her discomfort was nothing more than an ooverdoose of cafoone.

    #7947

    Chico drank the cup of freshly ground coffee beans. He winked with distaste and jotted a few words on his notebook before trying a second batch of ground coffee beans.

    He wasn’t aware of much from his past life, or if he even had a life before the others summoned him. They were a mystery to him, and he didn’t understand the reasons or the purpose of his existence. He didn’t even like coffee; he only pretended to, because the job and his own physical appearance kind of fit with the stereotype. He chuckled thinking it could be a stereotypo.

    He thought the taste of coffee was the reason why he chewed betel leaves. Their taste, slightly spicy and pungent with hints of clove and cinnamon helped mask the bitterness of the coffee he had to drink. He suddenly became aware of some other information about himself. He could swear he had forgotten them, they simply weren’t there before. His father had lost his teeth. The reason wasn’t clear yet, but looming behind the jungle trees. What about his mother? Was she slim or fat? Both possibilities flickered in his head and disappeared. Apparently it hadn’t been chosen yet. He pondered about that last remark before forgetting it.

    Too many weird questions were passing through his fat head. The heat and sweat were no good for his mental health… because of all the flies. He wondered if that was the reason why the old lady had started breeding them under her rooftop. She claimed it was an infestation but he had seen her secretly releasing swarms of flies in the evening, exciting the cauldron of bats. She had seen him looking at her, but they had tacitly convened they would not betray each other’s secret. Only, Chico wasn’t yet aware of what his own secret was.

    He winced as he tasted the third batch of coffee from the plantation.

    #7946
    Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
    Participant

      Enter Liz’s Tipsy Waltz

       

       


       

      [Verse]
      Feathered quill meets parchment skin
      Elizabeth writes where scandals begin
      Pink champagne spills on the floor
      Cougar’s grin says she’s ready for more

      [Verse 2]
      Famed author weaves sly tales with fire
      Slutty thoughts fuel Roberto’s desire
      Finnley
      The ghost
      Hides in the night
      Typewriter clicks
      Dim candlelight

      [Chorus]
      Ink and lust flow through this tale
      Secrets whispered on parchment pale
      Godfrey nuts
      Edits the scene
      In this wild world
      What’s it all mean?

      [Verse 3]
      In the cabinet where whispers creak
      Roberto shows a sly technique
      Finnley sighs
      Unseen but clear
      Through the shadows
      His words appear

      [Bridge]
      Elizabeth leads with a champagne toast
      A cougar’s smirk
      The fading ghost
      Peanuts scatter
      Chaos remains
      A writer’s world drips ink and stains

      [Verse 4]
      Pages flutter
      They dance
      They shout
      Godfrey snickers
      Edits play out
      Roberto winks with knowing grace
      In this madhouse
      Who sets the pace?

      #7940
      Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
      Participant

        The Cofficionados Theme Song “Dont Trust a Goat with a Plan

         

         

        [Verse]
        Goat in a bow tie whispers
        “Trust me
        My dear”
        A plan in its hooves but intentions unclear
        Guard the coffee belt like a treasure map’s end
        Four bandits are plotting to twist and upend

        [Chorus]
        Don’t trust a goat with a plan
        My friend
        They’ll sip your dreams while you defend
        Lucid nights sabotaged mid-spin
        By cofficionados sneaking in

        [Verse 2]
        Carob in shadows
        No cocoa in sight
        Thiram with whispers that steal your midnight
        Amy’s sweet smile hides beans of deceit
        Chico grinds chaos
        The bitter elite

        [Bridge]
        Sleep-parachute breaches
        Reverse dreams collide
        They’ve hijacked your pillow for the wildest ride
        Beware the saboteurs that seep in deep
        Between dripping espresso and REM sleep

        [Chorus]
        Don’t trust a goat with a plan
        My friend
        They’ll sip your dreams while you defend
        Lucid nights sabotaged mid-spin
        By cofficionados sneaking in

        [Verse 3]
        Pour your resistance in a steaming haze
        Shield the roast aroma from their forking ways
        The bandits want dominion over your grind
        But you’ll wake alert with their schemes left behind

        #7937

        Ricardo splattered the coffee all over Amy, turning a shade of purple in the process.

        “What did you put in it? It tastes absolutely revolting!”

        Carob tittered. “Just as well. I had my doubts about this new Toktok craze about putting dried shallots and spring onions in lattes. Guess my hunch was on the money.”

        Amy wanted to feel incensed, but her brain had stopped at the description of the offending latte “You put what in his latte?! And that coffee’s going to stain my shirt now, I’ll look like a spotted leopard!”

        “Funny,” Carob looked down at Amy “that you should pronounce that loo-pard… You sound like a hooligan.”

        “Well, better that than an ooligarch.”

        “You did it again!”

        Ooh, shut up Caroob.”

        #7936

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

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

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

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

        #7935

        “I don’t know, Amy. I thought it was Chico who was mysterious — subversively spitting at every opportunity.”

        “Well, Carob, maybe we could just agree they’re equally mysterious?” suggested Amy, turning her attention back to her search.

        Carob shrugged. “A woman in Greece is divorcing her husband because AI read her coffee cup and said he was cheating.”

        Amy paused and looked up. “For real?”

        “Yeah. I read it on Thiram’s news stream. He left it running on that weird device of his — over there, next to his half-drunk coffee. Not sure where he went, actually.”

        Amy gasped and clapped her hands. “Oh! Oh! Brainwave occurring — let’s get AI to read Thiram’s coffee cup!”

        Carob snorted. “Genius.”

        They raced over to the small folding table where Thiram’s cup sat. Carob held up her phone.

        “Okay. One quick pic. Hold it steady!”

        They excitedly uploaded the image to an AI analysis app Thiram had installed on his device.

        The app whirred for a few minutes:

        DEEP COFFEE CUP ANALYSIS COMPLETE

        Latent emotional residue: contemplative, fond of secrets.
        Foam pattern suggests hidden loyalty to an entity known only as “The Port.”
        Swirling suggests alignment with larger forces not currently visible.
        Presence of cardamom notes: entirely unaccounted for.
        Recommendation: approach carefully with gentle questioning.

        “Blimey, what does that mean?” asked Carob.

        Amy nodded solemnly, perhaps with just a touch of smugness. “He is a man of mystery. Didn’t I say it?”

        #7934

        Feeling somewhat disgruntled at revealing so much of her raw new floundering character and yet learning so very little about the mysterious Thiram, Amy undertook a little side project and attempted to find out who THira I think I’ll leave that typo there  was by the conventional means of a simple search.

        There were a number of exciting possibilities:

        Thiram, directeur de Gelec Energy, gère avec sérénité la “ruée” sur ses groupes électrogènes…

        Thiram, developer and PSC member of many OsGeo projects: OpenLayers; GeoExt….

        Thiram,  Director of the Systems Engineering Division at the Canadian Nuclear….

        Thiram, Actor: Origami. Known for Origami (2017), The Snip (2024) and Catharsis (2011).

        Thiram, Managing Director, Kidou, tel. +33 & 73 %9 9$ 41, e-mail e.lmroine @ cosmoledo. comachamelean

        So many likely possibilities, but what was the connection to port?

        #7933

        Where did that come from? Amy wondered. The random memories, if that’s what they were, were coming more frequently.  Suddenly, out of nowhere and with no discernable correlation to the present moment in the life of the newly hatched character, a sudden mirage in her minds eye appeared, enticing and utterly fascinating.

        I’m just a story character with no back story, where are these memories coming from?

        “You should see some of the memories I’m starting to see, and I’m even less developed as a character than you are,” Chico said, manfully resisting the urge to spit. He didn’t want to be a spitting character, not all the time, anyway.

        Amy was startled. I didn’t say that out loud. Did I say it out loud?

        “Confusing at times, isn’t it?” Chico said kindly.

        #7931

        Carob wrinkled her nose in distaste and languidly remarked, “Amy, that goaty odour seems to be emanating from your clothing. Does it perchance require laundering?”

        Chico laughed loudly, spitting equally audibly. “Hi,” he said, “The name’s Chico,” emerging from behind the tulip tree.

        Carob winced at the spitting, and Amy writhed a little at being humiliated in front of the man. They both ignored him, and he regretted not staying hidden.

        “I’ve just pegged out two loads of washing, for your information, not that it will dry in this rain,” Amy said, quickly tying her hair back in annoyance. Does this move the story forward? she wondered. Why do I have a smelly character anyway? I’m sweaty, goaty and insecure, how did it happen?

        “Never mind that anyway, have you seen what’s on todays news?” Carob asked, feeling sorry for making Amy uncomfortable.

        “I have,” remarked Chico, with a hopeful expression, but the women ignored him.

        #7929
        Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
        Participant

          Godric

           

          Godric

          What We Know Visually:

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

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

          Inferred Presence/Style:

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

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

          Unclear:

          • Concrete outfit, facial expression, or posture.

          • Age and physical habits.

          #7925
          Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
          Participant

            Chico Ray

             

            Chico Ray

            Directly Stated Visual and Behavioral Details:

            • Introduces himself casually: “Name’s Chico,” with no clear past, suggesting a self-aware or recently-written character.

            • Chews betel leaves, staining his teeth red, which gives him a slightly unsettling or feral appearance.

            • Spits on the floor, even in a freshly cleaned café—suggesting poor manners, or possibly defiance.

            • Appears from behind a trumpet tree, implying he lurks or emerges unpredictably.

            • Fabricates plausible-sounding geo-political nonsense (e.g., the coffee restrictions in Rwanda), then second-guesses whether it was fiction or memory.

            Inferred Traits:

            • A sharp smile made more vivid by betel staining.

            • Likely wears earth-toned clothes, possibly tropical—evoking Southeast Asian or Central American flavors.

            • Comes off as a blend of rogue mystic and unreliable narrator, leaning toward surreal trickster.

            • Psychological ambiguity—he doubts his own origins, possibly a hallucination, dream being, or quantum hitchhiker.

            What Remains Unclear:

            • Precise age or background.

            • His affiliations or loyalties—he doesn’t seem clearly aligned with the Bandits or Lucid Dreamers, but hovers provocatively at the edges.

            #7922

            “Well, this makes no sense,” Thiram opined flatly, squinting at the glitching news stream on his homemade device.
            “What now,” Carob drawled, dropping the case and a mushroom onto the floor.
            “Biopirates Ants. Thousands of queen ants. Smuggled by aunties out of Kenya.”

            Amy raised an eyebrow. “Lucid dreamers saboteurs?”

            “They’re calling them the ‘Anties Gang.’” Thiram scrolled. “One report says the queens were tagged with dream-frequency enhancers. You know, like the tech you banned from the greenhouse?”

            Ricardo leaned forward, and whispered to himself almost too audibly for the rest of them “That… that… wasn’t on Miss Bossy’s radar yet. But I suspect it will be.”

            A long silence. Then Amy prodded Carob — “You’re silent again. What do you think?”.

            “Caffeinated sabotage by insect proxy?” she murmured.

            Fanella let out a short bleat, as if offended. The rain fell harder.

            #7921
            Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
            Participant

              Key Themes and Narrative Elements

              Metafiction & Self-Reference: Characters frequently comment on their own construction, roles, and how being written (or observed) defines their reality. Amy especially embodies this.

              Lucid Dreaming & Dream Logic: The boundary between reality and dream is porous. Lucid Dreamers are parachuting onto plantations, and Carob dreams in reverse. Lucid Dreamers are adverse to Coffee Plantations as they keep the World awake.

              Coffee as Sacred Commodity: The coffee plantation is central to the story’s stakes. It’s under threat from climate (rain), AI malfunctions, and rogue dreamers. This plays comically on global commodity anxiety.

              Technology Satire & AI Sentience: Emotional AI, “Silly Intelligence” devices, and exasperation with modern tech hint at mild technophobia or skepticism. All fueled by hot caffeinated piece of news.

              Fictionality vs. Reality: Juan and Dolores embody this—grappling with what it means to be real. Dolores vanishes when no one looks—existence contingent on observation.

              Rain & Weather as Mood Symbol: The rain is persistent—setting a tone of gentle absurdity and tension, while also providing plot catalyst.

              #7920
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                Key Characters (with brief descriptions)

                Amy Kawanhouse – Self-aware new character with metatextual commentary. Witty, possibly insecure, reflective; has a goat named Fanella and possibly another, Finnley, for emergencies. Often the first to point out logical inconsistencies or existential quirks.

                Carob Latte – Tall, dry-humored, and slightly chaotic. Fond of coffee-related wordplay and appears to enjoy needling Amy. Described as having “frizzled” hair and reverse-lucid dreams.

                Thiram Izu – The practical one, technologically inclined but confused by dreams. Tends to get frustrated with the group’s lack of coordination. Has a history of tension with Amy, and a tendency to “zone out.”

                Chico Ray – Mysterious newcomer. May have appeared out of nowhere. Unclear loyalties. Possibly former friend or frenemy of the group, annoyed by past incidents.

                Juan & Dolores Valdez – Fictional coffee icons reluctantly acknowledging their existence within a meta-reality. Dolores isn’t ready to be real, and Juan’s fine with playing the part when needed.

                Godric – Swedish barista-channeler. Hints at deeper magical realism; references Draugaskalds (ghost-singers) and senses strange presences.

                Ricardo – Appears later. Described in detail by Amy (linen suit, Panama hat), acts as a foil in a discussion about maps and coffee geography. Undercover for a mission with Miss Bossy.

                The Padre – Could be a father or a Father. Offstage, but influential. Concerned about rain ruining crops. A source of exposition and concern.

                Fanella – Amy’s cream goat, serves as comic relief and visual anchor.
                Finnley, the unpredictable goat, is reserved for “life or death situations.”

                #7918

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

                spottd  lol bush comprmsed abort?

                There was a long pause. Then a sharp buzz.

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

                #7917

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

                 

                ~~~

                 

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

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

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

                #7916

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

                Was everyone avoiding Amy?

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

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

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

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

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

                Carob knew Amy could be relentless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Trailing suspect but nothing to report yet, messaged Ricardo.

                He knew Miss Bossy Pants wouldn’t be happy.

                #7915

                Amy supposed everyone was blaming her, for what she couldn’t say, but they had clearly been avoiding her. There was plenty of coffee here anyway, even if the rest of the world was suffering. Don’t even think it, she told herself sternly. We don’t want people flocking here in droves once they realise.

                So, do I want people or not? she asked herself. One minute I’m wondering where everyone is, and then next minute I’m wanting everyone to stay away.

                “You on the spectrum too, are you?” asked Carob, reading her mind.  “It’s ok,” she added, seeing the look of alarm cross Amy’s face, “Your secret’s safe with me. I mean about being on the spectrum. But be careful, they’re rounding people like us up and sending them to a correctional facility.  We’re quite lucky to be here, out of the way.”

                “Have you been avoiding me?” Amy asked, which was more immediately concerning than the concentration camps.  “Because I’ve been here all alone for ages, nothing to do but read my book,  draw in my sketch pad, and work on my needlepoint cushion covers. And where are the others? And don’t read my mind, it’s so rude.”

                “Needlepoint cushion covers? Are you serious?” Carob was avoiding the questions, but was genuinely curious about the cushion covers.

                Amy blushed.  “No, I made that up. In fact, I don’t know what made me say that. I haven’t started any sketching either, but I have thought about starting sketching. And I’ve been reading. It’s an old Liz Tattler; the old ones were the best. Real old school Lizzie Tattie, if you know what I mean. Risque romps with potting sheds and stuff.  None of that ghastly sci fi she started writing recently.”

                “Which one?” Carob asked, and laughed when Amy held it up.  “I read that years ago, T’Eggy Gets a Good Rogering, can I borrow it after you? God knows we could all do with a laugh.”

                “How do you know the others need a good laugh?” Amy asked, peering at Carob with an attentive squint in order to catch any clues. “You’ve seen then, then?”

                Carob smiled sadly and replied, “Only by remote viewing them.”

                Amy asked where they had been and what they were doing when they were viewed remotely. Has she been remote viewing me? What if they ask her if she’s been remote viewing me, and she tells them?  “Oh never mind,” Amy said quickly, “No need to answer that.”

                Carob snorted, and what a strangely welcome sound it was. “I didn’t really remote view them, I made  that up.  It never works if I try to spy on people. Fat lot of good it is really, it never works when I really really need to see  something. Or maybe it works, but I never believe it properly until later when I find out it was right.”

                “Yeah,” Amy said, “It’s fun though, I haven’t done it in ages.”

                “You should, it would give you something to do when everyone’s avoiding you.”

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