-
Search Results
-
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Bugger if that’s this itchy rug thingie, but I start sheddin’ ‘ere!”
But the two others were too engrossed looking at the tile to noticed Mavis pulling handfuls of hair off her back…
Meanwhile in the captain’s empty quarters, while his dog Kay was playing remembrance games with the ladies who were more and more adept at configuring him visually, Akita was perplexed by the name on the maps of an unlikely sea towards which they were blissfully sailing…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“‘ere, what’s that bloody dog got? I fought it was a bone, but it don’t look like a bone from ‘ere, Sha” said Gloria lifting up her sunglasses to get a better look. “It looks like some kind of artifact, where’d ‘e get that then?”
“‘E ‘ad that since before we left, d’int yoo notice? ‘e was diggin’ in the snow for days, ‘e was” replied Sharon, “I ‘int touching it, it’s covered in ghost dog ether-dribble, if yoo wants a closer look, Glor, then you ‘ave a look, I ‘int touching it.”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“That looks good this cruisin’ floatin’ icecub !” Sharon said.
On the deckchairs next to hers, Glor and Mavis were sunbathing tucked under warm rug blankets, appreciating the pale glimmers of sun that started to show up on this new day.
“Friggin’ fantastic!”
“It’s the bloody best holidays ever! The sun is so warm, we’ll be in Africa in no time, with Akitooh at the ‘elm!”
“Didn’t he say it was operated by Yuksomesilly cruise line?”
“Maybe Mav’, why you wonder?”
“It’s like it rings some kind of bell…”Indeed, Akita had discovered a funny logo at the command board, and instructions left for the captains with headers coming from Yukailli Corp. He never heard of them before, which was not so strange after all, as he had missed a few years since his disappearing at the beginning of WWII in the Sargastic Seas, but they seemed rather organized for what had only seemed a simple iceberg in a giant plastic bag.
Now, he wondered, would they make it safely through the seas, without encountering typhoons, or… pirates? Kay was reassuring, but well, he was a ghost dog, so not really on the front line…
Good thing was that they still had some watermelbombs…In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Alizabath Tittler took another draw on her fag of nicoback.
Passing her hand through her wild and matted hair, she noticed there were mare and mare bald patches hare and thare instead of her former lusciaas mane… and her ayes a tad blaadshat, but she trusted she was beautifaal.Taking another slaarp off her glass of dark red clarat wine —her faarth? she had lost count…— she sighed remembering the gaad old days. Not that she missed her dazen of previaas hubbas, nah.
She was comfartable tonight. Orok the building manager, one had to concede it to him, had decided to heat the building earlier this year, due to the falling temperatures, and it was all very warm and cosy inside. Traath was, she barely wanted to get out of the building at all, having Fannley order Chaanese faad for her, under the pretaxt to fanish her next novel. But end was never nearly in sight.
Her pablisher, Brackel, was still asking her about her next manuscraapt, and Fannley, the claaning-lady of the office (she only figured out recently that she actually was a ‘she’) was thrawing suspiciaas laaks on her every time they met.
All in all, life laaked almost the same. Not the same without a Lemane quote though.
She opened his last baak at random, laaking for a paarl of wisdam.I think that’s one of the reason why I don’t really appreciate Xmas, because of that sickening tradobligation of buying crappy stuff, but as long as you’re on facegoat, I can send good karma to you.
“Waw!” What an ideaa, this yeaar, she will send gaad karma to her ex-husbaands.
“Anathar wan!” She couldn’t get her hands aff such profaand baak.
Roger-Y, her pet talking white gaase started to screech frantically “Anathar WAN! Anathar WAN!” making her little fainting mongrats collapse to the flaar.
“pftlabaltloup”: that’s the Samari word for what I wanted to say: it may sound a little dismissive, but it’s pronounced fruit-lab-at-loop. Indeed; ‘fruit’ because the emails like snoot fruits, ‘lab’ for the extraction of the quintessence, and ‘loop’ to keep in loop… And we are complete.
“Waw” She was always struggling to kaap in the laap with all her characters; naw, that was something to consider, as she was Samari belonging herself, not at all Vaaldish like her mather. Gad forbads.
In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
Sanso job apparently facility times (ahah!)
tree late awareness completely
managed Liz lost focus feeling (oops, did I confuse Tracy with the last Oohs and oohs?)
next Balbina window busy writing (okay, keep that in mind
)
suddenly escape
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Not willing to play another tug of war with Elizabeth, whose mind was obviously not as soond as one might expect of an authoor of her statoore, Godfrey didn’t even mention to her that she misquoted him repeatedly by making him barf mindlessly unbearable amoonts of poonuts while in trooth, it was cashoo nuts he was craving for.
That being said, he couldn’t let her last remark go without notice, and pointed her to a newspooper article she’d been cutting recently off an interview with one of her former editors, Darool Barash.
“See, Elizabeth dear,” he said after taking a sip of a hot fragrant lootus tea “ Why would you want to impose your desired change everywhere ‘roond you. Thawing the ice caps? And what else? Did you think of the pengooins? All the beautiful harmoony you fail to consider… Why forcibly change the ootside when you can choose from an infinite of already created pootentials. Well, at least, that’s what Barash says…”
He paused, her looks betraying that she was completely lost.
“Frankly, Liz, you’re starting to worry me. All this loony talk… It’s so oother-dimensional. You say it’s too complex, but the way you moove all those extroovagant letters is baffling. And this non-existent “Al” you’re talking aboot… Let me finish please… I know you feel remoorse for leaving old Arak just because he wouldn’t let you have the tiny giraffes —not even mentioning that ghost-writer of yours, Finnley? That’s the name, isn’t it?… I sure want to believe your shift in vowellness excoose, but that’s not enoogh…”
“Will you just stop talking roobbish Godfrey…”
“Now, serioosly, your delirioos inspiration break-oot has got to be channeled, if we want to make your proper come-back ”
“But everything’s fine, I’m just very kewl.”
“You see! Like I said!”
“What?”
“You did it again!”
“ Yeeps? I did it again? ”
“Just now! You said ‘very kewl’, instead of ‘too cool’! That’s unnoorvingly vexatioos!”“KEWL! KEWL! KEWL!”
screeched Robert X the pet magpie from the other room.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Gloria had volunteered to go fetch whatever thing she could find to feed the measly fire burning in a ice crevice. They were starting to get a bit hungry and the watermelbomb once exploded weren’t giving off much to feed on. She was starting to hallucinate delicious roasted penguins on a fire, with a slice of bread and whale lard, and a smoking cup of algae tisane…
“Golly, this is gettin’ sick! The little buggers are so cute…” she mused, fondly overlooking the flock of penguins on the shore, some diving and catching fish, others nursing, some gliding lazily on the glittering ice.
“Now look at this!” she said “SHA! SHA! Com’ere!”
“What the ‘eck!” Akita couldn’t believe its ears.
“Weeehoo! We’re goin’ome, and on a cruise mind ye!” Mavis was beaming.
“On a frigging iceberg! You can’t be serious!”
“Oh don’t be such a party pooper Akitooh, it’s perfect!” Sharon said
Not even trying to be reassuring, Mavis echoed “Yes! Remember BBC talkin’ about it years ago; just another mad project they said. But I loved that! Mad projects ye know… never thought I would see that in my lifetime. Guess the project has been funded after all. Drifting bagged icebergs to Africa through the Indian Ocean! Now that’s a plan!”
“And look! this one has got propellers, and a little platform,… and a satellite dish!” Sharon was inspecting the behemothic plastic-bagged iceberg on rockets which was bobbing up and down, still anchored to the nearby whale-watching base.
“Hope it’s not teleguided by aliens though…” Gloria said a bit wearily.“Well, I suppose it’s our best option for now” Akita was trying to be appreciative of the ladies efforts. “And how do we hop on that thing?”
“Oh, that’s easy! Bring the ropes girls!”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
When he had been hit by the blow of the watermelbombs and the furious lady he had come to rescue, Akita found himself in a strange peaceful place. He was getting bits of what was happening, but the will to resist and fight seemed vanished in a distant scene he was only distantly aware of.
He was seeing Kay, his spirit dog beside him, beckoning him to another place of white luminous and warm peacefulness.“Am I dying” he asked, feeling the answer to the question wasn’t very important.
“Don’t be silly” the dog said mentally “Just let go for a moment, it’ll make things easier for you to get out of this place to another one you’d prefer”
“I’m not sure going anywhere is so important, being here reminds me of something long forgotten”
“Yes, you know this place, you’re drawing to you some memories of others of your focuses, explorers from your time and also ancient dwellers, in a very very distant past. These living memories will help you.”
“You were there too, configured differently but I remember you from there”
“Yes” the dog nodded “you had a pack of dogs in one of these explorer focuses. I was the alpha one, see…”Some scenes moved in the white foam sprinkled with diamond dust like he was seeing through openings in a crystal cave. All was so clear it was elating.
“But we’re never going to get out of this place, not without a boat, a plane, not without a compass… and not without a brain!” he was being drawn back to where his body was, wrapped in the warm snet, jumping on the back of the snow scooter. “These women will lead us to a sure death, and pretty fast!”
“Just relax, even if they don’t give that impression, they know what they are doing. They focus on what they want, and they trust. They can’t see the dead-ends you are seeing. Sometimes you get caught up in those other memories of yours. You’ve read adventures of Antarctica explorers, most of them were drama, but it doesn’t have to be the same broken record now, you’re going to love that time if you choose to…”
“They’re so focused on themselves it’s hard to believe you. They wouldn’t see a leopard seal as a threat even if it was at their throats!”
“But they wouldn’t even draw the predator to them in the first place.” Kay was saying warmly “Have a little faith in them, there is a surprise coming along that’ll show you beyond a shred of doubt that their allowing for miracles is fairly titanic.”
“Titanic, yes… Now tell me I shouldn’t worry with all those icebergs!”
“Indeed” Kay said with a hint of mischief in its ethereal voice “Now, let’s wake up and have some fun!”In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Girls! Let’s ‘ave a rest! Akita’s waking up!” Sharon’s powerful voice commanded the caravan of snooter-powered hairy ladies to a halt.
“Wow, I really start to love this place,” Gloria was reeling. “And who knew all this extra hair would come in so handy. Look! Another aurora borealis !”
“Yeah, an’ another crowd of trillion of these darn Adélie penguins shoutin’ like Freddy during those bloody crickets cups…” said Mavis with a sniffle, pointing at the icy coastline blackened by the seemingly boundless flock of little noisy creatures.
“And how the heck you so sure they’re Adultery penguins?” snapped Gloria a bit vexed her sharing of the beauties of the white paradise was left soiled by Mavis “like you’re goin’ to impress us with your botanic knowledge-it-all? Just because you love looking at those stupid nightly animal documentaries?”“Be still girls! Bring those watermelbombs to make a fire, food and water, we’re camping here until Akita’s ready to go.”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Uh Oh Godfrey, now we’re in trouble, there’s a typhoon in the random daily quote! We really must improve the weather before all hell breaks loose!”
But Godfrey’s mind was on other matters and he wasn’t paying attention to Elizabeth.
“GODFREY!!” she shouted “This is serious! Pay attention, do!”
“I really must say, Liz,” Godfrey shuffled the papers he was reading into a neat pile, “That when it’s too elaborate, it’s too weirdo, and when it’s pure delirium, it’s increasingly rubbish.”
“Be that as it may, Godfrey, but I must insist that you pay attention to more pressing matters. We have an Ice Age, a Typhoon, and the 1111th entry looming over our heads and all you can do is shuffle papers around making nonsensical remarks.”
“Oh pass the poonuts and stop worrying, Liz. And put another log on the fire.”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Is there a probable Becky still at the Serendib Facility ~ in-the-rural-mountainous-central-region-of Sri-Lanka-in-the-2030’s ~ Godfrey?” Elizabeth hurriedly included some background information in her question to appease her publisher, the erudite and enigmatic Godfrey Pig-Littleton.
Elizabeth was amused to note that erudite was almost an opposite to rude, but as Elizabeth could vouch for, neither was mutually exclusive, as Godfrey was clearly equally at ease exhibiting both ends of the rude spectrum. But I digress, she said to herself, turning her attention to Godfrey.
“Elizabeth,” he said with a frown, “At your request I have had installed all manner of information retrieval systems, both objective and subjective, and yet you will insist on asking me questions instead of accessing the information yourself.” Godfrey shivered, attempting to wrap his velvet smoking jacket closer round his spare frame. The rich claret colour suited him perfectly, but it was clearly inadequate against the bitter cold. “Put another log on the fire, Liz, it’s colder than a witches tit in here today!”
“Don’t be rude, Godfrey” replied Elizabeth with a sniff. “I’m too cold to move, you do it. I’ve been absolutely frozen ever since Al sent us all to the South Pole. As a matter of fact, there’s been a cold snap all over the globe, which is why” she continued “I am trying to get us all out of there and back to Sri Lanka! We don’t want to start another Ice Age, Godfrey, this has to stop.”
“Ah, those were the days” smiled Pig Littleton. “I remember it well. It all started when Aunt Jeanne du Bappe was writing her book and wanted more ice for her G&T. Somehow it all escalated out of control, and before you could say Boo to a Goose, the whole place was covered in glaciers. A few million years later, when she’d slept off the effects of the gin, it was just beginning to thaw…”
“Dear old Jeanne, where is she now? I haven’t heard from her for…er, aeons.”
“Oh, she’s in fine fettle, got a job in The City you know. They say she’s quite something in The City these days, got quite a name for herself in Design & Communications.”
“Has she now! She’s done well for herself then, last I heard she was tiling kitchens in New Venice.”
Pig Littleton snorted. “Aunt Jeanne du Bappe, tiling in New Venice? Don’t be ridiculous, Liz, you’re getting your timelines in a twist. I expect that was one of her protegée’s, Aunt Jeanne’s been in The City for —well…”
Godfrey was uncharacteristically stumped.
Elizabeth wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to tease her old friend. “For how long?”
“For a very long Now”
“Well, I must say, that’s a fine thing isn’t it, to start an ice age and then bugger off to The City while everyone else freezes their tits off” said Elizabeth, blowing on her hands to warm them.
“You do realize, Liz dear, that every time you mention the word Cold, or Frozen, or Ice Age, you are increasing the potential of the Ice Age in the Probability Pool?”
“Godfrey, the Probability Pool has frozen over. We’ll be skating right over the top of it instead of dipping into it, if we don’t start a thaw soon!”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Elizabeth had wanted to voice her concerns about the Vowel Shift and its potential impact on language and understanding to her publisher Godfrey Pig Littleton on numerous occasions, but until his, to her way of thinking, outrageous tampering with her script, it had not been in the forefront of her mind. She had simply ignored the Vowel Shift in the Ooh Dimension, and made up her own Vowel Shifts instead, in a variety of minor ways. Ironically and somewhat perversely (Elizabeth was well aware of the consonant shift, which she translated as a continental drift symbol) Pig Littleton was quick to notice and object.
“Do you deliberately write ‘collaberative’ instead of ‘collaborative’?” he asked.
“There are No Accidents, Godfrey” retorted Elizabeth, rather cleverly shutting the old coot up, at least for awhile. Thank Goodness he was otherwise engaged with the latest production of TWIST, and not breathing down her back about The Book.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Oh no! Last night’s frost has killed all the blibilong plants!” exclaimed Snettie, shivering in the unnatural cold. “Honestly, this global freezing is spoiling everything. If blibilong plants can’t stand this cold, then nothing will grow here anymore, and I am sick to death of eating leopard seal with no greens.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. What I wouldn’t give for a nice fresh sun warmed bobbit fruit. All the smikkerts have migrated north as well, I haven’t seen one for months” replied Snooter. “I don’t know if I can stick around here for much longer myself.”
“But this is our home, Snooter!” Snettie started to cry, her tears freezing on her cheeks. We’re Sprealians, we’ve always lived here. Where will we go?”
Snooter hugged Snettie. “I suppose we’ll have to go north, like the rest of them.”
Snooter and Snettie gazed around at the deserted city. Alabash had been built around the shores of Lake Flom, in the mild and temperate regions of central Spreal (later, much later, Spreal was referred to as Gondwana, but Snooter and Snettie didn’t know that. And they certainly didn’t know that the remains of their civilization was to disappear under masses of ice for so long that all memory of them was long forgotten, and that anyone mad enough to suggest that they once existed would be considered a bit of a nutter).
“Snettie, I think the time has come” Snooter said solemnly. “I think we have to go north. There’s only old Spagwan left here now besides us, and his daughter Illiofilly. We’ll never survive here with just four of us, even if it didn’t get any colder, and it is getting colder, every day. Why, the first four floors of all our buildings are iced up now for heaven’s sake. What happens when the ice reaches the top floors? Then what?”
“We’ll all be dead by then, Snooter” Snettie sighed “By rights we should probably be dead now. When we run out of furniture to burn to keep warm, then what? All the trees are dead and buried in ice.”
“We’ll come back though, when it warms up again. This can’t last forever, and when it’s over, we’ll come back.” Snooter said optimistically.
“How long do you think it’ll be?” Snettie asked her husband.
“Oh, not long, a few years at most. Don’t worry, you’ll be back home before you know it, but for now, let’s go and find some warmth and some decent food, eh?”
“Ok, but first I want to leave something, some message or clue or something, in case anyone comes back here before we do, so they know we’re coming back”
In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
Lots replied whispered story…
Journal nothing.
Wanted great surely.:yahoo_thinking:
Week told high, easily real
Wrick sake
Comment skull notice change hillIn reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Becky was moaning: “Frankly, do you have to send me to the coldest places every winter when I have the flu Al, its a pattern!”
Al realized that with the Russian adventure, Becky was right. “Wow,” he thought “the dramatic effect of being present that illness gave to Becky. She could even remember a year back from now!”
“Well,” he said “I think the girls will soon find a timely escape… And the good news is that… I don’t think there is any place colder that we know of for the time being…”
Becky surely was in poor condition, but her creativity still showed no boundaries “Maybe I can create super rapid global warming that reveals the hidden ruins of civilizations beneath the ice”
Given the cold outside, Al’s mind was appreciative of the sudden overheat such a brazen thought produced in his mind…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Well, Sanso” said Zhaana a trifle breathlessly, her flushed with wonder. “ The Elsepace Arrangement was certainly an eye opener, if eye opener is the right word. So what next?”
Sanso laughed uproariously. “What next? What next, AHAAAHAA HA HA! What next indeed!”
“What’s so funny?” asked the little girl, her face starting to crumple.
“Oh don’t do the old crumple face, Zhaana, I’m laughing at myself as much as anything” Sanso replied, giving her a quick hug. He couldn’t bear the sight of crumple faced children.
“Well, I still don’t understand why you’re laughing” she replied with a pout.
“It’s actually a very good question, and one I sometimes find I ask myself. Well, I used to ask myself “what next” all the time, as if it was somehow important to know where I was going next, to have a destination or a plan.”
“But if you don’t have a destination, how do you know where to go next?” Zhaana was confused.
Sanso smiled. “It doesn’t matter where you go next, little one, because you’re always at the centre of everything. You can go in any direction you want and you’ll always be at the centre of everything.”
“Well if that’s the case, why not just stay right where I am, then?”
“Do you want to do that? Stay right where you are?”
“No! I …er….no! of course not!”
“Why not?” Sanso asked with a gentle smile.
“Well, if I stay right here, and don’t go in any direction, everything will always be the same” she replied, frowning.
“And what would be wrong with that?”
Zhaana had to think about this. “Well, it wouldn’t be wrong I guess, but it would be boring. There wouldn’t be any surprises…..”
“Ah so you like surprises, then!” Sanso was grinning.
“Yes, I love surprises!”
“Well then why do you want to plan where you’re going next?”
Zhaana opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. Sanso was confusing her, and she didn’t know what to say.
“OK then, Sanso, you are always wandering around, how do you decide where to go next?” asked Zhaana, rather cleverly responding to the difficult question with a question of her own.
“I get an impulse, or I see a sign, and I follow it.”
“What do you mean, a sign?” Zhaana understood about impulses: after all, she had followed her impulse to leave horrid old Uncle Grishenka and follow Sanso into the cave. She wasn’t sure about signs, though.
“I’m not sure I can describe a sign, really. They just appear, and so I notice them.”
“Well, after you notice them, then what?”
“Well” said Sanso “Then you interpret the sign however you want to, and then you act on it.”
“You can interpret the sign however you want?” asked Zhaana with a hint of disbelief in her voice.
“Yup” replied Sanso. “That’s about the size of it, Sweetpea.”
“Oh Godfrey, I’ve been trying to get the theme word into this entry and I’m just not getting any closer.” Elizabeth sighed, and pushed her keyboard away. Quickly she pulled the keyboard back so that she could write what Godfrey replied.
“Have some more peanuts, Liz” he replied with a laugh.
Elizabeth pushed the keyboard away again and passed Godfrey the peanuts .
A few moments later Elizabeth pulled the keyboard back and wrote:
“Sanso, a word just popped into my head, do you think it might be a sign?” Zhaana asked excitedly. “It just popped in from nowhere!”
“Sure it’ll be a clue, and what was the word?” he replied, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a chuckle. He had heard the word too, and knew exactly where it was coming from, but he wasn’t going to spoil the moment for his little friend.
“Moonbeams!” she announced proudly. “I heard the word moonbeams !”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“This is a long process, Godfrey , a very long process” Elizabeth said with a wry chuckle. She had left her characters to their own devices for so long she didn’t know where to jump in again with her directing.
“The process is the point, dear” Pig Littleton replied dryly. “Pass the peanuts, would you?”
“There are hundreds of probable possibilities, in fact there are so many of them that I hardly seem able to find a place to start.”
“Start anywhere Liz, and then stop when you’re finished.” Godfrey said with his mouth full of peanuts. “Ideas are like peanuts, you can savour them one at a time…”
“Or shove a whole handful in your mouth at once, eh Piggy” retorted Elizabeth, frowning as Godfrey tried to munch, swallow and speak all at the same time. “If I shove too many in my mouth at once, I can’t remember each individual peanut, it all becomes a glob of sticky….”
“Peanut butter spread? And what’s wrong with that?” Pig Littleton smiled.
“Well for one thing Godfrey, all those bits of peanuts stuck in your teeth is rather off putting you know.”
“Why?” asked Godfrey.
“Why?” Elizabeth repeated, perplexed.
“Yes, why? Why do you perceive the physical evidence of my enjoyment of peanuts captured for a moment between my teeth as off putting?”
“When you put it like that, dear Piggy, I confess I don’t have an answer” Elizabeth replied with a snort. “As a matter of fact, I have no idea where this conversation is leading at all!”
“Aha, and there you have it!”
“Have what, Godfrey? What on earth do you mean?”
“Well, why should it be leading anywhere in particular? The process is the point, Liz, not the destination!”
“Hang on a minute, are you trying to tell me that this conversation about peanuts is a meaningful process with a point?”
Godfrey Pig Litteton laughed, spraying bits of peanut everywhere and nearly choking. “Who said anything about meaningful?”
“Well what’s the point of it if it isn’t meaningful?”
“If it’s meaning you want, you can read all sorts of things into it. On the other hand, if it’s fun you want, why worry about meaning?”
Elizabeth shook her head, perplexed. “Is it fun that I want?”
“Don’t you know?!” asked Godfrey, in mock surprise.
“Well of course I want fun! Everyone does, surely!”
“Then why” Godfrey said with exaggerated patience “worry about meaning?”
“I’m not worried about meaning, Piggy, you’re twisting my words, you tricky rascal!”
“My dear Elizabeth, I quote you: ‘What’s the point of it if it isn’t meaningful’”
“Pfft” she replied. “I might delete that comment. Trouble is, if I do, the rest of it won’t make sense.”
“Worried about making sense now, are we, dear?” said Godfrey with a sly grin.
“Godfrey, you’re making me sound so old fashioned, worrying about sense and meaning! Pass the peanuts.”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Franiel, dear lad, are you here?”
The voice was sweet yet authoritative.“Yes, M’am. Is there anything I could do for you?”
Franiel had been at the service of Madame Chesterhope for a few moons, but he felt like it had been his whole life. He quite enjoyed the peaceful life at her mansion, which was interestingly only seldom visited.
He was offered food and shelter for his doing some repair work for Madame Chesterhope when she was requesting it. The rest of his time was free, and he used to go wander in the calm neighbourhoor to observe the nature which was so different from anything he had seen before. It was as though the whole countryside was by eerie mimicry perfectly suited to the strange lady with the foreign accent.
The simple work in communion with this nature had streams of words rise inside him like seeds sprouting after a warm rain. He wasn’t sure he wanted to express them however.
He had tried a few times to tell Lydia, but her merciless laughter alone would have nipped any of his attempts in the bud.One of his greatest satisfaction was to go to the ‘motorbike’ and try to figure out its functioning. Lydia had laughed at his stubbornness to try to make the old piece of junk work —by her own words, she’d rather delete the whole thing out of reality, if it was for her to decide. Luckily enough, it wasn’t for her to decide, and nobody else really cared for his attempts.
He wasn’t seeing Madame Chesterhope so often, and sometimes she seemed gone for hexades without anyone being able to tell if she was there or not. She simply seemed to have disappeared.
He had been buggered for a while to figure out who the “Others” she had mentioned on their first encounter were, but apparently, had said chatty Lydia who believed the lady to be completely nuts, she was referring to “TEAFERS” (said in a mock-conspiratorial tone). “Teafers?” Franiel had asked puzzled. “Ahaha, you’re so thick sometimes.” had answered Lydia almost chocking herself into gales of laughter “Thieves! She’s obsessed about thieves! I suspect she’s got some precious stuff she would hate to lose. But believe me, to be as obsessed by thieves as she is, she probably hasn’t got all this stuff willingly given to her…”Anyway, with all that being said about Madame Chesterhope, she remained to Franiel as much a mystery as she was the first day he’d met her.
— “Yes. There is something I’d love you to do, sweetheart. There are people who seem to be coming, and the mansion hasn’t received that many gentlemen for a while, as you can obviously tell. I would love you to assist Lydia in preparing the ball room, and the main hall, do some fixing where it’s needed, that kind of things.”
— “Yes, sure M…”
— “I won’t be there the next days, so be sure to make all things necessary before I come back. I count on you.”
— “Very well M’am.”In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
It felt like she’d been projecting for hours —in and out of her body, often brought back by the incomfort of the warm and moistly room, where the rheumatic fan was blowing a measly wind full of humidity.
The rabbit she’d seen a few hours ago was ‘wanishing’, like a gentle feeling of pure joyful happiness holding by a thread that you try to reminisce before lapsing back into the old patterns of self-doubts.
She didn’t have to strain herself so much, she suddenly realized; it never worked well when she tried to push it. She wanted the clarity of the projection to be deeply anchored within herself, and not some stroboscopic view of her grim reality sandwiched in glimpses of blissful clear lightness.
So, she decided to wait for the moment to be back. Time didn’t really matter once you projected, but here in this reality time still mattered, and you had to find the proper exit-way. Not all moment seemed to work well.
There were old books in this room, most of them, her son probably did pile up without even reading them. Some of them evoked the the birth pangs of the new era they were still building, which had started about 30 years ago. Now, in 2038 she was old, but back then she was in her mid-life and fully aware of the good aspects and not so good aspects of this life. She had yearned for the changes, and it had come; she had outlived most of them, and the books probably wouldn’t tell her much that she had not actually lived. Probably her son was keeping them because of his beliefs on wasting his investments.
She, for one, couldn’t care less about them.She picked a little book, with a few words and mostly drawings and symbols on it, and she smiled. She’d seen some of these symbols in her dreams, she related to them; she didn’t need the words explaining them; words were just the authors’ translations, and she trusted her own before them. But the book was making her feel good.
She leaned back in her bed, maneuvering the rolling bed to be in front of the last beams of light of the day.
She could see the full moon rise, and she felt peaceful. When she noticed she was in front of the cave, she wondered how long she’d been out of her body without knowing.
She could see the moon higher in the sky than when she was in her room, and she could feel an energy of excitement.Anita was finally coming out of this underground trip with her parents. Seeing the little girl in the flesh would be such a revelation for her, she was thrilled to the point of even forgetting her doubts about the possibility that she was really becoming insane.
She didn’t know why or how, but she would convince her son to offer them some shelter, so that they could settle before getting home. She had so much to learn from the little one she could feel. She was really wise beyond her age…Voices where starting to fill the silent space:
“Anu! It’s been hours now we’ve been in these damp corridors, are you sure you know the way?”
“Yes Mum, we’re almost there…”
“Here, I can see the light Lily!”
“Yes, I can see it too Aaron!”
“Wow, the moon is full, it’s so lovely”After the couple had emerged, Balbina could see Anu wink at her. She was seeing her! Now, she only need show her the way to the house!
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
From Georges’ account of his first encounter with Phoebe Chesterhope. Part I
On that bright sunny day of June, 1852 I was impersonating the heir of an American family involved in weapon industry… taking advantage of a business trip for my father, I was enjoying the night life of Paris and naturally got closer to a certain Catherine whose family’s wealth was quite substantial. The first part of the scenario was almost done… I had to make her infatuated enough to make her ask her father to lend me a big amount of money I was supposed to use it as an investment in our family business that was flourishing and quite.
As we were approaching a jeweller’s of the Saint-Germain district, my eyes noticed a woman coming from the opposite direction. Definitely not from Paris, something surreal in her appearance caught my attention. It was not something physical, and it was obviously something I couldn’t name at that moment. Intrigued as I was, I still kept my conversation with Catherine going on. I was quite trained to spot my next preys while I was still playing with the previous one, and with a stranger it would be even easier. She entered the shop.
I maneuvered quite subtly to approach the window without being noticed, and while my companion was raving about some of the finely made necklace and bracelets, I was observing the woman. The owner had made her sit on a chair near the cashier and was bringing her some tea. I couldn’t help but notice how she dismissed him harshly right away after that; apparently he wasn’t the one she wanted to meet that day. The man seemed somewhat offended but soon enough regained composure: there were other clients in the shop and he made sure his assistants wouldn’t daydream unnoticed.
“Do you want to go inside, darling?” I suggested to my mate, “I’m sure the choice is more interesting if we speak to the right person.”
I knew I wouldn’t have any problem to bring her into that kind of place, and the look in her eyes was quite validating. It took me a brief moment and a persuasive tip to one of the shop attendant to explain that I wanted Catherine to choose what she desired. I wanted a fine piece of jewelry suiting her beauty. All I had to do was let the clerk show her different set of jewels and and just look as if it was unfair to her beauty and let her look for another one. In between, I was free to observe the other woman sideways.
