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  • #3350

    “I think we should get out of here now,” said Sanso, opening Fanella’s bedroom door.
    “Where are you going?” she asked in surprise, not expecting such a mundane exit. “Aren’t we teleporting?”
    “My dear child!” laughed Sanso, “Why teleport for coffee when there’s a kitchen just down the hall?”
    Fanella accompanied Sanso to Lisa’s kitchen, wondering how she would explain his presence, but she need not have worried. As soon as Lisa saw him her previously disgruntled countenance shifted, and beamed in welcome recognition. “Sanso! How marvelous to see you again!”
    It wasn’t until later that Lisa realized that she had never met Sanso in person, not until that moment.

    #3338

    Jack and Lisa sat in dark silence at the kitchen table drinking their coffee, Lisa struggling to recall the dream that had seemed so important, so joyful. Was it something to do with Fanella? But what? Well, maybe there would be some synchronicity later that would remind her, jog her memory.
    “I think I might go for a jog down by the river” said Jack.
    “Suit yourself” replied Lisa waspishly. “How is Igor doing, by the way?” she added, reminded of the poor fellows bee stings.
    “Oh he’s fine, but he’s pretending he isn’t. I think he’s enjoying Mirabelle’s nursing actually. The cucumber treatment seems to have worked, anyway.”
    “And what exactly is that girl doing with a cucumber, in Igor’s bed?”
    “Flove knows, but it’s doing the trick.” As Jack started to push his chair back and get up from the table, a gust of displaced air hit the table with such force it knocked the coffee cups over, and cigarette butts in the ashtray flew across the room.
    “You clumsy oaf, Jack! Steady on!”
    “It wasn’t me! Look!” he exclaimed, pointing up at the ceiling.
    Fanella! What on earth are you doing up there, hanging from that beam!” cried Lisa in astonishment. “And where did you get that unusual map print scarf?”

    #3337

    It came as a surprise to Fanella to discover that she was homesick for the village in 2020 ~ despite that the entire time she had spent there, she’d been homesick for 18th century Paris. If Sanso belches in my face one more time, I’m off! she said to herself. I know I can do it ~ after all, I ended up in London in 1212, so I can do it again. Well, not back to 1212 of course, but somewhere else ~ ideally 2020, back in the comfort and familiarity of Lisa’s kitchen perhaps. Fanella sighed. I can’t even remember where I was trying to get to the last time, maybe I should just go back to the village and think about it. Travelling with Sanso has turned into a confusing wild cucumber chase, and I can’t make sense of it ~ where will I end up next?
    “Umm, where is the loo?” she asked, hoping to find a quiet place in which to concentrate on teleporting out of this cucumber pickle.

    #3336

    “Who the fuck stuck all these disgusting patches all over me?” Lisa shouted when she noticed them, and thus promptly forgot her dream. “Why have you gone so red in the face, Jack?”
    In an attempt to deflect the attention from himself, he countered: “Why were you standing on the table?”
    Lisa rose to the bait and replied that she was assessing the possibility of hanging the new map mannequin, the one that wouldn’t stand up on her own, from the beams on the kitchen ceiling.
    “I feel inspired to continue the map collage, now that I have an idea for where to put her when she’s finished.”
    Jack yawned, somewhat rudely.
    Lisa angrily pulled another patch off her left buttock. “You better be wondering what’s in your dinner later, Jack.” she said ominously.

    #3182

    Sadie briefly considered suggesting that her rampage of negativity was another brilliant idea for a team building exercise, but given the circumstances decided there really wasn’t time.

    ***

    “Fuckityfuckfuck!” said Sanso checking the messages on his trusty sabulmantium. Of course, Linda Paul had tried to persuade him to use one of her fancy e-zappers but Sanso had steadfastly refused. The sabulmantium was aesthetically so much more pleasing to him, and much easier to synch with the multitude of devices used in the different time periods he was sent to work in.

    “Ive got to do what!” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “I was looking forward to a bit of R&R in 2222. Well, I can’t guarantee the zebras but I will do the best I can.”

    #3168
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Cook swore loudly for the umpteenth time that morning, throwing her wooden spoon across the room. “I just can’t get the consistency right! These tarts are a disaster!”
      “Now, now, Cook” said one of the kitchen helpers, kindly patting her back. “You’re trying too hard to make sure the tarts are perfect. You know you create your best concoctions when you’re feeling playful and confident. Perhaps you should take a small break, and pop over to the chapel and pray to Mother Mary for lightness and ease.”
      “I do believe you’re right” replied cook, smiling gratefully at Helper and wiping her floury hands on her apron.

      #3147

      On this bright morning of 5 January 1757, Robert-François thought it would be his birthday in less than 4 days. He would turn 42, and had just been a domestic servant for his whole life. He was not prone to depression, but the thought was almost disheartening. His life had been full of turns of fate, like many he’d known, but with so little to show for it.
      Sure, he could blame his hot temper for that, his nickname “Robert the Devil” was not for naught. Still, his wife and daughter loved him well enough, he wasn’t a bad person, pious even, after years spent with the Jesuits. So what made him so angry this morning, he couldn’t tell, maybe the moon a little too bright in the morning light, maybe the melted snow turned shit in the gutter of the streets and on his shoes…
      His employers at the Parlement were right, something was rotten in the country, and the King and his whores were to be blamed for it. The butcheries at war he’d witnessed, all led by silly creeping courtesans in the name of of philandering godless king.
      While walking in the streets, this bright morning, with his hat covering part of his face, he was muttering words under his breath and from time to time gave a brief thought to the kitchen knife tucked in his leather bag.

      #3125

      Maurana was starting to feel queasy in the lurching carriage, and asked Sanso to rein in the zebras so that she could step outside for a moment. As soon as the steaming animals clattered to a stop, Maurana threw open the door and skittered down the steps, and issued forth a long mustard coloured ribbon of projectile vomit that draped the hedgerow like a garland.
      “Darling, that gorgeous mustard colour goes so well with the wild roses, I really must have a gown in those colours!” said Conseula, who was still planning her new oufits. “A rose gown with mustard ribbon garlands, and a whalebone corset and hoops of course. I say, Chair, where did you get your cork bum from?” she added, as the footman climbed down from atop the barrel of champagne to stretch his legs.
      “From the best bum cutter in France, Gilles Culeau. He has a secret recipe for the most comfortable bums you can buy, and in my job, you need a comfy bum. He uses a special outer casing of cork, and stuffs it with ferret fur, for extra warmth and comfortable padding ~ not like those cheap solid cork bums you find in Paris. Culeau’s bums are made from the finest imported Seville cork…”
      “Where is his shop, I simply must have one ~ do shut up that ghastly retching Maurana ~ where Chair, can I procure a Gilles Culeau bum?”
      “Well this is your lucky day, bichet, because he has an establishment in the hamlet at the entrance to the tunnel.”
      Maurana, if you’re quite done with that vile spectacle, will you get back in the carriage. We’re going bum shopping, toot! toot!”

      #3104
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        another kitten spotted in the attic ~ a black and white one.

        #3094
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “and there were some people singing. They were singing christian songs…”
          The CD in the parcel sitting in Trove’s kitchen from North Carolina was in fact from a family of people who all sang like angels. They had often said that they should start their own church…

          #3082
          F LoveF Love
          Participant

            After leaving the parcel in the capable hands of the Post Office staff (and while she was there remembering to send a cute birthday card with kittens on it to her friend Trove and a note to Jove and Erove saying how nice it was to see them recently) Flove was ready for her next assignment.

            She was stationed in Rotorua and although the exact nature of the assignment had not been explained to her she believed herself to be there in a journalistic capacity. She found herself standing in the ocean with a group of people, strangers, watching a game of rugby. The rugby game was also in the ocean. She had some brief interactions with her companions and had to move away from a rather unpleasant man who was annoying her. After the match, they all walked back to a small town — via the ocean. It was dark and Flove was initially hesitant because she was not a good swimmer, but she felt some security as her companions seemed composed about the journey. The ocean was not as deep as she had anticipated. Even though the water eventually came up to her shoulders, she found she was able to walk the whole distance. At one point she noticed the fins of a shark swim by in the inky darkness of the water, but she regarded it with childish delight, rather than fear.

            #3074
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The parcel had been delivered to her house, and not to her new friend and neighbours house just down the road, for various reasons mostly to do with efficiency, post offices and lack of specific house addresses. The parcel containing the music had been sitting in her kitchen for almost a week, which oddly enough was probably as long as the parcel had taken to travel from North Carolina.
              Trove (for that was her name) and Dude (for that was her partners name) played a tile game of rummy, and it was an unusual game that night. Dude noticed missing tiles on the table on at least five occasions, and not altogether unsurpringly assumed that Trove should have been wearing her glasses, instead of placing incorrect sequences with missing tiles. Trove on the other hand, bearing in mind that she was not in the habit of doing this normally, insisted that the tiles had simply disappeared, or changed somehow.

              #3017
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                meanwhile in South Africa, an alphabet slaughtering surge made landfall, scattering the inhabitants, celebrities and everyday heroes alike. Some suspected the elusive Wordblade

                “Alliteration ascends the assonance of abseiling abstract aspects of anterior antiquities from ancient altars,
                Bouldering down blocks of brooks that break the boring & bland borders of bondage,
                And blinking through bleak and black boxes of brisk bravery.
                Creeping into crops of crooked crocks with crotches of cockroaches cramming into cans of calamity, the crisp cat crackles the calling.
                Dreaming of damning devils and demons dancing in droplets of dreary darkness drags the drunken diligence from the draught’s damnation,
                Even the everlasting ethereal elves ebbed and eased into the effervescent eloquent estate of eternal elitism.

                For the feeble and fumbling fatuous frontiers, the folly frolicked and fornicated with the familiar friend from foes’ fervent fevers;
                Greater than gradient grand gestures of gestaltic granite grasses,
                The gruesome grizzle grabbed the gore by the gripped grunting.
                Higher than homelands of hands in horizons,
                Heavens and Hells or Hades hazily hear the honing of the horses and horns-
                In internal infernos of inflicting infringes of institutional insurrections Interrogations instigated imminent innate innovations.
                Jacknives of jaundiced and jilted jokers jabbed at the jumping jingles of the jesting jackals that jet over jerseys of jeering,
                For the Killer Krakens kelp the kites from kids who keep kaleidoscopes of kind and keen keepers.

                Longer than languid lads that laze in lost latitudes the lieutenant lounged behind lines of lingering losses-
                Maids mellowed around mazes of men and manners of mad moments and made for mates on mattresses on mothered matrimony.
                Noisy & never-ending neckties on nests of nicked numbers never nominated the nurses that nosed the nuns for nuns’ nihilism
                Beyond the Oligarchs of overt operations of obligating omnipotence ostracizing the omniscience & omitting its ownership to the omnipresent order.
                Pilgrims to pentagons by people from poached & palpitated places of placards of propaganda pondered their positions in this power polarity
                When quivering quills of quavering queens quelled the quarterly quests of the quaint quarrels.

                Because roving rivers of raging ravines and raving reviews raced to the rest of the ripped rampant ravages and revelled at the rambling randomness
                Structured subsiding and subsidized societies should string the strongholds of the supreme sultans of seeded senses.
                Taking the trusty treaty the trussed toppled truants took the trickling ticking of time to the tables of trampled trees of timber,
                For under the ubiquitous umbilical umbrellas of ultra-sounds from upper-level ulcers underground underworlds underestimated the union.

                Vivid visions of voracious vampires of vexing vacuum vortexes vilified the vindicated vindictives from the violent vapid vanity
                While wild & wily whiskers of whispered whisky whisked the wailing widows
                From the wells of wanting when the wanton warriors walked on waters.
                Yards of years of yearning the yesterday’s yonder yarns of yellow yolk yawned Into the youth’s yoked yams
                For zigzags of zapped zebras to zip the zest in zealous zones.”

                #3009
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  It was the month of mass lunacy, and all through the house, all the creatures were snoring, except the mouse. All mad as Almad on the Rides o9f March, Mari Fe cackled out loud, then pulled a face, remembering the feel of the spongy mouse between her fingers in the kitchen sink. Expecting the blockage in the drain to be dog hairs, the surprisingly solid but spongy feel had been a shock, and the sensation had lingered nauseatingly.

                  How long had he been in the mop bucket? Then it dawned on her ~ the dog leg riddle. Of course! He appeared just after the first dog leg clue ~ and no doubt left, via the mop bucket, when the dog leg riddle was solved.

                  Mari Fe shivered, it was all rather spooky. No wonder she felt a bit mad.

                  #3004
                  Jib
                  Participant

                    Aqua Luna woke up. She was in her bed. She spent a moment wondering how she got there. She had no recollection whatsoever of what happened and her last memory was about the time she left work and met Tony in the parking lot.
                    She was craving. She went to the kitchen in her green frog pajamas, automatically turning on the TV on her way. The program was about the recent retirement of the Pope. The reporter was saying something about a possible blackmail by a secret society famous for their recent appearance in a Benjamin Goat’s movie.

                    She winced. The fridge was almost empty except for a few chinese cabbages and century eggs.

                    #2956
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      Pedro was birding again: “Do you know why I’m so fond of the time-space continuum,?
                      Besides that I thought it up… Besides you being in it… Besides puppies and kittens…
                      It’s because it can all seem so logical… so predictable… so real, when you want it to. Or, in the twinkling of an eye, you can choose to remember it’s not.”

                      “What an outstanding ball of blue bull’s dung,” Janet Mendyourhall laughed at the notification from her mobile that had distracted her from ogling the gas station boy.

                      #2936

                      Sanso loved old maps, and was eager to help Vincentius spread the map out on the living room floor and have a closer look. It extended to a full 8 meters in length when it was rolled out, and Sanso and Vincentius had to kneel down and crawl over it to examine it. The map was like nothing they’d ever seen before, certainly it didn’t resemble the current state of the globe, although it had confusing similarities in places. Some of the names were familiar, but not in the usual locations, and there were some familiar land masses, but many were quite different.

                      Meanwhile, back in the kitchen: “Take the lid off and have a look inside” urged Janet.
                      YOU take the lid off, what if the mouse runs over my hand?” said Pearl. “I know, let’s get Ed to do it.”

                      Janet and Pearl were cackling and bumping into each other, Pearl holding the teapot outstretched in front of her, and neither of them noticed Vincentius kneeling just inside the living room doorway, hidden behind his invisibility cloak.

                      Vincentius looked up but was unable to move in time. Pearl tumbled over his back and the teapot flew out of her hand. Vincentius managed to catch the teapot but the lid flew off and hurtled across the room, catching Sanso on the side of the head. Janet fell over Pearl and landed on Sanso, although of course she couldn’t see him, as he was wearing the invisibility cloak. Vincentius looked on in horror, clutching the teapot close to his stomach, upside down. Bee was able to slide down the spout, straight down into Vincentius’ shorts. Bee let out a long whistle. She wasn’t called Belle Endwhistle for nothing, after all.

                      Pearl sat up and rubbed her knee, wondering why Janet was hovering in mid air, and the tea pot was upside down and apparently defying gravity too. “Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to have a tea break after all”. She wasn’t able to see Arona and Mandrake rolling their eyes, hidden as they were beneath invisibility cloaks. Pearl wasn’t able to see Mari Fe either, as she was too small, and appeared as no more than a dog hair covered bit of chewed up toy goat leg on the floor.

                      #2933
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        “Honey, we’re shrunk!” explained Bee. “Remember that jelly baby I gave you half an hour ago? It was a miniaturizing potion. We’re inside the Magpie shaped teapot on the shelf in the kitchen.”

                        “That would explain the strange shape of this room and the curved chimney alright, but what to we do next?”

                        “Well, there’s a snag.” said Bee. “The re-enlargement jelly babies are still in the bathroom. We’re going to have to find a way back there.”

                        Just then the sound of muffled voices became louder and closer. “Anyone fancy a cuppa?” they heard Pearl asking.

                        And then the earth moved. Bee and Mari Fe were hurtling from one side of the teapot to the other, crashing into each other, trying to find something to hold onto on the slippery walls.

                        #2897
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          The ten dogs circled the round kitchen table, all the eyes were focused on the left over roast potatoes including Mari Fe’s. Suddenly there was a little bang just in front her and she froze and glanced up. A mouse had appeared on top of the microwave, and he froze too, and stared at Mari Fe. Time stood still for a long moment as they looked at each other. Mari Fe wondered if he would like a Marie biscuit, remembering the last time he was here, and how he would only nothing else.
                          It wasn’t until later that she began to wonder if anything had gone wrong with the teleport arrangements with Baltazar. It was a remarkable coincidence, the time travel mouse popping in like that unexpectedly, after such a long absence.

                          #2874
                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            Fleur reluctantly put her welcome dinner in Balzac as little as possible in the kitchen.

                            What shall I HHMMM. No, too much idea. A big easy, with a few jelly beans for the kitchen boy. and fetch those funny big caves. (ID #608)

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