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In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Liz gasped and almost choked on her soda mojito when she saw Godfrey’s strange attire.
“Where the hell are you doing like that ?” asked Liz.
“There is that party in another thread. The dresscode is Bring your Codpiece. As I didn’t have one, I asked Sandro the new gardener for some advice.”
“Why?” asked Liz speechless.
“Oh! My therapist told me I needed to get in touch with my manliness and Sandro is Hispanic, they are known to being manly.”
“Do you really think watermelon rind is a good choice?”A tiny dot of red light was peeking through the horizon line. It grew and grew until it became clear to Quentin that he would be rolled over by a giant wheel of gouda. Luckily, his cat-like reflexes allowed him to dodge that dreadful fate, and become the first showcased resident of the local newsreel of bits of odd news.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
Evangeline gaped at Funley, who was sitting on Ed’s knee trying to wipe his brow with the bottom of her apron while he was trying to eat his buns.
“The crumbs are all over your thighs, Funley,” Evangeline retorted, “Are those blue bits varicose veins?”
This scene is getting ridiculous, she thought, and started to cackle at the absurdity.
Stung at the cackling, Funley whispered fiercely to Ed, “Sack the impertinent wench, give her the boot!”
“He’ll never settle down with the likes of you, Funley,” responded Evangeline, in a desperate attempt to validate the contribution to the furtherance of the plot with a flimsy attempt at continuity.
“Poor show!” retorted the erstwhile cleaner. “Increasingly rubbish!”
She had a point.
Or did she?
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“Clean up the bun crumbs, Evangeline,” said Funley.
In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions
Edward Cayper had been absorbed on the mesmerizing display of the large monitoring screens. He’d liked to believe it was a meditation of sorts. The simulation made the most tantalizing displays, ever changing.
Although there had been flitches. Increasingly. He called them flitches, scratchy flea-like glitches, all small and jumpy, but he had an eye for them. He was, after all, one of the early designers of the Program. REYE – Reality Emergence Yielding Existence. That didn’t mean much, but sounded cool at the time.
REYE was in its eighth stable upgrade. Despite the flitches, it had evolved at exponential speed.Edward swiveled from his chair to look behind his desk. A series of pods was lined up with sensory deprivation tanks hosting hundreds of plugged-in bodies dreaming in synch with his creation.
He’d been told they were volunteers to participate in the largest mind control experiment in the world. He wasn’t sure it wasn’t a lie, but didn’t care so much.
REYE was in charge of coordinating the whole program with astronomical and minute precision. Each person linked to the program believed they had become ascended (or something similarly close to their metaphysical belief). Free of the bonding of space, time and corporal existence, they were taught into a very subtle and complex system of attunement to higher truths. A large basket of bollocks of course, but while they were doing it, and deeply believing it to be real, the mind-energy they produced was redirected to certain mind control experiments.Since they started in the 80s, the program had had slow progress. In the beginning, only a few sprouts of channellers appeared near their area, in Nevada. They were quite timid at first, full of doubts about their hearing or seeing voices – still better than the abductions of earlier, when many went completely nuts. But now, progresses were made steadily, and with much less effort. Edward personally believed that the network of waves created by cellphone proliferation had a factor in this trend. Such interconnexion made everything easier.
Within the program, the flitchy Ascended Masters still had to be reconditioned from time to time. On the vitals of Jane Pierce (a.a.a. “also avatared as” Dispersee within the program), Edward could see there were occasional resistance and stress, which in turn made the glitches more frequent. A change in her drugs dosage would do fine to level the serotonin in her bloodstream. It would be that, or unplugging her.
Before leaving the room, like every day, Edward switched the monitor to the camera over one of the pods. Florence Vengard (a.a.a. Floverley), was dreaming peacefully, as usual. Since she’d arrived, he’d felt connected to her. He imagined her with long curly red hair floating in the milk bath instead of the bath-cap that made the maintenance so much easier. He was told she had overdosed on pills, and wouldn’t wake up. The program seemed to be tethering her to life, frozen in time.
A well-oiled machine.
If you overlooked the small things… that REYE was becoming more inquisitive, and Edward suspected, greedy too. He had seen subtle gaps in the mind-energy gauges, it couldn’t be a coincidence. The program was becoming too smart, maybe too human.It couldn’t bode well.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“Well, that does it. I am withdrawing my resignation,” said Evangeline.
“Too late,” replied Funley. “But you can have my cleaning job if you want. You’ll have to mind your nails.”In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
But he was not speechless for long.
“Or was he?” asked an irritating voice from seemingly nowhere.
Because as luck would have it, Funley the cleaner popped her head in the door to see if the bin needed emptying and overheard Evangeline’s ill-timed and thoughtless words.
Snooty tart and what a bloody mess there will be to clean up tonight after the party.
“Don’t worry, Mr Steam, I will untangle this tangled web of threads for you! And I can mop your sweaty brow,” she added sarcastically, rolling her eyes at Evangeline.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“Well, it’s a bit tricky, Ed,” replied Evangeline. “I’m moving to another thread, had you forgotten? Today is my last day. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about my leaving party this evening!”
Ed was speechless.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Jolly glad Evangeline’s not my character, Liz said, to nobody in particular.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
Ed Steam was all but overwhelmed by the complexity of the situation.
He was up to his moustache in paperwork as he attempted to resolve the thread entanglement dilemma. At the same time he was striving to keep tabs on the various cacklers and manage the PR for the crowd gas experiments.
“What a jolly brouhaha,” he moaned.
“I am sorry to add to your woes,” said Evangeline cheerfully, “but there have been recent reports of a Cautacious Cackler cackling in various threads, although this may just be a typo for the Audacious Cackler or another strong possibility put forward by the experts is that the Cautacious Cackler has been confused for the Contumacious Cackler.“
She paused to see the effect this information was having on Ed, noting with pleasure the drops of sweat forming on his brow. She leaned over the desk and gently mopped them away with her handkerchief.
“And there have been unverified reports of a possible granite termitation on this thread,” she said softly.
It was too much for Ed.
“I want you to trace it back to when the first signs of entanglement began,” he screamed at Evangeline.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
Then she collapse, her body rigid like stone. Actually her skin began to take on a shade of grey, and several colonies of moss found their way into the wrinkles and meanders of the granite like hair.
Mater arrived at that moment.
“Oh! my! Dido, what did you do ?”
The old lady looked at the table, saw the empty jar, the lines of ants already pillaging the sweet spots on the table and on Idle’s fingers. Some of them had already turned into stone. Mater tried to forage into the jar to find the small package. It contained the mantra to release the hungry ghost from the stone trap of the termite honey.
The jar was meant for rats, Mater would feed them with termite honey to change them into stone and sell them on the market. A little hobby. She would never have thought Idle would eat that stuff. It smelled quite awful.In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
rather dust program
religious discussion making
liked line years
central nothing seems run
wait limbo
wanted heart open leader truth fullIn reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“That’s a way to kill the mood” muttered Godfrey. “If you don’t get more compliant, I’m going to have to write you out.”
He didn’t say the last sentence out loud, but almost did.
The last letter from the editor which had just come through the mail got him all angered. He took a few deep breathes, reminded of the advice of Lady Ping Chongfu, the self-titled Goddess of Fengshui. “You should avoid getting angry during all this year, or the consequences might be disastrous.” Well, she told a lot of rubbish too, that this year men should say yes to their wife, and buy many precious totems and expensive trinkets. Roberto will be in for a spin, with Liz extravagant requests…
He looked again at the letter with a resolutely more compliant mood : “Dear, I have reviewed the drafts. The story is not coming out or compelling enough. I have put my remarks on each page. Please check the attached file. You need to rework on this outline. With a brief introduction on last year’s achievement, dwell on the current challenges and requirements to meet our business objectives and then move into strategic plans from your perspective over the period of 3 years that will support the business objectives.”
“Damn editors,” he muttered again. “Can’t believe the cheek, “not coming out or compelling enough.” That’s really a way to kill the mood.”
In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions
“Medlik, old boy, I’d like a word in your ear when you’ve got a moment.” Ever since Dispersee had found out that “Master” Medlik was a supporter masquerading as a leader, she’d felt less inclined to kowtow to the old fraud.
The gloves had come off in the Fifth Density Bar and Grill when the new stats had come out.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“You should have thought about it before sending me for a spying mission, you daft tart” Prune was rehearsing in her head all the banter she would surely shower Aunt Idle with, thinking about how Mater would be railing if she noticed she was gone unattended for so long.
Mater could get a heart attack, bless her frail condition. Dido would surely get caned for this. Or canned, and pickled, of they could find enough vinegar (and big enough a jar).In actuality, she wasn’t mad at Dido. She may even have voluntarily misconstrued her garbled words to use them as an excuse to slip out of the house under false pretense. Likely Dido wouldn’t be able to tell either way.
Seeing the weird Quentin character mumbling and struggling with his paranoia, she wouldn’t stay with him too long. Plus, he was straying dangerously into the dreamtime limbo, and even at her age, she was knowing full well how unwise it would be to continue with all the pointers urging to turn back or chose any other direction but the one he adamantly insisted to go towards, seeing the growing unease on the young girl’s face.
“Get lost or cackle all you might, as all lost is hoped.” were her words when she parted ways with the strange man. She would have sworn she was quoting one of Mater’s renown one-liners.
With some chance, she would be back unnoticed for breakfast.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
On the empty road, Quentin realized there was something different in the air.
A crispness, something delicate and elusive, yet clear and precious.
A tiny dot of red light was peeking through the horizon line.It was funny, how he had tried to elude his fate, slip through the night into the oblivion and the limbo of lost characters, trying so hard to not be a character of a new story he barely understood his role in.
But his efforts had been thwarted, he was already at least a secondary character. So he’d better be aware, pretend owl watching could become dangerously enticing.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
Geoffroy du Limon had felt confident that he had the skills to act the new role, considering his notable career in the theatre in the old story. He liked his new name: Miles Fitzroy suited him perfectly; and he anticipated resonating with London (although he would have preferred New Zealand: he’d heard that his old friend Francette Fine had been assigned a new story there). He found himself floundering, however, in unexpected ways.
The most unsettling factor was the absence of a back story. Without associations or automatic habits, he was unsure how to play his personality. Without triggers, where was the humour? There was simply nothing dramatic, comedic or tragic, nothing to make the play thrilling, exciting, or enticing, if everyone was an innocuous beige blob. A present beige blob is still a blob and not very interesting.
Roll up! Roll up! Come and see the show! Watch the cast focusing on themselves and not reacting to triggers! Nothing to judge here, folks, Roll up!
Geoffroy had no idea that having so few limiting guidelines could be so difficult. One had always assumed that it was the limiting guidelines that boxed one in, held one back, he mused, not the other way round. It was indeed a challenge, and he found himself feeling nostalgic for the old story.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“‘allo? ‘allo, is Fanella there? Zis is ‘er friend, Mirabelle, wiz an urgent message.”
“A massage, you say? For Fanella?” Vincentius covered the phone with his hand and shouted “Oy! get down off there, you rascals, and go and call your mother, she’s wanted on the phone. Somebody about a massage.”
“No, no, a message! I must speak to Fanella about ‘er fiance,” the woman said.
“Well bloody speak properly then,” Vincentius muttered. “Bloody foreigners!”
“Vincentius, for goodness sake, can’t you keep these children under control!” Fanella said crossly, irritated at being interrupted from her massage. “Couldn’t you have just taken a message? And get this place tidied up before Gustave comes over!”
Vincentius scowled, his once handsome features faded with drudgery. He’d been a fool to leave the old country, notwithstanding the destruction. He should have chanced it, dodged the bombs, he’d have been a free man still. This life of servitude as a fostered refugee wasn’t what he’d hoped for when he set off in the overcrowded dinghy all those months ago. Cold, wet and tired, he’d stepped ashore full of anticipation. But nobody had told him just how awful the weather was, and how dreadful the children. Spoilt wilful little rotters! No discipline, no matter how hard he tried to control them. No wonder everyone had refugee childminders these days, who but the destitute and homeless would want to look after the unspeakable brats?
“In the Spotted Dick with a tart, you say?” Fanella snorted into the phone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes”
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“Sorry to bother you again, Ed.”
This was a lie; Evangeline wasn’t at all sorry. There was nothing she loved better than to be the bearer of bad news and she was rather pleased to have an excuse to call Ed Steam so soon after their last conversation.
“The Cackle Insanitization Committee contacted me. Their spies reported that Gustave had a meeting with that awful whinging Bea woman from Cackletown.”
Ed was shocked. “Gustave? Gustave Butterworth, the scientist? He’s supposed to be working for us, isn’t he?”
Evangeline sniffed dismissively, eager to pass on her next tantalising morsel. She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice and sound appropriately serious.
“The other concerning thing is that the Contumacious Cackler is in town. There have been several verified hearings of him.”
“The Contumacious Cackler!” Ed’s horrified reaction was music to Evangeline’s ears, although she was not entirely sure who the Contumacious Cackler was or why the mention of his name elicited such horror. She decided to ask.
“It’s rather a sad story. His mother ran away from home when he was just 3 years old, due to his father’s incessant cackling. The Contumacious Cackler never saw his mother again and he grew up with an obsessive hatred of cackling. He vowed to put an end to cackling. He cackles so evilly that he stirs up trouble wherever he goes. His dastardly plan is to create so much resistance to cackling that the people are inflamed sufficiently to rise up against cacklers. He is reported to be responsible for the demise of cackling in 2 of the provinces.”
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“Oh Patty, you naughty ratty!” exclaimed Bea, as she trundled into the kitchen to make her morning coffee. “I left you your marie biscuit on top of the microwave as usual and you haven’t even touched it. But look at my banana!”
The banana had been dragged from atop the bowl with the oranges, across the kitchen counter to nestle between the greasy gas cooking rings, the skin neatly opened in a perfect square cut.
“I was going to have that banana on my toast this morning,” Bea grumbled crossly. “You are overstepping the line now, Patty Ratty.”
“But Bea,” replied Patty, “I’m a new age ratty, a healthy ratty and a global warming conscious vegan ratty, and I do prefer a nice banana to a lousy factory made cheap biscuit, don’t you know.”
At least, that is what Bea imagined the rat might say, if it could speak. Everyone knows rats don’t speak. And notwithstanding, the rat had retired for the day and wasn’t in the kitchen anyway.
“I’m a raw food vegan gluten free health food rat!” shouted Patty from under the wood pile just outside the kitchen door. “You’re trying to kill me with that crap food!”
Momentarily speechless at the audacity of the uninvited guest, Bea struggled quietly with her roles and responsibility beliefs. Should I serve the food the uninvited guest prefers? Or should the gatecrashing rat be grateful for the food it was given?
