Search Results for 'liz'

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  • #1072

    This door is influenced by the energy you irradiate.

    You have to trust your energy in order for it to lead you to the most fulfilling place.

    Irtak drew his hand closer to the rippling surface of the door. Its aspect was so changing that it was like he was seeing all the tiniest elements that composed the matter, whatever it was. Hesitating, he asked Leormn.

    — Are you trying one of your tricks on me? It’s like I’m hypnotized.

    He’s not trying to lure you in… said Jeckle.
    The vibration you are currently feeling is the resonance of your energy with the one filtering through that door. said Heckle. I suspect it comes from another realm…
    But it is close to this one, Jeckle added. His muzzle quivered with excitement. I feel a friendly energy filtering from the other side.

    The waves of curiosity emitted by his friends were compelling, and Leormn could feel it. He himself was very interested by what he could feel was some kind of counterpart of himself. He was familiar with the energy but it was somewhat different from his own.

    Our strong desire is maintaining the door open. We can go safely through it and return in no time… he suggested in a soft persuasive tone.

    Arona, who was feeling a bit forgotten, grunted and added a tad dubious :
    — I’m not sure we should do it. We should tell the others… Where are they by the way?

    Apparently, the dragons and the boy were more fascinated by what was leaking out of her drawing. She’d been a bit surprised that one of her creations… if one could call the few brushstrokes a creation… that it could produce such an odd reaction. She couldn’t help but notice that the two words were anagrams.

    Leormn looked at her with a renewed interest.

    I’m feeling you are connected to that other realm, dear Arona. We all are in a way, but it’s like your lineage came from that… gate. Would you dare find out about your origin?

    She looked at him dubiously. His gaze was so intense that one moment…

    — Are you serious? she asked.

    He grinned… Who knows… if you don’t go you may never find out ;)) and I’m sure the others can take care of themselves when we are gone.

    Saying that he jumped on the other side like he was acting on a whim.

    The twins looked at each other and followed him… and Irtak was next…
    What was she to do?
    It was almost as if the door was staring at her. Challenging her… and she didn’t really like to be alone in these dark corridors.
    She jumped in and felt completely stretched out for what seemed a few seconds. She almost lost sense of who she was when an image started to form in her mind.

    It expanded until she was surrounded by a warm sensation of well being and lightness. She was completely safe in this place.
    A sudden woosh and a sensation of cold. She fell on the floor, her members suddenly failing her. The light was completely different and she couldn’t hear anything. Panic began to overwhelm her and she realized she couldn’t emit any sound either.

    As suddenly as it was gone, her sense of hearing reappeared.

    Who was shouting like that?

    AronaArona!

    The directedness in the tone was enough to make her recover her balance. She stopped shouting and began to notice her other senses… nothing particular at first, but she had the weird impression that it was different. Looking around her, she saw that the dragons were sniffing around like puppies and Irtak was following them like one of them.

    — Where are we? she asked Leormn.
    The sound of her voice was lower-pitched than usual, and Leormn started to laugh at her look of dismay.

    Hahaha! I don’t know yet… but we have all the time to discover.

    — Can’t we come back to the cave now? I don’t feel comfortable here… look at the sand, it’s purple… maybe it’s some kind of bacteria or something, maybe it’s contagious…

    He gave her one of those irritating wink. She was about to retort bluntly when she realized there was no way back.
    The door had disappeared.

    #1065

    The smooke of her pipe was creating interesting shapes flooting away from her.
    Elizabeth had the weird impression that her story was taking an uncontrollable turn.
    She woold have written a torrid sex scene with Phoebe and the yoong Russian on the submarine, but it was as if Finnley’s eyes were constantly reminding her of her own nymphoomaniac behavior. She had to let it unexpressed except in her imagination.

    Looking at the last curls of smooke, it was as if the pook-marked face of Pavel was taking life before her eyes. Thanks to her new croop, her feelings were far far away… She let the smooked face decomposed in a gracious gray whale.

    She giggled thinking of Finnley’s disapproval… maybe she’ll write that scene after all.
    She took a sheet of paper and a pen, but soon realized the words were not foorming as expected. The thud prooduced by the pen rolling on the floor was amusing too.

    Ooh!

    The thud prooduced by her body rolling on the floor was more disturbing… and the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was Finnley’s disapproving look… maybe she had written that scene after all…

    A smile on her face she began to snoore soundly.

    #1061
    Jib
    Participant

      She had been taken to her room by a handsome young Russian after the onboard doctor, who was quite handsome too, had examined her. She had the vague impression she was turning a tad nymphomaniac. She chuckled and she stopped as soon as she realized she sounded like an old goose. No she would not loose her dignity. But she needed to release her tensions.

      The doctor had told her she was lucky they came at that very moment, but kept quiet after that. That she was aware of, but she couldn’t get more out of him and she was too tired to use her other tricks on him.
      Better rest a moment; she was confident she’d be kept up to date soon enough by Pavel.

      How strongly she was despising him…
      She didn’t know it was possible before their first encounter in Paris, years ago. :yahoo_thinking:
      Mixed feelings filled up those memories… :yahoo_angry: :yahoo_love_struck: it was also at the same time she’d met Georges, the Dandy as he liked to be called then. What a pair of thieves they were… When was it? 1852? 1853? She wasn’t sure…

      Her first mistake was to ask them to retrieve that stone from the antique store for her… Of course she hadn’t told them what she was looking for… she only asked them to steal everything in the shop! Still, they didn’t bring it back from the shop though she was positive the sunstone was there… they told her that was all they found; Georges seemed so sincere that she wouldn’t have thought he would double her and keep the stone… and much less use it. Soon enough… yes soon enough she realized she had been deceived.

      Her second mistake was to offer them an arrangement… but that’s another story. She was not as wary as she was now.

      She sighed. :yahoo_sigh:

      Nothing interesting to steal in that room. Just raw blankets and a plain wooden chair… she wouldn’t have expected more from Pavel. Always keeping the best for himself and not quite as chivalrous as the Dandy. Pavel… How did they call him back then? She couldn’t or wouldn’t recall it… something like the Monk… the Monkey would have better suited him, she thought bitterly.

      But now; she had no time to loose in dim memories.
      She had to plan her escape.

      knock knock

      It only took her a few seconds to compose herself.

      — Come on in.

      #1058

      She had to hold her breath a few seconds more…
      Very few seconds…
      Another one… Oh by the Elder gods! what was this all about the time was stretching like an old rubber bag and she was about to burst out… sshitty lack of air!

      Calm down Phoebe. You can do it… WHERE IS THE SURFACE!?

      All of a sudden she realized she had lost her beautiful motorbike for good — one that took her years to find, and a few more years to insufflate its little particularities.

      Oh! MERDE!

      Another memory of her time at the Moulin Rouge…

      I lost the wand again…

      But that wand was a bit more special than her motorbike. Soaked with ancient magic from another dimension… A bit like that ring in that dimension… She shivered… her small intrusion in that one sufficed to disgust her… That giant spider… what was her name again? Well the name won’t help her surface and breathe… She remembered… she had stolen an egg from that spider… she had to get rid of it very soon afterward in a garbage dimension, but…

      What is this light… and where is the direction of the surface… it was like she was floating in no space, no gravity…
      That’s not gooood…
      I’m loosing…

      :fleuron:

      …conscious…

      :fleuron:

      …Nessy!

      A big flushing sound and she could breathe again… it was painful as the water in her lungs was looking for a way out.
      Coughing and aching… She had no idea of the boundaries of her bodies as she was as wet as the ocean…
      But her friend of old times had saved her! She never regretted to help her in her youth, during a trip to Scotland…
      The contact of the… cold skin?
      It was a bit too cold to be her friend… and it sounded quite metallic.

      — Oye! Therrre you arrrre!

      What was that again!? A submarine? A Russian accent?
      She couldn’t accommodate her vision, she was still too busy to breathe loudly.

      — Deaaarrrr Pheobe! The Barrrron told me you’d be therrrre.

      Pavel Orgeanov!!! Oh not him now! He was the last one she expected to meet.

      #1039
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Fumbling through the huge pile of paper, Elizabeth cried in anguish “it’s oowful, there’s too much stuff in those jumbled foolders!

        Her cry had made some of the tiny goats faint and as she started to look around, she found herself in the middle of what looked like a battlefield from the Rooman times, with Robert the magpie dancing gleefully on goats all four legs in the air.:goat: :yahoo_silly: :yahoo_sleepy:

        Nervously, she reached for her cigarettes, only to send the pack flying in the trash with her chaotic movements. “booger, booger!”. As she went crawling under the desk, she saw that tooday’s newspaper had a chubby statue on the front page ( Oostrians fete voluptuoos, prehistoric Venoos ).
        “What’s that? She looks familiar that one” thought Elizabeth, the form of the statue vaguely reminding her to go check with her aesthetic surgeon if any more work needed to be done since the last time, three weeks ago.

        And now, look at that, it’s almost like in dear Harry Pooh’ter
        That Venoos is made from oolitic stone (meaning egg stone)… “ :yahoo_thinking:

        But seeing the cinders of her freshly lit cigarette were almost lighting up a fire from her notes, she almost forgot to put that new thing in her clooh box.

        #1032
        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          Finnley looked appraisingly at her reflection in the mirroor of the staff toiloots. She turned her head, surveying herself from different angles. Sure, her hair was cut very short, but she had always thought it looked quite fetching and stylish, and so easy to care for.

          She turned over the empty cleaning bucket so she could stand on it to get a better view of her body in the mirroor. Perhaps the baggy blue cleaning dungaroos she wore were not the most flattering on her slim figure, yet incredibly practical nonetheless, with 6 large pockets. She had bought several pairs on special, so she could alternate them.

          That Elizabeth Tattler was clearly just one of the mindblown ones. Mad as Almad.

          And getting worse by the day!

          Perhaps it was just THAT time of the moonth, but for some reason Elizabeth’s insistence on referring to her as a male had really hurt Finnley today. Ever since she had attempted to help Elizabeth with the Island story by modifying the love scene , just slightly, Elizabeth had been intent on undermining Finnley’s sexooality. Not only that, she appeared to be fabricating Finnley’s involvement with the noovel she was writing. Just yesterday she had overheard Elizabeth telling her publisher, Bronkel, that Finnley was telepoothically implanting evil suggestions in her head.

          Finnley shook her head again, this time in bewilderment. For Foocks sake, someone should do something about that woman, before it is too late!

          Studying herself in the mirroor again she undid the top 3 buttons of the shirt she was wearing under her dungaroos and made a mental note to buy a poosh-up bra after work today. She mussed her hair up in what she hoped was a sexy look and made her way to clean the computer gooks office.

          #1030
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Images floated across the dark screen of Elizabeth’s closed eyes as she lay on the bed. She was aware of the trees rustling in the breeze outside her window, and the soft breathing of the miniature giraffes curled up by her feet. The afternoon heat was intense, heavy and soporific.

            An island, strewn with debris; fallen trees and unidentifiable mangled wreckage of a stainless steel tubuler kind; splotches of blue everywhere dried and cracked into oddly shaped human-like-alien forms, and the telltale battered paint can with the word Azure showing, unscathed.

            Darkness, damp smells, grey stones and spiders webs, slippery underfoot, bone coldness, and then a glimpse of lime green maidenhair ferns, a shaft of light and the sound of gurgling water….

            Water sounds becoming surging tides, roaring pushing sucking head spinning weighty and then silence and the tinkling of windchimes….

            A dog barks in the distance, waking the miniature giraffes. Big brown eyes atop slender necks gaze at Elizabeth as her eyes flutter open and then close again.

            Last orders gentlemen PLEASE! and a jostle of bodies in the smoke and laughter and babble of voices. A crush of humans across a long wooden barrier for large glass vessels full of foam topped amber liquids. A hush. Silence falls as a glass box perched high in a corner begins to speak. Elizabeth can see the head and shoulders and the serious face, she can see the lips moving, but the silence is total and she can’t hear the words being spoken. The Big Hush, she heard herself think.

            Hurdy Gurdy music and a merry go round…..grinning white horses up and down and round and round …..

            Elizabeth drifted off to sleep.

            #1029
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Elizabeth frowned as she hung up the telephoone. Finnley’s news was rather disturbing.

              Al has gone crazy!” he’d said. “He is sending everyone to the island and killing spiders and magpies and lord knows what else; that couple with the bad skin, they’ve been stuck inside their hotel room for weeks….”

              “Whoo, whoo there, slow down a minute, WHICH couple with bad skin?” Elizabeth asked.

              “Your couple with bad skin! They were your characters!” Really, Elizabeth could be exasperating at times, Finnley thought, and not for the first time.

              “Oh, yes, them. HHHMMM.” Elizabeth had been silent for so long on the telephoone that Finnley hung up in frustration. He would communicate with Elizabeth telepathically instead.

              #1015
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Elizabeth was beginning to realize that there WAS no ‘end of the road’, no grand finale, no finish line. Whenever her characters appeared to be nearing the proposed grand point of the story, she found herself following another thread in the impossibly huge tapestry. Maybe she didn’t want it to end, or perhaps it was that there was no ‘point’, no end point to aim for, that it was all just a process, a continual weaving of marvelously coloured threads. Some threads were gaily coloured silks, some were rough and coarse, some were woolly and comforting, and others were plain and functional. There were threads of the most unusual and unexpected fibres, other worldly threads tying the myriad dimensions and chapters together somehow. It really was the most fabulously intricate and absorbing construction.

                #1012

                Elizabeth just had a brilliant idea actually.
                Why not just print her rumbled heap of scattered notes… just as it is. In four volumes if needed.

                What Lemone was saying in his Words of Comfort for the Descended already?

                It’s not the writer’s job to piece the stuff life is made of together, it’s the job of the reader.

                “Bloody good point,” she’d be keoon saying.
                Trust the reader to take what they want, read on impulse… Whatever or not… She had a feeling that in the future when people are reading her stuff, that it will make more sense to them than to current day average readers.
                She was so leading-edge.

                Of course, her editor would make a fuss, but he would have no other choice than recognize her genioos.

                How exciting it all was.

                #1009
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  The truth was the book was nowhere near finished. In fact the island story she was working on currently was becoming more and more complex. Elizabeth put it down to her own wonderfully complex nature, this insatiable need to add more and more characters, all converging on the island for the dramatic finale.

                  Finale! She snoorted derisively. Having no idea where it was all going ,if the truth be told, then there was not much likelihood of a finale for quite some time.

                  A tentative knock on the door. It was that bloody Finnley! Since the sex scene fiasco Elizabeth had banned her entry to her office. Quite a rookus there had been. Still, she had to grudgingly admit, the girl had writing talent! Perhaps she could make use of her. Elizabeth quite fancied herself in the role of a leader, and the idea of Finnley in a sort of subservient underling capacity was tremendoosly appealing to her.

                  #1008

                  Where in the name of Floove is it?

                  Elizabeth Tattler held the telepooh away from her ear, and reflected serenely on the dust particles illuminated by the sunlight streaming in the window, while she waited for Bronkel to end his tirade.

                  She was proud of herself for managing to keep her voodish nature in check and attributed this new found calm to the latest book by Lemone, although unfortunately, with all the brain foog she was experiencing lately she was unable to recall the name of it …. Wisp Away Your Energy Balls?

                  Well no matter, something like that anyway ….

                  And what was that bloody man going on about? WHAT deadline for her book! 8/8/08 ???

                  #1004
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Becky was undecided. Add to the last entry? Or start another? Grinning wickedly, she started another.

                    Her second impulse selection was a slightly late coincidence, but a coincidence notwithstanding. It was about Sand Dragons . A Few days previously Becky had been to an auction. She bid for and won a first edition copy of Wisp magazine; it had cost her an arm and a leg, but she was delighted with her purchase. It would increase in value, and was a delight to read some of the first published articles of the many authors, poets, artists and photographers who would later become famous. The article about sand sculptures had reminded her of the T.R.A.P. day out.

                    Well, how about that! exclaimed Becky, reading the rest of the comment. Wish House is one of my most favourites, and I chose it by accident!

                    She read:

                    Illi used to play a game with Cranky (as she affectionately called nanny Chraddock) in the long months while her parents were away, called Wish House. Every room in the sprawling Elizabethan house was a different time and place, and the moment they entered the room they imagined themselves to be different people, in other times. Petunia Duster the maid loved to join in too; consequently not alot of housework got done, but with Gus and Flora always off travelling, nobody minded. Playing was, after all, so much more important than dust. In fact, a thick layer of dust made the rooms all the more mysterious and magical.”

                    Becky ran her finger along the dust on her desk and smiled.

                    OH! Becky jumped. I almost forgot to make a note of the number, now what was it? she mused, scratching her head. I think it was 171 :notepad:

                    Becky wondered whether or not to start another entry. Intuitively, she chose not to. Her third random choice was another synchronicity with the first edition of Wisp: it was about pyramids in Spain. The first edition of Wisp magazine was particularly valuable as it was the first mention in print of the discovery of the Iberian pyramid culture.

                    Number 835 she noted :notepad:

                    #995
                    F LoveF Love
                    Participant

                      Elizabeth knew there must be something profoond in today’s “Words of Comfort for the Descending” quotation, after all, it was a Lemone quote:

                      Better speak nonsense than be dead or sorry

                      But for the life of her she could not find the significance. She sighed. Her brain felt so lifeless lately.

                      #985

                      The door of the garage opened with a creaking sound, and Madame Chesterhope sped up into the gritty alley.
                      In that dimension where she had hidden her command base, people were a bit sloppy about roads and tarmac, so she had designed a little modification on her machines to be able to levitate in some of the less practical areas; but she had to admit,… she loved the vibrations and bumps that the motorbike created with the friction of the ground surface.
                      She started to giggle, all enthusiastic about the speed and the wind in her hair, that she ignored the road sign indicating that the road was flooded some miles ahead. The rain had been pouring cabbages all past hexades, so much so that her leather suit was in all honesty the best thing she could have worn, not to mention the fact of course, that it was making her totally sexy.
                      Two peasants were coming her way, looking at her with wild eyes like they had just seen something otherworldly. Ahahah she laughed, the fools would soon have forgotten everything about it (another handy and sly magical modification she nodded to herself). Looking in her rear mirror, she could still see them wiggle their hands in a frenzy… What the fl…!

                      :fleuron:

                      On the road, the two peasants wondered what in the name of Shaint Lejus was that rider… But worse, it was heading straight to the pool that the swollen river had made recently, outpouring on fields and little sniggly and thorny paths, like this one. Making desperate signs to be seen and warn it, they watched in horror the black podgy thing with flabby flapping schpurniatz arms sink straight to the bottom of the pool.

                      :fleuron:

                      The landing was a bit bumpy, but she found her balance quickly. Those transdimensional puddles were a bit rough to get accustomed to, but once you knew how to manipulate it, you couldn’t forget it.
                      Now, all she needed to got to the location she was heading to was to hop through a few more transdimensional puddles.
                      Actually, all sorts of puddles could do the job, water puddles, even oil puddles… or run-over poodle puddles for that matter. She preferred water ones, for the quality of water was very fluid, and allowed for easier defocusing. Lately she had tried transdimensional exhaust fumes clouddles, but that was a bit disorienting more than helping.
                      As far as she could tell, this first one had been projecting her to a dimension in between Earth and the Duane. Incorporating vibrational qualities of the two, with a little more rigidity though. The machine needed a little time to stabilize and get prepared for the next transdimensional jump.
                      As far as she could tell, she was in a place that was not unlike her birthplace, in the countryside of England. There were occasionally some giveaways that she still wasn’t quite there yet, like an erratic flying schpurniatz, but she was close now.
                      A few meters in front of her, she could see a lovely puddle that could do for the next jump. A bit small for her… well, motorbike, what were you thinking… but that would probably do it. She took another breath, then pushed the TDPP (Trans-Dimensional Puddle Propeller) button.

                      :fleuron:

                      Flof-flof-flof-flof…
                      Bugger, bugger…. What the bloody heck!

                      Straw was flying all over her hair, and obfuscating her vision… Darn last puddle had to much mud in it, and her concentration went off for a split second, heading her towards a field of barley.
                      Turning round and round for a moment in complete disorientation, she finally pushed the levitation button to take a little altitude.
                      Oh, now,… at least she could tell she was in England, because she knew that place.
                      How perfect! She could now just move into the dimension to the Pacific island. The GPS included in the modern expensive motorbike had been bipping as soon as it had found again the satellites, and it was now pointing the direction.
                      Giggling again, she pushed a new button and disappeared into the sky in a supersonic puff of smoke.

                      :fleuron:

                      a few days later, Chestershire, UK

                      AFP - 2008-07-21 - An new amazing design has been reported by eye-witnesses
                      on a crop of barley of a local farmer along with reports of strange booming sounds
                      and orbs of light. A sight to behold, the delicate intricacy of these interwoven
                      patterns is believed by many to be the work of the Crop-circle Makers, some
                      alien intelligence desiring to communicate with us. The theme of this crop-circle
                      is thought to be a variation on planet Venus cycles, and would be highlighting
                      the number of cycles lefts until the notorious end-date of Mayan calendar,
                      Dec. 21st 2012. Scientists have brushed off the allegations of elderly pranksters,
                      as this one seemed to have required levels of astronomical knowledge far beyond
                      human intelligence.
                      #923

                      Mr Arak had just got another complaint.
                      Someone was again stealing people’s soondwiches during the morning break. Except that this time, the perpetratoor had placed some poost-it saying “Thanks for the snoock! Floove, Finnley
                      How cheeky! he thought, smiling to himself… As funny as he thought it was, especially when the teafed one was that annoying woonabe-star of Elizabeth, he might have to take appropriate measures. Especially when the teafed one was that Elizabeth T.

                      Now, tell me, Yurick asked Finn anxiously (while she apparently only got the breathing icons :yahoo_sigh: and no longer the messages accompanying it), “any idea what’s the message in that bizarre dream?”

                      #921

                      It had been a week now. Georges had fully taken his role as Shu-Lom, the eleventh Gate in the Council of the Guardians. His mergence with the actual focus of Blöhmul was fading out ; the transition had been smooth, unnoticed by most of the Guardians, even his closest friends. Georges was careful not to display any unusual change in Shu-Lom’s attitude, though some of them were showing signs of suspicion, especially… his own focus, Sinadron who was the most susceptible to be aware of the difference. Georges had been avoiding him since his arrival, but he would eventually have to face him for one of the rituals soon to begin.
                      Of the eleventh other Guardians, only 2 were considering him as a friend, Doh’Maar and Vogel. Most of the others were ignoring him during the sessions and Sinadron were despising him. Well, technically he was despising Shu-Lom and the change would not make things go easier between the 2 of them as the energy of their 2 focuses were sort of repulsing each other.
                      Following Shu-Lom’s habits, he was heading to the public baths, but contrary to him, he was going during daylight. He needed some answers. He had been feeling strong tensions between the Gates, and there were also underlying feeling of discontentment and anger among the other Guardians. For the first time in their history, unknown groups of their kind were attacking the other races and provoking them and generating feelings of fear, even amongst the Guardians.
                      The man he was following would give him some of the answers. He would have to befriend him first though. Noraam had a smooth energy, and he would be easy to approach, especially in the dampness of the baths.

                      Noraam was wearing an grey cape, attached on his shoulders with carved fibulae. His robe was short, above his knees, and rather dark. He was quite young by the standards of the Guardians and still fiery. Shu-Lom was young too, about the same age as Noraam, but he was quite pessimistic and self-effacing, and especially he wanted to leave, that he did, and Georges took his place.
                      Georges suddenly felt a familiar energy, one that he would recognize anywhere, anytime. Salome… rather another focus of her essence. Hahaha, that was a surprise, and he almost lost track of what he was doing. Noraam was already taking the stairs up to the baths. Something about the energy of that focus was attractive, he still didn’t know who it was or what he/she(?) was doing here. Maybe just a projection. He didn’t have time to investigate. Heading to the stairs where Noraam was already being dematerialized and rematerialized to the first level, he heard a child’s voice.

                      Can you help me?.. I know you can.

                      What again, another distraction… he would be late to the baths and maybe loose the occasion to speak with the other Gate.

                      Looking down at the origin of the voice, he was surprised to see a little girl, red hair and amber eyes. As he could see, she was blind, but as he could feel, she was quite capable of seeing things.

                      Do I know you, little one? He had not been aware of this child in Shu-Lom’s memories, and he was wondering if he had missed something during his encounters with the original.

                      You dreamt of me the other night, but you weren’t here yet.

                      Her last words triggered a memory, of him carrying a naked little girl in his arms, protecting her in a way, and he was following a man in his dream, trying to keep track… in his dream, he was rushing and almost lost the child, following also Salome who had already taken the stairs… yes he was here in his dreams, the place and the stairs were the same… as was the child.

                      What is your name little one? In my dream you were followed by an owl
                      You can call me Ar’Meel.

                      :fleuron:

                      Sam thought he could write it somewhat differently. With his understanding of Georges’ abilities, he could well have split in two and followed Salome and stayed with the girl simultaneously and maybe even Noraam.
                      A smile.
                      He was feeling wobbly and wavy. A ripple effect?
                      It seemed that there had been a strange recognition between his character and himself. It was like Georges was aware of Sam wanting to change what had happened… or was it a suggestion of Georges?

                      #898

                      She was feeling blank. It was as if she had no memories of what had happened before. At least she had still the notion that she was a she… wasn’t she? It wasn’t really clear, as she had mixed up feelings. There weren’t any physical sensation in the place she was. Indeed, she was having difficulties finding herself. She began to wonder what was this feeling of her she was aware of. To what was it connected? And thus, she realized she was too focused on the question itself to get any answer.
                      The letting go released a dam of sensations and informations. She was overwhelmed by all that she was and all that seemed to be thrust upon her senses. But the resistance was what could create pain, she knew that from another time where she was living the same thing. Resisting the communication was like wanting to resist a herd of fleeing raghlors.
                      She was feeling a presence in all this mess, something familiar :-?
                      Was that herself looking at herself looking at herself looking at herself looking…
                      Her memory of what she was trying to do came as lightning. The sudden realization of her numerous tentatives at this exercise made her cry… would she fail again?
                      She had to find these other aspects of her, put them into a common direction… but there were so many of hers! which ones should she call to follow her? Which ones would follow her, if any? She felt sudden despair coming from everywhen. Despairs that she was aware did not belong to her, but they were powerful, almost annihilating her will. Images of massacres of people she knew, of people that her other selves knew, massacre that she had perpetrated herself or that she was perpetrating… any sensation of time could fit.

                      :yahoo_at_wits_end: :yahoo_doh: :yahoo_crying: :yahoo_cow: :yahoo_whew: :yahoo_skull:

                      Despair was imprisoning her and she knew she already had failed because of that. It was shadowing her motivation, giving her that hollow sense of herself, shielding her from…

                      :creating_magic:

                      Asiir, is that you? The energy was familiar and the name was a translation in her mind. It was an anchor point in all these mess of hers.
                      Asiir, help me!

                      The feeling was faint, so far away. But as she was focusing more on it, she noticed her different selves were intrigued and gathering around it. And there they were together. A feeling of ecstasy filled her up… and out of her body herself was huge. The presence was gaining in intensity and it was as if it was her who was allowing Asiir’s energy to be expressed toward herself.

                      HAHAHAHAHA a thunderous laugh.
                      Startled for a moment she almost lost contact with Asiir. But their bond was stronger this time. She was filled with joy and self-assurance.

                      At last, you are beginning to understand, Lola. We can go on and take the next step now.

                      She was truly riding her dragon, :face-grin: , it was wondrous.

                      Well, technically you are lying on the floor of the marshes of doooom, but…

                      All of a sudden, everything was gone, she was back to her body, Asiir looking at her and nudging her left arm with her snout.
                      WOW, what a crippled body! How many times did she tried? Would he kill her with that, bloody bastard… a feeling of anger was infuriating her, and filling her body up, heating it up. How could he possibly be so inhuman?

                      May I recall you I’m a dead guy? and furthermore, my focus wasn’t human… I just appear human to your eyes because you want me to appear like that. You have no representation of how my species could look like, but I may show you…
                      … soon.

                      #877

                      Oh for foocks sake, Finnley grumbled, does that woman never go home?

                      Elizabeth Tattler was passed out on the desk, two empty wine boottles on the floor beside her chair.

                      Foock you too! Foock you too! Screeched Robert X

                      She grinned, she quite enjoyed Robert X, or MrX as she liked to call him.

                      So what’s our Elizabeth been up to eh Mr X? Finnley picked up the messy pile of papers on the desk and carefully put them in order. They looked sort of interesting. Maybe it was time for a rest break. She pulled out her vegemoot sandwooches on chunks of rye bread, and, carefully dusting it first, she sat down on a big armchair in the corner of the office to read.

                      Twenty minoots later she threw the pages on the floor in disgust, but then, disturbed by the mess it made, picked them up again.

                      The character Veranassessee left her particularly disturbed. What a name! And what a Wishy Wooshy Noomby Poomby. Whats all this YES YES YES businoos! That Agent Gabriele was a selfish and dictatorial bastood as far as she could tell.

                      She would see about that! She was no writer but she was sure she could do better than this load of old mongoat droppings.

                      Well she would if she could find a pen on Ms Tattler’s shamboolic desk anyway.

                      :fleuron:

                      Veranassessee (V) drew back from his sloppy kisses. Wait! Have you got protection? she asked, imperatively and sensibly.

                      Protection? … my gun is under the pillow … oh right I see what you mean, stuttered Agent Gabriele apologetically, reluctantly pulling himself from making suction noises on her breast to rummage for a condom in his suitcase.

                      Great, now say that stuff again. You know all that crap about how beautiful I am. I sort of liked it.

                      Agent Gabriele willingly obliged. Of course V recognised it for the lustful rubbish it was … still might as well have a bit of fun. He was damn good looking.

                      Perfect, she said. Now, what position do you prefer?

                      He was momentarily speechless, stunned, and even more aroused, if that was indeed possible, by her forthrightness.

                      She rolled her eyes. Yes, you know POSITION … on top … underneath ..front … back… through a hole in a blanket …? myself I like to keep things simple, don’t want to make too much mess around the place.

                      Anything you want Darling Agent V.

                      A little bit later he sighed contentedly. You are by far the best lover I have ever had.

                      Thanks, everyone says that. Hey! Put out that cigarette, there’s no smoking inside you know. She looked critically around the room. You know this room could do with a damn good clean, I could see dust on the headboard, you know, while we were doing it.

                      I’ll make sure I clean it next time, he murmered huskily, kissing her, and saying that stuff again, about how perfect she was.

                      :fleuron:

                      Finnley giggled to herself. Much better! Well who’d have thought she would have a bit of a gift for writing. Carefully she replaced the pages under the telepooh and made her exit. With a bit of luck Ms Tattler would never notice.

                      #876

                      Oh what absoloote rubbish, giggled Elizabeth Tattler, taking another large sloorp from her 4th glass of red wine and putting large determined scribbles through the last chapter of the latest Noovel. It was the continuing saga of the Tifijikoo Island story. She really had to finish it, old whats-his-face was on the telepooh to her daily now, demanding to know when it was to be finished.

                      More Sex! he had shouted at her last time. More sex, we want the bloody thing to sell don’t we!

                      Well I have shut you up haven’t I, she snorted to herself, thinking happily of Dr Bronkelhampton passed out on the couch wearing a pink dress and mascara running down his face.

                      More sex eh? Hooommmm, Elizabeth did not particularly believe in putting extraneous sex in her noovels. At the same time that character Veranassessee was annoying her a bit with all her indecisiveness. And what a bloody mouthful that name was. Was it too late to change it? hooommm probably. She had modelled her roughly on the cleaner, Finnley, quite an attractive girl despite her pooty face and superior, bossy ways.

                      She vaguely remembered something a tutor at writing school had said to her once about writing sex scenes … what was his name? Emonel … no that was not quite right … Meenol! That was it!

                      Make your writing detailed, with accurate depiction of suction noises

                      Elizabeth broke into fits of laughter, slamming her fist on the desk gleefully and startling Robert X. (Unfortunately the fainting Mongoats had been banned from the building by that nasty Mr Arak)

                      You know Robbie-pooh what is wrong with this?

                      Robbie-Pooh, Robbie-Pooh, cackled Robert X.

                      IT’S BOORING, The damn characters never do anything. Right well, time to fix that. She took another few slugs of her wine.

                      :fleuron:

                      Oh God, said Agent Gabriele. Who gives a shit about the Doctor or bloody magpies. I can’t stand this any longer. I must have you Agent V. He lunged towards her, ripping open her robe and exposing her naked body.

                      You are so beautiful. All I ever wanted is you. That’s why I demanded this assignment on the Island … to see you again. I have not been able to get you out of my head. You’ve been driving me crazy

                      NO NO, cried Veranassessee weakly, but her body said YES YES

                      YES!

                      Agent Gabriele kissed her on the mouth, making strange and passionate slurping noises, and, unable to resist any longer, she gave in to his need for her.

                      ( Yes, Yes, YES! snorted Elizabeth, momentarily unable to write for laughing. Hooommm what about that Mahiliki? He was pathootic. Did he want the girl or not for God’s sake? )

                      :fleuron:

                      Mahiliki stared anxiously out at the storm. He could think of nothing but his darling Veranassessee. He must know if she was alright. He must go to her. He grabbed his car keys and drove like a madman to the airport.

                      ( Hoommm, thought Elizabeth, I really don’t know anything about small island airports and planes. Well booger that, I will research them later on the internoot )

                      You must fly me to Tifijikoo Island! demanded Mahiliki, holding the pilot (who had been sitting out the storm in a little airport building thingy ) at knifepoint.

                      Are you mad? said the pilot. There’s a freakin cyclone, or hadn’t you noticed?

                      Yes, I am mad, I am mad with love. Fly me there or you are a dead man.

                      :fleuron:

                      ahahahaahah, laughed Elizabeth happily.

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