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In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
“Interested in interacting with you?” replied Mc Tart, “I should co co! Like a bloody morgue around here lately.”
“Er, who is Co Co?” Neb inquired politely.
Mc Tart grinned impishly. “A new character? I meant to say, I should think so! Although whether or not Co Co should think so is another matter entirely.”
“What might be the worth of what Co Co should think?”
“Good question, Neb!”
{link: worth}
In reply to: Strings of Nines
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
“I had no idea we had so many characters, Godfrey” remarked Elizabeth, rubbing her eyes. She was just about to say “and who the devil is Mc Tart” when the door burst open by none other than Mc Tart. She was wearing a black dress teamed with a white pith helmet…
“No, I’m not” said Mc Tart. “This Mc Tart is not so black and white, my friend.” The character Mc Tart stood just inside the door looking defiant.
“Wait a minute, whoa, you’re my character, Mc Tart, if I say you’re wearing a black dress and a white pith helmet, then that’s what you’re wearing!” Elizabeth had no intention of being dictated to by one of her own characters.
“Black dress, white pith helmet, black and white, bore ~ ring” yawned Mc Tart. “We’re bored! What happened to your imagination? Who is Mc Tart anyway? Do you know?”
Elizabeth shook her head, tight lipped and uncharacteristically silent.
Mc Tart was wearing a floor length bright yellow garment which had an inbuilt feature of breeze fluttering about the scalloped layered hem, so that indoors or out, regardless of weather or air currents, the fluttering hem effect was maintained.
{from Elizabeth’s Mote Pad}
In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
“Le tunnel”, as they called it now, had become a high-class French restaurant for bugs of all layers of bugsociety.
Crawlers, diggers and blood-suckers everywhere came for the most refined feast of meals imaginable. Roasted snail on shelly, topped with sherry sour cream with gorelick sauté and poursley purée was today’s special. Heck Thor and Walty Creemlon wouldn’t have missed it for anything and drooled of envy waiting behind the line of roaches who’d been camping there all night to be the first.[link: tunnel]
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
The alien bodies loved to dance. “Let’s do the time warp again!” they shouted in unison.
“It’s just a jump to the left…”The peeping Peaslander was won over by such enthusiasm. “What is your secret?” he asked, beguiled, yet raucous a tad.
“Oh, well, the alien named Comice replied, are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Come on, I’m dying of impatience”
Comice gave a sideways look at her friend Williams’ Bon Chretien. Then she enunciated very deliberately: “Malkoovich”In reply to: Strings of Nines
“If I didn’t know better,” muttered Mandrake who’d been asked to fetch Arona’s mighty cape to cover her dignity while everybody were gathered and chatting around the flames, “it sure would look like a frigging Hallowe’en party to me…”
In reply to: Strings of Nines
Arona was starting to get cold in the pinkini. She wondered how the lady with the green hair managed to keep warm with so little (not to say as much as nothing) on her skin.
She probably had some fuel more lasting than just Nhum.
Upon seeing that (not the nakie lady, Flove forbid, but the freezing Arona and the night falling down), chivalrous Vinny and Bucky went to gather some bones and fire to spend the night around a nice bonefire. Just what she needed for a keetle of hot tea.Note from the observing Sue Maffey, who started quickly to get high and delirious on Nhum tea in chippendale cups and mumbled to herself and patient Minky-in-crutches in between a few hiccups: “you knew that a bonfire is actually a fire made of bones, originally said of fires in which the bones of slaughtered animals were burned, allegedly a Gaengelic tradition of the slaughter season in autumn (Samhain, which was soon to come).”
She almost gasped wondering where their camelephants had suddenly gone and why that purple reckless dragon suddenly looked satiated.By now, almost everyone else who was there, including (but not only) Mandrake, Yickesy, Winky-nakie-greenie-Messmeerah-with-her-carved-jamón and Mrs Janet had thought the same at least once. That and wondering whether they’d ever get to see that famed Jiborium.
So much for cheap package tours.In reply to: Strings of Nines
Arona blushed and looked furtive. “I told you Vincentius! Pay attention! My Great Auntie Shelly Dwelling gave it to me and clever Buckberry found it.”
“A likely story,” smurked Mandrake.
In reply to: Strings of Nines
In reply to: Strings of Nines
“Hem, well…” Vincentius said after a moment, not wanting to upset Arona too much “I just though you’d blend in more stealthily with that bikini, look at that naked green fairy over there, she’s far more outrageous…”
“What, darling?” Arona couldn’t make sense of what Vincentius was saying; “are you suggesting this unfit piece of garment is not a figment of my imagination? And pray tell, how could I’ve even got myself into that without noticing?”
“I’m afraid you’re unmistakably regaining your acute sense of analysis and continuity honey. As far as the clothes change is concerned, be reassured, I’ve been trained to do many things in my life, such as extracting a wisdom horn off a charging rhinope in pain, so when it comes to matters of bikini, I could have done it twice without even looking.”
Needless to say, Arona was aghast at such blunt honesty.In reply to: Strings of Nines
Mandrake sighed. That trip on dragon’s back was a fast and bumpy ride. They’d landed right in the middle of the group of tourists in no time at all, and surprisingly Arona, still high on Nhum spiked tea had failed to notice much of what had just happened, let alone that her progeny was in the midst of them.
Even more surprisingly, the tourists had failed to notice their colourful, noisy and dusty landing, not to say the purple dragon itself that Vincentius had to refrain eating one of the big two-humped beasts. That dragon cloaking magic, was a hell of a powerful jinx.“Strange,” Arona said in her mild stuporous state “am I missing some events there? and… is it me, or that travel guide is a cross-dresser?”
And casting a suspicious look at Vincentius, almost blushing “and how did I enter into that hot pink bikini?”
In reply to: Strings of Nines
“It has been metaphysically proven” (Mandrake snorted rather rudely, interrupting Arona’s retort) “That cheap copies sold in markets are just as effective as brand name products.” Arona glared at the cat and continued, “The only difference is in the mind of the buyer. In fact, one could go so far as to say ~ although one wouldn’t, normally ~ that buyers of brand name products are…”
“Don’t say it!!” shouted Mandrake, looking anxiously over his shoulder, “Don’t say it!”
Arona stopped in her tracks, wondering what on earth was the matter with Mandrake.
In reply to: Strings of Nines
As any mindful reader, if there are indeed any who have been following this wondrous tale, would surely know by now, the idea that Mandrake would lick Arona’s toes is extremely unlikely. True, Arona did proffer her toes invitingly to Mandrake, however he merely snorted and disdainfully looked away.
“That Wawakawakwaka place with about 35 letters in between the “W” and the “N” sounds very odd doesn’t it?” mused Arona.
“Thirty four letters as a matter of fact.”
Arona rolled her eyes. “Trust you to count them.”
In reply to: Strings of Nines
Actually, the mindful reader would be glad to know that Waakaawaakawaawaawaawaawaawaawahuhun (or Wakawah-thirtyfour’n) wasn’t quite as safe as its almost twin city Wookoowookawoowoowoowoowoowoohoohoon (or Wookoowooh-thirty-fiv’n), both lying actually quite close for a bird, or a dragon, anchored at the bottom and at each of the sides of the same mountain.
While the former’s only attraction was the Kangrawaakaas’ Stadium with its weekly games of morbidly obese people hurling in the mud, the latter was known for its ski resorts and snow trance delixtacies in makeshift melloow yelloow yurts. Of course, W35N benefited from the better sunlight exposure, which made every dweller in the W34N hamlet fiercely jealous of its being favoured by all tourists passing by, while they (they thought) should be instead commanded for their bravery and perseverance.
And while Arona had her toes meticulously licked in blissful oblivion, little did Vincentius know what trouble was ahead were he to ask a W34N’er if he was in W35N…
In reply to: Strings of Nines
“W-a-t-e-r-f-r-i-n-g-i-n-m-e-l-o-n … yes still way too short!” Yikesy wasn’t really the party type and felt ridiculous wearing a bowler hat. While the others were engaged in general merriment precipitated by the arrival of the champagne, he surreptitiously removed the map from Minky’s backpack.
He scanned the map till he found what he was looking for.
Meanwhile ….
Arona giggled. “Look at that sign! Waakaawaakawaawaawaawaawaawaawahuhun! I want to go there!”
Mandrake raised an elegant eyebrow. “I suppose it is as good as anywhere, considering we have no idea where we are going.”
“I will run ahead and make sure it is safe.” announced Vincentius melodically. “You rest Arona, and eat these delicious sandwiches I whipped up earlier.”
“And shall I lick her feet for you while we wait?” asked the sarcastic Mandrake.
“Splendid idea. Thank you Mandrake!”
In reply to: Strings of Nines
“Oh silly me” Winky started to object (again), “I’m all nakie (and boobies), with a snail on me.”
Then, she bit her lips, “I didn’t even know I had that much shyness and prudishness in me, lordy. I used to be much more daring.”She took a big inspiration, and channeling her inner fairy essence, started to shout out “champagne, champagne for everyone!”, casting an odd look at poor Shelly Dwelling with a eye moistened by sudden desire for some butter parsley garlic sauce to accompany the impromptu buffet she clapped into manifestation, with bowler hats included for all the guests.
In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
Looking outside, it seemed the sunflowers had burnt too. The unique huge seed they carried inside would surely taste good, grilled with salt and clarified butter, and would be enough to feed the village for a few months, and maybe a few satiated Murganians if need be.
[link: burnt stuff]
In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
“Oh I have burnt the cake! So occupied was I reflecting upon the joys of home, and now the blessed cake is ruined!” exclaimed Phlora. “And soon Floywn and Hywrik and the family winged horse will return, no doubt hungry as Murganians!”
But the sunflowers did look so very pretty and Phlora was not one to be downhearted for long.
{link – home}
In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
While Yuhara and Sylvestrus were exploring Second Life worlds (Frolic Caper~Belle was still on an extended leave of absence), Blithe Gambol, although she didn’t entirely realize it at the time, was exploring First Life worlds on the Coast of Light.
Blithe and her partner Winn set off for the drum festival in the late afternoon heat, with the intention of reaching the Light Coast before sundown. The strong low sun flickered on and off as it hid behind trees and hills, and the hot dry wind whipped Blithes hair into her eyes, leaving the heavy heat of the Coast of the Sun behind and tranforming it into a light bone dry atmosphere that seemed to suck the air out of Blithe’s lungs. She filled the vacuum with smoke, listening to the words of the music playing ~ must be a reason why I’m king of my castle….king of my castle…it reminded her of Dealea’s story about King Author.
When they reached Vejer de la Frontera they made a wrong turning, although they were well aware that no turning is a wrong one. The new direction took them in a circle behind the Vejer promontory, through the umbrella pines along the coast. The sky was golden yellow behind the black sillouttes on one side, with a periwinkle sea on the other, rocky pale grey outcrops blushed with pink paddling in the gently lapping waves.
As they entered the village of Canos de Meca, they slowed to crawl behind the inching cars, as tanned people in brightly coloured clothes wove in and out of the traffic, and in and out of the exotic looking bars and restaurants. Blithe remembered the Second Life worlds she had been exploring earlier that day, and wondered if Second Life came with the smells of sardines barbequeing on the beach, or a warm breeze wafting past laden with snatches of laughter and conversation. Visually, certainly, Second Life would be hard presssed to beat the visual appeal of Canos de Meca at sunset on an August evening. There were plenty of opportunities to observe the people and the hostelries, as the traffic got progressively worse until it eventually came to a standstill. The narrow lanes were lined with parked cars, and throngs of people carrying coolers made their way to the sand dunes near the lighthouse.
Eventually, after several slow drives past looking for a miraculous parking space that didn’t appear, Blithe and Winn found a restaurant in between the coastal villages that was strangely empty of people. Even Winn, who was much less inclined towards fanciful imaginings than Blithe, remarked on how surreal the place was. It could have been anywhere in Spain, so strangely ordinary was its appearance in comparison to the Moorish beach hippy style of the villages. They ordered food, and relaxed in easy silence in the oasis of calm ordinariness. Blithe wondered if the place actually existed or if she had created it out of thin air, just for a respite and a parking place, and a clean unoccupied loo. Another First Life world, perhaps, constructed in the moment to meet the current requirements of ease.
At 11:11, after another two drives through the crawling cars and crowds, Winn turned the car around and headed for home. At 12:12 they reached the Coast of the Sun, shrouded in sea mist, and at 1:00am precisely, they arrived home. Later, as Blithe lay on the bed listening to the drums playing on the music machine, she closed her eyes and saw the sunset over the Atlantic, and felt the ocean breeze of the fan. She projected her attention to the dunes of Trafalgar ~ which, incidentally, didn’t take two hours, it was instant. In another instant, she was back in her bedroom, sipping agua con gas on the rocks and chatting to Winn. Seconds later, she was in a vibrant nightclub overlooking the beach, dancing in spirit between the jostling holidaymakers being served at the bar. She imagined that one or two of them noticed her energy.
Clearly, teleporting from one place to another had its benefits. The question of parking, for example, wouldn’t arise. But Blithe wouldn’t have wanted to miss the late afternoon drive to the Coast of Light, and the golden slanting lightbeams flickering between the cork oaks making their cork shorn trunks glow red, or the ocean appearing over the crest of a hill. And if she had arrived in an instant at the location she was intending to visit, then she would never have encountered the sunset from the particular angle of the approach via the wrong turn. Variety ~ and impulse, and the opportunities of the unexpected turns ~ was the weft of weaving First Life worlds ~ or was it the warp?
link: weaving worlds
