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  • #4685
    F LoveF Love
    Participant

      “I used to win prizes you know,” Miss Bossy Pants sighed and rubbed her hand through her hair, leaving it in further disarray.

      “I’m sure you did,” said Ric with a small smile which could have been interpreted as a smirk. Miss Bossy Pants decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

      “For journalism. One year, I received the top journalism prize for my investigative piece about the sausage industry. Cutting edge they called it. And now,” she frowned and looked out the window. “We must get someone to clean those. And now, I am a mere figurehead.”

      Ric opened his mouth but Miss Bossy Pants held her hand up.

      “A mere figurehead. Mocked and deriled. My staff, who I pay, follow whatever goddam leads they want and pay no attention to my explicit orders. You think I don’t know that?”

      She glared at Ric.

      “Quiet!” she said, slapping her hand on the desk and standing up so violently that her cup of tea trembled and sloshed over the sides. She glowered down at Ric, also trembling.

      “This ends now! Get me everything we have on the Doctor. I want names of victims and any poor sod who is still alive you are going to interview! I am going to crack this goddam doll case wide open. He’s the one who is going to be goddam very very sorry.”

      #4683

      It took him three days in total. The wall was slippery in places, and distraction was always there.
      But he was done with the second wall.

      There was a last one, the largest, encircling all, but it seemed here to confuse.
      Spores were sending whiffs of hallucinogenic compounds in the misty air.
      After a whole day, he felt like he’d gone through the same places over and over.

      Labyrinth, but in his own mind.

      He would have to think fast or risk being trapped and finish as meat for carrion crows.

      The crows
      They know the way…

      It was a leap of faith to trust the sound of the birds, but nature had no evil intent, only men had developed the skill. They only followed their nature.

      He drew a sigil on the ground, to tune in with the birds spirits.

      Moments after, he could see through their eyes. He only needed to follow their senses, and ignore his own.

      He could see there was some walk ahead of him.

      #4681

      The path ahead was blocked. Repeatedly.

      Some filter was preventing him to access the path, and move forward.

      He wished he had an oiliphant, or something equally powerful that could blast through. But more subtle measures were required. The evil that blocked his path was a different kind of monster, something built on inaction, and slow decay. One would exhaust oneself to argue with it, and moving it with force would only ensure its full and entirely focused resistance.
      Patience and proper action, in a flow like water. It was more than a magical mantra, it should be a way of life.

      Rukshan had looked at his options, and the map he found only confirmed what he had surmised so far. There were three barmkins, old defensive enclosures that hindered his way out of the Zaunoff Camp Fort, the Southern outpost leading to the safety of the Forest’s outer groves.

      Tackling the first wall would test his resolve, but he was ready. He removed his cloak, stretched his back and cracked his knuckles.

      Move like water

      The creeping ivy and catsfoot flowers started to react and whisper in the wind.

      A hole? There was a hole in the old wall, and with some chance, the plants would lead him through.

      #4676

      When Hilda received the message from her old friend Lucinda her first thought was Miss Bossy Pants award for the “Most Stylistic Synchronistic Article”. There was already a synchronicity because she’s also had a tip off from some guy calling himself “Superjerk”, which was also about dolls. If she followed the lead about the doll stories, and managed to connect them together, it could be the scoop of the year ~ whether or not there was an actual connection between them.

      Hilda had made copious notes from the long and garbled telephone conversation with Lucinda about everything she knew thus far, and where she was stuck. Clearly the poor dear needed Hilda’s special expertise in following a lead and putting the clues together to form a picture. Admittedly Hilda didn’t always stick to facts ~ who did in journalism these days anyway! But she had an intuition that this was just what she needed to get her teeth into. It had been a boring year in the extreme reportage department. Extremely boring.

      It had been years since Hilda had been in contact with Lucinda, and that had been on a remote viewing forum. Neither of them had been much good at it, but some of the other members had been brilliant, so it came in useful at times to use their expertise. Hilda made a mental note to rejoin that forum, if it still existed, or find another one. She changed her mind about the mental note, and jotted it down in her notebook. It was a good idea and could come in handy.

      The short and cryptic note from the guy calling himself Superjerk didn’t provide much information other than the synchronicity, which was of course noteworthy. And he had provided the link to that website “findmydolls.com”. The story was already starting to show promising signs of weaving together.

      Not wanting any of the other staff to cotton on to her new thread, Hilda told Miss Bossy Pants that she was going to investigate the “hum” in Cadiz. That peculiar Horns of Gabriel phenomenon that occurred randomly around the world had been heard over a wide area of Cadiz and Seville. Hilda had another old friend in that neck of the woods; so she could easily pretend she was there covering that story, with a bit of collaboration from her friend, while she embarked on the real journey to the Flying Fish Inn, in some godforsaken outpost of the outback.

      That nosy Connie had somehow managed to find out about the whole thing, eavesdropping again no doubt, and Hilda had no option but to come clean with her and ask her to join her in ironing out the story. They would have to deal with Miss Bossy Pants later. If the scoop was the success that Hilda anticipated, then they would be getting an award, not a reprimand.

      It was worth it. Hilda felt more alive than she had done in a long time.

      #4675

      The sixth finger on Barbara’s left hand looked quite odd, but it was a nice recent addition from the Doctor. She looked at it while the Magpies were slowly awakening. A bleak bipping sound was all there was indicating the average pulse of the seven spies.
      The Doctor, poor man, seemed to have had some difficulties recently to remember her name and also that she was a woman. Since a few weeks, in order not to startle him when she entered the new lab, she had had to get rid of her beehive hairdo, but she had kept it in a secret vault in her bedroom and every evening she took it out and brushed it and put it on her head to remind her.

      She had been quite dedicated to the Doctor and had stayed despite the last mess at the Hidden Spa. She spent an awful lot of time erasing all the links and comments that could lead to them, hence such an empty thread. It was all her doing, Barbara’s, and she could do that because of her new left pinkie in which she had an electronic key controlling all the machines and the lab’s security network. And it was connected to the Internet.

      The bipping sound was accelerating signalling to her that they were close to awakening. She was going to call the Doctor, he had said that he had to be there when they opened their eyes because he must be the one on whom they imprinted. Like birds you know. He would be like their mother and they would obey him. She turned on the comlink and called him.

      “What?”
      “It’s Barb, Doctor.”
      “Who?”
      “Your assistant.”
      “Oh. Why are you disturbing me in my Jacuzzi?”
      “They are awakening.”
      “Who?”
      “The Magpies.”
      “Oh. I’m coming.”

      But there was no more time.
      The pods were open and the seven Magpies were looking at her.

      “No! No!” said the Doctor who entered at that moment. “What have you done!?”

      #4666

      Granola, with all the expounding of new information felt a bit dizzy and in need of a quiet recap.
      The squishy giraffe was a place as good as any for a bit of rest, but to be perfectly honest, the pets around the place didn’t make the greatest conversationists. And she didn’t want to look like she didn’t do her homework and get admonished by her bleu friend.

      “Think,” she said “by now, you can go about any place in their expansively creative stories.” —which was actually, like travelling inside her friends’ memories, considering the time they all spent in these universes, they were almost real, quite tangible.
      “Think about one of their character, one who always seems to hold answers…”

      Bam swoosh

      “It didn’t take long.”

      She could squint in the dark and see a faint glow. “Wait… Don’t tell me I’m in one of these… kluknish… what’s these bat things with the impossible name…”

      It’s glükenitch actually the voice was coming from below, but speaking directly in her head. And you don’t have to hide in one, really. Don’t you have some better character to be?

      She recognized the dragon. “Shit,” she muttered, “that’s not the one I was thinking about; always answering in riddles, that much I remember; don’t need to add more confusion! As if speaking through the whale last time wasn’t messy enough.”

      True, but you got a glimpse of one of the keys, haven’t you?

      She froze in her tracks. “What do you know about these keys?”

      Not much, I’m loath to say. Besides, what should I know about it, I’m not from this world, am I now?

      “Damn riddles,” she said. But the dragon had a point. She wasn’t in the right world to check on her friends.

      “Can you tell me something useful at least?” she asked the dragon before deciding to pop-out.

      Maybe, yes… See, you pop-in naturally where the action is. It’s only natural that the bigger the action, the stronger the pull…

      Granola hadn’t thought of that. She had been a bit too focused in getting more physical and interacting outside. But the last week (in her friends’ time continuity), there has been more targeted jumps, less chaotic, and more frequent. It’s like she could tune in.
      And for now, the pull was in Australia.
      Come to think of it, she may have had a concurrent focus there. She only had to believe she could be there, right place, right time, right person… An Aboriginal woman, what was her name?

      Tiku…

      #4656

      “What’s that?” shouted Albie, pointing to a small blemish on the clear blue sky. “It’s getting bigger!”

      “Goodness me, I do believe it is a hot air balloon. And it is falling our way. Quickly, Boy, we must make preparations or our inflatable zodiac will be deluged. I bought it from Mr Jiboriums’s emporium, so it isn’t the best quality but it was a very fair price.”

      “Yes! preparations!” said Albie.

      He looked around uncertainly. “What preparations did you have in mind?”

      “At this point in proceedings, I suggest we put on these inflatable life jackets, also a bargain from Mr Jiboriums’s emporium, and prepare to tally ho!”

      “Look, it is slowing down!”

      “Thank the Felines for that! Water is not really my forte,” said Mandrake.

      When the balloon was only meters away, a small person could be seen on board, excitedly waving a tea towel in the air.

      “Do you think they are in trouble?” asked Albie.

      “Mandrake! Mandrake! It’s me!”

      “They know you! How do they know you?”

      “Give me a moment, boy,” said Mandrake, hiding his face behind a paw and making loud sniffing noises. “I just need a moment … “

      “Mandrake, it’s me, Arona!” shouted the person. “But I don’t know how to get out of this thing.”

      #4655

      He didn’t like the City, but there he was again. There seemed to always be a trail of clues leading back to it, no matter how much he wanted to distance himself from it.

      Rukshan wanted to make quick thing of his mission there. Find the librarian and trade the old map that the Sages had given him during the gathering, for another one.
      His appointed quest was to find the origin of the dark force, and for that, all clues seemed to point toward the elusive Master that Gorrash said had created him.

      The Sages in the Forest had told Rukshan about how, long before, the Master was banned from the magic circle in the Forest for practicing forbidden magic. They suspected he had since been hidden in the land of the Giants. The librarian had the map that Rukshan needed in order to get there.

      “Of course” he said, looking at the worn-out parchment that the librarian had taken from a large leather binder. The land of the Giant was on no map known to man, because their land was on another plane, much like the Shadow world of the Faes. Except this one was underground, in a hollow plane under theirs, untouched by men, with only rare points where both worlds touched.

      Of course, the portal to this world was back at the center of the Forest.

      #4653
      F LoveF Love
      Participant

        “Come on now,” said Ricardo. “Nobody has put anything out there about the dolls. Come and sit down on this nice comfy office chair and tell us what is going on. You will do yourself an injury running in those heels. Lovely shoes of course,” he added quickly.

        Miss Bossy Pants glared at him suspiciously but allowed herself to be coaxed to the nearest office chair while Hilda and Connie raised their eyebrows and Sweet Sophie snorted.

        “That’s right,” he said. “Just let me wipe that chair for you before you sit. Now, you tell us what’s going on while I make the tea. One sugar?”

        Hilda and Connie made gagging noises.

        Slimy creep, hissed Connie.

        “No hurry then,” said Hilda. “We’ve only been waiting half an hour for tea already.”

        Miss Bossy Pants wiped her forehead with a tea towel, too relieved to question what a tea towel was doing on the desk. She pulled her phone out and scrolled through her messages.

        “I received this,” she said. “Read it out will you, Ric. I can’t stand to look at it again.”

        “Put a lid on the doll story or you will be sorry. And I mean very sorry Very very sorry,” read Ric. “Hmmm rather unimaginative as threats go, don’t you think?”

        “Scroll through to the next one.”

        “By the way, it’s the DOCTOR sending this, in case you think for one moment this is an unimaginative idle threat.”

        #4652

        Despite the underground currents, following the trail of blue glow from the glukenitches’ droppings was easy; far less subtle than old fashioned glow worms starmap reading…
        Mandrake was alerted to a sudden drop when the trail started to disappear abruptly, indicating the strong possibility of a chute of some kind.
        He only managed to catch Albie’s pants before he fell right in, and pulled both of them back to the shore. He had to be sure.

        “Good thing, that slimey dragon managed to power back the sabulmantium, we may get a hint of where we’re headed to.”
        “There’s no other way than the waterfall, is there Mr Mandrake?”
        “Shht. Let me concentrate, this thing is sensitive.”

        Under the paws of the cat, the sand inside the clear sphere started to move in shapes and describe a living story.

        “Mmm. Seems he wasn’t joking, never seen this thing behave so strangely before.”
        “What is this?”
        “It looks like something that I have seen a long time ago, but that wasn’t in this dimension… I guess we won’t know for sure until we get there. Ready boy for the dive of your life?”

        Albie didn’t have time to answer, as the cat wasn’t waiting for him.

        :fleuron2:
        :fleuron2:
        :fleuron2:
        :fleuron2:
        :fleuron2:
        :fleuron2:
        :fleuron2:
        :fleuron2:
        :fleuron2:

        The fall seemed to last forever. But then a light appeared, and they started to float up, up, up.

        When they emerged, they were clearly out of swamp waters. Salty water was all they could see for miles around.

        “A blessing you had an inflatable zodiac in your purse, Sir.” the boy said to the cat once they were up on the boat, waiting for a sign as to where next.

        “Whales! Whales!” the boy shouted excitedly, pointing to the shapes moving under their boat.

        “Ah, finally, someone with some wits about that can tell us some valuable information.”
        It didn’t take long to Mandrake to grab the attention of one of the belugas and engage the conversation; it didn’t seem particularly long to Albie, but it seemed like a lot was exchanged.

        “We’re on the Gold Coast of Australia” Mandrake said. “That dimension is a bit tricky for my species, humans here take us for lazy playthings and don’t really understand us, so I may have to rely on you for some of the talking, boy.”
        “For sure, Mr Mandrake. Did you get any news as to where Ms Arona might be?”
        “Might be. That whale started to babble thing about granola cookies and dolls. I have no idea what she meant, she might have been popped in by some alien force. Luckily whales are used to manage multiple personalities well, so I managed to get the rest of the navigational hints once she got her channels back in order.”
        “So where to now?”
        “Starboard, son, starboard!”

        #4649
        Jib
        Participant

          Maeve had left only taking with her the wrapping of the package and had been glad to leave Shawn Paul with its content, especially when she had seen what it was.

          The mysterious thing was heavy, brown and looked a tad like a dry turd. It could hold in Shawn Paul’s hand and it seemed shaped to fit in his closed fist, but the young man hesitated to keep it too long because of the way it looked.
          A note from his mother accompanied it. Who else could have sent a parcel this way? he thought, meaning not through the post office and delivered by a decrepit old man.
          So the thing had been put on top of a pile of his latest scribblings, which was on top of his not so latest scribblings. Before putting it there, he almost saw the interest of a clean desktop or table, but it got lost in the immediacy of the moment and the tiredness caused by his recent fever.

          “I’m sure you’re wondering what this marvellous object is.” the note started. Shawn Paul looked at the thing. It looked like a turd more than ever on all that white paper, so he made his yuck face. What he was wondering was rather why did she send me anything? She lives in an apartment on the upper floor. She could have brought it herself.

          “I found it in a car boot sale,” she continued, her sharp and melodious voice chirping in her son’s head while he read the rest. “I met that old man, Patrick, who will deliver it to you. He’s a dear nice fellow never frugal with his words, and he told me it had been given to him by an Inuit shaman. It’s a fossil bone of the inner ear of a whale when they escaped Lemuria. Can you imagine that? Apparently it will help you develop your psychic abilities. You know how I’ve always known you had such a great potential in that area…”

          Shawn Paul snorted and put down the paper. There was no use keeping up reading. His mother and her crazy ideas. He looked at the pile of papers.
          It’ll do for a nice paperweight, he thought.

          But Granola had not lost a crumble of what the mother had told in the rest of the note. She was lurking at the inner bone and she wondered if she could make herself heard if she merged with it.

          #4639
          Jib
          Participant

            The packet lied forgotten on the dining table. Shawn Paul had caught a cold, or had the cold caught him when the old man delivered the packet? Anyway he had stayed home the following day, feverish and nightmarish. He had dreamt of travels on the back of a transluscent blue whale in between dimensions and timelines as it followed a team of teen dragqueens. Of course when he woke up from the dreams he was so tired that he didn’t bother to write them down and forgot all about it, like he had forgotten all about the packet on his dining table.

            The dining table was beside his bed in the dining/bed room/ writing office and it was covered in notebooks, granola cookies boxes and an old rose that didn’t seem to want to die. Being where it was, the table naturally attracted stuffs, not quite like a blackhole but more like a junkyard. So as things were piling up, it was natural that some of them got lost as part of this unusual landscape. The last additions being a few layers of tissues, giving it a shape of a snow mountain. Yes Shawn Paul had some poetic imagination, especially when facing cleaning-up the mess he had accumulated. It helped him accept his current condition without much quivering of his heart.

            The door bell rang.

            To Shawn Paul it sounded muffled and he tried to imagine a scene that could fit in his ambitious novel.

            The door bell rang again, becoming impatient.

            The young man opened the door. It was Maeve and she looked at him from head to toe. Shawn Paul looked at himself and regretted he was still wearing his pajamas. Not that he would have preferred wearing nothing, but you know, a bit of cleaning and dress up.

            “I need some butter,” said Maeve entering the apartment without asking. She seemed to look around as if she was looking for something. But the young man couldn’t be sure as he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
            “Of course,” said Shawn Paul to the door.

            #4638
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              Shawn Paul certainly seems like a nice enough person, thought Maeve.

              But had he been evesdropping on her conversation with Lucinda? He seemed so on edge, clutching the packet in sweaty hands, stuttering over the few words he spoke. Not that Maeve considered herself socially adept, not by any means! But, after the talk with Lucinda, her senses were on high alert.

              And the newspaper cutting … surely that couldn’t be coincidence?

              Lucinda said Shawn Paul was a writer. Or was that just a clever cover?

              Oh my gosh, this is making me paranoid!

              Maeve decided to do a bit more research on this Shawn Paul fellow. See if he is really who he says he is.

              It was only then she realised she had forgotten her butter.

              #4635
              Jib
              Participant

                Shawn Paul couldn’t help but listen when he heard Maeve’s voice. Was she at Lucinda’s again? He ventured outside his apartment with his unopened packet in his hands in order to have a clearer idea of what they were talking about.
                Not him apparently. They were talking about dolls and spies. He felt a bit jealous that other peoples had such beautiful stories to tell and he struggled so much to even write a few lines. Fortunately he always had a small notebook and a pen in his pockets. He scribbled down a few notes, trying to be fast and concise. He looked at his writing. It would be hard to read afterwards.
                He paused after writing the uncle’s name. Was it uncle Fungus? And the tarty spy in the fishnet, was it a photograph? And what about the bugs, was it an infestation? Too much information. It was hard to follow the story and write while holding the packet.

                He realised they had stopped speaking and Lucinda was closing the door. He suddenly panicked. What if Maeve found him there, listening?
                The time it took him to think about all that could happen was enough for Maeve to meet him were he stood the packet in his hands.

                “Hi she said. You got a packet ?”
                “Yes,” he answered, his mind almost blank. What could he possibly say. He was more of the writer kind, he needed time to think about his dialogues in advance. But, was it an inspiration from beyond he had something to say and justify his presence.
                “Someone just dropped this at my door and I was trying to see if I could catch them. There’s no address.” He turned the packet as if to confirm it.
                “There’s something written on the corner,” said Maeve. “It looks like an old newspaper cut.
                “Oh! You’re right,” said Shawn Paul.
                She looked closer.
                “What a coincidence,” said Maeve, looking slightly shocked.
                Shaw Paul brought the packet closer to his face. It smelled like granola cookies. On the paperclip there was an add for a trip to Australia with the address of a decrepit Inn somewhere in the wops. There was a photo of an old woman standing in front of the Inn, and Shawn Paul swore he saw her wink at him. The smell of granola cookies was stronger and made him hungry.
                He was not sure anymore he would be able to write his story that day.

                #4634

                Before she left, thankful to get back to her own pristine apartment, Maeve told Lucinda the story of the dolls.

                “It’s a long story,” she warned and Lucinda smiled encouragingly.

                “My father’s brother, Uncle Fergus, fell out with my father many years ago. I don’t know what it was about.”

                Maeve took a sip of her licorice and peppermint tea.

                “I just know that one day, Uncle Fergus turned up on his Harley Davidson and there was a huge fight. Father was shouting and Mother was crying. And Father shouted ‘Don’t ever darken our doors again!’

                She shuddered. “It was awful.”

                “I am all ears,” said Lucinda.

                “They aren’t that bad,” said Maeve looking at her thoughtfully. “And your hair covers them nicely.”

                Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised what Lucinda meant.

                “Oh gosh, I am sorry, I see what you mean … Well anyway, I didn’t see Uncle Fergus for many years and I was sorry about that because he would always bring me a gift from his overseas travels — he went to the most exotic places — and then one day he turned up at my apartment out of the blue. He was most peculiar, looking over his shoulder the whole time and he even made me come out on the street to talk ‘in case there were bugs’.”

                “Bugs? Oh, like the things spies use. Wow,” said Lucinda. “Did he have mental health problems or something?”

                “I wondered that at the time. I mean Uncle Fergus was always endearingly loony. But this time he was just … just scared. And there WAS someone following him. I saw her. And she was clearly a spy. She was wearing a black wig and and fishnet tights and thought we couldn’t see her hiding behind a lamp post.”

                Maeve rolled her eyes.

                “I mean, how cliche can you get. Anyway, Uncle Fergus gave me a big hug, like an Uncle would, and whispered an address in my ear where I would find a satchel and he said that inside I would find 12 keys and 12 addresses. He knew I made dolls and he said it would be a perfect way to send the keys to the addresses, inside a doll. ‘Important people are depending on you’ he said.”

                Maeve shrugged.

                “So I did it. I sent the last one a month ago to an address in Australia. An Inn somewhere in the wops.”

                #4629

                Leörmn smiled a long smile.

                “What? Are you going to look at me stupidly and wait to say some mysterious nonsense? We haven’t got time for that.” Mandrake was clearly not impressed by the large scaleless pale dragon, with the green frills around the crest, reclining on the side of the pool, and still looking a few heads taller than him and Albie combined.

                “Of course not. Let me charge that for you.” With one flick of his long fingers, the dragon zapped the sabulmantium that was in the magical carry-all-you-can pouch the cat had at his belt.

                “Oh WAIT! Damn it, you ol’ reptile, you mind where you aim!” The zapping had gone a little too close.

                Leörmn smiled again, “Now, you wanted to know were she hides.” His smile disappeared. “I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do, she seems hidden from me too. But there is a chance. I’ve picked up her energy signature not so long ago. She’s in a different dimension, but never long at one place. For some reason, it’s like she’s entangled herself with other lives and get lost at times.”

                “Can you lead me to the place?”

                “Place & time, my friend. Yes, I believe I can. The Doline underground water tunnels can lead you to many places and times. I’ve drawn a path for you. Just take your scuba, and follow the glukenitch lights at the bottom.”

                Albie looked amazed and excited at the opportunity.

                The cat grunted in his whiskers “Don’t get excited lad. What he means is glukenitch poos.”

                #4626
                Jib
                Participant

                  Shawn Paul had decided that this particular day was dedicated to his writing. He had warned his friends not to call him and put his phone on silent mode. It was 9am and he had a long day of writing ahead of him.
                  He almost felt the electricity in his fingers as he touched the keyboard of his laptop. He imagined himself as a pianist of words preparing himself before a concert in front of the crowd of his future readers.
                  Shawn Paul pushed away the voice of his mother telling him with an irritating voice that he had the attention span of a shrimp in a whirlpool during a storm, which the boy had never truely understood, but today he was willing not to even let his inner voices distract him. He breathed deeply three times as he had learned last week-end during a workshop, and imagined his mother’s voice as a slimy slug that he could put away in a box with a seal into a chest with chains and lots of locks, that he buried in the deepest trench of the Pacific ocean. He was a writer and had a vivid imagination after all, why not use it to his benefit.
                  A smile of satisfaction wavered on the corner of his mouth while a drop of sweat slowly made its way to the corner of his left eye. He blinked and the doorbell rang.
                  Shawn Paul’s fragile smile transformed into a fixed grin ready to break down. Someone was laughing, and when the bell rang a second time, Shawn Paul realised it was his own contained hysterical laugh.

                  He breathed in deeply at his desk and got up too quickly, bumping his knee in one corner.
                  Ouch! he cried silently.
                  It would not take long he reminded himself, limping to the door.
                  What could it be ? The postman ?

                  Shawn Paul opened the door. An old man he had never seen, was standing there with a packet in his hands. If he was not the postman, at least you had the packet right said a voice in Shawn Paul’s head.
                  The old man opened his mouth, certainly to speak, but instead started to cough as if he was about to snuff it. It lasted some time and Shawn Paul repulsed by the loose cough retreated a bit into his flat. It was his old fear of contagion creeping out again. He berated himself he should not feel that way and he should show compassion, but at least if the old man could stop, it would be easier.

                  “For you!” said the old man when his cough finally stopped. He put the packet in Shawn Paul’s hands and left without another word.

                  #4621
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    After venturing this, Finnley lowered herself slowly to the floor and leaned against the wall.

                    Finnley had never before said so many words in the one sentence, shadows not withstanding, and she felt quite overcome with emotion.

                    #4615
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      “The Fellowship congratulates and thanks you for your continuity work on the script. We acknowledge the extreme difficulties you contend with as you face erratic forces resistant to any form of continuity and seeking only to create meaningless threads. The Fellowship also advises the script will be even further improved if you could sexy it up a bit.”

                      “Godfrey, I think this is a message for you,” said Liz. “Probably for you as well, Finnley.
                      Now then, you have a good think about that while I catch up with a few loose ends.”

                      #4613

                      For a moment, Granola felt in a dream world. It wasn’t the first time it happened, so she relaxed, and let her consciousness focus despite the distraction from the shimmering and vibrating around the objects and people.

                      She was in another mental space, but this one was more solid, not just a diversion born from a single thought or a single mind. It was built in layers of cooperation, alignment, and pyramid energy. A shared vision, although at times, a confused one.

                      The first time she’d visited, she thought it was a fun fantasy, like a dream, quickly enjoyed and discarded. But then she would come back at times, and the fantasy world continued to expand and feel lively.

                      It slowly dawned on her that this was a projection of an old project of her friends. The more striking was how people in the place looked a bit like Maeve’s dolls, but she could see the other’s imprints —Shaw-Paul’s, Lucinda’s and Jerk’s—, subtle energy currents driving the characters and animating everything.

                      It felt like a primordial fount of creativity, and she basked in the glorious feeling of it.

                      Once, she got trapped long enough to start exploring the “place” in and out, and it all became curiouser when she found out that the places and the stories they told were all connected through a central underground stream.
                      Granola had been an artist most of her life, so she understood how creativity worked. Before she died, she had been intrigued the first time her online friends had mentioned this collaboration game, creating that mindspace filled with their barmy stories. She didn’t believe such pure mental creation could be called real at all.
                      Maybe that was the kind of comments that let her friends forget it.
                      If only she could tell them now!

                      “You could, if you’d hone your pop-in skills, dear”, a random character suddenly turned to her and spoke in the voice of Ailill, her blue mentor.
                      “But how can you see me? I’ve tried and the characters of these stories don’t ever see me!”
                      “That’s what popping in is all about, justly so!” Ailill had this way of making her mind race for a spin.
                      “Now, will you stop hijacking this person, and tell me why you’re interrupting my present mission?” Granola turned burgundy red, increased her typeface a few notches, and pushed her ghost leg vigorously at the story character.
                      “Oh, you are right about that. It is a mission.” he smiled, “I think you’d want to go find certain characters, or avatars. Your friends personae are always shifting into new characters, but they hide themselves and don’t progress. Actually, some of them are trapped in loops, and those loops are not happily ever after. You can help free them, so they can recover their trapped creativity.”
                      “Well, that doesn’t sound like an impossibly vague mission at all!”

                      She was about to continue ranting, but the pop-in effect was gone, and the character was back to his routine, unperturbed by her ghostly agitation.

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