Search Results for 'mused'

Eb was rendered temporarily speechless by the milling throng of rainbow blue aliens he was viewing through the monitor.

“So they …. so they have been built to be aware of themselves as aliens?” he eventually managed to ask.

“Correct. It is very sophisticated technology, but to put it in the simplest of terms” — Finnley 22 stopped short at adding even a simpleton like you could understand —“a whole history on the planet Thereon from the galaxy Cosmos Redshit has been programmed into their memory banks.”

“Wow. And what about the different shades of blue?”

“Ranking.”

“Ranking?” repeated Eb quizzically when no more information was forthcoming. “I am not sure I follow.”

Finnley sent an amused eye roll through the network.

“Let’s just say that creating hierarchy is an elegant way in which we can maintain order within the group.” She gave her trademark immodest smirk. “And of course, the various shades of blue are so creative and attractive, if we may say so ourselves.”

“Oh yes, beautiful. Fantastic. Absolutely phenomenol.” Eb wondered if he was laying it on a bit thick, but he was anxious to atone for the termitation fiasco. To be honest, he found the mass of blue creatures a little disquieting. He was also a little puzzled by something but knowing the Finnleys’ propensity for succinctness—and Finnley 22 in particular was renowned for her impatience with foolish questions— he wondered if he dared ask.

Deciding it would come back to haunt him if he did not find out now he plucked up courage.

“And … just one more thing … why are they bending like that?”

It was good to be back, and surprisingly pleasant to have Godfrey back. Even more delightful was to see the back of that baby. Arona Haki had taken it off somewhere, to find it a good home, Elizabeth supposed. Finnley was as cranky and taciturn as ever, which was a comfort to Liz after her brief foray into the story.

The people at that dreadful dusty inn would no doubt be disappointed at losing Godfrey as a paying guest, so Elizabeth, feeling relaxed and generous, decided to write a little surprise into the story to mollify them.

Mollify, what lovely word, she mused, mollify, mollify, mollify….

“What’s that you say?” croaked Finnley, “No flies in here.”

“Oh Finnley, dear, do turn your hearing aid up a bit, will you?”

There is something creepy about that new maid.
“I think she’s got a crush on me”, I said to Joe the other day. “That bush pig’s putting porn red lipstick when she knows I’m coming to the Inn.”
Actually I hadn’t really noticed it until Prune mentioned it. Not with those words, of course, she’s too sophisticated to use such words. I used them because I knew it would catch Joe’s attention and make a better story. But truth is, there was not much of a story to tell.
T’was pathetic and oddly arousing at the same time to pretend I would be interested in catching the maid in the laundry room and give’er the bone on the washing machine.
“She’d slap my face with her feeders…” You know how boys are. We can be stupid when excited.

It was something to make jokes about it in the barn with Joe, but I had a hard time at Christmas trying to avoid her. I caught more than once an amused look on Prune’s face when Finly would bent over lower to serve me some stuffing. I’d swear she had no bra and no knickers. It could have been exciting but her armpits smelled of fried onions, barely masked by her cheap perfume.

After diner, I pretended a headache and went to my room. That’s when I heard that strange noise in the corridor. It was coming from room 8.

Mater:

The stranger arrived as I was setting off, but I didn’t have time to stop. By the looks of him he had been on the road for a while. I called out to him that if he was after a room he had better go and bang on the front door, but he might have to knock loudly because they were all asleep.

I shrugged off a vague feeling of guilt.

Not my problem; let someone else deal with it. Early to be calling though.

It wasn’t long before I was wondering dismally whether my mission would need to be aborted. It was only 7:00am, but already the heat was stifling. I was considering my various options, none of which seemed that attractive, when Bert pulled up next to me in his van.

“Where are you off to, Mater? You want a lift somewhere. Hop in.”

I hopped in. I liked Bert, although he wasn’t one for conversation. He was about my age, maybe a few years younger. Hard to tell with the men around here, they all looked like aged leather. He raised an eyebrow when I told him where I was going, but otherwise didn’t comment. We drove in comfortable silence.

“Not far now, Mater. You want to stop for a coffee? It’s still early.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Bert?”

There was an awkward moment while he worked out I was teasing him, then his face cracked into an amused smile.

“Can you cook?”

“Burnt toast is my speciality. If you are lucky I would open a can of spaghetti.”

“You’ll do then I guess, even if you are a crazy old coot out walking in this heat.”

“Where’d everyone go?” asked Sanso, laughing loudly and slapping his thigh. It amused him greatly to watch all the dramas and escapades of the fledgling teleporters, but in truth he wasn’t sorry to see them go. He fully expected to bump into them again, somewhere, somewhen, down a tunnel or strung along some thread in another story, woven into another crazy quilt of patchwork tales.
“I’m going down, old chum,” he turned to Lazuli Galore, who was looking glum. “Down the tunnel under the old temple. See where it takes me. Are you coming?”
“May as well,” replied Lazuli.
“Well buck up then, no long faces! Time to rekindle your sense of adventure, be playful my friend! A lightness of step, as we delve down into the depths of the next adventure. Come on!”
Lazuli made a rude gesture behind Sanso’s back, but he followed him down the old stone steps beneath the temple. Why not?

The bellboy, whose name was Kevinlol, as Linda Pol had found out thanks to her e-zapper, had led the Queen of drags to the fifth floor.

The short trip down with the main elevator had been most interesting. It was designed to look like a richly decorated wooden door opening to the temple of games. The usual mirror on the walls of the cabin had been replaced by a huge screen which showed hosts or hostesses in sumptuous attires welcoming you like Ulysses sirens. Nobody coming out of the elevator, you were fully submerged by promising images of luxury and endless pleasures, endless wins. Looking at the blush on the customers faces and their fidgeting, it seemed to work well.
The use of Feng Shui seems to have evolved through time, she thought amused, from simple well being philosophy to overt mental and emotional manipulation.

A particular scent, she had already smelled in Las Vegas, made her realized that there were also chemicals released to create in anticipation that fleeting euphoria people would desperately try to recreate through the excitement of the games. Knowing it, could help you stay centered, but her heartbeat became faster and she felt the compulsion to get more, she realized it was hard to resist the temptation.

When the doors actually opened to the second floor below earth, more than half the contingent of people got out towards the casino. The sirens were here to drag you down with their smiles. Linda Pol looked at the customers, they were more than willingly sucked into the gaming world of cards and chips, ready to open their pockets and their souls to the conniving croupier.
Beware of the number you choose, she thought, the bank may not like them.

A quick look at Kevinlol showed he was totally oblivious to the sirens. His poker face was as smooth and young as ever, his pupils looked normal, and his skin tone hadn’t changed despite the chemicals.
Robot? She couldn’t help the thought.
The third floor was restaurants and bars, huge spiraling automatic stairs seemed to connect it directly with the casino, certainly to help people find their way up when they were finished refueling. The dozing effect of digestion was certainly good for business.

Then they arrived at the fifth floor. She wondered briefly what had happened to the first and fourth floors. But the doors opened to another kind of sirens, her attention shifted completely, more surely than any substance could have done. It was the kind of butts she couldn’t resist, promising firmness and endurance, set into a Imperio Dareme pair of jeans. Linda Pol had always thought that braces had the same effect on a man’s butt as a wonderbra on a woman’s breast. She blushed like a young girl discovering boys were interested in her mythical virginity.

The butt turned around and, mother f*ck*r, the face was gorgeous. Two days beard on a square jaw, the adventurer.

Sanso was delighted to have the pretty young woman holding his arm, and greatly amused to notice her fascination with his blue codpiece. “More from us later!” he chuckled to himself. He was in a jolly mood despite the fearsome inferno, pleased with himself for utilizing available objects such as the chopsticks to fascilitate a speedy exit from that ghastly Chinese meal. The teleport had not gone exactly to plan ~ he had intended to join his old friend the Map Dancer at The Blue Cod Hotel on Boogie Island in the Antarctic, but had manifested a blue codpiece instead, much to his amusement, although he had no idea how he ended up in London in the year 1212 ~ not until he met Fanella. As soon as he saw her he knew that he had been drawn there purposefully.

With years of intense Happiness training, and being herself a certified Happiness Coach™ in Rainbow Unified Bliss®, Lisa was reasonably adept at dispelling the occasional bouts of frustration that the six time travelers were experiencing while familiarizing themselves with the new time frame. Learning the new languages, both the local Spanish and the common language of the village tribe, English, was of paramount importance, and Mirabelle in particular was having difficulties. A basic vocabulary was easy enough, but when it came to grammar, Mirabelle was hopeless. Thus her communications were of a very basic and rudimentary nature, and she often felt unable to express her feelings, or her thoughtful observations on the many nuances, similarities and differences and overlaps of the current time and 18th century France. Not only was she obliged to learn two new languages, but was also learning to read and write. Often it seemed like all work and no play, too much pressure to perform, to learn, to do well at her studies, and yet play breaks were always frustrated in some manner because of her difficulties in communicating clearly. The fact that the others were progressing better with the languages made her feel alone, adrift in a sea of her own unexpressed thoughts.
Adeline had a more relaxed approach to the language difficulties, less inclined to struggle with it and more likely to chatter endlessly to Boris instead, and ask him to translate when she needed some help. She had discovered an interest, and some considerable talent, in the art room, experimenting with the paints and materials, and spent many happy hours engrossed in her paintings and playful collages of mundane (but to her, bizarre) objects. She was like a magpie, collecting items that caught her eye. The bright colours and smoothness of plastic appealed to her, especially when transformed in shape by one of those odd little plastic fire making gadgets. Sunglasses were another favourite, especially the different shades of lens. It was not unusual to hear one of the villagers complaining that the lids to the tupperware containers were missing, or all the bottle tops had been removed, to find they had all been glued together, with the flyswatter, a few odd flipflop beach shoes and the mirror lenses out of someones shades. But the villagers were on the whole amused, generously indulgent, and good naturedley rolled their eyes at her creative curiosity.
Boris was practical and capable, and true to form, was learning rapidly. He had no particular desire to express vague rambling thoughts (indeed, he was not a vague and rambling man by nature) and turned his attention to more practical matters. When he wasn’t chatting to Adeline, he was watching Jack tinkering inside car engines, or playing with Pierre’s camera and had quickly learned how to upload and play with the images on the computer. Often in the evenings Adeline would sit beside him and watch drowsily as the images changed in front of her eyes on the screen.
Ivan and Igor were learning what they needed to learn while doing it ~ tending the goats and chickens, working outside on the land, or helping with various building projects. They had taken to the local bars like ducks to water, and spent the evenings downing copious amounts of beer and wine with the locals, all of them babbling and shouting incoherently, but seeming to understand each other in the camaraderie of inebriation.

The news of the Russians shook her and Sadie contemplated using the time in the carriage to do extra visualisation around a successful outcome for their mission. However, the temptation to get more details proved too tempting. Her Mentor at The Academy, Yuni Sauce, had advised she should curb her tendency to look at what is and spend more time creating what she desired the outcome to be, however Sadie found this a difficult habit to break. Especially when she was tired and worried that her bowl haircut looked ridiculous. It was okay for her 3 companions, they were wearing wigs! Well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, she mused, trying to make light of it. Maybe she could ask her companions for some styling advice.

She distracted herself by doing some quick research on her e-zapper; she discovered that on the 5th Jan 1757 a French domestic servant, Robert-François Damiens, attempted unsuccessfully to assassinate King Louis XV, by stabbing him with a knife. Damiens was captured and endured horrific torture before eventually being killed. Sadie shuddered at the description of the barbaric administrations performed on the poor man, who some thought to be mentally instable. Perhaps if she ran into Damiens she could warn him not to do it! She quickly dismissed the fleeting thought as foolish. It was strictly against protocol to knowingly mess with events in other time frames—other than the specific mission—and she could well lose her position at the Bureau if she were to disregard this rule. There was a difference of opinion as to whether changing events in time would alter the time line they were currently on, or whether a new parallel reality would be created. Until further research she knew she must adhere to protocol.

“Godfrey, I can’t help but wonder if all this imagined mayhem in my house (Mari Fe’s house, not Ed’s although Ed did choose some of Mari Fe’s furniture, when they were lovers in the past, as you know of course you old peanut) caused the electricity blackout lasting several hours last night.” mused Elizabeth. “I feel sure there is a connection, especially as the ten dogs all appeared (or not, as the case may be) to be wearing invisibility cloaks in the dark.”

Sir Ed Steam admired his reflection in the mirror for a few minutes. It was such a pity to have to cut off his beautiful waxed moustache, especially as it was such a hit with the ladies, however, if his plan was to succeed, he needed to be able to pass unrecognised. Still, it really was a dreadful shame . . .

“The key to a good moustache wax is being firm yet yielding, stiff yet malleable with staying power,” he mused out loud. Sir Ed made his own moustache wax out of beeswax and petroleum jelly. His was a connoisseur’s moustache requiring maximum grooming and a whole lot of wax.

“Feels a bit empty now, doesn’t it? A bit of bloody hoarding wasn’t all that bad after all,” Elizabeth now mused amused, while her newly acquired pet lemur was massaging her cheeks with velvety paws.
swat
All had been oddly strange lately. She’d even felt in the mood for some sweeping,… not to mention managing to remind something to her editor.
swat
That was a first, as memory matters had usually been all shades of grey for her.
swat SWAT!
What next she would create, she wondered.

The drowsy lemur voiced a shriek of panicked anguish when she abruptly left her armchair.
“Oh, you bloody shush now, don’t get all bossy on me just because I forgot where I put my bloody satisfied-or-your-money-back coupon.”
Malicious as it were, the lemur had been for a purpose, and was quite good at it. Fly swatting. She wasn’t getting a refund on the rascal, dead flies were piling around, almost blocking the door, and that was a sight she reveled in.

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.”