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  • #2890
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Belle Endwhistle received the telepathic call from Skye while she was floating on the cool aqua pool in The City. Belle, affectionately known as Bee, was one of the surge teams helpers from the “other side”. She had always had a particular fondness for cars, hats and vintage designer dresses; before the surge team was initiated, she had often turned up in dreams, driving a flying red car and wearing a variety of outlandish hats. Bee been delighted to accept the offer to chauffeur the fleet of red cars, and always enjoyed meeting old friends on the physical side.

      #2876
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        It was important to cure the cold quickly, because the lady from North Carolina had work to do. Ed Steam was getting too big for his boots, and his policies threatened to disrupt the vital surge work. Pearl Rider wiped her nose and shoved the tissue back in her pocket and sent urgent telepathic messages to her associates. Another surge tide had landed, a white tide of snow, which was expected to herald a surge southwards of the other dimensional aurora colours. The population had been on edge for some time, seeing doom and malevolent forces of outside control in just about anything and everything, so a sudden strong surge of the aurora was expected to create even further alarm.

        #2838

        In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The old man screeched to a halt, his car fishtailing wildly. His bad tempered frown at the slow moving traffic morphed in an instant into slack jawed eye popping amazement. The road had literally disappeared into an enormous hole. Good Lord! he shouted. Although he wasn’t a religious man he considered himself to be a gentleman, and didn’t swear in front of his wife. What the dickens is that? he asked her, but she was speechless with shock. The sports car they had been following, and the unmarked bus in front of it that had been holding the traffic up were nowhere to be seen.

          ~~

          Connie Leadbetter was nervous. It was her first date with Chad Pickins and the first time she’d been in his flashy sports car. They were on their way to a festival in Hot Springs to celebrate the magic of nature, oddly enough. Connie’s nervousness had manifested itself as a digestive system upset, and to her horror, she farted and followed through on the soft pink leather seat of Chad’s car. Mortified, she passionately wished that the ground would open and swallow her up.

          ~~

          The Tw’Elves, who weren’t allowed to talk on the bus, were busy discussing their situation telepathically. The previous week they had been arrested by Homeland Security as a threat to the nation, and were being transported to a detention camp in North Dakota. This eventuality wasn’t really part of their plan, but as so often happens, it slotted in nicely, albeit unexpectedly, with the Perforation Plans. Sink Holes had been appearing for some time in the middle of the north American continent, neatly following a north south line, stretching from Hudson Bay to the Gulf of Mexico, so the Tw’Elves mentally punched another hole in the perforation line to fascilitate their exit from the doomed bodies they were wearing at the time. Thus, the separation of the two halves of the continent came one hole closer to fruition.

          ~~

          The Energy Leprechaun gave himself a cake for another splendid synchronicity, seamlessly connecting Connie’s wish with the intention of the Tw’Elves.

          #2818

          In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

          F LoveF Love
          Participant

            Alfred, the clockwork Murganian, suddenly remembered he had an overdue library book.

            He picked up the dusty book from the oven, took off his coat, rolled to the door and pulled a key from his shoe to let himself out. It was such a very long time since he had been out and he was most surprised to find that the seeds he had planted in the sky some time ago had grown to such an extent that his pathway was no longer accessible.

            What to do? wondered Alfred. He wondered for a few minutes then realised that wondering was getting him nowhere and action was called for.

            “Help” he shouted.

            {link – key}

            #2811

            In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

            TracyTracy
            Participant

              It was hot, although not as hot as usual for the month of August on the southern slopes of the Serrania de Ronda. It had rained, the black clouds and thunder a welcome respite from the searing dry heat of an Andalucian summer, plumping up the blackberries and washing the dust from the leaves of the fig trees. Blithe Gambol hadn’t seen her old friend Granny Mosca for months, although she wasn’t quite sure what had kept her from visiting for so long. Blithe loved Granny Mosca’s cottage tucked away in the saddle behind the fat hill and there had been times when she’d visited often, just to drink in the magical air and feast her eyes on the beauty of the surroundings. Dry golden weeds scratched her legs as she made her way along the dirt path, and she was mindful of the fat black snake she’d once seen basking on the stone walls as she reached into the brambles to pluck blackberries and take photographs.

              Rounding a corner in the path she gasped at the incongrous and alarming sight of a bright yellow bulldozer just meters from Granny Mosca’s cottage. The bulldozer was flattening a large area of prickly pear cactuses. Unfortunately for the cactuses, it was fruiting time, and Blithe wondered if Granny Mosca had first picked the fruits and suspected that she had, those that she could reach. Nothing that could be eaten was left unpicked ~ Blithe remembered the many sacks of almonds that Granny had given her over the years, very few of which she had bothered to shell and eat.

              The bulldozer was making an entranceway to the tiny derelict cottage that was situated next to Granny Mosca’s house. Granny had asked Blithe if she wanted to buy it, and she had wanted to buy it eventually, but the purchase of a derelict building hadn’t been a priority at the time. Now it looked as if she was too late, that someone else had bought it, perhaps to use as a holiday home. Horrified, Blithe called out for Granny, who was often in the goat shed or away across the hidden saddle valley cutting weeds to feed the poultry, but there was no sign of her. Two alien looking turkeys gobbled in response, and the black and white chained dog barked menacingly.

              As Blithe retraced her steps along the dirt path it occured to her that whoever was planning to use the derelict cottage might be a very interesting person, someone she might be very pleased to make the acquaintance of in due course. After all, she had noticed that the holiday guests staying at the casitas on the other side of the fat hill were all sympathetic to the magical nature of the location, many of them arriving from a previous visit to a particularly interesting location in the Alpujarras ~ a convergence of ley lines. When questioned as to why they chose the fat hill casitas, they simply said they liked the countryside. Either they weren’t telling, or they were simply unaware objectively of the connection of the locations. Blithe could sense the connections though, both the locations, and that the people choosing to vacation at the fat hill were connected to it.

              For one hundred and forty seven thousand years, Blithe had had an energy presence at the fat hill, although it was half a century of her current focus before she remembered it. She had felt protective of it, when she finally remembered it, as if she had a kind of responsibility to it. This place can look after itself quite well on its own, she reminded herself. The fat hill had watched while Franco’s Capitan looted the Roman relics, and watched as Blithe stumbled upon the remains of Roman and Iberian cities, and the fat hill had laughed when Blithe first tried to find the entrance to the interior and got stuck in thorn bushes. Later, the fat hill had smiled benignly when Granny Mosca led her to the entrance ~ without a thorn bush in sight. The cave entrance had been blocked with boulders then. Blithe had given some thought to an excavation, wondering how to achieve it without attracting the attention of the locals, but now she wondered if one day, when the time was right, she would find the entrance clear, as if by magic. Magic, after all, was by no means impossible.

              {link: feast for the birds}

              #2805

              In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

              EricEric
              Keymaster

                “Do leaves really talk?” she wondered as the smoke of the herb tea dissipated off the kitchen’s mirror credence. “Let’s see about that,” she continued, carrying the tray with the cup of tea and the scones to the computer room, from where a few oink sounds were beckoning her.
                Probably her friends asking for a chat, some random rubbish or the last juicy news about the president’s wife who happened to be visiting in the area. In truth, she wouldn’t have even known, had it not be for her foreign friends. The local neighbours really couldn’t give a fig. That was figuratively speaking of course. The fig trees were already full of green fruits, that if odds were good wouldn’t turn up as half-sodden half-rotten food for snails on the cobblestone pathway this year.

                She added a zest of fresh lemon to the tea. She liked it bitter. The leaves were starting to settle at the bottom of the cup while she lit up a cigarette, throwing a cursory glance at the tens of messages waiting for her to peruse. Which was more interesting? She could figure out wavy things as feeble and changing as her cigarette’s smoke in between the leaves patterns, as well as in between the lines of haphazard messages from all the contacts. But those she loved the most were the pages she leafed through her books.

                Yesterday, she started to do something purely daft, as she liked — a sort of challenge, if you will; or perhaps, a strong repressed desire. Sometimes it takes you years to do things you were thinking about when you were but a child. The moment you allow yourself the pleasure to indulge and overcome the resilient beliefs that it’s something forbidden or insidiously wrong is all the sweeter.
                And she was tasting it like a sour sweet, with a touch of forbidden and the zest of excitement. Or more like horseradish. Ooh, does she live the green stuff too. Prickly at first, going up to your nose, and living you crying but begging for more. She makes a note to buy some next week (note that she’ll probably forget).
                So what did she do? She took some of her precious books and started to tear up and cut through the pages. A blasphemy almost, for someone like her who revered books. Of course, at first she only took the bad ones, the romantic rubbish and the dog-eared now useless kitchen books, but then realized, what would be the point of gathering new information by assembling random pages cut off from a variety of books, if it wasn’t made from quality ingredients. Well, it surely stands to reason, even though her culinary reason had been on voyage the last twenty years as far as she knew. Anyway. Those leafs were starting to talk better than any bloody tea leaves could.

                [link: talking leaves]

                #2431

                BUGGER! it RooOOooOOlled agaAAaaain’ Doily whined while running after her head in the terrible black path leading to the Pit of the Furcano.

                The others watched in horror, not knowing if they should follow her or not.

                #2646

                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                One thing led to another, as it tends to do, while Sanso sat meditating on the enigma of The Dead Cow. Random and seemingly disjointed images flashed through his mind, not unlike a random google had been back in the old days, the first being an odd word, Kogaionon . Accessing further information, Sanso discovered that it was an ancient Transylvaniun skull. The link between the dead cow and the skull was clear ~ it was a bone sync, they both had bones, there was no denying it. Encouraged, Sanso continued to meditate.

                :crystal-skull:

                After some images of a battle at sea , presumably Trafalgar, Sanso intuitively felt, he heard the words “Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” Wise words, he thought, and appropriate too. He popped these snippets into his indigo clue bag and continued to meditate. An image of a strange creature, half fish and half lion appeared next, a Merlion, which quickly morphed into an entertaining old movie playing across the screen of his minds eye, so to speak, in which someone who reminded him of Becky arrived in Paris during a rainstorm with just the clothes on her back ~ and interesting clothes they were, too! Sanso was glued to the screen, in a manner of speaking, and watched with amusement as a whole new wardrobe was delivered to the puzzled woman, followed by her mysterious benefactor: Georges.

                Well, fancy Georges turning up again like that! Sanso was delighted. Perhaps Georges could shed some light on the mystery of the Dead Cow Blocking the Cave Entrance.

                Sanso returned to his meditation and found himself eavesdropping on a conversation.

                — Well, and Sanso, and Georges then, are they dead or what? How come Dory can see them?
                — These ones are special, they have mastered the crossing of the Worlds, and can move through them. They move differently though. Sanso comes from a lineage of an ancient tribe of Zion, and had learn from them how to activate some portals, but only through the physical world of Dory, in their own time. He is not yet aware that he can also move through time as well, or even through other Worlds — worlds that he has no conception of yet.
                Georges is more consummate in that art. Their meeting is not coincidental. You will see that.
                — Thank you Grandad, it’s becoming a bit less confusing.
                — Just flow with the story my little one, don’t hold on too much, or you will find it too difficult, and you will stop to find fun in it.

                “Their meeting is not coincidental” Sanso repeated to himself, popping it into his clue bag. “Well, I don’t know about Meanings, but at least I have a new bag of clues now!”

                #2643

                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                After her little escapade with Yimho, and then with Brennan, and then with Gormitohl, and with each escapade, a new home, new relationships and relatives, Malvina was starting to feel homesick. ‘Home’ wasn’t really any place of course, but we all know when we feel at home or not. And right now, the feeling was clear and loud that she wasn’t.
                Not only that, but her selfless outpouring of love (which dear Arona always found slightly exaggerated for her tastes) had oftentimes put her in awkward situations.
                People weren’t always aware that even though her love was given so strongly to all of creatures, it could be found everywhere, in every creature. Ancients called that stream viwre. The only difference with her and the others was that she wasn’t discriminating and her love was outpourring in every direction, regardless of the intentions of the receiver. And that could become a terrible power.

                Well, after all the traveling with her teal-coloured dragon Leörmn, and occasional visits from the young dragon breeder Irtak she felt more than ever the need to reconnect. It’s been too many years now, and the world of the (still) warring Kingdoms didn’t feel much of a better place. So there was still work to be done.

                Of all people, she knew where to turn to.
                It was too early to start her trip around the world to physically reunite with her sisters. A lifelong project which had strangely stalled ever since they started to mention it.
                But she remembered Kalliona, a beautiful woman living south of the Marshes of Doom. She wasn’t really a woman either, but rather an E’elim of the woods, but she appeared as a beautiful woman to almost anyone.
                She would help her realign with her path.

                Leörmn!” She called “We’re packing!”
                “To where, may I ask?”
                “Olliburthon”
                “Oh great… A stinking harbour now.”

                #2332

                “Hang on a minute Harvey,” said Lavender excitedly, “Ann is trying to telepathically communicate with me! …… Oh, she wants to know who YOU are!”

                “What did you say?”

                “The truth of course. I told her I have no idea. Why that rude tart! She says I have been bashing her … well, have I been bashing her do you think Harvey?”

                Harvey looked thoughtful. “Well you were a bit I suppose. You called her tortured. That wasn’t very kind was it?”

                “hmmmmph, torturous more like. Oh well fair point, but I did try praising her last novel over lunch, and she went all green in the face and said if I didn’t stop being so nice she would throw-up in her spaghetti! …. anyway who are you Harvey and how come we are living together?”

                “No idea, who are you?”

                “It is a bit of a mystery isn’t it … remember how we were best friends and you didn’t even know my name for years? How ODD!”

                #2295

                “To be perfectly honest dear, I wouldn’t be very outwardly lovely if I were to be honest.”
                “Another of your convoluted ways to say it’s rubbish” Lavender said with a smile “But that’s fine, you know. It’s also meant as a test of honesty… And as I’m not sure you heard it properly anyway, a little honesty wouldn’t have hurt you know.”

                But it seemed Harvey’s attention had already gone somewhere else. “Are you even listening to me?” Lavender said with a lovely voice practicing the delicate guttural accents of Sloopernoff, snapping back Harvey’s attention to the conversation.
                “Oh, you were speaking… I’m sorry, I’m starting to worry that Ann’s narcolepsy is contagious.”
                “Always the worrywort…”

                As they were talking surrounded by the soft dusty specks of the library (which every time annoyed Lavender quite extensively, as she wasn’t so fond of the taste of dust bunnies and didn’t see with the same eye as Ann the archaeological value of burying useful things in dust), Gremwick the mad Dean of the Worseversity passed by with a yellow sticker stuck to the back of his trench coat.

                “Looks like mad old Gremwick isn’t doing so good recently hey… Seems like he was droning about taking the students’ courses to check on their quality last time we heard of him…” Lavender looked empathetic.
                Harvey was smiling “If you ask me, he might just be wanting to know if the rumor of Prof Gubby’s nine nipples were true or only sheer fantasy”
                “I wonder which perverted mind’s fantasy it could be” sighed Lavender unimpressed.

                #2635

                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                While Irtak was learning how to deal bit with his first eggs, Leörmn was looking at other dimensions’ drama, on a tellubolin (a variety of glubolin).

                He wasn’t unsympathetic to Irtak’s challenge in trying to bond with two buoyant twin dragons. It was, by all accounts, not easy a task, as dragon twins weren’t always keen on allowing a third energy into their games, and the dragonry arts usually insisted that the lineage of the dragons were to be spread as much as possible.

                But Leörmn was very encouraging of Irtak, and didn’t want to deprive him of the gift of his accomplishment by making things easier. For he was sure it would only be a matter of time before the three were inseparable.

                #2240

                Lavender was not really sure she understood what Harvey was talking about.

                Poor thing. Does he feel like a frog with no sense of purpose? she wondered. The injury to his nose had been devastating of course, yet Lavender firmly believed that there was purpose to all things.

                If you don’t believe that, then the whole system falls down, she had said to Harvey, in her sympathetic AND adorable voice.

                What system is that? asked Harvey gloomily, wishing he had a voice like Lavenders. Since the accident there had been a distinct nasal twang to his voice. He thought miserably of how quickly W.A.R.P.E.D. had released him from his contract following a complaint from Sha and Glor after he had dropped the four poster bed. The additional weight of dear Lavender had just been a little too much, even for HIS nose. Not only that, he had he lost his weightlifting vocation and his good looks were also severely compromised. The surgeons had not been overly optimistic that his nose would ever completely recover.

                well you weren’t really THAT good looking, said the softly voiced Lavender, hoping to cheer Harvey up.

                #2586

                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  “Now would you believe you were actually worried for her?” she told Georges, raising from the sand of the Kandulim where they were doing some people remote-gazing.
                  “Well, for a moment I was, and you know that Salome. Even if we have not followed the same path, ours have crossed a few times, and I’m grateful for what she taught me in the beginning.”
                  “I know, although I never really got that part of her… well other than from your experiences I mean.”
                  “She even starts to remember her parrot, that was quite unexpected.”
                  “ Do you believe she’ll be able to travel out of that other dimension easily?”
                  “I don’t know… After that bravado escape from the Baron’s submarine, and the rough sea, I supposed she would need more time to recover and bring herself together, but she seems to have taken care of that in an interesting manner.”
                  “Look! Ahahaha”
                  “What?”
                  “Did you notice she stole the poor guy’s cufflinks! She’s so mean ahahah, she never got past those magpie’s instincts”

                  #2573

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Arthur Bickerswell-Snodley had been delighted to receive Ann’s invitation to stay with her at Little Big Hopeswell for the May Day weekend. He hadn’t seen Ann for 570 years, although they had remained in contact through the years, at first by old fashioned handwritten letters, and later by email —as well, of course, by telepathic means and out of body rendezvous— but this was to be an actual physical visit.

                    Arthur travelled by train to Chipping Else Hampton, where Jibblington, Ann’s chauffeur and general dogsbody, met him in the old jalopy, a rather grand old Silver Ghost Rolls.
                    Jibblington, it must be stated, worked part time for Ann, as did the enigmatic cleaning lady, Franlise — both were merely aspects of much larger personalities elsewhere engaged in myriad pursuits. Jibblington was a much of a mystery to Ann as dear Franlise was, not to mention old Godfrey Pig Littleton. Godrey’s flooh, in point of fact, had been the catalyst behind Ann’s invitation to Arthur.

                    While Jibblington and Bickerswell-Snodley glided along the country lanes, cushioned and buoyant in the silver car’s plush, if a trifle vulgar, crimson upholstery, Ann tutted in exasperation as Godfrey pestered her to finish her latest entry to the Play.

                    “I haven’t finished it yet, Godfrey, sheesh!” she exclaimed. “OK, OK!” Godfrey was rather rudely drumming his fingers on her desk. “Here, you can read what I’ve written so far.”

                    :notepad:

                    #2560

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Ann sighed, feeling tired and disillusioned at the unexpected changes. It felt like too much effort to start afresh, as if the disruptions and changes everywhere were permeating her own private sanctuary, and stray random thoughts now had no easy path towards release, that they would be bogged down and hampered with new details, and new explanations.

                      “How things have changed” Franlise remarked drily, reading the previous months entries. “I don’t know about ‘no easy path’, Ann, there’s a rush hour expressway of random stray thoughts gushing forth, don’t you think you should rein yourself in a bit?”

                      :yahoo_raised_eyebrow:

                      “I don’t see much evidence of a bog of explanations, either, or hampers of details.”

                      #2221
                      F LoveF Love
                      Participant

                        In many ways Sally Tattler felt herself to be the antithesis of her twin sister, Ann. Tall, where Ann was short. Well groomed, where Ann’s grooming, quite frankly, left much to be desired. Organised, as opposed to the state of chaos that Ann….

                        Oh for the love of God, Sally. Will you be quiet and stop messing with my head!

                        The downside of being a twin, mused Ann, well, one of the many downsides it could perhaps be said, was the ability to hear each other’s thoughts so clearly. It was a shame of course that Sally had such a high opinion of herself, unwarranted …

                        unwarranted! pffft to that! Ann felt a burst of energy from her indignant sister.

                        Well, anyway, for today at least Ann felt sustained by her daily Eremus Lemon reading, and impervious … well nearly … to the telepathic barrage of negativity from her twin sister.

                        we’re all nuts anyway; different flavours thereof, but nuts nonetheless, peanuts, peacan or up the wall-nuts

                        Up the wall-nuts! Humorous as well as wise! Ann shook her head in awed admiration.

                        #2211

                        Oh bugger this Harvey pestered against his pinhole third eye monocle which had just fallen again in his tea.

                        He’d developed a strange case of telepathy myopia —which he had hoped to alleviate with the monocle— that prevented him to hear the thoughts of the others when they weren’t as close enough a distance.

                        Doc Limure, a strange fellow, had diagnosed him when he had told about the strange symptoms and advised him to carry the pinhole monocle for awhile. But it wasn’t really practical at all to maintain before his eye; he had to keep his telekinesis in check, and as soon as he let his thoughts drift away, the thing would fall.
                        He started to wonder if Dr Limure had not made some practical joke on him.

                        #2185
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          The fact of the matter, if indeed there was a such a thing as a fact, was that Elizabeth needed to sort out her probable selves. They were constantly overlapping and it was causing a great deal of confusion. She decided to reinvent herself completely, starting with a new name.

                          She sat quietly chain smoking as she pondered possible names.

                          ‘Just choose a short one this time, one that’s easy to write. It really doesn’t matter what name you choose, but in the interests of ease, just make it short.’

                          Ann sat quietly chainsmoking, wondering where to start.

                          ‘Perhaps you should go back to bed’.

                          Ann sighed, feeling tired and disillusioned at the unexpected changes. It felt like too much effort to start afresh, as if the disruptions and changes everywhere were permeating her own private sanctuary, and stray random thoughts now had no easy path towards release, that they would be bogged down and hampered with new details, and new explanations.

                          ‘You don’t have to write anything.’

                          But there was so much to say!

                          ‘Try listening instead’.

                          #1283

                          Leormn was glad to be back in his cave.
                          The trip with the twins and Irtak had been very interesting for all of them; it had expanded their knowledge of their world, and the young Irtak was allowing his desire to be expressing his playfulness with dragons more and more.

                          Leormn could foresee he would become a great dragon breeder, and the dragons once again would reappear with times of peace.

                          For now, he and Malvina were packing again. It was time for them to move the rookery, and find another spot where they could alter the stuck energies by simply being there. They were like roots in the ground, they were unseen to most, but they were moving, and changing the quality of the soil, enriching it, bringing lightness to it.

                          Irtak and the twins would start their own path, they had learned so much. They were heading to the South deserts, the land of the gripshawks, and other less known creatures. Irtak wanted to see the seal-men, too wherever they were, in between the Icy Lands and the Southern shores. He wanted to explore everythere.

                          Arona had found her way to the cave, and since Malvina was moving again, she had decided to stay there with her newfound little strange, but delightful family. Ikesy would probably go in a few years to fulfill his own destiny, but for now, the Ugling raised by an Oddling was doing well.
                          Having seen the interesting properties of her painted door (yes, the “peace off” magic door) she had finally acknowledged her talent, and decided to devote her time to take up her art. Of course, Mandrake was encouraging as ever (refraining to comment at the beginning), but she had no doubt her dedication would conquer his and her own doubts.
                          After all, her magic was strong; if anything needed to be drawn out of this adventure that was it. And Buckberry her own artist dragon was a remainder of that.

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