Search Results for 'pink'

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  • #3204

    Linda Paul was reviewing the leather-bound copy of the anthology of Walt van Wharff works she’d received weeks ago from an anonymous source. Van Wharff was apparently from XVIIth century in Newherland a leading authority in walvissen wetenschap or whalology as it were.
    Linda wasn’t really even remotely interested in whales, but the book had picked her curiosity, or more exactly, the pink post-it on it, signed with a glitter lipstick lips mark, on which was written in some mysterious handwriting PBWY AND BO if you see that dearie, you know what it means

    She had no clue what it was about, but the antique book had some interesting qualities, and she soon had found herself inexplicably engrossed in its reading.
    The theory behind it was baffling, dealing with whale sightings, aperiodic tiling and crystal diffraction, but she managed to intuit that it had to do with detection of whale migratory patterns.

    Given the literary quality of the book (or lack thereof) and his very confuse language constructs, its author was by no doubt dead in a state of miserable unfamousness. Notwithstanding, Linda Paul understood there was an unfinished equation that would reveal when they would appear next, which was likely to reveal a huge crystal of exotic properties.
    So long as it glittered, she was already hooked onto that quest.

    A few investigations and equations-solving on her ezapper later, she had found the next coordinates that she’d texted to her only current operatives, Sadie and her misfits.
    She hoped they wouldn’t sabotage this one, and thus offer them all a second chance to book a full season for their adventures.

    #3202

    The three maids waited in the balloon for most of the night, in increasing agitation. Mirabelle’s face was like thunder, imagining Igor ravishing the Breton wenches as they slept in their beds. As is often the case during a long tense wait in the black of night, the maids thoughts turned increasingly murderous, worry transposing to anger and thoughts of vengeance.
    The truth was that the Russians were having a great deal of difficulty finding any food. The peasants were starving and there was nothing to steal. Dreading returning to the balloon empty handed, they continued the fruitless search.
    Meanwhile Pseu was leisurely perusing ceramic tiles in the Locmaria quarter, unaware of the difficulties of the Russians.
    Eventually, the three men returned to the balloon, with nothing to show for their nights escapades. Mirabelle snorted derisively, resisting the urge to slap Igor.
    “It’s getting light” said Boris, “We really must leave now, food or no food. Let’s go!”
    The balloon rose just as the sun was casting a pinkish glow and the river mists were rising in ghostly wisps.

    ~~~

    Exhausted from lack of sleep, the occupants slept, taking turns to stay awake. Fanella was on the first watch, shivering and grumpy with hunger. Surreptitiously, she gobbled down a few foul tasting handfuls of lard. When it was Adeline’s turn to keep watch, she had a similar idea, and likewise swallowed some greasy globs of lard, thinking, as Fanella had done, that a few handfuls would not be missed. When the others took their turns on the watch, they also had similar ideas, erroneously assuming that nobody else had thought to do the same. By lunchtime, when they’d all had sufficient sleep, there was not a great deal of lard left. A dramatic and judgemental argument ensued with everyone accusing each other of monumental stupidity, but as Boris wisely pointed out, they were all equally to blame.
    “But we’re over the sea now, and we’re losing height!”
    Uh oh, said Pseu to herself. I can increase the wind speed to hurricane force, but that might be a bit too risky. Or I can allow the wind to resume it’s prevailing westerly course, but that wouldn’t help, they’d end up back where they came from and that would be catastrophic.
    “Perhaps I can help” whispered Belen telepathically. “If you think you can land the balloon on my decks.”
    It would be a tricky landing, but there was no other option. Quickly Pseu worked out the likely coordinates of the ultimate descent and beamed them to Belen.
    “The homing parrot will help” added Belen. “Follow the bird and adjust the wind direction accordingly.”

    #3167

    In an attempt to set a good example for the younger less diligent maids, Mirabelle had over exerted herself. Truth be told, she had been nervous, and keeping busy had alleviated her worry. The meeting with Igor Popinkin had gone badly. When it became apparent that the romance between them had been a sham and she’d realized that it was a pretence merely to get the queens ferret, she became enraged and punched him squarely in the bollocks. While he was doubled over howling in pain, she grabbed the ferret back off him and ran out of the folly.
    But what was she to do with the ferret now? she wondered. Ah! I know! an idea popped into her head. The hot air balloon of the Theatre du Soleil. It would be found the next day, she knew, but she would not be implicated in the theft.

    #3152
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      “I heard that” replied Pseu telepathically. “And you’re right, of course I’m connected to the Russians. So are you, for that matter, didn’t you know? Igor Popinkin’s little sister Faina ring any bells? The connection to the Russians is not what you think!”
      Sadie frowned in puzzlement. The fact was that the name Faina did ring a few bells, but it was vague, almost as if she had dreamed about her.
      “The thing is” continued Psue, “Not to take sides. There are connecting links everywhere. The Russians may be “on the other side” in one particular scenario, but behind the scenes, it’s another story.”

      #3146

      Sleep wouldn’t come, and the narrow wooden pew was hard. Cedric had shifted to every possible position trying to get comfortable, and succeeded only in cricking his neck. He eased himself off the pew and crept outside. It was a clear crisp night and the moon shone brightly in the chapel yard. A broad flat tomb beckoned him, looking more promising to stretch out on than the wooden seats inside. It was the tomb of the 14th century mystic (often called witch) , Marguerite Isabeau. Many had claimed to see Isabeau flying around at night, draped in white robes.
      Lying flat on his back on the tomb, with his cork bum as a pillow, Cedric wrapped the voluminous white choir boys robes around his body. Despite the chill air, he dozed off, dreaming of lemon pavlova.

      ~~~~

      Igor Popinkin kept to the darkness beneath the trees as he made his way towards the Folly for the rendezvous with Mirabelle. The moon was bright and it was imperative that he stay well hidden. The shortcut through the chapel yard was an open stretch of ground where he might be spotted, but it was unlikely for there to be anyone there at this hour. He was so close now that he mustn’t made any rash mistakes now and spoil it. Igor paused momentarily, reminding himself to be fully present at all times and paying attention. That’s when he noticed Marguerite Isabeau, risen from the grave again ~ although not very far from it, in this instance, as she was lying on top of it, quite motionless. As if drawn by a magnet, he inched slowly towards her, mesmerized by her ghostly beauty. Closer and closer, until he was standing over her, peering down at her scarlet lips. His hot breath and specks of dribble running down her chin woke her, and she opened her eyes.

      ~~~~

      “Am I dreaming?” asked Cedric breathlessly. “Or are you an angel?”
      “No, you’re an angel”, replied a baffled Popinkin.
      “Why thank you sweetie, oooh, a Russian angel! Love your accent ~ fancy meeting you here!”
      “Where were you expecting to meet me then?” Igor replied, even more puzzled. “You mean you were expecting me, Marguerite?”
      “Marguerite who?”
      “Isabeau. You!” Exasperated with the conversation and confusion, and remembering his rendevous with Mirabelle, Popinkin said “Look, I have to go, but meet me here at the same time tomorrow night.”
      Cedric sighed, but he did note that his stiff neck had gone and he felt much happier.

      #3121

      Queen Marie, Our Good Queen, as the little gents liked to call her, had not been as excited at the prospect of the salon since a long time.
      She ringed the bell for the servant girl to bring more wood, as drafts of chilly air were coming from outside. Although quite modern and shiny, the palace was not as equipped for the cold season as the old castles from her mother land. Worse, with age and soft weather, she’d grown accustomed to being warm, and couldn’t bear the cold any longer.

      The crackling sound of the pine wood inside the small chimney was comforting and brought her back to her thoughts. A salon, full of delightful witty people, with laughters and costumes, entertainment and champagne wine. She’d heard a special batch of barrels from la Maison Ruinart would be brought especially for the Royalties. Of course, she knew most of those were small favors for the King’s mistress, Reinette, but she didn’t care. Oddly enough, she didn’t mind the woman, who had been always very delicate and considerate towards her, almost affectionate. To be honest, she was a blessing, as the inextinguishable appetite of the King for the flesh and woman beauty was now too hard to bear.

      But a party like this, ah… She reveled in the thought of seeing again monsieur de St Galle and the mysterious Comte de St Germain who always was the light of the party with his extravagant stories.

      The servant had finished to dress her for the night, putting her new powdered wig on the parakeet shaped wig-holder. She’d bought the wig with its lacquered holder in the morning from a small shop in Paris, which was had quite an aura of mystery she’d heard. Naturally she’d wanted to see for herself.
      The wigmaker was a gaunt and unassuming young man who notwithstanding made an impression on her. Jean-Baptiste’s wigs were simple and elegant, albeit not terribly inspired. His eyes, on the other hand, had a piercing yet soft gaze about them, and didn’t seem embarrassed to look at her, almost through her, as if she were a person, instead of the Queen surrounded by a retinue of bland people eager to please.
      “Let me draw you some fingers” he’d said to her, changing abruptly the topic from his rambling about books he was inspired to write about symbols. He’d forgotten the traditional address of “Your Majesty”, yet wouldn’t be stopped —regardless of the shocked expressions on the people’s faces.
      “You see, I love symbols, and when I draw people’s fingers, I can foretell events to come”.
      So that was it, she’d thought, the reason why everyone was ranting about him. He’d better be more inspired at that than wigs, as her patience was wearing thin.
      She’d had fortune tellers draw her cards a few times, but the fingers drawing part was curious enough to entice her into removing the glove off her eburnated fingers and letting him do his trick.
      An eldritch feeling crept though her spine as he was uttering words for each of the fingers he drew on with a slight pull of his hand, just enough not to crack the joints.

      In the bed warmed to a delightful temperature by the bouillotte, she began sliding into deep sleep, while a mixture of words half-forgotten or half-remembered danced around in her mind like the swirls of snowflakes dying on the warm window of her chamber: “funny moment, cold diversion, dream parade, house moustache pink, blue wonder carpets, possible king turned, green mirror travel, understand whole large parade”…

      #3014
      Jib
      Participant

        Ed was indulging himself in one of his little guilty pleasures. Listening to Mozart’s 21st piano concerto in a pink tutu. As the first notes flew out of the speakers, he was looking with contempt at his newly grown moustache in his starlight mirror. It was perfectly waxed and shiny.

        #3006
        Jib
        Participant

          The pond was full of black tadpoles. The creatures were wriggling restlessly, following invisible currents, connecting dark stains packed with thousands of them. Benjamin Goat immersed a small plastic bottle into one of the biggest node, it sucked the little buggers like a fat syringe.
          “Such a small container won’t reduce their population too much”, he thought. Indeed, he had always wondered why there were so many of them in the early stages and why you would see so few frogs or toads. The remaining tadpoles were beginning to gather around his hand. He repressed a shiver. A new idea for a movie just sprang up from his subconscious. Something to do with man-eater tadpoles. That would certainly hit the box office for months.
          He smiled. There were enough of them in the bottle.

          “Yuck!” said a fat pink lady before licking her strawberry ice cream.

          “It’s for my son”, said Benjamin just before realizing he was justifying again. His psychiatrist had told him there was no need for justifying, it was like apologizing, and he needn’t apologize, he was the great Benjamin Goat after all. He snorted and mimicked drinking from his bottle. This time, she was disgusted. She made the mistake to hold her ice cream too far from herself and one of those Gib’s monkey with the pink ass stole it. She was shouting now, people would pay attention to her instead of him. People always pay attention to what’s more annoying.
          Paradoxically, he felt a pang of jealousy. He was not used to let go of others’ attention.

          His cell phone vibrated, three long vibrations and seven short ones. The code for his secret society. It was a great idea to put it in his last movie, unfortunately it hadn’t had the desired effect. People were so gullible that they would believe everything that came out in a fiction movie.
          “The Jesuit is in the place”, said a vocoded voice. That was all. It could only mean one thing. It was all going according to the plan. He smiled and handed out the bottle to a kid. He wouldn’t need that after all.

          #2994
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            “You’ve fattened.” She had not yet set foot on land that Vera’s first comment to Lulla set the tone.
            Lulla threw the rest of the skewer in the bin, and managed a genial laughter. She was not one to take umbrage, much less to hold grudges. And although technically Vera was not right (she had managed to lose a stone since Fat Tuesday), she was still weighing a whooping 23 stone. Far from her 57 kg ideal weight. She laughed to herself at the thought that she was weighing more than two of her ideal self. That had to account for something.
            Relocating from the coast of Guyana where she was born to São Paulo had not been easy on her silhouette, as she liked to blame the greasy fast-food here. But at some point she had ceased to care, although such snarky remarks sometimes still managed to push her buttons.

            “Yes, I know, look at those leggings, the stripes have that effect on me.” she simpered with a wink that she was sure would annoy Vera no end. “So what are we doing here small Pohnpei, micro-Micronesia of all places anyway?” She asked, pushing her pocket-size folding Eggsway ahead of the curb, while Vera was strolling at her side, in long strides of her fine endless legs.
            “To do some cleaning, what else?”

            Lulla stopped her Eggsway to look with bewilderment at the stoical Vera.
            “Madam Vera Pappaloosa,” she said slowly, with a hint of concern in her voice. “I hope it’s not one of those messy jobs again that require to dress in funny smelly hot pink outfits that make us look like hot pink plastic bag ladies, and swim in it until you’ve lost two pants sizes by sweating them off?”
            “Oh, stop it Lulla. You guessed right, I suppose. But don’t worry, you can keep your hat on.”

            Lulla was ready to turn her heels, or rather her Eggsway’s wheels around, when she was surprised by Vera’s crystalline laughter. She was all the more surprised that she didn’t even know Vera was capable of laughter, being so expert at concealing her emotions.
            “I was just pulling your leg, we’re on a mission to find the next Pope.”

            #2986
            Jib
            Participant

              Aqua Luna had difficulties understanding what the voice was telling her. The words made perfect sense, separately. They were like bubbles floating around her, she could almost see them. Each had a different hue and some where even shining a bit.
              “What am I experiencing ?” she asked.
              At least it was her thoughts, but she wasn’t sure the voice would understand as each bubble seemed to follow its separate route once out of her mouth.
              When more bubbles appeared in the room, it seemed they were coming from all around her, and not from a specific location. She wondered if she was in some kind of whale ship, in its stomach.
              When more bubbles came, she began to feel a bit irritated. She smashed one with her left hand and got startled by the booming “SHAKE”. She retreated on the spongy stomach which was emitting bubbles now. She tried to shoo them away and their explosion was more like a squishy sound.
              A bigger bubble was coming toward her. It was with shades of pink and blue, very vibrant. She put her hands on her ears before it blew out, but the sound seemed to come from her skin now.

              HAHAHAHA

              When more bubbles came to her, the words she heard were the following

              quickly full days told moscow
              dragon sounds face earth itself
              pin often middle herself under light
              katarina warm asked further turned

              It made no sense at all, but she was beginning to find it fun.

              #2981
              Jib
              Participant

                Have you ever dreamt that you forgot to put your pants on to go to school or to go to work? How did you feel in the dream ? Ashamed ? At ease ? Were you wondering how you got there in your undies ?
                Dream memories were flying in Madam Li’s head. It had been a recurring dream in her childhood and her most dreaded fear. She had always checked on twice before living her house that she had a dress or trousers long enough to hide her ankles.

                Her cell phone didn’t have any battery left and she was late. She would have to find one in the street. She ran out of her apartment after having checked her outfits twice and reassured took the elevator. She had her bags with warmer clothes inside for when she’d arrive in Harbin for the ice festival. She looked nervously at her cell phone again, still no battery of course. She put it back in her handbag. Someone entered the elevator, 30 more floors to go. She gasped when she realized the man, a westerner, had no pants on. She looked away quickly. Was he not aware of the missing element in his outfit ? She decided to make as if everything was normal.

                Things went worse when she got out of the elevator. There were two men and a woman waiting at the check out desk, and they had pink underwears. Apparently the first man didn’t know them and the service apartment employee behind his desk didn’t seem at all surprised by the situation. When it was her turn, he looked at her, and at her long dress. She gave him the keys and as he turned away to put them back on the wall, she noticed that he was bare legs too. Something was wrong. Was it a surge in the population ? Would she have to stay here longer ?

                #2973
                Jib
                Participant

                  The snow was falling gently on that Russian night. People were walking in the cold, covered in warm colorful clothes which Mari Fe was finding funny.
                  Do you hear the music ?” asked Pearl.
                  “What music ?”
                  “It’s sounds like a choir in the distance. I suddenly feel melancholia.”
                  Mari Fe had forgotten she had her earplugs on, and as soon as she had removed the right one, she put it back.
                  “Put your earplugs, Pearl ! Quick ! You’re being hypnotized.”
                  “Hypnotized ? Don’t be silly; I’m sad, is all.” Pearl was feeling tears filling up her eyes. Life was so dull lately and maybe it was the seven beers she drank, maybe she something awful had happen and she didn’t know. Something sad must have happen, she thought, how else would I’ve been so sad. But she couldn’t remember. She wasn’t even listening to Mari Fe who was being agitated suddenly. Hadn’t she realized ?

                  Mari Fe was looking frantically in her pockets. Did she has another pair of surge earplugs ? She found a pink panther taser. Another techno stuff, she threw with disgust on her face. She jumped on Pearl and tried to immobilize her, she was trying to put her hands in her pockets to find those damn earplugs. Maybe Janet took them ? What an idea.

                  #2962

                  In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    sense attention silly himself
                    read inside: king portal
                    land suddenly deep party
                    body friend knew magic
                    interesting pink side flight ship
                    days hot energy, sir
                    once ~ often ~ baltazar surge hand, already steam events map

                    #2957

                    The aftershock of the surge at the Three Kings’ Parade started to hit full blast at the portals initial location, thus effectively linking old mummies energy to the bodies there that were hit by Mari Fe, and for he most part still lying unconscious.
                    The combination of energies started to make them arise and walk like mindless zombies, intoning old guttural sounds in cadence in a language that sounded like Italian poetry.
                    There you had the Balthazar, Rogelio, Dru and alter-Ed who all woke up at once, and even Sanso who had been hit (while impersonating a Portal Worker) started to feel oddly strange.

                    Noticing the atypical occurrence, Arona, whom Janet seemed to have had taken a sudden liking to (blame it on her Yankee side), started to look at her brood and rally them for a safe and prompt exit.
                    “What is it Arona dearie?” Janet didn’t seem worried. She was a Surge Team member after all, and a zombilic epidemic (zombies energy coming from wormholes) wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.
                    “I fear that although your presence is most delightful, we shall be on our way.” Arona’s old sabulmantium had shown persistent and remarkable hints of dragon energy in this dimension that, although a bit different and looking in her mind’s eye like red flying snakes bearing impossibly long mustache, resonated quite well —not to mention she was eager to part with such bizarre company.
                    “Alrighty, let’s keep in touch dearie,” Janet added, covering their escape, not without winking at Sanso as he was the last one to leave through the map portal, leaving her to look for her missing flushed friends, Mari Fe and Pearl.
                    Unbeknownst to everyone, the picture-taking lady had camouflaged herself to look like a red sofa nearby the hot pink leather chaise lounge in the corner of the room, and was documenting silently the promising epic battle of Janet and Riff Raff against the zombies.
                    And for sure, Janet was still ready to make good use of the pocket-sized forklift to move away all cumbersome bodies,… as there was bound to be casualties.

                    #2952

                    Quick witted Arona, realising their cover was blown, grabbed Mandrake and hid behind a hot pink leather chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

                    Mandrake, I think Yikesy might be going though another growth spurt,” said Arona, after a few moments spent reflecting thoughtfully on proceedings in the room. “Good thing I brought him that cute snuggle fit stretch’n‘grow set to wear for the mission.”

                    Mandrake rolled his eyes. “He isn’t a baby, Arona and you really shouldn’t make him wear those ridiculous outfits. Although, I must say, in this instance, for the sake of decency, it is probably just as well. But for goodness sakes, the boy is just about old enough to grow a moustache.”

                    “Oh well, I guess you are right. But he has such an endearingly ugly little baby face still, people often think he is younger than he is. I wonder if that strange woman in the red coat would take a photo if I asked her.”

                    #127

                    In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      On the marina, Sue Flay, wrapped in hot pink towel sprinkled in horseradish and buns crumbs started to feel dizzy and possessed.
                      Her poodle had bitten her savagely, and her right breast was bleeding profusely.

                      “May I be of assistance?” an tonsured man with a genial face and white girded loins asked, handing her a raspy paper towel.

                      Without knowing why, Sue started to sob like a huge meringue.

                      #1306

                      In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                      benjaminbenjamin
                      Participant

                        Meanwhile back at the ranch – and it was a true ranch with horses and cattle and mountains stretching as far as one could see – Neb was sighing in dismay. He had an odd scrunched look upon his face, and he was curled up in the fetus position.

                        “How am I supposed to life like this!” Neb demanded.

                        “All these bloody synchronicities, manifestations and freaking reality shifts are making me feel very uncomfortable.” Neb pouted. Neb tried to imagine his happy place, any happy place would do, but all he could muster was the thought of white buns and spider webs.

                        “Is not this the point of The Shift?” asked a voice in Nebs head.

                        “Why bloody not!”

                        “You don’t know where I’ve just come from, and what I was doing, and what I’ve seen with my very eyes.” Neb moaned.

                        “So your afraid yet once again, my friend. You fear a lot of things, and have many beliefs about your shelf, elf, I mean self.” said the voice.

                        “My thoughts manifest in an instant, and usually not in a pleasant way. No not at all, and most uncomfortably obvious too.” said Neb.

                        “That’s splendid!”

                        “Sounds to me like your shifting right along, and from what you’ve said, you are allowing your reality to shift quite easily.”

                        “With ease!?” shouted Neb.

                        “Its a bloody mess, is what it is. I seem to attract just what I don’t want, and rarely what I do, and this is all to much for me to accept.”

                        A pink poodle with twenty or so linked sausages in its mouth strolled up to Neb. The poodle grinned, and dropped the sausages in front of Neb, then strutted in a westward direction.

                        Neb looked at the sausages, and cringed.

                        #1292

                        In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          “What the kraken?” exclaimed Sue Flay, pulling her matching hot pink towel around her. “Who made these sandwiches? Son of a Smuftar, there’s too much horseradish!”

                          #1291

                          In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            The ointment the kind lady gave Luigi made him think of the fun adventure he had in Madrid with the good doctor. Ugly he was maybe, but not as daft as to blindly accept gifts of healing wrapped in a pretty bottle.
                            Well, not without trying it first at least. Last time it’d cost him a cat. Well, the neighbour’s cat. And it was sick anyway before it’d dyed… Purple.

                            “Would you mind passing me the poodle” he asked smiling a crooked smile to a morbidly obese lady sunbathing in a tight hot pink bikini near the marina.

                            #2156

                            In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              “Who else?, as a matter of fact, Dr Whoohelz,” he winked unapologetically.

                              “Oh, that?” he added knowingly to the glaring lady. “Did you know pink tutus made from pink panthers’ hides are a symbol of power in most old African countries.”

                              Meanwhile, Luigi, the hapless driver and his scooter, and the land beneath them had moved and groaned a good few meters further away from the doctor.

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