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  • #3744

    In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

    EricEric
    Keymaster

      Prune was listening to Maya and Yz, not daring to talk, much less to disagree.
      Yz was back to the planet from her maintenance drill on the mothership, and had found their remote outpost overloaded with new clueless settlers.
      Now, even Maya, who was always the understanding one was fuming at the vexing situation and couldn’t help but complain about the new Mars settlers’ manners (or lack thereof). The matter was of importance, but somehow Johnny couldn’t help but find it hilarious.

      Johnny! Stop laughing, it’s not at all funny!”
      “I’m sorry, it’s the nerves!” he replied “I didn’t want to poke fun at your horror story, Mum.”
      “You damn right, it IS a bit of a horror story. Well, I don’t know what kind of a story it is. These new settlers that moved here are disorganized conflict and chaos all the time. And now nobody has a permit for sand scooter but me. So everything I do takes me 6 times as long with everyone else… and its hot!”

      She paused a little, smiling at Prune, then turned to Yz, who seemed equally annoyed by the recent mess.

      Prune ventured a word “But you really love the idea of cooperative community sharing, don’t you.”
      Maya nodded, then continued “but it sucks! IT SUCKS!… and it’s all a bit weird too. It’s a daily juggle with what I’m willing to say yes to, and where I draw the line and say no.”

      She sighed. “But some of it is fun, obviously. But much of it isn’t. I think everyone is struggling with finding themselves disconcertingly in a totally new place.
      The new place for me is never being alone to do anything, where before I almost always was, and really wanted people to do things with. But they are LATE and I can do things on my own easier.
      I prefer being a hermit while preaching about community. And doing things my own way while pushing for cooperation!”

      It didn’t help that Maya had agreed to help organize the event for Mother Shirley (though the party had changed the event location to the nearby fancier townlet of Romars without notice, instead of their rugged but peaceful village).

      The event had attracted the usual throng of nuts and illuminated sycophants, which would have dissolved just as well, if not for an unusual occurrence: Mother Shirley had claimed to have a divine vision by merging consciousness with the AI of the ship. She had seen floods and rains. Image that! As if water on Mars, was not ludicrous enough, now floods!
      All of a sudden, all hell broke loose and the religious nuts managed to create a panic, and had loads of people rush for the higher ground… Well, you guessed, to their previously quiet outpost.

      Of course, she had said nothing of the water-rocks she and John had found. Better not to encourage the nutters.

      Strange new place, indeed…

      #3536

      In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

      EricEric
      Keymaster

        John was about to leave the pod for the airlock when a sharp voice startled him.

        “Where are you going on your own Johnny? You know the rules!”

        He could tell she was only pretending indignation. She had this fun smirk at her pursed lips that he knew by heart. She was most likely vexed at not being asked to come along for the venture past curfew.

        At 15, Yz was 5 years younger than him (in Earth years), and only half his height, but her brains were razor sharp, as well as her tongue. She was also a gifted mechanic, and a fearless young girl.

        They exchanged a conniving smile. No more than three minutes after, she was back, silent as a cat, and suited up for the harsh environment of Mars.
        Over the years, small adjustments had been made to the suits, some purely out of fashion, but the main elements remained the same, which little change from one Earth cargo to the next. Ensuring their survival at minimal cost to their movements and senses.
        Survival outposts were also planted all across the area, so as long as they stayed at safe distance to their pod, they were in no real danger.

        The sand scooters were always free to take for a ride. A matter of life and death, it would be a crime to put locks on them. At any moment, anybody could be in dire need for a ride. And besides, in all that expanse of land, where to run to?

        #3502
        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          In this first comment I will try and collate the information from our discussions. It will be quite rough and may not be accurate as we were just brainstorming.

          You might like to use it as a resource to start comments for each character.

          Intents:
          FP: how not to be detached, as opposed to detaching
          EP : Importance, tradition, transmission, life and death
          TP : playful spontaneity
          JP : I need to explore a strong base, something you can count on in your life and that will nourrish and support you

          Starting point : a family member has gone missing / disappearance / mysterious inheritance
          Someone turns up with a letter about mysterious inheritance?
          That someone is in cold terms with the family and has been for years.
          Strong possibility of a ghost. male. tied up with the inheritance mystery. Ghost is either assisting or hindering the search for the mysterious inheritance.
          Location : Australia small town. Possibly called Crowshollow. Mining town
          Family run a Bed and Breakfast called the Flying Fish Inn. There is room for 5 guests at any one time but it is never full. The family are short of money. Tendency in the family to develop unconventional powers, possibly witchy stuff.

          MacGuffin (is this the family surname??) Oh no wait, on further study I see it is a reference to the inheritance. It could be the family surname though. they need one.
          A man is riding on a train when a second gentleman gets on and sits down across from him. The first man notices the second is holding an oddly shaped package.
          “What is that?” the first man asks.
          “A MacGuffin, a tool used to hunt lions in the Scottish highlands.”
          “But there are no lions in the Scottish highlands,” says the first man.
          “Well then,” says the other, “That’s no MacGuffin”.

          Family members : boy twins from jib, a girl from Eric, a matriach granny, twin girls 17, aunt Idle, father ? mother ?ghost?

          mother and father have both gone missing at some stage?. Mother is called Absinthia apparently.

          Tracy: The female twins are called Clove and Corrie. twins born in 2000 for easy reference, so if its concurent timeframe they are 14. Clove is frustrated with ghost town life, and is uncooperative and moody, has violent bursts of anger, but can be very focused when something attracts her interest. Does not take kindly to criticism.

          Corrie on the other hand is the one who will acqueisce to keep the peace, which doesnt always do herself a favour, she often agrees to things just to be pleasing and then regrets it.
          They are interested in boys, although it may be an online crush or an infatuation with a character not present. I bet they do all kind of mischiefs to elude the chaperoning of the not-so-cleveraunt.
          Clove resent the parents absence, Corrie tried to buffer that resentment but is filled with curiosity about them

          Eric: (Prune??) the young girl is bored, because her parents were always arguing, and she’s so smart nobody ever gets her, and she felt abandoned by her careless mother the most, so she builds that facade of carelessness. Prune is bored by the inheritance but interested by the tramp.

          Tracy: Aunt Idle. Paternal Aunt. Aunt never married but many relationships
          born 1970. she is very tall and thin and is prematurely grey which she wears in dreadlocks

          #3268
          EricEric
          Keymaster

            This one is not a Lemone quote but could have been.
            It’s from a series called Perception (S03E05)

            Daniel: Think of your life as a story. Actually, you already do.
            fMRI studies show us that following a story, a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end causes our brains to release cortisol and oxytocin.
            These chemicals give us the uniquely human ability to connect with someone, even a total stranger, and empathize. In other words, stories are what we use to find meaning in our lives.
            Now, imagine for a moment that we lived without the understanding that our story must eventually end.
            What if our lives were as infinite as the universe, if the ticking clock never stopped?
            What would our story be then? Would we… still love? Or care?
            Would those tiny, fleeting moments that mean everything… Mean anything at all?

            #3200

            Irina buzzed for her robot, Mr R. All the elite class had robots. Most nowadays were barely distinguishable from humans. However, Irina fancied herself to be someone who did things a bit differently. The design of Mr R was fashioned on the robots from classic twentieth century literature: his “head” a glass bubble sensor unit with moving antennae, his trunk-section a rotating cylinder with controls on the front, extending bellow arms that ended with mechanical claws and bellow legs with tread tractor units. He was able to move with deceptive speed and agility. Personality-wise Mr R was programmed to be the epitome of deference and tact.

            “Did you have a pleasant time with Mr Sanso?” inquired Mr R politely. “I believe you have a spot of cucumber on your face. Allow me to remove that for you.” He did this with a deftness belying his dangerous looking extremities. “And how else can I serve you this morning?”

            “Thank you, Mr R. Mr Sanso proved to be inscrutable as always. Please provide scanning assistance. Target 2121 Time travel mission 2222.”

            “Delighted to oblige, Ma’am!”

            Irina scanned the brains of the time travellers. The 3 drag queens were hypnotically sensitive and should be easy enough to manipulate. The girl, Sadie, was more problematic. Her motivation was happiness and her purity of intention meant that she would be difficult to manipulate successfully. Sanso, she knew already, was a law unto himself.

            Irina felt a stab of fear as she thought of the 22nd of February 2222. (Fear was an unusual emotion for Irina—in fact all strong emotion was unusual—and it took her a moment to identify it.) All the 2’s in alignment. If the time travellers were successful in retrieving the crystal and decoding the information before that date, what would that fateful morning look like? Would Irina herself even exist? Doubtful.

            Life was pretty good for Irina. In 2222 the Elite were free to pursue their goals—without the confines of the ethical and economic considerations of the old days. They were not confined to human bodies either; they could be robotic, animal or some other more exotic design or mythological creature. It really just depended on how the mood took them. Irina, with the expert assistance of Mr R, was planning in meticulous detail a mermaid-like body, complete with gills and a tail, so that she could travel to an underwater location for her next vacation.

            It wasn’t like that for everybody though. And this “progress” had not come about without a huge impact on the environment. There were large pockets of people scattered throughout the world who had eschewed the new technology, instead choosing the way of Love.

            “Looooooooove!” Irina rolled her eyes and Mr R chuckled politely on cue.

            If Irina had her way they would dispose of the time travellers the moment they arrived. Or better yet, send a team back to 2121 and dispose of them there. Management had forbidden this route, not for any ethical reasons—there were few moral guidelines nowadays—but out of caution. The vote had been close. Apparently there were some documents from the early channellers foretelling disastrous consequences if the time travellers were unable to return to their century. Management had decreed instead that the time travellers must be diverted from their goal.

            The crystal itself was closely guarded by the whales until the so called Chosen Ones arrived with the key.

            #3194
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The ghost galleon Santa Rosa had been sailing the eight seas for many a long century, dust, wind borne particles and bird droppings, richly fertile and full of seeds, accumulating on the decks. Dried beans and grains in the crews provisions had sprouted and grown, and reseeded, and migrating birds had rested their wings many a time and replenished the fine growing compost on the galleons surfaces, depositing varieties of seeds from many a far land. The Santa Rosa was more of a floating garden than a decaying hulk, and the roots of the fruit trees wound elegantly around the skeletons of the long dead Basques in the hold (a sort of Basque bone corset for supporting whale ships flora). Birds had been the only visitors aboard the galleon, and the energy of Rose was strong, nurturing and supporting the prolific vegetation.

              #1303

              In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

              AvatarJib
              Participant

                At the same moment in a remote town in a far away galaxy, master yoda took his light saber out, preparing to fight Dookoo. He was trying to sort out all these probabilities where buns were blending with dogs in boobs. It almost got him killed.
                “Have you considered suing your brains for lack of support?” said Dookoo with an evil grin.

                #2704

                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  Messmeerah started to carve the name of all the funny bunch on a huge jamón from the fifth leg (the meatiest) of a jelly boar of the steppes, starting with her own —name, not leg— as a reminder of the good time they had all together. She was thinking as well that it would taste lovely with some of these Jiborium’s truffles.

                  She was sad to had to let them go, but frankly her old routines were starting to get too scrambled. For one, she didn’t quite remember if Minky was still a redhair rat in her hair (now she thought of it, breeding tiny shrews in her attic didn’t really work so well), or was now back in his human form with a secret revenge of his own on his mind. But that would be maybe a slight stretch. And gosh, did she abhor stretch marks, even on her lovely brains.

                  — “Oh come on, dear,” one of the motley participants, a cheery big-boned and outrageously made-up of make-up woman said in a bizarre Lizabethian accent, with a hint of bossiness that showed she had not been used to being contradicted much in her life. “Join us on that trip to Mr Jiborium’s, you shall find yourself a use or two.”

                  Taken aback by the turn of the events, Messmeerah, also known as Winky, took the jamón under her arm, and against all common sense decided to join the crew —thanking the Mighty Mungibs for the improbable feat of continuity that had appeared as a sign.

                  — “Well, if you don’t mind…” Yikesy was starting to object, but realized some things are best left unsaid, and it would be easy enough now to slip out of their sight (and off the rapacious motherly attentions of Mrs Janet, the big-boned tasteless-bags lady with an accent.)

                  #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!”

                  #2341
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    As far as the Ooh-dimension was concerned, the shift of Vowellness was probably complete

                    “Thank Flove for that!” Ann (or was it Elizabeth?) exclamied. She continued to read the contents of the large manila envelope that had been delivered several weeks late due to the postal strike.

                    “Postal strike?” Gordon (or was it Godfrey?) inquired sarcastically. “Ann ~ or is it Liz? ~ surely you just made that up! Do you need an excuse?”

                    LizAnn chose to ignore her old freind Pig Littleton and continued to read.

                    And she couldn’t find anything new being published by Ms Tattler in all now probable directions she was looking into.

                    LizAnn snorted.

                    She was of course ignoring the disrupted echoes from the Jumbled Eights thread, which were probably the brainstorming board of ideas of the writer, which she had the greatest difficulty to follow (she wondered if even the writer could).

                    Reaching for her handkerchief, LizAnn snorted again. “No the writer bloody can’t follow it” she muttered. “But does it bloody matter!”

                    Her own thread and the details of the history of the Wrick family was always sketchy and full of holes;

                    “Aha Ha Ha Ha”

                    she’d attempted at learning more about the elusive Becky , but she kept blinking in and out of continuity, too quickly for her to follow her anywhere in her explorations

                    “Yes, where the devil IS Becky, Gordfry? or is it Godon?”

                    #2640

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    New Venice, October 2117

                    Now, where were we? Midora suddenly felt that the need for an agenda was called for. Spread out in front of her were a few collages and some balls of energy from all the links and connections she had found in the stories of her ancestors and gathered so far.

                    Since her fathers Oscar and Bart had adopted the twins Hari and Jacq, her usually tidy room had been a mess. Fortunately, the adoption was almost complete, and in a mere week, the twins would then be able to choose another family, which they made clear they intended to do. She felt so appreciative that adoption was no longer bound by traditional laws of responsibility of the parents and ridden by culpability; instead, it was a healthier cooperation between the parents and children, and children were free to go with other families if they felt the desire for a different experience.
                    When they’d adopted Hari and Jacq, Bart and Oscar had wanted for a continuation of the experience of bringing up children, which they did not have for a long time with Midora, as she was quite independent from an early age. And in truth, Jacq and Hari were very interactive and playful, and to be perfectly honest, quite a handful; in a few weeks, the apartment would surely seem deserted and empty.

                    So, during that time, Midora’s researches on the stories had been put to a halt, and a lots of her energy balls which were usually neatly ordered on her lightboard were now merged for some, changed of forms for others… all thanks to her half-bros. She barely knew were to start to get a better view of it now.

                    Let me see… there were a few threads going on there, and all we need is untangle some of them…

                    She’d had fun reconnecting with the “Island of Dr Transvestite” theme, but now she found out, her favorite characters Shar and Glor, were now disembodied, stranded in transition, and perhaps waiting to be reborn to a nine-titted alien in the Worseversity after failed attempts of channeling. So far, no signs of developments for them though.

                    As far as the Ooh-dimension was concerned, the shift of Vowellness was probably complete, and she couldn’t find anything new being published by Ms Tattler in all now probable directions she was looking into. She was of course ignoring the disrupted echoes from the Jumbled Eights thread, which were probably the brainstorming board of ideas of the writer, which she had the greatest difficulty to follow (she wondered if even the writer could).

                    Her own thread and the details of the history of the Wrick family was always sketchy and full of holes; she’d attempted at learning more about the elusive Becky , but she kept blinking in and out of continuity, too quickly for her to follow her anywhere in her explorations.

                    Oh, and the Alienor dimension was still going on, though most of its development wasn’t yet showing up. What had happened of Arona, Franiel, Irtak’s father, the gripshawk? And now that Malvina was gone too… She’d found Mrs Chesterhope after her strange amnesiac shapeshifting accident however; and that was encouraging.

                    So strange, all of these characters are so alive, she thought fondly, and yet none of them seem motivated enough to project themselves out with force and steadiness into her energy balls which still had a sort of blurriness and haphazardness to them.

                    She made the intent to project more energy in the direction of stabilizing the currents of the strands of stories, and the energy balls’ colors started to shimmer lightly. That was certainly the way to go. Which one would be the most alluring to explore and follow?

                    #2323

                    “Let’s put it this way” Ann continued, “Tis better to allow the snippets to flow out than to bottle them up, which is where the expression ‘to rack ones brains’ comes from. Rows and rows of bottles of thoughts on metal racks in a dusty cellar, contained within the confines of the glass, denied freedom of expression, and all because the Bottle Rack Attendant, or BRA for short, refused to set them free to find their own way in the world of infinite individual storylines.”

                    #935

                    From one blink to the other, hung betwixt spaces and times in that now where there is no such thing as space or time, Leörmn was considering the wide network of possibilities through the eyes of his friends to assist their movement.


                    The “blink” was an opportunity for them; an opportunity to rearrange the space, incorporate new physical aspects, or discard others.

                    In truth, all was ever here, at their reach. All was surrounding them in a dance of invisible links of consciousness.
                    These links were, like the grains of sand of a giant glubolin, constantly vibrating in an arrangement made to accommodate and fit those clumps of grains known as “essences” that were playing for a moment the game of having an identity and being separated from the whole vibration moving through the sand —even playing to the point of identifying themselves with the sand at times.

                    You could see that as a progressive enhanced experience, and while most races he had seen were having fun playing with many filters overlaying the experience of that vibrating scenery of conscious sand, Leörmn was a dragon, and dragons had no need for that many layers.
                    That was where the energy of Malvina, and Georges, were helpful. In tuning into their filterings, Leörmn could dim the spotlights on the parts of this unbound scenery which was not useful to them. But still retaining this wide awareness of the infinite realm of possibilities, he could also easily spot those most accessible to them.
                    And even as consummate a traveler Georges was, there were still energy reconfiguration of the overall scenery that were not easily reachable for him.
                    Tuning into another world or reality was mostly easy. Altering the configuration of the physical reality at a bigger scale was another thing altogether.

                    That tremendous power had made the dragons almost extinct in the past —a better way to put it would be to say that they slipped into other dimensions, exited that of Alienor—, fearsome as it was for the other races.
                    The seed that was found in that past they had just visited was already germinating. The whole probability trail looked to the dragon like something radiant and warm as the little creature named Leo, curled-up into Malvina’s aura…

                    What would be their next move now?

                    #881

                    Aum Geog spent a long time seating motionless before the piece of parchment which had just been delivered by a specially trained fincheon.
                    Fincheons were not particularly elegant, (not to say downright ugly) one had to admit, but they were very convenient, once you noticed that their feathers were a special shining tint of grey which almost made them invisible. They always knew how to fly back, and this one had made no exception.
                    But it was a bearer of annoying news for the newly appointed Elder of the Monastery who was trying to curb his irateness by staying still.

                    This… he was at a loss for words. Breathe, breathe he exhorted himself.

                    A few months ago, when he was appointed Elder, his patient work of diligence seemed to have just paid off. He had thought he would be given the keys, and more importantly, the chalice.
                    But that sly dog of Hrih had decided otherwise. He had transmitted the chalice to that irresponsible and naïve novice Franiel, while giving him a bunch of rusted keys he didn’t give two poohs about.
                    Of course, it was only a matter of time before he could get it back, all he had to do was to make Franiel uncomfortable enough that he willingly relinquish the ownership to someone… someone like himself of course!
                    The annoying thing about this damn chalice you see, is that it won’t properly function with anyone else than the rightful owner (except for small uninteresting tricks). Obviously, Hrih didn’t want him to have access to its powers, but that old monkey was now gone, and there wasn’t much he could do about what was going on.

                    In fact, the plan was nearly perfect. Two birds, one stone. Bring Franiel to have some appropriate spell modifications carved onto that chalice, and have him give it back to the Elder, Aum Geog himself.
                    Obviously, he couldn’t just let go such a precious artifact in the nature without appropriate stealthy surveillance. Thanks to one of his faithful servants, Brother Derwish, he was kept informed of the progresses. A former master of disguises that a other-Worldly experience had him join the orders, Brother Derwish was no short of brains nor tricks in his bag, and that parchment was another proof of it.
                    If he had renounced to contact Elder Aum Geog directly through the glowing balls, and take the risks of unexpected delays, it was because they were most probably watched and their communication monitored.

                    So here went the news:

                    SPARFLY HAS MADE CONTACT WITH BIRD OF PREY. EGG DISAPPEARED.
                    NESTING CHANGED TREE. GNAT STICKS TO THE POOH.

                    Brother Derwish imaginative poetry could mean but one thing. Or two perhaps.

                    The little twit had been watched by someone else who had showed him some of the powers of the egg… err, the chalice. It would have partly activated the chalice, and make it disappear unless its owner needs it enough to have it appear again. Obviously, without chalice, or thinking it was lost, he had changed his course to another place.
                    Hopefully, Brother Derwish was following his trail closely.

                    If more disastrous news had to come, Elder Aum Geog would have to summon his char of marmoths (big toothed hibernating woolliphants) and go there by himself.

                    :fleuron:

                    Leonard was content. It had not happened exactly as he had thought, but as he had explained to Malvina, the only wise thing to do was to teach the boy about the powers of the chalice. That would active its self-protective cloaking power, and have the boy temporarily relieved of this burden.
                    For if he had been entrusted the chalice by the old Abbot, that was surely for a good reason.

                    As Franiel had been moving, Leonard had had Moufle watch over him. Apparently, Leonard and his dog weren’t the only ones on his trail… The wiry gangly tonsured guy clothed in a potatoes sack didn’t seem to be here by chance either…

                    #875
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Chris Robin’s brief sojourn in the past had been an interesting one. He’d only spent a couple of hours in the year 2034 and had unfortunately arrived during a rainstorm. He arrived back in the year 2163 soaked to his skin, but grinning like a Cheshire cat. Armed only with the time travellers password, ‘Tarty Nun’, Chris had expected to spend alot more time trying to making contact with a TF, or ‘timetravellers friend’ than he did; he was astonished to see a tarty nun almost immediately upon arrival.

                      The girl was giggling to herself, and reciting limericks as she wandered aimlessly through the bushes, looking really quite fetching in an interesting little garment. As she brushed past him, seemingly oblivious to his presence, he heard her whisper the password. “… coming… in … tarty nun…..”

                      #780
                      EricEric
                      Keymaster

                        Dear… And I always thought Beattie was a male name… Isn’t that funny? Al mused as he felt wrapped into the gortex (a kind of water-proof vortex specially fit for skimpy undies under torrential rains) of Becky’s thoughts…

                        Not that it mattered.

                        Albert was starting to question his own gender now… Could be another funny bodily exploration.
                        Hope Tina wouldn’t mind.

                        #776

                        Bea was drifting off to sleep on the patio, the gentle spring warm on her face. A stork glided past, and she noticed the first amethyst wisteria blossom against the blue sky. Dreamily, she heard a limerick forming in her mind:

                        There was an old crone called Wisteria
                        Who was prone to bouts of hysteria.
                        She fretted and flapped
                        Til her energy sapped,
                        And then she made friends with Deliria.

                        The crone called Deliria hailed from
                        The unsettled realms of the maelstrom;
                        But she learned how to float
                        With the help of a goat
                        And considered it was quite a brainstorm.

                        When Wisteria met with Deliria
                        She said “My! but you seem so familiar!
                        I admire your hat
                        So let’s have a chat
                        About goat floating maelstrom criteria”

                        #542

                        The old abbot Hrih, was coming back from the gardens of the Monastery, the soil dampened and muddied by the heavy rains of the season sticking to the sole of his sandals. Hrih Chokyam loved to be reacquainted with the rawness of nature, and the fluidity that the rain provided to the ground by transforming it into malleable mud.

                        He was bringing back vegetables for the dinner’s soup, and was amazed at the fact that even though he had felt so close to the earth, barefooted in his sandals, he had not even a drop of mud on him.

                        He had delayed his choice for much too long already, and the not so subtle pressing of his main confident Aum Geong to officially elect his successor was making him unquiet. He was deeply trustful of Aum Geog, and of his sincerity as a Holder of the clear Light that was being tapped into, channeled and refined by the Monastery’s spiritual endeavours.
                        But Hrih was feeling that Aum Geong’s views were slightly too narrow for the heavy task he was wanting him to carry on.
                        He was too good at creating structures and rules, and Hrih felt that even if all done in good intent, it would be taking the risk of chocking the great outburst of powerful energy that was lying at the very foundations of the Monastery.

                        The young man that he had noticed a few hexades1 ago, though very discreet seemed bright and very dedicated to his task. He had been greeted by all, and had soon felt at home. Franiel, as he was named, was under the tutelage of Jog Lam, a very wise (albeit young) monk that Hrih had adopted some years ago as the parents had been abandoning him a young baby at the eternally opened doors of the Monastery.

                        Hrih had made a decision. He would not play favourites. Seeing the blank black Meditation Wall, an idea crossed his mind. He would announce at the dinner that the monks willing to do it could do a short poem of 3 stanzas where they would express their highest truth on the Meditation Wall…

                        :fleuron:

                        1 On that part of the Duane (the planet where Mount Elok’ram is), time is divided in groups of six days or hexades, each being attributed to one of the Elder Gods: Ghört (Airs) Nærvel (Waters) Agnima (Flames) Selvaniel (Woods) Margilonia (Earths) and Lejüs (Forgotten). The names or the days are Ghordië, Narduë, Agduë, Seldië, Marduë, Shandië.

                        Name Element Quality Hexade
                        Ghört Airs Male Ghordië
                        Nærvel Waters Female Narduë
                        Agnima Flames Female Agduë
                        Selvaniel Woods Male Seldië
                        Margilonia Earths Female Marduë
                        (Shaint) Lejüs Forgotten Male Shandië
                        #403

                        November, 1 st 2057

                        Sean took another glass of scotch to give him some courage to call.

                        — It’s your twelfth now, that’s supposed to give you courage
                        — Oh, Maggie, my live is such a mess…
                        — It’s not, and you know it. Look at all our beautiful children, and Becky who went through so much just out of love for you…

                        Sean didn’t know whether he was actually seeing the ghost of his deceased wife, or a projection of her, still alive in another part of the Universe, but she always had been a comforting presence.
                        He had started to see her a few months after her disappearance.
                        Yes, during that T.R.A.P. expedition, yeah, “live-changing experience” they had said… True, too true… Perhaps the electromagnetic field had messed up with his brains, but now he could see her clear as day.

                        That had been a bit freaky in the beginning, and when they made love with Becky, he was a bit anxious to see her appear not invited. But Margaret had been discrete, well mostly. At times, he wondered if she had not sneaked into the bedroom and merged her energies with Becky’s, just to be closer to him… Becky’s acts did not always make sense anyway, so that was hardly a criterion to judge of that.

                        All his live had been like that. A jumble of incoherent stuff. Oh, he had enjoyed it, especially at the beginning. His father Lord Wrick was obsessed with the Shift, and had found some ancient knowledge in his youth. Mostly rubbish by nowadays standards, bunches of rotten books of prophecies handed down to a few chosen ones, who were supposed to be forewarned of doom to come. Now, they knew that they were only a wake up call, but at that time, it was another thing altogether.

                        Of course, the wealth accumulated over the centuries by the Wrick family had been helpful to access these precious archaeological documents. A few of them had played a key role.
                        For instance, the in-extenso Life and Deeds of Lord Gustard Willoughby Fergusson, a rare version of the diary of Lord Fergusson, annotated by his daughter, Illi, was telling an account of history much different than the one romanced after his death by his wife Floribunda von Grott.
                        Thanks to it, Lord Wrick had been able to acquire some inkling as to ancient treasures. Old fool…
                        It had killed his wife, Artemisia, devastated by the madness of her husband, and it had alienated the other part of the family too.
                        But all that counted was to make the discoveries, and perhaps enlight the masses.

                        Sean had never really forgave his father that he wanted to utilise Margaret and have her fit into his plans of grandeur. Of course, his father had willingly accepted the union, and despite all appearances (for the sake of those rapacious journalists) he had even pushed Sean to do it quickly. But all he was really interested in was her precious discoveries.

                        — Oh, but I was not innocent, Sean
                        — I know Maggie, you were obsessed by what we could offer to you, especially when you read about the botanical experiments in the deserts, which were related in that old book. But still…
                        — We all had grown up through that, you know…
                        — Yes, and what showed me that, was that I was concerned that the old vampire would suck my own children into his web, but Peregrine was too free for that, and Guinevere preferred to live her live outside of this madness too.
                        Becky had a good influence. Do me a favour, be kind to her.
                        — You know what?… Yes of course you’d know,… but let me tell you, so that we can laugh together… I found myself really happy and free when I stole the two magical books out of the Old Fool’s clutch. God knows how he acquired them, but one thing was sure, he was obsessed with them. I couldn’t get the mummy, but the books were a great take.
                        — And a funny idea to give them to your cousin…
                        — Yes, Dorean was the perfect person. I couldn’t leave them anywhere, my father would have found them again. At least he wasn’t in good terms with his brother and sister-in-law, so they were safe in their care. And at least, they were more grounded than my father, the perfect keepers for the books… I’m wondering what happened to them…
                        — That will upset you, but Perry’s twins got them.
                        — Oh really?
                        — Yes, and they are having fun with them, as was intended.
                        — That’s fine then, and we are less obsessed now than we were before, so I guess my father isn’t as much as a pain in the butt as he was…
                        — You father meant good
                        — Yes, like everyone, but why can’t we leave people alone at times? People can sort out their issues without the commiseration, and the good intentions… It’s poison even worse… Like I can drink and still be healthy, and nice, and…

                        Sean started to sob.

                        — I know, darling, but you’re as much of a sore as your father was… You focus so much on what’s not going right, and you don’t even appreciate that you can talk with your departed wife… That was nothing as easy in the old days.
                        — Do you think my father talks with mum to?
                        — I think he would be too proud to admit he is sorry… That may hinder the communication… But Arty wouldn’t bear grudge now. When we let go of the physical, things become so clear, we can only be accepting of everything. Perhaps you prefer to wait for your father to cross over? I can tell you something, that won’t be easier. That much I know.
                        — You’re right. It’s just that I don’t know how to start…
                        — Be yourself, talk about what you enjoy, where is your passion now… Perhaps that is the problem. You’re drowning your passion in your scotch.
                        — You’re right… I’ll tell him Léan will have a baby.
                        — Oh, he’ll love it!
                        — How time flies… sighed Sean, I still remember the little sweetie as a blue-eyed laughing baby herself, with Oliver and Illana. She was the only one of the triplet to have inherited her mother’s dark complexion. She’s so beautiful…
                        — Let’s call your father darling
                        — Yes, let’s call him.

                        ***

                        Lord Wrick had not expected to received that call. Well, he had renounced it so long ago.
                        He had been a bit shaken, but also relieved. He had proposed, on an impulse, to invite that whole part of the family he barely knew, Sean’s new partner, and all their children for next Christmas in the castle. Sean had told him they would probably come with Becky but that the children were now having their own lives, and it would have to be for another time.

                        ***

                        Lord Wrick went to see Bill, who was now painting the portraits of Peregrine and Linda in the veranda.
                        He would probably have to stay longer, to paint a lot of new family portraits.

                        That probably would come perfectly, as ever, as the Lord could tell India Louise loved to spend time with the painter. Perhaps she would become an artist too… :sumari:

                        #294

                        Illi was beginning to really appreciate being dead and the freedom it provided to create whatever she wished at a moments notice. She’d enjoyed being a shape shifter while she was alive, often changing into a rather odd cat-like creature which was one of her favourites. She’d had tremendous fun over the years, confounding people with that one! Is it a cat? Is it a person? Is it a goat? A mongoose? hahaha what fun she’d had!

                        Illi surveyed the long glittering white beach on her paradise island. There must be a million billion grains of sand here. I think I will conjure up some sand sculptures, fill the beach with fantastic magical creatures….

                        Illi picked up a bambu cane to use as a magic wand ~ not that she needed a wand in order to perform magic, but she rather liked waving a stick around.

                        Abracadabra the magic palabra, fairies and goblins and sprites!

                        In an instant the beach was full of sand sprites, a veritable sea of impish little figures as far as the eye could see.

                        HHHMM, though Illi, they are all so small, I’d like something big I think, for contrast and added dimension.

                        Abracadabra the magic palabra, centaurs and unicorns and giants!

                        Lordy, the giants had flattened whole tribes of sand gnomes. A few less giants, I think! Illi waved her magic wand of cane again, and disappeared all but one of the giants. RaFa the Giant, you may stay on my beach, Illi graciously declared to a kindly looking character of monstrous proportions who had considerately appeared at the very end of the beach so as not to flatten the sand sprites.

                        On impulse, Illi found herself chanting the spell again…Abracadabra the magic palabra, DRAGONS appear on my beach!

                        Four splendid sand dragons appeared in the shallows of the lagoon, sensuously sepentine in appearance, and sparkling in the tropical sun.

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