Search Results for 'remember'

Forums Search Search Results for 'remember'

Viewing 20 results - 501 through 520 (of 534 total)
  • Author
    Search Results
  • #351
    FloveFlove
    Participant

      Tina had a wonderful night of dreams. In fact it was the first time in ages that her dreams had been happy. Usually in her dreams she did not feel any emotion much.

      The phone rang. It was Becky, although for a moment she thought it was her friend Docky, their voices sounded so similar.

      I am fine she told Becky, I am so sorry to hear Sam is sick, give him my love when you see him

      Tina chuckled to herself, remembering how last time she was sick Becky had bought over this big pot of nettle soup for her…

      Really though, she was so grateful for her friends. Al seemed a bit worried about her at the moment, but then he was such a worry wort, she thought fondly.

      #335
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Lord Gustard Willoughby Fergusson helped his wife Floribunda onto the camel, and clamboured onto his own. Cranky and Illi were mounted on donkeys, as were Tibn Zig and Tanlil Ubt, their local guides. Three hot dusty days, and two bitterly cold nights away lay their destination: Tsnit n’Agger and the home of the legendary giant of the Alal’ Azntignit.

        Cranky was feeling like a fish out of water in the desert, but Illi had taken to it like a duck to water. Not that there was alot of water about in the desert, Cranky grumbled to herself. What she wouldn’t have given for a nice hot cup of tea and a crumpet. She looked at Illi and her face softened. Just look at the delight in that dear childs eyes, she said to herself. My, but she’s a chip off the old block. Make herself at home anywhere, she would. Or make her home anywhere, Cranky thought, wistfully remembering their games of Wish House back at Rubbingdon.

        Let’s just hope Lord Gus finds those bones quickly and we can all go home.

        #327
        AvatarJib
        Participant

          The rain was pouring cabbages :weather-showers: for several days now, almost the whole week… Baul was fed up with that filthy weather of Cromash Tur. The capital of this 4th kingdom was quite nice and pleasurable, but it lacked sun and warmth… Baul had come to Nâabooli, the capital of Cromash, in order to settle an arrangement. Something quite particular that he couldn’t find in his own land of Erpet Mesh. He’d been travelling for weeks with his guards and servants when he arrived in the city and all that for some foo’kin rain! But something more important than brooding and pouting was on his mind.

          Tonight he was alone, no servant, no guard… he was wearing a black coat made of goat skin on his usual blue and yellow silk robe, he couldn’t wear anything else, his skin was too smooth and delicate. He was spending great amount of money to take care of his body, it was his own pride, and he considered himself as a very handsome and appealing male.

          The man he was about to meet wasn’t hiding, but oddly was acting in full sight. Nonetheless, Baul didn’t want to be seen with him, Baul was an ambassador of sort from Erpet and he couldn’t be seen entering in an Assassin’s house. In Cromash, the Assassins were quite a respectable and wealthy, but in Erpet they were outlaw… one of the numerous differences between the two kingdoms, one they would never agree upon. Baul found it quite useful though; many times he’d met Ar’Am Khra, one of the best of this profession.

          For this meeting, as always, Baul had chosen a tavern, the Landgurdy, called after one of the former 12 kingdoms. The 4 remaining ones were at war most of the times, they couldn’t maintain peace more than a few years at best, and Baul had found many ways of benefiting of this situation. Merchant, Ambassador, and much more. He was thriving with plotting :face-angel: :face-devil-grin: and it was quite useful to be one of the ambassadors of Erpet Mesh, offering him safety wherever he was going. It was one of the few respected rules that were common between the Warring Kingdoms.

          The Landgurdy was quite a crowded tavern, and the owner was a friend of his, though not really officially. There was that private room on the rear of the building, know only of a few chosen “friends”, so they could enter unnoticed by the usual customers and by would be spies. The rear door was seemingly leading into another building, and some arrangements had been made over the years.

          Baul knocked the code at the door, and a vasistas was open quickly and closed even more quickly. The door opened then and he entered in the darkness of the house. If anyone opened the door, he or she wasn’t there anymore, but Baul knew the place quite well as it wasn’t his first meeting with the Assassin.

          :fleuron:

          The Assassin was waiting in the small room, square shaped with only a wood table and one chair. No window. One dim lamp.
          He was sitting on the lone carved chair. His clients needn’t sit.
          They were mere beggers.
          The one that was coming now, was quite amusing.
          The first time he met him, Baul was quite young and inexperienced in his own skills. Though he was quite ambitious, Ar’Am Khra had to admit it.
          The usual reaction when seeing the Assassin’s pale complexion was shivers and disgust. He was used to it and it was a game that he had enhanced with a little bluish glowing dagger tattooed on his forehead.
          The dagger was the mark of his profession, though not so obviously exhibited by the others. Cowards.
          At that first meeting, Baul didn’t react the way his other clients did. And it was not influenced by his utmost concerns at that time. Beside his inexperience he was quite engrossed in what he had called his “mission”.
          Ar’Am Khra did not know of any mission, there were merely contracts.
          And he was doing what his clients were paying for.
          Accomplishing his contract even after the death of his clients.

          He was remembering of an amusing event.
          A client had hired him to end the life of another man, and the second man went a few days after to his office to beg him to kill the first man.
          The Assassin accepted the contract.
          A few days later he killed the second man.
          He executed the first one not long after that, thus respecting the second contract. :yahoo_skull:

          He never questioned the motives of his clients.
          It was not for him to judge or to understand. Though most of the time he did understand quite well.
          His main motivation was the payment and his own pride in expressing his skill with subtleties and newness.

          The door opened smoothly. Baul entered the room.

          :yahoo_alien:

          :fleuron:

          Yann and Quintin had an interesting chat during the afternoon. Yann had some new impressions about the map of Lord Wrick annotated by Quintin. Something about the Warring Kingdoms, triggered by a dream of an Assassin in one of them. It was frustrating not to be in the same room so Yann could show Quintin directly on the map, but with Internet there were some other options.

          The names of these lands were Ata’Meliu, Dam Adbor, Erpet Mesh and Cromash Tur. These 4 Kingdoms were rather scattered on the Lan’Ork part of the continent, pieces and bits everywhere, though Ata’Meliu was more in the center and the South of the Lan’Ork, Dam Adbor in the East and in the North, and Cromash Tur in the West and South West parts, Erpet was divided in 2 main areas, one located on the Northern land just before the Isthmus of Ghört’s Hammer, and a smaller one lost in the middle of Ata’Meliu.

          Yann only had the impression of 2 of the capitals, Naat Medin was the one of Erpet Mesh and Nâabooli of Cromash Tur.

          Quintin just sent him the map so he could draw some more comments and sketch the boundaries of the Warring Kingdoms. He didn’t know why, but he felt some movements were about to begin, some reconfigurations of the borders :world:

          #324
          AvatarJib
          Participant

            Yann was wandering about in a pet shop, looking for nothing in particular.

            Quintin had said something about inserting the shift now… well, that sucked… Yann was in a very bad mood, feeling like everyone was against him, nothing was going as he wanted to, and most of all he had lost inspiration. No desire to draw, or to write anything. His life was not fitting. Or so it seemed.

            Looking closer to the bird cages, and the birds inside, he was amazed at their similarities and their differences. Their shapes and sizes, their colors was the obvious parts. Their shouting also, it was quite messy, and stridulent. But what he noticed most was their behavior, some were just living their own life, proud of themselves and quite fearful when Yann was getting closer to the cage, and others were just flocking together like they couldn’t live apart. Some were singing, some crying, some just quiet and moving nervously or randomly…

            He went to the parrots room, it was written babies on the cages… they were like full sized parrots to him, very big birds!!! very colorful and impressive. But looking closer, they were not so healthy, their feathers were sort of dull, and even bad shaped and like the parrot had been attacked savagely :yahoo_thinking:. Not very impressive eventually.

            A few days ago things had become quite erratic at his work… he had felt a strong desire to change, change everything. First he couldn’t understand that desire and he resisted strongly, but soon he created some uncomfortable manifestations. Breathing difficulties, headaches, itching, and even boredom. He just felt the desire to tell bugger off to everyone.

            The birds were getting boring actually, he left the shop.

            Walking in the street among the crowd was kinda soothing his uneasiness… though at times he was like feeling what they were strongly projecting. There was that Muslim woman with her chador, and as she went right past him he had that twinge of anger against her, coming from nowhere, and as soon as he noticed that, he just moved his attention to his energy and it was over, no more anger or polarization. Was it his own feelings or was it from that young woman?

            Whatever, he just enter another shop, home shop, with little thingies and furniture… all these statues, the ones looking like 1920’s ladies were the most appealing… and there were these fairies also, wasn’t it Fiona who had told him about a dream where she was the fairy princess?
            :yahoo_daydreaming:

            :yahoo_alien:
            Oh! that pic… the man had a blue skin… with dolphins on his face creating shadows… the pic was a blend of sort, very funny, and the man was cute :yahoo_whistling: as was the shop assistant…

            Time to leave… he went off the shop and continued walking. Bright sun, fresh air, all was clearing. His mood also. He thought again about what he and Quintin had been planning. It seemed something crazy, but it also seemed related to what was happening in his life. Since Vienna, their relation had become closer and closer, and for the most part it was very endearing, very fun and also very intense. All these energies, all this creativity, it had to be part of a bigger picture.

            :yahoo_oh_go_on:

            Thinking about that, his friend Dory had told him about a bigger picture once, and he was teasing her about that… but now it was making sense. His abilities to remember his dreams had increased in a way, though most of the time he did not remember his dream in the morning. He’d noticed he could if he was just relaxing a bit and let his attention go back to that dream self of his… At times he had also some weird experiences about parallel realities and shift of perception, like the room is translucent and he can move through it in another dimension, very freaky that one :yahoo_not_listening:

            #320
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Sean put the letter in his pocket. Perhaps a trip to the Amusement Park wasn’t such a bad idea. He always enjoyed Becky’s company, and he was curious about dear old Al. Becky’s postscript hadn’t made a great deal of sense, but then, Becky was a bit like that. The truth of it was, he needed a break.

              Sean wondered if Tina would be there. He remembered their brief meeting, and how he’d been struck by her sweet voice. And Sam, dear funny Sam!

              Sean put his hat on, and walked out into the clammy Irish drizzle. A pint of guinness in The Dunloughpadraisobahairiedunkennyloughaire Arms to celebrate, I think! He patted the letter in his pocket and smiled for the first time in months.

              #318
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Let me show you something, Dory. George reached into a big red and orange and purple kilim carpet bag ( Dory wondered where it had appeared from; she certainly didn’t recall seeing there when they arrived) and pulled out a large sheaf of printed papers. He passed it to Dory.

                Dory read on the first page:
                Chapter 343,482,927,457,299,209,2819,298,357,008,557,057: ‘REMEMBERING
                Blimey, said Dory, Long book!

                George grinned enigmatically and said, Indeed.

                Dory flicked through the pages, reading a bit here and a bit there. Glancing up at George she said, I guess you couldn’t possibly carry the whole book round with you all the time in your carpet bag, the whole book must be enormous!

                Oh, the whole book is always in my bag, he said.

                Really? Dory asked in a disbelieving tone.

                Why yes, of course. ‘It’s all in there somewhere’ he said, and laughed heartily, and a trifle rudely, Dory thought. Yes Dory, the whole book is always in there.

                With a hmpf, Dory returned to scanning the pages. Before long she was overcome with waves of nostalgia and familiarity and deja vu, even a sort of backwards deja vu…a vuja de…Dory snickered to herself…

                Why is this chapter called remembering, George? If I had written this chapter I’d have called it forgetting.

                #317
                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  Ibn al’ Gruk was weary.
                  That lone grake he had seen flying over the desert settlement this morning had baffled him.
                  Usually, such creatures where not migrating at this season, and this one was lone too, which was all the more baffling.

                  The old gripshawk had seen many things in his life, but this was surely a presage of importance. In the myths of his people, the big colourful birds were once thriving in the desert oasis, where they were thought to have appeared in the Old Times. But having been extensively hunted down as food for the gripshawk tribes, they had moved away, and the balance had been broken.
                  It had prompted lots of the tribes to move apart, in search of food and exchanges, and few of them were now still living in the deserts as they did in the old ways. Many of them, for many generations now, had been creating cities on the coast, and the most flourishing one was Chafik’ An, where a traveling portal had been erected by the humans from Lan’Ork to facilitate exchanges and trades.

                  All of that, despite his old age (that his long mop of white angora hair under his chin could account for), Ibn al’ Gruk had only heard all of this through the lineage of his ancestors, but he had seen some of the conflicts that had been created, and he understood that change again was in the air.

                  He felt like he could weave a new tale to entertain the settlement tonight, and perhaps give them inkling as to the new changes to come.
                  For he felt changes were coming, and that they had been in motion already.

                  ***

                  The night was clear, and lots of people had gathered around the big bonfire. They all loved these regular meetings where everyone would meet and share food, drinks and over all, gaiety.

                  He started to drum low deep sounds and cleared his throat.
                  A fit of cough got him by surprise, but it was just a hairball that he spat in the fire, which set ablaze immediately, providing some dramatic effect that hushed everyone down.

                  “In a mysterious land far far away,” started Ibn al’ Gruk, with a growling voice…

                  ***

                  Egypt, 2657 B.C.

                  Lekshen had dreamt of Set that night. The god had appeared to him in one of his familiar forms, that of a long snouted animal .
                  Lekhsen was wondering why the god had requested such a task for him to do, but he was certainly in the perfect position to accomplish such a task.
                  Like Set, Lekhsen came from Upper Egypt, the arid land, and he had managed to get a high-ranking responsibility in fertile Lower Egypt as a scribe thanks to the unification efforts of Pharaoh.

                  But Pharaoh’s daughter had just died… right after her 10 year old brother, and Pharaoh’s himself felt He would not live much longer.
                  Which would mean that the closest male in the family would be likely to get on the throne of Egypt. And that would be bad news for people like him, as the brothers and brothers-in-law of Pharaoh did not appreciate much His policy.

                  In the dream, the strange creature had asked him to hide something with the mummy of Pharaoh’s daughter. It had told him people would forget about how Set was fighting for Ra, the Sun, each night that the bark was traveling on the dangerous underworld waters. They would forget, and would demonise him and his people, and he, Lekhsen would have to write the story, and bury it with the Princess. His status would allow him to do it unscathed.

                  “Would people ever remember they once were One?” had asked Lekshen to the god.
                  “Only you can tell” had the creature answered.

                  #307
                  FloveFlove
                  Participant

                    Chiara got quite a fright and spun round quickly. She stood gazing at the funny creature, a woman who had a sort of cattish feel, who had shouted BOUH at her, momentarily uncertain as to whether to burst into laughter or tears.

                    Illi watched Chiara’s trembling lip with some concern, especially when she saw the very large woman who was with her. Illi felt it may be prudent to make a hasty retreat, however, before she could make her getaway, a tiny figure emerged from behind a rather large pebble.

                    Hello, said a little pink fairy. I am the Fairy Princess of the Land of the Long White Cloud. Did you fly here? Look I can do magic and she waved her magic wand, said abracadabra and produced some small white feathery fairy wings for the delighted Chiara.

                    Frowdup she called excitedly. A round green blobby creature who blended seamlessly into the environment like some sort of exotic plant hopped over.

                    Yes Dear Fairy Princess?

                    Please could you play the music for us?

                    Oh delighted to oblige answered Frowdup, producing a flute like instrument.

                    At first the sweet notes of the instrument floated tentatively on the warm air. They rang like pure crystal, cool and pure, then slowly gained in confidence and multiplied, as though possessed of supernatural powers. It seemed the simple melody Frowdup played was accompanied by a whole orchestra of instruments.

                    The little fairy laughed in delight and grabbed the giggling Chiara. They began to dance instinctively with the energy of the earth, swaying at first like a tree in the wind, then whirling like the wind itself, soaring high into the air, imitating the flight of a parrot, then swooping joyfully back to the ground. They were connected to the magic of the music.

                    ***

                    Whanga, one of the 13 Witches of Loathing was feeling rather bad tempered as she gazed into her glass ball. hmmmm bugger, she said crossly that little Fairy Princess from the Land of Long White Cloud is having way too much fun. She seems impervious nowadays to my magic spells of loathing

                    Whanga had to confess to being a little puzzled. For a while she felt she nearly had the Fairy Princess in her clutches, but one day something seemed to have changed, and the Fairy Princess did not seem to be so affected by her whispered spells any longer. What sort of magic had she found to protect herself Whanga wondered. .

                    ***

                    It had begun to rain gently whilst Finn was in the enchanted fairy ring. She didn’t mind, she loved the rain and the trees protected her from the getting too wet. It felt cosy and magical. She had such a strong sense of the presence of her younger self. The younger Finn was three years old. Finn remembered the day,it was etched in her memory as a turning point, and yet it was also as though she were there again. She talked with her younger self, wanting so much to give the younger Finn a gift to help her make a different choice that day. Finn knew she had to trust with her heart, not reason it with her head, because there were just too many questions she could not make sense of, and magic did not seem to be so much about sense anyway. Anyway,whatever, if nothing else she felt lighter within herself .

                    #306
                    FloveFlove
                    Participant

                      Finn moves silently along the path, placing her feet with care. It is more overgrown in the wood than she remembers, but then it is such a long time since she came this way. She can see in the distance something small and pale. A gentle gust of wind and It seems to stir, as if shivering, as if caught.

                      She comes to a halt. The trees are still now, not a leaf stirs. She can hear nothing other than the sound of her own breathing. She can’t see the clearing yet either, but she remembers it’s further on, beyond the next winding of the path. She can see it in her mind’s eye though, a rough circle of random stones, with a greenish liquid light filtering through. The air smells of leaf mould and it is spongy underfoot. There’s a wooden bench, a grassy bank, and a circular area of emerald green moss. Finn thinks of it as place of enchantment, a fairy ring.

                      She reaches the tiny shivering thing and sees that it is a scrap of paper, impaled on a broken branch. She reaches out gently and touches it, then eases if off the branch, taking care not to rip it further. There is a message scribbled on the paper, incomplete. meet me, is all it says now

                      Finn feels dreamy and floaty. She smiles to herself, thinking of the purpose of her mission, feeling as though it is a message to her from the past. She is overwhelmed for a moment with a sense of love and acceptance towards her younger self. Yes, she whispers softly to the younger Finn, I will meet you at the fairy ring. We will talk a bit. Maybe I can help

                      #276
                      FloveFlove
                      Participant

                        Whanga the witch crawled out of the narrow entrance to her cosy cave to survey the day. Perfect witching weather she chuckled gleefully to herself; a tad overcast and cold, which made her job much easier, as even the fairies tended a little to despondency in such weather conditions. She noticed a bruise on her left shin and sighed. Whanga was used to this sort of misunderstanding in her job of course. She enjoyed her work, and was proud of what she did, however humans in particular just didn’t understand the service she provided, and were quick to be vengeful. The dream world left her a little exposed unless she remembered to do her protective spells before sleep, and last night she had just been too weary. Still, she thought cheering up considerably, she had obtained another wand for her collection yesterday, and felt sure this would improve her Witch of Loathing ranking.

                        Still feeling a little put out though about the bruise, although this was mainly pride, as she was impervious to pain in the way the humans suffered it, Whanga looked into her glass ball to see what knowledge it would reveal. That little Fairy Princess from the Land of the Far White Cloud was carrying on she saw. Hmmm who was that fat lady with her though? Whanga wondered. She looked very familiar to Whanga, who felt a ripple of uneasiness in her right index finger, a sure sign of danger. This could be trouble ….

                        She looked again and saw a young human female, attacking her violently in her dreams. For a moment Whanga toyed with the idea of revenge and cackled happily at the idea of all the mischief she could cause.

                        Pull yourself together Whanga, said Whanga, drawing back reluctantly from this delightful daydream. Keep on track. You know it won’t get you any points with the high witch adjudicators, it is the fairies you must focus on.

                        #304
                        AvatarJib
                        Participant

                          Írtak was playing with the dragon twins in the carved woodstones field. It was mostly faced shaped petrified wood that had been carved surely when it was still wood. The faces were quite hypnotic and made him feel often sleepy, but with the dragons he was feeling all his senses enhanced and sharpened. :face-glasses:

                          The dragons were growing fast, hatched only a few days ago, they were already bigger than his father… He knew from Malvina that they could take whatever form they wanted, but he’d always thought that their power were developing from nothing to … something… but apparently they were already fully aware. Their leather skin was glowing emerald green, blended with some purple pink shades, or was it the contrary. It was changing so quickly. He was wondering what they were eating, because he wasn’t the one who was giving them any food. And still they were so big.
                          Did they have a “real” form? Whatever that meant.

                          One of the dragon gave him a mischievous glance and before he could anticipate what would happen, he was facing a growling troll :yahoo_time_out:. The troll was running right to him, seemingly crushing with his heavy body all the fragile woodstoned faces.

                          All his attention was on the troll and he didn’t hear the man coming.
                          And now the troll was freezed running and jumping forever… Írtak’s head was like a big storm of boulders falling from the sky. Growling, drumbling apart…

                          — You have strange games with your dragons.
                          — …

                          He was gaping at the man… his skin was bluish with pink also and sometimes a bit of yellow.

                          — Who are you?
                          — Don’t you recognize me? :face-grin:

                          Írtak tried to remember something. had he ever met that man before?

                          — Oh right, it’s our first meeting… from your point of view. I’d forgotten that. But you see, for me our first meeting is in your future.
                          — …

                          Írtak was still gaping at the man, this strange skin of him, it was so ambrulin, that color he’d already see somewhere… was it in a dream?
                          The man looked at him, and he felt for a moment a warm fuzzy feeling in his body… not particularly located in any part of it… and he would have… no, it was even in the woodstoned faces around him… how could he feel that?

                          — Your dragons are wanting to take part in the fun, the man smiled. I’m going to let them go, as I’m not staying either.
                          — Who are you? managed Írtak.

                          :yahoo_alien:

                          — I’m your father…
                          :yahoo_alien:
                          HAHAHAHAHAH! No actually that’s a private joke… I’m Andrimiñ (AndruhMiiñ?) we’ll meet again in a few years of your time. Your dragons are really interesting then, and so are you.

                          Saying that, the time began to flow again in the right direction, the troll was still running toward him, but he suddenly slowed down and stopped, shape shifting into a bluish boy, with a face so similar to Andrimiñ.

                          — Where’s the funny man? he said.

                          #303
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Becky woke up in a sweat. Her bedclothes were tangled and what remained of her pillow was on the floor. The room was full of downy feathers.

                            Sheesh, said Becky, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes and reaching for her cigarettes.

                            What a dream! Wow, I wonder what that witch did to deserve that! Becky couldn’t quite believe she’d had such a violently aggressive dream. All she could really remember was attacking a witch, and slapping her repeatedly, and punching her, screaming all the while DON’T…EVER….DO THAT AGAIN Wangwangawanga…… DON’T DO IT wangawanga… then the witch had turned into a goose, but still Becky kept punching her, causing the poor gooses feathers to fly everywhere, and all the while Becky kept shouting WANGAWANGAWANGA……

                            I can’t believe I did that, even in a dream! Becky hated violence so much that she walked out of the room if a violent scene was showing on the television, and she loved witches and geese.

                            That poor goose! Becky decided to go back into the dream, to smooth what was left of the gooses ruffled feathers, and apologize.

                            She stubbed out her cigarette, and settled back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Now the goose was looking at her reproachfully, in between straightening her plumage, and huffing and tutting a bit.

                            I’m awfully sorry about that! I don’t know why I did it. Becky hoped it was a forgiving kind of goose, and not a vengeful one.

                            It matters not, I suppose, grumbled the goose, I must have created being slapped around by a sweaty madwoman, though gawd knows why.

                            Were you a witch in another focus? Becky asked. Because I was angry with a witch initially, not a big white goose and I don’t know how I came to be pummeling you. Come to think of it, I don’t know why I was attacking the witch either. The witch did look unpleasant though, but you look nice enough….

                            Well I don’t look very blimmen nice with my feathers in this state, dearie! And don’t remind me of that dratted witch focus, gawd, I was horrid. Not surprised you lashed out at that one!

                            Becky started to relax. Things were looking promising. The goose was turning out to be rather sweet.

                            But as you can see, continued the goose, I am not a witch, I am a big white goose now, a rather sweet one too, even if I do say so myself, so let’s hear no more about it.

                            Becky smiled broadly at the goose. I appreciate that very much! Oh by the way…what’s your name?

                            Angela, answered the goose, Angela Wing.

                            REALLY? Becky said, rather rudely, and then caught herself and said: Angela! What a lovely name! Angela Wing, would you like to be in our play?

                            #298
                            EricEric
                            Keymaster

                              The City, year 2257

                              Janice had just awoken from a strange dream, where she was watching big round cabbages being harvested in what looked like Quintin’s father garden. They were all firmly rooted on a black irrigation pole across the garden, and people were using strange devices to turn them all delicately and pick them afterwards. In the dream, there were black puppies too, sleeping in the straw of a kind of hut nearby. And she had seen another creature, and had been surprised first because it was unlike anything she had ever met, even in dreams. It was hairless and brown as soft mud, and was hiding in the neighbour’s garden. Then it had crossed and came to play with her…

                              Janice was lost in her thoughts strolling on the way to the common dome, when she met Rodney, her father’s friend.
                              They had been recently trying with her father Jacob, and also Qixi to connect with their shifting focuses of the Ancients, two centuries and half before their time.
                              Some of them, they had found, had been playing a sort of game of story-telling and clue-sowing… (Janice was laughing as her father’s friend, the scientist Arkandin, always insisted on seesawing instead)

                              Perhaps her dream was telling her that the crop was ripe, and it was time to harvest some from it. She told her dream to Rodney. All at once, he was quite excited and they started to feel they wanted to chat more freely. So they went into one of the Medraw Caps that was available and soon imagined a comfortable environment for themselves to explore more.

                              Janice could hear Al or Quintin complain about how things were getting confusing.
                              She tried to convey to both of them that they could be excited about it, as it was expanding their understanding, but they weren’t very receptive.

                              ~~~

                              Somewhere Al was saying to Becky
                              — The more you try to fix it, the more confused I am
                              — Hahahahah yes! Becky was answering, I guess so! Ahahahah! Al, what a fabulous dance of confusion we do… The Confundo Tango
                              — Ahahah, yes!

                              Al started again to moan:
                              — So who’s dead, who’s the shapeshifter? Who’s the human, who’s the cat? :-??

                              (Rodney was laughing, as for him, he could accept the confusion as much easier, letting him free to wander around!)

                              Illi was a woman, a shapeshifter who shape-shifted into a cat, then, she died. Becky was saying (Rodney added mentally “Now, she is disengaged” as he knew that “death” was a confusing word.) She was an archaeologist
                              — Okay, that’s cool, that’s what I thought, Al acquiesced. Then thought back of what was said of her and wondered… Anyway, it will probably find a perfect answer …
                              Becky nodded
                              — I got lost myself when two Illis appeared, and a grip-thing as well
                              — Because I didn’t want the grip-thing to be dead! Al couldn’t help but laugh. That would have been too easy, like wiggling out. Not using your imagination within the context of objective imagery to sort out “things”…

                              ~~~

                              While Rodney and Janice were seeing that their other focuses were kind of stuck in their explanation, they had time freeze and both decided to come back to their “now” to start from their understanding.
                              A funny thought had come to Janice, that she shared with Rodney.
                              — Oh, the funny thing you know, about Becky having written to Sean
                              Rodney nodded. Janice continued:
                              — It just appeared in my mind just moments ago, at the same time you (well, Rafaela) inserted into the story of Malvina. That Becky would have been asking Sean something, and that perhaps it would have helped him talk to his father in the future.

                              — Well, that Sean is SUCH AN ENIGMA! bumped Rodney a bit excited by the implications.
                              — What do you mean? asked Janice, who just remembered that Sean Doran has a cousin named Dorean.
                              — Who is he? Where is he? was asking Rodney now.
                              Rodney was having a hard time remembering what had been inserted yet in the story about him.

                              So Janice manifested the Wrick family tree in front of them, so that he could see better. She started by manifesting an acorn, then threw in on the grass, and it sprung forth in a little sapling with signs hanging from its branches.

                              — Well, it’s all in the script, answered Janice, he’s Lord Wrick’s son.
                              — Oh boy, I am in trouble again for not keeping up with the facts! Rodney sighed, and laughed…
                              Janice laughed “So that you can surprise yourself again!”

                              Rodney felt thankful for the sumafiness of Janice who was always prompt to display helpful hallucinations and reminders.

                              Janice stopped the growth of the family tree for a moment and started to comment it.
                              — See, in Becky’s time of the reality play, Sean is Lord’s Wrick son, and has just lost his wife Margaret, and got his two young children around their 10s.
                              — When is Becky’s time then? Rodney wondered, I hadn’t though of that…
                              Becky’s time for the reality play is around 2033…
                              Then Janice had the tree grow again, and sprout more branches from Sean’s children:
                              — …Now, Sean is the grand-father of the twins, except than the twin’s time is around 2057 if it had not changed yet. It’s so carefully woven, but it’s fun how it effortlessly came to fit in.
                              TRUST AND ALLOWING AND GOING WITH THE FLOW cried Rodney and Janice in unison, in the realisation of how well all this was.

                              Rodney was beginning to remember it all.
                              — I just remember the part about Sean, so he is still a bit of a mystery
                              — Yes, absolutely
                              — We don’t really know do we why Hilarion didn’t mention him
                              — Oh, there’s also the Margaret newspaper thing… Janice fumbled in her memory to find the proper link that would display the image of the newspaper cut just at the right of the family tree. Adding with a wink “with more dates to get bearings”
                              — Ahahah, I’d love to have pocketfuls of ball bearings said Rodney who manifested a pocketful to distract him from the load of information. OH YES! he cried, I had forgetten about this! What an incredibly HUGE story this is…

                              Rodney was squinting his dream eyes
                              — So, Sean was into humanitarian effort after 2001…
                              — His father actually I think, said Janice. He was a bit too young.
                              — Oh OK, I misread, that’s hard to read!

                              Then, all of a second, Rodney erupted in an uproarious laugh
                              AHAHAHA, I had just forgotten to de-hallucinate these pince-nez spectacles! Now, it is much easier to read!
                              Janice was laughing so hard, she thought she would shatter the hallucination with the wobbles of the soundless sounds.
                              Then she added:

                              Sean is born around 2000, a bit before.
                              — OK, maybe he went to help the Tuaregs, Rodney was accessing some information now. Maybe he was the one who put the mummy in the locked room that India found.
                              — You know I had something funny in store for the mummy mystery, Janice couldn’t help but laugh again. I imagined we could have inserted Old Manon, coming down to secretly drink from her old malt whiskey’s flask, and finding them messing up with her old dear stuffed cat…
                              — Maybe the mummy was the same one that Dory saw in the oblong hole in the ground outside the cave, Rodney was still accessing flickering images swirling around his head. And Sean was there helping the Tuaregs and moved it to safety.
                              Of course, years previously, Illi Fergusson, the archeologist had buried the mummy there too for safe keeping.

                              Now, Janice was hooked:
                              — Was it where Illi learned about shapeshifting tricks from the old tribe?
                              Rodney noticed Janice’s funny remark and laughed before continuing:
                              — The Tuaregs were conducting secret coleslaw experiments in the desert. In combination with sound and irrigation techniques, they were going to run the entire Sahara into a broccoli field.

                              Janice was amazed at the cabbage “coincidence” and irrigation stuff with her dream of that morning. Of course she knew there where probably mis-interpretation of the imagery coming from Rodney’s visions, but something made sense.
                              — Around which year? she asked
                              — Arrggh I don’t know!… Then, taking a breath of dream air, Rodney said “1923”. When Illi learned shape-shifting trick, 1923.
                              — It makes sense, said Janice who was now thinking of other dispersed informations about Illi Fergusson.
                              — Yes, she learned from Dashine Ashara… Although who that is, I don’t yet know.
                              — Wow, said Janice. She had felt a connection with the “da’sheen” sound. She continued: somewhere, Illi Fergusson has said: “my parents were aristocrats”
                              — Yes, answered Rodney who was accessing again, they were, and they knew the Wildes .
                              — And it was said too: “[…] a nurturing presence that reminded Illi of the maid she and her parents had in their cottage in South Africa”… like her parents were traveling a lot.
                              — Ah, South Africa! Illi’s parents emigrated to South Africa with Sir Abingdon Portfellow, an elderly scholar on ancient artifacts and embalming.
                              — Seems she knew John Lubbock too, said Janice again, reviving old data banks of information. Dates seem okay, so if she was around 30 in the Tuareg adventure, she could have met him.
                              — Wow, said Rodney, this is even more interesting…

                              “But we may sit at home and yet be in all quarters of the earth.” Janice had just summoned the voice of the naturalist and archaeologist. Rodney applauded “Lubbock said that? cool quote!”.
                              — Yes, like Illi’s quote, which was from him “What we see depends mainly on what we look for”. I wonder if that’s one of your (Illi’s) overlapping focuses, said Janice

                              — Well, Illi didnt stay long in South Africa with boring old whatever his name was, Rodney pursued
                              — Yes, she was young with her parents. They were traveling…

                              They were both amazed at the magical cooperation they were doing at that moment. Janice would have loved to share all of that with Qixi and Jacob, but probably their energies were present at the moment too, though not focused here.

                              She then remembered something else:
                              — Oh, and there is something else! Quintin’s dream of the woman detective. Let me fetch it she said, summoning now Quintin’s memory to talk to them.
                              … by night, near a museum in London, in the 1920s. She was investigating a case of a strange disappearance near a small replicate of an Egyptian pyramid that had been put here for display. There had been an exposition of ancient artifacts in the museum, which had been recently unearthed by a team of archaeologists and graciously lent by Egypt’s officials. Strangely enough, the woman detective feels linked to the story, and is probably Dory
                              Date fits again, she said in awe.
                              — Perfect! said Rodney. She was of course Dory too, but in that focus she was Illi Fergusson… he slowed down, then said No! wait! The detective was another one of my focuses. The archeologist who stole the mummy for safekeeping was Illi.
                              — Hmmm
                              — Hmmm
                              — So you are both the thief and the detective, the one who creates mystery for yourself, how interesting, giggled Janice.
                              — Yes, and not only that Janice! Rodney was taking a mysterious air… I am the mummy too!

                              Janice bust out laughing imagining Rodney in bandages. Yes, of course!
                              Then, she had a name come with that: Apsh’un Shet she said, very self-absorbed.
                              Now, that was Rodney’s turn to burst out laughing.
                              — “I am not sure about that!”
                              — Doubting my insights… mmm, how rude… Janice frowned then laughed again.
                              — If you call me that, I may have to make you out to have a speech impediment
                              — Sounds a good Egyptian name for me though, seems it means “Light of the Dawn
                              — Does it? Oh that sounds nice…
                              — Well, in some Egyptian dialect, yes. She was a Princess…
                              — Hahaha! Reminds me of Aspen Shit. Rodney doubted Janice could be serious about that name, but Janice was now the one to be accessing some information.
                              — Bit bossy Princess
                              — Which dynasty?
                              III rd, answered Janice, who fumbled in links of consciousness to find some timeline to project for them.
                              — What year?
                              Janice projected the timeline below then said
                              — I’d say around 2657 B.C., in Ancients way of telling time.

                              They both marveled at the splendid team work they had been doing, and hoped that the other focuses involved would be able to get some parts of their insights too.

                              Rodney was seeing something else
                              — There is also, a very fascinating link between Tassili in the Sahara and Egypt which is a mystery AND there is a connection with Egypt and Scotland too…
                              Illi the gripshawk comes from the mysterious land of the Sands, south of the map fragment
                              — We may unravel more than we think… Illi is an other dimensional focus of the Illi essence…
                              — Yes she is. She is a connection too, being “lost” in the land of dragons after hopping through traveling portals…
                              — Exactly
                              — And they communicated because they are helping each other
                              — Which is why she doesn’t always ‘fit’ into this reality’s energy configuration
                              — And they have some difficulties at times with translations of other dimensional stuff
                              — Yes! resulting in confusion!

                              And they both laughed again, looking at the great tapestry of clues that was woven before their dream eyes.

                              #1308

                              In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

                              EricEric
                              Keymaster

                                September 24 th

                                Quintin remembered a snapshot of the notes that Dory had taken during her first trip to the Madagascan caves, a year ago.

                                Relevant extracts:

                                At one moment, I saw some hooded figure in the sideways tunnels… He vanished on the left, couldn’t follow him…
                                […] HE KNEW HIS WAY INSIDE !
                                When he vanished, I had the vision of something, […] like the layout of a labyrinth, of cave tunnels — that are all underground and the many entrances are all over the world… PORTALS
                                focus opening/doors ; time/space…
                                The central cavernous part is some kind of key center, where anyone can meet…

                                This has inspired Quintin to write some notes too.
                                He has the vision of these portals organized as clusters, like a tree, with branches and leaves… I will send him a more detailed image, but that may take him some time to digest!

                                September 26 th

                                The latest additions to the story have inspired Quintin. He had some inkling of how “essence” (or what is somewhat referred as “oversoul” ) and all the “focus” of essence (or lifetimes) interplay, and are not as separate as they sometimes seem to be.

                                Here would be what we will say to him, if he wants to listen:

                                « Now, terminology can become tricky as, for much time, you have been accustomed to be considering of your experience as the projection of that of an “essence”, somewhat separate from you, the lowly focus.
                                Of course, you pretend the contrary, and become quite nifty in brandishing sentences like “I am essence, and I create all of my reality”, which you are and do actually, but that you do not always believe and trust.
                                These terms of “essence” and “focus” were given to you as means for you to better understand the interplay of consciousness. In the beginning of the acquaintance with these new terminologies, you have felt them remotely blurry and unrelated to previous concepts, which was the intention. But now, you once again objectify your understanding in something too rigid at times, and that little story is giving you a hint of what your real power is.
                                And you begin to really experience it, and really pay attention.

                                « As was expressed many times, “essence” is no thing. It is an action.
                                The “essence” is each of you, that very portion of you that you feel when you slide your attention into the comment box.
                                In that, your purpose, you see, is only to experience, nothing more, nothing less.
                                And then time, as you know it, becomes irrelevant, you see. Your natural time is expressed through you and your explorations.
                                Notice how playfully, as essence (essence playing focus or focus playing essence), you let your natural time unfold, and at times find some strange weather pattern in your awareness that needs clarification. As essence, you playfully find the most perfect habits [shapes and clothings] to wrap around you, and continue your story.
                                Just as your dreams at night overlap and blend into each other.
                                Just as Rafaela created new focuses [Sam and Becky] to continue to play and make the story expand for all of the other focuses, Dory included.

                                « That “I” of you is ever present, and is reflected perfectly in others’ perceptions, as you are drawing them to you purposefully. Do not brush aside their adjuncts, for they are also you, having moved your pawns forward, so to speak, through their moves.

                                « Thus understand that the story is a continuous stream reflecting the essence that is you, and your travel through the various guises you borrow.
                                In that manner, it does not matter how much sense it makes in linear terms. Because, in a way, it can’t make sense in these linear terms.

                                « Let us explain this in other terms.
                                When you found difficulties in understanding the “scheme” so to speak, the figure that is drawn by the participants, it is because you apply the linear understanding of what such a scheme should be.
                                In that, you only perceive the “plot” as a succession of dots without a continuity, whereas the continuity is to be found in the other stories interwoven.
                                You are accustomed to stories where a single individual is enacting throughout the play, in a linear continuous fashion. The individual goes through many different actions, but is always the same in your perception.
                                Here, the tricky thing is to notice the continuity throughout the various habits [clothings] taken by the essence(s). It matters not that the essence takes that guise of say, a pirate sailing on high seas, just after having been an old crafty Lord in his windy castle. The underlying aspects of his exploration has been continuous and coherent: in this case, exploring and making sense of one’s exploration. It is just that a certain appearance has been perhaps more fitting to express certain aspects or qualities of essence, but the exploration has been one, throughout the entirety of the experience.

                                « We will let you ponder this, and we will continue our own story, writing about you… »

                                September 28 th

                                This sand symbol that Quintin has brought up seemed to have come from many directions at once. Each character has connected it, in various ways.
                                Armelle (Arona) to her magic, Rafaela (Becky) to her collecting customs, etc. etc.

                                Let us say that this symbol is not as innocent as it may seem. There are lots of associations with sand.
                                It is solid, yet fluid. In association with water, it can be used to build, and also to erode. It can shift into many forms, one of which is your glass, and your electronic components.
                                And most of all, it is, after your very oxygen, the most abundant constituent of your reality.
                                It is almost limitless in your understanding.
                                As is your magic.

                                This magical device we made Quintin see in a visualization is an analogy of your very action of creation as essences.
                                The sand which molds itself to make forms and shapes in three dimensions is in fact likened to your consciousness. Each grain of sand represents your links of consciousness that bind together to do your command.
                                The shapes are moved by your essences, in which you may see that the essence is no thing at all, but is a continuous stream of action, not separate from others’.

                                As Quintin said to Fiona, some individuals do differently when they create and shape their sands.
                                In analogy with the coloured sands, some people like Quintin enjoy using other people’s colours in shaping his own characters, while some others prefer to keep their own colours, to create a more definite sense of individuality. But they integrate the others’ movements and shapes nonetheless, regardless of how much they perceive it to be coming from them.

                                With that said, let us see how much more will appear from that sandbox…

                                September 30 th

                                The Wrick family tree as it is now (or “will be” drawn around the time of the twins in 2057).

                                The Secret Life of Margaret Wrick , a newspaper cut from 2033.

                                October 7 th

                                The dragon Naasir’s dream
                                A panorama illustrating the portals between the worlds created by each of the participants… But who is dreaming, really?

                                And an illustration of Chiara’s encounter with the glutton “dreggun” Buckberry

                                #272
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  Sanso was finding it hard to stop laughing at Arona’s funny wooping hoots of laughter. He snorted and gasped until his side ached.

                                  Mandrake? Mandrake! Arona came to her senses. Where has he gone? Mandrake!

                                  He’s taken that glass sand thing, too! All that laughing had jumbled up Sanso’s memories, and he couldn’t recall the name of that Glass sand thing

                                  (that glass sand thing, Becky made a note to look it up and correct the script later)

                                  That creature’s made off with it!

                                  Oh, bugger off, Sanso, Mandrake wouldn’t do that! Arona spoke sharply, forgetting her manners in her panic. What would a Mandrake want with a glass sand thing? Arona almost stamped in frustration at not remembering the name of that thing, and in front of Sanso, too.

                                  Sanso didn’t hear her anyway, he was striding purposefully across the cavern towards the waterfall.

                                  Well wait for me! Arona ran to catch up with him. How do you know he went this way?

                                  I don’t, Sanso was honest, But when I gets an urge, I gets an urge, and I follows it.

                                  Arona couldn’t think of a better idea, so she followed him. Slow down, will you! Mandrake! MANDRAKE! Where are you, Mandrake!

                                  #270
                                  AvatarJib
                                  Participant

                                    Oörlaith heard the sound of a barking dog not far from her rookery. They were back with his master, and she knew at once their mission was complete.

                                    A few months ago she had met a strange man, he told her he was called Leonard, and the funny black dog that was following him everywhere was called Moufle. An ancient word for mitten… Well she didn’t ask why he’d call him like that, the dog was so hairy…

                                    Leonard was a lonely traveller, quite ancient as she could feel, but she wasn’t able to know his actual age. And there were some other weird feelings when she was focusing on his energy tone, something to do with time itself.

                                    When she first met him she knew he was the one she was looking for for ages. It’s been such a long time she hadn’t heard from her sisters. Oörlaith’d been having these dreams since they chose different direction many years ago, Malvina and Roselÿn, her precious ones. It wasn’t necessary for her then to keep objective contact with them through the glubolín.

                                    One year ago, the dreams stopped abruptly, and she tried several methods to reach her sisters. None of them with success. All her attempts failed, and she thought first she had lost her own power, but she knew one can not loose power of self, just forget it or create it on purpose. She realized then it was time to recreate these links more objectively.

                                    She couldn’t find her glubolín though. And Leonard arrived. Fortunately enough he had news from some strange events occurring in the land where she knew Malvina had settled her rookery. Was she still here with Leörmn?

                                    ***

                                    Yann had been feeling many impulses to draw scenes from his dreams and from the story they were creating with Quintin, Fiona, and Truth. It was an urge from inside and last night he had a very intense dream activity, most of which he couldn’t remember, it was more like a big forum with many different personalities all exchanging experiences and exploring new avenues.

                                    He was also attracted by old stories he was writing when he was a student, the one involving Georges and Salome, it seemed to him they had taken a life of their own now, and they felt very powerful, and most of all, they felt like really having fun.

                                    One of the drawing that was intriguing him was one that represented a sign of sort, in grayish sparkly clouds. He had given the pic a strange title, Oorlath. Yann had connected the name to an individual and was surprised when Quintin told him about a princess named Oörlaith. He was wondering who she was…

                                    She still had no face when he thought of her… maybe she was hidden for the moment… and he had the strangest thought that she knew Leonard, the man he’d been drawing with his black hairy dog.

                                    Haha, he had felt her smile.

                                    ***

                                    Chiara was looking for the boy she’d met last time in her dreams. Maybe he could give her some berries again, they were really tasty and fluberrish.

                                    But she’s been looking for him for so long she wonder if she could find the way again…

                                    Where she was now felt different. The light? The air? She took a deep breathe and just sat down on the grassy land. She had a quick thought that the land were more rocky than grassy a few seconds ago, but as she was feeling the grass under her hands, she dismissed the thought.

                                    She was hearing birds singing, it was quite funny the way they were bounding from one sound to the other and she could understand what they were saying, much gossips and a few compliments for a new mother ;)) nothing really important to her. She Jibbled.

                                    Lying down on the mossy land, she was looking… mossy? wasn’t it grassy? Now it’s mossy… hope that wouldn’t become mothy ;))

                                    She was looking the clouds, some were grayishly sparkling, she was enjoying it…

                                    “Are you looking for something” a voice said.

                                    Chiara quickly sat up and gazed at the fat lady who was standing before her.

                                    “Hahahaha, you found me at least my dear” laughed the woman.

                                    “My name is Roselÿn, and you are Chiara, aren’t you?”

                                    The little girl was gaping at Roselÿn… how could she possibly know her name?

                                    “I feel I know you :yahoo_thinking:” she said dreamily.

                                    “You make me feel like when I’m with my uncle Yann, and… there’s something else… oh!?”

                                    #248
                                    EricEric
                                    Keymaster

                                      New York, October, 4 th 2033

                                      Albert had opened the newspaper, scanning distractedly through the various pages of text that would read aloud automatically when he was running his fingers through it. He was about to close it, when he noticed that article in the Life Focus section.

                                      (click for article)

                                      :fleuron:

                                      Dublin, October 5 th 2033

                                      Sean Doran Wrick had received tons of phone calls, emails and voice mails of condolences since the past few weeks, but he had not found the strength to answer any of them. Especially those coming from his father.

                                      That morning, he had received some letters that he would have left on top of the others, had he not recognized the round and cheerful calligraphy of Becky on one of them.

                                      He had known Becky when they had traveled together in Syria, and had enjoyed so much the lively young woman that they had kept in touch during all those years.

                                      He was pleased to read from her, and wanted to enjoy it fully.

                                      So he took his time to put to bed Guinevere and Peregrine before. Guinevere was the eldest, very mature for her barely 11 year old. She took great care of her younger brother, who was more dreamy and foolish. Peregrine would turn 10 next March… but he was hardly as responsible as his sister when she was his age…

                                      Dear Sean, Becky was writing

                                      I would have liked to finally take the time to write to you in better conditions, but I could not delay any longer. I saw the obituary in the newspaper, and wanted you to know that I share your grief and loss, and extend much love and support to you and to your dear little ones.

                                      I know you’re not the kind of person to be satisfied with banalities, so I will not dwell on this tragedy, and will remember the best moments we shared together.

                                      I still continue my studies and practices on dramatherapy, and till now it has proved very beneficial, in many ways. I have learned so many things. It’s quite rewarding. We are a close-knit group of fools (or drôles as Al loves to say, as some of his ancestors come from the bayous!), and that is very much enjoyable when things that tragic come to one’s reality.

                                      In case you feel like talking, don’t hesitate any moment, I’ll be here. Anytime.

                                      Love,

                                      Becky.

                                      :fleuron:

                                      Orkney Islands, October 4 th, 2057

                                      This year again, Sean Doran had not answered his father’s calls.

                                      This September 23 th was the twenty fourth anniversary of the disengagement of Lord Wrick’s daughter-in-law, and this was always a very somber period for the family.

                                      Hopefully, the twins were here to enliven the old mansion, for as long as their parents, Lord Wrick’s grand-children, would be traveling. And of course, there had been the unexpected return of the books, which had been comforting too.

                                      Nonetheless, Hilarion Wrick was sad, and Bill the painter was uneasy as to how he could not quite put right the portrait of the old dragon…

                                      #247
                                      AvatarJib
                                      Participant

                                        “What are you doing?” said the little girl.

                                        Getting no answer she asked it again.

                                        “What are you doing?”

                                        She approached the strange being that was so engrossed in its activity, or maybe it couldn’t hear her, she thought dreamily. She put her hand through the big (what color was that) beast.

                                        She thought about that a little and tried to seize one of those big berries.

                                        That worked, she could at least grasp one of those, not two, her hands were too small, but one was as big as that ball her father was so fond of playing with… she couldn’t remember what he called it. Well it mattered not, she could grasp one of them :D

                                        It was a bit warmer than she would have thought. A bit mushy, and very soft. She had a very pleasant sensation caressing it, it was electric and watery and she laughed.

                                        The beast stopped what it was doing. Did it hear her laugh? It began eating the berries again.

                                        She stroked the berry and felt the funny laugh emerge from her chest. When it burst out the beast stopped again.

                                        “Oh you can hear me laugh!” She said, unaware of her hand gently rubbing the surface of the berry.

                                        “Grumpf!” did the beast.

                                        Its eyes were beginning to change, from yellow to a kind of blue with some tiny stars in them. The girl giggled and was suddenly face to face with a little boy.

                                        “What are you doing here” said the boy.

                                        “These are my berries, you can’t eat them.”

                                        She was a bit startled by his first words and she already had forgotten the weird beast.

                                        “I just wanted to play, they are so soft and they make me laugh.”

                                        She couldn’t help another giggle.

                                        The boy still seemed wary of her and began to move.

                                        #245
                                        TracyTracy
                                        Participant

                                          Captain Bone was packing his trunk. The boat was leaving at noon from the quayside of the fishing village, and the captain was nearly ready to say goodbye to the Sharples family. He’s been happy staying with the Sharples and their unruly brood, but he was a man of the sea, and the salty breezes and rollings waves and promise of new adventures was beckoning.

                                          The sea mist rolled over the cluster of cottages as it often did in the early mornings, mingling with the aroma of coffee and freshly toasted crumpets. Captain Bone remembered other morning mists from other shores, warm ones laced with cinnamon and cloves, and chilly ones pungent with fishy smells and squalking gulls…… bright sunny mornings with long golden shadows and the endless half light of arctic northern ones.

                                          The captain closed his trunk without checking to see if he’d remembered everything. Whatever he needed on his journey, he knew he would find. Whatever he left behind, he knew the Sharples would keep safe until his return.

                                          ***

                                          Manolo the vet helped the captain onto the boat.

                                          ¡Hasta la vista, hombre! ¡Buen viaje! Long Tom Bone winked and smiled. As soon as he’d set foot on the boat, he sighed a huge sigh of relief, and all the aches and worries of living on dry land drifted away.

                                          The Sharples family passed the tissues round. It was going to seem strange for awhile without the captain.

                                          #233
                                          TracyTracy
                                          Participant

                                            Dory was secretly delighted Georges had drugged the coleslaw, despite appearing to be angry. She loved the way different things altered her perception, and even though she knew how to alter her perception without using a drug now, she also knew she was creating the drug and its effects, and that it didn’t much matter whether she did or she didn’t.

                                            (Becky wondered if that principle applied to pain relieving drugs too, and decided that indeed it must. She wondered though if she really really believed it enough to trust herself to create pain relief WITHOUT actually swallowing a little ball of physical matter)

                                            Dory was reluctant to admit it at first, but she’d also known all along that she’d created Georges appearing out of nowhere like that, and that she had in fact invited him. Sometimes it seemed easier to forget that and just grumble, which of course was acceptable too. Grumbling was fun sometimes, but it got awfully boring if she carried it on for too long.

                                            The coleslaw was delicious.

                                            Have some more, offered Geroges

                                            (Becky made a note to change Georges name to Geroges. It was no accident that she kept typing it like that, and she was beginning to think correcting it all the time was futile, and that she was somehow missing the clue)

                                            Dory munched the crunchy coleslaw.

                                            (Without a moments appreciation for her lovely strong full set of teeth, Becky noticed)

                                            Dory unexpectedly felt a moment of appreciation for her teeth. Wow, she thought, I never even think about that, but teeth are cool. She shuddered when she remembered an awful dentist dream she’d recently had.

                                            Dory looked up at Geroges and smiled.

                                            Got any chocolate?

                                          Viewing 20 results - 501 through 520 (of 534 total)