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  • #3007
    EricEric
    Keymaster

      The impending strategy and budget review was now quickly upon them.

      The much questioned old new authority of the Surge Team had decided all the countries had to join for that week long first round of strategy plan and as Long Poon was too much of a reminder of work (they said, but many suspected too much of a reminder of Ed Steam’s empire), Madam Li had graciously offered to host the venue in Shangpoon, where they had managed to corner 15,000 floating piglets and her services were still probably needed.

      All the thirteen chief operatives were busy setting things in order, and delegating current tasks during their business trip. Some of them were still hopelessly fumbling in spreadsheets and slides —a inane exercise in style they thought, but still…

      “I can’t stand it!” Cornella almost exploded in front of her computer, now returned to decent level of cleanliness since Aqua’s return. She was sick of this old ageing alzheimering authority. Not that she missed Ed too much now. He was a pig —and gawd, this waxed mustache from another epoch… A pig they all liked because they didn’t know better at the time and his charisma covered for all the tiny slips of behaviour or even judgement. She’d seen that same feeling when the ceremony was held for his ashes spreading; most of the tears shed there had looked a bit contrived.

      The mission to replace the pope with an alien-reconfigured Jesuit was a success, thanks to clever team work and her stellar delicate planning skills. A plan hatched before Ed’s demise, but that the old guys had been glad to call theirs. That was the waking call for her. If they could get rid so easily of the papacy, she would blow that budget convention from inside.
      That required thorough planning though, and a bit of luck. Most of the chick would gladly be on board with this.
      That’s when the mysterious vanishing dog legs cabinet came back to her attention.

      #2983
      AvatarJib
      Participant

        Aqua Luna’s duster was stuck in Cornella’s keyboard. She was still struggling to free it without paying too much attention to the screen. The red symbols blinking on the maps would have confused her, she would not have understood their meaning or the significance of the buttons she inadvertently pushed in her struggle. She has grown in the countryside, at a time where there was no internet available. She barely used her Oopia telepooh her daughter offered her a few years ago. The truth was she didn’t know how to take the call, even after her son in-law, showed her. Richard, that was his name. “He got the face’s name” she thought imagining the rag was a hair in his nose.

        “I got it!” she exulted, pushing unknowingly the key combination to lock the session again. She returned the keyboard to its former position just as Cornella arrived.
        “Oh! Thank you Aqua, you’re such a sweetie.”
        The cleaning lady who didn’t really understood English put on her talk-to-my-hand smile. And left the room. She would clean the other desks later, she needed a break.

        Cornella’s voice stormed out.
        “What the heck! There has been a breach in the artifact chamber!”
        But Aqua Luna wasn’t paying attention, it was like French to her. She was rather wishing she could taking one of those red limo to go back to her place. The Chicks always used them to go everywhere, but Aqua had to take the public transportation system. That wasn’t fair.

        She sneaked into the garage, not aware of the camera system or the alarm system. Tony, one of the chauffeurs was there.

        #2968
        EricEric
        Keymaster

          Madam Li contemplated the pill-like translucent object glowing bright red which could barely fit in the palm of her delicate hand.
          People usually said that you could try and hide your age as well as possible on your face, but that hands didn’t lie. Hers actually were still a young woman’s fine delicate and smooth work-of-art.
          The snow had stopped immediately, leaving the weather in the Pudding area as it used to be: a pale mist of polluted fog, thus returning Shanghai to its normal weather patterns. The rote was there in her hand, full of the last surge’s energy, a tempting promise of uncontrollable power, but she had seen far too much power struggle and horrors to be really tempted by it.

          Ed’s demise had taken her by surprise. Although she did look young, it was her heart who really betrayed her. She hated people leaving her, and she would have expected Ed to survive her own death. It was the first time she was considering ever so briefly the thought of retiring. Of course, she still would need to find a replacement at her post, but China was full of eager potentials, that wouldn’t take too long.
          Putting the rote in the diplomatic case, her gaze trailed on the invitation, still on the table. She wasn’t ashamed to admit her first thought went to the cleaning lady who had been careful to dust all around it, without moving it an inch off the glass table top.
          Spain just came as an afterthought, already having lost its appeal as soon as summoned.

          Wrapping herself in her white fur coat, she called for a taxi. She would be just in time for the ice festival in Harbin with a warm dog legs’ soup and some yak butter tea.

          #2846

          In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

          EricEric
          Keymaster

            After his epic escape, Loard Koala had found refuge, unbeknownst to even the shrewd and some said foxy Ted Marshall, in the depths of the Great Green Wall of Afraka. There, under swarms of migrating magpies cackling like a horde of harridans lamenting about the miseries of their existences, he was planning his return… secretly hoping for a celestial pardon from the Elvens.
            From the top of a towering eucalyptree, smoking a large makeshift cigarillo from its leaves, he could see Canaria and its bountiful promise of a new world, and sighed contentedly.

            #2834

            In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

            AvatarWhite Panther
            Participant

              A rustic, bent-bladed sword lies lazily upon my lap, its strap dancing with it, enticing it to be sheathed. I am gingerly distracted from my thoughts by this interesting tussle between master and holder, and it reminds me of a poem I once read, of a book and a pen sharing secrets, keeping secrets from their own wielder; how two objects that synchronise with each other to serve a bloody, yet noble purpose is a very… quaint concept to say the least.
              Nevertheless, my thoughts return to the current scenery, of a bloody ground, the blood of twelve elves glistening in the late African afternoon sun- what are elves doing here? I rise quite slowly, and proceed to walk towards the slumped body of one of the elves. His head was slightly severed, and his white hair was blackened by dried blood that sprayed from his one wound. I kneel down, and silently recount the tale of these twelve elves, and how they came about to fall upon my assassin’s blade…

              #2816

              In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

              F LoveF Love
              Participant

                “Oh I have burnt the cake! So occupied was I reflecting upon the joys of home, and now the blessed cake is ruined!” exclaimed Phlora. “And soon Floywn and Hywrik and the family winged horse will return, no doubt hungry as Murganians!”

                But the sunflowers did look so very pretty and Phlora was not one to be downhearted for long.

                {link – home}

                #2810

                In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  Phlora was gathering sunflowers as she always did when they were at their yellowest in the midst of summer. Just before they started to wither and become a feast for the birds.
                  Her brothers Floywn and Hywrik were busy hunting with the family winged horse, and would be gone for the day. Maybe she’d bake a cake for when they’d return… She wondered were Phinny her sister had gone for so long. It had been almost a season she was off the green.

                  [link:sunflower]

                  #2693

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  EricEric
                  Keymaster

                    Mandrake had been on Yikes’ trail for what seemed to be like ages, closely followed by Arona, the silly dragon and that demigod Arona seemed to have grown so fond of.

                    As they were walking, flying and hopping further North, they had passed the Forest of Endless Desolation, just through the Isthmus of Ghört’s Hammer where the whaling laments of the lamanatees were luring the careless travellers in pits of dark despair, only for them to sink in cores of boiling lava if they strayed too far away from the darken wizened old sticks that once had been luxuriant trees.

                    Mandrake would have made a meal of the dreaded lamanatees, but Arona had thought safer for them to plug their ears with candle wax and invoke their Mother guidance to help in their quest to find the lost boy. Little had she thought of the pain it would be to scrap it off his catly ears without turning wax into furballs, and his ears into a prickly mess.
                    These minor troubles apart, they had gone through Arona’s homeland, the pretty Golfindely, which was only a soft consolation before they got to the far ends of it, where land, water and ice meld and become one. It was the threshold, the passageway to the homeland of the dragons, where only Sorcerers and their likes were known to have been and returned.

                    It was there that the sabulmantium had hinted Yikes would been found.

                    :fleuron:

                    When Minky came finally back to the High Priestess of the Pendulous and Loose Otherworldly Threading —aka Messmeerah (Winky) Maymhe—, Messmeerah was taking a dip into the Rejuvenation Pool. Her last vials of bleufrüsh blood had been all drunk, and she was starting to get all sagging after mere hours out of the icy waters.

                    She welcomed with a large smile, the sack Minky was carrying as a treasure, where Yikes was calmly waiting.
                    “Thank you Miny” she said, throwing some ashes to the minion who, in a puff, instantaneously transformed into a large redhair rat, which disappeared behind Messmee’s luscious green hair.

                    “There, there, there, look what we got…” she finally said ominously to the boy who was considering the naked green evil fairy in front of him with a rather interested and mildly amused glance. “Don’t you have anything to say?” she said, raising an eyebrow, maybe slightly disappointed at the lack of frightened reaction.

                    “Oh, looks like you’re a genuine green fairy, “ he said staring at her with a smile.

                    #2464

                    We may never know (or maybe we will) if it was the giant tea bag, or the duct tape, or indeed, the efforts of the Biotic Man, but a sense of normality was returning to Peasland.

                    #2687

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling:

                    “What on earth are you doing?” asked Lilac.

                    “Whistling for aurora’s, silly” replied Nasturtium, commonly known as Nasty. “We did an energy pooling for auroras to come further south the other day, and I just heard from Petunia that they’ll come if we whistle. So I’m whistling!”

                    Lilac rolled her eyes and wandered off into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Nasturtium grinned when she heard Lilac whistling. Or was it the kettle?

                    “You know that bright aurora green?” Nasturtium said as Lilac returned with two steaming mugs of tea. “Well, my TV went that colour yesterday, green all over it was, bright green, just like the green of aurora’s.”

                    “I suppose you’ll be saying it was a personal visit from the aurora people” replied Lilac with a snort.

                    #2429

                    The clever Peasland Majorburgmester who had been informed of the unlikely and much untimely return of Pee’s group, had indeed asked his minion Muckus to move around some of the signalization icons in the hope of luring and losing the group in the part of the land where the Blubbit Mother of Them All was ruling in a fierce and unchallenged (and he would add ruthless) manner.

                    #2402

                    “What?” The Majorburgmester of Peasland almost laughed of surprise at the incongruity of Fwick con Troll’s idea. “You’re telling that this…”

                    “Little spider, yes”
                    “Contains a potent venom that could wipe the blubbits off the face of Peasland?”
                    “Absolutely, dear Majorburgmester
                    “Are you out of your Fwicking mind, Fwick? What breading this nasty spider could possibly bring us any better than a plague of crop-eating blubbits in rut?”
                    “I was actually talking of breeding them, sir” Fwick objected
                    The Mayor continued unperturbed “Besides, we already have our fierce constable Stoll drill the mythic Eight Dimension for answers.”
                    “That would be placing a lot of trust in that foolish venture, I’m afraid to say, Majorburgmester. To date, very few people have managed to return safely.”
                    “Oh, who cares if they ever bloody come back Fwick! Come on! All we need to do is extort the answers from his spouse who’s kept all their heads in a safe place, I have no doubt of that.”
                    “Well… I wouldn’t place my head on this bet if I were you…”

                    “Ah, bugger off then with your stinking spider, and do your bloody experiments… As long as it doesn’t involve my name, and especially in case any misguided and sad assassination should occur, ahahaha. I’m joking of course.” The Mayor’s face (which was framed and hanged on the wall of the Majorburgmester Hall’s main office) suddenly shut any hint of humanity that could have been left on it.

                    #2357

                    “Pee, don’t go!” Pee’s wife, Peanelope had pleaded.

                    “I am rather keen on investigating,” said Pee thoughtfully, anxious to please his wife, but also terribly excited about the idea of Mungibbs. “How about I leave my head here with you as security until I return?”

                    Marginally appeased by this fine plan, Peanelope reluctantly agreed to let him go.

                    “If I leave my head with you, I had better leave my voice as well I suppose” mused Pee.

                    “No take your voice with you.” said Peanelope, rather hastily, Pee noticed.

                    #2350

                    Lavender stood up suddenly and hopped around the cafe.

                    “You know what? Since that masked man stood on my foot, the feeling seems to have returned!” Lavender hopped joyously over to the stranger and gave him a big hug, cleverly removing his mask at the same time, as if by accident.

                    Ann and Lavender stared in shocked surprise at the vision before them.

                    #2349

                    Oh damn, not another masked man! thought Lavender. The raucous voice of the hooded stranger was irritating her. On further reading of the previous comment she decided it was a jolly good thing he was saying nothing. So was it the unrelenting heat which was doing her head in? Or maybe it was Ann’s incessant chatter and coughing.

                    “I want to see your real face, Phenol,” snapped Lavender suddenly.

                    IT, taken aback by the unexpected outburst from the usually mild tempered Lavender, turned and ran.

                    “Goodness!” said Ann, startled. “Was there any need to upset Phenol like that?” She looked accusingly at Lavender, who could only hang her head and cough in reply.

                    “You are a bossy one aren’t you?” said the stranger to Ann, and Lavender smirked to herself. “But, don’t worry, Phenol will return soon.” The stranger smiled mysteriously, although of course the others could not see that as the mask obscured most of his face.

                    #2647

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    When Yikes had first asked Arona, when he was like 6 or 7 years old if he had a father, Arona had brushed the question aside with a roll of an eye, and an annoyed flicker of the other.

                    “Of course you have, little pooh…”

                    It was glaringly obvious that the little Ugling wasn’t bearing any likeness with her handsome model Vincentius, so she didn’t mock the little guy’s intelligence by asking why he was even inquiring of such a thing.
                    And for a few years, telling him the story of how he was given to her by the dwarf Palani was enough to calm the torrent of his questions.

                    Later though, as he was gaining strength and other skills taught to him by Vincentius, who was ever patient and dedicated to the well-being of Arona and the child, his questions became an obsession, and he took upon himself to discover the truth he could feel was wrapped in fantasy and nonsense —or at least, not told completely.

                    Perhaps it was an indiscretion of a glukenitch found in the many caves there were nearby their home, nobody knew for certain. (Glukenitches sharing one mind, they knew many of the secrets of the caves they sometimes deigned to share with strangers…) anyway, nobody knew for certain, but he found out about the mysterious Sanso, and how he became ‘acquainted’ with Arona (whom Yikes had never called but by her first name).

                    Yikes was now in his teen years, and wanted more than ever to meet Sanso, although he never quite revealed that secret plan least it would upset the loving and caring Arona. He had to find someone to help him in his research, but where they lived, encounters were scarce.

                    One day, a young woman he’d never met before went to see Arona. They were friends apparently, and he overheard Arona call her Salome, while they were discussing about lots of people, whose names he mostly didn’t know. He was feeling uncomfortable around nice ladies, and almost didn’t show up for dinner. However, an embarrassed silence and a sideway glance as a certain “he” was being inquired about by Arona raised his ears, and he took upon himself to try to learn more from the lady.
                    So when she left, he followed her to the entrance of one of the nearby caves, and showed up —apparently without surprising the lady called Salome. She was well aware of his presence, and of his desire to find Sanso.
                    “The man defies logic,” she then warned Yikes “and you need a riddle outside of logic to catch him and his attention.”
                    That was almost all of what she said before disappearing into the damp cave’s tunnel. That and… “no need to beat a dead cow.”

                    Yikes had pondered that for days, without success.
                    Until the illumination came: all he had to do was become the hunter, and bait his prey.
                    For that, he would kill the fatted calf, to welcome the return of the prodigal father.

                    And put his bait near the tunnels near the realms from whence he roamed aimlessly.

                    #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!”

                    #2328

                    Ann spent the morning (or a mere half hour, if truth be told) enjoying her physicality in the gentle autumn morning sun before returning indoors. The drop in temperature was still new enough to remember to appreciate fully. She felt at peace with her world, a happy balance of words and sunbeams, that is until she perused the latest additions to the BA (Bash Ann, by the looks of things) group project.

                    Ann frowned. Who the heck was Harvey? It was almost the last straw, despite Ann’s sunny mood. The very idea of trawling back through the paperwork to find out who he was, and indeed who everyone else was, was too daunting. “If it’s not fun don’t do it!” That’s what they all said. Over and over again they said “if it’s not fun don’t do it”.

                    The writing was fun, and the random reading was fun, but it wasn’t fun ~ in fact, it gave her a headache ~ to try and remember who and when and where everyone was. Perplexed, Ann wondered if she simply wasn’t cut out for working in a group. On the other hand, she simply wasn’t a loner either.

                    “Be remebering,” the disembodied voice whispered in her left ear, “That they are all YOU.”

                    Oh! Right, yes….herm….well where does that leave me?

                    “Right at the centre of it all, as always,” the voice replied.

                    Er, so it’s all MY story, then? The whole thing is all me, all mine? All the characters are ME?

                    “Quite!”

                    So I can do whatever I want, then?

                    “Of course!”

                    Right then, so I can write whatever I want, which is fun, and not write what I don’t want, which isn’t fun, and that will be quite alright, will it?

                    “Correct!” the voice chuckled indulgently. “And it may behoove you” it continued in a conspiratorial tone, “To remember than any flak from the others in the group, is in fact, YOU giving YOURSELF a flakking reflection.”

                    Oh. Well Right Ho, then. Toot! Toot!

                    #2616

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      “It’s the 57th Creative Challenge theme, so I have to do it,” Ann remarked to her editor. “Obviously”, she added.

                      “What do you mean, obviously?” asked her editor (Ann had forgotten his new name in the second book, and toyed breifly with the idea of making up a new one ~ perhaps Rumbold the Pale?)

                      “Well, I would have thought that was obvious, Godfrey!” Ann replied tartly, secretly delighted that she’d remembered the old boy’s name. Notwithstanding, Ann continued to make little ‘cuh’ and ‘tut’ noises, and rolled her eyes a bit, until Godfrey eventually replied.

                      “Spiggot on the spike freak, Lingenburg Dash”.

                      “I beg your pardon?” Ann looked at Godfrey in astonishment. “Holy Moly, I said that earlier myself, whatever does it mean?”

                      “I haven’t got a clue, dear,” he replied. “Just popped into my head, you know, how it does…” His voice trailed off as he stared into space.

                      “I’ll google it.” As Ann started the search, she realized she’d completely forgotten that she was doing the 57th Creative Challenge entry. “Blimey O Riley, what am I LIKE” she said to herself, with a wry grin ~ she wasn’t altogether sure what wry meant, but somehow she felt it was wry ~ “Now what was the theme again?”

                      “Misery Loves Company” Godfrey piped up. “And dare I say, it’s rather obvious what has occurred here.”

                      “What do you mean, obvious?” retorted Ann, somewhat snarkily, although nowhere near as snarkily as Lavender might have said it.

                      Godfrey resisted the urge to respoond with a few little ‘cuh’s’ and ‘tut’s’, and chose to simply smile enigmatically.

                      Ann scowled at her old freind and said “If you don’t spell it out, you maddening old coot, I’ll write you out of this story. I’ll delete you.”

                      “You can write me out of YOUR story if you wish, but I may continue to write YOU into MY story.”

                      “Oh Gawd, WHAT?” Ann said to herself. “Where did that come from?”

                      “Ann, let me explain.”

                      “You sound just like Elias, Godfrey!”

                      “Ha! Ha! Ha!”

                      “Ahahahahahahah”

                      “Now shut up and pay attention”

                      Elias would never say that”

                      “That’s YOU saying that, Ann, to yourself,” said Godfrey.

                      YOU said that Godfrey, it’s right here in black and white!” retorted Ann.

                      “It’s never black and white, Ann, and it’s only here in black and white as ME saying it because YOU wrote it.”

                      “Well there’s no answer to that” replied Ann. She went to put the kettle on.

                      Ann returned to her computer with a steaming mug of tea.

                      “Now, shall we get back to the point, Ann?” inquired Godfrey, with a wry grin.

                      “I must look up that word later”, Ann mused. “I seem to be inordinately fond of the word wry tonight, I wonder why. I Wonder Wry…”

                      ANN!” Godfrey shouted. “Back to the point!”

                      Ann looked pained. “What point?”

                      “The point of this story, and the obvious occurence therein.”

                      “Welp, you’ve lost me there, Gordon, there was a point?”

                      “Oh My God, this could go on all night” Gordon was wringing his hands.

                      “Good God Gordon, didn’t see you come in!” exclaimed Godfrey.

                      Ann was giggling helplessly. She was rather pleased with the way she covered her faux pas over the editors name.

                      “‘Ann was giggling helplessly’; you see Ann, there is your clue!” Godfrey said excitedly, as he read aloud what Ann had just written.

                      “OH! NOW I get it! D’oh! Nonsense loves company! Giggling loves company! No wonder I couldn’t stay focused on misery!”

                      #2264
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Despite doing so well in Continuity Class, Ann had wandered off again. By the time she returned, she had forgotten what the thread was. I must sign up for that Thread Refresher Course, she told herself. I wonder if dear old Frantic can squeeze me in?

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