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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Actually, Sam said, you are already pregnant. I don’t know if you had realized it, but it is clear in your energy. You are creating a vortex entry point in your womb.”
He winked mischievously.
“It all seems to be about influence and suggestion these days, he added with a wink. Remember, you are playing with these probabilities not because you are a victim of them, but because they present an interest to you. And remember also that they would be all actualized by one of your probable selves nonetheless.”
Becky did the rolling eyes, and it seemed she wouldn’t stop when Sam burst into laughter and hugged her. He kissed her swiftly and said :
“You can call Sean now, he understands more about it than you realize.”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
When Sam explained gently to Becky about the essences waiting for an entry point into this dimension, the ones that had chosen her, Becky, she was at a loss as to know what to think.
Well I don’t want to let them down, Sam, she said mournfully.
Sam laughed and said, You won’t be letting them down, silly. They’ll find another entry point. There’s no shortage of pregnant women in this dimension, you know.
But I feel like they’re mine already, Sam, I feel responsible for them now.
Laughing loudly, Sam reminded her that resposibility was her own core truth, and not an absolute one. Other essences are not your responsibility, you daft goose!
I know that, but I feel somehow connected to them now. I’ll always wonder about them, worry that they made a bad choice and chose a horrid entry point…her voice trailed off, and then she giggled. I’m talking absolute rubbish aren’t I?
Frankly, yes, dear, winked Sam. Anyway, aren’t you confusing two separate issues here, Becky? In the future probability that you viewed, Sean was a drunkard, and you had many children. They are not necessarily connected, you know. Sam winked again, and Becky blushed and whacked him over the head with the cushion she’d been clutching.
Oh stop! I haven’t even been on my honeymoon yet!
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Sam was having a weird dream in which he was having a romantic relationship with Becky after having influenced Sean in a slippery sleepy slope.
As the vision was developing itself, it appeared that they obviously had loads of children, like 7
Some of them were energies he was already familiar with, some he had glimpsed during Becky’s broadcast the other day.
Some others were newly added to this dimension and Becky and him were gladly offering them an entry point, so to speak… and there was the potential for a few more.
Sam smiled, because in wanting so bad not having these children, Becky were adding more fuel to this probability
no matter who the father was. She may have been struggling with it, but it was one of the main point of her focus.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Actually, that’s it! Quintin had feared the implications, as lots of people did.
It would mean everything would be allowed. Everything would be true, even the most blatant contradictions would be harmoniously living side by side.”Becky smiled at the marvelously appropriate Reality Play entry that she’d found whilst randomly reading back through their script notes.
She’d had a hard time explaining to Sean about the probability glitch in which the note had appeared in the ‘wrong’ reality. He understood the concept of probable realities eventually, but he was hurt and confused as to why Becky had even thought to make up that probability in the first place. Becky hadn’t told him the full story about the dream, feeling that it may in some way be a self fulfilling prophecy if Sean knew that (in one probability, at any rate) he ended up an alcoholic, not to mention all those children! The very thought of all those children was enough to make Becky break out in a sweat, and she wasn’t inclined to add energy to that probable future.
Becky explained that she had written the note to Sean (in the Reality Play) to tell him she was leaving him merely as a method of introducing some new characters, but Sean was deeply wounded.
She did her best to placate her new husband and take his mind off it, even going so far as to don the shrunken tarty nun outfit. But after the romantic interlude, when Becky had fallen asleep, Sean was unable to stop thinking about it, and he wandered dejectedly into the kitchen, and poured himself a large whiskey.
In an ironic twist of fate, a glimpse into a probable future had affected the present, and Sean’s descent into confused drunkenness began in earnest.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Leah was strolling on Marseille harbor, going to the fish market to buy some seafood for her guest’s arrival.
She smiles when she sees that behind the swarm of noisy people, her big black-bearded fish-smelling friend Sarkandin is there as usual, regaling people of his antics and provoking exaggerations.“Hear, hear! It’s fresh, and only 5.7€ a pound… Yes Madam, can you believe it, 5.7 euros!”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Sam looked puzzled at the flurry of new comments that had appeared like a cluster of ripe “groiselles”.
Having been plugged on the Reality Play Channel, he had been enjoying the activity like a buzzing hive of frantic bees in the background, but decided to get back to his forging of a Jedi light saber.
The recent didjeridoo adventures had given him some particular insights on how sounds could be manipulated to model matter, and he had decided to adapt a tutorial he had found on the network on how to craft a light saber from carton wraps and glowing sticks. Except that he would do it almost from scratch, starting with a jar of vegemoth…As for Al, as he couldn’t resist a peek, he started to wonder what this red currant frenzy was all about. He knew well enough “groseilles”, as his aunt would make delicious red currant jelly in the bayou. But “groiselles”, he checked quickly seemed to be an ancient variation of the word… How odd… Becky’s clue-sowing (a bit Cluseau-ing, indeed
) talent was really shining in her typos…In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Another probable Becky hit send on her computer, and grinned wickedly. She had amused herself greatly writing her new storyline for the Reality Play, it had taken her mind off her cold.
Becky wandered into the kitchen where Sean was clearing up after dinner and gave him a kiss. That rhubarb crumble was delicious darling, wherever did you learn to cook like that!
Aha, replied Sean, It’s a secret recipe of Manon’s, she made me swear not to tell anyone. The secret, he continued, and dropped his voice to an enigmatic whisper, The secret is the groiselles.
Sean picked up the empty crumble dish to put it in the dishwasher, revealing a handwritten note that had been underneath it.
Sean recognized Becky’s handwriting, and smiled fondly at her. Oh, what have we here! he said, and started to read. Becky was frowning, perplexed. She hadn’t written a note to Sean in THIS probability!
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Becky waited anxiously for a reply from Luce and was quite weak with relief when a response came within the hour. It was short and sweet and simply said: Of course you can come and stay! What fun! Luce and Leah XX
Her cold forgotten, Becky booked a flight to Marseille for the early hours of the following morning, and sent Luce an email with the flight details. Next, she trotted into the bedroom and pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and hurriedly packed, wrapping the YouDo doll up in a sarong.
Now was the hard part, writing a note for Sean.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Becky’s heart was racing and her breath was coming in short rasping breaths. I need to change probabilities, and I need to do it fast! There’s not a moment to lose.
Maybe I can change the past, she thought, change it to a probability in which I didn’t marry Sean in the first place. Oh Lordy, but how do I do that exactly? Her head was spinning.
Maybe I should just run away, now, pack my bags and disappear before Sean gets back from the bar.
No, that won’t do, she said, biting her lip in consternation. I want to keep the wedding presents, especially that YouDo doll.
Becky rummaged through the pile of magazines, looking for the script of the Reality Play. Oh dear god, if I change probabilities Al and the others will kill me, it will make such a mess of the threads.
Becky was distraught. What shall I do! she exclaimed, wringing her hands.
BREATHE, a deeply resonant female voice said. BREATHE into YOU, that’s right, BREATHE…..
Becky stopped wringing her hands and drew a shaky breath.
That’s right, the voice continued, BREATHE into YOU…..
Becky took another deep breath.
BREATHE…..
Oh for heavens sake, Becky interrupted rather rudely, That’s enough of that blimmen breathing for now, thank you very much, now bugger off, I need to think.
The voice in her head changed to a masculine one, that said with a chuckle, “THINKING” is absolutely FATAL, my dear, just DO what ever is easiest for YOU.
You mean, do whatever I want, and bugger everyone else? asked Becky. Wouldn’t that be a bit inconsiderate? I mean, don’t I have a responsibility to the others?
HAHAHAH, you are funny, said the voice. Did all that Seth and Elias stuff go in one ear and out the other?
What Seth and Elias stuff? Haha, just kidding, of course I remember it all. Reading about it and actually DOING it, well, they are two different things……her voice trailed off, and she frowned, deep in thought.
Thinkin’ aint doing, said the voice.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Crisp fluttered to the floor as Becky drifted off to sleep. She was having an odd dream, in which she was hugging Sam. I’m so glad you don’t drink Sam, she said, emotionally, in the dream.
Well, I do have an occasional pint down at the Duck and Firken, you know, he replied.
You know what I mean, Sam. All those years with Sean, hoping it would all work out…her dream voice trailed off sadly….
Hey Becky, it wasn’t a waste! Look at all the lovely children you had!
Becky felt her dream self smile ruefully. Well, it hasn’t exactly been a picnic either, you know….
She woke up sweating and confused. Good grief, all WHAT children! What a dreadful nightmare!
She was wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead when Sean popped his head round the door.
I’m popping out for a beer, Becky, won’t be long.
Holy Moly, Becky whispered under her breath.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Becky sneezed again, and shivering, reached for the box of tissues. She was choosing to align with those old fashioned ‘catching a cold’ beliefs because, frankly, she wanted to spend a few days wrapped up in her dressing gown idly flicking through magazines and taking naps and not doing anything much.
Sean appeared with a tray.
I’ve made you a nice pot of Earl Grey, and buttered some scones for you, dear. How are you feeling? I’ve done the laundry but I think the nun outfit has shrunk.
Becky blushed. Oh well never mind that, eh.
I’ll get you another one, Sean said hopefully.
Maybe a trench coat and some thigh boots instead, suggested Becky, recalling her drenching in the park in the tarty nun outfit. More practical.
Sean grinned and sloped off to do some dusting. Call me if you want anything, he called over his shoulder.
Becky picked up another magazine from the pile next to her. Crisp, it was called, and had a photograph of Sue Flay and the Ova Tones on the front cover.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
— You have summoned us, Master Tfark
— Yes, young PiawanThe magpie known as Robert X was standing in front of a glowing bluish light emitted by a glass ball full of sand nearly as big as the gnome standing before it.
Inside the ball, one could distinguish a century-old-looking figure, so fat it was almost indiscernible from the pile of cushions on which he was seated in a lotus-like posture. On the forehead of the Master, a third eye was visible, its gaze piercing you through your flesh.— How is our matter proceeding, Hex?
— Well enough, Master. All preliminary stakeout has taken place according to the plans. We are only waiting for the right conditions to strike and rob the item without being noticed.
— Very well, Hex…The three-eyed Master Tfark scratched his chin pensively.
— A convenient surge of atmospheric energy is coming your way, I suppose you are aware. I hope that you’ll make good use of this. Our clients are very eager to get this item back
— Yes, Master. You shall not be disappointed.And with that, the communication was ended.
Robert X stood in front of the now inert communication device, visibly preoccupied.
— Sir, you didn’t mention the disappearance of our guest, did you? asked Robert K
— There is nothing yet to report. Let’s do the job and we can quickly leave this place. Next inter-dimensional window will be opened a few moments after the cyclone, that should work out perfectly.
— Sir, yes Sir. Ready to lift the energy cloak as soon as we are ready to strike.
— Perfect then… Remember, without the energy cloak, we’ll have to solely rely on our magpies shifted appearances.
— I know that Sir, this is not my first mission, Sir.
— Very well then. Is there something else?
— There is another thing, Sir.
— What?!
— Some trouble with the bee-keeper I fearIn reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Holy Moly, that was quite a ride! whispered a beaming Ella Marie, who had been enjoying herself immensely. The dinghy and its strange cargo drifted on the open sea, the storms passed and the ocean calm and moonlit.
The floodwater currents had swept them along and Ella focused on avoiding obstacles like signposts, feeling exhilarated and alive with excitement.
Oy, we’re in the Gulf of Mexico now! she cackled, Lordy, I wonder where we’ll end up.
Elioctyl grinned.
In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
Himself, elizabeth AND A FEW OTHERS CROSSED THE water IN search FOR angels.
SO THEY bought THE village A STONE dragon, AND gone THEY WERE, LEAVING AN able energy TO care FOR ITSELF AND OF etc.
IN A box FULL OF CLUES, SOMEONE wanted FRESH IDEAS WAITING FOR hours sitting rather BLANKLY IN FRONT OF A page FOR idea TO SPRING LIKE lemon JUICE…In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
When he first witnessed how the traveling portals worked, Badul had been greatly impressed. No such magic existed on Asgurdy, and even though is was supposed to be a small portal, it was greater magic than anything his imagination could have devised.
He and his crew were so much impressed that Badul had required his small crew to settle down so that they can study further the thing. Tomkin had frowned a bit, as he was eager to continue and above all to leave this uncharted district ruled by a fierce warlord (or “governor”, as it was required to address him) in a moistly forest miles away from any living creature, but then again, Badul’s orders were not to be discussed.The portal was constituted of a wide circle of heavy limestones, with two crossing arched vaults made of limestones too, with smaller blue stones incrustations of various shapes tucked into round holes regularly scattered along the vaults. These smaller stones could apparently be rearranged, and Tomkin and Badul quickly figured out they were used to determine the coordinates of the various places they would be traveling to. This portal, they’ve been explained had a set of other stones, ocher and dark red ones which were not part of the traditional set of the main network on the continent. Their design was not overly displayed as the others which were left on the portal at all times. They were carried on the spot by one of the generals of the local governor, and used under strict guidelines, for fear that the parallel network would be uncovered.
It took Badul a dozen of hexades to relinquish his fear of the unknown magic that made people disappear and reappear in thin air. He was a brave man, and that which he could see with his own eyes was no longer deemed irrational. It was very real, and he could use it. And there was no point in delaying the experience of it, as it was the only way for him to conquer his turmoil.
So, on that fine morning of the falling season, he decided to move. Genflik Thran, the local governor, had come to appreciate the help Badul and his men had provided him in loading and unloading the cargoes of goods which were banned on various parts of the Warring Kingdoms nonetheless traded on the black market with great benefits, and occasionally escorting them to some of the nearest villages. But the deal had been made clear from the start: he would allow Badul and his men to use the network in exchange of two hexades of service. In fact, they had repaid the debt largely already.
So he agreed to let them go on their journey and provided him and and his crew enough supply to continue their trip for quite some days. And as a token of appreciation, he allowed Badul to choose his destination, a privilege that was rarely granted, as usually people where glad to take whatever ship was about to depart.Badul turned to Tomkin, wondering where they could go next.
“There are a few villages I heard of” Tomkin said after having pondered, “in the valleys down Mount Elok’ram. I heard this place is the tallest of the World, and is full of ancient powerful magic. Perhaps we can go to one of these villages, as I don’t think there is any portal on the top of the mountains.”
“Ahaha, yes, you’re right” had smiled Genflik Thran “I’ve been heard there is a monastery on top of this mountain, but no portal unless you go in the valleys. Not that they couldn’t have built one, but they thought it would soon become too crowded and… how did they said? Yeah, unholy… with the ease of a portal access. Now, perhaps that with the new Abbott, it will change… who knows. We already have approached him, and he seems a man with a nice sense of compromise, for the good of all, ahahaha!”
“What’s this village called?”, asked Badul
“ Chard Dut Jep “ answered Genflik Thran “I have a local contact there, a witchy woman, with some sense for business too, when you’re there, ask for her, people call her Madame Chesterhope. Just don’t forget to mention you are coming on my advise, or else the bitch might reserve you a trick or two of her own, ahahaha!”.
“To Chard Dut Jep then!” cheered Badul, and his crew echoed with him.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The Glass Hour in sixty three
Was quite an eventful spree
Its tentacles spanned
Over many a land
And many a deep blue seaBecky wasn’t quite sure where she was now, although she was aware of the tarty nun outfit she was wearing, much to her chagrin, but still the Kuzhebarian Laughing Monk’s limericks kept popping into her head.
In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
In reply to: Synchronicity
The last few days bees have been in the news. A beekeeper in the Coromandel is suspected of selling contaminated honeycomb. So far 10 people have been seriously poisoned.
COROMANDEL BEACH, VERY LOVELY PART OF NZ DESPITE BEE HAZARDSThis time of year the bees feed on Tutu which is poisonous.
HAMSTER OR RAT WEARING A TUTU. (Eric informed me that in France little rats wear tutus)
NATIVE NZ PLANT TUTU. DO NOT EAT!!!
When I first read the story in the newspaper, i left the cafe and there was the HONEYB numberplate across the road, which i have not seen since Sir Ed’s death.
The next day the bee story was in the news again. This time the beekeepers name had been released, his surname was “Prout”. He had been operating for 5 months … 5 fun? hmmm not so sure if it is fun for the people getting sick.
I am wondering if it is a clue in relation to the Bronkelhampton saga … Plan B, pink tutus and supercilious prouts.
Did you know there was a world prout organisation
Yes indeed, they even have their own song. I found it when i was looking for the article and put in search words of honey and prout
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Quite frankly, Midora didn’t know how and where to look for Badul. She had spent lots of time delving into the labyrinth of chapters that composed the book, at first to no avail.
Only after some familiarization with the narrative had she come to roughly understand that the two books where rewriting the pages —or even, rewiring them— so that each time she started over, it was like a similar yet different story. Most of the alternate versions did occur within the same kind of environment, or the same dimensions as the previous ones, but there were always all kinds of small hints that made her get a small hunch that it was not quite the same story she had read before that was taking place now.
She had even become quite good at tracking down these flimsy moments where she found herself wondering what felt “different”, at odds, or simply not quite at the same place. Like in her dreams, these were precious cues telling her to pay attention. More than simple cues, of course some of them where howling at her face that something required her attention. The additions made by her distant relative Dory, or later on by her step-daughter Becky were compelling cases of such occurrences. Asynchronous apparitions of mummies sometimes reminded her of stories told by one of her father and where more generally speaking of symbolic death and regeneration, but when all of these cues where as many portals the details of which she could lose herself in…Naasir had told her to find Badul. She knew Badul… Like Midora herself, Badul was a facet of the dreaming dragon who was exploring the many facets of itself in an intricate play, and it felt to her that Badul was stuck somewhere in the process and required some attention. In fact, she remembered that in all the versions of the stories that she had read about, Badul’s history was never ended. Each time, he was on his way to explore the new land he had discovered, and somehow, he just never get there.
When she was trying to get to the rest of the story, as much as she would search for it, there were only blank pages.
Perhaps it was for her to write them, like Indy did after she encountered that mummy decades ago, not necessarily to exorcise the experience, but rather to learn more about her connections.What were her own connections? She wondered.
What did happen to Badul on his way to the clandestine traveling portal of Gralm Tur? And why did it matter? Did he found something about the network, and some link to the skulls which have been an obsession for quite some time for some of the major and most intriguing characters of this inter-dimensional sopoohpera?Truth was, Badul felt a bit like an oddball to her. She didn’t know how to get close to him. Apparently, when she had read the early articles from her great-uncle Cuthbert, she had found out that he had connected quite well to the daunting character. As a matter of fact, most of his comments had helped flesh out the character, while most of the other participants in the books had been only remotely observing his deeds. However priceless these clues were, Midora knew by now that they were not absolute, and would rewrite differently if the story was asking for it. And in fact, perhaps her own addition would change whatever his fate would have been.
Midora could feel Badul differently now… a young boy, whom she is babysitting, in another life.
Bastian is baby Badul’s name and he’s a toddler, a toddler exploring an unknown world made of colourful toys.
Midora (her name’s Ada in that focus) likes to work for little Bastian’s family. The woman, his mother, looks a bit odd like Morticia Addams, or like a Cher just out of her bed, but Ada likes her. She’s busy traveling alot, and doesn’t have much time to care for the baby.Midora thinks she has read about his woman somewhere in the books…
Could it be that? Yes,… there is little doubt about it.
It seems like she’s just run into young Carla…
