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  • #3738
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      “Well, here we all are again!” Liz beamed, after a momentary pause in which she considered snorting. Not finding that snorting was consistent with her mood, notwithstanding the sparkle in the air of anticipated unexpected impishness, she beamed, and beamed again as she looked around the room.

      No one spoke. There was a sense of suspended animation for a few moments, or was it longer? A bit like holding ones breath while easing into a hot bath. Or perhaps not a hot bath, thought Liz, delicately mopping the sweat dripping down her cleavage with a paper towel.

      “Finnley, have you seen my reading glasses anywhere?” Liz asked on impulse.

      Finnley’s sunny beam shifted as she rolled her eyes and replied, “I saw them in a dustbin on Brighton Pier.”

      “My god, it’s started already!” Godfrey exclaimed, although he wasn’t at all surpised. “ Have you seen the new dragon tree in the park?”

      #3733

      In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions

      Geraldine von Truff, also known as Gelly by her friends was sweating profusely and had opened all the windows to get air.
      “Fracken hot flashes” she said, taking a wet towel to freshen up. It was barely start of spring, and the temperatures were doing yoyo in the most peculiar fashion.

      She logged onto Spayce to check if her next client was there. Maybe she’ll put him on audio, because at the rate she was undressing, he would wonder whether he’d signed on the right account. After all, she was a licenced psychoregressor and helped her clients connect to their subconscious in hypnotic trances. This was all very serious.

      Actually, to be honest, she was quite baffled by the crock of bollocks the subconscious was telling at times, but hell, it was cathartic for her clients, and their well-being was her utmost priority.

      “James? Are you here?”
      James was her client from Glasgow, an affable middle-aged man, who seemed to have taken to her robotic German accent and her hypnoregressive sessions.

      “Yes, Doctor” the sound came in all distorted. “Is it normal I don’t have visual?”
      “Ja, alles ist gut my friend, the internet is playing tricks today. Let’s have it just audio, OK?”
      “Alright then.”
      “I think our session today will be splendid. I already feel all the energies building up.”

      #3729

      In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        management focus dark map project
        sit head journey pyramid
        whatever stick gave start wondered
        robot liked dream air added apparently short

        #117

        The stardome was pretty this time of now.
        Many galactic federations have their bases on those far away spheres.
        Theirs was a bright city hovering in the mental realms over Ascension Island, right in the middle of the South Atlantic.

        Ascended Master Medlik (alt. short for Melchizedek) expected his students to come soon for the first class.
        His teachings were known, but needed practical experiences to further the study group’s abilities. They needed to learn to balance Compassion with Wisdom, in this new higher vibration.

        Getting the bigger picture was sometimes unnerving for the new recruits, they wanted to jump right in, back to the turmoil of the lower vibrations, to “help” their earthling souls in need of guidance. But it would be breaking the sacred Law of Free Will. Wisdom had to balance Compassion, and Knowledge only wasn’t Wisdom.

        He could already feel some of the new ones would be tough. Lady Master Blather, had done great on the Hematite and Amber ray, channelling ancient wisdom of the Old through the famed earthling known as Madam Blataski. But her ever growing desire to right wrongs always went in the way of her higher callings. That, and her indulgence in higher blissdom.

        #3716
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “Do you ever wonder what happens to your people when you’re not there, Dan?” Elizabeth asked, still drowsy from spending the morning lolling around on the bed, reading and napping.
          “Why, yes, I do” he replied, which surprised Elizabeth somewhat.
          “Do you make them do things, and then wonder if they really wanted to do that? Like when you send a blacksmith out to the forest because you need more firewood, do you wonder if he resents that?”
          Dan sighed. “I know what you mean.”
          Elizabeth had started patting his shoulder kindly when she asked about his people, when he said a few had starved to death because he didn’t provide enough food, or when a tornado flattened his people’s houses.

          #3700
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            “No, no, no, you can’t do that!” Liz complained loudly, after having read the last pages Finnley had diligently proofread. “A bag lady of all characters, can’t possibly steal the limelight from me now. Don’t forget who is the star of this reality tut tut.” She paused briefly and continued.
            “Well, even if somebody had to care for the baby, she can’t me more mysterious and interesting than me…”
            Seeing Finnley despondent more than her usual silent yet quipping self, she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially “you’ve been worrying me dear, ever since you stopped thumbing up my posts on fruitloop. What has gotten into you? Let’s just hope it’s a passing fad.”
            She poured herself another serving of quince tea, and picked a slice of lemon with a soured face. “See, my lemon diet is doing me good, you should do the same.”

            #3675
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              There was a rat tat tat tat on the door, and Sonia started barking excitedly, hoping that it was someone coming to feed her. She would have been more hungry had she not licked up all the crushed mince pies off the floor. The barking and incessant knocking on the door roused the ex, who was sleeping off the eggnog in the spare room. Eventually he shuffled out and opened the door; the knocking had become dangerously insistent.

              “Yes?” he said to the woman in the red cape standing on the doorstep. Inwardly, he groaned. “Batwoman, I presume?”

              “Get out of my way, Alvin, you good for nothing lush, and what are you doing here anyway?”

              “No idea, Gertrude, more to the point, what are YOU doing here?”

              “Tis the season of good will, you arsewipe, where’s that idiot daughter of mine?”

              #3674

              Corrie:

              I was offering the plate of mince pies to Mr Cornwall, who had been coaxed out of his room for the first time in ages and was sitting next to the gum tree sapling that Aunt Idle had strung with fairy lights in lieu of a Christmas pine, when they arrived. We were all surprised to hear the taxi hooting outside, that is, except Bert. I heard him mumbling something about “She bloody meant it, the old trout,” but I didn’t remember that until later, with all the commotion at the unexpected guests.

              “Here, take the lot,” I said, shoving the mince pies on the old guys lap, as I rushed to the door to see who it was. A tall autocratic looking woman swathed in beige linen garments was climbing out of the front seat of the taxi, with one hand holding the pith helmet on her head and the other hand gesticulating wildly to the others in the back seat. She was ordering the taxi driver to get the luggage out of the boot, and ushering the other occupants out of the car, before flamboyantly spinning around to face the house. With arms outstretched and a big smile she called, “Darlings! We have arrived!”

              “Who the fuck it that?” I asked Clove. “Fucked if I know” she replied, adding in a disappointed tone, “Four more old farts, just what we bloody need.”

              “And a baby!” I noted.

              Clove snorted sarcastically, “Terrific.”

              Suddenly a cloud of dust filled the hall and I started to cough. Crispin Cornwall had leaped to his feet, the plate of mince pies crashing to the floor.

              “Elizabeth! Do my eyes deceive me, or is it really you?”

              “Godfrey, you old coot! What on earth are you doing here, and dressed like that! You really are a hoot!”

              “Why is she calling him Godfrey?” asked Prune. “That’s not his name.”

              “He obviously lied when he said his name was Crispin Cornwall, Prune. We don’t know a thing about him,” I replied. “Someone had better go and fetch Aunt Idle.”

              #3669
              prUneprUne
              Participant

                Christmas has always been a strange tradition in our family.
                Maybe because first and foremost, Christmas is all about family. Besides the twins and their bond, sometimes I wonder what makes us a family at all.
                It doesn’t help that we can never get snow around this place, and dressing in red and white fluff is not going to make things suddenly magical.

                It was comical to see the exterminator come with a red bonnet, panting and all red himself, as if he were some genial Santa bringing gifts of death to our yonder’s rodents residents.
                He didn’t catch a rat, but got himself a fright. Thanks to Mater, when she erupted in the attic in her white hanuka honey cream face-lifter mask. I think that sneaky Finly got to her in the end.
                The mystery of the strange noises in the inn is not going soon, apparently.

                Bert and Aunt Idle got back from their trip in the evening. Apparently Bert had insisted to bring some sort of shrub to make a Christmas tree in the great hall (it’s not so great, but we call it that). Finly didn’t seem pleased too much with it. Raking leaves in summer, bringing pests inside… she didn’t have many kind things to say about it. So Mater sends her to cook a “festive dinner”, that’s what she said. I heard Finly mutter in her breath something about kiwi specials. I like kiwis. Hope she’ll make a pavlova… just, not with Mater’s face cream!

                It seems that giving small gestures of appreciation got the mood going. Aunt Idle is always very good at decorating with the oddest or simplest of things, like rolls of TP. Sometimes she would draw nice hieroglyphs in the layer of dust on the cabinets, it gives the furniture a special look. Mater always says it’s because she’s too lazy to do some cleaning consistently, but I think it’s because cleaning is not creative enough for her. Can’t believe I just said nice things about Aunt Idle. Christmas spirit must be contagious.

                Then, Devan came home with some pastries. It’s not often I see Devan these days, and usually he’s always brooding. I would too, if I had to come back home when I could just start my life away from there. Finly was all eyes on him all of a sudden. Seems nobody noticed, not even the twins, too busy being snarky while playing on their phones,… it looks like there is some strange game between these two, my brother and our Finly. I think Finly makes a lot of efforts to look younger with him, I can see when she fiddles with her hair. They would make good friends, and I’m sure Devan doesn’t mind the accent.

                As always, it’s not about how pretty the tree is, or how good the food is, or how big the gifts are… It’s more about being together, for better or for worse. And Dad, and Mum are always out of this almost nice picture, but somehow, it matters less today.

                There’s a good thing about that Christmas spirit. It gives you the weirdest ideas. To be nice, I asked Mater if we should invite the guests to our festive dinner, and probably lifted by the mood, she said yes, of course. When I went to the closed door to invite the guy, I thought a random act of kindnes is a perfect occasion to learn more about our mysterious resident stranger… Maybe that’s what the adults mean in church when they say you should always be kind to each other.

                #3663

                In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  The young Yz looked with disbelief at the new girl. “What on Mars are you on about? Psychic archaeology? Come on Lizette, you must be joking. Barely 30 years is hardly enough to produce archaeological artefact of any interest, no?”

                  Yz had been called up to the mothership to participate in the maintenance drills, as part of the regular knowledge exchange program between Earth and Mars.
                  She was quite eager to see the central intelligence (“FinnPrime” as she liked to call it), a technology which had not yet been brought to the surface of Mars to date.

                  At first, Lizette had seemed like an interesting new friend. Very feminine and glamourous, with a flair of Earth fashion to her, something quite attractive.
                  But as soon as she started to talk, Yz realized how little they had in common.

                  That girl is going to have a tough call back to reality when we land… she thought while smiling to the giggling Lizette.

                  #3661
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    “Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god,” mumbled Finnley, head in hands and rocking strangely.

                    Elizabeth was startled by this strange behaviour from the normally quiescent Finnley.

                    “What on earth is wrong with you?” she asked irritably.

                    Finnley raised her head from her hands and regarded Elizabeth with tired, bloodshot eyes.

                    “What’s wrong with me?” she snarled. “I will tell you what is wrong with me. All these fucking batshit crazy characters making mess and expecting conversation is what is wrong with me. What’s going on? It’s not fucking Christmas is it?”

                    #3655
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      Haki came back making haka postures to give her courage to face her despot employer: “you mother said: if you don’t want me around for Yule, I’ll come back for Ostara and the pagan futility rituals, you ungrateful daughter —her words, not mine.”

                      She took advantage of the mother threat that seemed to render Liz speechless, to add

                      “and your ex is still waiting since yesterday in the boudoir where you told me to put him. And Norbert will be here in a jiffy. He was working early to repair the potting shed.” her wrinkled look said all but disapproval about that last one.

                      #3651

                      In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        The idea of having her own robot appealed to Lizette, and she was already starting to feel an affectionate soft spot for Finnley 8. It ~ was it a he or a she? would do nicely as a personal servant and dogsbody. She wondered if the management would loan the robot to her for the duration of her stay, as a personal assistant and proof reader.

                        #3641
                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          ”What exactly are you still doing here, Finnley? I have Haki to do the cleaning and look after the baby and Sonia. And what a beautiful job she does too. Without any unnecessary complaining,” Elizabeth added pointedly.

                          Finnley rolled her eyes. “And I suppose you expect her to do your proofreading as well?

                          “Oh yes,” Elizabeth conceded gratefully, always amazed at Finnley’s perspicacity.

                          ”By the way,” said Finnley, ”I know you miss Godfrey but you might want to stop with all the comfort eating. Your bum is starting to look obese.”

                          #3636
                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            The Postshiftic traumanic drumneling groupcircle was helping a lot Godfrey with his new goals. He’d found there many like-minded individuals, working through their past trauma and healing psychic abuses with a good dose of mushrooms and drumming, and visits to the Spore Hit World.

                            At first, hearing about the mushrooms, he was a bit anxious. Not so much about the hallucinogenic effects (he was rather impervious to them), but dreading that it would attract Elizabeth and detract from the catharsis.

                            The other day, while he was walking in the street, and trying to stay in the Gnowme, he bumped into Finnley. He couldn’t recognize her at first. She usually hid her long flowing hair in some kerchief to do the chores, and hid her genius in plain sight.

                            He couldn’t help but enquire about how things were going back at the Tattler Mansion, expecting a bit of disarray, but nothing like what she told him (in her usual scarcity of words).
                            “A baby now? Seriously?”

                            Liz didn’t strike him as the motherly type, looking by the way she treated her paper babies at least.

                            “I heard she got herself a fine help, with a strong grip on things.”

                            Godfrey sighed. It always started like that.

                            #3626
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              “I wasn’t expecting a mutiny this morning, really, how inconsiderate of them, they could at least have waited until I’d had my breakfast. You just can’t get the characters these days. Plotting against me all night while I slept the sweet sleep of an innocent lamb, I ask you! Where will it all end?!

                              Ah well. They were due to be pensioned off anyway, poor decrepit old things, past their write by date anyway.”

                              Liz was initially speechless, then miffed ~ but then an idea started brewing in sync with the kettle.

                              #3625

                              In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                “So what’s around there to do?” Prune asked Maya at the welcome party.
                                She gauged the woman, who had an air of de facto authority, and seemed open and friendly with everyone. A bit too much to Prune’s tastes to be honest.

                                “Whatever you feel like. It’s the magic of it. It’s all open, all up to us to build the world we want.”
                                “Sounds like a hell of a lot of work to do.” Prune snickered against her will.
                                “That’s the thing. It’s only work if your heart isn’t in it. For most of us, it’s our life’s purpose, and we quite enjoy it. Not to say there aren’t some days we’re tired of it…” Maya smiled, “but we make the best of it anyway.”

                                Prune didn’t think of anything clever to retort, and didn’t want to look into all those years of resentment after her family for limiting her. Maybe her family was for nothing in it. The thought of it was terrifying.

                                Maya broke the uneasy silence with lightly compassion “And what brought you here? I mean, apart from the obvious… The real reason you took this harrowing trip to nowhere?”
                                Prune shrugged, and almost immediately started to giggle uncontrollably while catching her stomach. Stop it, stop it she whispered to her stomach.

                                Maya smiled. “You should let it out. It’s been a while I haven’t seen one. They’re so cuddly and cute.”
                                Prune stopped speechless with surprise.
                                Maya laughed “The hair on your clothes is a bit of a giveaway. Come on, don’t worry, the quarantine is pretty relaxed here.”

                                Prune let the little guinea pig out of her jacket, and it squealed in delight. She let a smile open her face “It’s the last surviving one of my grandmother’s. I just couldn’t leave it…”

                                Maya rose from her formica chair, and took her arm. “Come, I’ll show you the crops. We have some fantastic kale, I’m sure it’ll love it.”

                                #3617

                                In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                                ÉricÉric
                                Keymaster

                                  Being a distinguished host, Mother Shirley had been assigned one of the Finnleys bodies, the one with the number 21 plastered on its forehead.
                                  “Twinnie,” she called in her croak of a voice “do the thing!”

                                  Finnley 21 rolled her eyes to connect to her inner source, which was the main computer board, and a stream of random words started to flow down like colander water:

                                  half leading usually jack gave legs secret stick
                                  light plan fell yourself elizabeth sometimes child
                                  downson recovery management karmalott surprise early

                                  Shirley clapped her hands gleefully like a child. “How wonderful Twinnie, you’re my personal Oracle, the words of the Mighty Goddess of War have never felt so close and special to me.”
                                  Mother Shirley looked undisturbed by the lack of response from the cybernetic body, and went on “Now, will you, help me adjust this headpiece, it chafes at the temples.”

                                  #3609
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    “Perhaps,” said Elizabeth, “A little less fucking reading and a bit more writing would help this story along.”

                                    “Perhaps” replied Finnley sniffily, “You should be the one to start.”

                                    #3606
                                    TracyTracy
                                    Participant

                                      Finnley got a book out of her bag and started reading, rather rudely, Elizabeth thought.

                                      Liz leaned over so that she could read over Finnley’s shoulder, in the absence of anyone to talk to as all the characters had been written out of the script.

                                      “…full of misinformation and wrong opinions.” she read.

                                      “Then sir, you may say so. The ruder you are, the more the editors will be delighted.”

                                      (A point worth bearing in mind, Liz thought)

                                      “But it is my own opinions which I wish to make better known, not other people’s.”

                                      “Ah, but, sir, it is precisely by passing judgements upon other people’s work and pointing out their errors that readers can be made to understand your own opinions better. It is the easiest thing in the world to turn a review to one’s own ends. One only need mention the book once or twice and for the rest of the article one may develop one’s theme just as one chuses. It is, I assure you, what every body else does.”

                                      “Hmm, you may be right. But, no. It would seem as if I were lending support to what ought never to have been published in the first place.”

                                      When Elizabeth had had enough of reading, she wrote Godfrey back into the script.

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